In Silence Of Snow

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

French-born Marie Gabin forms a friendship with Veronica Attwood in their final two years at school, but this is tested when Marie is forced to disclose a secret to her friend. In the shadow of this revelation, the girls grow up on a country estate in North Yorkshire. The First World War takes its toll when Marie loses the man she loves and Veronica''s husband suffers injuries which eventually leave her a widow, but she finds consolation in her love for the land. Returning to France, Marie marries her childhood sweetheart, but once again life brings involvement in war for the two friends. Loving their Yorkshire land, Veronica and her daughters enlist in the Land Army. When a bomber squadron arrives on a newly constructed airfield on part of the estate, relationships are formed. Elise joins the RAF and is recruited into the SOE. But secrets will out. On a mission to France, Elise faces dangers she did not expect as she searches for Marie and the truth - a truth that will have an outcome she never envisaged.

Release date: February 7, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 400

Sample

Marie Gabin left small imprints in the light covering of snow as she stepped across the paved verandah to the stone balustrade that fronted the house known as Rushbrook, on the southern edge of the North Yorkshire Moors near the market town of Helmsley. She shivered, tugged at her long black skirt and automatically tightened the belt on her woollen, calf-length coat, trying to draw comfort from its warmth. She smoothed her close-fitting hat, tugged at the scarf tossed loosely round her neck, held it there with one hand and let her gaze rove over the snow-covered sward shimmering under the moonlight. A tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away and sighed.

‘If only.’ Her lips tightened. She really shouldn’t contemplate the meaning behind those two words. The past was the past, the future …

‘Ah, there you are.’ A pleasant, gentle voice broke into her thoughts.

Marie gathered herself. ‘Sorry, Veronica, I should have told you I’d come out.’ Marie started to turn to greet her, thankful for the friendship forged at boarding school in 1912, seven years ago when they were sixteen.

‘No, Marie, stay there. I’ll get a coat and join you. Sylvia is settled with the nursemaid.’

Marie watched her go, wishing she could turn back the clock to the day in 1918 when she had returned home to France at the end of the war.

A few minutes later, clad in a Burberry trenchcoat, Veronica came out of the house and slipped her hand into Marie’s.

Lost in the beauty of the night, neither woman spoke until Marie said, quietly, as if she were afraid of breaking the tranquil splendour, ‘It is so beautiful.’

‘It is,’ replied Veronica, as large white flakes began to drift slowly down from a sky that still for the most part displayed the magic of its stars. ‘On a night like this you can hear silence in the falling snow. There seems to be peace everywhere. I never thought when Michael and I married that I would be living at Rushbrook so soon. Why did this terrible accident have to happen just when he was getting over the horror of the trenches and his wounds were healing?’

‘With your help, I’m sure he’ll cope.’

‘I hope so. I think he’ll be strong enough. His nightmares were becoming less frequent and life was beginning to calm down for us. Working with his father on the estate was good for him, but now …?’ A note of doubt entered her tone, which she quickly rectified. ‘Of course, the extra responsibility could help keep his mind occupied. He has a good foreman, Crosby, who has been with the family for years, and we are blessed with good friends. I’m so thankful that you were here when this happened. You’re a true friend.’

Marie gazed wistfully across the snow-covered scene. ‘So are you.’ She paused as if she wanted to hold this moment in time, keep it close to her and never let it go. She turned, took hold of Veronica’s hands and looked at her friend with an expression of sadness and regret. ‘I’ve some news I wish I didn’t have to break to you.’

Sixteen-year-old Marie Gabin straightened up from her desk, picked up the letter she had just written, and leaned back in her chair to read it again.

9 September 1912

Dearest Mama,

After two days here I am sure I am going to like the convent where you were educated before me. It is comforting to know that you were once here at St Mary’s.

The room I share with an English girl called Veronica Attwood is a little sparsely furnished but comfortable enough and, as you saw, we have a very good view across the playing fields and can see the towers of York Minster in the distance. The headmistress, Sister Loyola, seems a pleasant, considerate woman, but one who will stand no nonsense and be strict when necessary. There are about fifty boarders here.

I am sorry you had to leave without meeting Veronica. I think we will become special friends. Her family has a small country estate near a place called Helmsley about twenty-five miles north of York and thirty from the coast. She spent last summer holidays in France learning the language, but it is amusing to hear her speak it. I’ve promised to put her right during the two years we will be here. Maybe then we’ll go to finishing school together.

