The Linnet Bird: A Novel (25 page)

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEK
Shaker suggested that I stay after work that Friday and attend the scheduled evening lecture.

“I couldn’t,” I responded.

“Why not? As a member of staff you’ll be allowed entrance. I’m sure Celina Brunswick will be there, so at least you’ll know one person.”

All the more reason not to go, I thought. “I’ve just . . . I’ve never attended anything like that.” I thought of the lettered sign set up by Mr. Worth that morning.
BUTTERFLIES OF INDIA
, it announced, and then, in smaller, plainer letters underneath: All Members and Their Guests Welcome. “Would you come as well?”

He shook his head. “Neither India nor butterflies interest me. But it’s something you might enjoy.” His eyes traveled to the old bonnet of his mother’s I still wore every day.

I knew I didn’t look fashionable enough to attend the lecture. My clothes clearly announced my working position, and although they were passable for my job, I thought of Celina and her haughty look, her trim shape in the fitted pelisse.

“Think about it,” he said.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
Shaker rushed out at his lunch break, returning with a bulky paper-wrapped parcel. He carried it on his lap all the way home, his fingers spread out on it as if it gave him pleasure to touch it. Once we were at home in the drawing room, he handed it to me. I opened it; it was a gown and hooded cape. The gown was heavily figured amber silk with gigot sleeves tapering gradually to the wrist. There were scallops on the collar edge and skirt bottom. The cape was of a darker gold, and soft wool.

There was a muffled noise from Mrs. Smallpiece, who sat stiffly on the settee, her hands pressing her stomach. “Dyspepsia,” she said, more loudly than necessary. “I had Merrie fetch me some caraway seeds today, but they haven’t helped with the wind at all.”

“I don’t know if you’ll like them,” Shaker said, as we both turned from his mother, “but I thought perhaps for the lecture . . .”

I wished I hadn’t hesitated before I spoke. “Of course. It’s a perfectly lovely ensemble, Shaker.”

“The woman in the shop told me you’d also need . . . the . . . others. Inside the gown.” He wouldn’t look at me as he said this.

I looked through the folds, a delicate powdery scent of lilac emerging from the gleaming silk, and found a set of stiffened petticoats, as well as small bustle pads to hold out the skirt from the waist.

“It’s all too beautiful, Shaker,” I said. “But I don’t know that I should accept it.”

“Just try the dress on, Linny. Please.”

I did, realizing that it was indeed a wonderful dress. In my mind I compared it to Chinese Sally’s dresses, and realized that in actuality those had been poorly made and had far less dignity than the figured amber silk. When I came down the stairs and into the drawing room Shaker stood, smiling, clasping his hands. “Fine,” he said. “It’s just fine. I knew the color would be a match for your eyes.”

Mrs. Smallpiece covered her mouth to stifle a belch. “She looks perfectly respectable in her day dresses,” Mrs. Smallpiece said, her voice waspish now. “You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” she added. “Why does she need anything new, anyway? You’re only spoiling her. What she’s paying for her bed and food isn’t even enough.”

“What do you mean, Mother? Paying?”

Mrs. Smallpiece’s chin rose, but her voice held a tiny quaver. “I collected her pay packet from her for the last few months and I’ll do so again at this month’s end. It’s only fair. There are no free rides in this world, especially for one such as her who should be eternally grateful to us.”

Shaker stood in front of his mother. “You’ll return that money to her,” he said. “She earned it. And if I choose to buy her something to wear, so that she doesn’t have to slouch around in the unflattering frocks of your choosing, it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

I turned to study the plate rail as if inspecting it for dust, so that Mrs. Smallpiece wouldn’t see my small but satisfied smile.

I
FELT SO PLEASED
with my appearance in the new frock and cape that I did attend the butterfly lecture. Once there, however, my confidence fled, and I was horribly nervous as I made my way through the crowd. Perspiration gathered under my stays as I held my forced poise, thinking about every move I made, every murmured nicety. I spotted Celina sitting with another young woman, smaller and slighter. She had foxy red hair and dark gray eyes and was quite striking, her looks only slightly spoiled by a rather long nose.

As the crowd gathered around a table of tea and cakes after the lecture, given by Mr. Prinsep, an elderly and alarmingly florid gentleman, Celina stood across from me.

“Hello, Miss Brunswick,” I said, trying to feel brave in my amber gown.

“Oh. Miss Smallpiece. I didn’t recognize you,” she said, not returning my smile. “Miss Smallpiece, my good friend, Miss Faith Vespry.”

Faith gave me an open smile, and I noticed her gums. Her teeth were small and even. “So this is the cousin,” she said. Her voice was high and breathless.

I saw Celina’s elbow dig into Faith’s side, but Faith appeared to ignore it. “Celina told me that Mr. Smallpiece had his cousin living with him now. How are you finding Liverpool? Where is it you’re from? Was it Bristol?”

“Morecambe, Miss Vespry,” I said, firmly. I was ready. As well as any of the information Shaker had passed on to me, I made sure I had read everything I could find on Morecambe and its history and had fabricated my whole past, including dates and places. I was thankful for my effortless ability to memorize.

