ALISON McGANN

Frankie Miller woke with a start and wondered first of all where she was, and second of all why her aunt was bellowing so loudly. She sat up in the unfamiliar, uncomfortable bed and looked around the strange, unlit chamber while beyond the door her aunt’s voice was growing closer and closer. Then it all came flooding back to her – the whirlwind romance, the secret meetings, then the late night departure and long journey towards the Scottish border. But she and her beloved John had not yet made it to Gretna Green, and here was Aunt Elizabeth, bursting through the door of her room in this cheap, little inn, demanding that she return home immediately.

‘How could you Frances?’ she demanded. ‘Get dressed immediately. The carriage is outside. We are returning home this instant.’

The door slammed, and there was a heavy thump as Mrs Elizabeth Sinclair, one of Frankie’s few surviving relatives, leaned against it. Frankie blinked, still trying to get her thoughts in order. How fortunate that she had insisted on separate rooms. John had wanted them to share, but though she might elope with the handsome and charming footman, there were still standards to be maintained. Until they were married, Frankie could not countenance sharing his bed. She could only imagine the uproar if she and John had been found together. They thought they had traveled far enough in their first mad rush to get away. But both Frankie and her lover underestimated Aunt Elizabeth’s determination. Now her aunt had found them, in the middle of the night, and was disrupting all their plans.

There were more raised voices in the corridor, and Frankie recognized John’s amongst them. He must have been woken by the shouting, along with the innkeeper and half his guests. Frankie, still sitting in the strange bed finally made a decision. While the sounds of a three way argument rose and fell outside her door, she took off her nightie, and proceeded to get dressed. She laced her corset very loosely, dragged on her stockings and shoes and wriggled into her dress. Then she calmly packed her belongings, pulled her unruly dark hair back, gathered up her bag, coat and hat and stepped through the door.

The two men immediately fell silent, while Frankie’s aunt wasted no time in grabbing her arm and dragging her down the corridor to the stairs. The heavy bag swung wildly as Frankie tried to maintain her balance as she was being towed along, banging into the wall and waking the last few guests.

‘Frankie!’ John called after her, but he stopped when Mrs Sinclair whirled around.

‘You have no right to speak to her,’ she hissed at the young man. ‘You are nothing but a cad, and you have led my niece into disrepute. Be thankful I will not be taking this before the constabulary.’

John’s face went white, and all the fight went out of him. Very few people could withstand Elizabeth Sinclair when her ire was roused. Grumpy, half-awake faces began to appear in doorways along the passageway, and a murmur of discontent was growing as the lodgers watched Frankie’s involuntary departure. The innkeeper followed, complaining that Mrs Sinclair had woken his guests, but she quelled him with a look as well, keeping a tight grip on Frankie as they went down the stairs and out into the cold night air.

Neither spoke during the long journey back home to Standish House. Frankie did not dare rest her head against the rattling interior of the carriage and sleep, but instead sat as still as possible, hands clasped tightly in her lap, while her aunt glared her disapproval. They rolled up the carriageway of Standish House just as the sun was beginning to rise. Weary, travel-sore and heavy hearted, Frankie went straight to her room, avoiding any chance of being lectured before she had a chance to recover herself. Refusing the help of her lady’s-maid, she changed out of her uncomfortable travelling clothes, and sat on the edge of her bed to think.

Life had been so much easier when her mother and father had been alive. As scholars and philosophers, they were far more interested in people’s characters than in trying to maintain the standards of society. But they had both contracted influenza, and had died within a week of each other, leaving Frankie at nine years old an orphan, penniless, and at the mercy of her relatives. It was fortunate that her mother’s brother shared many of Frankie’s parents’ ideals, and he encouraged her to continue the education that had been begun by her mother and father. But he too had passed away when Frankie was just sixteen. The last two years she had had to endure with only her thin, sour-faced aunt for company. Aunt Elizabeth had always been a grasping and judgmental woman, who never got along with her genial and generous husband. Frankie and Aunt Elizabeth took to keeping out of each other’s way – Frankie spending the bulk of her time studying in the library and trying to keep up with scientific and sociological research.

Then John came along. Frankie had caught him one day flicking through one of the books in the library, and was astounded to find he had chosen Nietzsche, in the original German. He might have been just a footman, but he had always strived to better his mind. He was handsome and charming, with a sense of humour that matched Frankie’s own. Over time, they grew more and more fond of each other, and created excuses to spend time with one another. Seeing the disregard Frankie’s aunt had for her, John persuaded Frankie to run away with him. Once she was away from Standish House, he argued, and a married woman, she would have freedom over her own decisions and her own life. Frankie was convinced. They had laid their plans carefully and kept their meetings secret, and eventually had escaped north.

But the escape had been short lived, and now Frankie was standing back in her room, still disheveled from her swift and sudden departure. So that was that then. John would not be permitted back in the house, and Aunt Elizabeth would do all she could to prevent Frankie communicating with him. Everything else was a problem for later. Frankie drew the curtains against the golden sunshine, threw her hat on the chair, stripped off her outer layers, and crawled into bed to finish the sleep that had been so rudely interrupted back at the inn.

