Chapter One - Arrival at Wynleigh

The facade of the building was dazzlingly white, so much so that the reflected sunlight made it painful for Iphigenia to scrutinise Wynleigh House. She moved her parasol a little so that her eyes were shaded, and by squinting was able to make out large slabs of brilliant white masonry; long, fluted columns that rose ever upwards like fantastic trees made of sugar paste; and vast expanses of windows whose transparency was lost in mirroring the grandeur of the park in which the house sat.

Lady Adeline Ffouldes was still enraptured as they stood upon the snowy gravel drive. She gestured to a nearby topiary shrub in a classically styled pot. 'Marvellous! How neat and well-groomed! There is such satisfaction in seeing the coarser aspects of nature tamed into propriety. And nowhere will you see a finer example of it than at Wynleigh.' She turned to her daughter, 'Unlike at Elford where everything is allowed to grow wherever it likes,' she waved an irascible hand, dismissing the rustic attractions of the small estate that her children had grown up on. 'There is certainly nothing ...' she searched for the right word, savouring it when at last it came to her, '... cultivated to be found there.'

Iphigenia forebore to voice her own observations on the matter. What her mother considered as cultivation, she considered as a species of deceit. Everything was beautiful in its own way. Would it not be simpler to allow for variety in the forms of beauty? However, this was clearly not a view to which her mother was sympathetic, and all she could expect to receive for expounding this sentiment would be her mother's anger and to be, once again, reminded that she was a strange and vexatious child.

Kit had paid off the postillion and had overseen the unloading of the baggage. He had come up to his mother and sister by this time, and stood for a moment at the foot of the great snowy staircase that left to the entry doors. A moment was all it took for him to consider the imposing edifice before him and to remark to his parent, 'Well, perhaps not ma'am. What ought to be found here is someone to let us in. Shall we ring the bell?'

Lady Adeline was diverted from her admiration of her ancestral home by the horror that she felt at such an unbecoming suggestion. What would the Wynleigh party think of the Ffouldes if she allowed Christopher to do such a thing? It would make it seem as though they were too poor to bring any servants with them.

Wryly, the young gentleman observed, 'In that case, they would form a pretty accurate picture of us, then, because we are.'

Affronted, Lady Adeline drew herself up to her full height and frostily announced, 'We have Sally,' imbuing this modest and ageing lady's maid with sufficient grandeur to be the equivalent of a whole wing of servants.

Glancing around to where Sally stood awkwardly with the trunks and bandboxes, which she had accompanied in the second post-chaise, Kit concurred, 'So we do. And - not that I desire to appear to be a nitpicker, I hope - but from what I remember of all that schoolroom rot about grammar, in order to qualify as having servantS we need at least one more Sally.'

Lady Adeline could hardly speak for indignation.

While she was composing herself for speech, her son blithely continued, fanning himself with the beaver hat he held in his hand, 'And while one more Sally would do to serve Fij, that would still leave me high and dry. I'll be dashed if I'll have a female to shave me or shine my boots. Or to help me in and out of my coat, for that matter,' he added, much struck by the vision of being obliged to do just that. Then, further horror presented itself to his imagination, 'And what about my bath?'

Kit's brow wrinkled as he continued, 'I'm not at all sure how you persuaded me to come all the way down here without Dawlish. How the devil am I supposed to shift for myself? Why did nobody think of that when we were all adding up the pennies and paring the cheese, eh?'

Quietly, Iphigenia remarked, 'I seem to recollect Mama's assurance that our uncle would be pleased to spare us any and every expense that he could, and that we might rely on his being able to supply us with whatever kind of servants we might require.'

In an undertone to his sister, Kit replied, 'Yes, well! Very nice of her to make such assurances on his behalf. Did our aunt make this offer when she invited us?' He glanced at the house. 'Bet they'll use blacking on my boots and not champagne', he determined, glumly. Kit sighed, resigned to this probably fate, and smacked the curled brim of his hat against his hand.

Lady Adeline waved a hand for silence from her children, and for Sally to attend her.

With a brief glance at her mother, Iphigenia caught her brother's eye and shook her head in answer to his earlier question.

