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CHAPTER VIII

At last, Fanny was able to return to her beloved Godmersham, for the joys of Twelfth Night.

‘Darling!’ Lizzie flung her arms around Fanny’s neck.

‘Dearest!’ Marianne took her hand and pulled her towards the blazing hearth in the great hall.

‘How was your first Christmas without us?’ Lizzie took her cloak and passed it over to Johncock. ‘Were you so sad you could die ?’

Fanny looked behind her to check that Sir Edward was not yet in earshot, but the front door was still open – there seemed to be some dispute about horses – and the coast was clear. ‘It passed well enough,’ Fanny whispered, while fiddling with the ribbons beneath her chin and removing her bonnet. ‘The children behaved nicely.’ They had barely said a word. ‘Lady Banks was convivial.’ She did not stop talking. ‘And we went twice to church!’ She turned back to her sisters with a brave and bright smile, but could not help adding: ‘It was nowhere near as heavenly as being here with you.’ She patted her hair. ‘Tell me honestly: how was yours without me ?’

The girls exchanged glances.

‘Honestly?’

‘Of course!’ Fanny stood up on tiptoe to catch herself in the glass. ‘You know I want for nothing but you all to be happy.’

‘In which case—’

‘Our Christmas was glorious!’ They both squealed at high pitch: a rat, say, on meeting a stoat.

‘We all had the loveliest time.’

‘Excellent.’ Fanny turned her attention to the smoothing down of her skirts. ‘That is good to know.’

‘But, oh!’ Marianne put her arm through Fanny’s. ‘We did so miss you, Fan.’ She started to guide Fanny through to the library. ‘Shall we go through and coze?’

‘If you’ll excuse me, I might have a rest before dinner.’ Fanny instead headed through to the staircase. ‘I take it, Marianne, I have my usual room?’

She was so lucky – that is what Fanny kept telling herself as she lay on her old bed, looked up at the silk drapes she once used to sleep under and blinked back the tears. Look at the difference in her position from last year to this! A solicitous husband – really, the kindest of men, at all the right moments. He might be irascible with others – she reached into her bodice and took out her handkerchief – but never with Fanny. He loved her! Already, Sir Edward loved her. And, in truth, she was becoming quite used to him; fond, indeed. Certainly, a sense of companionship had grown up between them.

And Mersham-le-Hatch was an excellent house. Yes, it might be a little tired in places, but, thanks to Lady Banks, the ceiling had been secured and renovations were due to begin in the New Year. It would soon return to its glory with Fanny as its mistress. And, most importantly, it was almost close by: just a horse ride away. How many brides get to stay so near to home, once they are wed?

Moreover, by some great quirk of good fortune, Fanny somehow seemed to have almost doubled her family, while halving her responsibilities. She was still in constant touch with all her darling Knights, but it was dear Marianne who ran the house and their lives now – and seemed to do so perfectly well. Certainly, Fanny was rarely asked for advice, or minded to offer it.

And as for the stepchildren – well, they barely impinged. Poor Norton had now followed his father to Winchester College – a sticky start, she gathered, but no doubt he would settle down there, in time; Wyndham was gone to prep school; the two little ones lodged out with a master and rarely came home. And now, Sir Edward had hired some splendid governess to take over Mary. Of course, Fanny would still be – to all intents and purposes – the girl’s mother, and from now on they would be spending as much time together as they possibly could. The new governess would merely provide that little bit extra. Really, what could be more pleasant and easy? So why was she was so tired all the time, and generally feeble? There was no earthly excuse for it.

She rang for Sayce, and determined to pull herself together.

‘Good morning, Marianne my dear.’ Fanny placed dish back in saucer, and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. ‘Of course, we two are the first down.’ She smiled and rolled her eyes in a gesture of sympathy. ‘No rest for us!’

‘Do you have a busy day ahead, Fanny?’ Marianne ran an eye over the breakfast provisions, lifted a dome to check the warmth of the pork. ‘I hope you find some time to relax .’ She sat down and flicked through her pile of letters.

Fanny felt nervous. There was nothing aggressive in Marianne’s demeanour, but her words could – if one were so minded – be thought of as hostile. Of course, it was true that she was there as a guest and not, in fact, busy at all. No doubt it was annoying of her to pretend that she was. All the same, Fanny must acknowledge that something had happened to Marianne. Her sweetest little sister was definitely changed.

‘I must thank you,’ Fanny began in an exploratory fashion, ‘for having Mary Dorothea here these past months. It has been a great help to me, while I find my feet over at Hatch. I hope she has not proved too difficult a presence and has settled in well?’

