Gift Of the Gods

Chapter One ~ 1821-1

Chapter One

1821As Sir Hadrian Wynton was driven away down the unkempt drive, which was a complete contrast to the smart carriage he was travelling in, his daughters gave a sigh of relief.

They had been hustling and bustling from morning until evening during the last few days, getting their father packed up and ready to set off for Scotland.

Sir Hadrian’s hobby was geology and he had written erudite but rather dull books on the rocks and stones of Britain.

Therefore, when he received an invitation from an old friend to visit him in Scotland, with the promise that he could not only explore the mountains of Perthshire but also journey to the Shetland Islands, he was as excited as any schoolboy at the idea.

“I have always wanted to research, for one thing, the Pictish forts,” he said, “and see what type of stones they used and I should not be surprised if the Vikings brought with them stones from the other side of the North Sea which up to date have not been discovered.”

Penelope, his youngest daughter, made no pretence of listening to her father talk on subjects in which she had no interest.

But Alisa, who loved her father deeply, tried to understand what he was saying and she knew that, now that her mother was dead, his whole interest was concentrated on what he termed his ‘work’.

She offered to copy out his manuscripts for him in her neat elegant handwriting before they went to the publishers and he would even read to her aloud a long chapter when Penelope was either in bed or trying to improve her very scanty wardrobe.

Now, as they turned from the front door, having waved their father out of sight, Penelope said,

“I have an idea to tell you about.”

Alisa did not answer and Penelope then demanded insistently,

“Did you hear me, Alisa?”

“I was just wondering if Papa has taken enough warm clothing with him,” Alisa answered. “I am sure it is much colder in the North than it is here and he will go out in all weathers and forget that he is growing older and more prone to coughs and colds.”

“Stop fussing over Papa as if you were a hen with only one chick!” Penelope exclaimed. “And come into the sitting room. I really have something very serious to talk to you about.”

She had by now alerted her sister and Alisa looked at her with startled eyes as she followed Penelope from the hall into the untidy but comfortable sitting room, which in her mother’s time had been called the morning room.

Now it was where Alisa and Penelope pursued their special hobbies and in consequence there was a half-finished gown thrown over one chair with a work basket open beside it and, on the small easel by the window, a picture that Alisa was painting of some primroses in a china vase.

There were a great number of books in the room, too many to find places in the large Chippendale bookcase, which was already full.

Many therefore stood rather untidily in one corner and there were also little piles of two or three on most of the tables.

Alisa was the ‘reader’ and Penelope the ‘doer’ and they were very different in character, although in looks they were not unalike.

At the same time there was a difference.

Both were lovely, almost outstandingly beautiful, but Penelope was undoubtedly the more spectacular.

It was impossible to think that any girl could present such an ideal of prettiness.

Her hair was the gold of ripening corn, her eyes as blue as a summer sky, her complexion the pink-and-white that was to be found more often in poems than in actual fact.

People, when they saw Penelope thought that she could not be real, then when they looked at Alisa and looked again, they realised that she was as lovely as her sister and yet it was not so obvious.

It was their father who, in one of his more perceptive moods, had christened them ‘The Rose and the Violet’ and it actually was an extremely apt title, which he then forgot because he seldom had time to think about his daughters.

In fact it was only two days before he left for Scotland that he said to Alisa,

“Oh, by the way, Alisa, I have written to your Aunt Harriet and asked her to have you to stay.”

“Aunt Harriet? Oh, no Papa!” Alisa exclaimed involuntarily.

“What do you mean by that?” her father enquired.

There was a pause and then Alisa replied,

“I suppose we – could not – stay here? We would be quite – safe, as you well know, with the Brigstocks to look after us.”

“The Brigstocks are servants,” her father replied, “and, although it has been all right for me to leave you with them for a night or two, it is quite a different thing to be away for two or perhaps three months.”

Alisa did not reply.

She was racking her brains to think of somebody they could invite to stay with them instead of having to leave the country she loved and stay with their aunt in London.

They had been to her twice before for short visits and had found it incredibly boring and she knew that Penelope found the atmosphere of the house in Islington unbearable.

Sir Hadrian’s elder sister had married, long before he had, an Army Officer.

General Ledbury had had a long career in the Army, being what her father called scornfully ‘an armchair soldier’, which meant that he spent his time at the War Office and never saw active service.

On his retirement he was awarded the K.C.B., then died, leaving his wife with little money and no children.

This was perhaps the reason why Lady Ledbury took up good works and spent her time working to raise money either for Missionaries, crippled soldiers or orphaned children.

Whenever her nieces stayed with her they were forced to spend their time either making ugly garments for natives in far-off places, who found it much more convenient to go naked or copying out tracts that the Society concerned found too expensive to have printed.

The idea of spending two to three months on such activities was appalling, but, as her father was adamant that they could not stay at home. Alisa, who disliked arguing with him, accepted that there was nothing they could do but hope that he would return as quickly as possible.

