Author: Frances Hackett   October 2023          

 

Evelyn Ainsworth

‘Whoa! Whoa!’ the coachman hollered, and the carriage came to an abrupt halt in front of the entrance to Quintrell House.  A young man with a crop of dark brown curls and cerulean blue eyes trotted leisurely on horseback towards the carriage. He smiled broadly as he bent over from his horse to peek in at Evelyn.  Looking up at him through the small window, the whites of her eyes emphasised their twinkling tawny cores. 

The man leapt from his horse, extended his hand towards Evelyn’s to assist her in descending the carriage and bowed before introducing himself, ‘Ms. Ainsworth, welcome to the Quintrell Estate!  Mr. Henry Feilding at your service.’ Evelyn gave a slight curtsy and responded in her soft London lilt, ‘it is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Fielding. Thank you for the invitation.’ ‘The pleasure is mine, Miss Ainsworth.’ Evelyn noted his deep voice and refined manners. She straightened the long full skirt of her high-neck turquoise and white floral print dress. She endeavoured to tidy her hair under her charming straw bonnet. Evelyn would always wear a neat chignon when out and about. However, after the tiresome hours of travelling, she exited the carriage with stubborn strands of auburn escaping the hold of its clasp. ‘Mr. Fielding, please pardon my dishevelled appearance. It has been an arduous journey up from London.’ ‘Miss Ainsworth, you appear perfectly delightful.’ Her cheeks flushed.

Evelyn Ainsworth had just celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday.  She was relatively tall and slender, and by all accounts she had a pleasant countenance.  She was an intelligent and self-assured woman.  Although at times she could come across as shy, she would have no hesitation asserting herself when she deemed it merited. 

Mr. Fielding had invited Evelyn to the South Yorkshire house to evaluate furniture and artefacts for auction in aid of a charity close to the heart of the late Baroness Quintrell.  He had been the recently deceased Baroness’ personal advisor for over ten years. In fact, he’d taken up the post to manage the affairs of the Estate in 1840.  Evelyn estimated that he was in his early thirties.  

On the butler’s approach to the carriage, Mr Fielding gave instructions, ‘Mr. Inglesby, please organise that Miss Ainsworth’s cases are taken to the designated chamber.’ … ‘Ms Ainsworth will be staying for ten days.’ While the two men continued verbal exchanges, Evelyn directed her attention to the splendid Quintrell House.

Footmen stood on both sides of the elaborate doors as she ascended the granite steps and entered the house; this made Evelyn feel rather important. It was a such a hot July afternoon that she was glad of the cool stone walled interiors. Instantly, she was struck by the spacious design of the entrance hall.  It was tremendously big and lavishly decorated. Crystal chandeliers glistened above, and gold coloured velvet drapes adorned the windows.  The most prominent feature was the majestic staircase with stairways curving both left and right.  It drew her eyes up to a dividing landing and to further above where a remarkable painting of a young woman hung solitary in a gilded frame against the crimson wall. She felt inexplicably drawn to the eyes of the subject matter.  

It didn’t take long for Evelyn to realise the busyness of the Quintrell household. The Housekeeper Mrs. Davenport, who had been managing the maids for decades, conveyed, ‘Every day is a bustle of activity around this house, Miss Ainsworth’. ‘Indeed, I have noticed, Mrs. Davenport.’  It was factual that since Evelyn had arrived three days prior, maids were continually scurrying around the house doing their chores and carriages with visitors, delivery wagons, gardeners and stable hands generated a diversity of movements and clamour.

The maids would tilt their heads sideways and smile as they frequently passed Miss Ainsworth on the main landing studying her favourite painting. Evelyn noted the painting, was signed Luca Romeo - 1824.  Questions ran through her mind: ‘How old was she when sat for the artist? Was she a Quintrell? What was her life like?’  She saw similarities between Romeo’s painting and the Birth of Venus depicted by the Florentine painter Botticelli. Evelyn was conversant with the history of Botticelli’s painting since some years ago when a reproduction had been brought to the Ainsworth’s business premises to inspect its authenticity.  

