Page 59 of The Sun Sister

‘Thank you, Mr Jones. You’ve been very helpful.’

Cecily handed him a healthy five-dollar tip and the young man blushed and nodded at her appreciatively.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure looking after you, Miss Cecily, it truly has. Maybe I’ll meet you again on the return trip?’

‘I sure hope so, yes.’

The steward closed the cabin door behind him and Cecily went to sit in the chair by the porthole. As soon as she arrived at Woodhead Hall, she knew she must telephone her parents to let them know she was safe. It had all been a little hectic in the twenty-four hours before she’d left New York a week ago. Kiki’s maid had telephoned on the morning they were meant to leave to say her mistress had gone down with bronchitis. Her doctor had warned her it could turn into pneumonia if she didn’t stay in bed for a few days. Cecily had been happy to delay for as long as it took Kiki to recover, but Dorothea, having organised the visit to Woodhead Hall, had disagreed.

‘Kiki says her doctor is sure that she should be well enough to travel in a week’s time, which means she can meet you in England to board the flight to Kenya. You can still continue with your visit to Audrey and her family, Cecily. Audrey has made plans especially for your visit.’

So Cecily had set off from New York alone, and having been trepidatious at the thought, had actually enjoyed her days aboard ship. More than anything, it had built her confidence as she had been forced to make conversation with strangers over dinner and accept invitations to play cards (at which she was rather good) afterwards. There had also been at least three young men who had been keen to win her favour; it was almost as if, away from Manhattan where nobody knew who she was, she could finally be herself.

There was a knock on her cabin door and Mr Jones peered round it.

‘Your documents have been checked and the car’s pulled up alongside,’ he said, handing her back her passport, ‘and your trunk is loaded, Miss Cecily. Are you ready to go?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Jones.’

A biting cold wind hit her as she walked down the gangplank, the heavy fog blurring everything around her. The chauffeur helped her into the waiting Bentley and started the engine.

‘Are you comfortable, miss?’ he enquired as she settled herself into the plump leather seat. ‘There are extra blankets if you need them.’

‘I’m absolutely fine, thank you. How long is the drive?’

‘Depends on the fog, miss, but I’d say we’ll be at Woodhead Hall in two or three hours. There’s a flask of hot tea if you’re parched.’

‘Thank you,’ Cecily said again, wondering what on earth ‘parched’ meant.

In reality, the drive took well over three hours and she dozed on and off, unable to see anything of the English landscape through the fog. When she’d been to England before, Audrey had received Cecily and her parents at her grand London house in Eaton Square and then they had moved on to Paris. She only hoped the weather would clear a little so she could see something of the famed British countryside. Dorothea had visited her friend at her vast country estate in somewhere called West Sussex and pronounced it quite beautiful. But when the chauffeur pulled through a pair of large gates and announced that they’d arrived, it was almost dark and Cecily could only see the outline of an enormous gothic mansion sitting eerily against the dimming light behind it. As she approached the imposing porticoed front door, Cecily sighed in disappointment at the workman-like red brick facade. It wasn’t like any house she’d read about in Jane Austen’s books – they had all been mellow stone, whereas this looked like something out of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories.

The door was opened by a stately man that she almost took to be Audrey’s husband, Lord Woodhead, but who in fact announced himself to be the butler. Cecily walked into the vast hall, its centrepiece an impressive but rather ugly mahogany staircase.

‘Darling Cecily!’ Audrey – who was attractive and vivacious, just as Cecily remembered her – came to greet her. She kissed Cecily on both cheeks. ‘How was the voyage? I do so hate travelling across the ocean, don’t you? All those enormous waves – it can quite upset the digestion. Come, I will show you to your room, you must be completely exhausted. I’ve had the maid light the fire for you – dear Edgar can be quite frugal with the heating.’

Once installed in her room, Cecily sat warming her hands by the fire, surveying the stately four-poster bed. The room was utterly freezing, and she was glad her mother had forewarned her about the temperature in English country houses, making sure that she packed long johns and undershirts to keep her warm.

Even though Audrey had insisted that Cecily must be tired after the journey, she was feeling wide awake. Once the maid had unpacked her ‘England’ clothes and taken her gown off to be steamed for dinner that night, Cecily grabbed a woollen cardigan then opened the bedroom door and peered out along the corridor. She turned left and walked along it and by the time she came to the end of it, she had counted twelve doors. Walking back past her own bedroom, she then proceeded right along to the other end.

‘Twenty-four doors,’ she sighed, wondering how the maids remembered who was in which room, as there were no numbers on the outside of them like there were in hotels. Returning to her bedroom, she found the maid re-stoking her fire.

‘I’ve hung your dress in the wardrobe, miss, ready for tonight.’

‘Wardrobe?’

‘Yes, that,’ said the maid, pointing to the closet. ‘I’ve also drawn you a bath next door, miss, but it’s a bit nippy in there, so I’d dip in quick before the water freezes over, then get back in here to warm up by the fire.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

‘Will you be wanting any help with your hair, miss? I do ’er ladyship’s most nights. I’m a dab hand, I am.’

‘Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I can manage myself. And you are...?’

‘Me name’s Doris, miss. I’ll be back in a jiffy, once you’ve had your bath.’

Cecily felt nonplussed as she undressed and slipped on her robe to go next door to the bathroom. Doris seemed to be speaking a foreign language, but she certainly wasn’t wrong about the temperature of either the bathroom or the water. She was in and out of it as fast as she could and was just walking back to her bedroom when she saw a young man of about her age making his way down the corridor towards her.

Given her current frame of mind over Jack, Cecily was not in the mood for romanticising any male, but as he looked up and smiled at her, her heart rate increased. Beneath the floppy bangs of shiny black hair (worn far too long for a gentleman) a pair of large brown eyes, framed by girlishly thick lashes, appraised her.