Once We Were (16 page)

Chapter 12

The old melody danced around the house. Ioan chased it from room to room. He hadn't heard the music box in years. He froze at Cora's room. The sunlight slipped into the hall. She locked herself away for a week. He never saw her door open until now. He carefully approached. He decided against the usual attack. Any sudden noise and it's back to phase one. He must not upset her. Cora expected it. “An open door doesn't mean an invitation,” she commented.

“
I've respected your privacy for a week. I'll have my say,” Ioan insisted.

“
Your apologies are meaningless at this point.”

“
I have nowt to apologize for,” Ioan defended. “Nonetheless, I understand my actions greatly affected you, which is why I'm here. I know you hate me for going to the inquiry, but I can't change that. I wouldn't change it. All the same, I've realized I can make better choices. I can keep my promise to you and still do what I feel is right. I've decided to fund a charity for Titanic families. We need more relief services for widows and children until they find a better situation. This is the best answer.”

“
For whom? You're possessed by Titanic, Ioan. You don't owe anyone anything.”

“
You're not being fair,” Ioan said. “It's a reasonable compromise and a beneficial proposal. I thought you'd go with it.”

“
I'd go with you not obsessing over it for one moment. I'm fed up with it. I want our lives back. The life you promised me we would have,” Cora persisted. “Is that so much to ask?”

“
Right. Why did I think this would go differently?” Ioan said quietly. Cora could see he was gutted. “I'm going to do one and leave you to it. When you're ready to talk without having a fit, you know where I am.” He left her alone.

Cora hated that she felt terrible. Nothing was harder than saying she was sorry. She couldn't bring herself to it. He had to understand why she was so frustrated. He wouldn't figure it out if she kept giving in with apologizes. Yet, he didn't ask for her frustration. He only asked for her support. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't take it out on anyone but herself. She snatched the music box from the vanity table and smashed it into the wall. The melody sighed sorrowfully and faded. The rose figurine that once twirled for her laid in pieces. “No, no, no,” Cora wailed, falling to her knees beside it.

She didn't mean to throw it so hard. She picked up every piece she could find. She hurried downstairs to the sitting room and swung open a hidden cabinet in the wall. “God, where did he hide it?”

“
Pardon me. Is this a bad time?” a soft voice asked.

Cora fell against the cabinet. She walked right pass the sofa, and never once noticed the lady seated there. She couldn't be real. She never saw someone sit up so straight. She was practically a porcelain doll. Her silvery blonde ringlets curved so gracefully on her porcelain skin. Her soft blue eyes dazzled against her white cheeks and bold lipstick. She dressed modestly for her single status, but as fashionably as a high collar and long sleeve dress permitted. She stood with an angel's grace.

“Holy shi-.” Cora trailed off when the lady disapprovingly put a finger to her lips. “Forgive me, Miss Harlow. I should have called first,” she said.

“
Are you here for Mrs. Dillsworth?” Cora asked.

“
No, no, I'm here for you, Miss Harlow. Lavinia Appleby, at your service,” the woman replied.

“
I don't remember calling anyone,” Cora answered. “I don't even know a Lavinia Appleby. There must be a mistake.”

“
Oh, I've heard all about you, miss. You are the new topic at tea. I've been anxious to meet you. No worries. I think it's rather sweet. A working class girl and a respectable gentleman. It's romantic.”

“
It's not what you think,” Cora replied.

“
Well the papers can embellish the story all they'd like, but I know he must at least treat you well. It's a habit of older gentleman. They like to keep their young women happy. Of course there are pitfalls. What do you converse about with such an age gap? How do you impress his friends? How do you run his house? That's why I'm here.”

“
There's been a misunderstanding,” Cora answered.

“
Ioan and I are the same-”

“
The same soul united by love and understanding,” Lavinia romanticized.

“
That is nothing like what I was going to say,” Cora replied. “I don't know how you got in here, but I'm sorry you made the trip. This is a huge misconception.”

“
My dear friend Mr. Spruce sent me. He said you required my lessons on how to condition yourself to a superior husband.”

“
Well, you may tell him that I don't give a-”

“
Stop there, Miss Harlow,” Lavinia said suddenly. Cora stared at her astonished. “Now take a deep breath, and tell me again what you were about to say.”

“
I was about that say that I don't give-”

“
Stop,” Lavinia interrupted again. “Breathe in with me, Miss Harlow. Relax. Mr. Spruce tells me you have the temper of a hot poker. This will be the first thing we address. A lady's emotion is as unreadable as her Bridge face. When I am finished with you, Miss Harlow, you will have so much discipline that the Royal Navy could draw and quarter you, and your smile would never break. I hear your husband plans on hosting a concert to raise charity for Titanic survivors.”

“
He's not my husband.”

“
Oh, Miss Harlow,” Lavinia cooed. “Still in the shocked phase, I see. I know this is all strange and exciting. We'll take it step by step. Now, how do you plan to draft your invitations?”

“
My what?”

“
It's a broad, frightening question, isn't it? Let's try something more specific. What is your favorite color?”

“
I'm fond of mauve.”

“
I'm sorry, that's incorrect. Mauve is appropriate fashion in the home, but never on a calling card or invitation. White or cream with gold accent is acceptable. You must also avoid any seals or décor. We call with cards, not telephones. It is more tasteful. If you invite a house, it is no longer acceptable to send one card to your addressee, and have them fold the corners for each additional guests. It is polite to send a card to every member of the household, starting with the gentlemen, the lady, and her daughters. Calling should be done in the morning and calls should be answered in the evening. Do you understand?

