Ms Marigold

Chapter 1

The maid opened the curtains, removed the white sheets... the room came to life. As each drop of sunlight hit the opulent candelabras, textiles and gems I gasped in ore of the beauty that lay in front of me. The maid turned and curtsied before leaving the room. I smiled, gently closed the door and clapped my hands with joy and excitement.

At 21 I inherited Marigold Place from my aunt. The rich wife of a merchant, their only sons had died at sea - leaving me as her nearest kin. There was uproar in London when it was discovered that a lady was to inherit an estate - the probate lawyers searched high and wide for a male relation, a cousin twice removed - but there were no surviving male heirs as my father had passed away 3 months prior to her death.

Marigold Place, a double fronted house, stood tall in the village of Beaufort, nestled deep in the South West countryside, Bordered by a fine stone wall strewn with orange roses and an ornate iron gate it was a fine example of the local architecture. Swishing open the window the fragrant floral perfume hit me, the scent was devine. Swirling around I walked slowly smoothing my hand over the items of furniture as I passed them feeling their silky touch underhand. I investigated the house whilst the staff took my bags to my room. The style was a little dated but it was beautiful never the less. My aunt had a compulsion for antiques, paintings and anything that cost more than it should, I had to admire her collection though some were a little spooky. I had never been keen on stuffed animal heads on the wall. Perhaps they would be the first thing to go?

Ms Spring was busy unpacking my belongings when I entered my bedroom. We made small talk as I sat admiring the view. I was so glad that I chose my Aunt’s bedroom as the view was spectacular. There were glass double doors which opened onto a stone balcony, perfect to keep cool on hot summer evenings and when I needed time out to collect my thoughts. The room was styled beautifully. The large dark wood bed looked dwarfed in the vast space; the cream wallpaper had beautiful floral prints to compliment the rich curtains. It vaguely mirrored my room in London – yet there was a distinctive country style.

Everything appeared to be in hand so I requested that my staff prepare the carriage so that I could explore Beaufort .The journey was quite short, little stone houses sat on the side of the road, sweet peas and roses adorned their gardens. The village was very welcoming with everyone that we passed tilting their hat or waving their hands to me. My aunts carriage was well recognised around the village and it was reassuring that I was given the same welcome that she had. As the carriage drew to a stop I glanced out to the little tea room. Delectable cakes and pastries filled the window display, full of cream and strawberries. The roads were cobbled mud and that didn't suit my shoes very well. I quickly stepped back on to the carriage step whilst Williams removed the carriage blanket and placed it on to the floor. "Thank you Williams I smiled, stepping on the blanket and safely on to the path. A young girl stood watching me struggle with the mud and was now joined by a few others, whispering to themselves and giggling. I gave a small smile, smoothed my dress and proceeded to enter the tea room.

I opened the door and the warm smell of bread, cakes and tea made me crave every delight in the room. The lady behind the counter was keen to welcome me, "welcome, my name is Edith Cakeworthy, may I bring you our finest tea?" I recall thinking that her name was very apt for her profession. I of course ordered a small slice of cake and a cup of tea. Mrs Cakeworthy was very friendly, giving me lots of information regarding who was who and where to buy certain items. I was keen not to give too much away about myself and made my excuses before I could be listed in her next who’s who conversation. I spent the next hour or so browsing the other shops, making a note of the meats and wine that I wanted the cook to buy out of the house budget as well as ordering some suitable walking shoes from the cobbler.

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The next few weeks passed quickly! Within time Marigold Place started to feel like home, but although I was kept busy and was keen to make new acquaintances I didn't fill the space on my own. I had inherited a modest staff of 5. James Williams the Footman, Mrs Flora the cook, Tilly Mangle the kitchen maid and house maid, Arthur Smyth the gardener and odd job man and my confidant and ladies maid Elizabeth Spring. Although they were in the house they were not mutual company.