All my life I have been fascinated with time and with finding the precise moment that events were set in motion. What single action lead to the eventual end? Could that action have been avoided or been done differently somehow so that a different outcome were reached? The church has always taught that what happens in life to each and every one of us is God's will, His almighty plan. To change it is impossible so each of us must bend to this will.
I have never believed this. Man chooses his own destiny. Woman's is chosen for her by the men who control her life- her father or her husband. But just sometimes, one single action of hers- an action which at the time seems so innocent and which means nothing- this action can change the whole of her destiny and theirs.
And sometimes, just sometimes, that destiny can lead her to the most wonderful end.....
I had been married nearly two years when, during the Autumn where it rained almost constantly and kept me inside the house, I decided to clear out the large lumber room. The lumber room was actually the attic, a massive open space which had been divided into four different spaces to contain different things. The first was boxes of papers, the second was clothes and fabrics, the third was trunks and miscellaneous items and the fourth, which was the area I intended to clear out, was filled with old furniture.
It was cooler in the attics than I had thought it would be but not stuffy. Rather, there was a scent of old wood, instead of mothballs which I detest! Mothballs always remind me of dead things stuffed into closets. I had brought up my maid Anna to help me. She was- and is- a good natured girl, only slightly younger than I and I treated her much as a sister than a servant. She had been assigned to me since my marriage, before that she had been only an upper housemaid. She was a local girl, with the accent to prove it and when we were in private, as now, I encouraged her to tell me the story's of the district- that of the Rhondda in the Welsh mountains.
Coming from Surrey, I was new to the area. My husband was a Welshman who had been educated in London so his accent was not pronounced at all. He had joined his father once he had completed his engineering training, and they owned the local coal mines. After our wedding, we returned to his family home, a massive old great house which stood in 20 acres of park land above the nearest town. His mother was bedridden and frail, his father was gruff and stolid and due to the mines my husband was up before seven and not home until dinner time. Thus we spent only a few hours in each others company each day so I was left to my own devices. Which on that day included seeing if there were any items of interest in the lumber room.
Anna and I were a full half hour examining sundry broken items which would amount to little but fire wood when we found our way blocked by a massive oak cupboard which had been left in such a way as to prevent our passing to the back of the lumber room. Looking inside we found it to be empty but it was fashioned from solid heavy oak and there was no possibility of our being able to move it. Thus, we called upon two of the footmen to assist us. They heaved the cupboard to one side, not without some straining and revealed a fine table, also made from heavy oak which had upon it the most spectacular dolls house I had ever seen.
The attics were dimly lit by a few old sky lights but the grey rays showed us a magnificent copy of the house replicated upon the table, complete with the upper gardens. To one side there was also the small chapel and family vault. All was covered with a thick layer of dust.
Broken foot stools forgotten, I instantly sent Anna to fetch several of the upper house men and with much straining and puffing and twisting of the table this way and that, the men managed to bring the table carrying its exquisite burden down to the fourth floor and into my work room.
When I had been brought to the house, my husband had ordered that two of the disused old bedrooms on the fourth floor be converted into a large and bright studio for myself. He meant it for a wedding gift as he knew that one of my keenest pleasures lay in painting and the restoring of upholstery, tapestries and the like. I had always been grateful for this gift of his and never more so than now, for the table with the dolls house could easily be accommodated by the room and I had the footmen place it before the large windows with their view of the rain soaked gardens and the road towards the town. After thanking and dismissing them, I had Anna run down to the kitchens for dusting cloths, wanting to take off the layers of dirt from my new toy!
Assisted by Anna, who had quick hands and who knew better than I how to avoid damaging the tiny details of plants and such like, I began the task. We revealed the colours of the garden, the details of the chapel windows and were far along in removing the dust from the whole, when the housekeeper, Mrs Levin, entered to ask whether I required luncheon. The fourth floor did have servants bells but owing to some oversight these had still to be rendered truly operational and so it was needful to have someone actually come to tell myself or Anna of any detail of time or requirement. Our absorption over our task had meant that neither one of us had heard the clocks strike 12.
