I stayed silent.
“I’m finished here at WATT and I don’t start a new engagement for a couple weeks. I was planning to take the time off and you wouldn’t believe how many airline miles I’ve accrued. It wouldn’t cost me much.”
I smiled. I’d only heard him nervous once. It was one of the few Friday nights he had come out with us. Moira had grilled him all night. He never joined us again.
“Isabel’s dad paid for everything, and it’s expensive. I don’t know about a room here, or even one in Bath.”
“I can handle it.”
I couldn’t reply. The idea of facing him . . . Facing them together . . . He couldn’t be coming for me . . . It had to be Isabel . . .
A clicking sound brought me back to the conversation.
“I found a flight for this evening that lands at Heathrow tomorrow morning. E-mail me anything I need to know and where to find you once I land.”
“Stop.” I sucked a huge breath. I wondered how long I’d been holding it without realizing it. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room now to fill my lungs.
There are some guys who you just know if you fell for them you’d go too deep and never make it back.
Nathan could not come—I wouldn’t survive it.
“You can’t do this. I’ll tell her you called, and as soon as she can, she’ll call you back.”
“It’s done. Send me the e-mail. And, Mary?” Nathan paused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A knock on the door finally moved me. I had no idea how long I’d been lying there, stunned and numb.
At my fairly incoherent reply, Gertrude poked her head in. “I wanted to see if everything was okay.”
I struggled to sit up. My whole body felt beaten and heavy. “Everything is not okay.”
She sank beside me. She looped her arm around my shoulders and that’s all it took. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held me like that; I couldn’t remember ever needing it. And I couldn’t help myself. I leaned into her and cried—sloppy, messy, once-upon-a-broken-heart cried. I felt her brush the hair from my forehead and tuck it behind my ear. She didn’t say a word.
After a few minutes I straightened my back and pressed the back of my hand under my nose. “I’m sorry. I hardly even know you.”
“Sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone. Other times, only a few minutes.” She gave me a last squeeze, then sat straight. I felt the loss of her support as she shifted on the edge of the bed to face me. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to me. “How is Isabel?”
I blew my nose. “This has happened before. The doctor will call me later, but as of now I’m to keep her safe and relaxed here. Do you mind? She’s clearly in her element here, and I doubt the others will notice. They think she’s playing at Emma. And she’s really good at that.”
The tears started again.
“You must stay. I just saw her downstairs with Sonia. She does seem content.” Gertrude tilted her head. “Which fits. For the most part, Emma was content.”
“I should get down there. I’m supposed to take care of her.” I pushed to stand, didn’t make it, and flopped back on the bed. “I just found out she’s been lying to me about something, something that was really important to me, and it hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I feel bottomed out. That’s it. Bottomed out.” I flopped a hand toward the floor. “I’m squished down there and . . . How do you get up from that?” I sucked in maximum air again. “I should go. Isabel is meeting me in the Day Room and she’s my job right now. But once she’s well . . .” I forced myself to standing and smoothed my dress’s skirt. The hem almost met my soft kid leather boots. “I can’t do this, any of it, anymore.”
Tears started again, but this time they were slow, so slow I could feel each wind its way down my cheek. One. Two. Three.
Gertrude stood in front of me and held one hand to my cheek. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Promise?”
Gertrude nodded. I nodded. We looked like bobble heads. And although she didn’t know me, it felt as if she did, and I believed her.
I slid my phone into my pocket and we walked down the stairs in silence. With one last consoling nod, Gertrude left me outside the Day Room door. I decided not to confront Isabel. It would do no good. It could wait.
I pushed open the door, and my best intentions died at “There you are.” She leapt from the chair. “I’ve been waiting for you. Sonia had a lace right away. What have you been doing?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.” I turned and walked back down the hall and out the front door. The gravel shifted beneath my boots. I heard softer, faster crunches behind me before Isabel tugged at my arm.
“Slow down. I can’t keep up if you walk that fast.”
