by Ella Edon
"My glittering stars, it's a landau! Shining black and trimmed with brass so bright it looks like gold! With glass lanterns and white candles!"
She walked around the back of the carriage, running her fingers over the smooth black leather of its surface, and then walked back to the front steps again where she held tight to Simon's arm. "Is this mine? I have my own landau? You bought me this for a gift? Ooh, Simon, I can't believe it!"
Thomas sat very still and only looked straight ahead. The horses fidgeted and Starling tossed his head repeatedly, even pawing the gravel driveway a few times. Simon seemed to be holding his breath while trying to think of what to say.
I can't help you this time, old friend. But you'd best think of something.
"Oh, ah, you see, Beatrice," he finally stammered, "I'm afraid this one was not for sale."
"Not – for sale? I don't understand – " She frowned, glancing from Simon to the carriage and back again. "I said I wanted one! Why would you bring me one and then tell me it is not mine?"
"My dear wife," Simon went on, a little more firmly. "This one belongs to our friend and neighbor, Earl Worthington. He knew that I was considering getting a new carriage and that I wanted a landau or a similar vehicle – for my beautiful young wife, of course – and so he has graciously loaned us this one to see if it is to our liking before I actually make the purchase. Wasn't that kind of him?"
Beatrice seemed to be trying to decide whether to be annoyed at her husband or not. "And if it is to my liking, then you will buy one for me?"
"I – I believe that is the plan, dear Beatrice." Simon staggered just a little as Beatrice pushed away from him and hurried back to the carriage, this time walking around the front of it.
"Such a pair of horses," she marveled. Thomas almost warned her back as the tall feathers brushed Starling's nose and he swung his head up and down, but she moved out of the way in time. "They are virtually identical! It is the smartest turnout I have ever seen!"
Beatrice finished her second circuit around the landau and returned to Simon. "Of course, we should want horses that are equally fine for our own carriage. What good is such an elegant vehicle if it's pulled by oxen?"
"Of course," Simon said, moving down the steps to stand beside her. "I'm sure we can find – "
But Beatrice was already standing at the side entrance to the landau. "Simon! Help me up! We cannot be late. Although – " She giggled as he took her arm and helped her step up into the carriage. "It does occur to me that more people will see us if we are a little late! Driver, take your time, but not too much time! I cannot wait for the ball to start!"
Thomas reached up and touched the brim of his tall black hat to her. Once she was settled in her seat, Simon climbed in beside her and briefly caught Thomas's eye as he did.
"Driver, to Robbins Inn on the main street of Birdwell," Simon commanded. Thomas could barely hide his grin as he started the horses jogging down the dark road.
All the way into town, Beatrice kept up an endless stream of chatter. "Simon, do you think a landau comes in deep green? I'm not so sure I like the black. Or perhaps a maroon shade – like deepest wine – yes, that's the one! And with silver trim. It would be so beautiful with the maroon. And – "
The only sound he heard from Simon was something like a small sneeze, as though the downy swan's feathers had tickled his nose.
On the one hand, Thomas felt for his friend, who was subjected to this with every moment he spent with his wife. But on the other, he was simply grateful that the target of Beatrice's desires was not himself – at least, not any longer.
Night had fallen, but there was still plenty of light coming in through the small windows of the room up above Fabrics, Feathers & Fineries. The main street down below was lined with bright flaring torches that turned the town nearly bright as day, especially in front of the largest establishment in town – the Robbins Inn, right in the center of the east side of the street.
Grace could have seen the Inn from the windows, but right now, she was sitting in front of a small mirror and fully engaged in getting ready for the first of the Subscription Balls.
"At least you don't have far to go, Grace," said Aunt Betsey, putting last-moment touches on her niece's hair. "I was not going to hear of you getting ready at home and then having rain or mud ruin your appearance."
The mention of home made Grace feel a sudden wave of sadness. "I do wish Mother could have been here," she whispered, refusing to let any tears come, lest her eyes look red and swollen.
"You know why she could not come," said Uncle Leonard. "She has other family who there who need her more."
"We will take good care of you," said Aunt Betsey, very firmly, as she took a very secure and final twist of Grace's thick and wavy brown hair. She began sliding a large handful of pins, all tipped with little brass roses, into the twist to hold it at the back of Grace's neck. "Your mother has no need to worry at all."
"And we will certainly give her a full report. I know she would have enjoyed seeing all this very much," said Uncle Leonard.
"There! I think this will do. I truly think this might do after all." Aunt Betsey drew Grace up to her feet and turned her to face Uncle Leonard. "What do you think?"
He smiled, very gently. "I think I see a lovely young lady who is finally ready for her first ball."
The two of them led Grace to a large mirror, sitting in a frame on the floor. Aunt Betsey tilted it so that she could see herself, and all at once, Grace forgot everything except the image in the glass.
She saw a tall and rather broad-shouldered young woman in a glowing yellow gown. Her hair shone in the lantern light and was neatly pinned at the back of her neck, with just a few little curls trailing down either side of her face. As she moved her head, the brass-tipped pins gleamed here and there against the deep, shining brown of her hair.
Aunt Betsey gave her the little drawstring reticule that she was to carry, which held a linen handkerchief and a small wooden comb should they be needed. Then she placed a sheer yellow wrap across Grace's shoulders with the ends draped over the crook of each elbow.
"I cannot thank you enough. Both of you," said Grace. "It's all so wonderful . . . something I never imagined might happen to me."
