Amanda Grange - Rebecca’s Refusal

As the coach finally rolled to a halt she gave a smile as she saw how pretty the house looked under its winter coating. The small-paned windows were covered in frost, the window sills were piled high with snow, and icicles hung from the portico.

Shaking out her travelling cloak she climbed out of the carriage and stretched her stiff legs before going up the stone steps to the front door.

“Welcome back, Miss Fossington,” said Canning, the butler, as he opened the door.

“Thank you, Canning.” She smiled, pleased to see his familiar face.

At that moment her aunt, having heard the coach, hurried into the hall to greet her.

Mrs Hetty Marsden was an elegant woman of some five-and-thirty years of age. She was dressed in a fashionable high-waisted gown of dark green silk, with a Cashmere shawl thrown over her shoulders to keep out the winter chill. She greeted Rebecca warmly, taking her hands and then embracing her.

“Rebecca! We thought you would never arrive! But let's not stand here talking in the hall. You must be frozen. Come in!”

Rebecca returned her aunt's affectionate hug, then accompanied her into the drawing-room. She looked round the familiar room with affection. It was elegantly proportioned, and was furnished with taste and style. Hepplewhite chairs and damasked sofas were arranged in satisfying groups; small tables inlaid with rosewood and satinwood were dotted conveniently about; and a collection of paintings depicting classical scenes adorned the walls. A large marble fireplace dominated the far end of the room, and a welcome fire burned in the grate.

With stiff fingers Rebecca removed her bonnet and cloak as her aunt rang for tea.

“You look tired,” said Hetty, having ordered some refreshment. She took in Rebecca with an affectionate eye.

“I am,” Rebecca admitted. “The journey was long and difficult. I am pleased to be finally here.”

“When you did not arrive last night I couldn't help being worried,” said Hetty. She sat down beside Rebecca on the gold-damasked sofa. “But your Uncle Charles was far more sensible. He said you must have been delayed by of the weather.”

“The weather was dreadful,” agreed Rebecca. “The roads were slippery and in several places the coachmen had to dig a way through the snow. But the worst part was when Biddy was taken ill. In the end, she was too poorly to continue. I had to leave her behind, in the care of a local apothecary.”

“Oh, poor Miss Biddulph. Still, you did the right thing. The journey would only have made her worse. A draughty coach is no place for someone who is ill. She is to join us here when she is better, I hope?”

“Yes. She will travel on by the mail.”

“Quite right,” said Hetty approvingly. “It is the quickest way of travelling, and if she is recovering from an ague she will not want to be too long on the road.”

The door opened and tea was brought in. Revived by a hot drink and a piece of seed cake, Rebecca told her aunt about the rest of her journey.

“Where did you stay last night?” asked Hetty, pouring Rebecca a second cup of tea. “It was a good hostelry, I hope? The food tolerable, and the sheets properly aired?”

“I stayed at The Nag's Head,” said Rebecca, sipping her tea.

“The Nag's Head?” Her aunt frowned. “I don't know it. How was your room?”

A sudden memory of her room, complete with partially-dressed gentleman, flashed into Rebecca's mind. She almost choked on her tea. Quickly she put down the cup. “Unfortunately the inn was so full I had to spend the night in the attic with Susan.”

She mentioned nothing of her encounter with the leonine gentleman. She was uncomfortably aware that she had not behaved in the most ladylike of fashions. She should have roused Susan and then, accompanied by her maid, demanded to see the landlord, leaving him to sort out the problem of the disputed room. Instead of which she had, unchaperoned, bandied words with a partially-clad gentleman! Behaviour which, whilst being unexceptionable in terms of courage, would be likely to draw her aunt's disapproval down on her head.

“How awful!' said Hetty, knowing nothing of what was going through her mind. “Well, never mind, you are here now, and that is what matters. And you have still managed to arrive in time for the reading of your grandfather's will.”

The two ladies both thought of the reading of Jebadiah's will, which was the reason for Rebecca's journey to London. It was to take place that afternoon.

“That is why I pressed on with the journey, instead of staying with Biddy,” said Rebecca. “I knew it would be both difficult and frustrating for Charles to have to rearrange the reading, and besides, I'm sure you both must be wanting to know how things have been left.”