I am writing this in one of our two common rooms. The bell will be going any minute for us to start our first lessons and I need to go upstairs so I will close, dearest Mama. I miss you. Give my love to Papa. I will write again soon.

Your loving and respectful daughter,

Marie

She slipped the letter into the envelope she had already addressed, and sealed it. Grabbing her two books, she hurried to the door. As she stepped out she almost collided with another girl who was rushing along the corridor.

‘Watch where you’re going!’ she snapped, glaring with hostility at Marie. ‘Want a detention?’

‘I heard that, Monica Beasley, and I know you can’t give one, so don’t try and take it out on us new girls.’

Monica’s glare darkened as she noticed Veronica, who had just arrived. The bullying girl had been caught out, and knew it. She said nothing, but swung round in her tracks and stormed away.

Marie sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness you were here, V.’

The two girls started towards the hall together.

‘I’m leaving this letter on the table for posting, as we were told, and then going to our room,’ explained Marie.

‘So was I,’ said Veronica. ‘We’ll have to hurry – the bell will be going any minute.’

As they started up the stairs, Marie asked, ‘You knew that girl?’

‘Yes. She lives near us. Always has had a reputation for thinking she’s better than anyone else.’

‘But she is a monitor.’

‘Take no notice of that blue ribbon pinned to her blouse; she’s only a “half monitor”. That means she has the authority to help full monitors or staff if called on to do so, but she certainly can’t give detentions.’

‘Well, thank goodness you knew that.’ Marie felt their friendship had deepened in the last few minutes.

The bell for the first class of the day started to ring.

‘Better hurry if we want to see if there are any letters,’ said Veronica.

They rushed down the stairs together.

‘One for me,’ cried Veronica.

‘From Michael?’

‘Who else? Is yours from Jacques?’

‘Yes.’ They hurried off towards the classroom.

‘You don’t seem so pleased,’ Veronica observed.

‘I am, but there are times when he takes so much for granted. He’s nearly three years older than me and he thinks that entitles him to boss me. He knows my papa expects us to marry,’ Marie explained.

‘And you don’t view that prospect with favour?’

‘Well, I’d like to have some say in the matter, when the time comes.’

There was no chance to say more; they were in the classroom.

Veronica lay on her bed trying to catch up with the passages of David Copperfield that the teacher had set the class to read before the evening English lesson. She was thankful that rain had curtailed outdoor activities and had given her this opportunity to read David’s first meeting with his great-aunt, something she had neglected to do since the last English lesson. Ten minutes later, when she felt she was getting to grips with the story, the door opened. It did so in a way Veronica would have termed reluctant. That assessment was borne out when she saw a glum-faced Marie step inside as if the whole world were weighing heavily on her shoulders.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Veronica asked, letting the book slip down beside her on the bed. ‘Beastly Beasley been bothering you again?’

‘After a month here I can deal with her badgering,’ replied Marie, letting the door click shut behind her. ‘It’s this,’ she added, holding out an envelope and a sheet of paper as she crossed to the bed.

Veronica sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and took the paper and envelope. She recognised Marie’s mother’s writing from previous correspondence.

‘Read it,’ prompted her friend.

As Veronica scanned the letter, Marie flopped down on the bed and perched on the edge of it beside her friend.

‘From the look on your face, I take it you don’t want to do this at half-term?’

‘I DO NOT!’ replied Marie emphatically. ‘I had expected to be at home and I definitely don’t want to go to an armaments conference in Switzerland. Papa will be tied up in meetings; Mama will be chatting with other delegates’ wives. I’ll be left on my own to amuse myself.’

‘Won’t other people’s children be there?’

‘If they are, I won’t know them,’ Marie muttered gloomily.

‘What about Jacques, won’t he be at home?’

‘No. He’ll be at the conference too. His father insists Jacques should be there because he’ll take over their business one day. My papa agrees that’s how it should be; never too young to start learning.’ She raised her eyes to heaven.

‘Right,’ said Veronica in a no-nonsense tone. ‘You, M, are coming to spend half-term with me!’

For a moment the room was filled with silence before Marie, her eyes brightening with hope as her friend’s meaning sank in, said, ‘Oh, V, may I? It would be marvellous.’

Veronica laughed at her reaction. ‘Of course you may.’

‘But will your parents agree?’ asked Marie doubtfully.

‘I have ways to wind them round my finger, especially Papa,’ replied Veronica with a knowing nod.

‘Ah, mener quelqu’un par le bout du nez,’ smiled Marie.