The woman in Romeo’s painting wears a white satin flowing gown. Her long wavy hair is hanging loosely over her right shoulder. She stands barefoot on the pebbled sand of a lake shore.  Leaves are depicted on deciduous trees in clusters of golden browns and yellows against the sky which the lake reflects in rippled autumn shades.   ‘I would surmise the artist had a very strong connection with the subject’, Evelyn’s mind meandered, ‘her eyes give it away’.  Unlike Botticelli’s mythological Venus, wherein Venus’s gaze is averted away from the viewer, in Romeo’s painting, the female has a direct gaze, thereby the viewer maintains compelling eye contact with the subject. 

Over the course of days, Evelyn and Mr. Fielding had several brief conversations, by which Evelyn discovered his keen interest in art. He informed one early evening as he passed her in one of the art-filled hallways, ‘Ms Ainsworth, you should be aware that some of the most valuable paintings by esteemed international artists are kept here at Quintrell House’.  ‘How wonderful, I have a particular interest in fine art.  Specifically, I have a strong admiration for Italian Renaissance paintings.  Are there any housed here?’  ‘Yes, there are several in fact. I must arrange a viewing for you before your return to London.’ ‘That would be an honour.’ she enthused.

‘Incidentally, have you ever been to Florence Miss Ainsworth?’ ‘Unfortunately, I have never been afforded the opportunity. Naturally, I would love to travel to Florence to view the great works of art.’

‘Oh, I see. I do find Renaissance paintings very thought provoking,’ ... ‘Perchance I can travel to Italy with you someday?’ he added grinning.  Evelyn blushed while thinking he was being rather forward.

 

The following morning, from the window of her bedroom chamber, Evelyn caught sight of Mr. Fielding assisting a young lady out of a carriage that had parked in the front courtyard. The lady was wearing a very stylish long lavender conical dress with a high brimmed blue silk bonnet from under which dark ringlets dangled from her temples.  As the “couple” walked arm in arm towards the entrance to the house, the lady carried a pretty parasol which matched the colour of her dress.  ‘Who is she’? Evelyn wondered.  She felt bothered by the woman’s arrival for some reason.  She speculated over their relationship: ‘Might the lady be Mr. Fielding’s betrothed?  Certainly, they appear very close’ … ‘they seem so happy in each other's company.’  Her speculations concluded with the assumption that they were indeed a promised pair. Given the heat of the day, the lady and Mr. Feilding had midday lunch on the terrace.  That evening, Evelyn overheard two maids gossiping, ‘Mr. Fielding and Lady Crompton went for a long stroll down to the lake; afterwards they chatted in the rose garden for quite some time.’ At dawn, Evelyn saw Mr. Feilding wave goodbye to his visitor as she departed in her carriage. 

Evelyn was curious about the history of the house. On an unusually tranquil afternoon, she engaged the butler in conversation for some moments: ‘Mr. Inglesby, this is such a magnificent house!’   ‘It is indeed Miss Ainsworth,’ he agreed with a nod.  

‘Were the Quintrells the first residents?’

‘It has passed through the hands of several generations of the Quintrell family since 1670, when the first members of the Quintrell family took up residence.’  

‘Oh, really, that certainly is a long time ago.  I must say - from what I have seen - the surrounding views are spectacular!’ 

 ‘They certainly are Miss Ainsworth! The house is situated on two and a half thousand acres of Quintrell land; its intricately designed gardens are considered among the most exquisite in the country.’ 

Mr. Fielding interrupted her conversation with the butler, ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ainsworth, would you care to take a stroll with me down to the lake … while the afternoon sun is still shining? The scenery is glorious.’ Mr. Inglesby bowed and went dutifully upon his way. Evelyn was taken by surprise by the invitation, but spontaneously accepted out of politeness, ‘Thank you Mr. Fielding, that would be lovely.  I shall fetch a sun brolly from my chamber. I shan’t be long.’  

