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

person as he turned to her.
    ‘Welcome to my home.’
    He drew her eyes to his as he spoke. Aware that as yet she hadn’t said a word, and fearing he would think she was a simpleton, Angeline pulled herself together. ‘Thank you, Mr
Golding. It was very kind of you to invite us,’ she said sedately, aware that the fire in her cheeks belied her voice.
    ‘Oswald, please.’ He smiled, revealing a set of perfectly even, white teeth. ‘And may I take this opportunity to offer my condolences on your recent loss. It was very brave of
you to come tonight, and I’m sure it would be what your parents would have wanted. They would not wish you to hide away from life, but rather to take comfort from friends and family. Your
father and I were members of the same club, along with your uncle here. He was a fine man.’
    Eagerly Angeline said, ‘You knew my father?’ Her uncle hadn’t mentioned that.
    ‘But of course,’ Oswald nodded, his voice smooth. ‘And your uncle is a good friend of mine. I know he has been very concerned about you. Let us hope the evening brings a
measure of enjoyment.’ The footman had taken her cloak and now, as a maid in a black alpaca dress with a white lacy apron at the waist hovered to one side of them, he added, ‘Peggy will
show you to the ladies’ room, where you can freshen up, and then bring you to the drawing room.’
    ‘Oh yes, thank you.’ Angeline’s head was spinning as she followed the maid across the hall and down a corridor, and as they reached an alcove, the maid opened a door and stood
aside for Angeline to go before her.
    ‘I’ll be waiting outside when you’re ready, Miss,’ the girl said brightly, before closing the door after her.
    Angeline’s heart was racing as she stood looking about her. Three small dressing tables with a dainty velvet-backed chair in front of each of them stood along one wall on the right, and on
the left was a row of doors leading to separate enclosed cubicles. At the far end of the room was a large table holding several beautifully painted pitchers and basins, and at the back of these sat
a pile of neatly folded towels. As far as she could ascertain, she was alone.
    There were long mirrors on the walls on either side of the table, and now, her stomach fluttering with nerves, Angeline made her way towards them and stood surveying herself. She didn’t
want to wash her hands or use one of the closets, and there was nothing else to do. She put her hand to her hair and fiddled with a curl, wondering if she had been in the cloakroom long enough. She
was a fish out of water here, and suddenly the desire to be safely back in her room at her uncle’s house was strong. She felt very young and insignificant, and the longing for her mother was
overwhelming.
    Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment.
It’s just a dinner party, that’s all – one evening that will soon be
over.
    A knock at the door brought her swinging round, and the little maid stood there. ‘If you’re ready, Miss, I’ll take you through.’
    ‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath, keeping her head up and her shoulders back as she left the room, her sparkling vanity bag clutched tightly in one hand, so that her knuckles
shone white through her flesh.
    As she entered the drawing room it seemed full of people, and the buzz of conversation was loud. Her uncle was standing talking to a tall man and a beautifully dressed young
woman some yards away and, as she hesitated, her arm was taken and Oswald Golding said, ‘There you are, I was waiting for you. Come and meet Lord Gray and his wife. They’re
newly-weds,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘just back from their honeymoon in Europe, and I do believe Gwendoline is only a year or so older than you. I’m sure you’ll get on
famously.’
    He drew her with him, to where her uncle and the couple were standing, and said, ‘Nick, Gwendoline, this is Miss Angeline Stewart; Angeline, Lord