Veronica gave a little laugh. ‘I’ll have to learn that expression.’

‘Seriously, do you think they’ll agree?’ asked her friend hopefully.

‘I’m sure of it. And Jeremy won’t object; you’ll keep a sister two years younger than he safely out of his hair.’

‘Oh, V, that would be wonderful! Truly wonderful!’ Marie flung her arms round her friend and they both collapsed in laughter on the bed, only for Veronica to sober them both up with the question, ‘What about your parents? Will they agree, M?’

‘I’m sure they will. There’s no reason for them to object.’

‘Good. Then we’ll write the necessary letters. When we get their approval we’ll inform Sister Loyola and all will be well. Oh, M, we’re going to have a wonderful time!’

Six weeks later the spacious entrance hall of St Mary’s Convent was filled with the cheerful sound of excited schoolgirls eager to be away for their ten days’ mid-term break. The noise rose three storeys high, reverberating from the circular landings above and increasing in volume before bouncing back against the stone-flagged floor below. It would not be stilled until every last girl had departed.

The ten nuns and ten teaching lay-staff were all there with calming, reassuring words, fending off last-minute problems. ‘I’ve lost my purse and it has my railway ticket in it.’ ‘My hat’s gone! I know I put it on that chair, miss.’ ‘Oh, I’ve left my bag!’ ‘Don’t forget to bring back the book I loaned you …’ Words whirled around the room. The double doors at the front of the building opened, to reveal carriages and traps approaching, and the two ‘jack-of-all-trades’, who worked for the nuns, ready to help with the bags and luggage.

The activity out in the open helped to ease the turmoil inside. Departures became a steady flow.

Veronica and Marie, each carrying a small valise and handbag, came down the stairs together. Sister Loyola, who had just reassured one of the younger pupils that her elder sister would be there in a minute, saw them and strolled across the hall to reach the bottom of the stairs at the same time.

‘I’m pleased to see you two looking neat and tidy for once,’ she said in a tone that expressed praise rather than criticism.

‘Thank you, Sister,’ they chorused.

‘I have been pleased with the way you’ve settled in, and your work has been good on the whole. I hope it will continue so when we resume our studies.’

‘We’ll try, Sister.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’

‘Good.’

Any further conversation was halted by the increased buzz of excitement coming from beyond the open doors.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Sister Loyola, and started for the door.

Veronica and Marie followed in her wake and, with curiosity aroused, the groups of girls still milling about in the hall broke up and headed outside after them. The nuns, who were there to make their usual farewells to the girls bound for the world beyond the convent walls, were swept along in their wake. Chattering girls, surprised by what they were seeing, spread along the length of the stone verandah, leaving the broad steps to the nuns and lay-staff.

The chatter sank to a quiet buzz as if anything louder had no right to intrude on the low hum coming from the motor car that approached the convent at a slow but stately speed. It must be its owner’s prize possession. Its white body and gleaming chrome trim, in pristine condition, were meant to catch the onlooker’s attention and many of the girls commented on how quiet the engine was, purring as if it did not want to intrude.

Veronica’s eyes widened and widened. ‘Good heavens!’ Though she whispered them in disbelief, the words reached Marie who was standing close to her.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked quietly.

‘That’s Moylan driving!’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Josh Moylan. He looks after our carriage and traps.’

‘He’s doing more than that now,’ chuckled Marie.

‘He certainly is,’ agreed Veronica. ‘And he’s only a couple of years older than us.’

‘Oh!’ was all that Marie could say in reply.

‘And that’s Mama sitting in the back!’

The white car with its shimmering glass and sparkling chrome began to slow down. It stopped. Moylan jumped out and came round to the passenger door.

Silence spread across the scene; even the squeak of the harnesses on the horses champing between the shafts of two traps seemed subdued.

Veronica was even more surprised than her friend. The driver she was seeing now was immaculately dressed in a well-fitting light grey suit; on his head he wore a peaked cap tilted at a slight angle that allowed a glimpse of his jet black hair. She knew the other girls’ imaginations would be running riot to see such a personable young man, but wondered how they would have reacted if they had seen Moylan in his working-clothes caring for the Attwood vehicles.

He opened the door and held out one hand in case his passenger required help.

The lady who stepped elegantly from of the car diverted attention away from him and brought whispered gasps of admiration from the crowd of girls. ‘Oh, my!’ ‘She’s beautiful!’ ‘I’d kill to be like her!’ ‘Those lovely clothes.’

