The Rose of Sebastopol Read Online Free

servants to fetch our bags and show us the way, but already Rosa was on the first landing, her hair hanging over the banister like a rippling sail. “Come on,” she called. “Come.”
    Aunt Isabella was seated in the drawing room beside an immense marble fireplace with an elaborate screen instead of a fire, it being a warm day. She did not get up but extended a white hand and said: “I am very low today.”
    “Forgive me, Sister,” said Mother humbly, “they should have told us, we could have waited until later . . .”
    Now that I’d met her, I couldn’t understand how Aunt Isabella had managed to attract even one husband, let alone two, including a title. She was a puffy woman, whose complexion was perhaps her best claim to beauty, being powder-soft. Mother and I sat side by side but Rosa stared at me and wagged her head meaningfully towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “Mama, I want to show Mariella everything.”
    “Then do,” sighed Isabella.
    I didn’t want to be led off into a world not governed by Mother. It seemed to me, as we ran along the passageways of Stukeley Hall, that I was about to tumble over a precipice called The Unknown.
    Rosa flung open one door after another: “This is the saloon, this is the gallery, this is the blue room, that’s the library—I’ve been banished from there, would you believe it, the one room I’d spend every minute in given the chance.”
    “But why?”
    “Oh, no reason. Just because my stepfather doesn’t like me, I suppose.” Off we dashed again. “This is the billiard room...” She even showed me her mother’s bedroom, “Come on, there’s nobody here,” and I peeked at a vast bed bedecked with floral curtains and a flounced quilt, all in shades of pale blue and pink, in which must lie my cushiony aunt and the as-yet-unseen Sir Matthew. Thank goodness there were no indentations of their heads in the lace pillows.
    “Come over here. Let’s see,” said Rosa, dragging me across to a long mirror where we stood pressed together, staring at our reflections. “Yes. We are very alike. Sisters almost.”
    Actually I thought we had little in common. My hair was darker and straighter, my nose shorter, my eyes gray rather than blue, and my jaw more rounded. I was terrified in case we were caught trespassing on such private territory and relieved when we went pounding down a narrow staircase and burst into a stone passage which led to the outside.
    “So what do you think?” she demanded, walking backwards in front of me so that she could watch my face.
    “Of what? ”
    “Of it all. Isn’t it hideous? I wish I was dead. I wish I could go home,” and suddenly her voice broke and she cried: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s such a relief to be able to say it but I miss my father so much, I really do. You can’t know what it’s like, you’re so lucky, your family is complete, you don’t have to put up with stepbrothers called Horatio and Maximilian, can you imagine, a stepfather who never speaks to me except to tell me what I mustn’t do...” and I found myself abruptly placed in the role of comforter as she threw her arms about my neck so that my nose was buried in silky hair fragranced with lemons. Then she flung herself away, grabbed my hand and kissed it, smiled into my face, her blue eyes overflowing with tears, and said: “It is so wonderful that you are here. I’ll show you everything. I’ll show you all the secret places I have discovered. Come on. Come.” And she rushed off with her hair flying and her blue skirts kicked back from her ankles, and I followed at a pace which caused my unaccustomed heart to beat very fast and my spirits to lift higher and higher because already I had fallen head over heels in love with Rosa.

Six

    ITALY, 1855
     
     
     
    T he following day Nora and I set out again for the Via del Monte. This time I was dressed in my cream cotton gown with the broad horizontal stripes and single flounce, and I carried my