~ Winter lounge ~
England 1831: In the countryside the estate of the Winters basks in a bleak sunlight.
It is one of those rare occasions that clouds do not shed their liquid all over the roof tiles. It had been raining before.
But the sun is fighting its way into the lounge. A lounge that has green, well decorated, wallpaper, with a room-filling rug to match it. Baroque sofas with golden embroidery are at the center, just in front of the fireplace.
The painting of an elderly ancestor casts his nearly approving glance through the room, where tea is being served.
A sharp, pointed voice cuts through the lavish lounge of this estate.
“What I have heard is that he is a mere merchant that came into money,“says missus Sharon Winter.
“And he intends to buy Wickerly Hall, can you believe that Mister Winter? Wickerly Hall!” She exclaims.
“There is no background in a decent family. What will become of us?” She adds.
“Of us?” Asks my older brother with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, because if people like Mister Isen, who come into money, can buy great halls like that, they could buy the Winter estate.”
And with her flair of dramatics she continues,
“We will be sent off our estate and then where will we go?”
I watch my brother lower down his newspaper and stare at his wife.
“As long as I live, this estate is not for sale, missus Winter.” He says calmly.
I wisely keep out of this conversation. Because now my sister in law will go in possibilities that might occur, and might cause my dear brother Charles to suddenly die, and then all kind of what-ifs will be mentioned.
I focus on my cup of tea instead. My thoughts drift off until I hear my ever nervous sister in law say,
“But should we invite him, do you think?”
“For we are a prominent family, and it would not do if we ignored the new owner of Wickerly Hall.”
“On the other hand, inviting Mister Isen, a merchant who comes from London and may bring 30.000 pounds a year, but has no connections, that can not be!”
I can tell she is impressed by the sum but appalled by the lack of background.
“No connections, no that simply cannot be. That would taint our society, if we would be associated with a merchant called Mister Isen!”
Only now does my brother, Mister Winter, speak up.
“Then tainted we shall be, for I already have send over an invitation to Mister Isen, owner of Wickerly Hall.”
“The sale is done? Why did you not say, so dear Husband? Oh, that changes everything!”
“How foreseeing of you, to send that invite!”
All of a sudden my sister in law changes sides, and starts praising Mister Isen for his good eye on property. That he had made his own fortune is clever of him and no more mention of his lowly background is made.
I try to keep a sigh down. That is what she does best,... turn like the wind. I think to myself.
Thankfully, this conversation is being ended as my brother rises from his chair and says, “Yes very good fortune for us, that Mister Isen bought Wickerly Hall.” And I can tell he sees no fortune for us at all, but humours his spouse.
“Now I will see to the running of this estate before any scenarios are run past me how Wickerly Hall be managed.”
He knows his wife.
But it gives me a chance to leave as well.
“And I will take the dogs out for their walk,” I say.
“Winifred are you sure? Rain is coming!”
“I will return before the first drop falls, I promise you considered sister,” I say sweetly.
Before she can object further, I call out to the two cocker spaniels. “Charlotte, Basil. Come!”
Two orange brown balls of fur uncurl and jump up. They are at my side immediately and I smile at them.
“Let’s go then,” I say to the dogs and walk to the side door leading to the garden.
As I step out in my yellow orange dress, which has puffed sleeves, set in the latest fashion of this year 1831, the dogs chase past me. And I let them.
It is still warm this late summer so I don't need an overcoat and enjoy the warm wind.
The sun falls on my copper red hairs that are done up. Stands of grey are turning up, indicating my age. And I, Winifred Winter, soak in the sun with a smile on my face.
"It is a lovely day," I say to no-one in particular.
Then I head after the dogs who both are running around on the grass field, that belongs to the Winter mansion.
One whistling sound from me and they follow, as I walk to the other side of this big garden with foleys, paths and nooks and cranes to disappear into.
Their usual place where I train them, it is far out of sight of the mansion.
That way I don’t get remarks about unladylike behaviour, such as running along with the dogs, or laughing broadly.
We are close to the edge of the garden, where a moot separates our estate of the rest of the world.
In this part the grass field has some trees and stick are easily found. So I pick one up. Then I order the dogs to sit next to me, which they do.
As I throw the stick, I repeat the order to sit. I see the youngest called Basil already get up but my order makes him stay at least.
“Go.” And then the both run off.
