When the servant offered the tray to Mellie, she looked at her little friend. “What kind do you think your sister would enjoy?” The child pointed to two round sugar cookies frosted with thick white icing and smiled when Mellie removed them from the tray. “I’ll ask for a cloth to wrap your biscuit and the cookies.”
“Thank you, miss. You’re very kind.”
“I’m going to speak to one of the maids, and then I must return to cutting silhouettes. It was very nice to visit with you.”
She squeezed the girl’s hand, then crossed the room to where four servants stood ready to clear the plates. Mellie approached the maid she’d spoken with earlier. “I wonder if you could bring me a cloth to wrap some cookies for one of the children?” She hesitated a moment. “And if there is food left over from their dinner, it would be a lovely gesture if Mrs. Stark would permit the children to take it home to their families.”
“Yes, it would, miss. I’ll ask her before the dancing begins.” The maid walked to a nearby cabinet. “I believe there are clean linens in this cupboard that will work for wrapping cookies.” She slid open a drawer, withdrew a white square of cloth, and handed it to Mellie.
“Thank you. I’m going to announce that any children who have finished their dinner and haven’t yet had their silhouette cut should come and join me at the other side of the room.”
The maid nodded. “The rest can play games until Saint Nicholas arrives with their gifts. I’m sure some of them are more than ready for bed. I told the missus she should have this party in the afternoon, but I didn’t win that argument, either.”
After helping the little girl wrap her cookies and biscuit, Mellie returned to her earlier position in the room. Several children had formed a line. She inquired if any of them were related, and when two boys said they were brothers, she asked if they’d like to have a cutting made together. They readily agreed, and she posed them sitting face-to-face while she deftly cut their silhouettes.
She handed the cutting to the boy who appeared to be the older of the two. “I hope your mother will be pleased with it.”
The boy shook his head. “Our ma died last year, but we’ll paste it on the wall over the bed me and Caleb share at the orphanage.” He looked at his younger brother. “Won’t we, Caleb?”
The younger boy nodded and smiled as his brother grasped his hand. “Thank you, miss. It’s a fine likeness of us.”
Mellie swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she watched the twosome walk hand in hand to the other side of the room where they joined the others in a game, their youthful exuberance a contradiction to the life they’d been dealt. She marveled at their ability to show joy in spite of their circumstances. But then wasn’t that what the Bible instructed? She sighed. It appeared so much easier for children to marvel and find joy in the tiniest thing. What was it about losing one’s youth that squelched that joy? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped her niece and nephew were still able to experience joy in the small wonders God presented.
She’d finished cutting the silhouette of the last child when she heard the distant sound of music and one of the servants approached her. “You need to go back up to the sitting room across from the ballroom, miss. The missus says the dancing will soon begin, and she’d like you settled in the room before they head upstairs.” The maid arched her brows. “You’re her big surprise, and she wants to keep you hidden until she’s ready to make the announcement.”
Mellie attempted to withhold a chuckle. Never before had she been a big surprise for anyone or at any event. She hoped Mrs. Stark’s guests wouldn’t be sorely disappointed.
At their places at the beautifully appointed dining table, Morgan leaned toward Isabelle. “Tell me a little about this fellow who’s captured your heart.”
Isabelle swallowed a spoonful of terrapin soup before regaling him with all the fine qualities of the young man she hoped to marry. If he possessed only a few of the qualities Isabelle expressed, Morgan was certain the man would prove an excellent husband for her. His lack of money and social standing would likely be the biggest stumbling blocks in the couple’s path to the altar—a fact, he noted, that remained at the forefront of Isabelle’s concerns.
“He sounds like a good man, and if given a chance, I’m certain your parents will overlook his lack of financial means.” He glanced toward his father. “My father was in much the same position when he asked for my mother’s hand. Somehow he convinced my grandfather that he could provide for my mother, and he’s proven to be quite a capable husband. However, there have been times when my mother has used her position and family money to manipulate my father and force her decisions upon him.” He leaned back when the maid approached to remove his soup bowl. Once the servant stepped away, he offered a broad smile. “However, I’m confident you would avoid that practice if you married someone of lesser financial means.”