Mrs Levin admired our work but could not tell me the origin of the dolls house. She herself had not seen either the closet that had barred our way nor the table on which the dolls house stood but commented that it must have been there a little over fifty years as this was the last time that the attics were cleared and that had been before she came to work at the house.
I sent Anna to get herself some lunch and asked Mrs Levin to enquire of my mother in law whether she wished for me to take tea with her in the afternoon. I was too taken with the dolls house to want refreshment myself at that time. With Anna and Mrs Levin gone, I finished dusting off the roof and opened the front. It showed that much of the house had been faithfully recreated.
On the ground floor, there was the large hall and to one side the dining room, complete with table and chairs. To the other side of the hall was the drawing room and study.. On the first floor were the music room and library, the ladies morning room and on the second floor were the bedrooms, the rooms my father and mother in law currently resided in. On the third floor were the rooms which I and my husband slept in, with the large nursery at the far end. There was even the dressing room beside our bedroom. On the fourth floor were what seemed to be the old spare bedrooms, and above the attics made an open space.
The furniture in each room was covered with dust but when I taken out the items and removed this from the rooms, I found that much of the furniture was damaged, as if the dolls house had been dropped or the furniture stepped on. The dolls too were missing. Also, someone had scratched the wall papers in many of the rooms and so rendered the inside much more damaged that the outside. I shut up the dolls house, and admired the surrounds of it.
The drive with its neat shrubbery, the chapel and its stained glass windows, the small details showing that upper garden with its rose bushes and low beds of flowers, these were still in perfect condition. I made up my mind to find out the best man for recreating miniatures so that I could utterly recreate the dolls house. I would paint and install the new wall papers myself.
Stretching my cramped shoulders I registered for the first time how the light was going. Behind the constant lash of the rain against the windows, the day had started becoming late afternoon.
I turned my back on my new project for the time being and made my way to my son's nursery.
James Michael Llewellyn was a year and a half old. He had his fathers long fingers and toes, his fathers chestnut curls and his fathers rather long nose. The only sign of me emerging from his round baby face were the dark eyes. Otherwise he was the spit of his father at that age. His nanny greeted me warmly and handed him to me. I whiled away a happy hour with them, feeling that I had rather neglected my son that day and resolving to spend more time with him on the morrow. He was a bright and happy little boy whom I loved dearly, he had made my life all the brighter since he was born and I was resolved to keep him at home with me as long as I could before the inevitable sending off to boarding school that my husband and father in law were set on.
After this I made my way to my Mother in Law's sitting room. It was a comfortable room beside her bed chamber, where she spent all her time. After a riding accident seventeen years before, Lady Rhiannon Llewellyn had been bedridden, unable to walk even with a stick. She had a nurse attendant on her at all times, and was carried to her bath and then to her day bed and back each day by the house man. Between her rising and her going back to sleep, she did needlework, read her bible and had her nurse or her maid read to her from various books. She had been a keen birdwatcher and still kept her eye glasses beside her day bed. This was placed beside the window to give her the best light and the best view of the grounds. Besides this, she seemed to need no diversion. Her nurse had told us that she feared that Lady Llewellyn would soon be gathered back to God as she spent more and more of her time asleep or gazing out at the world she could no longer join.
I had developed a habit of joining my mother in law for tea each day, sometimes bringing my son to divert her. I felt that it was only right since she received no other visitors save her doctor. Her husband spent only a few minutes a day with her, to enquire of her health. Her son saw her only on Sundays when he paid his weekly visit. He had told me privately that it was too painful to see her more, when he remembered his mother as an active and energetic person who combined running the house hold and motherhood with her twin passions of bird watching and horse riding. Lady Llewellyn had ridden daily and far, visiting the sick of the parish and taking pleasure in the peaks and views of the mountains around the house until seventeen years before when her horse put its foot into a rabbit hole and fell, trapping Lady Llewellyn under its body as it did so.
