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Chapter 1
Chapter One: A Road to Glass and Green
It was the green that first confounded me—green not of meadow nor hedge, but of panes and panes of it, a palace of glazed leaves fretted upon iron, its roof pitched like a cathedral, glittering in the pale March sun. Wrenfield Hall stood behind that astonishing conservatory, proud and honey-coloured; and before both, our carriage came to a halt, my mistress exclaiming at the discomforts of the road in a tone, I had learned, that disdained answers.
Lady Pennington’s gout had given me this place as her companion, and her companion had given me Wrenfield. I ought to be grateful, and I was, but gratitude shares a pocket with caution when one is a poor gentlewoman set among the great.
At the foot of the steps I met Miss Lydia Wrenfield, the only daughter of the house: a slim creature with eyes too bright for health or shame, and a spray of violets pinned slantwise at the trim of her morning gown. “You are Eliza,” she said, as though we had conspired to meet. “I am Lydia. If you have ever wanted to see the Amazon, you may see something like it within.”
She gestured toward the conservatory. I glanced to where gardeners might be captured in green light, but watched only her. Her hand trembled on the rail, the violets bruising under her glove. She noticed my notice, and smiled quick. “They never keep, do they? We try all we can, and they are gone.”
