The coach's first stop was at Miss Biddulph's modest home. With many thanks — for she had enjoyed her sojourn in London, despite its unhappy beginning — Miss Biddulph climbed out of the coach. One of the footmen carried her trunk to the front door, and Rebecca waited only until he had returned before giving Biddy a final wave and instructing the coach to pull away.
Another hour took her to the gates of her own home, a delightful gentleman's residence in the heart of the Cheshire countryside.
It was three years now since her parents had been killed in a boating accident. During that time a number of eligible gentlemen had offered to take care of her, but Rebecca had resisted them all and had instead invited Cousin Louisa to live with her. Cousin Louisa, a gentle spinster of straitened means, had been glad to accept the invitation. It was an arrangement which had worked out well for them both. The two ladies had always got on well together, and besides enjoying each other's company Rebecca had been glad of the respectability Louisa's presence conferred on her, whilst Louisa had been grateful to have some company.
Rebecca's musings came to an end as the house came in sight. It was an elegant Georgian residence, long and low, with tall windows looking out over the gardens. Welcoming lights streamed out into the gathering gloom of the winter afternoon, and Rebecca felt a surge of happiness wash over her. She was home!
The coach rolled round the turning circle in front of the door and even before it had stopped Cousin Louisa, wrapped in a large shawl, came out to greet her.
“Rebecca! My dear! I am so glad you are home!”
“So am I!” said Rebecca, giving her older cousin a hug.
“But come, my dear, you must be cold. Let us go in.”
The two ladies went into the house. It was warm and welcoming after the cold and dark of the coach, the familiar cream walls contrasting with the brightly-polished mahogany furniture and the gold of the long drapes.
Rebecca turned to Louisa as she undid the strings of her bonnet and cast her eye over her cousin, hoping that she had not had too much trouble with her rheumatism over the last few weeks.
What she saw did much to reassure her. Louisa was looking younger than her five-and-forty years and her pleasing face, surrounded by soft, mousey hair and dominated by a pair of pincenez, appeared to be free of pain. Her small, rounded body was held upright, and she seemed to be moving more easily than she had been doing before Rebecca left.
“You look well,” said Rebecca.
“My dear, I feel well! It is those new pills Dr Lewis has given me! They have removed almost all the pain, and the salve he has prescribed has made my joints move more freely, I am sure. But come into the drawing-room. We must not stand out here talking in the hall.”
They went through into the drawing-room.
Rebecca looked around at the familiar, well-loved room. It was neither grand nor imposing, and the furniture was decidedly shabby, but a warm feeling washed over her as she took off her bonnet. The ormolu clock was still ticking on the mantelpiece, her favourite chair was set by the fire, and the warm tones of the apricot walls gave off a cosy glow. After all the turmoil of her trip to London, it was good to be home.
“Now, sit down and tell me all about it,” said Louisa, her eyes glowing with her pleasure at seeing Rebecca again. “Or perhaps you would rather go to your room and rest after your long journey?”
Rebecca smiled. Cousins Louisa was obviously eager for news and company, but was thinking of Rebecca in her usual unselfish manner.
“I will just wash, and change my gown,” said Rebecca, feeling a sudden longing to be rid of the dust and grime of the road, “but then I would like nothing so much as a cup of chocolate and a comfortable cose by the fire.”
“Oh, yes, my dear. That will be just the thing.” Louisa beamed.
Less than half an hour later Rebecca found herself ushered into her favourite chair and a footstool placed before her feet, and Louisa then settled herself down and looked at her eagerly, waiting for all the news.
“Hetty and Charles send their love,” said Rebecca, sipping at her cup of chocolate, “and they have sent some presents for you.” She put down her cup and went into the corner of the room, where the box Hetty had given her had been tucked away by Collins the coachman when he had unpacked the coach.
Rebecca picked it up and carried it over to Louisa, putting it down in front of her.
“Oh, how kind!” said Louisa, as she began to open it, unfastening the straps that had been buckled around it to keep it safely closed.
“I managed to carry out all your commissions,” said Rebecca as Louisa threw back the lid. “I hope you like the things I bought for you.”
On top of the box were the lengths of material Louisa had asked for, consisting of a length of brown woollen cloth, a length of dove grey silk and a length of olive muslin.
“Just the thing,” said Louisa, taking each length of fabric out in turn. “My old gowns are growing decidedly shabby.” She looked down at the faded gown she was wearing, made of a drab silk. It was rather old-fashioned, and lacked any of the ribbons and flounces that were now a la mode. “It will do me good to have something new to wear.”
And then came various gifts that Louisa had not expected: a Cashmere shawl, a new bonnet and a pair of the softest kid boots, together with half a dozen lace handkerchiefs and a bottle of lavender water.
“Oh, how kind!” said Louisa again, much touched.
There were several more presents in the box, including one of Hetty's cook's excellent fruit cakes and a bottle of Madeira. Then, when the last item had been exclaimed over, Rebecca set down her cup in its porcelain saucer and began to tell Louisa all about her visit to London. She told her about the reading of Jebadiah's will, and then told her about the shopping, the visits to the museums, and the afternoon at Frost Fair.
The only things she did not mention were those that affected Joshua. She told Louisa that she had seen him, that he was well and that he sent his love — for he had known Louisa in his childhood as she and her parents had lived with Jebadiah for a while. But she said nothing about the uncontrolled horse and the stone that had narrowly missed hitting him when he had been taking dinner at Hetty and Charles's house. Louisa was of a somewhat nervous disposition and the less she had to worry her, the better.
“Freezewater Street!” exclaimed Louisa, as Rebecca told her of the name that had been given to the Thames. And then, as Rebecca told her all about the stalls and booths, the jugglers and the skating, she clasped her hands together and said, “Oh! I wish I could have been there!”
“As soon as you are well enough to travel, you must pay Hetty and Charles a visit. They would love to have you, and asked me to say so particularly.”
“Oh, my dear! They are so kind. And it does all sound so wonderful.” Louisa gave a sigh. “I must confess I have been lonely on my own, cooped up here day after day with nothing to do, and the weather so gloomy, and no one to speak to,” she said.
Rebecca put her hand out to Louisa. “I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to go away and leave you for so long.”
As if realizing that she had made Rebecca feel guilty, when nothing had been further from her mind, Louisa immediately contradicted herself, saying shamelessly, “Nonsense! You have hardly been gone at all. I have had a wonderful time whilst you have been away. Why, I was only saying to Betsy the other day — Betsy being the general servant — what a nice change it has been to be on my own for a while. Such a tonic for my nerves. I do declare that you did me a very great favour, Rebecca, by going away. And I have had so much to do that I have never been bored for an instant! I have been reading and sewing, and if the weather has been bad outside, why, it has only made me appreciate how snug and cosy I have been inside. And if you do not believe me, you may ask Betsy, for she can vouch for it all.”