“Absolutely. I don’t think money and social standing should be used to influence and manipulate. Unfortunately, you and I may be the only two at this table who feel that way.” Isabelle picked up her fork and knife and cut a piece of mutton. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your young lady. I’m sure she’s quite pretty. Am I right?”
“She is a beautiful woman, but it’s her inner beauty and strength I admire the most. She’s educated and, at one time in her life, enjoyed a somewhat privileged life. But then tragedy struck her family, and she was forced to leave her home. She’s now working in the mills.”
Isabelle’s gasp caused his mother to look their way. Mrs. Stark frowned at Morgan before turning her attention to Isabelle. “Is there a problem with your dinner, or has my son forgotten his manners and offended you?”
Isabelle shook her head. “No, the dinner is delicious, and Morgan is excellent company. I was merely surprised to hear news of a mutual friend.”
His mother’s frown slowly disappeared. She turned to another guest, but Morgan stared at her for a moment, disappointed that his mother would think he’d somehow offended a woman in his company. Or perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. After observing his mother’s recent behavior, it was clear he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did, and she didn’t know him that well, either.
After a dessert of French cream cakes, assorted fruit, and coffee, Morgan’s mother directed the guests to the winding staircase. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll adjourn to the ballroom for dancing, and I’ll announce my special surprise.”
Once the doors to the ballroom opened, guests entered a winter wonderland. Morgan was taken aback by the extravagance of the décor. Candlelight glistened on strings of clear beads suspended from the ceiling. Round tables and chairs that surrounded the dance floor had been covered in white, and a sleigh filled with packages sat on a large white cloth in a far corner. There was a white stage for the musicians, but at least his mother hadn’t ruined the wood floors in the ballroom with white paint.
When everyone had entered the room, his mother stepped onto the stage with the musicians. There was no doubt she enjoyed being the center of attention. “My surprise this year will be a special portrait for each of you.” She beamed at them. “I will escort you to a room across the hall where you’ll sit for your picture. You may pose as a couple or as individuals, but once you return to the ballroom, please don’t reveal anything about your experience. At the end of the evening, your portrait will be ready for you to take home.” There was a round of applause after the announcement, and then the room began humming with murmurs.
Like Morgan, the guests seemed somewhat perplexed as to the need for secrecy after their photographs were taken. Was his mother having the guests dress in some special attire? He frowned. Was Mr. Harrison the photographer? If so, Mellie hadn’t mentioned he’d be at the party. Then again they hadn’t discussed much of anything of importance over the past week. He’d been far too consumed with his attempts to discover who had copied the loom drawings. However, unless some itinerant photographer had come into town, Mr. Harrison must be across
the hall.
His mother clapped her hands to regain the attention of her guests. “I have prepared a list, and I’ll tap you on the shoulder when it’s time for you to step across the hall with me. I know all of you will be good sports and participate.” She gestured to Morgan’s father and grandfather, then added, “Even you two.”
Most of the guests, including Morgan and Isabelle, turned to look at the two men. Isabelle leaned toward Morgan. “Your grandfather doesn’t look particularly happy about having his picture made.”
Morgan hiked a shoulder. “I don’t think it’s the idea of his picture as much as the fact that he doesn’t like to be the center of attention. Mother always manages to somehow embarrass him on his rare visits.” He grinned. “Come to think of it, maybe that’s why he doesn’t visit very often.”
His mother signaled the musicians to begin, and soon the guests took to the dance floor. Thankfully, his mother hadn’t insisted upon the formality of dance cards, probably because she’d paired off all the singles beforehand, just as she had with Isabelle and him.
Talking with Isabelle had made one thing clear: He needed to share his life with Mellie and introduce her to his parents. Wouldn’t his mother be disappointed to learn she could not orchestrate his life as though it were one of her galas to plan?
