England, 1934. Hester Blake, an ambitious girl from an industrial Northern town, finds a job as a lady’s maid in a small aristocratic household.
Despite their impressive title and glorious past, the Fitzmartins are crumbling under the pressures of the new century. And in the cold isolation of these new surroundings, Hester ends up hopelessly besotted with her young mistress, Lady Lucy.
Accompanying Lucy on her London Season, Hester is plunged into a heady and decadent world. But hushed whispers of another war swirl beneath the capital… and soon, Hester finds herself the keeper of some of society’s most dangerous secrets…
A Pearl for My Mistress
Annabel Fielding
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Contents
Endpages
ANNABEL FIELDING,
having graduated from the University of Arts London with an MA in Public Relations, is a PR assistant by day and a novelist by night. Being a self-professed history geek, she dedicates her free time to obscure biographies, solo travel and tea. She also posts a mix of book reviews and travel photos on her blog at http://historygeekintown.com
To my dearest Eugenia, who readily shared my rage and my love for so many things.
London, May 1933
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the majestic windows of the Claridge’s hotel. It danced across the room, reflecting on the new glass panels, throwing patches of light on Eleanor’s red hair. It illuminated the black-and-white mosaic, the cream-coloured pillars, and the gold-coloured walls. The whole restaurant now seemed to be serenely floating among the radiant clouds, all its patrons transformed into ethereal beings.
‘So, tell me about this new novel of yours.’
Only the sense of decorum must have prevented Eleanor from leaning across the table.
Her name always seemed a little too ceremonious for her, too decorous, too grand; perhaps, that is why she was usually fondly referred to as Nora.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a novel already.’ Charity shook her head. ‘It’s still more of an idea. It may come to nothing in the end.’
‘Do tell!’
‘You see, I’ve grown a little tired of English country houses …’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ Eleanor shrugged. ‘They are dreadful. I still don’t know how I managed to survive my childhood winters there.’
The corner of Lucy’s mouth twitched. She understood this sentiment better than most. Last year, she couldn’t have been more relieved that her family had finally capitulated and decided to install central heating in Hebden Hall. Perhaps capitulation was too strong a word; actually, it was more of a compromise. If the house absolutely had to be defiled by this new apparatus, they thought, then the change must, at least, remain unobtrusive. Therefore, the radiators were concealed by complicated latticework and tucked as far from prying eyes as possible.
Lucy didn’t mind. At least now she wouldn’t have to dress in a way that called to mind early Antarctic explorers.
‘I mean, I am tired of writing about them,’ Charity said, her eyes laughing.
‘Again, who wouldn’t be?’ Nora sighed deeply and shook her head, making the lush red tresses sweep across her shoulders.
The Honourable Miss Eleanor Palmer was nothing if not expressive. Few people would have called her beautiful; however, she definitely possessed a certain presence.