Friends and Lovers (21 page)

“It won’t be done in a day,” he pointed out reasonably. “The floor will be done in two or three, however, and once the thatchers get to work, the banging will be finished. They work quietly.”

Mr. Everett walked over to greet Menrod. “The lads will be done in jig time. You’ll notice the fine cured lumber I have supplied you. Well dried—I would not be ashamed to have it in my own house. Quite an entertainment for the kiddies,” he said, including several octogenarians in the word.

“A terrible racket to saddle the ladies with,” Menrod mentioned.

“It is. We are a pair of fools not to have thought to invite them to put up with one or the other of us while it goes on. You and your mama run down to Oakdene, Wendy. You will be perfectly comfortable there.”

“I was just inviting Wendy and her mother to spend the day at the Manor,” Menrod said when he read the dismay on my face. If he was astute, he saw no diminution of it at his own offer. I hardly knew which house was less desirable to go to.

Accepting Everett’s kind offer would look like encouragement of his suit, while going to the Manor so close to the time of the ball would put us under Lady Althea’s feet. We would be about as welcome as poison ivy to her. Home was suddenly seen to be not at all so bad as before.

I took the coward’s way out. “Mama spoke of going into town for a few hours,” I lied.

“That settles it, then,” Everett jumped in quickly. “You will stop off at Oakdene on your way home, and stay there while the work goes forth. I’ll halt the lads a bit early, to let you dine in peace. Unless you would care to sup with me...”

With the omission of dining at Oakdene, we followed Everett’s plan. We took lunch in Reading, spent an afternoon at Oakdene, gazing at all its finery, like tourists at a museum. We were taken to the attics to see the cherry wainscotting, which was very handsome. The slightest hint of curiosity saw the rug removed from one of the studies, to show us the parquetry unicorn laid into the pattern, also very handsome.

We returned at four, at which time Everett called the work to a stop. Kind schemer that he is, he had worked only half the roof at a time, so that one side was all done, and the thatch not yet disturbed on the other side.

“We’ll give the lads tomorrow off, so that you and your mama may be home in peace to ready yourselves for the party. I hope my people took care of you at Oakdene?”

“Superb care, thank you so very much.”

“After the ball, you will come to spend a few days, if you like, while this little job is finished up for you.”

We should have asked him to dinner, but with both of us away all afternoon, it had not been arranged, so was impossible. We ate a simple omelette ourselves, in the deafening silence that followed the day’s hammering.

The next day was blissfully peaceful. We saw neither Everett nor Menrod, the children, nor anyone else. Though quiet, it was not dull, with a ball to prepare for. No peacock, I had not had a new gown made, but I did hang my best blue crepe on the line to air in the morning. During the afternoon, while I was working to revive my complexion with some lemon juice and oatmeal, I toyed with my hair, wondering what the deuce a
victime
do might be.

Mama thought it was a style popular during the French Revolution, favored by Victims there and aped in England by society. If so, it cannot have been the highest kick of fashion. The Revolution was twenty-five years old. She pointed out to me in a two-year-old fashion magazine a style that was similar to the
vic
time.
I tried puffing my curls around my head but looked a perfect quiz, so abandoned the idea.

Pearls were my jewelry, a single strand of good-sized pearls given to me by my father’s mother. With my new white kid gloves, I felt elegant in the extreme. Mama too had her navy silk aired, and wore her pearls, larger and longer than my own. She wore a white shawl with a long fringe, to cover her bare arms.

We were no sooner announced and made welcome by the hostess, the guest of honor, and Lord Menrod, ranged in state at the stair landing, than Mr. Everett came trotting up to us. It scarcely left us time to assess Lady Althea’s toilette—a beautiful bronze taffeta, very much the shade of hair, and a set of emeralds much darker than her eyes, and much more beautiful.

“A dandy do,” Everett said, rubbing his hands. “I was surprised not to see you sit down at dinner. Lady Althea said they had so many houseguests it was impossible, but it seems to me they could have squeezed in a couple of extra chairs. Menrod was put out about it, and so was I. I would not have come, had I known you were omitted.”

“We
are not on such close terms with Lady Althea as
you
are coming to be,” Mama told him.

