you’re right, my darling. I’m afraid I would give in too easily.’ Cordelia rose from the chair, patting the leather arm rests as if saying farewell to an old friend. ‘I have the onerous duty of informing the servants that they will have to find employment elsewhere, but first I’ll fetch my jewellery box. I have a fine gold chain, which you must keep. Thread it through your mama’s ring and hang it around your neck.’
Angel swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll treasure it always.’
Angel and Lil returned from their trip to the pawnbroker’s in White’s Row to find the bailiffs already at work. The dining-room table was being hefted onto a cart, together with the chairs, and the sideboard stood on the pavement waiting to be treated with equal lack of care. Angel would have run forward to snatch the portrait of her aunt as a young bride from the hands of a burly carter, but Lil restrained her.
‘Just go indoors, love,’ she said in a low voice that sounded more like a growl. ‘You can’t stop ’em, and they might start asking questions.’
Angel realised that her weighty reticule might cause comment and she tucked it under her arm as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was wide open and Gilly was ineffectually flapping her apron at a porter who was carrying a tea chest filled with Cordelia’s Crown Derby dinner service.
‘Robbers,’ Gilly cried hoarsely. ‘That belongs to the mistress.’
‘Not no more, my duck.’ The man winked at her and continued on his way. A second cart had drawn up outside and a second bailiff pushed past Angel as he entered the house.
Gilly screamed, ‘They’ll have the clothes off our backs next, miss.’
‘No, they won’t. You’ll be quite safe below stairs. We have to leave them to do their work.’ Angel pointed the distraught maid in the direction of the baize door. ‘Stay in the kitchen with Cook.’
‘I can’t, miss. Cook done a bunk and Miss Nixon went last night. I dunno how to cook dinner, and that’s a fact.’
Lil grabbed Gilly by the arm. ‘Do as Miss Angel says, you halfwit. There’s nothing to be done up here.’
‘What shall I do, Lil? I ain’t got no money, and me dad will skin me alive if I goes home.’
‘Just wait in the kitchen,’ Lil said with a surprising show of patience. ‘I’ll be down in a minute and we’ll decide what’s to be done.’ She gave Gilly a shove and the girl stumbled off in the direction of the back stairs.
Angel sidestepped two porters. ‘You’d best go after her, Lil. Goodness knows what she’ll do left on her own in the kitchen. She’ll probably burn the house down.’
‘She’s daft enough,’ Lil said grimly. ‘Leave her to me.’ She strode off with a determined set to her jaw.
Angel was about to go in search of her aunt when she heard someone call her name. Her heart sank as she recognised the voice and she turned slowly to see the Reverend John Hardisty and his wife standing in the doorway.
‘Angel, my dear child, what a sorry state of affairs, to be sure.’
‘Poor Cordelia, she must be distraught,’ Letitia said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Angel answered meekly, but she was not fooled by Mrs Hardisty’s words of sympathy. She suspected that Letitia harboured some kind of grudge against her aunt, although it was hard to imagine Aunt Cordelia merited such ill feeling. Whatever the cause – and Letitia Hardisty always managed to appear conciliatory and pleasant – Angel had often felt an undercurrent and on this particular day it was more obvious than ever.
‘Is there anything we can do?’ John Hardisty spoke with genuine concern.
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I think my aunt is resting. This has all come as a terrible shock.’
‘Is it true that you are losing everything?’ He looked round, shaking his head. ‘If so, where will you go?’
‘I dare say Cordelia has relatives who will take her in. Although I wouldn’t relish such a change after being mistress of my own house for so many years.’ Letitia pursed her lips and there was a malicious gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Poor thing,’ she added, clutching her husband’s arm. ‘We should leave, John. I fear we are intruding.’
He cleared his throat noisily as if about to embark on a sermon. ‘If there is any way I can be of assistance, Angel, please ask your aunt to contact me.’
Letitia dragged him towards the door, which was propped open to allow the bailiff’s men easy access. ‘A penniless widow is a pitiable object in the eyes of society. My condolences to your aunt, you poor child.’
The words that tumbled from Letitia’s lips should have given Angel comfort, but the reverse was true. She had attended church every Sunday for as long as she could remember, and there had been interminable tea parties either at the vicarage or here at home, when the ladies of the parish gathered together to discuss their charitable actions and exchange gossip. Even as a child it had been obvious to Angel that women like Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, and the good ladies who tried to alleviate the suffering of the poor, were all in awe of Letitia Hardisty, if not actually afraid of her and her sharp tongue.
Resisting the temptation to rush after the vicar and his wife and slam the door, shutting them out of her life for ever, Angel took a deep breath. Whatever befell her and her aunt in the future, the one good thing to come out of this terrible state of affairs was that Aunt Cordelia would be free to start her life again, away from the tittle-tattle and covert glances of those who were supposed to be her friends. Even so, the future looked bleak and for the first time in her life Angel was scared.
Two days later, Angel stood in the middle of the entrance hall, glancing round at the walls. Ghostly patches on the wallpaper marked the places where paintings and gilt-framed mirrors had hung until the bailiff’s men took them away. The slightest sound echoed through the empty rooms like thunder, and the home she had known all her life was being ripped apart. Strange men had robbed them of everything that was much loved and familiar, and the house itself was to be sold by auction. Where they would go and what they would do was something that Angel had hardly dared to imagine, but now she was facing reality. Childhood was over and she must grow up fast. It was a terrifying prospect.
The bailiffs had left them with very little other than their personal belongings. Lil had stuffed those haphazardly into three large valises, and the pots and pans from the kitchen were piled into wicker baskets and a tea chest. Lil had packed these herself and had insisted that Gilly must guard them with her life, if necessary. Angel had heard the child sobbing and had gone down to the kitchen to investigate. She found her clutching the chest like a shipwrecked mariner clinging to a floating spar.
‘What are you doing?’ Angel demanded.
‘She told me not to let no one near this or she’d tan me hide. I know that Lumpy Lil would do it, too.’
‘You silly girl, she only meant for you to stop the bailiff’s men from taking everything. I doubt if they’d set much store by old
