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.
for yer, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Adele dully, still worrying about the dinner. Emma returned the gown to the wardrobe and hurried into the bathroom.
Adele went to her dressing table and took out the red velvet case that contained her diamond necklace, bracelets, and matching earrings. She lifted out the necklace and held it up to her throat. Its shimmering brilliance caused her to draw in her breath in surprise. She had forgotten how magnificent it was and, now that she thought about it, the black velvet gown would set it off perfectly. Perhaps Emma had been right, after all, in her choice. Adele smiled with delight. She would look so ravishing tonight even Adam would be speechless.
Later that day, when Emma finished her general chores, she returned to the upstairs sitting room with afternoon tea for Adele Fairley. Adele had declined to come down for lunch, claiming a headache and fatigue, and so Emma had taken great care with the tea, being determined to make Mrs Fairley eat something to keep up her strength for the important evening that lay ahead. Having overheard the conversation between Adele and Adam, and later witnessing Adele’s concern over her gown, Emma had intuitively sensed her apprehension about the dinner party. She felt protective of Adele, now that her sympathetic feelings were restored, and she wanted to assuage Adele’s nervousness as best she could. Pampering her a little was the only way Emma knew how to do this.
For these reasons, even though she was more overworked than usual because of the dinner party, Emma had painstakingly prepared some of the things Adele enjoyed for tea, hoping to tempt her jaded appetite. There were tiny cucumber sandwiches and others filled with egg, cream crackers spread with shrimp paste, hot buttered scones, home-made cherry jam, Cook’s delicious shortbread biscuits and Eccles cakes. She had also made a huge pot of the tea Mrs Fairley preferred, although Emma didn’t know how she could drink it. To Emma it tasted funny, like smokey water, and not at all like real tea, even if it was expensive and was specially ordered from Fortnum and Mason in London. But there was no accounting for the tastes of the rich, Emma decided, as she trudged up the staircase with the tea tray. They ate and drank the strangest things, to her way of thinking. She liked good plain food herself, and didn’t hold with fancy dishes and rich sauces and peculiar delicacies, which never tempted her. She also believed the gentry ate too many meals with too many courses. To Emma it was disgusting the way they gorged themselves gluttonously like ravenous pigs. No wonder they suffered from indigestion and were liverish and bad-tempered. It was all that food and drink that did it. Even when I make me fortune, I’ll still eat simple, she commented to herself as she went into Mrs Fairley’s rooms.
Adele had been resting all afternoon. She was still lying in the great fourposter bed, propped up against the pile of pale green pillows, reading the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, when Emma entered the room and carried the tray over to the bed. Adele looked up from the newspaper and smiled sweetly.
‘I’m glad you suggested I take a rest,’ said Adele, adjusting her position against the pillows. ‘I slept for quite a long time and I do feel more rested and refreshed for tonight, just as you said I would, Emma.’ She smiled again and there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes.
Emma stared at Adele intently. The tense lines that had etched her mouth with anxiousness that morning had vanished. Her face was relaxed and calm, and her eyes were so clear and bright they were almost merry. Even the badly swollen lids had lost their red puffiness and the deathly pallor had been replaced by a delicate glow that perfectly reflected the pale pink satin nightgown she wore.
Why, she looks ever so beautiful, Emma thought, and said, ‘I’ve brought yer summat ter eat, Mrs Fairley. Yer must be right famished, seeing as how yer didn’t have owt since breakfast. Try and get summat down yer, even if it’s only a few mouthfuls.’ She placed the tray next to Adele on the bed and continued, ‘I even made that funny tea yer like.’
Adele laughed and for once there was gaiety in her voice. ‘You mean the Lapsang Souchong, Emma. Thank you.’
‘Yes, that’s it. Lapsang Souchong—’ Emma repeated slowly, and hesitated. Then she said questioningly, ‘Do I say it proper like, ma’am?’
‘You do indeed,’ asserted Adele, somewhat amused, as she poured a cup for herself.
Emma smiled slightly. She liked to learn things, for future reference. She would need to know a lot when she went to Leeds to make her fortune. Now she cleared her throat and said, ‘Begging yer pardon, Mrs Fairley, but I’d like ter look at yer dress again, if yer don’t mind. I wants ter be sure that there’s nowt wrong with it. That there’s nowt that needs fixing. I wants it ter be perfect for the dinner. Will I be in yer way?’
‘Of course not, Emma. And if it does need anything done to it, you may stay here and work. You don’t have to go up to your room. But I’m sure it’s not damaged. I’ve hardly worn it, you know,’ said Adele.
Whilst Adele had her tea, Emma took out the black velvet gown and examined it minutely for any defects. It was in beautiful condition, except for a loose hook and a few torn stitches on the hemline of the train where Mrs Fairley had obviously caught her heel. Emma also noticed there were lots of dangling threads visible down the side of the gown, where she had cut off the roses. She would have to pull the threads out gently, she realized, in order not to damage the expensive black velvet.
Emma carried the gown to the chaise and began to work on it with great care, for she was a perfectionist and gave every task her undivided attention. She was glad to sit down for a while. She had been run off her feet all day and she was facing a long and arduous evening, since she was to help Murgatroyd serve the dinner. She relaxed as she worked and the tiredness she had been experiencing earlier gradually began to evaporate.
A certain kind of compatibility had developed between Emma and Mrs Fairley in the last few months. Disparate as they were in background and age, they were curiously at ease with each other, and although this understanding was unexpressed, it was, none the less, valid. The girl intuitively sensed the older woman’s terrible anguish, and despite her youth and inexperience, she recognized the tragedy of Adele’s life. Quite automatically and without much forethought, Emma knew how to behave properly around her and without underscoring or feeding Adele’s extreme anxiety in any way. On her part, Adele had grown to like Emma, whom she found patient, kind, and unobtrusive when she worked in the suite of rooms. Adele also thought Emma was pretty and this pleased her, for she could not abide ugliness. And so an aura of peace enveloped them as they sat together in the room, the young girl passively sewing, the older woman partaking of her afternoon tea.
The bedroom was filled with the mellowest of lights that flooded through the tall windows, and the fire crackled and blazed in the grate, giving off a cheery glow that was both warming and comforting. The pale watery apple-green silk that covered the walls, swathed the windows, and fell down in rippling cascades from the four corners of the carved oak bed created a cool and restful effect, one that gave Emma a sense of tranquillity and, since the bedroom was not as cluttered with bric-à-brac as the adjoining sitting room, she also found it less overpowering and irritating to be in.
And it was certainly more restful than the kitchen she had just left, which was full of hot bustle, flying tempers, and all manner of frantic goings-on. Annie, the between maid, was assisting Cook with the preparation of the food for the dinner, which was such an elaborate meal even Annie’s mother had been engaged to help out for the evening. Mrs Wainright had planned a wonderful menu, they all agreed on that, even though Cook kept grumbling that things were getting a little too fancy for her liking. Emma suspected that Mrs Turner’s little tantrums, temperamental outbursts, and complaining sprang from her extreme nervousness about coping with such an intricate meal. Although Mrs Turner always claimed that good solid Yorkshire cooking was her great speciality, Emma had long comprehended that it was her entire repertoire.
As she pulled out the threads, Emma thought about that menu and laughed to herself quietly, as she recalled Mrs Turner’s face when she had read it that morning. Her eyes had stood out on stalks and she had huffed and puffed