by L C Kincaide
Brunch was served in the elegant dining room, a buffet of a variety of meats, eggs, salads and cheeses, breads and pastries. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but made sure to put some food on her plate, so as not to call attention to herself, particularly where Elinor was concerned.
Not everyone was down yet, including Emma. The older generation was once again assembled near the head of the table, the Ruskins and Sir Theo flanked Elinor. The younger men were already out and about somewhere. Elinor explained to those present that her daughter was feeling under the weather and would come down for the game later on. If anyone had opinions on the matter, they didn’t voice them.
Carrie sat beside Ivy, with Grace opposite her picking at bits of lettuce and a cherry tomato.
“These dresses are tight.” Carrie rubbed her stomach. “It’s no secret how women kept their weight down back then, is it?”
Ivy shook her head. “I’m glad we don’t have to wear a corset.”
Grace set down her fork. “Maybe I should see about one of those when I get home. If it wasn’t for the ciggies, I’d be a cow.”
“Grace is not allowed to eat.” Carrie added confidentially.
Grace responded with a mirthless laugh. “Oh, but I am, I just wouldn’t work, that’s all. Or I can do what the others do, eat and chuck it up later.”
They grimaced at this revelation.
“I practice at the piano so much that I often forget to eat.” Carrie volunteered.
“The sacrifices one must make when one has a true talent. It won’t be long before our Carrie plays Carnegie Hall or even Albert Hall if she makes it across the pond.” Grace said running a finger under her wig.
“Oh, my goodness! The prospect of that terrifies me.” Carrie giggled. “But it would be an amazing experience.”
“Carrie will play for us tonight at the party.” Grace tugged at the hairpiece and dropped her napkin over the remnants on her plate. “Another annual tradition.” She added with a trace of ennui.
Carrie lowered her eyes.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Ivy said with enthusiasm.
“I hope Emma will be up for it.” Grace continued. “Most peculiar what happened last night.” She looked at Ivy, as if she was privy to information they were not, which she naturally was, and they all knew it.
Carrie’s eyes swivelled in her direction and Ivy squirmed uncomfortably. She didn’t like them discussing Emma behind her back, and she would not talk about the argument she had overheard with Elinor just before she came undone. Something happened, and even if she understood what that was, she wasn’t about to share it with anyone. She hoped Emma will enlighten her at some point about their nearly disastrous adventure. In the meantime, all she could do was bide her time and try to enjoy what she had left of her stay here. She made busy by picking at a fragment of cheese on her plate, thankful for the murmur of voices around the table that filled in what was becoming an awkward moment.
A distant chime from the central hall stilled the conversation in the room, and an accompanying chime, this one in the dining room cut through the conversations like an axe. Elinor gasped out loud and dropped her fork in her plate with a clatter. All heads turned toward the clock that was now chiming off the noon hour. In the central hall, the grandfather clock sonorously called the hour as well. No one spoke until the vibration of the last chime faded.
The elder generation met each other’s eyes, a message of some sort having been exchanged. Only Carrie and Grace seemed to have missed the significance of this event and merely gave their parents curious glances. The room remained hushed for a long while, except for the steady tick-tock of the wall clock timing off the seconds. It seemed loud and intrusive after its previous silence.
Well, that was certainly strange, Ivy thought to herself. What were the odds of both clocks starting up at the same time? Maybe Emma was right about the peculiar things happening in the house. This definitely qualified as such.
Trying to appear as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, they resumed their chatter, but it lacked the ease and spontaneity of earlier. It seemed to her, the air was charged with a new energy she could not name, leaving her anxious, and she was glad when brunch was over and everyone retired upstairs to change clothes.
The last one out of the room, Ivy went to the grandfather clock. In the vast emptiness of the central hall, the ticking was loud and somehow resolute. It seemed to her as if it was ticking down to something. She shook her head at the absurdity of the notion. Yes, all the clocks in the house are synchronized and are timing down to — what? The old manor inspired all sorts of fanciful ideas. Was that what happened to Emma and her mother last night? Had they succumbed to their own imaginations? She recalled Emma telling her about elderly Margaret Everdon holed up in her boudoir and trapped in her madness. Well, some old lady wasn’t keeping to her room last night, was she? Who knew how many people stayed under this roof that Elinor hadn’t mentioned? It must be sheer luck she hadn’t busted in on any of them during her nightly haunts!
The clock ticked on, its steady rhythm soothing. She stepped away from it and glanced around her. A cloud passed over the skylight, and a long, dusky sweep of shadow washed across the space, casting the hall, for a moment, in dim softness before the rectangle of sunlight reappeared on the floor, dazzling in its reflected brightness.
She paused beneath it and gazed upon the vivid blue sky. Fleecy clouds drifted lazily by as she watched through the eye of the house. Yes, she thought, startling herself with the analogy. The enormous sheets of glass were an eye to see beyond what was earthbound. How this house inspired the imagination!
The clatter of dishes brought Ivy out of her reverie; Clyfford and Saynsbery were busy clearing the dining room. Perhaps it was better to start moving before she found herself too caught up in her fantasies.