“How was the dinner?” I enquired.

“A fair meal,” he said judiciously. “I expected to see some better seafood than prawns, and oysters, but the roast was tasty. My own cook does the fowl better, I think. A fine bit of carving there, around the oval mirrors,” he said on the next breath. We strolled toward the mirrors to admire this specimen of wood, that was bound to interest Mr. Everett.

There was plenty of wood to catch his attention. He traced a wooden bunch of grapes with his finger, to determine whether it had been sanded after carving or the artist had worked his knife so skillfully as to leave no rough edges. “The grain of it looks like oak,” he said doubtfully. “Oak is a hard wood for ornamental carving.”

Menrod and Lady Althea opened the minuet. My first partner was Mr. Everett. Mama sat with the matrons for half an hour to observe the ladies’ toilettes. She would soon remove to the card parlor. I went to speak to her and her friends before they left. There was a flurry of gossip going forth.

“Mrs. Tighe thinks a match is in the offing between Lady Althea and Menrod,” she communicated to me, on a high whisper. "Their opening the ball together looks very much like it.”

It looked like simple protocol to me, as she was the guest of honor, but some ladies who had attended the dinner were whispering otherwise. They were closer friends than ourselves to the lady concerned, so some credence had to be placed on their word. Mr. Everett listened, frowning in disbelief.

“It is not what Lady Althea intimated to
me,”
he said. “Just friends, she described the relationship. Friends and connections, I believe she said.”

I stood up with Mr. Farrell, the local M.P., next; then, at the end of that dance, Menrod appeared at my elbow. “There is a young gentleman who is eager to see you, Wendy,” he told me.

I excused myself from Farrell and followed Menrod from the floor, pleasantly curious to learn what gentleman desired my acquaintance. Seeing no one waiting, I said, “Where is he hiding, in the attic?” for he was heading to the staircase.

“No, his bedroom. Ralph wants to see you decked out in ballroom style. Very nice, too,” he complimented dutifully, his gaze including my hairstyle.

“There’s a setdown for me! I thought I had attracted a new beau.”

“Disenchanted with the old ones so soon?”

“You are too kind to grant me more than one. Mr. Everett is my sole conquest to date.”

“Don’t be so modest. I have had my ears scorched the past twenty-four hours for chasing after an engaged lady. By my stepmother,” he added.

“She is imaginative, to find a romance in your falling through the roof.”

“Reality is no bar to a lady’s imagination. She has imagined me to be on the verge of an offer to her cousin for the past few weeks, despite my care to avoid the lady. Unhandsome of me to broach such a subject, but I know your discretion is to be counted on. If you should chance to overhear any rumors of my imminent engagement, you may feel yourself free to squelch them.”

“We had already figured out why your condition of shock lasted so many hours,” I told him, with a knowing look.

“Having exerted your poor little wits to such a wrong end, you will now put them to better use, if you please. I refer to our niece. The wretch talked Althea into allowing her to come down after dinner to make a curtsy to the guests, and is now at work on me to let her attend the ball.”

“At six years of age! That is precocious of her!”

“Exactly what I think. She insists she was allowed to do so in India, when she was only five.”

“Hettie would never be so foolish. She’s bamming you.”

“I told her I would ask your opinion.”

“Kind of you to cast
me
in the role of ogre.”

We went to the nursery, where the children sat with a servant, decked out in their best togs. Gwen ran to me to throw her arms around me. “I
knew
you would come, Auntie!” she beamed. “Tell Uncle I can go down to the ball, just for a moment. I only want to see everyone all dressed up so fine. Ralph wants to go too, don’t you, Ralph?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ralph said simply, his eyes as big as sovereigns.

“It is close to nine o’clock. These children should have been in bed an hour ago,” I told Menrod. I was cross at his stunt of drawing me into his problem. “You know it is impossible, children. You are much too young to attend a ball.”

“Lady Althea said it would be all right,” Gwen tried next. “And Mama
always
let us take one peek.”

“It is too late now. If you were to have had one peek, it should have been at the beginning.”