I stopped. My hands dropped to my sides.
Isabel kept her hand on me. I resisted the urge to shake her off. “Mary, what’s wrong? Why have you been crying?”
“I . . .” I pressed my palms against my eyes. I refused to cry in front of her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Nathan Hillam? Last night you acted as if you didn’t remember him. You actually said you didn’t think much of him—from my description, not from meeting him. But you’ve been dating him. You gave him your number. You pursued him and you can’t tell me you didn’t. He just called. You’ve been listening to me and lying to me for over six months.”
“Who? Who is Nathan Hill—Hillsby?”
“Don’t do that.” I ground out the words, then stopped. Fear and something even more vulnerable shuddered through her.
It took a few breaths, but I calmed my voice. “Nathan Hillam. The consultant at WATT. The man you met last March. You call him TCG.” Isabel’s blank face drained my anger. I was too tired. “Don’t think about it. We’ll talk later. Let’s just walk and enjoy the day.” I started again at a slower pace.
“No.” Isabel clutched at me again. She pulled me to a stop so forcefully, I slipped on the pebbles. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’ve made you angry somehow and I’m very sorry. You must tell me.”
I tilted my head down the path. She walked with me.
“Let’s just walk,” I said. “Austen women walk. We can talk about it someday, but not now.”
We crossed from the drive to the path down to the stables and the stream.
“But if you don’t tell me, how can I make it right?”
Her words, her pleading tone, almost stopped me again. I concentrated on forward motion. “You can’t right now. I’m not so much angry as hurt. More hurt than you can possibly understand, but I’m also worried for you and that makes it all worse.”
I led us to the stables. Right or wrong, I hoped to leave her with Grant.
“Whatever I’ve done, Mary, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
I wiggled away. “Can we not talk about it anymore? I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
I felt my forward motion falter. When Isabel was in the wrong, and knew it, she asked for forgiveness, begged for it, and didn’t let up until it was granted. She badgered you until she felt better. She never waited for you to catch up.
I stared at her. “Thank you.”
Chapter 16
I’m so nervous. Do I look all right?” Isabel pirouetted around the bathroom in a soft pink gown, this one silk with intricate green beading sewn along the hem.
“You look beautiful.”
I felt calm now. My plan had worked. Grant had been at the stables and visibly happy to see her. I’d left her with him and a horse named Goliath—and the offer of a gig ride.
Isabel had lit up before grabbing my wrist. “Should we take turns? It is not strictly appropriate, but I have always wanted to ride in one. Can we?”
“You’d feel comfortable with Grant alone?”
“Of course.” She glanced to the man in question. “Don’t you?”
I looked to Grant. He smiled. I looked back to Isabel. Her face wa
s eager and open, without strain or anxiety.
“I’ll take care of her, Catherine.” Grant winked. I almost corrected him, then remembered who I was. Catherine Morland. Northanger Abbey.
“You two go and take your time. I’ll go for a walk.”
Four hours later, and probably twice the number of miles, we met back in our room to dress for dinner, Isabel acting like a girl in love. I shoved bobby pins into my hair.
She stopped and swatted at my hand. “It won’t stay like that. You have to twist . . . Here, let me.”
I watched through the mirror as she removed the pins. The afternoon had given color to my cheeks, and even my eyes felt bright. Nathan had always questioned why I ran on a treadmill, and after a day outside I questioned it myself.
Nathan was coming to Braithwaite House. I glanced at my watch. Seventeen hours. Would Isabel recognize him? What would she say? When she did remember, would she laugh it off? Maybe with an I never realized or a You know me; I’m terrible with names or worst of all a You couldn’t have really cared about him. Or maybe she wouldn’t say any of those things, maybe I was being unjust and it was all a horrid miscommunication or an innocent mistake or . . .
I willed my thoughts to stop tumbling toward every scenario simultaneously. All would be clear soon enough. Nathan had e-mailed his flights, and I had replied with the link to the Braithwaite House website.
