Emmeline

by Jennifer Moore

  “And what should they have done instead?” Joanna said, looking irritated. “Perhaps Arthur should have stood in the rain outside the gazebo? Or they should have walked through the downpour back to the house, catching their deaths of cold just to maintain propriety?”

  Emmeline did not mention that she knew for a fact that Miss Stewart had spent the storm inside a toolshed with Mr. Rothschild.

  Miss Stewart sniffed and turned in her seat, intent on watching the hedgerow.

  Joanna patted Emmeline’s arm. “Whatever happened between the two of you, I am glad for it. I’ve not seen my cousin so happy for years.”

  Miss Stewart turned back. “Harriet, your gown is the perfect shade of lavender today.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet looked a bit confused at the abrupt change of topic.

  “The color reminds me of a ribbon I wore to Almack’s,” Miss Stewart went on. “What a lovely Season, wasn’t it, ladies?”

  Joanna and Harriet agreed, still looking as if they weren’t certain why Miss Stewart was choosing to bring up the topic.

  Miss Stewart sighed. “Do you recall the opening night at the Theater Royal? Such a splendid performance.” She put her hand on her heart. “And wasn’t it a scandal when Lord Brinton’s daughter, Mary, absconded with Mr. Thomas Yardley to Gretna Green?” She glanced at Emmeline and drew back, her fingers in front of her mouth. “Oh my. I apologize, Miss Newton. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “I am not offended,” Emmeline said. She felt a prickle of apprehension. “Why would I be?”

  “Well, I just meant that we are reminiscing about the Season’s events, and I realized that you didn’t attend any of these, because . . . well, you know . . .” Miss Stewart shook her head, her eyes wide as if in pity, but there was no compassion in the expression.

  “Because I am poor?” Emmeline spoke the word frankly, feeling there was no reason to circumvent it now that Miss Stewart had so rudely brought it up.

  Both Harriet and Joanna shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  “Yes, it is a tragedy,” Emmeline continued. “It sounds like you all had a marvelous time, and I should be extremely envious.”

  “I am so sorry,” Miss Stewart said. “How thoughtless of me to mention it.”

  “You act as if I should be ashamed, Miss Stewart,” Emmeline said, feeling her defenses rise, as well as her confidence. She would not be intimidated by a woman who resorted to such rude tactics. “I am not. My circumstance, you see, is not of my own making. As a woman, I cannot control my mother’s jointure settlement, the running of my father’s estate, or the resulting allowance it provides for my living.” She sat tall and looked the other woman in the eye. “I can, however, control my attitude, my words, and how I treat people. In spite of my circumstance, I do not resort to belittling others or acting in a spiteful—”

  “Oh, we are nearly there,” Harriet cut in. “You can see the cathedral. And beside it is the castle.”

  Emmeline was glad for a reason to pull her gaze away from Miss Stewart’s. She would not let it show, but the woman had tapped directly into her biggest insecurity. Emmeline was fully aware that her circumstances were greatly below the other women’s, but to be reminded in so malicious a manner—She clenched her hands together so nobody would see them shaking.

  Joanna and Harriet pointed out various features of the cathedral and the city, keeping a running dialog, most likely to prevent Miss Stewart and Emmeline from continuing their conversation.

  The cathedral was stunning. Built in the gothic style, with spires, flying buttresses, and enormous windows divided into smaller sections and filled with colorful stained-glass scenes, it dominated the city.

  The carriage drove past, crossed the river, and continued toward the crumbling walls of a castle ruin. In spite of Miss Stewart’s words casting a pall over her mood, Emmeline’s breath still caught at the sight. She knew from her reading that the castle was begun in 970 by the Anglo-Saxons and was added onto over the next centuries. The idea of a structure so ancient was humbling, to say the least, and she felt there was something reverent about the old walls. Apparently, she was not completely unaffected by her mother’s inclination toward spiritualism.

  When the ladies alighted, the gentlemen met them. Mr. Griffin and his wife led the way to where a picnic had been laid out on the castle lawn.

  Lord Mather caught Emmeline’s glance. He tipped his head in a question, his brows pulling together as if he were worried.

  Emmeline gave a cheerful smile to hopefully alleviate any impression that she was troubled and determined that she would not allow Miss Stewart’s rudeness to ruin her enjoyment of the day.

  She sat on a blanket as far away from Miss Stewart and her parasol as possible. Joanna and Harriet sat beside her. The others spread around on the blankets, stretching out their legs and making themselves comfortable.

  A footman set a plate of food in front of the ladies.

  As they ate, Mr. Griffin told the group about the castle’s history. Though Emmeline had read about it in the book he’d loaned her, she was still fascinated by the tales of King Stephen, his wife, Mathilda, and the Bishop of Windsor’s help in their quest for the throne. She tried to imagine the battles fought on this very ground and, especially, the women’s roles in leading the armies and negotiating for prisoners.

  Mr. Griffin launched into a lengthy explanation of how the defenders of the castle burned all the nearby houses with fireballs to prevent the enemy from taking cover.

  “I must apologize for Miss Stewart,” Harriet said in a quiet voice as her husband talked. “There is simply no justification for her rudeness.”

