The Prisoner Of Love

Chapter One 1851-2

She had thought, however, that she should make her uncle realise that she was grown up now and could no longer be kept in the schoolroom.

Then Iris had arrived and it had not taken long for Sorilda to realise that she was indeed to be kept no longer in the schoolroom but very much in the background.

Like many beautiful women, Iris was quite unnecessarily jealous of any competition.

She had to hold the centre of the stage always and at every conceivable moment of the day and night.

Any woman who was not positively old and hideous she viewed as a possible rival and she was unpleasantly shocked by Sorilda’s appearance as soon as she reached The Castle.

Now, as the Duke replied to his wife’s remark, Sorilda, with an effort to placate him, said,

“I think the reason why the Earl of Winsford has been given the Garter is because he has supported Prince Albert from the very beginning in his plans for the Crystal Palace.”

“How can you possibly be aware of that?” the Duchess asked.

Before Sorilda could reply, the Duke interposed,

“She is right and a damned silly idea it is from start to finish! Only a lunatic would think of designing a Palace made of glass – and to desecrate Hyde Park is the greatest fraud and the greatest imposition ever thrust upon the people of this country!”

The Duke spoke angrily, but Sorilda remembered that almost the same expressions had been used in the House of Commons by one of the Members of Parliament.

Despite the opposition not only from distinguished personages like the Duke but also from the newspapers, the building of the Crystal Palace had gone ahead.

“You mark my words,” the Duke was saying, his voice rising, “the whole thing will be a ghastly failure and it will not surprise me if the building collapses at the very moment when Her Majesty is opening it!”

He gave a snort as he added,

“What can one expect from a gardener’s boy who is allowed to call himself an architect?”

This referred, Sorilda knew, to Joseph Paxton, who was one of the most remarkable men of the century.

He had indeed started life as a gardener’s boy, but he had become the protégé of the Duke of Devonshire and without architectural qualifications had become celebrated as the designer of the great conservatory at Chatsworth, the Duke’s seat in Derbyshire.

The newspapers had related scornfully that Paxton had produced for Prince Albert’s inspection a rough sketch for the Palace of Glass, which was basically a greenhouse on an undreamt of scale.

The Duke’s prophesy of disaster was by no means the only one.

Sorilda read the newspapers methodically and found innumerable articles, letters and reports declaring that the building would collapse and the footsteps of the walking multitudes would start up vibrations that must shake it down.

A Member of Parliament, Colonel Charles Sibthorp, an arch Tory, declared that the dearest wish of his heart was that ‘the confounded building called the Crystal Palace would be dashed to pieces.’

Other people were certain that a hailstorm would crack it, thunder would shatter it and rain would flood it. But the building of Crystal Palace continued and Sorilda had read that, now it was approaching completion, even the most adverse critics had begun to feel that something very extraordinary was about to take place.

The Queen was to open the Crystal Palace on the 1st of May, which was only two weeks ahead.

The Duke from the very beginning had been one of those violently against Prince Albert’s ‘dream-child’, although Sorilda was quite certain that he did not say so when he was at Buckingham Palace.

At this moment she was sure that it was not the Palace that was really annoying him, but the fact that he was jealous of the Earl of Winsford.

Because she was sensitive to what other people were feeling and was aware that her step-aunt did not always disguise her emotions, she was sure that the Earl meant more to Iris than simply that his lands neighboured those of The Castle.

When the Earl’s name was mentioned, which was fairly frequently, there was a look in those pale blue eyes, which Sorilda felt was different from the usual calculating glance she surveyed the world with.

If the young Duchess were enamoured of the Earl of Winsford, it would not be surprising.

Ever since she had come to live in The Castle, Sorilda had heard him talked about not only by her uncle and his guests but also by the servants, the farmers on the estate, the huntsmen, the woodmen and everybody else in the neighbourhood.

When she had seen the Earl for the first time at a Meet of hounds that took place annually at The Castle, Sorilda had understood why so much gossip surrounded him.

Not only was he extremely handsome, which would account for the women’s interest in him, but he was also a better rider than any man she had ever seen.

Living at The Castle she learnt that his horses were as outstanding as their Master. He had won the Gold Cup at Ascot last year and was expected to win it again this year.

The Duke had been tolerant if not effusive about the Earl before he married, then overnight it seemed the neighbour with whom he had always lived in peace became an enemy.

“I will tell you one thing,” he was saying now, still in the hectoring tone he used when he was annoyed, “if we get through the opening ceremony of this ridiculous building without losing our lives or being cut to pieces by falling glass, I shall be exceedingly surprised!”

The Duchess laughed.

“I am not frightened, Edmund, and there is no reason for you to work yourself up about its being dangerous.”

“It is not only dangerous, it is sheer lunacy!” the Duke retorted. “When I was in London two days ago, I was told the latest idiocy that is taking place in that monstrosity.”

“What is that?” Sorilda asked eagerly.

She longed to see the Crystal Palace for herself, but when she had suggested she might go to London for that sole purpose, her step-aunt had made it very clear that she was to remain in the country and had forbidden her categorically to stay at Nuneaton House in Park Lane.