We would all have confrontation and clarity soon.
Isabel pulled me into a hug from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. “You don’t look happy. Please know, again, that I’m sorry for whatever I did to hurt you.”
I bit my lip. The twinge of pain acted as an antidote for impending tears.
“Let’s get this up.” Isabel addressed me through the mirror as she slid the brush from my hand. She brushed my hair in long, gentle strokes, much as my mother had when I was little. Much as she herself had done for our eighth-grade Turnabout Dance.
I hadn’t wanted to go. Dad, Mom, and I were pretty low that year, but Isabel and Dad insisted. And Isabel made sure I felt beautiful. She found me a deep-red dress at the mall, did my makeup, and brushed my hair “one hundred times for shine.” It had flowed down my back in one silky chestnut wave.
We had fun that night—amazing, laugh-out-loud, best-friend, silly-girl fun. I also got my first kiss from Billy Lungreen as we left the gym. Then Isabel spent the night and we relived every moment until we watched the sunrise.
“You have lovely hair.” Her soft compliment brought me back to the present. She gently twisted it up and put in the bobby pins I couldn’t make work. “You look exquisite.”
I thought nothing more could surprise me, but Isabel did. Or maybe Isabel-as-Emma did. Whatever it was, this was new.
She pulled a strand of my hair from the bun and, twirling her finger, curled it to drape down the side of my face. “Perfect.”
With few words—because I couldn’t find any—we left the room. Again she surprised me by stepping back, gesturing to me to take the lead down the stairs and into the parlor.
At the threshold I stopped so abruptly she tripped into me.
Gertrude, standing at the doorway, tapped her fan against my arm. “Don’t gape, dear, it’s rude.” She gestured into the room. “Please come in. We’ve been waiting for you both.”
Herman crossed the floor, gunning straight for Isabel. He enveloped her hand within both of his own. “I have been waiting for you tonight. Come sit with”—he paused to search for the name, then with a tremulous smile found an answer—“my wife by the fire. It’s so chilly since the wind changed.”
Isabel let Herman pull her away, while I stood in awe. The lamps had been cleared. Huge silver candelabras sat on tables and cast a gorgeous yellow glow over everything. Even the furniture was different. The large armchairs had been replaced by delicate pieces with needlepoint cushions and graceful scrolling woodwork. The thick rug was gone too. The room glowed with wood, light, and warmth—and that was only the room.
The people . . . The men were dressed in pants so tight and smooth they must have been made of silk; socks white beyond bleaching; and linen shirts that stood stiff but looked so thin you could see them billow with air and movement. Their coats were velvet. They reflected light. And their neck bows . . . They were beautiful in their stiff, odd perfection.
The women were even more stunning. Helene and Sylvia were dressed in the same high-waisted style Isabel and I wore, but having more cleavage, they filled them far better. Sylvia looked ethereal in pale-yellow silk with matching gloves. Her fair skin and hair completed the picture of a delicate yellow rose. I had imagined Jane Bennet to look just that way. No wonder Sylvia had cast herself and her husband in those roles.
“What do you think?” Gertrude cut into my thoughts.
“It’s a fairyland. You could almost believe it’s real and we’re in the stories.”
“Isabel’s thesis is accurate.” Gertrude’s gaze followed mine across the room. “It’s a most extraordinary and purposeful form of escape. Watching guests, it’s clear some find the dressing and role play more than relaxing, they find it liberating. In playing others, they find themselves. Austen was even astute enough to put that in a book; have you read Mansfield Park? There’s a play smack in the center of the book, and only there do the characters reveal their true selves and motivations.”
I thought of Isabel and what I saw within her, a transparency I hadn’t seen in years. I thought of myself and the fact that I, who hadn’t cried in—I couldn’t think of the last time—had leaned against Gertrude and sobbed that very afternoon. “It feels a little dangerous, doesn’t it?”
“Can be, I think. Not all guests take it so far. Most find an escape from their lives and a new perspective, something any vacation can provide.”
