Page 29 of A Sky Painted Gold

CHAPTER

TEN

When I wake several hours later I am groggy and disorientated. My neck is hurting and I realize that I am still squished up in the window seat. I unfold myself and stand, stretching my cramped limbs. I eye the beautiful, cloud-like dream of a bed with regret. Trust me to miss my opportunity to sleep in that. I could try to go back to sleep now, I suppose, but as I trail my fingers over the white sheets I realize I am not a bit tired.

I pad silently over to the door. I am still wearing my dress from the evening before, and I think now that the nightgown has finally fulfilled its destiny. Perhaps I could start a line of party dresses that also double up as pyjamas. It certainly makes falling into bed (or window seat) at the end of the evening very straightforward.

Opening the bedroom door a tiny crack, I listen carefully for any sign of life, but there is none. Everything is completely silent. Obviously this is not a household of early risers … in fact, for all I know they could all have only just gone to bed.

It seems the perfect opportunity to luxuriate in the amazing bathtub. It would be rude not to, I reason, and who knows when such a chance will present itself again? I turn the taps on and gleefully pour in great big splashes from every single pretty bottle that lines the side, finally sinking into the warm, fragrant water with a happy sigh.

Lying back in the bath, I go over the events of the previous evening in my mind. The lights and the noise and the colours arrange themselves into a dazzling collage as images press in, one on top of the other. I feel my limbs relaxing beneath the warm water, and I play out various scenes in delicious detail. I remember stepping into the orchard and entering a fairy tale. I am almost afraid that the memory of it must have been a dream, but looking around me now I know that it was all wonderfully real. I turn the night over in my mind, and realize with a twinge of sadness that it is already a memory, something fragile to be pulled out and admired, but no longer something to look forward to, to live in. I wonder if I will come back here, and if this is the beginning or already the end of my adventure. My fingers curl at that, and I shut my eyes tightly, sending out a silent wish that it doesn’t all end here.

I frown now, thinking back over my conversation with Laurie. It is one thing to acknowledge that I want something bigger than the life I know in Penlyn, but it is another thing entirely to work out exactly what that is. I think about Alice and how happy and certain she seems, but no matter how hard I try I can’t imagine myself in her position. Something about that makes me feel sad, as if the gap that has opened between my sister and me suddenly yawns even wider. I’ve always followed in Alice’s footsteps. I don’t really know how to blaze my own trail. And even if I did, by choosing something different, will I somehow be saying that I think she chose wrong? Will she be hurt? Will Midge and Pa? If I leave Penlyn behind, will that mean turning my back on my family?

Shaking my head, as if to dislodge all these difficult questions, I pull myself from the water and wrap my body in the thick, fluffy towels that have been laid out. After running a comb through my hair, I pull on a pale blue dress that is one of my best and usually reserved for Sundays (though it looks decidedly underwhelming in the context of my surroundings). I dab on some more of the heavy, exotic scent, but for some reason I think it smells all wrong on me. Then, finally, I sit on the bed, unsure what to do next. The answer comes courtesy of my stomach, which gives a deep and emphatic rumble. I need to go on the hunt for breakfast.

Tiptoeing down the staircase, I still can’t detect any sound to indicate that the rest of the household have yet risen from the dead. I hesitate on the bottom step, undecided about whether I should head back to my room or press on. In the end hunger wins out over shyness and I make my way through to the dining room. Sunshine streams through the huge windows, and there is no sign at all of last night’s party, as if the whole thing really has been some sort of dream. Robert is already in here, the newspaper in his hands, a cup of coffee and a plate of toast on the long table in front of him. I pause, but then he looks up and I’m caught staring at him.

“Good morning,” I say, hovering on the threshold.

“Good morning,” he replies, getting to his feet, because even early in the morning, even just with me, his manners are impeccable. “I wasn’t expecting to see another soul for hours yet. Come and sit down. Would you like something to eat?”

My traitorous stomach rumbles loudly. I try to look unconcerned.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “What will it be?”

“Whatever you have is fine,” I reply cautiously, slipping into the seat next to him at the table. I glance suspiciously at his face, but it is a mask of politeness.

“We have everything,” says Robert. “So you choose. Eggs? Bacon? Toast? Fruit? There are some little pastry things that Caitlin can’t get enough of.”

“Little pastry things sound lovely.” I am using my most extra-polite, best-behaviour voice. “And a cup of tea, please.”

The disapproving butler materializes then, looking as starchy as he did the night before.

“Ah, Perkins,” Robert says smoothly. “Miss Trevelyan would like a cup of tea and some of those pastries that my sister has a mania for.”

“Very good, sir,” Perkins intones, and I smile hesitantly as his eyes slide in my direction. They keep sliding, as though I am not there at all, as though I have become one with the wallpaper. His face remains impassive and he disappears soundlessly towards the kitchen.

“That man makes me nervous,” I mutter under my breath.

Of course Robert hears me, but instead of making fun of me as I think he will, he leans forward conspiratorially. “I know what you mean,” he says in a low voice. “Perkins has that effect on everyone.”

“You don’t seem to be nervous around him,” I say, surprised.

“Don’t I?” The corner of his mouth tugs up a little. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’ve been practising. Perkins has worked for my family since before I was born, and I think he still sees me as the naughty boy who tried to decorate our antique dining table with my paint set.”

“Did you really?” I tip my head to the side and look him over consideringly. I can’t imagine the elegant man in front of me as a naughty child.

“I did.” Robert nods. “I was three at the time, I believe, and I thought it would be a nice surprise for my mother.”

“And what did she think of that plan?” I ask.

“She thought it was hilarious, as I remember, but Perkins took a different view of the subject.”

“She sounds nice,” I say.

There is a pause, and Robert fidgets a little in his seat. “She was,” he says finally. “She died a year later, when Caitlin was born.”