“
Now, let us move on to the next part of your day. After waking no later than sunrise, choosing your morning attire, sending your invitations, we move on to my favorite part of the morning. Shopping. As the wife of a gentleman, you're expected to keep a certain appearance. This requires a different dress for every event of the day. You consult your seamstress daily. After which, you may accept an invitation for a garden tea party. Have a small lunch. Attend another garden party. Have a walk for exercise, but never alone. Attend the spa to rejuvenate your skin. Attend dinner. Respond to calls, and do it all over again.”

“
Is there any personal time?” Cora asked.

“
My dear, you're fortunate to get at least five hours of sleep a night,” she giggled melodically. “And note, there is nothing that reflects high breeding like your laughter. I learned mine from my opera lessons as a girl. I sang scales in
ha ha ha ha
ha to tune my laugh. Believe me, my dear, when I say it was worth learning. We will work on it.”

“
Miss Appleby-”

“
Do call me Lavinia. There's no need for the teacher-pupil formality. I'd like to greet you as friends.”

“
Right. Lavinia. I don't know what Spruce thinks he's doing, but you've been misinformed,” Cora replied, retrieving a wooden box from the cabinet. Ioan appeared in the doorway. “What have you got my ditty box for?” he demanded. Cora took the glue from inside. “Can I borrow this?”

“
Give it here. You're going to get yourself killed,” Ioan took the music box pieces.

“
A ditty box?” Lavinia repeated puzzled.

“
Isn't it silly? I told him we call it a duff box here,” Cora informed her.

“
It's not a duff box. It's a ditty box. It never hurts to have two of everything in one place,” Ioan defended, as he delicately glued the glass together. “How did you break this anyway?”

Lavinia frowned. She whispered something distressful to Cora in French. Cora stared blankly at her. She was never any good at French. She knew it was a question and recognized only a few words, “
Does Mr. Saier let his attendants talk to you like that?
”

Ioan saved Cora the trouble of answering. He replied just as elegantly in French as Lavinia had, leaving the woman bewildered and Cora clueless. Cora guessed he'd said something close to, “
Shame, isn't it? I'm sorry, I don't believe we've properly met.
” She watched them exchange back and forth. She may as well have disappeared from the room.

Lavinia turned pink. “You speak French very well, sir. The mark of superior upbringing and a refined education. You must be Mr. Saier. Forgive me for not recognizing you before. You're a great deal younger than I expected,” she said.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you,” he replied.

“
It's no dissatisfaction at all. Merely unexpected,” she said. “I'm truly sorry for making you uncomfortable, Miss Harlow. Perhaps Mr. Saier can help me touch up your French. It is required of anyone who is anyone in good society.”

“
Of course,” Cora forced a polite smile.

“
Don't take it to heart, Miss Cora,” Ioan said, nudging her. “Knowing it makes no difference. I wouldn't have learned it either if my father had given me a choice. What do I need three languages for? As long as we understand each other some way, it's fine by me.”

That shut Lavinia up. Cora couldn't have loved Ioan more for it. The ladies turned their attention to his work to avoid anymore embarrassment. Lavinia blushed as she watched him. She said something quietly to Ioan in French. Cora thought hard about her French lessons in boarding school, searching for any meaning to Lavinia's words. The translation dismayed her. “
Your hands are gentle for a man.
”

Ioan replied in French, “
I suppose I can take that compliment in all masculinity.
”

Lavinia didn't speak for a while. Her gaze never left Ioan as he finished his repair. “That should do it,” he said, handing it to Cora. “I'll be going now. Too many ladies in one room.” Lavinia's eyes chased him from the room. She smiled at Cora. “Well, as I said before, Miss Harlow, we have much work to do.”

*
              *              *

Ioan tapped his pen dully as Mr. Spruce placed photos of wealthy men before him. “I've arranged your guest list for the charity concert. If you want to create a good public image, you want to appear generous, but I highly recommend you seek investors. Here are a few possible invites. Mr. Thompson, another one of your father's closest friends and connection. He has shares in the growing oil industry. Mr. Touchstone, he helped your father open his tea shop and is also very fond of the theater. Mr. Hudson, he's the man that supervises your hotel. Would you pretend to pay attention?”

“
Right. Buy them a pint. Talk lots of rubbish big words. Get them to cough up some money. No problem.”

“
Yes, there is,” Mr. Spruce replied. “This is not a roll in the scalawag pub. This requires skill. You don't buy them a pint. You offer a cigar. You pour a shot of brandy. Gentlemen like to show off their intelligence by quoting Greek and Latin. They will test you. Once they see you are one of them, they will try your knowledge of politics. If you pass, they will ask about your business strategies, during which you will propose your charity. If they see benefit for themselves, they will invest. Then you offer them another shot of brandy to success and long life. A gentleman will invite you to his gentleman’s club. Once he's done that, he will consult with members of the club who will collectively agree to admit you. You will attend every other night to dine, smoke, and discuss politics. A woman's name is never mentioned in these settings. It's highly distasteful.”

“
I like that idea.”

“
Then, and only then, will you be considered a gentleman.”

“
You sound exactly him. He'd thrash me before I forgot any of this.”

“
You should thank him. Your survival depends on it. You are clearly out of practice,” Mr. Spruce said gravely. “Now, Mr. Livingston wears a walrus mustache. You'll especially want to remember his face. Before he died, your father drafted a contract with Livingston wineries. The offer is still on the table. Have you asked Miss Harlow to accompany you?”