Soon mother and son are fighting over the stick. It is Charlotte who wins this and she brings it to me, as Basil yaps around her happily.
Training dogs is not necessarily a task for a lady. But I am so glad that I am allowed to do this, for I love it.
Just as I enjoy tutoring my nephew Nigel. Not that I can teach him everything. Only those things that are suited.
So a few things he learns from me, his spinster Aunt, who at the age thirty nine lives with her brother’s family.
I may tutor him in music, art, geography. Yet science or physics are out of my reach. Those are topics that do not concern women.
Yet at the moment I am not tutoring my nephew Nigel. I am mostly training Basil.
His mother Charlotte is there to be the good example, and show him how to be a hunting dog.
Which requires patience. And the young cocker spaniel seems to lack that.
~
As I let Basil wait, I get the feeling of being watched.
When I look around I see a gentleman standing on the road next to our border, across the moot.
I don’t recognize him. He is about fifty feet away, so his features are not clear.
But as he is dressed in dark clothes and has his hairs tight to the back.
Immediately I know it is a stranger. In this country side we all know each other.
And I never seen this gentleman before.
He is just standing there, leaning on a walking cane and looking in my direction.
Why is he standing still? I wonder.
The road that he is on, is too small for big carriages. It is mostly used to walk through this county.
Passersby on that road are not uncommon. So I think nothing of it, and give a new order to the cocker spaniels.
But when I turn, the gentleman is still there.
What is he waiting for? Does her expect me to walk over?
We haven't been properly introduced, so that would be inappropriate.
My mind has all kind of thoughts about probable reasons. But mostly I get uncomfortable.
Should I wave? No. That would be a girl thing to do.
I am a grown respectable woman, I can't do that.
Eventually I take a step in his direction, for I have decided to break this stalemate.
Big is my surprise as he now suddenly turns his eyes back to the road and starts walking.
I hold my step in astonishment.
Was this a staring contest? Had I lost by taking the first step? It feels that way.
Soon enough the bushes take him out of my view. Still I do not know what to make of it.
"What do you think Charlotte? It's this strange or what?" I ask my loyal cocker spaniel, who needless to say, does not reply.
I return to the training, for rain is hardly to be expected and I intend to make use of this mild weather today.
A while later one of the maids is hurrying towards me.
Already calling from afar "Miss Winter! Miss Winter!"
So I head towards her, wondering what the hurry is.
"Oh Miss. There is a visitor and Mister Winter wants you at the parlor immediately!" Sweet Mae brings out.
She is much younger that me, nearly nineteen and more at a age to be called miss than I am.
But that is as it is. I am passed a suitable age to marry and will stay a miss for the rest of my live.
Quickly I abandon those thoughts and hurry after her.
Five minutes later I enter the parlour where my sister in law lets out a relieved sigh. Even my nephew has been summoned.
My brother says to Mae; "You can send him in now."
And I cannot even ask what is going on.
My brother casts a glance at the hem of my dress, where a few stains have gathered because of my outdoor activities.
"Please sit at that side of the table Winifred." He says directing me to an unusual place to sit.
But I understand why. Should I rise, my dress will be obscured by the table.
I hardly sit before there visitor is shown in, so I rise again.
It is the stranger from the road, that steps into our parlour.
A shock of recognition travels through me, as I see the black clad gentleman stand upright before me.
"Thank you for receiving me so unexpectedly, Mister Winter," He says politely and gives a courteous bow.
"I was delighted to receive your welcoming invitation."
"Welcome to the Winter estate, Mister Isen. I did not expect you so soon, if you allow me to confess, but am pleased to get acquainted," Bows my eldest brother back.
So this is Mister Isen, new owner of Wickerly Hall. My mind states the obvious.
Standing in the same room, I can see his features better. His blond hairs are tight to the back with a black ribbon, which is inline with his black embroidered clothes.
There is a crisp strict cut in his gentleman attire. I notice that his features are pleasant and refined.
"This is my wife, missus Sharon Winter and my son Nigel Winter," introduces my brother his direct family.
Small nods to each of them are given by the visiting gentleman.
"And my sister, miss Winifred Winter," my brother adds, at which I make the customary courtesy.
Since I am the last that gets introduced, Mister Isen directs he words at me "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
His face stays strict, yet I see a glimmer in his eyes. Like he is finding it funny to meet me here, after he has seen me run around with the dogs.
