Forthenby Hall was the sort of house you found in guidebooks for those touring the county. In fact, it certainly was in the relevant one - it was merely that, visiting it as an honoured guest, Serafina had no call to seek it out. 

The town of Forthenby itself was approached on a good road, and seemed a merry, prosperous sort of place. There were no mean hovels, no evidence of barefoot, starving children. Everything seemed very peaceful. There was no suggestion that a monster of depravity lived scarcely a mile away. 

The approach to the Hall lead away from the town, and was a wide, well-maintained path that swept around to reveal a matched pair of stately gatehouses and a green sweep of prospect down the drive to a large, elegant house in the Classical Style.

In the rocking of Lord Forthenby’s carriage – which had been sent for them – Serafina tried to quash the shrinking dread that was pulling at everything in her, while simultaneously shutting out her father’s aggravating drone of exactly how tasteful and extensive the seventh Earl’s improvements had been, and indeed, how much they had cost. She looked instead at the acres of grounds – smooth manicured green lawns, an avenue of elms, some delightfully wild parkland in the distance – which spilled all about them. According to her father’s drone, the grounds contained many formal gardens, as well as an ornamental boating lake, and a maze adorned by many rare and beautiful statues, shipped in at vast expense. What’s more, he said, there was a very fine example of an Elizabethan rose garden, beautifully preserved.

He must have cribbed all of this from some manner of pamphlet, for there was no way that the scornful Lord of the place had divulged any such information, and certainly not in that gloatingly boastful tone.

Serafina was wearing another expensive new dress, and the heavy, rustling fabric felt strange in the close space of the carriage. Money for her wardrobe had apparently become no object since she had snagged herself an Earl. At the inn that morning, father had tried to insist that she wear the rose pearls which Forthenby had given her. Only mama’s tactful intercession had reminded him that such things were not really daytime wear, and they could become lost if my Lord wished to give them a tour of the grounds.

She knew that she would have to wear them eventually, but could not bear it. 

Not yet.

After the long draw of the drive, the carriage finally halted, and two footmen in livery rushed to open the door for her. Father descended first, offering his hand to her, leaving mama to struggle from the carriage on her own. 

A butler came towards them, and bowed, “Mr and Mrs Tooting, Miss Tooting, welcome to Forthenby.”

Serafina stood before the grand entrance to the place, staring at the perfectly spoken man in his livery of charcoal and amber, and felt more than a little cowed.

Mama caught her eye and said, with perfect composure. “Why, it’s barely changed since I was last here.”

“We have had the pleasure of your presence before, ma’am?” 

“I visited with my father,” she said, “Sir Alfred Lyons. Although, that was in the days of the old Earl’s father, and I’m afraid I was barely more than a child.”

“In which case it is my pleasure to welcome you back, ma’am. Mr Hedge will be with you shortly.”

“Is not the Earl at home?” her father asked.

“His Lordship is taking his morning ride, sir, but he shall return soon. May I introduce you to Mr Hedge, who shall make you comfortable.”

“Mr Hedge?” said Serafina’s father, “and who is he?”

A compact, grey-looking man seemed to emerge from the shadows around the door and bowed very deeply, “I am my Lord’s steward and estate manager, sir. On behalf of my Lord, may I welcome you to Forthenby.”

Hedge was a terrible bore. He had a low, buzzing, country voice which washed all the sense away from what he was saying, leaving only a dreary sort of melody over it all. 

Mr Tooting hurried alongside him, keen to admire everything, and mama swept after them in her admirable manner. Serafina did her best to imitate it. All three of them ignored the deliberate sting of insult occasioned by her fiancé’s abandonment of them to the staff.
 
Not that she cared if Forthenby was trying to insult her.

Not that he could do her any more harm than he had already done.

Serafina kept her posture flawless, her gaze mild and attentive, but uncowed. Hedge seemed to be watching her, and beneath his somewhat tedious exterior, there appeared to be a sort of testing disapproval, as though he had heard and credited some of the worst rumours that had attached themselves to her name. 

