His derisive tone shocked her. ‘And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.
He spread his arms, as if inviting her to look around. Kitty did not. She knew what she would see, for she had stood in this room every day of her life: the worn chaises huddled by the fireplace for warmth, the once elegant rug on the hearth now moth-eaten and shabby, shelves where there had once been books now standing empty.
‘We may live in the same town, but we’re from different worlds.’ He waved his hands about again. ‘I’m the son of the squire! And Mama and Miss Spencer helped me to see that I cannot afford to make a mésalliance if I am to make a name for myself.’
Kitty had never been so aware of the sound of her heartbeat, pounding a drum loudly in her ears. A mésalliance, was she?
‘Mr Linfield,’ she said, softly but with bite. ‘Let there be no lies between us. You had no issue with our engagement until you encountered the pretty Miss Spencer again. A squire’s son, you say! This is not the sort of ungentlemanly conduct I would have expected your family to condone. Perhaps I ought to be pleased that you have proven yourself to be so utterly dishonourable before it was too late.’
She landed each blow with the precision and force of Gentleman Jackson, and Charles – Mr Linfield forever, now – staggered backwards from her.
‘How could you say such a thing?’ he asked, aghast, ‘It is not ungentlemanly. You’re becoming quite hysterical.’ Mr Linfield was sweating thickly now, twisting uncomfortably. ‘I do want us to remain great friends, you have to understand Kit—’
‘Miss Talbot,’ she corrected with frigid politeness. A shriek of rage was howling through her body, but she contained it, gesturing sharply to the door with a wave of her hand. ‘You’ll forgive me if I ask you to see yourself out, Mr Linfield.’
After a quick bob of a bow, he fled eagerly from her, without looking back.
Kitty stood motionless for a moment, holding her breath as if to prevent this disaster from unfolding any further. Then she walked to the window, where the morning sun was streaming in, leant her forehead against the glass, and exhaled slowly. From this window, one had an uninterrupted view of the garden: the daffodils just beginning to flower, the vegetable patch, still thick with weeds, and the loose chickens picking their way through, looking for grubs. Life outside continued on, and yet on her side of the glass, everything was utterly ruined.
They were alone. Completely and utterly alone now, with no one to turn to. Mama and Papa were gone, and in this hour of most grievous need, where more than ever she wished to ask for their advice, she could not. There was simply no one left to whom she could turn. Panic was rising within her. What was she to do now?
She might have stayed in this position for several hours, were she not interrupted by her youngest sister, ten-year-old Jane, who barged in only a few minutes later with the self-importance of a royal messenger.
‘Kitty, where is Cecily’s book?’ she demanded.
‘It was in the kitchen yesterday,’ Kitty answered without looking away from the garden. They ought to weed the artichoke bed this afternoon, it would need planting before long. Distantly, she heard Jane call to Cecily to pass on her words.
‘She’s looked there,’ came the reply.
‘Well, look again.’ Kitty dismissed her impatiently with a flap of a hand.
The door opened and closed with a bang. ‘She says it’s not there and if you’ve sold it, she’ll be very upset because it was a gift from the vicar.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Kitty snapped, ‘you may tell Cecily that I can’t look for her silly vicar book, because I have just been jilted and need a few moments’ reprieve, if that is not too much to ask!’
No sooner had Jane relayed this unusual message to Cecily, than the full household – all of Kitty’s four sisters and Bramble the dog – descended upon the parlour, instantly filling the space with noise.
‘Kitty, what is this about Mr Linfield jilting you? Has he really?’
‘I never liked him, he used to pat me on the head as if I were a child.’
‘My book is not in the kitchen.’
Kitty told them as briefly as she could what had happened, with her head still resting on the glass. There was silence after this, as Kitty’s sisters stared uncertainly at each other. After a few moments, Jane – having grown bored – wandered over to the creaking pianoforte and broke the silence by bashing out a jolly tune. Jane had never received music lessons, but what she lacked in talent she made up for in both fervour and volume.