They fitted her to perfection, revealing them to be the work of a very accomplished dress-maker. The open-necked light-brown tunic-coat, with small lapels, flattered her slim waist before falling to mid-thigh over a narrow ankle-length skirt, slit at the front to facilitate ease of movement. The high-necked lace blouse she wore beneath perfectly enhanced the beauty of her oval face, with high cheekbones, full lips and a petite nose. Her eyes sparkled with the joy of life, perfectly offset by a wide-brimmed hat worn with a silk scarf tied in a neat bow on the left-hand side of its low crown.

‘Who is she?’ Speculation ran rife among the wide-eyed audience.

That speculation was answered when Sister Loyola moved from the steps towards the lady, saying as she did so, ‘Mrs Attwood, it is a pleasure to meet you again.’

‘And for me also,’ replied Catherine, in a low, gentle voice.

‘Your arrival has caused something of a sensation,’ continued Sister Loyola.

‘Oh, my goodness, I never intended …’

‘No, Mrs Attwood, there is no need for apology. I should offer you my thanks. It does us all good to see something of the world beyond our convent walls. Now, no doubt you wish to collect your daughter.’

‘And Marie Gabin.’

‘Of course. It is extremely good of you to have her. I’m sure she and Veronica will enjoy being together. They get on so well together, and all in all have had a successful term. They are both older than their years, but that needn’t be a bad thing. I think they will be good for one another.

‘I’m pleased to have your opinion. It gives me a little insight into Marie before I meet her.’

Sister Loyola nodded. ‘I reassured Madame and Monsieur Gabin that it would be in Marie’s best interests to come to you rather than to stay in the convent during the holidays. Her father was the more concerned; her mother realised the advantages to Marie of being with a friend.’

‘I will do my best to entertain both of them.’

‘I know you will,’ said Sister Loyola. ‘Oh, dear, I’m forgetting my manners. Forgive me, I should offer you some refreshment before you set off.’

‘No, please, you have enough to do, seeing to all these girls. I’ll get my two out of your way. I’ve caused enough upset as it is.’

‘Not at all.’ The headmistress cast a glance over at the girls who were still buzzing with excitement, many of them plying Veronica with questions. When she heard Sister Loyola call, Veronica felt relieved.

‘Got to go!’ she said. ‘Come on, Marie.’

The two girls grabbed their bags and hurried down the steps.

‘Mama!’ cried Veronica, and mother and daughter hugged in a way that carried Sister Loyola back to her own schooldays.

‘This is Marie,’ said Veronica at length.

‘Hello, Marie,’ said Catherine. Seeing the girl look somewhat embarrassed by not knowing how she should respond, Catherine smiled at her and said, ‘Have you got a hug for me too?’ The ice was broken by her warmth.

As she hugged her, Marie whispered, ‘Thank you for having me.’

‘It will be our delight. Now, both of you, say goodbye to Sister Loyola.’

‘Goodbye, Sister,’ they said together.

‘Goodbye.’ Sister Loyola smiled then turned away to meet some other parents.

‘In you get,’ said Catherine.

Josh, having stowed the girls’ bags, was holding the door open. On letting Marie get in first, Veronica said, ‘Marie, this is Moylan, Moylan this is Marie.’

‘Pleased to meet you, miss,’ he said, touching his forehead with one finger.

Marie nodded and smiled.

Veronica could not hide her surprise at his attire. In return Josh revealed he had noticed by giving her a cheeky wink as she stepped into the car.

‘This is beautiful,’ commented Veronica, casting her gaze around the vehicle as they motored down the drive towards the convent gates. ‘And so exciting! The whole school was envious. When did you get it?’

‘Just after you started at the convent,’ replied her mother.

‘So you must have known before, and you didn’t tell me!’

‘We wanted it to be a surprise. Your father wanted to come today but he had the opportunity to view some cattle he’s interested in. When the car came, he arranged for Moylan to learn to drive in case another driver were ever needed.’

‘So won’t he be looking after the other vehicles any more?’

‘Oh, yes, that will still be his principal job. He’ll be driving this only if necessary, like today. And I’m going to learn to drive as well.’

‘You?’ uttered Veronica in surprise.

Marie laughed at her astonishment. ‘Why not, V? My mother drives.’

‘There you are.’ Catherine smiled.

‘But …’

‘It’s time ladies were able to do more things for themselves,’ said Marie.

‘Well said,’ agreed Catherine. From what I’ve read in Veronica’s letters and what I’ve seen already, I’m going to like you, she thought.