Now, looking around their sitting room, she thought despondently that her aunt would never allow her to waste time in painting and, if Penelope wished to sew for herself, she would have to do it secretly after she was supposed to be in bed.

Penelope, however, was smiling and there was a look of excitement in her large eyes that made Alisa ask in surprise,

“What is it? What has happened?”

“I have a wonderful idea!” Penelope replied. “And it is all because of something Eloise said to me yesterday.”

Eloise Kingston was the daughter of the local Squire, with whom the girls had shared lessons until she had been sent away a year ago to a smart Seminary for young ladies.

She had come home a week ago and Penelope had seen her, while Alisa had been too busy packing for her father to be able to visit The Hall.

“I am longing to see Eloise,” Alisa said now. “Is she excited at having left school?”

“She is going to be presented at a ‘drawing room’ at the end of this month,” Penelope replied.

For a moment the light had gone from her eyes and there was a bitter note in her voice.

Only Alisa knew how much Penelope resented it that Eloise could have the chance to go to Court, to attend balls, Receptions and assemblies in London, while she had to stay at home.

“It is unfair!” she had said over and over again. “Why should Papa not do something for us?”

“The answer is that he cannot afford to,” Alisa had replied. “As you well know, Penelope, it is a struggle for us to live here as it is.”

“Then why cannot Papa write a book which would make money, instead of producing those dreary old tomes that nobody wants to read?”

Alisa had smiled.

“I don’t think it has ever struck Papa that he should be a wage-earner. I am sure he would think it beneath his dignity.”

“We cannot eat the family tree nor does the fact that Papa is the seventh Baronet buy me a new gown!” Penelope snapped crossly.

Things might not have been so boring if Eloise, who was extremely fond of both of them, had not spent every moment, when she was at home, telling them of the people she had met and the entertainments planned for her in the coming Season.

At Christmas the Squire and his wife had settled down to consider how they could launch their only daughter into the Beau Monde. The Squire was well known in Hertfordshire and was a large landowner, but London was different and the famous hostesses would not be likely to include Eloise among their guests unless her parents contrived to be socially recognised.

They had been partly successful, for Eloise, according to Penelope, had already received invitations to various balls that were to take place next month and the reason she had delayed coming home after her time at the Seminary was finished was that her mother was buying her new gowns.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful!” Penelope had explained in awestruck tones when she had described them to her sister. “The latest fashions are quite, quite different from anything we have been wearing.”

Her voice was lyrical as she went on,

“Skirts are fuller round the hem and very elaborately trimmed with lace, flowers and embroidery, and, although the waist is still high, the sleeves are full, while the bonnets are so beautiful that they are indescribable!”

Alisa could not help thinking that it was a mistake for Eloise to make Penelope so jealous of her possessions, but she knew it would be wrong to say so.

She thought it would be a good thing when the Squire, his wife and their daughter left the country for London.

Now thinking that she would have to listen to another rapturous description of Eloise’s clothes, Alisa sat down on the sofa and waited for Penelope to tell her what was on her mind.

“Eloise was talking about two girls called the Gunning sisters,” Penelope said. “When they were eighteen, they arrived in London from Ireland and, although they were both exceedingly beautiful, they had no money.”

Alisa smiled.

“I know the story,” she said. “I read it ages ago and I told you about it.”

“I suppose I was not listening,” Penelope replied. “The younger sister married two Dukes, Hamilton and Argyll and the elder married the Earl of Coventry.”

“And she died when she was very young,” Alisa added, “from using a face cream to improve her skin that contained white lead.”

“There is no need for you to do that.”

Alisa s eyes widened.

“Why should I want to?” she enquired.

“Because we are going to be the Gunning sisters!” Penelope answered. “I have thought it all out and I know, however modest you may try to be, that we are just as beautiful as they were.”

Alisa laughed.

“I am quite prepared to agree with you, dearest, but it is very improbable that two Dukes will drop down the chimney or an Earl come through the window!”

“Have you forgotten,” Penelope asked, “that we are going to London?”

“To be honest, I am depressed at the thought,” Alisa answered. “The only men Aunt Harriet entertains, as you are well aware, are Parsons and Missionaries.”

“Nevertheless, Aunt Harriet lives in London.”

“But how does that help us?”

Penelope was silent for a moment and then she said,

“I am absolutely certain that, if you and I had a chance to appear at any of the parties Eloise has been invited to we should have the same sensational success as the Gunning sisters.”

Alisa laughed again.

“I think that unlikely. And we would look like beggars at a ball, dressed we are now, with everybody else wearing the new gowns that you have described so eloquently.”

“The Gunning sisters had one gown,” Penelope said, “so when one went out, the other one had to stay in bed. We are going to have two gowns, one for you and one for me!”

She saw that her sister looked surprised and went on,