Kate Morton - The House at Riverton aka The Shifting Fog

‘Would you like to take your tea, ma’am?’ I said.

No answer.

‘Or perhaps I could have the chauffeur bring the car around?’

I came closer and I realised Hannah had not heard. She was in company with her own thoughts and I could guess at them without much trouble. She wore an expression I hadn’t seen since she was a girl: when David would leave Riverton for school. Wave goodbye and leave her for a place she imagined full of adventure and learning and challenge.

I cleared my throat and she looked up. When she saw me, she cheered somewhat. ‘Hello, Grace,’ she said.

I repeated my question then, about where she’d like her tea.

‘The morning room,’ she said. ‘But tell Mrs Tibbit not to worry about scones. I’m not hungry. It doesn’t seem right to eat alone.’

‘And after, ma’am?’ I said. ‘Shall I have the car brought around?’

Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘If I have to tolerate one more round of the park I’ll go mad. I don’t understand how the other wives stand it. Do they truly have nothing better to do than be driven in the same circles, day in, day out?’

‘Would you like to sew perhaps, ma’am?’ I knew she would not. Hannah’s constitution had never been suited to stitching. It took a patience at odds with her temperament.

‘I’m going to read, Grace,’ she said. ‘I’ve a book with me.’ And she held up her well-worn copy of Jane Eyre .

‘Again, ma’am?’

She shrugged, smiled. ‘Again.’

I don’t know why that troubled me so, but it did. It rang some small bell of warning that I didn’t know how to heed.

Teddy worked hard; I was never sure exactly what he and his father did, only that it involved briefcases, and busy low voices, and the entertaining of various ‘important people’. Hannah made an effort, as Teddy asked. She attended his parties, made chitchat with the wives of business associates and the mothers of politicians. The talk amongst the men was always the same-of money, business, the threat of the underclasses. Teddy and Simion, like all men of their type, were profoundly suspicious of those they termed ‘bohemians’.

Hannah would have preferred to talk real politics with the men. Sometimes, when she and Teddy had retired for the night to their adjoining suites and I was brushing out her hair, Hannah would ask him what so and so had said about the declaration of martial law in Ireland, and Teddy would look at her with weary amusement and tell her not to worry her pretty head. That’s what he was for.

‘But I want to know,’ Hannah would say. ‘I’m interested.’

And Teddy would shake his head. ‘Politics is a man’s game.’

‘Let me play,’ Hannah would say.

‘You are playing,’ he would answer. ‘We’re on a team, you and I. It’s your job to look after the wives.’

‘But it’s boring. They’re boring. I want to talk about important things. I don’t see why I can’t.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Teddy would say simply. ‘Because it’s the rules. I didn’t make them, but I have to stick to them.’ He would smile then and chip her shoulder. ‘It’s not all bad, eh? At least you’ve got Dobby to help. She’s a sport, isn’t she?’

Hannah had little choice then but to nod grudgingly. It was true: Deborah was always on hand to help. Would continue to be now she’d decided not to return to New York. A London magazine had offered her a position writing society fashion pages and how could she resist? A whole new city of ladies to decorate and dominate? She would be staying with Hannah and Teddy until she found a suitable place of her own. After all, as Deborah herself had said, there was no reason to hurry. Number seventeen was a large home with plenty of rooms to spare. Especially while there were no children.

In November of that year, Emmeline came to London for her sixteenth birthday. It was her first visit since Hannah and Teddy’s marriage, and Hannah had been looking forward to it. She spent the morning waiting in the drawing room, hurrying to the window whenever a motor car slowed outside, only to return, disappointed, to the sofa when it proved a false alarm.

In the end, she had grown so despondent she missed it. She didn’t realise Emmeline had arrived until Boyle knocked on the door and made his announcement.

‘Miss Emmeline to see you, ma’am.’

Hannah squealed and jumped to her feet as Boyle showed Emmeline into the room. ‘Finally!’ she said, hugging her sister tightly. ‘I thought you’d never get here.’ She stepped back and turned to me. ‘Look, Grace, doesn’t she look beautiful?’

Emmeline gave a half-smile then quickly schooled her mouth back into a sulky pout. Despite her expression, or perhaps because of it, she was beautiful. She’d grown taller and thinner and her face had gained new angles that drew attention to her full lips and large round eyes. She had mastered the attitude of tired disdain which suited so perfectly her age and era.

‘Come, sit down,’ Hannah said, leading Emmeline to the sofa. ‘I’ll call for tea.’

Emmeline slumped into the corner of the sofa and, when Hannah turned away, smoothed her skirt. It was a plain dress of a season ago; someone had attempted to refashion it into the newer, looser style but it still wore the telltale marks of its original architecture. When Hannah turned back from the service bell, Emmeline stopped fussing and cast an exaggeratedly nonchalant gaze around the room.

Hannah laughed. ‘Oh, Deborah chose everything. It’s hideous isn’t it?’

Emmeline raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly.

Hannah sat next to Emmeline. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said. ‘We can do anything you like this week. Tea and walnut cake at Gunter’s, we can see a show.’

Emmeline shrugged, but her fingers, I could see, were working again at her skirt.

‘We could visit the museum,’ said Hannah. ‘Or take a look at Selfridge’s-’ She hesitated. Emmeline was nodding half-heartedly. Hannah laughed uncertainly. ‘Listen to me, going on,’ she said. ‘You’ve only just got here and I’m already planning the week. I’ve hardly let you get a word in. Haven’t even asked you how you are.’

Emmeline looked at Hannah. ‘I like your dress,’ she said finally, then tightened her lips as if she’d broken some resolution.

It was Hannah’s turn to shrug. ‘Oh, I’ve a wardrobe full of them,’ she said. ‘Teddy brings them home when he’s been abroad. He believes a new dress makes up for missing the trip itself. Why would a woman go abroad except to buy dresses? So I’ve a wardrobe full and nowhere to-’ She caught herself, realising, and bit back a smile. ‘Far too many dresses for me ever to wear.’ She eyed Emmeline casually. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to take a look? See if there’s anything you’d like? You’d be doing me a favour, helping me to clear some space.’

Emmeline looked up quickly, unable to mask her excitement. ‘I suppose I could. If it would be a help.’

Hannah let Emmeline add ten Parisian dresses to her luggage, and I was set to making better alterations to the clothing she had brought with her. I suffered a wave of homesickness for Riverton as I unpicked Myra’s perfunctory stitches. I hoped she wouldn’t take my revisions as personal affronts.

Things between the sisters improved after that: Emmeline’s slump of disaffection vanished, and by the end of the week things were much as they’d always been. They’d relaxed back into an easy friendship, each as relieved as the other by the return to the status quo. I was relieved as well: Hannah had been entirely too glum of late. I hoped the elevation of spirits would outlast the visit.

On Emmeline’s final day, she and Hannah sat at either end of the morning-room sofa, waiting for the car from Riverton. Deborah, on her way to a meeting of her bridge club, was at the writing desk, back turned, sketching a hurried note of condolence for a bereaved pal.