Mist of Midnight (25 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

W
e three left for Winchester late the following afternoon, spending a short time in the dressmaker's shop in order to commission my outfit for the Ledburys' ball, an outfit that was to be very unusual indeed. After a refreshing tea break we walked to the theater, which was already thrumming with chatter. Michelene looked yearningly at the gathering and I wondered what it would be like for her to have the door closed at almost every entertainment simply because she was a maid. I should not like that very much. She did not seem to, either. Daniel would be around shortly to collect her.

Lady Ashby, alighting from her carriage at nearly the same time as I, broke out in a delighted smile when she saw me. “My dear, what marvelous timing,” she said, as her son Lewis soon appeared.

“Do sit with us.” Baron Ashby took my arm and steered me inside. I was fairly resigned about the whole matter; sitting with them was better than being a social orphan. As my carriage pulled away, I saw Lady Ashby and Michelene catch each other's eyes. Michelene pulled the curtain over the carriage window. Lady Ashby turned away in disgust.

“Do you know her?” I asked Lady Ashby. “Mademoiselle d'Arbonneau?”

“Certainly not.” She popped her parasol shut.

The interior of the theater was rich with claret-colored velvet trimming the walls, which were highly polished dark wood. The suggestion of cigar smoke lingered; perhaps many of the men had congregated in the smoking parlor nearby before meeting for the speech. One could barely see several feet ahead of oneself, for the crowd, and the collection of tall black hats. Baron Ashby and his mother ordered steadying sherries; I declined, and disentangled myself from them long enough to slip through the crowds to greet Delia.

I tapped her lightly on the shoulder; her sister was in attendance with her. “Delia?”

She turned toward me, and as she did a man bumped into her in the crush; when he had made his way past her I noticed that he'd dislodged a small piece of her elaborate hair. It was one of, apparently, several false pieces holding up her magnificent arrangement.

“Oh, Rebecca, hello.”

“I missed seeing you this week,” I said. “I hope you're well. I received my invitation to the Ledburys' ball just a short time ago. I'm eager to learn more about it from you. Perhaps you and your sister might join me for tea sometime?”

Her eyes filmed. “I'm afraid I won't be attending. I'll be sailing to India soon.”

“You're leaving, for certain?” I asked.

Her sister spoke up with both sorrow, for her sister I supposed, and anger, perhaps with me? “Our father said that time enough had passed, our brother is expecting her, and she'll sail before November. Our brother has already arranged several promising introductions.”

Enough time had passed to catch a fish in England, as Michelene would say. Was that what their horseback argument had been about?

“I'm very sorry,” I said. “I hope that we will be able to take tea of an afternoon together before you leave.”

“I should like that, but I expect to be constantly occupied with packing and preparing,” she said. The gold flake of social kindness hid cold steel beneath. I felt as though she'd slapped me. She clearly felt she had lost and that I, in some way, had won. If only she'd known. I withdrew with equal coolness, my feelings wounded.

Shortly thereafter, Lord Ashby made his way over to me. “The best seats will be taken if we don't move into the auditorium.” He looked to Delia. “Good evening, Miss Dainley. I've heard you're shortly leaving for India. Best of luck to you.”

Delia took a deep breath, the breath of a woman frustrated with a man who need not worry about finding a wife, his title surely bait enough, though perhaps he'd had to look for one richer than was easily attained. Suddenly, she looked wan and old. “Thank you, Lord Ashby.”

He took my arm to steer me away. I wanted to reach over and fix her fallen hairpiece, but to do so would be to call attention to it. Instead, I prayed that her sister would spot it shortly and tuck it in.

The speech given was rousing and interesting, and all present seemed glad to have been in attendance. My parents had not neglected to educate me in the natural sciences, though it had been unusual for girls. I was glad, once again, that they had undertaken to teach me rather than send me back to England, where my hours might have been more art and less astronomy. I quietly looked around for Captain Whitfield. I was certain that he caught my eye from several rows away. I cheered, immediately, and
smiled and waved. He waved briefly, but coldly, and did not smile. Then he turned away without further acknowledgment, back to the elegant woman claiming his attention.

What had happened? I sank into my chair, distressed, confused, disheartened.

For the second time that day I felt cut, once by Delia, now by Luke. Why was he suddenly cold toward me?
Perhaps I had misinterpreted his turning away just now. Or . . .
had Delia said something? Before they'd gone riding he had been increasing in his attention, affection, and, though he hadn't said it, love for me. After their meeting he was a changed man. A pang of pain ran from my heart down my left arm.

“He puts me in mind of a snake,” Lord Ashby said, noticing the focus of my gaze. “You'll be well rid of him.” He tucked my arm closer to him, possessively, and I gently unwound it. “I understand he'll be moving to his new home soon?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “To India.”

“I'd heard India, too. I'm extremely surprised that he hasn't insisted on continuing at your guesthouse, but”—he seemed to offer a begrudging compliment—“he is a gentleman born in spite of it all. You'll do right by ensuring he takes all of his personal effects with him. There is a phrase, Miss Ravenshaw: When a snake sheds its skin you know it's been there even though you no longer see the serpent itself. ”

I smiled politely but honestly couldn't turn away fast enough. Luke had said that perhaps I could save him. What did he mean? Could I prove him to be the man I thought he was, no matter what others believed? I did not know what to make of his sudden coldness to me, but it wounded me more than Delia's sharp words. Maybe
this
was the true man, and not the one I had, perhaps, overimagined.

After the speech, everyone mingled and I tried to make my way over to Luke. He looked up at me, and I smiled, but he did not smile back. Instead, he turned his back to me.