  “She did not say anything that was untrue,” Emmeline whispered back. “Sometimes the truth is just difficult to hear.”

  Joanna squeezed Emmeline’s hand. “We are so happy you are here with us, Emmeline,” she said.

  Emmeline smiled as the warmth of the ladies’ friendship chased away the coolness the other woman’s comments had left.

  “Miss Newton?”

  At the sound of his voice, Emmeline looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun.

  Lord Mather stepped to the side to give her shade. He held out his hand. “If you’re willing, miss, would you join me for a stroll around the castle?”

  “Certainly,” Emmeline said, trying to make her voice sound casual and avoiding eye contact with any of the ladies. Her neck burned, knowing they would have more reason for speculation. She took his hand, and he helped her rise.

  Lord Mather offered his arm, and the pair started away, stepping through the arched entrance to the inner courtyard. The wall had fallen in some places, but it stood tall in others, with arched spaces showing where windows had once been. Emmeline imagine Queen Mathilda watching through one of the windows as the Angevin armies drew near.

  “You looked upset when you stepped out of the carriage earlier, miss,” Lord Mather said. “Your face was quite pale. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Perfectly so.” She gave a smile that she hoped looked convincing and pointed through a crumbled section of the castle. “The cathedral is magnificent, isn’t it? Have you been here before?”

  He continued to study her, looking as though he weren’t entirely ready to leave the topic, but finally, he nodded. “Yes.” He glanced toward the crumbled wall. “My mother loved the cathedral. She and my father were married there, and she insisted we come for Christmas service every year.” He sighed, a distant look in his eyes. “I was always frustrated at the journey when I just wanted to get home and tuck into the Christmas feast.”

  “How far did you have to travel?” she asked.

  “My estate is about the same distance as Griffin Park.” He pointed with his chin. “In that direction.”

  “It must have been torture for a young boy to travel so far when there was a pudding and roast goose wait
ing at home.” She smiled, imagining him watching out the carriage window on Christmas Day.

  “You cannot imagine the suffering,” he said, shaking his head in pretend sorrow.

  They continued around the edge of the courtyard, stopping to peer into spaces that at one time must have been rooms or passageways leading to other parts of the structure. Coming to an opening, they exited through a different section and turned to follow the outer wall. Ahead were the ruins of a separate structure. The roof was missing, and only part of the walls remained.

  “I believe this is the kitchen building,” Lord Mather said.

  Emmeline studied the crumbled walls. “How can you tell?”

  “The walls are thin,” he said. “Not a place that was meant to be defended in an attack.” He motioned toward a flat area against one wall, set down lower than the rest of the floor and a corresponding spot on the opposite side. “And here are the remains of the large cooking hearths.”

  “Oh, I see. How fascinating.” Emmeline tried to imagine the room as it had been, with pots and tables and meat turning on a spit over the fire.

  “You read Griff’s book, did you not?” Lord Mather asked.

  “Yes, but seeing a thing, it’s so different from reading about it.”

  He nodded, looking toward the cathedral. “I wish we had time to tour the cathedral. The columns and stained-glass are spectacular. But Griff said we need to leave by three?” He checked his pocket watch.

  “My mother is coming this evening,” Emmeline said. “I wanted to be there when she arrives.”

  He nodded. “Of course you do. And I will be pleased to meet the baroness at last.”

  Emmeline took his arm, and they continued their slow stroll. “My mother is a bit . . . unconventional.” She said the word carefully, not certain exactly how much he knew about her claims of supernatural abilities.

  “Your mother?” He drew back, an expression of shock on his face. “Impossible.”

  Emmeline smiled at his teasing.

  “She could hardly be more so than her daughter,” Lord Mather said, taking her arm again and continuing at their leisurely pace.

  “Unconventional in a different way,” Emmeline said.

  “Ah, yes, I hear we are to have a séance tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” She winced, imagining how he would react to her mother’s performance. Would it affect his opinion of her? Her cheeks went hot.

  “And the day after is the duke’s ball,” Lord Mather continued.

  “Yes.” She was relieved that he didn’t dwell on the paranormal aspect.

  “If I remember correctly, Rothschild has claimed your hand for the first dance,” he said. “I hope you did not promise him the waltz as well.”

  Emmeline’s heart beat faster. “I did not.”

  He stopped and turned toward her, his eyes capturing hers. “Would you reserve it for me?”

  The castle wall turned slightly, creating a niche where they stood. Greenery pushed its way between the stones, giving the small corner a feel of privacy.

  “I will, my lord.”

  Lord Mather nodded. He studied her, and his head tipped the slightest bit, as if he were considering.

  Emmeline was not certain what it was about her answer that warranted his reaction. Had she said something wrong? “My lord?”

  A smile pulled the corner of Lord Mather’s lips. He touched a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face toward him, and leaned close, pausing a breath away, waiting.

  Emmeline closed the gap, touching her lips to his, and her eyes drifted closed.

  His arms went around her, pulling her against him, and he kissed her harder, his lips soft and hot and his arms strong. For a moment, all other thoughts vanished, and he was her entire world.

  Lord Mather pulled back, his breathing ragged and his eyes dark.