He rolled his eyes and, thrusting his hands in his pockets, began to scuff at the gravel. 'We're in it for sure,' he mumbled, in annoyance.

Poor, countrified Sally was required to make her way up the palatial staircase and to bravely ring the bell at the imposing entrance. She quailed when confronted by Waulmsley, the haughty butler of Wynleigh; but by considering this task just as much her duty as emptying her ladyship's pot each morning, and that Providence sent these trials to prepare us for the hereafter, and that she didn't have to enjoy it, only to obey, and who was she to question her betters, when all was said and done, she retained her courage.

Unfortunately for her, credit for this heroism was not to come Sally's way either from her employer or from Waulmsley. Being quite used to depressing the pretensions of even the most persistent and charming persons desirous of intruding on the Augen family at Wynleigh, it became apparent that admittance was not going to be granted.

Waulmsley had almost succeeded in closing the door in Sally's protesting face when Lady Adeline came striding up the stairs most purposefully. With her silk shawl and the feathers in her bonnet streaming out behind her, and brandishing her furled parasol most alarmingly, the erstwhile daughter of the house exclaimed, 'Now see here my good man! I am unaccustomed to such a reception. Be so good as to alert my sister-in-law, Lady Wynleigh, to our arrival. You will find that she is expecting us.' Lady Adeline concluded, her tone implying her expectation of instant compliance with her orders.

However, her ladyship had under-estimated Waulmsley. 'Lady Wynleigh has not indicated to me that she expects any visitors, ma'am. A fact to which her absence from home testifies.' He began to close the door.

Stubbornly, Lady Adeline continued, 'Nevertheless, we have been invited. I desire you to present my compliments, then, to Lord Wynleigh.'

With very cool politeness, Waulmsley replied, 'His lordship is currently busy.'

Visibly on the verge of losing her temper, Lady Adeline made her final attempt. 'I am his sister. I have no doubt that your master will spare me a few moments of his time.' She fixed Waulmsley with a determined and dire stare.

In the face of what promised to be a Scene of exactly the proportions that any genteel servant in his position wished to avoid, Waulmsley bowed - or, more accurately, inclined his head and shoulders to the smallest degree that civility would allow - desired Madam to wait in the Hall, and withdrew with all the dignity and disapproval that he could muster to apprise his lordship of the arrival of Visitors. By which, Lady Adeline understood that Waulmsley disapproved of her, and disbelieved her story of invitation.

It was fortunate that this knowledge deprived Lady Adeline of her powers of speech, or doubtless she would have attempted to disabuse the butler of his extremely unflattering notions regarding her consequence. As it was, she limited herself to an outraged sniff, and she and her entourage spent a few moments in the chill quiet of the entrance hall, admiring the landscapes and marble busts that decorated the plastered walls, as they divested themselves of hats, gloves, pelisses and overcoats.

At length, just as Kit was beginning to notice how uncomfortable was the bench he had chosen to sit on, and Iphigenia was beginning to wonder what drove her Augden antecedents to create everything out of any material as unforgiving as stone, the sound of footsteps approaching commanded the attention of all those waiting.

Around a corner, striding at a vigorous pace came a portly gentleman of late middle years, smiling heartily and rubbing his sausage-like hands together in an appreciative way. He was dressed in a cream-coloured waistcoat that was rather too tight for him, its gold buttons straining and its embroidered fruit trees distorted grotesquely across his paunch. His neckcloth was unfashionably plain, his collar-points almost embarrassingly modest and unstarched beneath the plump roll of his jowls. He was wearing blue knee-breeches, plain white stockings, and simple black shoes. Despite these Spartan touches, his over all impression was one of indulgence. The quaint cream-coloured wig that he wore sported several rolls of curls all over, and the pigtail at the back was tied with a gold lace. His complexion - very hectic in colour and very weathered in texture - suggested someone who enjoyed spending a great deal of time out of doors but who, when indoors, enjoyed spending their time seated by a roaring fire with a bottle or two of something red.

WHO IS THIS GENTLEMAN? FIND OUT SOON.