I had not imagined it and I hadn't misinterpreted it. He was avoiding me altogether. Baron Ashby saw me safely to our carriage, but we waited for quite some time, to the consternation of the other drivers, for Captain Whitfield to arrive; he had not traveled out with us but we would return to Headbourne together. When Whitfield did arrive he was accompanied by another soldier.

“Miss Ravenshaw,” he said. “Allow me to introduce a fellow officer from my regiment, Captain William Chapman, of the Eleventh Hussars.”

Captain Chapman took my hand in his and gestured a kiss on the back of the glove. He met my eyes with a slightly flirtatious look, and I smiled warmly, but impersonally, toward him. Captain Whitfield, to my surprise, did not make any personal conversation or eye contact with me but for a moment. In that moment, his eyes seemed guarded and hurting. I wanted to reach out and touch his cheek and chase that sorrow away.

“Chapman is in town for a visit and I've offered him use of my accommodations, in the guesthouse, if that is acceptable to you?” His tone was even and friendly but impersonal.

“It's yours to do with as you wish while you remain, Captain Whitfield,” I said. Perfectly polite. Perfectly gentle. Perfectly awful. Why were we talking like this? It was clear by his posture and tone he did not care for Chapman and yet he was offering hospitality.

A gentleman born.

The carriage jostled and I lost my balance, momentarily. Whitfield instinctively reached out to steady me. He held my hand a moment longer than required, and love, truly, frissoned through our hands, but he said nothing and would not meet my eye again.
We made painfully superficial conversation all the way home, which made me want to cry. Apparently I was not the only person who had decided to be guarded. Either that, or Luke had had a change of heart. If he'd ever really intended his heart for me.

Soon we arrived at Headbourne House. Captain Chapman pointed to the two stone lions. “You know what they say, don't you?”

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or to Luke, but I answered, to be polite. “I'm not aware of any colloquialism involving lions.”

“Captain Whitfield has passed through them, I presume?” He fairly bubbled with mirth.

I nodded.

“The saying is, Miss Ravenshaw, that when a Hussar who is able to be faithful to one woman passes between two stone lions, they shall spring to life and run away.” He began to laugh, and I wondered if he'd had one too many sherries at the theater. “You'll note that this has not yet transpired.”

Whitfield looked as though he was about to speak, but I retorted more quickly.

“Perhaps you should walk through them, then, Captain Chapman,” I said, “and we'll all have the chance to see them in flight.” He again burst out laughing, and, for a moment, I saw a hint of a smile on Luke's face. I did not smile back. It seemed an appropriate response for his recent coldness toward me.

“Whitfield has kindly agreed to host some small parties and social gatherings while I'm in residence,” Captain Chapman began. “To reacquaint myself with people I don't see often, and it should be a merry time. Perhaps you'd like to attend?”

This time, Whitfield stepped in. “I don't think they are the kinds of occasions that Miss Ravenshaw would find to her taste,” he said.

“Thank you for the invitation,” I said to Chapman. “I have a great deal to attend to, so I shall have to regretfully decline.” A memory of our summer picnic floated forward.

“It is good manners to respond to every invitation, Captain Whitfield, although the answer need not always be in the positive.”

He laughed aloud and squeezed my hand for a moment. “You are delightful, you really are. It gives me great comfort, happiness, and peace to know you live so nearby. . . .”

Daniel helped Mrs. Ross and me down from the carriage and I made my way up the stairs and into my room. I'd dismissed Michelene earlier that evening, preferring to prepare myself for bed instead. I watched as two carriages arrived, and several men and ladies, including older chaperones, arrived at the guesthouse. The presence of chaperones meant that at least one of the young women was unmarried. I lay down on the bed, curled on my side, and let tears slip from my eye, roll over my cheek, and slide onto the pillow where they pooled before I fell asleep. After some time I awoke and realized I had not undressed, though it was well past midnight.

I reached into the drawer in the small bureau next to my bed, feeling for the small packet of Mother's letters, which I'd placed there to be near me. I undid the thin ribbon holding the letters together. I wondered why they hadn't been sent. They looked to have been written shortly after her marriage, well before Peter or I was born.

Dearest Mother,

Things are lovely here at Headbourne, only I miss you so. It has been a difficult adjustment, but Charles is constantly attentive and charming; I have only to mention the desire for something and he'll see it done for me. He's been
speaking to me about attending the nonconforming church, and I readily admit it is a strange new thought. But I trust his judgment implicitly. I have no reason to question him, for anything, at any time. He is straightforward and true so I believe he will properly lead our little family in this way as well.

Do give my love to Papa, and tell him that I am happy and that he has chosen well for me. I shall write again soon when I am feeling better. I've been unwell of late . . . ????

Yours,

Constance

I read the other three letters; by the end, it was clear that she knew that she was expecting a child, my brother, Peter. I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down my face again at the sweet voice of my mother. I could hear it, in the words on the page, in my heart and mind. I felt her hands on my little arms as a girl and kissing my cheeks as a young woman. I recalled her crying out in melancholy during our first years in India, her hair falling out. I remembered how it grew back, lush and thick and beautiful, only to turn stark gray in the year following Peter's death.

I opened my eyes, wiped them with the edge of my sleeve, and whispered, “Dearest Mummy. Things are not lovely here at Headbourne any longer, and I do miss you so.”

I folded up the letters, running my hands over each one before tying the ribbon back around them, and thinking how she trusted Father implicitly, even when she could not understand. I stood to prepare for bed, but as I did, wandered over to the window. I wondered if I should see Captain Whitfield and Captain Chapman, but I did not. The additional carriages were still there, but there were many rooms on offer in the guest
house, and perhaps Chapman's friends were staying for a night or two.