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in the snow after a ball which
meant they had all walked home
in their evening clothes, resulting in Sophia being put to bed for a week with a head cold. There were
a couple of entries about
her father and sister Emma leaving for London with a Mrs Randall, and one at the end of February that
intrigued me.
    February 22nd:
My sister has a new beau; we are told, in a letter received this
morning. Mrs Randall thinks it will be a good match and predicts a wedding
by Easter. I am so pleased that I managed to persuade my father that I could be left
behind. The thought of being paraded about at all the drawing
rooms of London like a prize cow fills me with horror. I hope for
Emma’s sake it is a love match, but I fear in such a short courtship,
this cannot be the case.
    So, Emma Elliot
had been taken to London to find a husband. I could quite understand Sophia’s horror at the
thought. To be introduced to a
stranger and married in a month or two before you knew anything about your partner seemed a barbaric
practice. But their whole way
of life was something I couldn’t relate to and it was hard to imagine the lives of my ancestors. My
family had enjoyed a life of
leisure, privilege and wealth, but in my Great-Grandmother’s time the First
World War changed everything. The family fortunes dwindled along with the estates, which had had to be sold. Now, all that remained was a black and
white print of
    Monkford Hall,
the manor house that the first Elizabethan queen had given in recognition of services to the crown,
which my mother had framed and
put in pride of place above what she had jokingly called her other “seat”, in the loo. I’d always
wondered about the house. My mother
said she’d visited it once as a girl, a very long time ago, but there was no one living there now
that we knew.
    I turned the
page and started to read the next entry, completely absorbed in this fascinating little book. To think
that Sophia had written the
diary was incredible and the fact that she shared my name made me feel an instant connection.
    ‘Sophie,’ whispered
a voice with warm breath in my ear.
    I literally
jumped out of my chair. Spinning round I could see no one. I knew there could be no physical being
attached to the soft, female
voice I’d heard coming from the alcove where the corner cupboard, with its shell-shaped recess, stood. Was
it my imagination or
was the display of teabowls and silver teapots gleaming with a ghostly glimmer?
    ‘There is no one
here,’ I said out loud to myself. ‘I’m just not used to being alone in a big, old … quite scary
place, now it’s dark.’
    I plumped up the
cushion on my chair, thought about sitting down again, but instead picked up my bag.
    ‘I think I’ll
just pop out for a walk,’ I announced to the room as calmly as I could, not wanting to admit to
myself that I just couldn’t stay
there a moment longer.

Chapter Six
     
    When I stepped
outside the darkness felt intimidating, and I didn’t feel quite so brave about the thought of walking
around by myself. I needed company
like I never had before and so I took the short walk round the corner to revisit the pub. It was
Friday night, which meant the place
was heaving with locals. They all seemed to know one another; the air was thick with conversation
and laughter as they all
celebrated the end of another week at work. One or two people nodded and smiled in recognition. They’d
been there at lunchtime and
had evidently settled in for the evening. Making my way to the safety of the bar, I perched myself on a
tall stool and managed to catch
Lara’s eye.
    ‘How’s it
going?’ she asked, opening a bottle of white wine and pouring me a glass.
    ‘Surprisingly
well,’ I said, almost convincing myself and resolving to keep my weird experiences to myself.
‘You wouldn’t recognize it;
the place is spotless. Thanks so much, I couldn’t have done it without you.’
    ‘It’s my
pleasure. I’m glad to help, but I expect you’re worn