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Chapter Four: An Embarrassment of Riches

"What will I say to him?" Isabella asked.

"As little as possible, I think will be best. Arabella rarely talks to him at all. If he asks how you found the London season, you must say, 'Dull,' and if he asks why, you need only say that the people were stupid — Arabella thinks everybody is stupid. But he probably will not ask why. He perhaps will not ask anything at all."

"And you'll send an excuse for me tomorrow?" Isabella said. "Perhaps one night I can manage it, if he really does not see much of me, but no more."

"Once you have the money to pay mother's debt, I'll make sure to get you out of here."

"It feels very wrong to ask him for that money, Edwina. This all feels wrong, but that feels worst of all."

"It would be in Arabella's character to ask for it. Besides, if you do not, we will be as good as ruined. Remember that."

Isabella smoothed down Arabella's dress again and looked around the bedroom. Despite the thick-piled carpet beneath her feet, and the softness and delicacy of the furnishings, the room felt suddenly like a cage. She did not think she could ask Mr Locke for money, and then come back to this room and sleep in it.

"Well never mind," Edwina said after a while. "We can talk about this later tonight. Now, I have to leave. Walter will be missing me." Edwina gave a crooked smile. "I must say, it is the one thing I have that Arabella does not — a husband, who misses me."

Edwina got up, and Isabella went to the door, but Edwina waved her back.

"Arabella never sees me off," she said. "Arabella always has the servants see people off — remember that."

Edwina left, shutting the door behind her. For a moment, Isabella stood in the centre of her new cage, feeling very lost and confused. Without Edwina there to guide her, she did not know what to do. At length it occurred to her that she ought to familiarize herself with her new surroundings, so that she did not betray herself by any display of ignorance or surprise. She set to methodically exploring Arabella's bedroom. The wardrobe and the chest revealed that Arabella had excellent maids, but on opening the drawers of the dressing table, Isabella discovered evidence that Arabella truly had inherited their mother's untidiness. That was another thing she would have to remember, Isabella thought, wiping a greasy lotion stain from her fingers; she mustn't pick up after herself while she was here.

With the contents of Arabella's bedroom catalogued, Isabella slipped back into the hall again. Another door off to the right revealed the luxury of a tiled bathroom. There was little to explore there, so Isabella went back to the drawing room. Whatever Arabella's faults, she had excellent taste. The pale lemon and sage colours made the room feel spring-like and airy, but despite the prettiness of the furnishings and the sun streaming through the windows, the room felt somehow cold. After a while, Isabella realized why: there was no evidence, from the perfectly ordered cushions on the settee to the new decks of cards stacked in the drawers of the card table, that anybody really lived here. It could just as easily have been a room in a hotel or club as a lady's drawing room.

Feeling uncomfortable, Isabella descended the stairs and went back into Arabella's narrow sitting room. Here, she felt more at home. The pigeon-holes of the writing desk were cluttered with papers, and there was a wax stain on the sewing table. It was evidence of life. Isabella sank down into one of the chairs by the window, away from the fire. Arabella had always liked a warm room, and it was stuffy in here. Well, she would have to put up with it for a little while at least. It might seem peculiar if she ordered the fire to be put out.

She sat there for some time, listening to the activity of the house around her. There were on occasion footsteps from above, or the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchens below. More strange to her were the noises of the city — horses whinnying, carriages rattling, or street sellers shouting their wares. Even at the back of the house, away from the street, it was not quiet.