Through a Glass Darkly: A Novel (11 page)

   "I may have broken my leg," Clemmie told them.

   "Her leg," howled Diana, bending over and holding her sides. Barbara stamped her feet and fell back against the chair. The room echoed with their baying laughter.

   Clemmie slowly heaved herself up. She looked at Barbara. She looked at Diana. She sniffed. Their laughter doubled. She shuffled from the room in a dignified waddle.

   Barbara held her sides. They ached. Diana wiped at her eyes. They were both breathing as hard as if they had been running, and every now and again, one or the other would break into fresh laughter. Barbara smiled at her mother. Diana smiled back. For a moment, she looked as if she loved Barbara.

   Barbara stood up and took a step toward her. "Mother—"

   Diana turned away. She sat down at her table and picked up her quill pen. "Leave me be. Tell Clemmie to send for Meres. We have work to do before Roger arrives."

   She sent them all out scurrying to find items carefully noted on ink– stained lists. Doling out coins, she warned them to obtain the best bargains for their money or she would beat them all. Meres must fetch water, buckets of it, and buy sand and potash and scrub brushes and a soup pot and caps and plates and spoons and pewter. Clemmie and Barbara must go to the baker's and order food for the tea they would serve Roger tomorrow. And they must find Turkish carpets, pictures and lace curtains in the secondhand shops. And flowers. Clemmie and Barbara were to wait until the market was closing and then buy as cheaply as possible.

   "Do not pay where you do not have to; insist on a down payment rather than the full amount; and give a false name and address," she told them. It was after dark when they had everything Diana wanted. Barbara was sent to bed, but she heard her mother and Meres and Clemmie in the parlor working for what seemed like a long time. She rubbed milk of roses in her cheeks and said her prayers. Tomorrow. Her life began tomorrow.

   The next morning, she leapt out of bed and ran into the parlor. Clemmie and Diana had been up before her, and they had wrought a miracle. Gone was the threadbare, dirty room. In its place was a warm, cozy, almost charming one. Tables and chairs had been polished with beeswax. Fresh starched white lace curtains hung at the windows and red–orange geraniums and white hyacinths bloomed in pots on the sills. The fire was burning brightly, and soup (bought in the shop last night) bubbled in a soup pot and filled the room with its delicious smell. Turkish carpets, bright blue and green and gold, spread across the tops of the scarred, mismatched tables. Shining pewter peeked out from the cupboard shelves. Pictures hung on the walls. Rugs were scattered on the floor. A table was set for tea. There was even a Christmas wreath over the fireplace.

   "It is almost beautiful," breathed Barbara.

   "I am glad you approve!" Diana snapped.

   Barbara knew that tone. Her mother was running on nerves alone and the least thing would send her into a rage. The lines on each side of her mouth were deep and hard. Though it was hours before Roger would arrive, Diana marched Barbara into her bedchamber for her approval. She was to bathe all over. The water was icy cold, and she gasped like a fish when Clemmie lathered her hair with a mixture of ale and egg and herbs and rinsed it with two buckets of water. By the time they were finished, Barbara's teeth were chattering so hard she thought she might bite her tongue. Clemmie wrapped her in a blanket and set her on a stool in front of the fire. She and Diana began the business of pulling together Barbara's toilette. Barbara shivered and sat as close to the fire as she dared. She felt scraped raw inside and out. Once her hair was dry, they began to dress her. She stepped into a delicate lawn chemise of her mother's and pulled on her own white stockings and tied them about her thighs. Clemmie helped her step into Diana's stays, and Barbara gripped the bedpost while Diana pulled the laces so tight that tears came to Barbara's eyes.

   "I cannot breathe!" she cried out.