Mellie looked up as Mrs. Stark escorted her first guests into the room, a middle-aged couple dressed in their lavish finery. They reminded Mellie of her sister, Margaret, and Richard. She’d often seen them in their grand attire, going out for an evening of dining and dancing with members of Concord society. Those times now seemed so long ago, almost otherworldly. And while Mellie didn’t miss the fancy clothes or fine food, she did miss teaching and being surrounded by students who were eager to learn. Her time with the children earlier had reinforced how much she had enjoyed her time as a tutor.
Mrs. Stark took pleasure in telling the couple that Mellie was accomplished in the art of Scherenschnitte, and they would receive a personal paper cutting of their profiles.
The woman clapped her gloved hands together. “Oh, how enchanting, Ruth! You always find an original way to entertain and delight your guests.”
Mrs. Stark reveled in the praise as she led the couple to the seating area facing Mellie. “You’ll find Miss Blanchard a true professional.”
Mellie wondered if Mrs. Stark would have introduced her as a “true professional” if she had known that Mellie operated three looms at the mill each day.
She sighed, picked up her scissors, and smiled at the couple. “I’m going to do a paper cutting of your profiles.” She offered several different poses they could choose for their silhouette. Once they were in position, she picked up a piece of paper, looked at the couple, and began to cut a profile of the pair. When she had finished, she offered the likeness to the woman.
“If it meets with your approval, Mrs. Stark has asked that you place it on the table before you leave the room.”
The woman studied the silhouette, then looked at her husband and beamed. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
He nodded and returned her smile. “Perfect. Just like you, my dear.”
The woman placed the cutting on the table before turning toward Mellie. “I do wish I could take it with me right now. You promise I’ll receive it before we depart?”
“Yes.” Mellie bobbed her head. “Besides, you wouldn’t want it in the other room, where it could become ripped or creased while you are dancing.”
“And it keeps Ruth’s guests in suspense about the impending surprise throughout the evening,” her husband replied. “Ruth does know how to host an exciting gala.”
One by one, the couples and singles stepped into the room, listened to Mrs. Stark give her short speech, and had their profiles cut. All of them expressed delight with the finished product, as well as with Mrs. Stark’s ability to surprise them.
Mellie’s fingers began to ache. After cutting silhouettes of the children and now cutting the numerous adult profiles, she desperately longed to rest her hand. Mrs. Stark had given no thought to the fact that she might need a short break in which to rest her fingers throughout the evening. The only breaks she’d had were the brief periods when Mrs. Stark walked across the hall and then returned with another guest or two.
Each time Mrs. Stark appeared with more attendees, Mellie thought it might be the last of the evening. She’d cut the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Stark as well as Mrs. Stark’s father while the guests enjoyed refreshments and the musicians a short respite. Unfortunately, Mrs. Stark hadn’t shared, and Mellie hadn’t asked, how many guests were in attendance, but she truly hoped she was nearing the end of the list.
As though reading Mellie’s thoughts, the older woman approached and tapped a finger on her list. “You’ll be pleased to know there is only one more couple on my list. However, I would like their silhouettes to be particularly elegant. Rather than merely their faces, I’d like the silhouette to be full length, facing each other and perhaps clasping hands.” She hesitated a moment. “Could you possibly frame them in a lovely archway of some sort?” She offered a slight smile. “Or is that too much to ask? I would, of course, pay you extra for this cutting.”
“Yes, I can do that.” Mellie didn’t need a pattern to cut a lovely arch around a couple, though it wouldn’t be as pretty as many she’d done in the past. The cramping in her fingers wouldn’t permit the addition of dainty, thin vines or an edge of flowers around the arch, yet she’d make it as intricate as her aching hand would permit.
“I wouldn’t ask, but it’s my son and the young lady I’m hopeful he’ll marry. I’ll just go and get them.”
Once Mrs. Stark left the room, Mellie flexed her fingers and arched her back. It would be good to stretch her legs too, but she didn’t want to be parading across the room when Mrs. Stark returned with the remaining couple.