Her legs had been crushed and her lower spine broken. For weeks she had lain unconscious in her bed and when she awoke, she could never think of walking again and her mind, once so agile, had become slow and memories often failed her.
The marriage of Lord and Lady Llewellyn had never been one of great passion but certainly they had loved each other. They had four sons, my husband Michael being the oldest, and their differences were diverted by my father in law being so busy running the mines and my mother in law's parish duties and household tasks. When she had become bedridden, Mrs Levin had taken over the running of the house and Lord Llewellyn had buried himself in his work. I often thought that it was his wife's accident which made his so gruff and stern. I had rarely seen him smile and never laugh.
As I poured out her tea and the nurse cut some sandwiches, my mother in law had turned her attention onto myself. She stayed quiet for a moment but as I handed her a cup of tea she commented on my slightly dishevelled dress, which was a still a little dusty from the days activities. I took my chance and told her of the discovery of the doll's house. She sipped her tea and then said
“I suppose it must have belonged to my late grandmother in law. I think my husband once told me of it but I never saw it. Since Elizabeth died before we were married, it was probably packed up around that time and placed there. “
She sipped more tea and I waited. She didn't continue and I wondered if she was becoming sleepy but then she spoke again, her voice unusually dreamy and low.
“Elizabeth was my husband's paternal grandmother. She was very frail and she spent much of her time in her sitting room on the fourth floor. It had a view of the drive and the valley, and she was carried down to dinner each day and to church on Sundays. My husband said she was angelic. He carry s her miniature with him in his breast pocket. I remember he said she had beautiful dark eyes. Dark eyes and dark curls though her hair was white by this time. He doted on her. She was never strong but she loved to craft things so she made the dolls house. Oh yes, she made it herself. It took years, my husband said. She made each bit from sketches done by a local artist. The dolls were made to match her family, her son and his family, the housemaid and some of the servants and her of course. And her favourite was the doll made to look like her late husband, so she could pretend she had her family with her and was strong. But she was never strong. One day she slipped into a fever and died not long after. So her son, my father in law, had the dolls house put away. Too much a reminder of her, I suppose. I would have loved to have seen it but I never thought to ask.”
Her voice was becoming drowsy. I leaned over to take her tea cup and as I did so, she looked at me and smiled a little.
“So you are going to mend it now, are you? Better make sure my husband doesn't mind. Be sure to change your dress before the men come home.”
Her eyes closed and she slipped back into slumber. I placed her teacup back on the tray. Her nurse leaned over her and tucked her shawl around her shoulders.
“She's not been too bad today, my lady. Just in a dream. It may not be too long before she is gathered back to God. It's a strange thing I have observed, that those who are closest to him start to remember things a little more firmly soon before the end.”
I nodded. It was certainly the longest speech my mother in law had made in months. If she were correct then the dolls house was around 70 years old. A family heirloom. It made it all the more precious. And what had happened to the dolls? And the furniture? Lost, damaged, either way it was a shame. I must find the name of someone who could assist with the restoration.
I was sat in my petticoat, waiting for Anna to bring me some hot water to wash in when I heard the Front doors open and the bustle of servants in the hall. My husband and his father were home. This meant I had a little over five minutes before my husband entered the next door dressing room to bathe and change for dinner.
When we had first been married and were returning from our honeymoon Michael had asked me if I would rather that we didn't share a bed chamber, as in the older custom. I had replied that while I had no objection to our sharing a room, I was happy to leave the decision to him. He had made light of it but I had always known he was pleased by my wishing to share so intimate a space with him.
Once we had moved into his family home, we took the best chamber on the third floor for our own. The bedroom was large and took a wonderful view of the park and the valley. He had ordered it to be papered in a rich red, the colour he liked best to see me dressed in, and our bed was one of the heirlooms of the house- a deep oak four poster, newly hung with curtains to match the walls, though the mattress and pillows were newly bought also. It was a comfortable and truly opulent space, made uncluttered by our having each our own dressing room beside it.