Frankie was woken late by the sun streaming in the open curtains and by a light tap on the door. The previous afternoon and evening had been difficult to get through, but she had kept her manners polished and her mouth shut, and Aunt Elizabeth, who must have been just as tired as Frankie, had simply ignored her until bedtime.

‘Yes?’ Frankie called, rubbing her eyes and straightening her bedcovers.

A maid stepped into the room carrying a tray with Frankie’s breakfast on it. The smell of hot, fresh coffee wafted across to her, and Frankie realized she was hungry.

‘Please miss, your aunt would like to see you at your earliest convenience.’

‘Thank you, Millie, that is all.’

After dismissing the chambermaid, Frankie devoured her breakfast, set aside the tray, and felt fortified enough to face her aunt. She rang for her own maid, and was soon dressed and walking down the wide front stairs to her aunt’s study. Her apprehension was rising, and she felt a little sick as she knocked on the paneled door, but one of the things her parents had taught her was that it was always best to face difficult situations head-on and with composure.

‘Enter,’ was the curt order from Aunt Elizabeth.

A deep breath helped calm her as Frankie turned the cold, polished knob of her aunt’s study. The door squeaked a little as it always did when it opened, and Mrs Sinclair looked up at the sound. Seeing it was Frankie, her face clouded, and she pointed wordlessly to the wooden chair that always stood by her desk. Frankie meekly went and sat down. This was the same chair she had sat in when she had first come to Standish House after her parents had passed away. Her aunt had paced around the room, laying down the rules and telling her exactly how inconvenient it was going to be having an orphaned nine year old to care for. Frankie, already overwhelmed with grief, could not even react to this lecture, and her aunt was lulled into a short-lived sense of approval for the small, silent, dark-haired child.

She had received another lecture in this very seat when she was eleven and had tipped an inkpot on a maid after the maid had burnt a story Frankie had been writing. Then again, aged sixteen, after she had been seen riding bareback and without a hat after the youngest groom had dared her to. The boy had been sacked, and Frankie had been banned from the library for a month. Fortunately, Frankie had a stockpile of books in her room, and none of the housemaids gave her away.

Now here she was again, but this time it was much worse than ever before. Frankie chewed her lip, and squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable on the high-backed wooden chair. She made her hands into little fists and rested them in her lap, while her aunt paced behind her in the cold room.

‘Aunt Elizabeth,’ Frankie began, hoping to have a chance to explain herself before her aunt launched into her lecture.

‘Silence!’ interrupted Mrs Sinclair.

Frankie took a deep breath, but held her tongue. Clearly she would have to endure her reprimand without having any chance to tell her side of the story, and her heart sank a little further as she prepared for the worst.

Mrs Sinclair came around the desk and stood directly in front of Frankie. Frankie tried to keep her eyes on Aunt Elizabeth’s face, but the bright morning light was shining in the window behind her aunt, leaving her sallow, lined and vinegary face in shadow. Frankie squinted in the glare, then gave up and dropped her eyes.

‘There is no explanation you can give me that will excuse your behaviour, Frances. I will brook no discussion of this matter any further until I have decided what to do with you. This…servant, with whom you have formed an attachment, will be removed from my employ, without a reference, and he may get on in life as best he can. I will not permit you to communicate further with such a miscreant who has led you away from a happy house and loving parents into a terrible and compromising situation.’

Mrs Sinclair thumped the desk, and her voice, which she had kept under some measure of control, now rose shrilly as her anger grew.

‘This is a terrible state of affairs. I have had to summon Mr Heppelwhite in order that we may consider how your reputation may yet be redeemed. It falls to me to ensure that the family name is not sullied by your vulgar flight with this unacceptable, ill-bred…’

With an effort Aunt Elizabeth controlled herself, turning around and resuming her pacing behind her desk. Frankie managed to refrain from making an indignant outburst at the unfairness she felt she was receiving, but in her lap her hands were twisting and pulling at the folds in her skirt. But she knew from experience, as she shifted again on the hard seat, that it was better to allow her aunt to finish her lecture before responding. Mrs Sinclair drew a long breath and continued, in a much more normal voice.

‘You may not leave the house unchaperoned, and any letters you write or receive will be read by myself. You might be pleased to know that I will not be setting the law upon the cad who lured you away from here. Mr Heppelwhite will be here soon and I will be speaking with him here. You will remain in your room while this interview takes place. Now go there now, and wait there until I way.’

She strode across to the door and yanked it open roughly, making it squeak more loudly than usual. Frankie rose to her feet, her face flushed with shame and anger, as well as with the effort of not speaking. Her little fists were still bunched up. With an effort she opened her hands and smoothed her dress, then her hair.

‘Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth,’ she managed through barely clenched teeth as she passed through the door, then it was slammed behind her.