Dear
Amelia,
Forgive me this late reply; it has been some
weeks since I received your last letter and we have now resided in Devonshire
for almost a month. I have so much to tell! All my expectations about this
place have come to conclusions so now I have an opinion of it to give.
It is a beautiful place, there is no
doubting that. When we first arrived up the long gravelled drive shaded by
seven great oaks on either hand my nervousness at meeting the inhabitants was
forgotten in delight. The great House stands at the brink of a long vista which
rises and falls forever like a carpet of green velvet, trees and dry stone
walls abound as do beautiful water features. The gardens are the largest I have
ever seen; a shrubbery, rose beds, an orchard, large areas of lawns with huge
maples and oaks dotted about artistically. When we were shown around I was
delighted with a great bed of Zinnias in Grandmother‘s personal garden. I never
knew how beautiful the flowers I was named after could be. My Grandmother (I
always find myself calling her Granddame in my head) looks after this garden
with her own hands I was surprised to learn for I never would have guessed it.
She greeted us in the grand hall as we came
in tired from our long journey. I observed her carefully from the moment I saw
her for I felt my future happiness and peace depended on her. My first
impression was of a stately perfectly proportioned lady with dove grey hair
still thick and luxuriant piled up on her head, she looks like a duchess from
the last century. But I do not mean to imply that I thought her in any way out
of the style of present fashions, no, she could have come off any fashion plate
current this year. Her dress was not overly dressy, in no ways plain but simple
and elegant. ‘Here is a woman of taste’ I thought. My observation next wandered
to her face (an important feature of any character), it is handsome, large,
grey eyes which see everything but do not pierce; a fine, thin nose very slightly
turned up at the tip; a strong mouth set in neutral but not rigid for her
speech flows gracefully. She must have
been a beauty in her day, though it seems strange to think of her as having any
day other than today, she is so very much in the present and not one of those handsome
women who look backwards all their lives once their roses have faded.
Her manner and deportment are perfect, and
graceful if purposeful. When I was introduced to her she un-obviously ran her
eyes over me and said quietly, ‘So this is Zinnia. Not quite as I expected’ but
she seemed satisfied enough with me and after observing me discreetly for a few
minutes afterward she appeared oblivious to me for the rest of the day. I noticed too she is much like Mama in many
ways but they don’t get on so perfectly smoothly, probably for that very
reason. There is a motherly concern in Grandmothers politeness to her and a
touch of defiance in her daughters towards her, or perhaps something else, as
if she has defied her and is afraid of being punished. But it is all very
subtle and there is no constraint to conversation or awkward moments at all.
Papa is polite and respectful and his usual gentlemanly self. I feel so proud
of him when I see him in company he deports himself so well and can be very
agreeable and amusing. I caught Grandmother in the act of smiling at something
he said. I had thought her the kind of woman afraid to be seen softening, but
perhaps I am wrong, and her smile was beautiful. As you can see this woman has
captured my imagination. She always calls me zinnia.
I can ride here as much as I want thought I
mustn’t overdo it and seem to impose upon Grandmother’s generosity with her
horses, all very fine creatures and nothing like the hill ponies we would ride
at home. But there is a little pony belonging to the stable boy which I stole a
gallop on. He seemed shocked and surprised to be asked to saddle her up for me
but he did it and hasn’t betrayed me! I
had a delightfully wild gallop away over the rolling green fields; I imagined I
was home again with you laughing at my side in a race. I stopped at a high
point of the estate to rest the pony (who seemed just as shocked at my
behaviour as the stable boy, but she enjoyed it all the same) there was a grand
view and a sat there for a long time drinking in the scene and the air which is
so fresh and clean here like is at home. I wandered home through shady back
lanes and inspected all the cottages over the hedges; they are all clean and
well-kept.
As I arrived at the back entrance of the
stables (to escape observation) I had a strange encounter on the road. I had
just dismounted outside the gates and was replacing wisps of escaping hair
before returning the pony when a voice spoke behind me,
‘Don’t get your hopes up, miss.’
Turning somewhat startled I saw the speaker
who seemed to come out of nowhere, a young man in perhaps mid to late twenties
of medium build, and a wild mop of dark hair. I gave him a questioning look but
did not speak feeling in a rather awkward situation with my hair wild, in an
old dress, and with a scruffy pony, I had tried to avoided meeting anyone thus
lest my elders hear and disapprove and I be forbidden to ride again. (Both
Grandmother and Mama have very strict ideas of propriety and Papa agrees with
them, as do I on most occasions). But it seemed my attire served as disguise
for the young man merely gave in reply, ‘She can be a lion, I hope you’re not
in any trouble, and if it’s a position you are wanting—just be careful of your
answers!’ And with grin he passed me by
and around the corner into the stables. I was amazed and rather amused too. To
be mistaken for a peasant girl, that is not something I have enjoyed for a good
many years! I wonder who he was, for he was not dressed as a groom, stable boy
or peasant nor spoke like them.
It is so quiet here. I enjoy the peace and
go for long walks every day and explore the country, I have been sketching too.
Mama sometimes comes with me on my rambles and we draw together or read
together. She enjoys the same books as I and I find every day more and more
things we share in common; our love of beauty, romance, literature, horse
riding, and simple country life. She grew up here, and becoming acquainted with
her country I come to know her better.
I have just been handed a note by the maid
from Grandmother who wants me in her private parlour. The seamstress must be
here, Mama and Grandmother have been discussing getting new dresses for me as
Grandmother was slightly shocked that I no proper riding dress nor have had
anything new since my school days. I had
best end my letter here and walk down to the village post office about a mile
or so away this afternoon after they have finished with me in the parlour.
Good bye my dear, until next time.
Bethy
