February 2012
(Set in Regency time)
The ballroom in the assembly hall was ablaze with the light from the hundreds of candle ensconced in the wall brackets and chandeliers hanging down. Many couples were dancing, the ladies' dresses swirling as they were twirled around the floor.
Be-jewelled and be-feathered matrons were seated round the edge, ever watchful, making sure that proprieties were upheld. The master of ceremonies was doing his duties, checking all was well and ensuring that young ladies had appropriate partners.
The musicians, seated on their dais at the end of the room, were continually playing the latest music. Everyone was enjoying themselves, the cream of society, anyone who was anyone, had attended.
Just off the ballroom there was an antechamber, where several of the gentlemen had adjourned. Some were talking but mainly they were seated around the tables set for cards.
Towards the back of this room, there seemed to be a large gathering, who were muttering and looking pointedly at a table with four players seated.
A great deal of money and IOUs were stacked in the middle. Two hands of cards had been thrown in. Across the table the remaining two opponents were holding their cards. The younger man was tense, with a strange look in his eyes. The older man seemed more relaxed, with a slight sneer at his mouth.
A sudden hush came over the group round the table. The young man put down his cards. 'A good hand' was muttered by many. There was a pause. Then the other man casually put down his cards. A gasp went round, 'A superb hand', 'A winning hand', rippled round.
The young man went white, stood up, gave a bow. 'I'll visit you in two days, Lord Hopwood, to discuss payment.' He gave another bow, turned and walked away. The conversation behind him grew.
He went into the ballroom, glanced around at the dancers, waited for the set to finish. Then he wandered over to where a young girl had been taken by her partner. He bowed, linked her arm through his, and spoke a few words to the ladies sitting there. The young couple walked to the door of the ballroom and out of the hall.
At the bottom of the steps Sir Peter Tresilian handed his sister into a waiting hackney carriage, gave directions to the jarvey, then sat back against the corner of the carriage.
Elizabeth looked across, her brother looked white and scared, and was sitting tensely.
When they entered the town house they had hired for the season, Peter led his sister into the library.
'You will need to pack tonight. Tomorrow you will return home to the country. l have a few business matters to attend to, then l will join you, as soon as l can.' He said.
Elizabeth looked at her brother, she could see his was worried. What on Earth had happened? What was wrong?
The following day Elizabeth left. What choice had she? Her mother had died at her birth, her father five years ago when she was barely twelve. Since then her brother had been her guardian, there was no one else, no other family. She had no choice but to do as Peter said.
After he had seen his sister off in the hired carriage, Peter returned indoors and to the library. What was he going to do? Why had he played so deeply? Why had he written those IOUs? He had thought that with that last hand he would win and so be able to pay off his debts: but he had lost, now he was even further in debt. In fact he was ruined. What could he do? Tomorrow Lord Hopwood would expect him to call.
A week later Elizabeth was on the window seat of her sitting room, looking out over the parkland surrounding her home. It was her favourite view, especially when the sun was shining.
Suddenly a carriage came into view, along the driveway, going at a steady pace. Could it be Peter coming home at last? She hadn't heard from him at all. Soon she heard footsteps in the hall. She rose from the window seat. The door of the sitting room opened and in came a tall man dressed in black. A stranger. 'Miss Tresilian? I am Mr. Westgate, Sir Peter's solicitor. I'm afraid I come with sad news. I have to tell you that your brother is dead.'
'Dead?' Elizabeth's voice was a mere whisper, 'But how?'
'I'm afraid he shot himself, six days ago.'
The day after she had left him. Elizabeth went white and sank back into a seat. 'But why?'
Mr. Westgate took a seat, 'I think once he realised that he was ruined and there was no way to recoup, he felt it was the only way.'
'Ruined?' came Elizabeth's nervous and shocked whisper.
'I'm afraid so, his outstanding debts are large, everything in the house will have to be sold to cover them.'
'Everything?'
'Yes, except a few of your personal belongings. Also,' went on Mr. Westgate, 'The mortgages on the house are due, so the house will have to go to pay them. The new owners are due here next week.'
Elizabeth felt numb with shock. The house to go, to others. Where would she go?
She was alone.
After Mr. Westgate left, she pulled herself together, realising she had to make plans, she had got to look after herself. She packed the plainest of her clothes in a small bag that she would be able to carry. She bundled her more fashionable gowns, her few trinkets and books into another case. She sent a lad to the local farmer to ask if he would come the next day to take her to the nearby town.
The following day Elizabeth managed to sell enough to have some money to purchase a ticket on the stage-coach to a larger town many miles away, and leave her with a few coins.
At each stop on the journey she inquired at the inn about employment, each time with no success. Her few coins were dwindling quickly.
Finally the stage-coach pulled up at a busy bustling posting house. Everyone alighted. Once again Elizabeth entered, inquired about work and was rejected. She was told to 'be on her way', but there was nowhere to go. The stage coach stopped here, she hadn't enough money to pay for a meal, let alone a room, or another ticket.
She left the inn. Where was she to go? She crept around the building and found the stables. She crawled to the back of one of the stalls and curled up as tightly as she could, feeling bereft and wretched. How could her life have changed so dramatically, in such a short space of time.