Once we are seated and my sister in law is pouring out the tea, the conversation starts with the two gentlemen.
They talk about estate and borders.
"Today I mean to walk along the borders of the Wickerly sstate. But I dare say it may take more than a day until I fully encircled it," says Mister Isen.
And indeed, I can only agree with him. The Wickerly estate is twice as big, as the Winter estate.
As the two gentlemen talk about the terrain, it takes a while before a question is asked of us.
However, once that happens we can finally participate.
The first thing my sister in law, Sharon starts asking is all about London.
"What are the latest fashions for women in London these days Mister Isen?"
But he is not inclined to share those pieces of information not even crumbs of it.
Rather he puts her in a spot as he says, "I am a widower missus Winter."
"It would seem strange indeed, if I were to submerge myself in the information regarding lace or taft's of the female dresses, worn in the dancing halls of London."
"Oh indeed, my apologies Mister Isen. And my condolences for your loss. It was not my intend to imply that such matter is what draws your attention,"she quickly says.
He wears a mourning band around his arm indicating that the loss still weighs on him.
"No indeed, more important matters can draw my attention. Muslin's, taft or frills are not among them. Unless it is the buying and selling off silks."
My sister in law tries again to steer the topic to fashion. I know for a fact she is very interested in what London considers the latest fashion. "Silks can be very pleasant to wear. And with the right colour it can become and outstanding dress."
"Indeed." Remarks Mister Isen coldly.
And I find that in the conversation that enfolds, he takes turns at my sister in law's words or down right cuts her down. Mister Isen does not give her any leeway to chatter about the simple matters.
It is actually refreshing, how he manages to steer away from the frivolous nonsense that my sister in law normally brings into conservations.
To avoid talk about further fabrics or cloths, Mister Isen asks my brother "Pray tell me, what do woman in the county do? If there are no lesser balls and fashion statements to gain?"
As Charles explains the charity and the social calls his wife makes, he elaborates that I tutor his son Nigel and help train the dogs for hunting.
This makes Mister Isen turn my way. "You train dogs? I see." He says.
No. It was what you saw.
Because he did see me train the dogs.
And I beg of you Mister Isen, don't say anything about that right now. Not with my brother present.
Not that my brother opposes that I train the dogs.
It is just, he might deem it inappropriate, that I was seen doing so.
Not to mention that it is inappropriate that we met, well not really met. Rather encountered each other, before we were introduced.
Inwardly a sigh of relieve is made as the topic changes, and something about Nigel's tutoring is addressed.
This is a subject that Mister Isen does want to hear more about, since her has a son a few years older.
And he still has to find a tutor willing to come all the way here in the middle of nowhere.
“Which subjects does your aunt teach you, young Mister Winter?” asks Mister Isen directly.
I see Nigel straighten up some more and hear him say, “That would be reading, writing, arts, geography, and etiquette.”
“That last still in progress I gather.” Mister Isen’s voice is strict.
And although it is a slight sneer to my abilities, I do understand why he makes this remark.
For my nephew should have ended his sentence with ‘Mister Isen’, since it is a gentleman asking the question.
As it is, I cannot correct that now, but will remind the boy later. I can see Mister Isen just makes Nigel nervous.
It is my brother who offers that I could tutor his son as well, for those lessons that are suited for a woman to teach, that is.
Mister Isen casts another long glance at me and just says, “I will consider it. Thank you for that offer.”
Meanwhile my nephew is glad that he no longer is being addressed. I give him a warm smile to indicate he is doing fine.
Quite abruptly does Mister Isen state that he has to be going, and declares that we are invited as soon as Wickerly Hall is appropriate for receiving visitors.
Charles extends an invitation that Mister Isen can visit until everything is in order, and that is greatly appreciated by the new owner of Wickerly Hall.
As we rise to say goodbye I receive a very pointedly, "Miss Winter."
An extra emphasis on the unmarried status of my being.
And with that he leaves, and has my sister in law praise him. That he turned her words around, or avoided her favourite interests, she conveniently has forgotten.
Her artificial conversations were met with slight sarcasm. And Mister Isen seems to have a quality to cause discomfort yet still he still seems polite.
And that is about as much thought I give the gentleman, as I return to my daily routine which now starts with refreshing Nigel's etiquette.
~