There were four other bedrooms on that floor, though somewhat smaller and sharing bathrooms. At the far end was the large traditional nursery with an adjoining bedchamber for the nanny. This had been filled by our first born son James less than a twelve month after our marriage and I knew that my family were expectant for me to soon bring him a sibling.
Anna entered with the jug of hot water and poured it into my basin. She assisted me to wash my face and upper body then handed me a warmed towel. As I dried myself and put on a fresh petticoat, I could hear the sounds of my husband bathing in his dressing room, speaking to his valet.
Anna assisted me to dress then removed the dirty water. I was now wearing an elegant green dress instead of the more simple brown wool one I had been cleaning my new find in. I shook my hair loose of its pins and taking up my brush, began the task of smoothing my hair, prior to repining it for dinner.
The door from my bedroom opened and Michael entered, already dressed in clean shirt and trousers but without his tie or coat. He strode to me, bent and kissed me full on the mouth before taking the brush from my hand and beginning to smooth it himself with slow rhythmic strokes. One of his favourite things was to brush my hair himself when we had some time alone together. He seemed to find it soothing and it was an intimacy which I felt bonded us more closely after the long day apart.
Knowing that he liked to share the silence of this time, I gave myself over to the simple pleasure and covertly studied him in the mirror. Michael Robert Llewellyn was certainly a very handsome man. Perhaps not classical handsome for his nose was a long Roman one, his mouth quite full and he looked far less than his 26 years. However I had always found him to be a very undeniably masculine figure. His hair was a rich chestnut shade and it curled almost in ringlets over his head so although he kept it cut short, it still made one think of painting of cherubs by old masters. His skin, from being so much in an office or underground in the mine, was always pale and his eyes were a perfect hazel colour. He was a tall man, several inches above six foot and he had long fingers and toes, to match his long legs. He looked well in clothes and was somewhat vain about this, always dressing with style. He favoured dark greens and blacks above all other colours, which looked striking as compared with the rick copper of his hair. His body was well muscled, and he rode well, as all his family did.
Yes I thought, studying him, my husband is certainly a good looking man. He looks somewhat more like his father although he shares his mothers colouring. He has a cheerful face though, it is rounder than one would perhaps expect and it is this which makes him look younger. But all told he is a very handsome man. His eyes met mine in the glass and he smiled, his eyes lighting up. He had clearly taken my perusal as an invitation.
Putting down my brush, he sat beside me on the stool before the mirror and took me onto his lap. Sliding his hands through my hair, he cupped my face and kissed me hard. I responded eagerly. My hands went to his back, feeling the muscles through the thin material of his shirt. He smelled of fresh cologne, his face was smooth and shaven. He dropped one hand to the front of my dress, gripping my left breast with ferver. His lips went to my neck, finding that sweet spot below the ear, where I loved to be kissed.
Just then, there was a sound from our bed chamber and I whispered quickly “Anna!” Smoothly he drew away from me and took up my comb from the dresser, passing it through his hair which was a little tousled. Anna entered and took up her position behind me, threading the pins back into my hair as she first braided then wound the braid into a complicated knot- my usual style for the evening. Michael bowed slightly to me then passed back into his own dressing room to finish his toilette.
With my hair done and dress attended to, I descended to the ground floor drawing room. My father in law was already there, a glass of wine beside him, reading the paper. He bowed to me as I entered but didn't get up. I took my usual seat on the sofa and took up a book from the side table. As my father in law was usually quiet before dinner I hadn't expected that he would attempt conversation so I was surprised when he spoke.
“I hear you had the dolls house brought down from the attic?”
I started a little but realising that the butler must have told him, I responded as calmly as possible.
“Yes, I thought I would try to restore it. It's so lovely, I couldn't bare to think of it shoved away up there. Though it is in wonderful condition externally so far, its true. Aside from dust of course.”
“Yes. Been up there nigh on fifty years or so. Belonged to my grandmother, Elizabeth.”
I softened my tone, realising that I had perhaps been a little thoughtless in not asking his permission so far.
“Yes, I was told it had been a passion of hers. A truly remarkable work...”
