the children, both were patient and even of temper: They shared the same mood.
“How goes it upstairs, do you suppose?” Elizabeth wondered aloud, without stirring.
“You stay there, Elizabeth, and gather your strength. Allow me to go up and see.”
Cassy left the warmth of the library and swished her way busily across the impressive hall and up the grand staircase. However sunken her heart, her artistic eye could never fail to catch and acknowledge the beauty of these surroundings.
Edward and Elizabeth were ensconced now in Godmersham, a large, fine, winged house, seventy-five years old, which presided over its park with the grand manner of one sure of its own great importance. Each window framed a charming vista; every interior wall was adorned with exquisite plasterwork. Cassandra was acutely aware both how fortunate she was to be staying here, and also how perverse it was that she wished she were not.
What other woman of such limited resources would be so ungrateful? She crossed the landing and took the long corridor. Christmas here had been splendid, and joyful, the dear children delirious in their excitement. Cassy had eaten too much—more than was good for her; they had made merry and played games every evening; she had laughed fit to burst.
Yet, throughout, her mind had been distracted by thoughts of Southampton: How was Jane coping with running the household in her own absence? Jane had lately had the whooping cough and by rights should still be convalescent. Could she get sufficient sleep to maintain her strength? Here, in her well-appointed chamber, alone in her stately comfort, Cassy lay awake each night, worrying. If only Edward had asked Jane here instead. She would gladly change places, for then she would at least know true peace of mind. But she herself was always the Godmersham favorite, particularly when there was a new baby around.
She climbed the stairs up to the attic schoolroom, in which the governess was teaching the older children.
“Bonjour, ma tante!” Fanny exclaimed at the sight of her.
“Et bonjour, chérie,” Cassy returned. “Tout va bien?”
“Très bien, merci.”
Mrs. Morris clearly had them under control. Elizabeth took her children’s French very seriously; Cassandra would not disturb them. She moved on to the day nursery to check on the small ones—all was well—and, thus released, she decided to take the air.
It was a fine winter’s day, after a long dry spell, but whatever the weather, there were always good walks to be had here. Mud did not trouble the Godmersham parkland: That was for other, less gracious places; mud would not dare. She returned to her room, collected her cloak, and, down in the hall, let herself out through the door to the garden. The sharp cold hit her face and banished the clouds from her brain.
Daytime solitude here was a rare and precious commodity—there was always someone demanding her time—and Cassy determined to use it. By nature she was a practical woman who did not enjoy feeling out of control. This issue of Jane’s melancholy was challenging all of her instincts. It tended to strike at the least convenient moment and refused to respond to rational argument. So far Cassy had treated it as any other illness—with nursing and potions and care. It was true that, after a few weeks, Jane had each time—so far—recovered. But was that due to Cassy’s own offices? Did she herself cure it? Or was it anyway of a limited period, like a phase of the moon, and it simply moved on with time?
She walked, eyes to the ground, ignoring the views, across the lawn in the direction of the river. Surely, rather than stand by waiting to physic, she should concentrate instead on prevention: establish what were the things that brought on the misery, deal with them, and then it might not reappear.
She made a list in her head. The first and most obvious cause was, of course, instability. They had moved house four times since the death of their father, and each had been difficult. Cassy, now in the coppice and out of the sunlight, shivered and sighed. There was nothing she or anyone could do to prevent more change in the future. They would not be long in Southampton, she was sure of it. Soon, no doubt, they would be off again, and who knew where next?
Then, there was lack of peace. Jane had been right on that count. It had all turned out as she feared. Cassy and Martha were often called away to help with their