The servants were about to set salads and side dishes upon the rosewood table. The damask tablecloth was as stiff as a board, swamped with flowers and sparkling with silverware.

Mr Solomon, the butler, entered. *If you please, your ladyship, the master says to inform you that he is in the salon and would you make your way there. We will be serving in here shortly.'

Martha laid down her sewing. *I'll come and give a hand in the kitchen.'

Gabriel, Catesby and the parson stood beside the piano listening in admiration as Hortence played Handel's Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. Gabriel looked every inch the gentleman in a fine tailcoat and buckskin breeches, his collar rising to the sides of his mouth.

Hortence wore a dress of white embroidered muslin. Though she fleetingly turned her head as Genevieve entered, she completed the tune.

On the windowsill was a blue-painted wicker cage. In it perched Hortence's captive linnet. Stepping towards the bird, Genevieve gazed at its crown of scarlet, chestnut flushed feathers and forked tail. With brave, bright eyes, the bird cocked its head and returned her inquisitive look.

*I don't know why I keep the ridiculous thing,' Hortence said imperiously. *She won't sing.'

*It's a male,' Genevieve said.

*I shall starve her of seeds. That will make her sing.'

*You need to give him a varied diet: moths, caterpillars and other insects.'

*Me? Spoil my hands with such disgusting items? What is that strange object hanging around your neck?'

*Just something from the woods.' Though Genevieve might now wear her mother's cornelians and her amber cross, which Gabriel had hidden from their father shortly after Lady Constance died, she chose not to. Instead, she lovingly toyed with the necklace which she had made out of the remaining oak apples from Dawkin's basket.

Lady Wexcombe cast Genevieve a critical look as though assailed by a nasty smell. She had been peering at a wall-tapestry illustrating aristocrats revelling in the spectacle of hounds savaging a doe. The lady wore upon her short, curled hair, a black turban of figured gauze, and around her neck a bandeau of jet, as was expected of stylish ladies in mourning.

Eppie dipped a little in deference to the lady.

*Catesby has acquainted my daughters and I with the facts of your upbringing. One cannot imagine for one moment that such a comely gentleman as Gabriel du Quesne would wish upon himself a pauper relation. For pauper you are. A name gives you nothing. You have not been genteelly raised. One can only be grateful that dear Constance is no longer with us. She would have been mortified to own you.'

At these words a deep emotion stirred within Genevieve for the loss of her mother. As swiftly as the torment stabbed at her heart it dissipated, sensing her mother's otherworldly presence in the room, the caressing waves of her affection washing over her, calming her mind and body.

*I must admit to finding you a quiz,' Lady Wexcombe said, *for surely that is not the same dress in which I saw you attired in the field?'

*What's the matter with it?'

*Amongst the gentry, etiquette decrees a convention that different clothing is to be worn at different times of the day."

*I don't hold with daffing-n'-doning. It creates too much washing for the servants.'

*That is what servants are paid for. Furthermore, I must counsel you that polite society does not approve of people sulking in their rooms.'

*I wasn't sulking. I was reading.'

Hortence gazed upon Genevieve with the utmost contempt. *You should think yourself extremely fortunate that my sister and I arrived when we did, otherwise you would have been utterly lost without a woman's guidance into the finer nuances of life.'

Compared to her sister's prickly character evident in her sharp, darting eyes, Permelia seemed of a gentler disposition. Artificial sprigs of flowers were scattered amongst bows in her hair, ringlets descending to the tip of her ears. *You have much to learn, if my sister and I are not to think you unrefined and terribly passe.' There was something feline about Permelia's character; she had a habit of extending and retracting her fingers like a cat sharpening its claws. *If you are to respectfully enter society, my sister and I shall have to employ the services of our mantua-maker. We will have her create for you pink crepe over white satin. Transparent worn over opaque is the height of fashion.'

A gong sounded, followed by the butler calling: *Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.'

Though Catesby offered to escort Genevieve, she shrank back.

Hortence lingered at a pier-glass to pinch colour into her cheeks. Smoothing her ruffles, she flounced into the dining room. *You keep an odd household here, sir!'

*Hmm? What is it?' Betsy asked woozily. *Oh, Eppie. Do you want me to shove off?'

Genevieve kissed her. The skin on the old lady's cheek felt as thin and fragile as damp silk. *Of course not. Go back to sleep.'