   "Be quiet!" hissed Diana, and Barbara, hearing the barely controlled tone of her voice, was silent. Next they tried one of Diana's hoops and a petticoat of quilted white satin. Both were too large, but Clemmie, who had lived with the ups and downs of Diana's life too long not to be versatile, produced needle and thread and went to work. The needle flew like the wind and within an hour, both were tucked to fit. Barbara held up her arms as Clemmie and Diana slipped a gown over her head. It was her own, her best one, of pale blue velvet with elbow sleeves set in foaming lace the color of cream. Her white neck rose out of the gown's front like a delicate flower stem. Diana motioned for Barbara to sit and began to brush her hair. But she jerked the brush so brutally that Barbara cried out, and Clemmie took the brush without a word and began gently to pull her thick hair up into a knot of curls. Diana paced back and forth like a lioness. Barbara bit her lip, all her joy at seeing Roger dissipat ing. If I fail, she will kill me, she thought. If I fail, I will kill myself. She almost smiled at her gallows humor, but the stays were pulled too tight. Clemmie calmly threaded ribbons of pale blue and green and silver and pink into the red–gold topknot of curls on her head. Diana looked her up and down.

   "Go to your room and stay there," she commanded.

   "Keep thy heart with all diligence," Barbara repeated to herself as she obeyed her mother, "for out of it are the issues of life." She said the phrase over and over as a litany against panic. Some calmness returned to her. And confidence. There was no reason Roger should not marry her. He wanted Bentwoodes, and she came with it. That was all. That she should love him was a dividend he would not be expecting. A sweet dividend. She would not let her mother's impatience and bad temper sway her. Roger. She must concentrate on Roger. This was their first meeting in five years, and though it might not mean much to him, her whole future was in it. Calm. Calm yourself. Think of Tamworth, of the woods and gardens. Think of summer and cool, green things. Think of bees humming over red and white rambler roses. Grandmama strolling on the lawn with Anne and Charlotte toddling after her. Yes…yes…calm, peace, serenity—

   A knock sounded at the door. She jumped. Her heart began to beat so loudly that it was all she could hear. Now. She sat on the bed and waited for her mother to summon her. The roaring in her head quieted. Her heart slowed down. Her mother's summons did not come. She waited a few minutes more. I will not go and see what is wrong. I will wait, she told herself sternly. One of her vows to God had been that she would stop eavesdropping if God would make Roger marry her. But perhaps her mother had called and she had been so upset, so excited, she had not heard. She would go into the hall only. No farther. She crept there, skirts lifted. Clemmie sat in a chair. When she saw Barbara, she rolled her eyes and pointed toward the parlor. Barbara crept closer. Clemmie shook her head at her, but she ignored her. Just once more, she thought. Then I will stop. I swear it. She put her ear against the door.

   "I do not like having my hand forced, Diana." It was his voice, Surely it was his voice. Her heart thumped violently. Clemmie pulled at her arm.
Come away
, she mouthed. Barbara snatched her arm back and shook her head.

   "I do not understand you," her mother said.

   "You understand me perfectly. It is all over London that I shall marry your daughter. I do not like to be anticipated."

   "Roger!" her mother said. "You know it was not my doing. I would never be so foolish."

Aunt Abigail's words bubbled up suddenly in Barbara's mind like witch's brew. She could no more have moved from where she was than she could have stopped breathing.

   "I hold you to nothing." Diana's voice continued, calm, but with a note in it that Barbara knew well. She will beat me tonight, she thought. And I do not care. "Someone will marry Barbara for Bentwoodes—though Father would have been so pleased—but that is neither here nor there. If you are no longer interested, I am free to pursue other offers. I am sure you will understand—"

   "Do not play games with me, Diana. There are no other offers. No one yet realizes what Bentwoodes can be. The stink of your scandal clouds their foresight—for God's sake, why are you crying?"

   "If you only knew what I have been through, Roger," her mother said in low, throbbing tones, her voice raw with emotion. "I had such hopes for this marriage. It would help us both, I thought. I could begin anew; put the past behind me; lift my children out of the mire their father has thrown them into. And you, a young wife, children, land…. Oh, well, I shall manage yet. I cannot pay back the money you have lent me, but I shall. I am hiding here from bill collectors and creditors, but you will be the first I pay!"

   "Diana, I did not mean—"

   "No! You have been more than kind! Here, take your handkerchief. What a weak, silly woman I am. You have been a good friend to me, always. I will not forget it. When I make other arrangements for Barbara, I will pay you back, I swear it."

   "Other arrangements?"

   "Abigail has been here. Yes, just the other day. She is displeased beyond words at our proposed alliance. She said she would arrange for a cash settlement in exchange for Bentwoodes and—oh, I really do not know what else. I will go to Abigail and beg her pardon. Yes, I see that is what I must do."