“Yes. Remember it well, from my boyhood. Haven't seen it myself since my father had it put up in the attic. Afraid he had a fit of madness soon after she passed. Well. Grief does strange things. He did something destructive to it, I don't know what.”
“Yes, the wall paper inside and some of the furniture is a little damaged. The outsides seem perfectly fine though. I was hoping I might restore it.”
He seemed to consider a moment then looked at me properly.
“You do that. Be nice to have it in good condition. Always felt my father was too hasty, locking it away. But then, as I said, grief does strange things. You wont find any dolls either, mind. He had those buried with her. It was her express wish. Well, the wishes of the dieing are strange sometimes but still, we honoured it. Get someone from London to help you, will you?”
“Yes, I thought I might apply to one of the museums, to see if they knew of anybody.....”
“No need for that. I know of a man who would be right for this job. Name of Stephen Bruce. He's a Scotsman but he resides in London for the most part, he's a trustworthy hand at restoration and has a good eye. I will look out his address for you tonight, if you wish. Can send him a letter, explain what you want. Know him from years back when he restored something for my wife, good man. Yes, a good man. He's the one for this job.”
So saying, my father in law picked up his wine glass and returned to his paper. My husband entered soon after and we went in to dine. After dinner we settled into our usual routine. I played the piano for an hour then returned to my book, my husband talked politics with his father then engaged him in a game of chess. I retired up to my room at nine, and the men retired to the study for a cigar before bed.
I knew that following our intimate moment earlier, my husband would require that we copulated that night so I asked for my bath to be drawn and washed all over. Then I brushed myself with some fragrant powder and put on one of my more revealing night gowns, one I had bought for my honeymoon, made of cream lace and silk. Then I brushed my hair smooth so it was flowing freely and stepped into my bed. I had not long to wait before my husband entered in his nightshirt, having already undressed in his room, giving his clothes to his valet.
With the room lit only by the bedside lamps, he stood at the end of the bed then with one swift motion he pulled off his nightshirt to reveal his long muscular body.
Just before my wedding night, my mother had confided that I must not be surprised by my husbands body. That it would be very different to what I was used to , being likely covered with coarse hair but that I must pay it no mind. As it happens, my husband had no hair on his chest at all. The hair on his legs was, granted, a little coarse but not unpleasantly so and the hair at his groin was quite soft and as curled as that on his head.
He climbed into the bed and claimed me, covering my face with quick passionate kisses before sliding my nightdress up my hips.
Before the birth of our son, I had been quite proud of my slender body but since then I felt I had become plumper. Not only that, my breasts were fuller and I had red marks, as though I had been cut, upon my belly and thighs. This had, at first, made me so shy of new intimacy that I had refused my husband his rights. Then when I intimated my feelings he had assured me that he minded not any gaining of weight about my figure and praised the plumpness of my breasts. To solve my womanly modesty of the marks, he allowed me to keep my nightgown on when we made love, as long as I drew it down over my breasts and up to my hips to that he could caress those areas he wished to.
I lay back and he parted my thighs, stroking the dark curls of hair between my legs and the wetness there. Then he took my hand and guided it onto his member, so I could stroke it in just the way he liked best. As my hand glided up and down, he gripped my breasts with a passion that was painful and as his breathing quickened, he took hold on my thighs and parting them wider, he drove into me and began to rock back and forth, panting hard as he started to reach his pleasure.
I put my hands around his neck and relaxed my legs, feeling him glide in deeper and surrendered myself to the delicious friction of my husband deep within me. The sensation was always welcome, although I often felt it lasted too little time. I also felt this wicked of me and had considered confessing it to the priest on Sundays but had decided against. Michael gave a deep groan and fell on top of me, stiffening as he climaxed. Then he rolled off me, breathing hard, his arms above his head.
I felt his seed between my legs and wondered if it would quicken again soon. I knew he was anxious for another child and I wanted to please him with this news as soon as I were able. He sat up and kissed me deeply on the mouth before falling back against his pillows and emitting gentle snores, as I had been told many well pleased men did after love. I lay awake for a while listening to the rain against the glass and the breathing of my husband until I too fell asleep.