‘We have found her a pleasant addition, and she seems to be as content here as could be hoped.’ Marianne spoke into the letter she was currently reading. ‘But perhaps she herself is the best person to ask?’ She looked up and over at Fanny. ‘Oh, but I am sure you already have.’

Had the maid provided sufficient hot water? Fanny made a great fuss of thumbing open silver lids and peering within.

‘Being such a talkative child—’

‘Mary Dorothea.’ Ah, hot water a-plenty. ‘Talkative.’ But was the milk cool? ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Indeed.’ Marianne put down her letter and turned her gaze on to her sister. ‘As she is well known to chat on almost for ever, and seemingly quite uninhibited when it comes to her feelings – almost frank, I am minded to say – there can be no doubt she would be honest with you . After all, you are her mama, are you not? But if for some reason that doesn’t suit, you might do worse than ask Cassy. The two girls are already the closest of friends.’ She arched one fine eyebrow. ‘As no doubt you are aware.’

So not only was Mary Dorothea famously garrulous, somehow she had also found a new friend in one of her sisters? Fanny could barely imagine it. At that moment, the heavy door opened and she was rescued by the arrival of the younger ones.

‘I do believe I love Twelfth Night even better than Christmas!’ Cassy was yawning and rubbing at her eyes. ‘I so wish Mary had been here, too. Do you know, her family has never celebrated it – is that not perfectly—’ She looked around the table, eyes wide with pity, then noticed Fanny and stopped herself. ‘Anyway, was I not quite the finest queen of all time?’

‘To the palace born, my dear.’ Marianne leaned over and put a dish of compote in front of her youngest sister. ‘Now eat up and sit up, or no prince will marry you, and then where will you be?’

‘And was I a good king?’ Brook – the youngest, gentlest and most timid of all the Knight brothers – seemed genuinely fearful of the response.

Ned swung into the breakfast room. ‘The complete Richard the Third, I would say.’ He ruffled Brook’s hair as he passed, before swooping down on a vast dish of ham.

‘Truly?’ Little Brook looked around, eyes alight: he was always quite desperate for any confirmation. ‘Was he one of the good ones?’

‘Marianne!’ called Ned over the ensuing uproar. ‘Care to remove this boy from his school at the earliest opportunity!’ He drew up a chair and flicked back his jacket. ‘It is somehow contriving to make him more stupid rather than less.’

All eleven of the Knight siblings reunited – was there a happier sight? Fanny looked around the table. Everyone, as ever, roaring with laughter at some joke of Ned’s, apart from Marianne, that is, who was fiddling with her curls and looking down at her plate. Perhaps she was simply tired, for which Fanny could hardly blame her. The Christmas season was exhausting for the woman in charge, especially when one was new to it.

Whatever it was, Fanny refused to worry herself. This was the most cheerful of mornings, after the most splendid Twelfth Night before. Sir Edward was out taking his constitutional; their papa was down at the farm. The Knights had always been happiest in their own company. This was like the old days: just them.

‘By the way.’ Ned reached for a muffin, tossed and then caught it. ‘Who is that waiting out in the hall? Sight for sore eyes, I must say. Rather a beauty. Thought of stopping for a quick flirt, until it suddenly occurred she might be someone’s fiancée.’ He practised a slow, overarm gesture. ‘William?’ He did a dummy throw. ‘Have you proposed at all lately?’ He then tossed the bun across the table. ‘Would hate to get in your way, old boy.’

George leaped out of his seat and caught it. ‘The Ashford Ball was quite the riot.’ He took a hearty bite. ‘It’s perfectly possible our Will did get himself wed and has clean forgot.’

‘Really, boys!’ In just ten short weeks, Fanny had become so used to the quiet life, the Godmersham breakfast room was giving her a headache. ‘I had forgotten how rowdy you get sometimes. Pipe down a little, I beg you.’ More baked goods now flew through the air. ‘Sir Edward will be joining us soon.’

The very mention was enough to bring silence to the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Fanny spied brothers exchanging glances and biting their lips. Ned’s shoulders were shaking. Possibly for the first time in her life, she wondered if they might be somewhat childish, and if it was not high time they grew up.

‘Anyway.’ Fanny folded her napkin and placed it neatly down by her plate. ‘You have reminded me.’ Rising, she waited a beat for a footman to draw out her chair. ‘The new governess is arriving at some point this morning. I must gather myself before the interview takes place.’ She proceeded to the door, bade them all a good morning.

And, as she did so, wondered who might be this beauty who had caught Ned’s eye?