
Chapter One
12th May 1899
Riccall Hall, Riccall, Yorkshire
Evelyn Seaton watched her breath mist against the window and said, with a calmness that belied her thudding heart: ‘There are a lot of strange men coming towards the house, Bessie.’
Six black carriages rattled through the gates, twisting with the bends of the mansion’s immaculately pruned driveway. The dust kicked up from beneath their wheels made it look as though a great snake was slithering towards the house in the morning sun, coming to swallow them whole.
Bessie moved beside her and sucked in a quick breath. ‘Those look like police wagons, miss.’
‘A whole battalion of them,’ Evelyn said, watching the horses trot closer. They were great, shaggy shires built for hauling heavy loads, and she wondered why they had brought so many men – and such large wagons.
The men were stepping out now, forming a cluster on the gravelled pathway. They could not be local police, for surely all of Yorkshire did not have so many men as this? And now they were looking up at the windows, no doubt experiencing the same thing all did when they first set eyes on Riccall Hall: wonder. For this grand old house, this wisteria-covered, sandstone leviathan was large enough to keep a whole regiment in private rooms, and yet now it housed only Evelyn, her mother and the handful of staff they could still afford. But these men might not know that. They might ask for the man of the house.
And her mother’s melancholy would start all over again.
Evelyn took a deep breath and wrenched her gaze from the window. ‘Bessie, whatever this is, I believe I should greet them. You know how Mama rises late at present, and besides, she is still too . . .’ She closed her lips over the word. Fragile was such a poor word to describe her mother, usually such a vibrant, energetic creature but heavy now with a sadness she wore like a shroud.
Evelyn had done everything she could think of to cheer her, and when that hadn’t worked, she’d tried to provoke her instead, walking into the breakfast room in a parade of increas- ingly ridiculous outfits: wide cycling bloomers, a gentleman’s top hat, even pearls – for surely if anything could rouse her mother from her stupor it would be pearls before six – but all her efforts had been met with a cursory glance, a sigh and a sinking feeling that tugged so painfully at Evelyn’s stomach she imagined she had swallowed her mother’s own sadness. She thought they’d turned a corner before Christmas, but then spring had come, and her mother had grown languid again. The contrast of it had been odd, her mother retreating to her chambers just as the frost thawed and the breeze took on a sweet edge.
‘Greet them, miss?’ Bessie’s wide, wrinkled face crumpled. ‘With all due respect, I am not sure that is the best idea.’
Oh, come now. I can be charming when I want to be. Now, I think a suit should do it. The tweed?’
Bessie’s grimace said otherwise. ‘What do you think they want?’
‘They must be lost,’ Evelyn said, with a confidence she did not feel.
‘But you can’t get lost in Riccall.’ Bessie snorted. ‘You’re out of Riccall before you even realize you’ve reached it. And I do think it would be better to await your lady mother.’
The doorbell jingled then, three sharp pulls of the bell, as though the person on the other side was short of time or patience or both.
Evelyn shook her head. ‘I would rather not have Mama vexed if we can avoid it. I can handle one set of guests by myself, surely. I am twenty-four, after all.’
‘Yes, but you can also be rather blunt, miss. Which the likes of me don’t mind, but the likes of them men downstairs might.’
Evelyn rolled her eyes. ‘I am not blunt – merely honest.’
‘Precisely,’ Bessie said, though she went to the wardrobe, opening the great creaking doors with vigour. ‘People dislike honesty.’
‘Untrue,’ Evelyn said. ‘I believe the people who say they dislike honesty actually dislike themselves. That is why they are so offended when I tell them the truth. After all, if they do not say it to themselves, then why should they suffer the likes of me saying it to them?’
Bessie’s mouth became a firm line. ‘And that’s why your mother should deal with these official-looking gentlemen. You do have rather a tendency to say odd things.’
Evelyn huffed as Bessie wrapped the corset around her waist, holding it in place so that she could secure the ribbon through the eyelets at the back. Downstairs, the doorbell rang again. Four blasts this time, even more forceful than the last, and Evelyn’s heartbeat quickened.
‘One comment at the debutante ball and suddenly I have the reputation of being the one who says odd things.’
‘You did tell Lady Violet that she was a bully.’
Which she rightly is.’
‘And you also told her that she was spiteful to others because, secretly, she was spiteful to herself.’
‘Which I also believe.’
‘But don’t you see, miss? One shouldn’t say that to others! Especially not at one’s presentation to society.’
Her corset laced, Evelyn turned to pull her blouse over her head, knocking some dark curls loose of their pins. ‘Do you know,’ she said, her voice muffled beneath the sheer cream silk. ‘I rather believe life would be simpler if people said what they thought more often. Wouldn’t that be a breath of fresh air?’
‘No, miss,’ Bessie said. ‘I do not believe it would. I believe everyone would be rather upset.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t,’ Evelyn said, buttoning the tweed skirt closed at the waist. The final effect was just the sort of severe schoolmistress look she had been hoping for, though in truth the outfit was for cycling and not for confronting hordes of uniformed men. But it was the turn of the century, and fashion should be versatile.
Bessie twitched the last button on Evelyn’s jacket and said in a quiet voice: ‘Perhaps they bring news of your father? After all, we’ve heard nothing of him since all those articles in the paper—’
Evelyn flinched. ‘We shall not speak of those articles. Not now, not ever. And especially not in front of Mama.’
‘O’course, miss,’ Bessie said, a flush rising on her cheeks. ‘I would never.’
‘I know,’ Evelyn replied, meeting her eye in the mirror and giving her a hesitant smile. ‘Now, will you go and ask Mr Deeley to let the poor men in so they can stop ringing the doorbell? If Mother was not awake before, there is a high chance she will awaken on the third ring.’
Bessie stepped away, but Evelyn didn’t immediately
follow her. Instead, she lifted her chin to meet her reflection in the mirror, trying to mask her trepidation in the set of her shoulders, the downwards tilt of her head, the faux- steady look in her dark eyes. She knew that even if what lay downstairs was not a simple mistake, she had the courage to confront it – she simply wished she didn’t need it. She had had to use so much of her bravery to do the simplest of things these last two years, and she was growing tired of it.
‘But if it will protect Mama, then it is worth it.’ She lifted trembling fingers to her jacket buttons and fastened them. And then she turned, making for the stairs and the men who lay beyond them.