The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
faint, and also great alarm at the prospect of facing people, and in particular a stranger.
Adam closed the door softly behind him. He was considerably surprised. It was a major achievement for him to have wrested Edwin from her clinging hands with so little opposition. In a way, even her momentary show of spirit had been a relief to him. Usually her entreaties to keep Edwin at her side were accompanied by floods of tears, vapourish swoonings, and the most irrational display of hysterics that he always found himself incapable of dealing with. The scenes in the past had been insupportable and had mortified him.
Emma, working in the bedroom, had not been able to avoid overhearing this conversation, even though she never consciously eavesdropped, as the other servants often did. She finished making the bed and pursed her lips and thought: Poor woman. He’s such a bully, and so mean ter her. Like he is ter everybody.
Although Emma’s hatred for Adam Fairley was unreasonable and without any foundation, it was quite real. So was her enormous dislike for Gerald, who never lost an opportunity to torment her. But she held no grudge against Edwin, who was always sweet with her, and she did respect Olivia Wainright. Now she wondered if she had been uncharitable about Mrs Fairley earlier, and she paused, clutching a silk pillow to her chest, and thought hard about this. Perhaps it’s him that makes her act queer, she said to herself. He gets her ever so flustered and upset. Maybe that’s why she’s always forgetting stuff and things, and walks around in a flipping daze. Emma replaced the silk pillow, smoothed it over, and pulled up the eau-de-Nil green coverlet made of heavy satin, her mind still lingering on Adele Fairley’s strange ways. A rush of sympathy for Adele flowed through her and quenched the feelings of anger mixed with animosity she had been harbouring, and for some reason, quite unknown to herself, Emma felt decidedly happier about this change of heart.
Emma was dusting the Venetian glass-and-mirrored dressing table in front of the oriel window, humming to herself, when Adele walked into the room. Her face was tense with concern and her cheekbones stood out starkly, sharp ridges under her eyes, which were clouded with misery. Her anxiety about the impending dinner party had forced her to push aside both the desperate desire to retreat into herself and her longing for the soothing whisky. In his present unrelenting mood, Adam struck terror in her heart, and it was imperative that she made an appearance that evening and behaved with decorum and dignity. Whatever it cost her in effort, she must be controlled and at ease and charming, and no one must have the slightest inkling of her emotional turmoil.
Then the cunning in Adele surfaced and she smiled to herself. She had a card up her sleeve and it was always a winning card. Her beauty. Adele knew that her incredible looks never failed to stun people. So much so that their attention was deflected from the idiosyncrasies of her personality, which otherwise might be quickly detected. She decided she must look absolutely breathtaking at the dinner. She would hide behind the facade of her beauty.
She hurried to the wardrobe, which Emma had just restored to order, and opened the huge double doors impatiently. Emma’s heart sank into her boots. She had an instant picture of Adele scattering the clothes all over the room again, and she looked up and said quickly, ‘I put all yer clothes away, proper like, Mrs Fairley. Is there summat yer looking for? Summat in particular like?’ Startled, Adele turned around abruptly. She had forgotten Emma was in the bedroom. ‘Oh! Emma. Yes. I am wondering what to wear for the dinner party tonight. Quite important people have been invited, you know.’ She rustled through the gowns and went on in a querulous tone, ‘You will be here to help me dress, won’t you, Emma? You know I can’t possibly manage without you.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, ’stead of having me time off as usual, ’cos of the dinner,’ said Emma quietly.
‘Thank goodness!’ Adele cried with relief, and continued her search for an appropriate gown. The fact that Emma had been forced to forgo her weekend at home with her family failed to register or make the slightest impression on Adele. She was only concerned with herself. Finally her hands lighted on a gown and she pulled it out, holding it up to show Emma. Lately, Adele had found it difficult to make decisions without conferring with Emma, and she now elicited her advice about the dress she was holding.
‘Do you think this is beautiful enough?’ she asked, pressing the gown against her body. ‘I must look my best tonight – outstanding, in fact.’
Emma moved away from the dressing table and stood in front of Adele. She cocked her head on one side and screwed up her eyes, looking at the dress carefully and critically. She knew the gown was expensive and that it had come from Worth. Mrs Fairley had told her that before. And it was beautiful, all rippling white satin and delicate lace. Yet Emma did not really like it. She thought it was too fussy and not at all flattering to Mrs Fairley.
After a few moments’ thoughtful consideration, Emma said, ‘Well, it is beautiful, ma’am. But I think it’s a bit – a bit pale for yer, if yer don’t mind me saying so. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley. It makes yer look ever so washed out, so ter speak, next ter yer pale skin and with yer blonde hair.’
The pleasant expression on Adele’s face dissolved and she glared at Emma. ‘But what will I wear? This is a new gown, Emma. I have nothing else that is at all appropriate.’
Emma smiled faintly. There must be at least a hundred gowns Adele could choose from and all of them very beautiful.
‘What yer need is summat more – more—’ Emma paused, searching her mind for a word. She thought of the illustrated magazines she had read that showed photographs of the latest fashions, and the word she needed instantly flashed into her mind. ‘Yer need summat more elegant, that’ll make heads turn. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley, and I knows just the right dress.’ She ran to the wardrobe and pulled out a gown made of black velvet. It was the ideal colour to show off Adele’s beautiful ivory complexion and the lustrous silvery-gold hair. Then Emma frowned as she looked at it again. It was trimmed with blood-red roses that swathed one shoulder and fell down the side of the gown in a long trail.
‘This is the one,’ she exclaimed with absolute sureness, and added, ‘If I tek them there roses off.’
Adele stared at her in horror and disbelief. ‘Remove the roses! You can’t possibly do that. You’ll ruin the dress. And anyway, without the roses it will look too drab.’
‘No, it won’t, Mrs Fairley, ma’am. Honest, it won’t. It’ll look more elegant. It will. I just knows it will. And yer can wear that luvely necklet, the sparkling one, and them there earbobs. And I’ll put yer hair up in that pompadour style I copied for yer, from the picture in the magazine yer showed me last week. Oh, yer’ll look ever so luvely in this dress, Mrs Fairley, yer will really.’
Adele seemed doubtful and sat down heavily on the green satin chaise, frowning and biting her lip. Emma flew to the dressing table, picked up a pair of nail scissors, and, undeterred by Adele’s cry of protest, she expertly cut the stitches holding the roses in place.
‘Look, now it’s really elegant, Mrs Fairley,’ exclaimed Emma excitedly, pulling off the roses unceremoniously. She held up the gown with a triumphant flourish.
Adele was furious. ‘You’ve ruined it!’ she gasped, her voice shrill. ‘And it is drab! Just as I said it would be.’ For once she was angry with Emma and her eyes blazed.
‘It won’t be drab when yer gets it on, and with yer beautiful jewels,’ Emma said firmly, ignoring the small burst of anger. ‘And if yer wants, I’ll sew them blinking roses back on later. But first we’ll try it this way, Mrs Fairley. Please,’ she pleaded.
Adele was silent, her face like a thundercloud, and she gave Emma a petulant look as she twisted her hands nervously together in her lap.
‘I can put them roses back on in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, when I helps yer ter get ready. So don’t worry about it, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma reassuringly.
‘Well – all right,’ said Adele reluctantly, somewhat pacified, although still pouting.
Emma smiled confidently. ‘I’ll pop it back in the wardrobe for now.