It was most unfair, Sorilda thought, when it seemed everybody else in the whole of Northampton would be journeying to London for the Exhibition.

But it did not really surprise her, as she knew that her step-aunt’s feelings towards her were growing more vitriolic week by week, month by month.

“Do tell me what is happening, Uncle Edmund,” she asked.

She was so curious that she ignored the frown on the smooth white forehead between two exquisitely pale blue eyes, because the Duchess felt that she was pushing herself forward.

As if he was rather glad to have the opportunity of disparaging the Exhibition further, the Duke said,

“It had been found that the three large elm trees in the transept harbour so many sparrows that all the rich woods on display could be spoiled by them.”

“Why on earth did they not think of that before they left the trees unfelled in the Palace?” Sorilda asked.

“You may well ask the question,” the Duke replied. “The whole conception is a disgrace from start to finish and when you think that an average of two thousand workmen have been working on this disastrous project, it makes me despair of our country’s sanity!”

“What have they done about the sparrows, Uncle Edmund?” Sorilda enquired, wanting to keep the Duke to the point.

“The Queen suggested that Lord John Russell should be sent for,” the Duke answered, “and Lord John advised that soldiers from the Regiments of Foot Guards should be sent into the building to shoot the sparrows.”

“Surely that would break the glass?”

“That is what the Prince pointed out,” the Duke replied, annoyed that she had anticipated what he was about to say.

“Then what did they do?”

“Somebody, I do not know who,” the Duke answered, “suggested sending for the Duke of Wellington.”

“And what did he suggest?”

“I believe he remarked that he was not a bird-catcher, but on the Queen’s command, he presented himself at Buckingham Palace.”

With difficulty Sorilda prevented herself from interrupting, as she knew by her uncle’s tone of voice that he was coming to the point of the story.

The Duke paused a little, then after a glance at his wife to see if she was listening, he said,

“Wellington, I understand, uttered four words, ‘try sparrow hawks, ma’am!’”

Sorilda clapped her hands.

“Oh, that was clever, very clever of him!”

“And what happened?” the Duchess asked, because she felt it was expected of her.

She was obviously not particularly interested because she never was unless the conversation involved her.

The Duke gave a short laugh.

“It was reported that the sparrows flew out of the Crystal Palace in a body and were never seen again!”

Sorilda laughed and she thought, as her uncle laughed too, that he was in a better humour now that he had been able to tell her a story, which was something he always enjoyed.

For a moment he had forgotten the Earl of Winsford.

The Duchess rose to her feet.

“I am sure that you have something better to do, Sorilda, than sit here at the breakfast table,” she said disagreeably. “Actually I have various tasks waiting for you in my boudoir. Come with me and I will give them to you.”

Sorilda had not quite finished her coffee, but she knew better than to delay and obediently followed the Duchess from the room, noticing as she did so how perfectly her step-aunt’s crinoline swung from her small waist.

She was feeling a violent resentment because the Duchess had refused to allow the whalebone frame that supported her own gown to be wider than two feet from side to side.

It was extremely unfortunate that Iris had come into her step-niece’s life at a moment when Sorilda was in need of a number of new clothes, having grown out of her old ones.

She had, in fact, been planning a visit to London to buy what was necessary in the way of gowns and cloaks and with them new bonnets made fashionable by the Queen.

Then had come the Duke’s surprise wedding and the clothes had therefore not been bought.

After the new Duchess’s reign had begun, Sorilda had found it impossible to buy anything without it first receiving her step-aunt’s approval.

“I have always chosen my own clothes,” she protested.

“You must allow me to know what is best for you,” Iris had replied firmly.

Sorilda had soon found that what Iris considered ‘best’ for her was in every way to her disadvantage.

She soon became aware that the Duchess intended to do everything in her power to detract from her appearance.

She flatly refused to allow Sorilda’s gowns to be made in anything but an unpleasant shade of fawn, which made her skin look sallow, or a drab grey which made her feel like a ghost.

It was no use appealing to her uncle, for Sorilda knew he was completely under his new wife’s thumb and would agree to anything she suggested so long as she smiled at him and coaxed him in a manner that he found utterly irresistible.

It was not only by choosing her clothes that the Duchess tried to alter Sorilda’s appearance.

She was astonished, when one evening before she came down to dinner, her step-aunt’s lady’s maid, a gaunt and unpleasant woman whom Sorilda knew repeated to her Mistress everything that happened below stairs, came in to her bedroom.

“Good evening, Harriet!” Sorilda exclaimed and waited to hear the reason for her appearance.

“Her Grace has asked me to do your hair in a new style, miss.”

“I am quite happy with the way it is now, thank you,” Sorilda replied.

Harriet had not even bothered to answer her and Sorilda, knowing that it was not a request but an order, sat down at her dressing table.

Harriet produced a china pot that Sorilda looked at questioningly.

“Her Grace thinks your hair looks dry, miss,” Harriet explained.

Opening the pot she started to smear Sorilda’s hair with what appeared to be dark pomade.

It was soon quite obvious that the result took away the colour of her hair and left it dank and limp.