Page 3 of Sunday's Child

‘You were my staunch companion then, even though you were so young. We had some adventures, though, didn’t we?’

Nancy giggled. ‘I remember the people in Clare Market throwing rotten tomatoes at us when you sang to them.’

‘That was so humiliating. The crowd on the previous day had clapped and cheered. They took a hat round and raised a few pennies to beg me to return.’

‘Then there was the trip to Paris. I don’t suppose I’ll ever experience anything like that again.’

‘I should hope not,’ Patricia said, laughing. ‘Being involved in a jewel robbery was not the highlight of my life.’

‘But Leo rescued us and brought us safely home.’

‘I’ll never forget that week being tossed about in a smelly fishing boat before we docked at Rockwood Quay.’ Patricia sighed. ‘I have to admit it was all very exciting, but being married to Leo makes up for everything I went through in the past. I never thought I’d say so, but I’m happy being a mill owner’s wife.’

‘Leo is a lovely man.’ Nancy nodded emphatically.

‘But what brings you here today, Nancy? I thought you would be busy getting everything together for your stay in London.’

‘I had to get away from the castle. Hester and Rosalind can’t agree on anything, even what garments I need to take with me. I’m not allowed to choose which servant will go with me, although I don’t really need a personal maid. What will the other girls think?’

‘Miss Maughfling’s Academy is quite select, Nancy. I dare say all the other young ladies will bring their maids. You don’t want to be left out, do you?’

‘No, but I’m afraid they will guess that I’m not really one of them. Hester has always told me I should know my place, and I should be below stairs with the other servants.’

Patricia’s pretty forehead creased in a frown. ‘Don’t say things like that, Nancy. You are as good as any of us. Who knows, your papa might have been a lord or even a wealthy businessman?’

‘Or a dustman or a chimney sweep,’ Nancy said ruefully. ‘What will happen to me when I’ve been polished? I don’t think I’ll be on the guest list for debutantes’ balls and the like.’

Patricia rose to her feet. ‘That’s nonsense. You are as good as, or even better than, the silly young things who think of nothing but fine clothes and catching a rich husband. Come with me.’

Nancy gazed up at her, uncomprehending. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I was planning on visiting Sylvia at Greystone Park. I want you to accompany me.’

‘But why me?’

‘You are as entitled to visit the local gentry as anyone. I want you to stop thinking of yourself as a servant. You have been given a wonderful opportunity to take your place in the world, so don’t throw it away.’

Nancy stood up. ‘I thought Miss Sylvia was very ill.’

‘She’s suffering from consumption, but today is her last day in Greystone Park for a while. Her uncle and aunt are taking her to Switzerland where the mountain air is supposed to be good for people with chest complaints. I’m going to wish her well.’

‘After the way she and Christina treated you when Sir Michael died, I’m surprised you want to have anything to do with them.’

‘That was years ago. I don’t miss being Lady Greystone. I far prefer being plain Mrs Leo Wilder.’

‘You certainly seem much happier now than you ever did.’

‘Can you imagine me as the Dowager Lady Greystone, living with my stepdaughter and her ghastly cousin, Martha Collins, and her companion, poor downtrodden Miss Moon?’ Patricia pulled a face. ‘I think there would have been blood on my hands in such circumstances. Far better to let it all go.’

Before Nancy had a chance to respond the door flew open and Fletcher barged into the parlour carrying a tray of lemonade.

‘Where are you going?’ Fletcher demanded crossly. ‘I squeezed six lemons to make this.’

‘Put it on the marble shelf in the larder, Fletcher. We’ll enjoy it later.’ Patricia picked up her bonnet and shawl, which lay in readiness on a chair by the door. ‘We have to go to Greystone Park to see Miss Sylvia before she leaves for the clinic in Switzerland.’

‘I wouldn’t spit on her if she was on fire,’ Fletcher said acidly. ‘That one deserves all she’s got.’

‘Don’t speak of her like that. Miss Sylvia is very ill. This is her last chance of a cure, so I think we could all be a little kinder to her.’