His primary object, however, seemed to be shame the entire family by giving them the penny tour of all the grandeur of Forthenby Hall. Nowhere did she see the cosy corners, the family rooms of daily life: no drawing room, no morning room, nor retiring room for small gatherings. Instead, it was the vast ballroom, the enumeration of the number of candles upon each chandelier, the valuable works in the long galleries of pictures, the noble history of the ancient Valances in those portraits, the flunkeys standing silent and attendant at the doorways. Nowhere was it mentioned that she was a young bride, viewing her future home.

As though she could imagine making her home in such a cold and lofty place. 

Yes, it was beautiful, done not merely with taste, but with considerable style – yet for all that, it was the sort of place to be admired, not inhabited. The one touch of pleasure she had in that footsore, tired hour was the music room, in which a beautiful piano stood, all gleaming wood and gilt. 

She did not quite dared to ask play it. 

So, it continued, through galleries and passageways until mama said, “I beg your pardon, Hedge, but did not the old Earl keep a remarkable library. I should dearly love to see it.”

“As you shall, madam,” said Hedge, with a dour bow, “but I am afraid it is in the East Wing, and at some distance from our current location.”

“Naturally,” said mama with a gracious smile which you would have to know her very well to see as mockery. When Hedge moved on, Mrs Tooting rapped Serafina’s wrist lightly, and whispered, “Intimidation. One of the oldest tricks there is.”

Hedge turned stern eyes to them.

“I was merely admiring this vase, Mr Hedge, from the Orient, is it not?”

“It is, indeed, madam, a most rare and ancient piece that has been –”

“Good Lord, is this where you’re hiding them,” called a strident, ringing voice, accompanied by the sound of a door slamming open, and what sounded like the clatter of paws from a thousand dogs. 

“Down Pincher, here Gyp, theresaboy Pointer, that’s it, heel. Good boy, Peregrine, good, good boy.” Then into the room sailed a most tall and majestic personage, dressed like a huntswoman, and attended by a what could only be called a swarm of dogs. 

“You can always tell a good dog,” the personage nodded to Mrs Tooting in a familiar way, as several other animals raced across to nose at Mr Tooting’s shoes, Hedge’s stockings, and the hem of Serafina’s dress, “down, Jet. And believe me, Peregrine is such dear thing – I said here, Gyp – but I’m sorry about these others, they’re a bevvy of louts, but I couldn’t leave them outdoors, that damned fool of a farm manager has brought a lamb up with him and... Heel, Pincher, not everyone likes their shoes licked.”

“The Lady Charlotte Valance,” said Hedge in a tone of weary resignation. 

“Well, obviously that’s who I am – oh, don’t mind Lancelot there, my dear girl, ridiculous name, but not a harmful bone in his body. And this must be Mr and Mrs Something, along with the girl my idiot cousin has got himself contracted to in such a hasty and shameless manner.” She strode across the room, attended like Artemis, and extended her hand, “Well, I understand, you’re unreasonably beautiful. Now, it was Miss Angela Something, wasn’t it?”

“Serafina, my Lady, Miss Serafina Tooting.” said Serafina, dropping a curtsey.

“If we’re to be cousins, you must call me Lotte,” said Lady Charlotte, firmly linking her arm through Serafina’s. “And I shall call you Serafina, if I may, and I’m sure we shall be great friends. Oh, but Hedge, what on earth are you doing showing them the West Wing before they’ve even glanced at the grounds? Do tell me you’re fond of riding,” she said, turning to Serafina, “or walking at least. Nelly’s the dearest, sweetest girl, but she’s such a delicate type. I’m starved for company when I’m out and about, although justice does insist I say Teddy’s decent enough to take me shooting most mornings, when he deigns to visit his seat. But listen to me harping on. If the rest of you have no objections, I’ll show Miss Tooting about the grounds, and we’ll meet you when you get to the living quarters.” 

She clapped her hands together twice without unhooking her arm from Serafina’s “Out boys, out!” 

The dogs went clattering over the marble floor, out on to the green lawn. 

“I say, that is alright by all of you, isn’t it?”