An escape . . . “That holds a certain allure.”
“For a time.” Gertrude’s voice was heavy. She handed me a champagne flute, and we offered a silent toast. It felt more like commiseration than celebration.
Clara came across the room then, her steps slow and unsure, looking adorable in a pink dress, hemmed mid-calf. Her eyes were fixed on Isabel. I knew that look—it was adoration. I’d seen it on many faces over the years, starting with Missy Reneker in the second grade. Everyone adored Isabel.
Isabel and Herman had drifted back our direction. She was within reach. I took a step and clamped Isabel’s wrist to pull her close. Putting my lips close to her ear, I murmured, “Here comes Margaret Dashwood. Please be kind to her.”
Isabel pulled back only far enough to look me in the eyes. Hers asked, Why wouldn’t I be kind?
I turned back to Gertrude. She was watching Clara as well. “She heard Isabel would be dressed in pink tonight. Her matching one is no mistake. Sonia made that happen.”
Clara stopped a few steps from Isabel. She stopped because Isabel, with open arms, cut the distance between them. She wrapped Clara in a hug, then led her to the small love seat. They sat head-to-head as if sharing a delicious secret. Clara beamed and, oddly, so did Isabel.
I almost commented to Gertrude, then realized it would do no good. No one here knew the real Isabel or that she disliked children. And I didn’t want to draw attention to what was really happening. Dr. Milton had called me during my walk. If Isabel felt safe, he wanted me to watch her. He was willing to give her four days. If she wasn’t fully cognizant by then, I was to hop a flight home or take her to a local hospital. In the meantime, the doctor and I were to talk every day, as many times a day as I needed.
Clara’s father, our Mr. Bingley, caught my attention next. He stood selecting appetizers from Duncan’s tray. Ripples of fabric pulled tight across his chest.
“How could you possibly have a coat and pants—”
“Breeches.” Gertrude corrected me with a tap of her fan.
I nodded. “Breeches. Where did you ever find a pair to fit him?”
“Custom-made. Guests send in their measurements and we make sure we have all t
hey need. Isabel sent in yours.” She glanced toward my feet. “A good approximation.”
I, too, noted that my dresses hit at the top of my feet rather than breaking on the slipper as the others’ dresses did. “Isabel always thinks I’m shorter or she’s taller than either of us really is.”
“It was our Sir Walter Elliot who was the most challenging to attire this evening. We had the clothes, but he wanted very crisp linen. Poor Sonia couldn’t get that collar high enough for his taste. I think she used an entire spray canister of starch.”
“Poor Sir Walter. No one will notice. His wife steals the show.”
Helene was dressed in white silk with plumes of lace all around her. She looked like a cream puff from her white hair to the white slippered feet that peeked from beneath her dress’s hem. A glittery cream puff—Helene was covered in diamonds. They were in her hair, across her neck, draping from both wrists, and covering her white-gloved fingers. A large diamond dropped down the front of her gown and with each breath became lost in her cleavage. I laughed as she waved to Clara just to make the diamonds on her wrists rattle and sparkle. She spoke loudly and held all the vulgar enthusiasm that made Mrs. Jennings such a delightful character.
“That was the most fun.” Gertrude raised her glass toward Helene. “I brought her our selection of paste jewelry and she chose every single piece. She is wearing them all tonight.”
“Good for her.”
Herman noticed we were watching them and jumped up. He took tiny stuttered steps toward us. Either that was how he expected Regency men to walk or the floor was so highly polished as to be slippery.
He pulled me into a one-armed hug. I squished against him. “Aren’t we having a marvelous time? I have never seen her look more radiant.” He pointed to his wife, then repositioned me by pulling at my shoulders.
Once he was satisfied I was centered in front of him and paying close attention, he moved both his hands to his chest and patted it lightly. “I’m . . . Sir . . .” He looked back to his wife, who was not paying attention.
The Austen Escape Page 13