Moments later, the door opened. Mrs. Stark entered and immediately stepped to one side. The young woman and her escort were speaking in French when they entered the room. Mrs. Stark looked at Mellie and gestured to the man. “Miss Blanchard, this is my son, Morgan Stark, and his dear friend, Miss Isabelle Armstrong.”
The scissors dropped from Mellie’s hand and spiked into the Aubusson carpet as the room swirled in front of her like a child’s spinning top. She stared into the clear blue eyes of the man dressed in formal apparel. Those perfectly blue eyes, the perfectly fitted attire, the perfectly spoken French—it all came back to Mellie in a startling flash. Morgan Stark was the man who had approached her on the train platform when she’d first arrived in Manchester. He was the kind young man who had returned her copy of La Petite Fadette. How many times had she unsuccessfully attempted to recall where she’d seen those eyes? Had he remembered her and been careful to avoid speaking of their meeting?
The stays in her corset pressed against her ribs, and the room suddenly became far too warm. She could barely breathe. Time stopped. Disbelief overwhelmed her. How could Morgan Stark and her William Morgan be one and the same? And yet they were. How had he so easily managed two separate lives for so long? How had he so easily deceived her while he loved another? How could he be so willing to shatter their trust—to shatter her love?
Chapter
twenty-five
PERSPIRATION TRICKLED DOWN MORGAN’S NECK AS HE struggled to take in the scene before him. His eyes settled on the tiny scissors that remained stuck in the carpet. Without thinking, he leaned down, picked them up, and attempted to hand them to Mellie. When she didn’t extend her hand, he looked away and placed the scissors on the table at her side. Slowly, he turned to his mother and forced as much of a smile as the grim situation would allow. “Why don’t you return to your guests now? The three of us will be fine without your supervision.”
The older woman looked at Mellie. “Do remember my instructions, Miss Blanchard.” That said, she waved her lace handkerchief in the air and strode from the room.
The instant the door closed behind her, Morgan knelt i
n front of Mellie. “Please. Let me explain.”
She leaned back in the chair as if she hoped to disappear into its plush cushion. “I think everything is quite clear, Morgan. It is Morgan, isn’t it?” She didn’t look at him. Instead, she retrieved the scissors from the small table. “Please stand over there, facing your young lady so that I’m able to cut your profiles.”
Instead of standing, he gestured to Isabelle. “Isabelle, this is Mellie, the woman I told you about during dinner.”
Isabelle drew near, her eyes shadowed with concern. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mellie. Please don’t listen to anything Morgan’s mother may have told you about the two of us. I am in love with another young man whom I hope to marry, and Morgan tells me he feels the same about you. However, our parents have put their heads together and think they’re going to make a match between us. It isn’t true, of course. Neither of us will agree to it. I hope you can set aside any anger or mistrust that’s been caused by this ill-fated meeting.”
Morgan nodded. “Every word she has said is true, Mellie. The two of us were friends when we were children. We haven’t seen each other in years, and while I admire Isabelle, I’ve never had any intention of marrying her or anyone else other than you.”
The entire time he spoke, Mellie had kept her gaze fixed upon Isabelle. “I do believe you, Miss Armstrong, and I thank you for your willingness to share the truth with me.”
Isabelle beamed. “Then all is right between you and Morgan?”
Mellie slowly shook her head. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t. You see, I thought the man kneeling before me was William Morgan, a mechanic working for the Stark Mills who lived in a boardinghouse and had grown up without all of this.” She gestured around the room, then toward the gilded ceiling that danced above a candlelit crystal chandelier. She finally looked at Morgan. “And the lottery.” She inhaled a long breath. “You renounced it as strongly as I did, yet it was your own mother who introduced and took charge of the idea. How could you? Were you laughing behind my back while I refused to sell tickets?” She shook her head. “Don’t bother to answer. Thus far you’ve been able to fool me quite brilliantly, and I can’t stomach another lie.”
A Perfect Silhouette Page 23