C1 Advanced (CAE) - Reading Gapped Text 6

A Matter of Standing

The butler had left me in what I presumed to be the morning room, though its dimensions suggested more illustrious purposes. Gilt-framed portraits lined the walls, generations of Ashworths staring down at me with expressions ranging from benign disinterest to what I fancied was outright disapproval.

1.

I found myself gravitating towards the windows, their height emphasising my own insignificance in this grand setting. The late April sunshine illuminated the formal gardens, where a group of children - presumably the younger Ashworths - played some sort of elaborate game involving hoops and what appeared to be croquet mallets.

2.

My attention wandered to the furnishings, each piece selected with evident care and consideration. The writing desk alone must have cost more than my annual salary at the bank. Its surface gleamed with the kind of polish that spoke of generations of dedicated servants, while my own modest lodgings made do with a single maid-of-all-work.

3.

Time moved with excruciating slowness. I checked my pocket watch, though I knew perfectly well only minutes had passed since my arrival. The ticking seemed unnaturally loud in the hushed room, each second marking my continued solitude.

4.

From the garden came shrieks of childish laughter, followed by what sounded like an argument over rules. I watched as the eldest boy - he must have been about twelve - attempted to restore order with all the gravity of a young lord. The scene brought forth uncomfortable memories of my own childhood games, played in considerably less salubrious surroundings.

5.

The mahogany door creaked slightly, drawing my attention. I turned, straightening my already impeccable cravat, and found myself wondering if I had been wise to presume upon my slight acquaintance with Miss Ashworth. That chance meeting at the Assembly Rooms, followed by our brief encounter in the park, hardly justified this formal call.

6.

Yet any doubts were temporarily forgotten as Mr and Mrs Ashworth entered, Catherine following demurely behind. Her father's expression was carefully neutral, while her mother offered the sort of smile one might bestow upon an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome guest. Catherine herself kept her eyes lowered, though I fancied I detected the slightest upward curve of her lips as she took her seat.

The room fell silent save for the distant sounds of children's play and the steadfast ticking of the long-case clock in the corner. Mr Ashworth cleared his throat, and I steeled myself for whatever judgement was to follow.