Torn. Karen Turner

Li’l Sis.”

      I nodded dumbly, confused and unhappy. It seemed so inadequate and I wanted something more, something undefined and unfamiliar. I wished he’d embraced me as Simon had, but instead, he held my gaze, his face closed, eyes searching. Suddenly he stripped off one leather glove, kissed his first two fingers and, leaning from his saddle, pressed them firmly to my lips.

      It was an impulsive and strangely intimate gesture that left my emotions in disarray.

      He too, seemed uncommonly uneasy and he immediately looked away, saved, as Simon on Oliver moved up beside him.

      I retreated to where Anne stood with Maeve and her father as our brothers wheeled their horses’ heads toward the gate and with a final jaunty wave, they loosened their reins and were shortly gone from our sight.

      The household quickly settled into a new, rather feminine routine. Mother recovered well and was soon out of bed but continued to linger in her rooms for a further week.

      Anne, Maeve and I attended our comparatively subdued studies each day, noting with amusement the return of Master Baxter’s supercilious confidence.

      Spring had arrived and each day new life was evident in the gardens. Buds burst into glorious bloom and nestlings in the shrubbery were learning to fly. In the forest, young fawns explored their new surroundings on gangly legs.

      Jemima and I visited Clara and Meg each afternoon after my lessons. Sometimes Clara and I shared village gossip and stories. Other times we sat quietly, Clara sewing while I attempted to. I thought longingly of my brothers but, as the weeks passed, no letter arrived from Oxford.

      Lord Thorncliffe was frequently absent attending to business affairs in Leeds. His irregular visits to Broughton Hall often accompanied a delivery of a new book for me and consequently, I was introduced to a range of exciting writers like Walter Raleigh and Lady Anne Lindsay. The story of Auld Robin Gray haunted me once I’d deciphered Lady Lindsay’s Scots accented writing.

      Meanwhile Mother noted my growing friendship with Clara and remarked that it was inappropriate for someone of my station. She suggested I invite my cousin, her sister’s daughter, Charlotte, to stay, or perhaps Julia.

      But I enjoyed my afternoons with Clara and my baby sister, and knowing Mother as I did, I knew that concerns that did not pertain to her social activities were of a fleeting nature and would soon be forgotten.

      Having no prior experience with babies, I’d initially been wary of Meg, but as the months passed and spring became summer, the baby girl grew and I became comfortable handling her. I decided I would rather enjoy becoming a mother one day.

      Mother’s time seemed to be entirely occupied by the social events afforded by her status as a countess. So many invitations, so many women who’d previously considered themselves her equal, now curtsied deferentially before her – and she revelled in it.

      She threw herself enthusiastically into society and the lion-head knocker on Broughton Hall’s doors had never worked so hard. Throughout that summer, Mother attended an endless round of garden parties and balls, charity events and dinners. The prestige her presence lent each occasion ensured her diary was constantly full.

      The county had a reasonably well-established society and the glittering events attracted others who travelled from nearby Lancashire and Humberside. Some even came from further afield, progressing from one country estate to the next, where they ate, drank and whittled their days away in idle, pointless pursuits.

      One day Mother, attracted to a life of wealthy indolence in Leeds and York, disappeared down the drive in a cloud of summered dust. It was to be nearly a year before she’d return.

      Gerrard now remained at Broughton Hall, and the household settled into a slumberous mood, and remained so as I, with the approving nod of my stepfather, joined our tenant farmers in the annual autumnal haymaking that heralded the approaching winter.