Autumn Softly Fell Read Online Free PDF Page A

built up my own business, Frank. I didn’t need my father’s.’
    ‘But his money helped, Albert, you can’t deny that. You had all the luck, see? You had all the luck, whereas I fell on hard times.’
    ‘Took to drink.’
    ‘That’s a lie, that is! Nor I didn’t, neither – not till I’d lost everything , not till it was all gone.’ Her papa had stopped short, had looked down at her. He’d smiled, the special smile that was hers alone. ‘No,’ he’d murmured. ‘Not everything. Not quite everything. I’ve still got one thing left. One precious thing.’ But then the smile had faded and tears had come into his eyes, the tears that had so frightened her. ‘Breaks my heart, so it does, but it’s for the best, it’s all for the best….’
    Her uncle had said nothing. When she’d glanced up at him she’d realized that he wasn’t looking at her or her papa. He’d been watching instead a lady on the edge of the crowd: a very stiff, upright lady in a sumptuous gown trimmed with miles of lace, a huge flared skirt sweeping out behind her. Seeing the lady’s icy blue eyes, Dorothea had known that she was very angry, but the anger had been all shut up inside her and had not shown on her face, which had been as cold and blank as a statue’s. She was beautiful like a statue, too, immeasurably dignified, somehow timeless. Dorothea had sensed that her uncle was more aware of this lady than of anyone else in the room, as if the frost in her eyes was piercing him to the marrow.
    But she had forgotten all about the beautiful lady when her papa began speaking again. She had watched in dismay as he retreated towards the door, bowing and scraping. Hadn’t he always said,
Just remember, Dotty, we’re as good as anyone, me and you; we’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Hold your head up, Dotty: always hold your head up…
    ‘I’ll not presume on your ’ospitality no longer, Albert. And I do hope—’ (bowing) ‘—that all you fine ladies and gents will ’scuse the interruption. It was family business, you must understand: family business. But now—’ (bowing again) ‘—I’ll leave you to get on with your party. And you, Dotty: you be a good girl for your uncle, do you hear? And just remember that your old Pa loves you and … well.…’
    With that he had gone. Her uncle had followed him out. A low buzz of conversation had broken out in the room, but Dorothea had only had ears for the faint voices in the hallway. Only brief snatches of the angry exchange had been audible.
    ‘… can’t you do this one thing, for
her
sake, for Flo…?’
    ‘… dare you talk of my sister—’
    ‘My wife!’
    ‘… regret the day she ever clapped eyes on you!’
    ‘… and we belonged together, but it was the child what did for her. She made me promise …
do your best, Frankie
… but my best ain’t good enough….’
    Standing by the window in the day room, the metal bars pressing into her forehead, Dorothea tried to make sense of the remembered words.
    ‘It’s what Flo would have wanted. She’s your niece, Albert, your own flesh and blood.’
    ‘Do you seriously imagine you can palm your brat—’
    She had heard no more as the piano began to tinkle and the hum of conversation grew louder, and Henry Fitzwilliam had appeared and scooped her off her feet just as she felt her wobbly legs could not hold her up any longer.
    She looked out of the nursery window. It was growing dark. Hours and hours had passed, and her papa had not come.
    He was not going to come. He had abandoned her. Forsaken her.
    It seemed suddenly very cold in the big room, despite the glowing fire. She was shivering, her hands pressed against the cold window, the icy metal of the bars digging into her head.
    ‘Will I ever see him again?’ she whispered to her dim reflection in the glass.
    But the winter dark gave no answer.

TWO
    DOROTHEA LAY FORLORN between crisp sheets listening to the rain beating against the window and trying to count the days