Back in her room, Ivy turned her attention to the dress Styles had laid out; white with layers of fine cotton, delicate lace ruffling around the neckline and elbow-length puffy sleeves. A wide-brimmed sunhat made of straw with a large satin bow and pretty white flowers that ringed the band rested on the bed. The outfit was flowing and feminine, and for a wistful moment, Ivy longed for a time when this style was the norm, however impractical. Naturally, only the upper classes enjoyed fashionable clothes and the opportunities for wearing them. Who can say, had she lived at the turn of that century, if she would have worn this pretty dress and not one fashioned from calico, a plain felt hat, and black lace boots?
The men too were handsomely attired in evening suits the previous night. Formal dress imparted everyone, men and women alike an elegance rarely found in this day and age. Perhaps that is what she longed for, attention to detail and the civilities of everyday life. She was being hopelessly impractical and full of nostalgia today. If she wasn’t careful, she would slip backward in history on her last day. Ironically, that had been the point of coming here, to be lost in another era. Now, she wondered what was really happening, as she prepared for the afternoon of games. While she looked forward to taking part in the festivities, she reminded herself she was not going to become involved in any emotional drama, not where Elinor was concerned, and not in the way Emma had described regarding the dashing Robert. She almost laughed aloud when she recalled Mason and her own musings about him. Perhaps, it was better to not make hasty judgements. Whatever transpired on this beautiful and sunny afternoon, she was determined to put aside the fiasco the previous night had turned out to be. It was only for a few more hours. How hard could that be?
All the participants now changed into sporting whites assembled outside for the annual croquet tournament. A short distance away, a large white tent was erected on the front lawn, complete with linen-covered tables and comfortable wicker chairs in the shade. Cold drinks chilling in ice buckets, and rows of glasses arranged in military precision awaited the players on a long
table.
As in previous years, the day had dawned in perfect Indian summer weather, one of the last days where they could bask in the warmth of the sun in short sleeves. The breeze, fragrant with grass and drying leaves, stirred the ruffles on the ladies’ dresses, and ribbons on their sun-hats.
Emma finally ventured down from her room, putting forth great effort to act as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had taken place only hours earlier. Puffy eyes, however, testified to an eventful night.
“How’s your head?”
“Ugh! Can you believe it? I can’t even wear shades. I’m sure people wore sunglasses back then.” Emma grunted in response from beneath a large straw hat festooned with hydrangea blossoms.
“They did, and they were ugly. You wouldn’t have worn them, anyway.”
Emma winced. “You’re probably right.”
“Keep you head down and you’ll be okay.”
Emma pulled the hat farther down on her forehead. ”I got a little out of control last night, didn’t I?”
“Just a bit.” Ivy watched her concerned and kept her voice down.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” She said keeping her reply to a whisper.
“What? Bringing me here for the weekend? I wanted to come. You didn’t drag me here.”
“I could have killed you the way I was going. God! What the hell was I thinking?”
“It’s over. Nobody got hurt. Not even the car.”
Emma’s chuckle was without humor. “Weird, wasn’t it? The engine just cutting out like that? You’d think something was trying to stop us from leaving.”
“It will do that in heavy rain.” Ivy said in response not knowing if that was true or not, but it sounded reassuring. The weekend was getting to Emma. How many years had she been doing this? And how many more were there ahead? She wasn’t even going to mention the clocks until she discovered that on her own if it held any significance to her. She supposed Elinor would at some point make sure it did.
Ivy put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Look, it’s a gorgeous day, the sun is shining, the grass is dry so we won’t get our feet wet, and we’re out here with nothing better to do than hit these painted wooden balls with an oversized meat tenderizer.”
Emma laughed out loud. “You’re right. I don’t have to be morbid until well after sundown!”
“That’s the spirit!”
“You don’t suppose Robert knows about last night’s escapade?” She asked suddenly anxious.
“How could he? He was sound asleep by then.” She saw no need to bring up Grace’s remarks.
“Thank God for that!”
“We’ll pretend nothing happened.”
At last, Emma was being more like herself again, and she glanced around the lawn getting a fix on Robert’s position, and adjusted her hat.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Laughter and cheers rose in the air as players engaged in the game. How deliciously warm the sun was on their backs as they hit the balls with their mallets. Ivy took her turn and her ball rolled beside the gate.
“Ah, I’m up!” Emma strode to her target, wiggled in Robert’s direction, lined up a shot and gave it a smart whack. It smacked into Ivy’s ball, and they watched it roll away.
“Sorry, Ivy.” She shouted, beaming.
Ivy shrugged, “That’s the way the ball rolls…” and finding herself out of the game wandered to a shady spot where she spotted Lucy observing the players from a distance. Watching her standing there on her own in a lacy pastel dress and sunhat with a long flowing ribbon, Ivy again remembered the doll. How she had longed for it in the shop’s window. It was a birthday present from her Gran, and she smiled to herself at the memory. She stopped at Lucy’s side, and the two of them observed the players from the refreshments tent.
