The self-control she had exercised all the evening broke and now, with a wild anguish that could not be repressed, she cried out his name over and over again,
“Drogo! Drogo! Drogo!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Cornelia awoke with a feeling that something wonderful was going to happen.
Unable to recall exactly where she was, she lay in bed with her eyes closed against the sunshine seeping in through the curtains and fancying that she was back again at Rosaril.
Then, as the noise of traffic came to her ears and the sound of horses’ hoofs clattering down Park Lane, she remembered that she was in London and opened her eyes to see the big luxuriously decorated room that gave her a faint sense of surprise.
Everything in her uncle’s house was outstandingly luxurious compared with the simple shabbiness of Rosaril and, snuggling down against the pillows, she thought that her mattress was as soft as the clouds that drifted over the Atlantic on a summer wind.
Suddenly she felt an overwhelming desire to be outside and in the sunshine.
All her life she had been used to rising as soon as she awoke, to run down to the stables before breakfast, to saddle a horse and gallop away over the fields long before anyone else in the house was awake.
Late though she had been last night she was not at all tired and once again that feeling that something exciting and wonderful was near came flooding over her so that the sunshine seemed suddenly more golden and the sound of the horses trotting outside had a music that was echoed in her heart
She jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The trees were still encircled with mist, but through it she could see the faint glimmer of the Serpentine.
Without ringing for a maid, she dressed herself quickly, bundling her hair up on to her head regardless of what it might look like and pinning on top of it the first hat that came to her hand from her wardrobe.
London, she thought at once had a different appearance at this hour from what it looked like when Society folk were awake. There were no smart carriages perambulating in the Park or down Park Lane, but drays and tradesmen’s carts with heavy horses to pull them.
Most of the houses had their shutters closed although outside one or two a mob-capped housemaid was scrubbing the steps. They stared at Cornelia in surprise and she regretted, as she met their curious eyes, that she had not kept her travelling clothes for such an occasion.
Her new walking dress of pale fawn serge was far too smart and her hat with its feathers and flowers was more suitable for watching polo at Hurlingham than for taking a promenade in Hyde Park before the dew was off the grass.
But not even the consciousness of being incorrectly dressed and the cynosure of curious eyes could damp Cornelia’s elation or her feeling of being free.
A soft wind was playing through the trees in the Park and, as it touched her cheeks, she felt happier than at any time since she came to London.
For a moment she forgot her shyness, her fear of people, her despair at wondering what she must say and her embarrassment at doing the wrong thing. Here she was just herself and only the fullness of her skirts prevented her from running in the sheer joy of being young and alive.
Not remembering that a lady should take small, rather mincing steps, she strode out until she came to the Serpentine. It was vividly blue from the reflection of the sky above it and iridescent in the sunshine.
There seemed to be no one about and Cornelia pretended that she was walking along the deserted sands near Rosaril with the Atlantic breakers rolling in in all the might and majesty of their white-crested beauty.
And then, as she moved slowly along the edge of the water, her thoughts far away, she heard a sound that made her turn her head swiftly.
It was unmistakably the sound of someone sobbing.
For a moment Cornelia wondered where it could have come from and then she saw that on a bench beneath the trees a young woman was crying as if her heart would break.
Cornelia looked around to see if someone might appear to help this strange woman in distress. But there was no one, only sunshine on the water, ducks flapping their wings and dipping their heads in search of food and pigeons fluttering beneath the trees.
‘It is none of my business if a stranger is unhappy,’ Cornelia thought to herself.
Common sense told her to walk on and take no notice and then the utter abandonment of the woman on the bench made her feel that she must help and that she could not pass by and ignore such suffering.
Shyly she approached the bench.
As she drew nearer, she could see that it was a girl who cried, a girl of perhaps her own age, neatly and plainly dressed and there was something innately respectable about her stout shoes and the black cotton umbrella that lay there on the bench. She was suddenly aware of Cornelia’s presence and checked her sobs, biting her lower lip as she fought for self-control and mopped her streaming eyes with a neatly hemmed handkerchief of clean white linen.
“Can – can I – help you?” Cornelia spoke the words softly, with her shyness making her stammer a little.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t know that anyone was about.”
The girl fought to steady her voice, but the effort was pathetic and Cornelia sat down on the bench.
“You must be very unhappy,” she said gently. “Have you nowhere to go?”
“Nowhere!” The word was spoken impulsively and then as quickly regretted. “That is if it’s all right, thank you, ma’am. I’ll be gettin’ along now.”
The girl rose from the bench. There was an expression of such desperation in her white, drawn face that some instinct in Cornelia made her cry out,
“No, don’t go! I want to talk to you. You must tell me why you are so distressed.”
“It’s kind of you, ma’am, but no one can help me – no one! I’ll be – gettin’ along.”
“Where are you going?” Cornelia asked.
The girl looked at her and a dazed expression in her eyes gave her a look of desperation,
“I don’t know,” she answered dully, “the river, I think.”
It was as if the words were forced from her lips and then the horror of them was too much even for her to contemplate. With a little cry she put her hands over her face and her tears broke out afresh.
“You must not talk like that and you must not cry. Sit down, please. I can help you, I am sure of it,” Cornelia suggested.
The girl, as if in obedience to her command or because she was too weak to stand, sank down on the bench and crouched with her head bent and her tears shaking her whole body.
For the moment Cornelia said nothing, but waited for the paroxysm of weeping to stop. After a while it seemed as if the violence of it passed and the girl’s sobs grew quieter until gradually they ceased altogether.
“Do tell me what is distressing you,” she asked kindly. “You are from the country?”
“Yes, ma’am. I came to London about two months ago – ”
There was a pathetic little break at the end of the sentence.
“What part of the country did you come from?” Cornelia asked.
“From Worcestershire, ma’am. My father works there as a groom to Lord Coventry. I didn’t get on at home with my stepmother and it was decided I should get a job as housemaid in a gentleman’s house. Her Ladyship gave me a reference for I had worked at the Court for some years and I was so happy and proud to be on my