“Do you think I shall enjoy a place in the sun at Torrington?” I asked sarcastically.
With my mind’s eye I read the whole correspondence between Aunt Mina and my companion. My aunt’s urgent desire to foist me upon Lizzie Puckle; Lizzie’s equally firm determination to establish me with my aunt. Possibly—nay probably—she had been offered a handsome bribe; but both the bribe and I had been declined. No doubt Lizzie had acted in what she believed to be my best interests, but the result left me rather sore. Apparently I was wanted neither at Torrington nor in the flat!
“Well, at least a few gleams must fall on you when Dora has become the Lady Finsbury; you will fill the gap in the family! Your aunt will no doubt move heaven and earth to transfer you to a home of your own. Perhaps you will be disposed of next season, and I hope——”
Here I broke in angrily,
“If Aunt Mina attempts to make a match for me I warn you that I shall run away. I can always find a home with the Soadys.”
“My dear Eva, you shall never arrive at that strait! Should you find Torrington unbearable you must come and live with me. I shall take a flat with a spare bedroom, and that will be, if the worst comes to the worst, your haven of refuge. But I can’t help thinking that you will settle down comfortably at Torrington; you are a grown-up young woman now and must be treated as such; and for your part you will no longer give way to screaming fits of passion, or to biting saucers! You must be sure to write to me often, and tell me all your joys and sorrows. And remember, my dear child, that in any trouble or difficulty you may always look to me.”
At a great junction sixty miles from London I was obliged to change, and as we steamed into the station, with a few words, many kisses and two or three tears, I took leave of Lizzie. Here our life’s pathway also parted; she, to lead at last a free existence, and I, to enter once more my aunt’s house of bondage.
I was met at our local station by a brougham and a luggage cart, and was soon bowling along the frosty country road. Torrington had splendid iron gates, flanked by imposing lodges. The avenue was long, and, so to speak, made the most of itself! About a quarter of a mile from the entrance the house came into view, but I felt no glow of joyful recognition; in spite of a park, delightful gardens and clipped yew hedges, I had little affection for the home of my ancestors. With its blank white façade it gave me the impression of some ghastly sinister face, peering out from among the surrounding woods.
The modern Torrington consisted of a vast domed entrance hall with suites of cold lofty rooms to right and left. To the rear was the old Tudor building and chapel; here were narrow dark passages, unexpected steps and low ceilings. It was in this part of the house that I had previously had my quarters; it was also in this region that the family ghost was reported to reside.
On my arrival I was ceremoniously received by Baker, the butler. Baker had been many years at Torrington and was a most trustworthy retainer. There was a legend that he was the butler who, when master said, “This champagne is corked,” breathed in his ear, “Never mind, sir, it’ll do for the ladies!”