Veronica shuffled on her seat. ‘This is so comfortable, Mama.’

‘And so good to see out of,’ added Marie.

‘Those are the two reasons why your father chose this model. He has always desired to have a Rolls-Royce so when the chance came, through an unexpected windfall, I encouraged him to buy it.’

‘The other reason, Mama?’ Veronica asked when her mother paused

‘Because it runs so quietly,’ she replied.

‘It’s quieter than our car. I must tell Papa about this Rolls,’ said Marie.

Catherine gave a little smile as she said, ‘The manufacturers have called it The Ghost because it is so quiet.’

‘Oh, good, now we have a ghost in the family,’ laughed Veronica.

‘Your house doesn’t have one?’ asked Marie, showing surprise.

‘No.’ Catherine smiled. ‘I gather yours does?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Marie. ‘A Musketeer. It was his home once, but he was killed defending it during the wars of Louis XIV.’

‘Have you seen him?’ Veronica pressed her, with a tremor of excitement in her voice.

‘Of course. He appears kneeling in prayer in our chapel on the anniversary of his death. He’s a benevolent ghost, no malice to him.’

‘You knew the house had a ghost when your family bought it?’

‘Yes. Papa looked into the house’s history. It was in a poor condition but he realised it could be made very attractive, especially considering its position with land running down to the river. But you’ll see it when you come to visit … and you, Mrs Attwood, and your husband too. I know Mama and Papa would be delighted to entertain you.’

‘That would be very pleasant,’ replied Catherine.

The sincerity in Marie’s voice and her bubbly personality had greatly impressed her hostess already.

As the journey progressed she became even more delighted that Veronica had found such a friend. Marie, curious about the things she was seeing, asked pertinent questions without overburdening Catherine with them. She, wanting to know more about Marie’s family, managed to put some of her own.

‘I believe you came to the Convent of St Mary because your mother was educated there?’

‘Yes. She’s English. Met my father when she was studying in Paris after she’d left the convent. She married him and has lived in France ever since.’

They exchanged the dates of her mother’s time at the convent and came to the conclusion that Margaret had left the convent the year Catherine started.

‘So there’ll be about two years’ difference in your ages,’ said Veronica quickly.

‘That’s about it,’ agreed her mother. ‘What is it your father does, Marie?’

‘He has taken over my grandfather’s business producing optical instruments.’

‘That’s a world I know nothing of,’ said Catherine.

‘I think it’s connected to the Army. I’ve seen high-ranking officers at the château.’

The talk drifted through a number of topics as Veronica pointed out various landmarks and points of interest. As they proceeded through the market town of Helmsley the white Rolls-Royce drew so much attention that people stopped in their daily tasks to watch it go by. Four miles east of the town they turned into a narrow road with a rougher surface, that headed towards rising land.

‘If we had kept on the road we have just left we would have come to Scarborough on the coast,’ Veronica told Marie. ‘Mama, can we go to the seaside while Marie is with us?’

Catherine smiled indulgently. ‘I have no doubt you’ll be able to persuade your father.’

‘Oh, good.’ Veronica bounced in her seat with excitement. ‘But you’ll help, Mama?’ Then she turned to Marie. ‘We’re on our land now.’

In the fields well-fed cattle grazed. They left this road when it began to climb a steady incline. ‘To the moors,’ Veronica told her friend, and went on to explain what moors where when Marie showed ignorance of the term. They turned through iron gates into a tree-lined roadway that bore recent signs of levelling.

‘When was that done?’ asked Veronica.

‘Your papa had the surface prepared ready for the arrival of this car,’ said Catherine. ‘By the way, he took Jeremy with him to the Dales; they are staying overnight so you won’t meet them until tomorrow, Marie.’

‘Something to look forward to,’ she replied politely. Then, with her excitement mounting at the prospect of seeing Veronica’s home for the first time, asked, ‘Where’s the house?’

They drove out from beneath an avenue of trees which were obscuring the view. The house appeared as if heavy curtains had just been drawn aside.

‘There!’ said Veronica proudly, delighted by the wonderment that shone in Marie’s eyes.

Brunton nestled cosily into the hillside but was not overpowered by it. It looked contented, settled. Marie sensed it welcoming her, stranger though she was.

‘It looks old,’ she said.