“It will certainly make life easier,” remarked Hetty. “Particularly as the will was missing for so long. It was only by the greatest good fortune it was ever found.”

“It was typical of Grandfather to keep it himself, instead of entrusting it to his lawyers,” said Rebecca. “ "They're rogues, Becky," he used to say to me,” she remembered with a smile. “ "Lawyers... bankers... they're all the same. Rogues and rascals, Becky — every man.”

“Typical indeed!” agreed Hetty. “And it was just as typical of him not tell anyone where he had put it. He always liked to keep his own counsel where business matters were concerned.”

Jebadiah Marsden — Rebecca's grandfather and her uncle Charles's father — had died some time before, but his will had only recently been found, tucked away in a copy of Shakespeare's plays.

“It's hard to believe he was the son of a cobbler,” said Rebecca, looking round the room. She took in the elegant furnishings, the expensive paintings and the superb marble fireplace. She thought of her dearly beloved grandfather, whose drive and energy had led him to take advantage of the opportunities the new manufacturing industries were offering, and which had resulted in him making a fortune. “Our family has come a long way.”

Hetty nodded. “Jeb was an extraordinary man. But now, I mustn't tire you. You will need all your energy for this afternoon.” She stood up. “I will show you to your room. I'm sure you'd like to refresh yourself after your journey.”

Rebecca, too, stood up and followed Hetty out of the drawing-room.

“We will be taking luncheon in an hour,” said Hetty. She led Rebecca upstairs, to the pretty guest room that had been made ready for her. “And then we will be setting out for the lawyer's office.”

Rebecca looked at her enquiringly. She had expected the will to be read at the house.

“Charles has a great deal of business to attend to, and it is more convenient for him if we go to Mr Wesley rather than asking the lawyer to read the will here. We did not know you would have to travel today,” she explained apologetically, “and so we thought you would not object,”

“Of course I don't.” Rebecca set her aunt's hospitable mind at ease.

Hetty smiled. “Thank you, my dear.” She gave a rueful smile. “Charles is the best of husbands, but he does like to have his own way!”

Rebecca laughed, for although it was true that in business matters her uncle liked to have his own way, in all matters relating to the household her aunt's word was law.

“And now I will leave you,” said Hetty. “Remember, lunch is in an hour.”

And after that, thought Rebecca, looking round the pretty room, I will hear the reading of Grandfather's will.

Feeling much refreshed after partaking of an excellent luncheon Rebecca prepared to visit the lawyer's office. She changed out of her carriage dress and into a rose-coloured kerseymere gown. The cheerful colour, worn so soon after her grandfather's death, would have been shocking to the ton, but Rebecca was not of their number and had no need to fear their censure. Besides, it was her grandfather himself who had decreed there was to be no period of mourning. “Tomfoolery for jackanapes!” he'd called it, betraying his lack of Society roots, and shaking his head over the custom of “people rigging themselves out like crows every time someone turns up their toes!”.

She missed him. But she consoled herself with the fact that he had had a long and happy life.

She recalled her thoughts to the present. Regarding herself in the cheval glass to check that she was tidy she adjusted the fine woollen folds of her gown, which draped themselves elegantly around her shoulders before falling from soft gathers beneath her breast into a long, slender skirt. She smoothed the long sleeves and tweaked the lace at the bodice and cuffs, and then sat down in front of the dressing-table so that Susan could arrange her hair. The maid brushed her ebony locks before pulling them into a neat and glossy chignon and then teasing out a row of ringlets round her face.

Well, she was ready.

“My dear, you look lovely,” said Hetty as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now, we had better go. We will be meeting Charles at the lawyer's office as he has had some business matters to attend to, but after that, he will be coming home with us. He is longing to see you again.”

“As I am longing to see him.”

The two ladies fastened their cloaks, settled their bonnets on their heads and pulled on their gloves.

“This snow!” exclaimed Hetty as they went out of the house. “It looks lovely, but it does make things difficult.” She turned to the coachman, resplendent in his livery, who was sitting on the box. “You will go carefully, won't you?” she asked anxiously. “Mr Marsden is very concerned about his horses.”