CHAPTER 8

      It was a very cold morning. Icy.

      Perhaps it would turn out to be the coldest day of the winter after all, Audra thought, just as the gardener had warned yesterday when she had been returning from her walk. He had put down his wheelbarrow and looked up at the sky, narrowing his eyes and sniffing, as if he had a way of divining such things in this arcane manner.

      And then he had made his prediction. ‘Yer’ll be nithered ter death termorra, Miss Audra. T’weather’s coming in bad from t’North Sea. Arctic weather, mark my words, lass.’

      She had never been to the Arctic Circle, but she did not imagine it could be any colder than her bedroom at this moment. It was freezing, and it seemed to Audra that her nose, peeping over the bedcovers, had turned into an icicle. An Arctic icicle.

      She slithered further down in the bed, hunching the covers up over her shoulders, almost obscuring her face entirely, revelling in the warmth of the quilt. It was filled with the down of the eider duck; Mr and Mrs Bell had purchased a baker’s dozen of these quilts when they had been on holiday in Munich several years before.

      Mrs Bell had told Audra this when she had come to work at Calpher House, had gone on to explain that the sheet under the quilt was the only other piece of bed linen required. Irène Bell had also cautioned Audra not to wear her thick flannel nightgown, but to discard it in favour of a cotton garment. Although she had nodded her understanding, she had not been absolutely certain that she really understood at all. But later that night, at bed time, she had done as she had been bidden earlier in the day, and within ten minutes of being in bed she had begun to feel a lovely sensation of warmth permeating her whole body. The heat generated by the quilt was extraordinary, something quite amazing to Audra, and she realized that Mrs Bell had been correct about the cotton nightie. Anything else would have been far too hot. She smiled to herself now, remembering her first night here, and then swivelled her eyes to the clock on the mahogany chest as it began to chime. It was only six but this did not surprise her in the least. She was accustomed to awakening at this hour. It was an old habit left over from her years at the hospital in Ripon. Fortunately the routine was not so rigorous here at Calpher House, and she could stay in bed until seven, even a bit later if she wished.

      Audra had truly come to cherish this dawn hour when all the family were asleep and no one was about except for the servants downstairs. She thought of it as her own special and private time, enjoyed the luxury of lingering in her downy cocoon, without having the need to rush, idly drifting with her diverse thoughts…and sometimes day-dreaming about the future.

      And the future seemed decidedly rosy to Audra on this December morning of 1927.

      Certainly the years stretching ahead could not be any worse than the five years which had preceded her arrival at Calpher House, she frequently told herself these days. Naturally optimistic, she always looked at things in the most positive way, anticipating the best. She also expected the best from people, despite her distressing experiences with her Aunt Alicia Drummond. Burying the dreadful hurt she had suffered at the hands of that inhuman woman, she would remind herself that not everyone was cruel, selfish or dishonest, that the world did have its ample share of kindly folk. And the Bells and their staff at Calpher House had helped to reinforce this belief in Audra. She had been made to feel welcome from the very first day, and she never once forgot how fortunate she had been to find such a congenial place to work.

      It was exactly one year ago today that she had started here as the nanny.

      From the first moment she had stepped into this house Audra had felt as if she belonged here. It was as if she had returned after a long journey to a place she had always known. In a way it had been like coming home…home to High Cleugh. It was not that Calpher House resembled her beloved former home; as houses they were entirely different in architecture and furnishings. What she had found so familiar, had recognized with such clarity, was the presence of love within these walls.

      For the most part, it was the happiest year that Audra had spent since her mother had died and tragedy had struck their little family.

      She fitted in well at Calpher House.

      Because of her upbringing, her disposition and personality, everyone found her a pleasure to be around, and she was popular upstairs and downstairs. The Bells were kind and considerate; the servants treated her with a deference and respect that was marked by friendliness.

      After years of frugality and spartan living at the hospital, she was now surrounded by enormous luxury and comfort, the likes of which she had never known even at High Cleugh, where money for anything other than the real essentials had been fairly scarce most of the time. All of their pleasant little extras had come from Uncle Peter.

      The Bells were successful, affluent people and they could afford the very best. And because of Mrs Bell’s generous nature there was an overabundance of everything.

      Wonderfully delicious meals emerged from Mrs Jackson’s amazing kitchen. She was a gourmet cook, and Audra also got a chance to taste such delicacies as pâté de foie gras, caviar and smoked salmon. Crystal dishes of bon-bons and nuts and Turkish Delight were scattered across small occasional tables in the elegant blue living room, for anyone to nibble on who wished, and even the everyday nursery meals could hardly be called everyday because of the way they tasted. Such things as steak-and-kidney pudding, apple dumplings, bacon-and-egg pie, Irish stew, and pork, beef and lamb roasts all had the most distinctive, mouth-watering flavours. As far as Audra was concerned, Cook was the first person to rival her mother in a kitchen; Mrs Jackson was forever coming up with something extra-special to tempt their palates. Audra’s favourites were Little Pigs of Heaven, a warm chocolate dessert that literally melted in the mouth, and Bandit’s Joy, a hot potato dish flavoured with honey and nutmeg that made a perfect accompaniment to saddle of mutton, and she had asked Mrs Jackson for the recipes for these dishes. On very special occasions, Mr Agiter, the butler, had been instructed by Mr Bell to serve her a glass of sparkling, ice-cold champagne. But she was already familiar with this wine, since it had not been out of the ordinary for her Uncle Peter to bring a bottle to celebrate her mother’s birthday, or for Christmas Day at High Cleugh. She and Frederick and William had always been allowed one small glass by their mother.

      Apart from the wonderful food and vintage wines which seemed to flow without cease at Calpher House, there was a plethora of other things which added their distinctive touches to the sense of opulence that prevailed throughout.

      Innumerable bowls and vases of flowers and exotic plants punctuated every room downstairs; the latest magazines and newspapers, current novels and other books spilled over large circular tables in the library, in Mrs Bell’s study and most especially in the family parlour where everyone seemed to congregate at night. Sofas and chairs were plump and inviting with piles of soft cushions, or they had their arms draped with fluffy mohair throws from Scotland, to be used on colder evenings wrapped around legs and shoulders.

      Startled at first though she had been, and even a bit overwhelmed by all this luxury in one house, Audra had grown accustomed to it. Whilst it would be true to say that she enjoyed the comfort and the cosseting, she nonetheless did not consider it of any great importance in her life. The real reason she was happy at Calpher House was because her employers and the staff were all so nice, really good people who cared about others and their well-being.

      These aspects of her job aside, it had been a fine year for Audra Kenton in other respects.

      The letters which came from her brothers were much more positive these days, and were written in the same optimistic vein that had enhanced their earliest epistles to her. Frederick was growing stronger in health every week, and things had improved immeasurably for them. They both had good jobs in Sydney at long last. William was working in the circulation department of the Sydney Morning Herald; Frederick had become private secretary to an industrialist,