From this vantage point, the scene was nearly identical to those captured on film so many years ago. Attired as they were, the women in flowing gored skirts and puffy, short sleeved blouses, the men in crisp whites, their shirt sleeves rolled up, straw boaters on their heads, it would have been hard to tell what century they were in, but the photograph taken now would be of much better quality. In fact, Godfrey Ruskin having also found himself out of the game was taking pictures with his camera, for posterity, she supposed, and another album.
Her memory strayed to a page in the album to a group picture. She had been about to take a closer look when Lucy decided to go out and had closed it. She remembered something about it that caught her attention, and she was determined to return at some point and have another look. Actually, she wanted to page through the entire album. For some reason, it fascinated her, the history of the family, of the house, both having suffered their joys and tragedies. Ivy had no such record of her own family, no faded sepia photographs of her ancestors, only a smattering of childhood snaps with her mother and grandparents. At least she had that much.
“Do you not find it odd?” Lucy spoke at last, regarding the scene.
Ivy turned toward her. “The game?”
Lucy grinned to herself and turned her narrowed brown eyes to Ivy, their expression softening immediately. “I forgot for the moment you don’t take part in this year after year.” She laughed and squeezed her hand. ”You see, I have already become so accustomed to you being part of our family.” Ivy too felt comfortable with Lucy and discovered she would miss her cheerful company after tomorrow.
A mallet hit a ball with a resounding thunk, followed by loud cheers and laughter.
“Have you had a chance to meet the others yet?” She continued.
“Actually, I haven’t.” Ivy said surprised they haven’t come downstairs. Should she mention the incident with Victoria? Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to go into that. Not to mention what happened afterward with the old lady!
“Ah, speak of one devil!” Lucy tipped her hat in the direction of the players who were engrossed in the game and hadn’t noticed Victoria stroll by in a flurry of frothing lace. She glided toward them and bestowed Lucy with a tight smile and raised an eyebrow at Ivy.
“This is my dear friend, Ivy Wylmot.” She announced then turned to Ivy. “Ivy, this is Victoria Ruskin Seabrooke.”
The violet eyes roved over Ivy. “We haven’t had a chance to become acquainted earlier.” She said evenly choosing to dismiss last night’s encounter.
Neither seemed willing to shake hands.
“Victoria is an old friend of the family.” Lucy continued, putting an emphasis on “old”, making the nearly ten-year gap between them obvious. There was no love lost on either side.
Victoria’s eyes remained fixed on Ivy. “And how did you two meet?”
“We were in the same outfit during the War.” Lucy quipped straight-faced.
Ivy held back a chortle. Victoria’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed in Lucy’s direction. “You have a singular sense of humor, Lucy.”
Lucy shrugged and smiled sweetly. “I do my best.”
Ivy was doing her best to ignore Victoria and her frigid stare.
“There is a chill here in the shade. Come, Ivy. The sun is much more agreeable.”
Ivy prepared to follow Lucy when a male voice spoke up from behind them.
“I hope you are not leaving on my account?”
“George!” Lucy greeted him with a welcoming smile. “Mason stole you away before we had a chance to become reacquainted!” She hugged the handsome man, so like his brother Robert, then hooked her arm through his and turned to Ivy. “Ivy, may I present my dear cousin, George Langstone. George, this my dear friend, Ivy Wylmot.”
George bowed over Ivy’s hand. “My pleasure, entirely, Miss Wylmot.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Langstone.”
“Call me George, please! We shall have none
of that formality here!”
“He is absolutely right!” Lucy agreed. “We are all on intimate terms, are we not, Mason?”
“I am not one to argue the point.” Mason replied, his eyes meeting Ivy’s.
Ivy’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice so near and glanced away before she was betrayed by a blush.
Victoria didn’t miss the silent exchange, and from the corner of her eye, Ivy noticed the woman’s posture stiffen.
“So you two know each other?” Victoria’s eyes scanned Mason, searching for the degree of intimacy Lucy hinted at.
“Ivy’s been here since Friday.” Lucy informed her. “She has been having a lovely time becoming well-acquainted with everyone. Isn’t that right, Mason?”
He bestowed Lucy an indulgent smile, but cast her a warning glance just the same.
“Then I feel rather left out.” George said, oblivious of the undercurrents, his eyes twinkling with humor. Like Mason, his hair was dark, with a wave but his demeanor was a happy one. “As you may have noticed, I’m an Englishman from London. From what part of this lovely country do you hail from, Miss Ivy?”
“I’m from Boston, have lived there most of my life. But my grandparents are originally from York.”
“York! England?” Victoria exclaimed in a voice more shrill than perhaps even she intended. “How charming!” Her hands clapped together, her expression one of delight, but the tone of veiled hostility was hard to miss.
“Indeed it is!” Mason stepped forward, closer to Ivy’s side.
“Isn’t that the city famous for chocolate?” Lucy asked?
“It most certainly is!” George said brightly.
“And let us not forget, the birthplace of Guy Fawkes.” Mason added.
“Indeed, old chap! Guy Fawkes Day is not three weeks away. Would it be too early to celebrate?”