Beyond the Veil of Tears by Rita Bradshaw Read Free Book Online Page A

course.’
    Hector shifted in his seat. ‘It’s just that you haven’t seemed to grasp the honour that has been extended to us. True, he is a man of his time and, due to his wealth and
influence, leads a very different life from most folk we know, but that doesn’t mean . . . ’
    Angeline waited. When her uncle didn’t speak, she said perplexedly, ‘Doesn’t mean what, Uncle?’
    ‘Did your father ever speak of him?’
    ‘Of Mr Golding? No, I don’t think so.’
    There was a shred of relief in Hector’s voice as he said, ‘I thought that might be the reason why . . . No matter, no matter. Well, he’s a fine gentleman, Angeline, a very fine
gentleman. There’s a member of his distant family who’s in the inner circle of the Prince of Wales, so I believe. What do you think about that?’
    She didn’t know what she thought about it, but it seemed important to her uncle that she thought well of his friend, so she said, ‘That’s wonderful.’
    ‘Quite so. Quite so.’
    This signified the end of the conversation, and the rest of the journey was conducted in silence, but Angeline sat mulling over what had been said. Clearly her uncle thought there was something
wrong with Mr Golding, if he had to bolster him up to her like that. Was he ugly, was that it? Or grossly fat? Or disfigured? Perhaps he was foul-smelling. One of her father’s friends had
been like that, and her mother had had to open all the windows and sprinkle lavender posies about when he’d been for a visit, such was the smell. Her mother had said the gentleman in question
couldn’t help it, and that he had visited the top doctors in London to no avail. Maybe Mr Golding was afflicted with a similar complaint?
    Her stomach quivered. She was possessed of a keen sense of smell.
    Oh well. She sat up straighter, lifting her chin. It was one evening. She could get through one evening. She’d got through the last weeks, hadn’t she?
    It was another fifteen minutes before the coach bowled through two huge, ornately worked iron gates, which had a family crest picked out in gold and black. Large lanterns hung on either side of
the gates and, as the carriage travelled along the gravelled drive, its way was lit by more of the same.
    Angeline’s breath caught in her throat at her first sight of the house. It seemed to stretch forever. The enormous forecourt, where several carriages were already standing, was brilliantly
lit by lights streaming from all of the windows and, as they approached, the massive door at the top of the steps was opened by a liveried footman.
    By the time the carriage stopped, the footman was there to open the door. Her uncle descended first, then gave Angeline his hand to help her down. She stood for a moment, overawed, and as she
glanced at her uncle, she saw his face mirrored the same emotion. He recovered almost immediately, his voice brisk as he said, ‘Come along, m’dear.’ And then, unable to hide his
gratification, he added, ‘I do believe that’s Oswald coming to greet us.’
    Angeline stared at the tall, fair man bounding down the steps and, to her dazzled eyes, he appeared like a young god. He reached them, shaking her uncle’s hand and then turning to her,
both his hands outstretched as he grasped hers. ‘This must be Angeline. I’m so glad you could come. I may call you Angeline? But I mustn’t keep you out here, in the night air. How
very remiss of me. Come in, do.’
    Oswald was walking by her side now, after having tucked one of her small hands through his arm, with her uncle following a step or two behind them. When she stepped into the house, it was all
Angeline could do not to stand and gape. The hall flowed away in front of her, with a grand, sweeping staircase curving upwards for two floors in the middle of the expanse, and glittering glass
chandeliers overhead. And then she became painfully conscious of the man at her side again, and of the faint but delicious smell emanating from his