“You’re
mean!”
Gwen charged, a tear forming in her eyes, while her lower lip trembled. “We waited all this time. If Mama and Papa were alive, we would be allowed to go. You don’t love us. You
hate
us!” Her tears and tantrum swelled in unison, till at last Ralph joined in the sobbing from sheer nervousness. I wanted to box her ears.

“This will do you no good, Gwendolyn,” I said severely. Menrod accepted my dictum, but did not support me verbally, so Gwen turned to him.

“Please, Uncle,” she sobbed, her shoulders racking with emotion.

“It is too late. Go to bed now.”

“But Aunt Althea is going to bring us an ice. She promised she would. I want an ice!”

“The ices are not ready yet.”

Her bawling became louder, so loud I feared she would be heard belowstairs. “That is enough of that, Gwen,” I said firmly. “Put them to bed,” I added, to the servant.

“I
won’t
go to bed,” she insisted, stomping her stubborn feet on the floor. When the servant girl reached for her, Gwen flailed out with her hands, giving her such a scratch she drew blood. I had seen enough of ill manners. I pulled Gwen off and gave her a shaking. “You will apologize at once, Gwen, and you will then go to bed.”

“I don’t have to do what
you
say.
You’re
not my guardian. I don’t want to live with you. I hate you.”

“I am your guardian,” Menrod said, taking a swift stride toward her and grabbing her arms, “and I say you will apologize to Miss Acres before going to your bed. If there is another word from you, you will remain in your room for twenty-four hours.”

“You’re
not my guardian either!” she shouted back. “Neither of you can be my guardian. I want my Aunt Althea.”

Menrod dragged her from the room by one arm, took her out the hallway, shoved her into her own room, and locked the door, then apologized to Miss Acres on her behalf.

“Keep an ear to the door, but don’t go in to her," he told the servant. “Let her put herself to bed. She’ll soon be worn out with this performance. She must learn she doesn’t profit by this sort of carry-on. You run along to bed too, Ralph.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” he said humbly.

“It’s not your fault. A boy would not behave so foolishly. Good night.” As he went down the hall, screams and shouts came echoing through Gwen’s door. I was upset at the unpleasant interlude, did not want to go back to the ball at once.

“We’ll collect our nerves with a drink,” Menrod suggested.

“A glass of wine would not go amiss,” I agreed.

“A glass of wine? You are easily calmed. I intend gulping a quart of brandy. Let us have it brought up. If we go belowstairs, we’ll be overtaken by unwanted company. Come in here—it is my late mother’s sitting room,” he said, opening a door farther down the hallway. A servant encountered along the way was sent for wine and glasses.

Menrod was as upset as I was at the affair. He sat on the corner of a small sofa, clenching and unclenching his fingers, hardly aware of my presence. He wore a distracted expression. I did not urge any conversation with him; I was busy thinking myself. My major thought was that taking complete charge of Gwendolyn was a thing beyond me. She was very spoilt, a manipulator, turning to one of us when the other did not follow her wishes, and in the end turning to Auntie Althea when we both held out against her.

“That wench has got badly out of hand,” he said a moment later. I agreed enthusiastically. “You handled her well,” he complimented. “I have been too soft with her, pitying her because of her orphaned state. She is quick enough to have sensed it, to take advantage.”

“She is not even truthful. Hettie would not have let her attend balls in India. She wrote me of the customs there, and never mentioned that one.”

“I know full well Peter would not have permitted it. Her orphaned state is always called to our attention when she is thwarted. I should not have dragged you into it.”

“Why did you? Was it to show me how impossible the task is that I have been wanting to undertake? If that was your aim, you have succeeded marvelously. I don’t believe I could handle Gwen, with Mama and Mrs. Pudge always there to cater to her every whim. She is a great favorite at home.”

“I am not so underhanded as that!” he exclaimed offended. “I wondered if I was being too severe, that’s all. You too are involved in their upbringing. It was of some concern to you, as well as myself.”

“How could you possibly have considered taking them down to a ball?”

“Lady Althea thought it permissible. Whatever else she may know or not know, she is well versed in social etiquette. I do not attend many country balls. Customs change—I thought perhaps it was some recent innovation.”

“I haven’t heard of it, but if it were to be done, it should have been done for the opening minuet.”