Lady Wexcombe descended upon the chair at the head of the table, settling like a black hen upon a clutch of eggs.

Taking the seat at the opposite end, Gabriel groaned from the stiffness in his legs and arms. *I rather think I overdid my ride today.'

Genevieve shifted uneasily when Martha, wearing a bibbed apron and cap, entered to help Duncan bring in the first course of fresh salmon and mashed potatoes in scallop shells. As becoming of a servant, Martha kept her eyes lowered when in the presence of the gentry. Having laid the food, she quit the room.

*You will miss your estate at Helsell?' the parson asked Permelia. He motioned for the wine to be served. Duncan presented a glass to the butler, who poured the wine at the side-table.

*There is much to lament. My sister and I have known no other home. When we were children we held tea parties for our friends in the summerhouse. It was an ornamental cottage, artificially rural with a thatched roof. Of course, it was equipped with every necessary comfort.'

*Many a cottager would welcome such a dwelling,' Genevieve said.

With much grunting, Betsy rose. *More fool me for sitting here. Though this chair's softer on me piles, it's far too low.'

*Would you feel more comfortable here?' Genevieve asked, rising and letting Betsy take her seat beside Lady Wexcombe.

*Ah, this is better. More like the hard benches at the poorhouse, though they had no backs.'

Genevieve went to sit beside Permelia, the footman drawing back the chair for her.

*Oh my!' Lady Wexcombe said, fanning her nose against the odour drifting from Betsy. *Have you ever considered sucking lozenges to freshen your breath?'

*Can't say I have. What about you?' Setting her work out on the tablecloth, she began cutting throngs from a piece of leather, for use as laces, Lady Wexcombe looking on in disgust.

*Never be short of thwang, that's what I always say. Your Wakelin was always glad of the ones I made for his boots.' She chuckled at her memories. *I remember you as a bairn, Eppie. After your ma had her accident we took a walk to the river, remember? We saw her.'

Genevieve was so astonished that her spine tingled. *You saw her?'

*Saw whom?' Lady Wexcombe asked.

Betsy pointed into the garden with her clasp knife. *A dead face.'

Genevieve and Gabriel turned to see Talia staring in at the window, no flicker of emotion showing in her ashen face.

*Your lordship,' Lady Wexcombe appealed, *I request that you eject this low woman from the room. Although I do not admit to knowing what she is, it is quite clear to me that she has a blight of the brain.'

*You knew didn't you?' Genevieve asked Betsy, startled. *All this time?'

*When Wakelin had his falling-fit by that old granary I guessed that he'd taken you from the manor house. Martha's bairn had looked sickly. I didn't tell her at the time, but I was worried that the baby might not make it through the night.'

*Why did you keep this from me?'

*I kept quiet because I guessed it would come to this. Her sort. Her n' *er cacklin' brood.'

Duncan stood behind the parson, holding his glass for him in case the contents should spill on the pristine tablecloth.

The parson beckoned the gloved footman to approach so that he might take a further sip. *Hannah is no doubt finding you useful in the kitchen?' he asked Betsy.

*Hogweed.'

*I beg your pardon?'

*That's what yer eating.' Dipping into a serving dish, Betsy fished out a tender shoot and sucked it noisily with her almost toothless gums. *First thing this morning I went out gathering.'

*Most pleasant,' the parson said, *rather like asparagus.'

*I wun't know.'

*Have you ever visited Bath, Lady Genevieve?' Permelia asked. *We hope, eventually, to take up residence there.'

*I can't say that I have, though I know my mother benefited from the waters.'

*Now that Lady Genevieve is to come out in society,' Permelia said to her mother, doing her best to ignore Betsy, *she must be introduced to gentlemen of wealth.'

With her fork, Genevieve stabbed a shallot in her serving of stuffed roast veal. *I don't give a hoot about riches.' Aware of Catesby's eyes fixed on her, she added, *Nor gentlemen, come to that, neither.'

*Nonsense,' Hortence said, *any unmarried woman in her early twenties will die a spinster. Mother, when we next attend the Assembly Hall in Bath you really must chaperone Lady Genevieve.'

*I will be delighted,' Lady Wexcombe conceded, knowing that, as an impoverished widow of noble blood she would be entitled to payment for such an undertaking from Gabriel. *One meets many notable families at such engagements. Your lordship must also become acquainted with a diversity of well-connected society people, from which you will be able to select a wife.'