My father in law had been as good as his word and I wrote to the address he gave the very next day, asking Mr Stephen Bruce if he were able to assist with the restoration. A full week passed without reply, during which I busied myself more than ever with the simple restoration- dusting and cleaning the dolls house until I felt that it were ready to be worked on. I did this in the morning and spent my afternoons with my son. A full week later and the rain finally seemed to be stopping for more than a few hours at a time, meaning I could resume my daily walks, for I had a fear of horses and I knew my husband rather welcomed this as it meant I was in no danger of being in an accident such as his mother.
I had been out for one such walk and had returned, a little damp and cold but exhilarated by the strong winds outside when, as I entered the house, the butler handed me a letter that had been delivered while I was out.
I went up to my bedroom, removed my damp outdoor garments and dressed in a day gown of grey wool. I then opened the letter. This was what it said.
“My Dear Madam
Please let me first beg your forgiveness in the delay to this reply. I have been engaged on a project further north and only returned to my house today. I hope that you can overlook this unintended slight in view of my answer to your letter.
May I first state with regret that my father, with whom your esteemed father in law did business, passed away only four months since. The death was only announced in the London papers so your not knowing this information is understandable. However I have followed my father into his profession and am considered to be as competent as he, albeit without his years of practise. It has been my pleasure to be partner in his business for the past six years so I hope you will not be unhappy that it is I whom you deal with in this matter.
I read your description of the dolls house with great interest. I believe you must be unaware that this item has long been talked of in collectors circles as a masterpiece but has been seen by so few that many do not think it can be half so striking as reported.
However your very thorough description convinces me that to work on restoring such a piece would be a true honour. I therefore propose to travel to your home so that I may see for myself what can be done and to discuss the work. I can be with you in two days time, arriving in the early afternoon, if this suits you and your husband.
Please write to me by today post and advise me if this is to your liking. I ask to you extend my greetings to Lord and Lady Llewellyn and my compliments to yourself.
I am, dear madam,
Stephen Bruce (the younger)”
I read the letter through twice then penned a reply, stating that I would be pleased to receive him, and that our coach would be sent to collect him from the station. I expressed sorrow at his father's recent passing. I also invited him to stay at least a night with us, so that he would not have to take two journeys in the one day then had this letter posted. I then went to the housekeeper to begin arrangements for the arrival of our intended guest.
The day of his arrival came. I had the dolls house arranged to the best view and had got in several more lamps so that it were lit from all angles. The green guest room on the same floor as my and my husbands chamber was got ready and the coach had been sent to collect our guest. I had dressed with care in a warm brown dress with lighter embroidery of leaves and vines on the bodice and skirt, put up my hair in its complicated plait then knotted it around my head and felt that I looked quite the country lady of the house.
When I heard the crunch of wheels on the drive, I got up from the sofa in the drawing room and prepared myself to meet Mr Bruce.
The butler entered and presented him to me. I rose, extended my hand and he took it. After the conventional words of welcome were said I made him the offer of refreshment but he asked to be taken right away to see the dolls house. After seeing that his luggage had been taken upstairs, I escorted him to my work room.
I had asked for the lamps to be lit so that the room was well lighted. Mr Bruce saw the dolls house at its best advantage therefore and he instantly was fixated on it, looking at it from all angles, opening it and peering at the contents. He excused himself from speaking while he made this scrutiny and so I took a chair a few feet away and scrutinised him- he was so absorbed that there was no danger of his noticing my look.
Stephen Bruce was around the age of thirty. There were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth as though he were constantly screwing them up to look at some tiny detail. His eyes were very dark, as mine, and his hair was a jet mass and fell across his brow making him look a little boyish. His bone structure was strong and masculine, he was clean shaven yet already there was the light stubble of a days growth across his cheeks. He was tall, he was lean though not slender, his hands were square with short clean nails. He dressed in a dark brown, old fashioned though well cut suit, and he wore two rings on his left hand. The first was a signet ring of old beaten gold with what I assumed to be his family crest on it- a lion within a circle- and the second was on his central finger, a striking green stone that stood out from the simple thick cut gold band.