‘The central section is the oldest,’ Catherine explained. ‘Seventeenth-century, built as a medium-sized three-storeyed manor house. The two wings were added about a hundred years later, making the frontage more imposing and allowing the building of those twin flights of stairs giving access to the balustrade that, as you see, runs the full width of the frontage. Much renovation work was carried out before Mr Attwood’s grandfather bought the property. Then his son added an extension on the east side that includes a dining room with easier access from the kitchens, making it much more convenient when dining. I’m sure Veronica will enjoy showing you round.’

‘Oh, I will, Mama,’ she enthused. ‘You’ll love it, Marie.’

Josh manoeuvred the car round the curving drive towards the front door. Their approach had already been noted by someone. The double front doors opened and the butler, housekeeper, footman and two housemaids stepped out to wait at the bottom of the steps for Josh to halt the car. He was out of his seat quickly to open the door for his passengers.

The butler, immaculate in black trousers, short black coat, white shirt and black tie, stepped forward. ‘Welcome back, ma’am. A pleasant journey, I hope?’

‘Indeed it was. Thank you, Welham.’

The housekeeper, immaculate in a white blouse, tight across her bosom, and black skirt flaring slightly from her waist, stood straight-backed and sharp-eyed to offer her greetings next.

‘Thank you, Mrs Cole,’ replied Catherine

‘Miss Veronica,’ the butler and housekeeper both acknowledged her homecoming.

She returned their smiles. ‘Mrs Cole, Welham, this is my dear friend Marie Gabin.’

Their respectful greeting of ‘Welcome to Brunton Manor, Miss’ made her feel comfortably at home, and when the footman, Sanders, and housemaids, Ruth and Lily, added some courteous words of their own, she was very pleased indeed she had made friends with Veronica Attwood.

Marie stirred. As her bewildered mind slowly cleared she became vaguely aware that she was in bed and that somewhere there was a knocking sound that was becoming louder. Was she at St Mary’s Convent? No … somewhere else … somewhere welcoming and new …

Drowsiness disappearing, Marie grasped the bedclothes to her and sat up in bed. ‘Come in.’

The door opened. Veronica peeped round it. ‘Hello, sleepyhead.’

‘Hello.’ Sleep still thickened Marie’s voice. ‘Oh, dear. Have I slept in? Should I have been up?’

Veronica stepped into the room. ‘No, no,’ she laughed as she came and sat on the side of the bed. ‘It seems you slept well.’

‘Oh, I did. This mattress is so comfortable.’

‘Good. You’ll be fresh for the day then.’ Veronica laid some clothes ready on the bed. ‘There’s one of my riding outfits, with split skirt; we ride astride here. Mother is very forward-looking. I’m sure it will fit you, we’re about the same size. It’s a beautiful morning so I’ve asked Storey, our head-groomsman, to have two horses ready in an hour and a half. I thought we’d ride over to Rushbrook so you can meet our neighbours, the Eakins. Their estate is about the same size as ours. We’ve known them all our lives. So up you get!’ As she stood up she jerked the bedclothes off, bringing a scream of protest from her friend. Veronica, laughing, raced from the room to avoid the pillow she knew Marie would throw at her.

Half an hour later, she was tapping on Veronica’s door. Answering the call of ‘Come in’, Marie stepped inside, saying, ‘What do you think?’ and struck a pose.

‘Perfect,’ replied Veronica as she cast her eyes over Marie’s attire. Down the large black puff sleeves ran a contrasting insert of white fabric, its colour matching the high-necked under-blouse with its wing-tipped collar which Marie wore beneath. The black split-skirt was ankle-length and revealed highly polished black riding boots. Marie carried a small-brimmed hat, which had a bright scarlet ribbon tied around the base of its low crown. She placed it on her head at an eye-catching angle and laughingly asked, ‘How’s that?’

‘Attention-catching!’ grinned Veronica. ‘What about mine?’ She whisked her hat out from behind her back. Its pale blue matched the colour of her skirt, which was cut to the same style as Marie’s, and worn with a cream-coloured blouse. The tips of her brown boots peeped out from beneath her riding skirt.

‘I think we both look just right,’ Veronica announced, and with a flourish, linked arms with her friend. ‘Let’s have breakfast and ride!’

They fell into step, left the room and negotiated the landing together, tripping lightly down the stairs to enter the dining room.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for your mother?’ Marie asked on seeing the room was empty.

‘Oh, no, she’ll have had hers. She’s always up early for her morning ride, so breakfast is informal.’

Marie realised someone had been listening out for their arrival for, a few moments later, a maid appeared.

The meal was served without any fuss while the two girls speculated what Sister Loyol