*I am bound to my mill manager's great-niece.'

At this devastating news, Permelia's fluttering eyelashes stilled.

Parson Lowford drank liberally from his fifth glass of wine. *Now you have returned to your rightful home, Lady Genevieve, you should not feel guilty about, hic, bless me, living the high life. The bible prescribes joy as a means to, hic, righteousness.'

Clutching a sparkling, quartz bowl of jelly, Betsy gave it a vigorous wobble. *I whipped this up with a dollop of cow hoof gel. See *em things bobbin' about? *em's crystallised lemons.'

*It is quite the place to be seen,' Hortence said.

*What is?' Genevieve asked.

*Bath. There are well-paved roads, a magnificent Town Hall, luxurious stores and fine statues.'

Tiring of the affected conversation, Genevieve knowingly stirred trouble. *Not like how I lived in Rotten Yard, with its open sewers and everything as mucky as sin.'

Lady Wexcombe gripped her neck as though in excruciating pain.

Hortence glared at Genevieve. *You have much to learn of what is deemed polite conversation and what is not.'

*Your ladyship is unwell?' Gabriel enquired.

*I am at the mercy of carbuncles. No remedies my physician ministers have the slightest benefit.'

Embittered by her treatment at the hands of the privileged class, Betsy chose not to mince her words when speaking to insufferable members of the aristocracy and would happily go further; seeking to aggravate those whom she believed merited no regard. She dunked a roast potato into a steaming gravy boat. *Suck a dead frog; it's the best cure for an abscess.'

*You vile individual!' Lady Wexcombe cried.

*Don't call Betsy vile,' Genevieve said angrily.

*Such a creature as this woman is lower than a dog,' Lady Wexcombe declared, *and should not even be permitted at the table.'

Genevieve glowered at Lady Wexcombe. *Privilege has made you self-righteous and shallow-minded to say such a thing to Betsy.'

*Genevieve,' Gabriel said, raising his hand by way of warning to silence. *Perhaps, Betsy, it would be better if you left the table? I only ask because it upsets me to hear you slighted.'

*Simply because Betsy has had a hard life, that doesn't mean you have the right to insult her,' Genevieve told Lady Wexcombe. *I wonder whether you have ever reflected upon the wasted lives of the poor, or felt compelled to help those worse off than yourself. Have you ever thought about how workers are crowded together in atrocious working and living conditions in towns, or given a thought to the dreadful diseases that afflict the underprivileged?'

*Such individuals are simply the servants of the affluent,' Lady Wexcombe replied haughtily. *I cannot imagine in what manner their lives can be wasted.' Pursing her lips, she considered the hefty choice of which dessert to select: peaches, nectarines, brandy cherries or chocolate-coated filberts.

*The poor are thinking people, with feelings like you,' Genevieve declared passionately.

*That I very much doubt. Now, your lordship, my furniture, when it arrives I insist that your footmen store it in the Green Room. They will be careful? I have several antiques worth hundreds of pounds.'

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR.

INFURIATING REMEDIES.

Making much of her aches and pains, Lady Wexcombe repaired to bed. Her chamber, last occupied by Genevieve's mother, resembled an intimate sitting room, the bed sumptuously overflowing with cushions.

Genevieve and Betsy, almost constant companions at her bedside, were adamant that the lady was feigning illness. Betsy had procured several cures, none of which would her ladyship entertain. Not only had she refused to endure the sheep's lung upon her feet, she had declined to drink the blackcurrant and dung cordial.

Old habits dying hard, Betsy sat at a mahogany table hollowing turnips ready to place lighted candles in their cavities. Cupping her hand to her mouth, she whispered to Genevieve, *If she was really ill she'd have eaten that butter-coated harvest spider.'

*It was rather immense,' Genevieve said. *It even made me shudder. Maybe we ought to try something less invasive?'

*Rusty coffin nails are admirable for creaky bones. They couldn't do no more harm than them powdered pearls she swills.'

*Don't you think you are infuriating Lady Wexcombe a little with all your homespun remedies?'

*Only a little? I must try harder. You can't laugh, young miss. I've heard you lapse into the cottage tongue. Don't tell me that's not meant to annoy them?'

*You are extremely astute, Betsy.'

*What are you two scheming about?' Lady Wexcombe asked. *Come, Genevieve, I am in need of conversation.'