As they walked side by side, Mr. Fielding asked, ‘Miss Ainsworth, do you enjoy being an auctioneer?’ ‘Yes, I do! I find it intrinsically rewarding, especially when we come across a rare artefact from the days of yore. But to this hour, it has not made us rich!’ Evelyn had lived over her family’s auctioning outlet since she could remember.  But overall, financially the Ainsworths were never short for any of their needs - not being a family of extravagant spenders certainly helped.

 

‘So, do you work alongside your parents?’ ‘Yes, I do indeed. But they are getting on in age.  Though, we have recently employed a young assistant who should be a great asset to our business.’

‘And you, Mr. Fielding … did you study law?’

‘Yes, I completed my apprenticeship in London under the direction of a very experienced and respected attorney-at-law.’   Is that your father’s line of work also?’ 

‘My father was a twin. He and his brother were landowners who directed the commerce of Feilding Estate - which is located on the outskirts of the Quintrell Estate.’

‘Was a twin?’

‘Sadly, at the age of five, I was orphaned.’ 

‘Oh, I am so very sorry.’ 

‘It was a long time ago. I have, somewhat, accepted their tragic deaths.’  ‘Tragic? Evelyn echoed

sympathetically in a low tone while also demonstrating her powerlessness to suppress her curiosity.

‘My parents were travelling down to London when one of the carriage wheels hit a rock, which caused both horses to bolt, and the carriage overturned.’ 

‘I am so very sorry,’ she restated solemnly. ‘My aunt and uncle raised me in their family home, Fielding Manor.  They treated me like one of their own; accordingly, my two older cousins are like sisters to me.’

That evening, they had dinner in one of the smaller dining rooms. Evelyn had spent a most wonderful time with Mr. Fielding. On retiring to her chamber, she thanked him ‘Thank you for a lovely day, Mr. Fielding.’   ‘Evelyn, it was my pleasure; please do call me Henry.’ ‘Goodnight Henry!’ ‘Goodnight Evelyn!’ 

On occasions, when at home in London, Evelyn would think about her family and her life. She struggled to accept that her biological parents had never been present in her life. In a way, she never forgave them for not knowing her. Especially, she longed to know and embrace her birth mother, but this caused her to feel disloyal because she dearly loved her adoptive parents who’d always been there for her. Bizarrely, over the last few days of staying at Quintrell House, those thoughts had been substituted. Instead, Evelyn’s thoughts were preoccupied with Mr. Fielding’s childhood trauma, and with the painting over the stairway. 

Evelyn was appraising the painting, yet again, when Henry came up beside her and remarked, ‘that painting is so alluring. The subject seems so familiar.’  ‘Familiar?’ her eyes keenly questioned.  ‘Yes, familiar, but I cannot really say why,’ he said while bounding down the stairway. She peered at the painting, intently squinting her eyes, ‘what on earth does he mean by familiar?  She then proceeded on her way up to the third floor to select some artefacts for auction. ‘Could he have seen the resemblance to the Birth of Venus?’ she mused excitedly.

The evening before her planned departure, Henry handed Evelyn a small key, then mysteriously requested ‘Evelyn, please go to your room and unlock the gold chest on the dressing room table!’   ‘But for whatever reason?’  

‘You should discover the reason soon enough.’  

She hurriedly went to her room and eagerly inserted and rotated the key in the small chest.  Her anticipation was growing fast, ‘the contents have got to be significant’.  She hastily pulled the lid up to find a scroll secured with a white satin ribbon which she gently untied.  Evelyn delicately uncoiled the parchment to find a letter addressed to her. The author of the letter disclosed that she was her birth mother. Stunned, she fell back in a seated position on the bed.  Evelyn knew she’d been adopted, but she’d no idea of the background of her biological parents. It was difficult for her to absorb the news that Baroness Venessa Quintrell was, in fact, her birth mother. 