   "Abigail was here?"

   "Out of a sense of duty, she said. She felt you were not—forgive me, Roger, for being so frank, but then, we are such old friends—not good enough to marry into the family. Of course, I told her it was no such thing—"

   "My family is as old as hers! I would match pedigrees any day!"

   "Now, Roger. Do not be angry. I did not mean to upset you. I should never have said anything; I can see that now. Come. Stop pacing like a tiger. Sit down and we will share a glass of wine for old time's sake. Let me have your handkerchief back. Perhaps you might suggest some suitors for Barbara's hand—"

   "I will suggest no such thing! I came here to give you a deserved tongue– lashing for allowing gossip to spread, and end by losing Bentwoodes to Abigail! Abigail! She would turn it into a rabbit warren of narrow streets, shops, and taverns. In five years, it would be a slum."

   "Then you are still considering my offer—"

   "Go and fetch your miserable girl while I still have the wits about me to think!"

   "Of course. Have some wine while I am gone. Remember, for my sake, that Barbara is young and has grown up in the country—"

   "Enough, Diana!"

   "Yes, I will say no more She has been dying to see you. You were always a favorite of hers—"

   Barbara backed away from the door and rushed into her bedchamber. She was sitting on the bed when her mother came in, shut the door carefully, then whirled around.

   "Bloody hands of Jesus, but I need a glass of brandy! Carlyle has done his work well! Roger is as skittish as an old woman!" She clenched her hand into a fist and shook it at the heavens. "If I survive this…."

   Barbara looked at her mother's face. There was nothing there to show that moments before she had been weeping. Everything she had overheard whirled around in her head. "Someday you are going to overhear something that will singe your pretty little ears!" Harry's words were haunting her now. She needed more time, just a few moments more to compose herself. But she found she could not ask her mother for them. She could only sit there staring at her, looking at the Lord above only knew what kind of fool. She lifted her chin.

   "What is the matter with you!" hissed Diana, "He is waiting!" For the first time, she noticed the expression on Barbara's face. Instantly she was at her side, one white hand digging fiercely into her arm. Barbara had to struggle not to cry out.

   "He is waiting." Diana spoke slowly, deliberately, through clenched teeth, her red nails digging deeper into her arm with each word, so that Barbara could almost not hear her over the pain. "And he is uncertain. If you spoil this now with your foolishness, I swear I will beat you until I drop and you die from it!" She gave a final twist to Barbara's arm. Barbara did not cry out, but her face whitened. Satisfied, Diana let go.

   "Bite your lips to redden them," she said contemptuously, walking out the door and not bothering to see if Barbara followed. Barbara rose slowly off the bed and took a ragged breath. Her arm was throbbing. I will not cry, she told herself as she walked out the door. She will not make me cry.

She concentrated on that thought as she entered the parlor and saw Roger Montgeoffry for the first time in five years. He was sipping a glass of wine, but he set it on the windowsill at once and came toward her, smiling.

   She had an immediate impression of overwhelming richness, from the great ruffles of heavy lace cascading down the front of his shirt to the diamonds on his hands, to the soft, cut velvet of his coat. He exuded an aura of wealth, power, and fashion as distinct as the jasmine scent he wore, the black patch at the corner of his smiling mouth, the dark curls of the wig framing his thin, dear, beloved face. Her last memory of him had been his terrible weeping at her grandfather's funeral. He had not seemed so distant, so grand then, only frailly human—like everyone else. She struggled to impose his real features atop the blurred, remembered ones. How was it possible that he was handsomer than she remembered? How could she have forgotten how sweet his smile was? She caught her breath. A rush of love shook her. It was too much emotion, too sudden. Her eyes filled with tears that had been building for days, since they had crossed London Bridge and she had realized her mother's lies. She slowly sank into a curtsy.

   "God save me, Barbara," he said in a voice that was trembling slightly, "but you are the image of your grandfather!"

   His words warmed her, but they also weakened the command she had left, and her mouth, which had begun to answer his smile, went awry. I am going to disgrace myself and cry, she thought wildly. As if he divined what she felt, he turned from her and said to Diana, "She has grown into a lovely young woman. I make you my compliments."