“Do leave off the Miss. Just Faith. I know Celina thinks me so very common, insisting on being called by my Christian name. But I know we’re going to be friends, don’t you? Oh, I love the seaside,” she hurried on, barely stopping to take a breath. “Is that charming tearoom—oh, what is it, the Archery?—still there? Mother and Father and I visited there only last year,” Faith said, smiling so broadly that even more of her pink gums showed.

I was amazed, not by her openness but by how I’d managed to change myself in these last few months. Faith saw me as a contemporary, then, a young woman of a similar standing. “Yes,” I fairly beamed, anxious to prove myself further. “The Archery is highly enjoyable; I’ve taken tea there, in the conservatory, a number of times.” The lie came out so easily.

“Celina,” Faith continued, her eyes not leaving me, “Miss Smallpiece is not at all as you described. Not at all.”

“Will you never learn to keep what you’re thinking to yourself, Faith?” Celina demanded, a delicate pink staining her cheeks. She looked down into her full cup.

“Why don’t you go and put some sugar in your tea,” Faith responded. “It must be terribly bitter, judging by your expression.”

Celina tsked in an annoyed way, then moved down the table.

“Don’t mind her,” Faith said. “She’s not hiding it very well.”

“Hiding what?”

Faith leaned closer. “Even though you’re a cousin, Celina doesn’t much like the idea of another woman living with Mr. Smallpiece.”

I frowned, then understood by the way Faith had stressed
another woman
. “Ah. Miss Brunswick is . . . attracted to Shaker?”

Now it was Faith’s turn to frown. “Shaker? That seems a cruel name.”

“Oh. I must explain. It may appear cruel—an old boyhood slur that stuck—but it’s what he insists on being called by those very familiar with him.” I stopped. “And of course, me being family . . . it’s only natural.” I looked through the crowd at Celina, seeing her talking with little enthusiasm to an older woman. “Does Mr. Smallpiece know of her feelings?”

“Of course not,” Faith said. “She knows there could be no hope of anything between them anyway.”

“Why?”

Faith tilted her head. “But surely you must understand the situation. Celina’s father would never approve of Geoffrey Smallpiece.”

My lips pursed in annoyance. “Because of his affliction?”

“Poor man. He’s quite hung on strings, isn’t he? But that’s not the most troublesome fact.” She glanced around. “Of course it’s all too delicate to discuss, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” I said, but I didn’t understand at all.

“Oh, heavens, I can’t keep this mouth of mine quiet, as I’m sure you’ve seen by now. I do go on, don’t I?”

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

She pulled me into a corner. “How coarse of me to discuss financial matters. Please don’t be shocked or disappointed with me. You’re not, are you?”

I realized she was actually waiting for an answer. I could barely keep up with her conversation, jumping from sentence to sentence. “Disappointed? No, I’m not disappointed.”

“Although I’m sure you’ve never met anyone quite so candid.”

Now I just smiled.

“It’s just that”—she looked over her shoulder and seeing Celina still involved in conversation, continued—“Mr. Brunswick is, of course, hoping to make a match for Celina that would benefit the family in all ways. There could be no hope of future advancement for either Celina or her family if she married a man like Mr. Smallpiece. Not only financially but also socially.” She fanned herself with her gloves. I had not removed mine. “Heavens. If my mother were to hear me now I would be confined to my room for a week for speaking so.”

Again I smiled. She really was very refreshing, but I enjoyed her company for more than that. I was still basking in the knowledge that she had assumed I was a young woman of the same standing and was speaking to me as such.

“You must be aware,” she went on, leaning closer, “that your cousin appears to have little interest in taking part in any of the more important social events around Liverpool. Although he’s certainly invited to a number of gatherings—his father was so well respected, after all, and the name Smallpiece is well received. And yet he doesn’t care to take advantage of the standing his father left for him. Certainly you must know what I mean about him.” She raised one eyebrow.

“I suppose I do,” I said.

“I’ve heard he’s very like his father before him, most charitable. Did you know your uncle well? It seemed that he was victim of unfortunate circumstances.”

“Yes, he was,” I agreed again, having no idea what the unfortunate circumstances she spoke of were and praying she wouldn’t discuss it any further. Before I could change the subject Faith continued.

“And of course you have just suffered a loss. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“What was your late father’s profession, Miss Smallpiece?” she asked now.

A second of silence lapsed. “Please, if I’m to call you Faith, would you be comfortable calling me Linny?” I said. I was stalling for time. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to create a professional life for my supposed late father, or that Shaker had never once mentioned what his uncle did. “He . . .” I thought of the businesses and shops we passed on our way to the library, of Seel Street, which I’d walked down only the day before, and the images of Rushworth’s and Draper and Seeger, both piano and organ manufacturers. “He owned his own business. Selling pianos,” I said.

“Oh,” Faith said, opening her reticule. “That reminds me. My mother often has musical evenings. We would love for you to come to the next one. It’s a week from Thursday,” she went on, handing me a calling card. “It must be difficult for you to meet people, spending all day closed up with books and then living way out in Everton, with Mr. Smallpiece obviously not trying to introduce you to society. I can’t understand why he doesn’t bring his mother and move closer to where everything goes on.”