“Mama, shall I arrange to have the roof mended or not?” Emily waited, fists clenched, for her mother, the Lady Althea Gibson, to reply.

“What was that, my love?”

“The roof, Mama, shall I get it repaired?” Her mother frowned and closed her eyes again.

“Whatever you please, my love. You know best.”

Emily watched her mother sink back into a deep sleep and her eyes filled. It had been so different two years ago, before her father had been killed in a carriage accident. Then, Glebe House, had been a happy place; her mother lively and beautiful.

Now she lay on the chaise-longue all day, taking no interest in anything, making no decisions, leaving everything to Emily. Her mother was only two and forty but looked years older. Her lovely brown hair was fading and her skin held an unhealthy pallor. She realized she was watching her mother slowly fade away but there was nothing she could do about it.

Her father, Mr Peter Gibson, had died, taking his annuity with him. The small estate produced barely enough revenue to keep herself, her mother, and her two younger sisters, Amelia aged thirteen and Serena aged nine, from penury. Emily sighed and crossed the room to pull up the patchwork comforter, her mother's skeletal frame barely making a dent in the cover, then she returned to the study to continue her find a way to keep their small family afloat.

“Em, are you coming for a walk with us? Mary says we can go and look for blackberries in the woods.” Serena already had her cloak and walking boots on ready for the promised outing.

“No, Serena, I'm sorry, I have too much to attend to this morning. But I will be up this afternoon to see how well you have learnt yesterday's lessons.” Emily reached down and refastened Serena's bonnet string. The early autumn weather was fine, but since her younger sisters near fatal illness two winters before, she had remained susceptible to chills and fevers.