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.
I don’t want you collapsing from fatigue. Inform Murgatroyd that is my wish.’
‘Yes, ma’am. That’s kind of yer,’ said Emma. She felt guilty and ashamed for pretending to feel faint, and also for having lied to Mrs Wainright.
Olivia reached out and patted Emma’s shoulder. She shook her head in fond exasperation. ‘Sometimes I think you are much too diligent for your own good, Emma. You know I am more than satisfied with your work. Try and take things at a slower pace, child,’ she said with the utmost kindness.
Emma, staring up at her fixedly, felt her throat tighten with emotion and tears stung her eyes. She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She bobbed a curtsy and left the room as sedately as she could. Once she was safely in the corridor, Emma exhaled deeply and with enormous relief. She leaned against a small carved table to steady herself. Her legs felt wobbly and her heart was hammering. She looked back at the door, shaking her head from side to side in total disbelief. Olivia Wainright looked like her own mother. As incredible as that seemed, Emma had just seen it with her own eyes. She’s the spitting image of me mam, she whispered to herself with awe, and still disbelieving.
Emma then wondered why she had never noticed this likeness before. Instantly she understood. It was very simple really. In all of the time Olivia had been staying at Fairley Hall, Emma had never seen her so intimately revealed, undressed and ungroomed in the privacy of her room, until a few moments ago. Sitting at the dressing table in the diffused light, so informally attired, her face naked of cosmetics, she looked a different woman from the one Emma was accustomed to seeing moving around the house so elegantly and with cool authority. In her naturalness Olivia was still stunningly lovely, but without the stylish clothes, the elaborate hairdos, and the other artifices of fashion, she appeared ingenuous and vulnerable, and there was a sweet simplicity about her that was girlish and even innocent.
And Emma was not mistaken. Olivia Wainright, stripped of the outer trappings of the chic society woman, did resemble Elizabeth Harte. In fact, the resemblance was so extraordinary as to be uncanny. They might have been created from the same mould, except that Elizabeth’s beauty was now only a faint echo of Olivia’s. Worn out as she was by the struggle to survive, riddled with consumption, undernourished, and in constant pain, her fine looks had blurred and slowly begun to fade. Yet Emma had seen in Olivia her mother’s beauty as it had once been, and this had not only startled her but moved her as well. Emma was not the only one to have noticed the strong likeness between these two women from such different worlds. Another occupant of Fairley Hall had also detected it and, like Emma, had been rocked to the core at this discovery.
But Emma was unaware of this as she stood staring at Olivia Wainright’s door, still shaking her head. She regained some of her composure and for once in her life she did not run. She walked down the corridor, and slowly, benumbed by this odd coincidence. As she made her way back to Adele’s bedroom, it did not occur to Emma that perhaps she had unconsciously recognized the similarity earlier, and that this might partially explain her secret adoration of Olivia. Only years later did this thought strike her, and quite forcibly so.
In Emma’s absence, Adele had attended to her face. For once she had decided it was necessary to resort to her jars of French cosmetics. She had applied a little rouge, just enough to highlight her cheekbones and dispel the paleness of her skin, and had also touched her lips with it. She was lightly powdering her nose when Emma entered.
‘Here I am then, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma in a low voice hurrying to the dressing table, and the waiting Adele.
Normally too preoccupied with self to be conscious of anyone else, Adele was particularly keyed up and alert tonight, in readiness for the important and perhaps trying evening that lay ahead. She was so acutely aware, in fact, she noticed the subdued note in Emma’s voice, which was always so cheerful, and she gave her a piercing look.
‘Did Mrs Wainright give you the hairpins? Was there a problem?’ she asked quickly.
‘Oh no, ma’am,’ responded Emma, already starting to work on the remaining curls. ‘She had plenty ter spare.’
‘What is Mrs Wainright wearing tonight, Emma?’ Adele continued curiously, watching Emma carefully through the mirror.
‘I didn’t see her dress, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma quietly, her face closed and still.
Adele pursed her lips in frustration and disappointment. She had been longing to know which one of her many exquisite gowns Olivia had selected. Adele had always been highly competitive with her older sister, and this was now more pronounced and consuming than ever. Adele was filled with mortification, and infuriated by the fact that Olivia managed to appear elegant and arresting on every occasion. She smiled, and not a little smugly. She would outshine everyone tonight. Olivia will be dowdy in comparison to me, she thought, gloatingly.
‘There we are ma’am, all finished!’ exclaimed Emma with a triumphant flourish of the brush, stepping back to regard Adele’s hair. She gave Adele the small silver hand mirror. ‘See if yer like the back, Mrs Fairley.’
Adele moved and twisted and swivelled in the chair, viewing her pompadour from all angles. ‘Why Emma, it’s positively divine,’ she cried with delight. She laughed gaily. ‘It’s a work of art. A masterpiece. And so flattering to me. You are a clever girl.’
Adele put on her evening slippers and then stepped into the gown Emma was holding for her. She stood in front of the cheval mirror, and Emma patiently fastened the long line of buttons up the back, praying Adele wouldn’t remember the roses she had removed earlier. They were ugly, and Emma was convinced they ruined the gown, which was elegant and dramatic in its basic simplicity. As she did up the last button, Emma said hurriedly, hoping to divert her attention, ‘All we need for the finishing touch are yer jewels, Mrs Fairley.’
‘In a moment, Emma,’ said Adele, stepping back to view herself. She was ecstatic at the vision she made. The black velvet gown stunningly emphasized her tall, lissom figure and its excellent cut drew attention to her tiny waist. It had a low neckline that was draped adroitly across the shoulders, and a tightly moulded bodice that hugged her figure deliciously. She decided it was her most becoming gown as, intoxicated with herself, she swirled around on her elegantly shod feet that peeped out beneath her skirt. Emma was quite right about the roses. They were ghastly, she thought, marvelling that her young maid had such an innate sense of taste.
She sat down and took the diamond chandelier earrings out of the red velvet case and put them on. She added two bracelets and several rings, and then Emma placed the diamond necklace around her throat, securing it carefully. It was a glittering lacy web of brilliant, perfectly cut and mounted stones. The diamonds had such fire, such life, such matchless beauty, Emma gasped.
‘It is exquisite, is it not?’ remarked Adele. ‘The Squire gave it to me,’ she went on, and sighed. ‘He used to give me so many lovely jewels,’ she confided softly.
‘It fair takes me breath away, Mrs Fairley, it does that,’ Emma said in awe, wondering what it had cost. A fortune, no doubt. Bought from the toil of others, she thought with a stab of bitterness, thinking of Frankie and her dad labouring at the mill.
Adele did not see the scowl on Emma’s face, and she threw her a gratified smile and opened another velvet case. She lifted out a large diamond brooch and commenced to pin it on the small draped sleeve that barely covered the top of her left arm.
Emma compressed her mouth. ‘Er – er – Mrs Fairley, ma’am, I don’t knows that yer needs that there brooch, if yer don’t mind me saying so—’
‘It was my mother’s,’ said Adele peremptorily.
‘Oh! Then please excuse me, Mrs Fairley. I understand. Yer wants ter wear it for sentimental reasons,’ said Emma with the utmost politeness. But she was dismayed. The brooch was unnecessary, and it ruined the whole effect she had been striving for.
Sentimental reasons, repeated Adele inwardly, gazing into the mirror. Her eyes, narrowing perceptibly, were as cold and as glittering as the diamonds she wore. She looked down at the brooch absently and thought of her mother