Moorland Hall (FIRST DRAFT)

from 10-11 November 2010: An Accomplished Young Lady

Life went back to normal again, and the days passed by as they had done before he had arrived that late afternoon in February. Julia begun feeling restless again, and over lunch a couple of weeks later, asked to know more about the Ashtons and their guests.

‘There’s Lord Derringham, Sir Marvin Flynn, Colonel Ford and others, I believe. Plenty of fine folk to go around.’

‘Are there no women there?’

‘Oh, there will be plenty! Mrs. Ashton has three daughters, all very elegant ladies and they’re all normally at university, and Lady Derringham will of course bring her two daughters, Felicity and Millicent. I remember Felicity being particularly pretty, but that must have been about seven years ago now, when she was only eighteen. We had a Christmas party at the time, you see. Rarely do we get to host such events nowadays, but I suppose people are busy. Oh yes, she was the belle of the ball.’

‘What did she look like?’

Something had been sneaking up on her, a feeling she didn’t know how to explain, but it was snaking its way through her stomach and left her with a queasy feeling. A feeling that this Felicity Derringham was a woman of considerable beauty and wealth and talent, whereas Julia herself had no money, at least no more than what she earned from working at Moorland, and her talents were limited, and her looks - no point even going there. They had never been anything to write home about.

‘A fine figure, slender but you know, curvy in the right places. Graceful, with large, black eyes - much like Mr. Harrington’s - and sparkling like the diamonds she wore. The most amazing hair I ever saw, raven-black and put up in a style I wouldn’t dream of attempting. If I remember it correctly, she was wearing a white dress with an amber-coloured shrug. There was even a flower of the same colour in her hair - I particularly remember how striking the contrast was.’

The housekeeper seemed rather fond of the memory, which was more than a little disconcerting. Why had she taken such a keen interest in the girl, if it wasn’t for hoping that she would perhaps one day take over as mistress of the House?

‘I suppose she was greatly admired?’

‘Naturally. Not just for her looks, mind; she had an excellent singing voice and very accomplished on the piano. All those years of private tutoring, no doubt. Maybe Odelia would like piano lessons too.’

‘I have taught her the basics, that’s all I know. She’s a bit too young to take any notice of it and she’s not particularly interested at the moment. Maybe when she’s older she could take proper piano lessons.’

‘Wouldn’t that be lovely? Mr. Harrington is very fond of music. In fact, he often accompanied Felicity on the piano when she was singing. He has such a nice singing voice, you know, he really ought to use it more.’

‘He can sing?’ Julia blurted out without thinking. ‘And play the piano?’

‘Yes, rather well, too!’ Mrs. Deacon shook her head. ‘I find it hard to believe neither of them are married yet, you know. People like them really ought to be, if you know what I mean? You’d expect someone would have snatched them up by now.’

‘Surely Mr. Harrington would show an interest in such an accomplished and beautiful woman?’

The question seemed to puzzle her slightly, but after thinking about it, the housekeeper shook her head. ‘No, no, you have to realise there’s a considerable age difference between them.’

Maths had never been Julia’s strong point, but if she did the maths correctly, she could think of a number of celebrities that had considerably younger partners. Not to mention that this Felicity Miss Perfect was probably about five years her own senior.

‘There are more unequal matches made every day,’ she snapped a little too quickly, adding, ‘I mean, it’s not that big really and there are plenty of examples of it out there.’ Mrs. Deacon nodded, but without any enthusiasm. ‘Wouldn’t she have lots of suitors in the parks and mansions around here, though?

‘Perhaps, but most of them are more interested in merging fortunes nowadays, and the Derringham estate isn’t worth as much now as it once did. She would probably have more luck trying to find a nice man in London than up here. - Oh, but you’re hardly eating a thing! Is something the matter?’

‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’

‘You look terribly flushed, my dear. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? You’re hardly eating. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?’

‘I will be absolutely fine, Mrs. Deacon. There’s nothing wrong with me. I think I’m just a little bit more thirsty than I am hungry. I’ll just have another glass of water.’

The old woman didn’t look convinced, but let the subject drop for the moment. Odelia took the moment to come in and shine like a little sun, showing the drawing she had made of Pilot.

That night, Julia stared at herself in the mirror, where her own plain features stared back at her. What would she have to contend with? Nothing. She had no long, slender neck and sloping shoulders and a full bust and whatever it was Mrs. Deacon had said. Her hair was not black and wavy, but a dull, lifeless hazel at best and at worst, a mousy brown, and there was no volume to it. When other people used hair straighteners, she had never had the need for them, as her hair was as straight as a ruler naturally. Nothing much to do with it, because if she attempted any sort of fancy haircuts, it just fell flat anyway and she didn’t want to have to spend a couple of hours every morning getting ready just to make her hair look pathetic instead of just a bit rubbish, so it stayed as it was. A quick brush through it in the morning, then either leaving it hanging or putting it up in a ponytail or braid if it got in the way.

Her features weren’t anything to write home about either. A curious little button of a nose, a couple of very ordinary-looking ears, cheekbones that were less than striking, although she had never quite understood the obsession people had with cheekbones anyway. A chin, yes, she had one of them as well, and a forehead and a couple of eyes. Nothing to write home about. The eyes were green, but she could think of no flattering, romantic description for them. The closest thing she could think about was “seaweed” and that was the wrong sort of colour anyway, and definitely the wrong connotations. Seaweed implied sliminess, and while eyeballs were probably quite slimy, her eye colour wasn’t. At least she sincerely hoped it wasn’t. No, her eyes were fine, the mirror reassured her.

Oh, what’s the use?

At her desk, she got out her sketching pencils and started drawing a portrait. The features that started to come out on the paper were her own, in all their plainness. When she was done, she wrote on the back “Portrait of an au pair, plain and unconnected” and got to work on another one. This time, the features that came out were more sophisticated, aristocratic, beautiful. In short, everything she herself wasn’t. It wasn’t difficult to picture Felicity Derringham, Mrs. Deacon had made sure of that. Putting the finishing touches on the portrait, a beautiful woman with enticing, dark pools for eyes and hair with such lustre and volume that a vainer person than Julia would have sold their souls to have.

The title on the back was “Portrait of an accomplished young lady”, something which she felt herself to be very far from. Okay, she could speak and understand a few different languages, but that was quite standard from where she came from. More or less everyone spoke at least three or had some degree of understanding, from school. That’s where she had learned English, so that hardly counted. Her piano-playing was not up to scratch either and the only real skill she had was to draw. But that’s just such a small thing in a big world. There was no reason why she would stand any chance in a comparison with Felicity Derringham.