‘Miss Albarn can wait. It’s the first sunny day for months and there’s a blackbird’s nest I want to show you. Come on!’
As usual, Sarah won the battle and Rebecca followed her outside, through the kitchen garden and into the park beyond. In a hedgerow that marked the perimeter of Rebecca’s father’s estate, there was indeed a blackbird’s nest. The tiny, naked baby birds cheeped loudly, their beaks open wide in expectation of food.
‘What do they eat?’ Rebecca asked. Sarah was almost a year older than her, and as far as Rebecca was concerned, she was the font of all knowledge. Miss Albarn was all very well for piano and drawing lessons, but if you wanted to know something about the real world, Sarah was the person to ask.
‘Beetles,’ Sarah said, with conviction. ‘If we found some, we could drop them in their mouths.’
‘Where would we find beetles?’
‘There are woodlice in the stables. Those will do.’
Rebecca stared at her friend. ‘How can we carry woodlice all the way back here? In our hands? Ugh!’
‘We can take the birds there.’ Sarah reached into the hedge and grasped the nest with both hands. As she pulled it free it fell apart, and the baby birds tumbled into the depths of the hedge.
Rebecca felt a pang of sorrow for the tiny, helpless creatures. ‘You’ve broken their home. What will their parents think when they come back?’
‘Serve them right for leaving their babies alone. Pah! They’ve fallen right down now. I can’t reach them.’ Sarah flung the remains of the nest on the ground and started running off across the park. ‘Come on. Let’s find something else to do. Race you to the climbing tree!’
Rebecca peered into the hedge and whispered an apology to the little birds, then gathered up her skirts and began running after Sarah. They weren’t allowed to climb the climbing tree – ever since Sarah had fallen and had only been saved from broken bones by her skirts catching in the lower branches and tearing. Sarah’s mother, the housekeeper at Red Hill Hall, had been furious. Rebecca had stood with her head bowed while Mrs Cooper shouted at Sarah. Mrs Cooper had been cross with her too – Rebecca could tell, but she’d not dared to shout at the daughter of her employer. There were some advantages to being the child of the master of Red Hill Hall, Rebecca had learned. Sarah, as the daughter of the housekeeper, had some perks – she shared a governess with Rebecca and had the run of the house and garden – but she was never allowed to forget that she was of a lower class.
Sarah was already at the climbing tree. It was a large overgrown flowering cherry in full bloom. Sarah jumped up to catch hold of one of the lower branches and hung off it, shaking blossom confetti all over both of them. Rebecca laughed and spun around, her arms outstretched and her face tilted upwards. ‘It’s raining petals!’ She grabbed a whole blossom that had been shaken loose and tucked it in her hair. ‘I’m Titania, Queen of the Fairies!’
‘You are no such thing, Miss Rebecca. You are a naughty girl who has skipped her lessons for the morning. As are you, Miss Sarah. Now brush yourselves off, and come indoors, the both of you. I shall have to mention this to Mr Winton.’
Rebecca looked at Miss Albarn in alarm. They’d been having so much fun. Why did the governess have to come and spoil it all? She pouted, and began brushing the petals from her clothes.
Sarah let go of the branch and landed with a thump on the lawn. ‘Sorry, Miss Albarn. We were on our way but Rebecca wanted to come and play in the tree as it is so beautiful when it is in full bloom. I wondered if perhaps we could make some watercolour sketches of it this afternoon? That’s if you haven’t already planned a lesson, of course.’ She dropped a pretty curtsey, eliciting a smile from the governess.
Rebecca watched in dismay. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone along with something Sarah had suggested, and ended up in trouble for it. And why had Sarah said it was her idea to play in the tree? It wasn’t fair. But she knew that if Sarah shouldered the blame, she’d be punished. She’d probably be made to stand in the corner of the schoolroom all day, or perhaps miss her supper. Whereas apart from the few stern words Miss Albarn had already voiced, Rebecca would receive no further admonishment. Another advantage of being the daughter of the master. Still, it hurt to always be the one to take the blame. Miss Albarn must think she was such a bad girl. And she wasn’t sure how much of it went back to her father and mother.
‘We might come and sketch the tree, Miss Sarah. Or we might not. For now, we are going inside to read some poetry. With your poor mother taken so poorly, one would have thought the two of you would have more decorum than to be running around the park.’
‘Miss Albarn, whose mother is poorly?’ asked Rebecca. Oh please don’t let it be hers, she thought, though the idea of Mrs Cooper being sick was not a good one either. Sometimes Mrs Cooper felt more like a mother to her than her own mother, who was often too busy to take much notice of her.
‘Sarah’s. Poor Mrs Cooper. It’s come on so suddenly, this time.’ Miss Albarn dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief.
‘Is it Mama’s chest again?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes, the poor dear. She can barely catch her breath. Mr Winton has sent for the doctor. She’ll be all right I’m sure, but in the meantime, we must not let her ailment distract us from our lessons. How am I going to make young ladies of you both if you insist on missing lessons and running off around the park like wild village children? Now come along, quickly.’ Miss Albarn tucked her handkerchief up her sleeve and marched across the lawn towards the house, the hem of her grey gown dragging cherry blossom in her wake.
For the next week the girls were not allowed to leave the house. Mrs Cooper was seriously unwell and it seemed the entire focus of the household was on caring for her. The butler, Spencer, had to take over many of Mrs Cooper’s responsibilities, delegating as much as he could to the cook and upper housemaids. Dr Millbank was an almost constant presence in the house, and two nurses had been employed to tend to Mrs Cooper day and night. Sarah was allowed to visit her mother once a day, for a few minutes only, for fear of tiring her too much. On these occasions Rebecca lurked in the doorway of the sickroom and watched with tears in her eyes as Sarah sat at her mother’s side, clutching her hand and imploring her not to die, while the nurse hushed her and dabbed at Mrs Cooper’s forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Rebecca couldn’t help but imagine how awful it would be if it was her own mother lying sick and fading.
Rebecca’s own parents walked about the house with grim expressions. Her father was a frequent visitor to the sickroom and had insisted that no expense be spared if it would help Mrs Cooper recover.
On the tenth day of Mrs Cooper’s illness, the girls were in the schoolroom with Miss Albarn, trying but failing to concentrate on French verbs, when a housemaid tapped at the door.
‘Excuse me, Miss Albarn, but the doctor said I should fetch Miss Sarah to see her mother right away.’ Her face looked drawn, and Sarah immediately leapt to her feet, her hand clasped to her mouth.
Miss Albarn scowled. ‘This is most irregular. Sarah usually visits her mother after tea. Why must she go now in the middle of our lessons?’
‘Excuse me, miss, but I don’t know. All I know is Mr Winton agreed and said Sarah must indeed come at once.’ The maid gave a small curtsey and held the door open. Sarah rushed through, followed by the housemaid. Rebecca hesitated for a moment then made up her mind. It was more important to be with her friend right now, than learning about the past perfect tense. She glanced at Miss Albarn, shrugged an apology and ran off, ignoring the governess’s protests.
Mrs Cooper had been put in one of the main bedrooms on the first floor. It was easier, Mr Winton had said, to nurse her there than in her usual apartment in the servants’ wing, where Sarah also slept. Rebecca ran down to the first floor and along the corridor to the sickroom. There was a crowd of people in the room