  Emmeline’s lips burned.

  He kissed her once more, then pulled away, tucking her arm beneath his to continue their walk. “So, that’s yes for the waltz?” he asked in a voice that sounded far too nonchalant for what had just happened.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was a miracle her legs still worked.

  He glanced to the side and smiled, sending her heart racing.

  They returned to the party just as the group was preparing to depart, and Lord Mather took her hand to help her into the carriage. He gave a soft look, one just for her, tipped his hat, and strode off to join the gentlemen with their horses.

  Emmeline watched him, admiring how tall he sat in the saddle and feeling anew the fluttering in her belly when he rode past. When she glanced at the others, the three young ladies were staring.

  She tried to comport her face into a look of innocence, but seeing it, Joanna burst into laughter and was followed right away by Harriet. Emmeline could not help but join in, laughter building deep in her belly and spilling out in peals.

  She laughed until her sides ached, and then she leaned back against the carriage seat, breathing hard.

  “Oh my, ladies. What has come over us?” Joanna said.

  Miss Stewart scowled as she watched the hedgerows. “Oh, honestly,” she muttered.

  Joanna wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Did you have a pleasant walk, Emmeline?” Harriet said between breaths.

  Joanna giggled and drew in a breath so quickly that she snorted.

  The three burst out in laughter once again and hardly stopped for the entirety of the return journey. All it took to start them off again was one snicker, and they were hopelessly lost to their mirth.

  Emmeline thought there was only one sensation more wonderful than laughing uncontrollably with friends. She touched her lips, smiling to herself. And she hoped she might experience it again soon.

  Chapter 11

  Arthur decided the large round table made the parlor feel crowded. But it could also be a result of the heavy curtains fully closed against the sun and the copious amount of candles lit throughout the room. Apparently, the baroness required a particular mood for her performance.

  He was not uncomfortable, per se, but he would be much more at ease if he knew what to expect. Part of his worry, of course, was for Miss Newton. He did not want the strangeness of her mother’s “spiritual sensitivities” to affect how the others regarded her. He felt extremely protective of the young lady. Even though she projected an image of confidence, he could see just a hint of uncertainty beneath it, and he realized her poise was as much a defense as anything.

  He shifted in his chair, glancing at the others seated around the table.

  Miss Stewart sat beside him, arms folded and looking put out at having to be here at all.

  Griff sat between Miss Stewart and his wife. He glanced at the door in anticipation. Out of everyone Arthur knew, Griff had the most curiosity about unexplained phenomenon. He was certain the séance was his friend’s idea.

  Mrs. Griffin chatted pleasantly with Miss Newton, but the younger woman’s finger tapped on the table nervously. She glanced occasionally toward the door as well as the empty chair where her mother would apparently sit when she joined them.

  Rothschild sat on the other side of the empty chair. He looked bored, scrutinizing his fingernails.

  Chatsworth sat next to Rothschild, and beside him was Joanna. The couple could have been standing on the lip of a volcano and he imagined they would look just as pleased to be in each other’s company as they did now. His friend was truly smitten.

  Arthur glanced at Miss Newton again, remembering the stolen kiss in the shadow of the castle ruin. A rather romantic spot for a kiss, if he did say so himself. But just like his friend, he could have been anywhere at all and enjoyed the moment every bit as much.

  The feel of her soft lips, her taste.

  The baroness swept into the parlor pulling Arthur’s thoughts back from where
they had wandered.

  He rose with the others.

  The baroness wore her hair pulled back, with loose curls streaked with gray flying around her face. She walked slowly toward the empty seat, seeming to glide in her flowing gown. Standing behind the chair, she met the gaze of each member of the party with wide eyes so pale that they seemed almost translucent. The woman did know how to make a dramatic entrance.

  She spread her hands wide, motioning for the party to be seated.

  “Friends, I am but a conduit to another plane.” The baroness spoke in a low, melodious voice that made Arthur even more uneasy. “I do not pretend to understand the workings of my gift, nor can I foresee whether the spirits will esteem us worthy of their presence. My visions often manifest as flashes of another’s memory, which I describe to the best of my ability. But clairvoyance is hardly a precise science.” She looked around the circle again. “Now, whom do we seek to contact?”

  “My sister, Liza,” Griff said. “She died nearly twenty years ago.”

  “Have you an object dear to her?” the baroness asked.

  Griff handed her a little carved horse. Arthur had seen the object in his friend’s bedchamber when they’d been young. The sight brought a lump to his throat, as did the look of hope in his friend’s eye.

  She held the horse in both hands for a moment, then set it on the table. “All will join hands.”

  The group did as she instructed.

  Arthur took Miss Stewart’s hand on one side and Joanna’s on the other.

  “Close your eyes,” the baroness said in her haunting voice. “Think of your own beloveds who have passed beyond this realm.”

  He closed his eyes, feeling foolish as he did.

  The baroness breathed heavily. “Spirits, we ask you to travel here, to join us in this peaceful sanctuary. You are safe here. Please . . . reach out to us.”

  A restless silence settled over the room. Someone coughed. Another sniffed. They waited.

  Arthur thought they must all look like gullible fools.