A Stitch In Time. Part Three. 1860

A Stitch In Time. Part Three. 1860

In 1815 Amelia was marking time until Ralph returned from the battle of Waterloo.
They married in a joyous ceremony after his safe return.
In time they were blessed with a son.
But as the years passed, the happy ending got less and less happy.
Now read on…..
Ivywell House
Sussex
August 1860
Dear Florence,
The most extraordinary thing has happened. It would not be out of place in a penny dreadful. No, I shall not tell you straight away, as I have to confess to being more than a little vexed with you. You are my dear sister. But please stop trying to persuade me that I shall enjoy the ball tomorrow. I realise Colonel and Mrs Bell are old friends of mama and papa and our family have been their guests before. I am aware that most young ladies, as you have it, enjoy balls and dancing. Well dear Flo, I am most certainly not of their number. I am more interested in my studies than frivolous dances. Besides. You forget I am twenty years of age. Far too old to be engaged by thoughts of waltzes and polkas.In your position as wife to a busy cleric and mother to a darling brood of cherubs (as mama refers to them when speaking to her friends) you simply cannot comprehend how I much prefer to be left to my books.
Daily life continues as ever. The young ladies of Ivywell School (our home as I prefer to think of it.) remain a constant presence. There are always classes in full flow somewhere in the house. Papa enjoys the geography and mathematics tuition. Mama manages literature and penmanship as efficiently as always. The French master is here once a week and continues to try and push ‘langue et littérature’ into various ringletted heads. Most seem content to be able to mutter ‘Oui’ and ‘Non’ and practise their curtseys to Monsieur. I know there is no money to spare and the pupils are necessary, but our parents work so hard making trying to make polished ladies out of these silly girls.
And now to the extraordinary thing. after breakfast I was summoned to Grandmamas room. she made it plain that she agrees with you over the ball, I am to go. No argument permitted. I demurred, protesting that I had not a gown or shoes fine enough. She directed me to her dressing room and bid me look at the portrait of our great great grandmother Sophia painted a hundred years ago.( It is the very pretty lady in a red and gold brocade gown and lots of diamonds.)
Then she told me the following. After her husband, our Grandfather Ralph, was killed in a duel, the family fortune was decimated by his gambling debts. Her sole desire was to safeguard Ivywell for papa to inherit. Sadly Grandfathers profligate life had robbed her of any illusions as to the eventual fate of her family money. Carefully and over time, preparations had been made. So when she was widowed her first task was to reclaim a trunk she had hidden in the nursery linen cupboard. This held not only the dress in the portrait, but Sophia’s diamond studded shoe buckles and some other jewels. The sale of the jewellery saved the house with a little left over. If this was not startling enough, she suggests I use some of the fine red and gold brocade from the dress to fashion myself a sash and so refresh my old ball gown. Also there is enough lace left on the dress to sew a reticule for me to carry. She further confided that her bridal gown had been fashioned in part from material from this ancient dress. I am almost lost for words. ! (But not quite.)Even I find myself intrigued by this notion and there is no doubt that my ball gown is sadly dingy. I have not worn it since your wedding. Tonight I shall remove the trimmings I sported on that happiest of days (remember the artificial violets I had to match yours?) and set about making the sash and reticule.My best white gloves have a darn, but my satin pumps have no really dark stains. Mama’s lace fan will go to another ball and I shall wear a rose in my hair from the garden and trust to detract from my shabbiness by engaging people in intelligent conversation. So, there we are. I shall go to the ball. But I won’t enjoy it.
I’ll seal this missive after the event, so I may confirm my low expectations.
Grandmamma sends her love.
Your loving sister Clara xx

PS Oh Flo I am writing this after the ball.It is very very late and I have so much to tell you.The ball was the most wonderful evening of my life. As I was hiding in the Winter Garden (so as not to have to dance), I met the son of the house, Frederick Bell. We never met him as children. He has been away at school and then abroad because he is delicate. He too was taking refuge in the winter garden and so we talked and talked about Mr Dickens and his stories. And art and sculpture. Freddy has been to Rome and Paris. He wants to be a historian and has plans to write a work on architecture. And he says he believes that girls may study as well as any man.I never knew one could talk to men and they would talk back as if you were an equal.The only cloud is that as sole heir his father wishes him to confine his studies to taking over the family business empire.But oh oh oh I cannot think of that now. His eyes are the darkest green I have ever seen and his moustache so suits his noble face…
You were right my darling sister. I did enjoy the ball, perhaps not in the way you thought, but I feel that I have met my life’s soul mate.
Clara xxxx

Next time join IMOGEN in 1910. A new century.
Discover how Clara and her green eyed swain arranged their futures.
Read how a fiery family spirit can miss a generation or two, but it will out one day.
Find out what life in a new century was like for women. Better? Worse? Or the same?

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