The Passing Bells by Phillip Rock Read Free Book Online Page A

no.”
    â€œYes, ma’am . . . very good, ma’am.”
    â€œWhat an odd little creature,” Lydia said as she watched the maid walk slowly back toward the house. “Did you notice her staring at me?”
    â€œNo, but then I was staring at you myself so I can’t blame the girl. You’re a damn attractive woman, Lydia.”
    She looked away from him, fingers toying with the heavy wood steering wheel, eyes narrowed against the reflection of the sun off the shiny bonnet of the car.
    â€œPlease, Fenton, we promised to talk only in generalities.”
    He touched her shoulder, sensing the warm flesh beneath the cotton motoring coat and the silk dress. “I find that nearly impossible to do.”
    She could see the reflection of the house in the car’s paint—mellow brick and smooth stone, the faultless façade of Abingdon Pryory, home of the Grevilles and the earls of Stanmore for ten generations.
    â€œI’m sorry, Fenton. Please don’t make it difficult. You know how fond I am of you. You’ve been like a brother to me since I was nine years old and—”
    His fingers tightened. “You can’t look at me and say that, Lydia. But I shan’t press you. I know what you’re hoping to accomplish and I wish you luck. You shall need it.”
    Ivy made her slow way to the second floor of the west wing, taking the back stairs. The tableau on the drive lingered in her thoughts: the beautiful woman, the gleaming motorcar, the tall dark-haired man. What wondrous, exciting events lay in store for these people on this sunny June morning? Drive up to London, the woman had said. Ivy could not even imagine what that entailed or what Miss Foxe and Miss Alexandra would find when they got there. She had never been to London, although she had seen pictures of certain places in London: Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s, the houses of Parliament, and the Tower. A grand place, London, filled with pageantry—the Guards in their bearskin hats, the Beefeaters, the Lord Mayor with a great gold chain around his neck. Still, there must be more to it than that. A workaday sort of place, surely. Rather like Norwich or Great Yarmouth, only larger—more crowded. People doing ordinary things. Even some chaps repairing motorcars. It was all so curious. So far away. What fun it would be to be going with them, seated in the motorcar as it raced like the wind through the countryside, whizzing through the little villages that she had seen from the train on the way down from Norfolk. Would they pause for luncheon on the way? Cold meat pies and cider in a little inn? Or would they eat when they got to London, dining in one of those posh hotels with waiters in livery hovering around them? That would be the most fun. Would madam care to sample the cutlets? Would madam like a glass of bubbly champagne? The thought made her smile, and she was still smiling when she left the service stairs and walked down the hall. She was being served bubbly wine from a silver bucket when she suddenly became aware of a small crowd standing in the hall outside of Miss Alexandra’s room. Mr. Coatsworth was there . . . and one of the footmen . . . and the maid, Velda . . . and Mrs. Broome. They were all of them staring at her and they were not smiling. Not at all at all.
    â€œThere she is, the little baggage,” Velda said, sniffing back tears. “Oh, I’d give her such a thrashing if it was up to me.”
    Mr. Coatsworth and the footman nodded in agreement, their expressions like stone, but Mrs. Broome only sighed wearily.
    â€œThat will do, Velda. Kindly go about your duties.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Velda glared hatefully at Ivy before turning away and going into the room.
    â€œIf you need any assistance, Mrs. Broome,” the butler said gravely, “I would be most happy to lend a hand.”
    â€œThank you, no, Mr. Coatsworth.”
    â€œAs