Chapter 4: Mrs Tonbridge - The Golden Hours

Mrs Tonbridge had watched over the insertion of the silver charms, as befitted her status. She it was who had laid out the linen cloth: those charms had belonged to the Duchy’s mother’s mother, and Mrs Tonbridge hadn’t lived this long and kept them safe since the previous century for any of them to go slipping down behind anything now, thank you very much. She had had the charms out a few days earlier for polishing and a good wash. It wouldn’t do for the taste of polish to get into the pudding. She had also taken the liberty of having Mr Simon get the teapot down from the top shelf. She wouldn’t embarrass Tonbridge at Christmas itself, in front of the family, by not letting him get up on the ladder at his age. No chances would be taken that didn’t have to be taken.

Occasionally, Mrs Tonbridge woke in the night stark with fear. What would’ve happened to them, if Miss Rachel hadn’t rented the cottage for everybody in those first few frightening months after the business went bung and Home Place was lost, and if Miss Polly – Her Ladyship, God bless her, dear little thing she always had been – hadn’t invited them to come here? It’s no more than we deserve, she told herself robustly, and truthfully. No more than we deserve. And there’s life in the old dogs yet.