 

As she finished reading the letter, it suddenly dawned on Evelyn that the painting over the stairway was a painting of her mother.  She then realised what Henry had implied when he said ‘familiar’. Back in the period when her portrait was being painted, the young Venessa Quintrell had fallen for the artist Luca Romeo.  A morning after their most intimate encounter, Luca and Venessa met for the final time at the lake shore on the Quintrell Estate. There he declared, ‘I need to return home; but I assure you with my whole heart, I shall write to you soon and I shall return to you.’ They both wept. Subsequently, she never received a letter from him, nor did she ever see him again, nor hear any news of his whereabouts.  Venessa realised soon after his departure that she was with child.  Luca never found out about the birth of his daughter.  

It was downright scandalous for a young woman to bear a child out of wedlock; the new mother did not have any option other than to give away their child. Venessa’s father Baron Quintrell sternly stated, ‘undoubtedly, we cannot keep the child here, we shall organise that the babe be raised by good people’. So, they did. The Ainsworths were very good people, who would have no knowledge of the Quintrell’s relation to the child.  Venessa’s parents died of natural causes within two years of each other. Venessa was thirty-five years old when she inherited the Estate. At that time, Evelyn would have been a fourteen-year-old teenager. Venessa - by her own initiative - had hired a private detective to report to her regularly on Evelyn’s wellbeing.   

Prior to Baroness Venessa’s death, Mr. Fielding had been summoned to her sick bed, at which point she instructed him to bring Evelyn to Quintrell House after her burial.  Venessa had never married; consequently, she was granted her hereditary peerage by the Crown.  Venessa had no other children or close relatives; therefore, Evelyn was the sole beneficiary of her Will. Henry had been requested to inform Evelyn that the Quintrell Estate, in its entirety, had been officially passed on to her. As there were no entails on the estate, it was possible for Evelyn to inherit the property.  The caveat was she could not inherit the legal title of Baroness.  However, she had the option to attempt to attain a courtesy title for social reasons should she wish to do so.

 

In the letter to Evelyn, Venessa let her daughter know that she’d always known how she was doing. A sentiment in the letter read: 

‘…. My dear daughter, my flesh and blood, I have always loved from a far and held you close to my heart. You have been my greatest love and my greatest loss …’

At last, Evelyn understood that her mother had never needed to be forgiven.  Venessa Quintrell was a young lady doing what she had to do under her family’s rule and harsh social pressures.  This awareness allowed her to understand her mother’s pain. She promised herself, ‘there will be no more blame! there will be no more guilt!’

Evelyn was still reeling from her mother’s revelations while descending the stairway.  With new knowledge and emotions, she paused in front of the portrait. In the light of the night lamps, Venessa’s skin appeared even more creamy pale, her long wavy locks of her titian mane seemed to flicker like the flames burning the oil wicks, and her strong narrow nose emphasised her defined terracotta lips. Evelyn proceeded to the bottom of the grand stairway where she posed gracefully before the full length ivory framed mirror mounted on the wall opposite. Dazed … she stared at her own reflection, took a deep breath, and proclaimed in a warm tone, ‘My mother gave birth to me in this house.’ Evelyn gently pulled the pins from her chignon which allowed her tousled mane to fall loosely around her slim waist. She drew parallels to her arrival fully grown at Quintrell House and to the mythological Venus whereby, the Goddess of Love comes into being having emerged from the sea fully grown. A summer storm was brewing outside. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew in through the opened doors, which promptly brought Evelyn back from her reverie. Strands of Evelyn’s hair blew up towards Venessa’s image in the reflection; and it occurred to her how much she resembled her mother.

As she continued to behold the reflection, Evelyn could see Henry observing over her shoulder from a short distance away.  He moved close behind her, and he whispered softly in her ear, ‘Lei è bellissima.’

Evelyn’s eyelashes fluttered and she lowered her lids - her heart pounded rapidly in dance with the rhythm of the heavy rain that had begun pelting against the panes. She felt the magnetic forces in play as she turned her body towards Henry’s to dive into the depths of his gaze.