of old; if you sat near them you roasted, and your face went red; if you sat further away you froze and your arms developed goose pimples. Her grandfather gestured to her to come and sit beside him. His wholehearted welcome to her earlier on had in itself made the journey worthwhile, she thought, as she gave Aunt Trudie an affectionate smile. He had been so very pleased to see her. Unlike his wife.
Alix had been thinking about her grandmother as she travelled northwards. When the other two passengers left the train at Crewe, wishing her a happy Christmas, she sat alone in the first-class compartment of the Lakeland Express, wondering whether Lady Richardson would show any pleasure in seeing her again.
No, she shouldn’t expect a warm welcome, not from Grandmama. She released the blind at the window beside her seat and looked out at the darkening wintry scene. Snow-clad hills were illuminated by brilliant starlight; she heard the shrill whistle of the locomotive as it took a curve, its wailing sound floating out into the remote whiteness of the landscape. The train sped past a village, a square church tower visible for a moment before the train plunged into the darkness of a deep, rock-sided cutting.
The window blurred with smoke. She pulled the blind down again, and sat back in her wide, well-upholstered seat, reaching up to switch on the light over the empty place next to her. Half past five; nearly two hours to go. She shut her eyes, listening to the steady tuppence-three-farthings rhythm of the train. Her eyes stayed closed, the book on her lap slipped to the floor, and she sank into a dreamy half-awake, half-asleep state, her mind filled with images of hills and snow.
The sound of the compartment door opening roused her, and the cheery, ‘Just coming in, Miss Richardson,’ spoken in the familiar accent of the fells and lakes, told her she was home. ‘It’ll be a few minutes yet,’ he added, as she jumped to her feet. ‘No need to hurry.’
There was every need to hurry. She didn’t want to miss a minute, no, not a second, of the ice-world lying outside. She gathered together her possessions, picked up the book from the floor, paused in front of the mirror to tidy her hair under her hat. As the train pulled into the curve of the platform she stood in the corridor and tugged at the thick leather strap to let down a window. The dark air rushed in at her, arctic cold, but so fresh and clean that she wanted to gulp great mouthfuls of it, to rid her lungs and head of the smoke and fret of London. The gloom and sour, smoky smell of Euston lay in another dimension, surely not inhabiting the same world as this.
Then through the murk of steam she saw a short, stocky, bow-legged figure in gaiters advancing along the dimly lit platform through the little throng of waiting people. Eckersley, in his gaiters, his chauffeur’s hat slightly askew, his weathered face breaking into a smile at the sight of her.
‘Eckersley, oh, it’s been so long!’
‘Too long, Miss Alix, and we’re right glad to have you home. Is that all your luggage with the porter there? I’ve got the motor car just outside. Hand that suitcase to me.’
If only Grandmama’s greeting had been half as friendly. She had dutifully gone up to Lady Richardson’s room soon after her arrival, to be received with perfect, frigid courtesy. And Alix knew, without a word being spoken, that her grandmother wholly disapproved of her elegant new persona and what it said about her life in London.
It was now Perdita’s turn to greet her grandparents, and Alix could see the stiffness in her young body as she clumped in her heavy shoes to Grandmama’s end of the table.
‘Good evening,’ she said, bending her head to receive her grandmother’s chilly kiss.
‘You were extremely late back from Yorkshire, Perdita. I was concerned.’
‘Here we go,’ Edwin said under his breath as he slid into his seat and gave Aunt Trudie a conspiratorial smile. Then he turned and grinned at Alix.
How lovely it was to see him again, his dark hair falling across his forehead as it always had done, his long fingers crumbling his roll, his grey eyes, the mirror of hers, alight with pleasure at the sight of her.
Grandmama’s attention had turned from Perdita to her grandson, and it was clear to anyone who knew her that, although her voice was calm, she was, in fact, very angry with him.
‘I can’t say how distressing, Edwin. In the dark, and the snow, you and Perdita, with no older person there. It’s most inappropriate.’
‘What’s inappropriate about it? We’re brother and sister, not a couple out on a romantic tryst. And I am twenty-four, not some boy scout who’d panic at a bit of snow.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Good evening, Edwin,’ said Sir Henry, coming to his rescue. ‘Rokeby, stop hovering about and pour Mr Edwin a glass of wine. Edwin, you look cold. I’m afraid the central heating’s not working properly tonight,’ he went on, clearly keen to distract his wife’s attention from the iniquities of her errant grandchildren.
Wyncrag had central heating throughout the house, an extraordinary luxury that scandalized neighbours who used no form of heating except coal fires. Warm passages and bathrooms and bedrooms were considered soft and un-English. However, Sir Henry had travelled, and appreciated the warmth in some of the North American houses he had visited. It came as a welcome novelty to him to step into a hall or a bathroom and not find the temperature dropping by several degrees.
‘Poor quality coal, playing the devil with the furnace,’ he said. When the miles of piping he had had installed in every room and passage carried a stream of hot water as intended, the house was a haven of blissful warmth. But the advanced system battled against a temperamental furnace that produced water that was either too cold, or almost boiling hot. ‘Hardens are delivering more coal tomorrow, and they can take the rest of this load away, I never saw such stuff. Can’t think where it came from; it certainly isn’t fit for household use.’
Soup was served. Trudie, looking particularly vague, began an anecdote about the dogs, the tension eased. Then Lady Richardson noticed for the first time what Perdita was wearing. ‘What have you got on, child? You look like something out of the orphanage.’
‘Sorry, Grandmama,’ said Perdita, concentrating on her plate. ‘It doesn’t seem to fit very well, and I didn’t have time to look for anything else.’ She reached out to flick at a candle that had a guttering flame, and there was a loud ripping sound.
‘Oh, dear, I think the sleeve’s coming off,’ she said, lifting her arm to inspect the damage.
‘Perdita!’
‘I’ve grown rather a lot.’
‘She has,’ Edwin said. ‘I hardly recognised her in the Minster.’
‘My feet have grown, too,’ said Perdita. ‘My school shoes are awfully uncomfortable. I seem to be growing out of everything.’
Lady Richardson was disapproving. ‘I think it’s most unsuitable for you still to be growing at your age. I’d reached my full height by the time I was twelve. Tomorrow, we shall look through your things, Perdita, and decide what can be done about your frocks. Lipp may be able to lengthen them and let them out.’
‘It doesn’t matter much in the holidays, I shall be in jodhs most of the time.’
‘You won’t, however, wear jodhpurs in the evening, nor do I expect to see you in them for meals. I shall see if any of my old dresses could be made over for you, although I fear you’re too tall.’
‘No,