It was at this point that he looked up and saw my looking at his hands. He smiled and said, his voice tinged with a strong Scottish accent, “My luck charms. The signet ring was given me on my twelfth birthday by my father. The other was also given by him, when I reached my eighteenth birthday. In many Scottish family's, this is a time when the men of the house celebrate by opening a bottle of whiskey which was laid down at the time of the celebrants birth to be kept until he becomes a man. My father surprised me with both this tradition and this ring. The stone comes from an arm band worn by our rather more illustrious ancestor. I mean, Robert the Bruce.”
“So you are a true descendent then?” I asked.
“So goes the family saying. Either way, we embrace the link and I have always worn these rings for luck in life. And now' he straightened up and sat down on another chair near me, 'back to the matter at hand. It it a truly remarkable piece of work, the reports did it no justice. The exterior is, as you said in your letter, in excellent condition, there merely require some slight touch ups to some of the paintwork and some specialised cleaning and it will be as new. The interior is a different matter. It will certainly need re-papering entirely. It will also require full sets of furniture to be created and a set of inhabitants. The dolls are simple enough but the furniture will take much longer. Sketches of the contents of this building we sit in now will be needed then scale drawings for the rooms of the model need to be done. These can then be crafted, with extra details added such as ornaments and suchlike. The entire project will take at least a three month I would think, to be done properly. And then, only if I may be permitted to remove it to my studio in London. So, say a weeks stay here to complete the sketches then a two or three month period where the items be made. That is my recommendation.”
I thought this over and asked if I may consult with my husband who had promised to discuss the matter with Mr Bruce after dinner as he had pressing business at the mines that day and couldn't attend our first meeting. This was agreed on and so, after another close scrutiny of the dolls house, we removed ourselves to the drawing room, took tea and conversed until my husband and father in law came home.
Dinner was far merrier than usual. The added guest meant talk of London, of his late father, of restorations of all kinds of things and this contributed to our being rather longer at the table than usual. I excused myself once the gentlemen were ready for brandy and took myself to the drawing room for a solitary evening of music, resenting bitterly that I could not be included in the discussion of my new pet project in the study. After two hours, I decided that they clearly were discussing more than this and so I took myself off to bed.
It was a full hour more when my husband entered the bedroom. I was still awake, having taken a lengthy bath and then settled down to read until he came in. Michael looked tired yet he smiled at my curious gaze and, getting in beside me, he chucked me beneath my chin in a playful manner.
“I know, I know, I apologise for keeping you in suspense! But I bring good news though perhaps not what you imagine! Mr Bruce has agreed to restore the dolls house, however my father would not agree to his removing it from this house. So, I have invited him to stay with us for the duration of the restoration and work!”
I gasped. This was much much more than I had expected, to have a guest stay for so long was un heard of in this quiet and regulated house. Michael went on.
“I know, imagine my shock! But Father was adamant and he extended the invitation himself which I was not expecting and Mr Bruce excepted right away! He will not begin yet however. He must be back in London tomorrow, to finish off some other work he has and then he needs to marshal his tools and put his second in command in the way of looking after his London work shops. So, all told, he will begin his stay with us in a fortnight. Does this suit you?”
I considered. It was certainly more convenient having no removal necessary for it would mean I could paper and paint while Mr Bruce worked. It would be genial to have another person to converse with. It was a long time, to be sure, for a guest to stay but then I had often thought the house too quiet! I smiled at my husband.
“I am all agreement. Thank you for arranging this for me, my love.”
He rewarded me with a kiss, settling back in the bed, his arm about my shoulders.
“I was happy to do it, my dearest girl, after the news you gave me yesterday. By the way, I told Father this morning and I think that it was this which made him so quick to give the invitation to our new friend.”
For the previous morning I had seen my physician and had been able to tell my husband for a certainty that I was once again carrying his child.