"Well, you know very well how to show us your gratitude." Aunt Betsey took Grace by the arm and led her towards the door. "Make the best match you possibly can. It starts tonight."
Grace nodded, then carefully made her way down the stairs in the unfamiliar and delicate-feeling slippers. She walked through the quiet shop with Aunt Betsey right behind her, and then Uncle Leonard moved past and opened the front door.
There was the now-familiar jingle of the harness bells. Grace took a step through the doorway and gazed out into the street . . . and very nearly turned right around and went back inside again.
In the blazing torchlight, the street from one end of Birdwell to the other was a mob of horses, small vehicles, and people walking this way and that. The activity was concentrated on the Robbins Inn and Grace realized that the men stepping down from their horses and the women getting out of the gigs and pony carts were all beautifully and formally dressed.
Thanks to her Uncle Leonard and Aunt Betsey, Grace was as nicely turned out as they were. What struck her most was the comfortable, confident air that all of them possessed. They weren’t nervous about attending this event at all. In fact, they were quite looking forward to it and for virtually all of them, this wasn’t the first ball they'd ever attended.
Grace suddenly felt that she could hardly breathe. It was one thing to look in on the balls at Northcliff as part of the invisible staff. It was quite another to attend a ball as a guest for the very first time, where many sharp eyes would be watching her every move and criticizing her every dance step and hairpin.
She wanted nothing more than to run back inside, change into her old dress and boots, and run back home to the comfort of the cottage at Applewood.
Before she could move, th
e shop door fell shut behind her.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs. Clarke Arrives At The Ball
"Nice havin' an extra night off, eh, Elam?"
Elam Tanner looked at the old stableman walking beside him and shrugged. "I suppose it is, Reuben. Thought for certain I'd be driving the master and her into town tonight, but here we are."
The two men – one a coachman, the other an aging groom carrying a small battered lantern with a candle – walked along the dirt road leading from Feathering Park into Birdwell. Beside them ran the Feathering River and just on the other side of that was the back side of the buildings lining the main street of the town.
"I can see the torchlight from here!" said Reuben Grasse. "Never seen that town so lively."
"All I know," said Tanner, "is that the town party means we get a night off and five pounds each for our trouble."
The older man glanced back and then quickly pushed Elam onto the grass near the riverbank. "Carriage coming," he said. "I can see the lanterns."
They both watched as a black landau and its two big trotters went pounding by. Reuben just shook his head. "Why would Mr. Clarke want to use Lord Worthington's carriage and Worthington's new man to get to the ball?"
"Why do the high-and-mighty do anything at all, Reuben?" said Tanner irritably.
"We're not – we're not sacked, are we?" asked Reuben, clearly worried.
"No. We’re not. Mr. Clarke assured me it was nothing like that. Now, shut yer gob and stop worrying. Take your fun where you can find it and your time off when you can get it, and leave the thinking to the quality like Clarke and the earl."
"Huh. I guess you're right. When the master says go, we go. Say! There used to be a little pub right near the south end of the street – right at the end of the row, not far from the church – "
"That's where we're going. Now, shut up and raise up that candle, so I can see. We're almost there."
Before long, the two of them had crossed the bridge, come around the end of the row of town buildings, and could see the street. They walked across the cobblestones to the small pub called the Rook & Rooster at the end of the row.
Sighing, both men sat down near the window with a pint. Elam noted that it was mostly empty and so did Reuben. "I suppose everyone else is either at the ball or working there, like the other drivers and groomsmen."
"Sure they are. That's why we're lucky, for once." Elam glanced out of the window with a sneer. "So, enjoy your beer and shut up, then think no more about it. I'll do no more than make the most of my night off and my extra five pounds. And so should you."
Thomas kept the horses jogging steadily along in the darkness, following the lane alongside the river. The buildings of the town were deep black shadows in the darkness, faintly outlined by the lanterns on either side of the landau.
Fortunately, the horses were not affected by the steady stream of chatter that filled the air from the carriage. "Oh, I cannot wait to get there! The first ball in so very long! You know, of course, that I was the most sought-after debutante in London. I've been so terribly bored out here in this countryside."
"I know you have, my dear," murmured Simon. "But now – "
"And now I cannot wait until everyone sees me drive up in this carriage, with this splendid pair of horses! We simply must have a landau and pair just like this one. Even better. Everyone will be talking about us then!"
"They already are."
"Are you sure my gown is the right color? Oh, I just couldn't make up my mind whether to get the pink or the salmon or the pale orange! So many decisions!"
"It's perfect as it is. I think that – "
"And I almost forgot about the best part!" Thomas could hear Beatrice flouncing and bouncing in the seat, rustling the silk of her gown and wrap. "Did I tell you that Lady Worthington has asked me to observe the ladies at the ball and secretly report to her about them?"
"Yes, Beatrice. You – "
"She told me in the greatest confidence that since the earl cannot attend, I am to watch the behavior of the women there and decide which of them might be most suitable for him!"
Beatrice sighed loudly. "Of course, you know, Mr. Clarke, that the earl actually wanted to marry me. But I turned him down for you!"
Thomas could not help, but glance back for just an instant. He turned around again before either one of them could see the amusement on his face.
The talking never stopped. Reaching the end of the buildings, Thomas steered the horses over the bridge, and then turned them down the main street of Birdwell. It was torchlit and crowded, but everyone was immediately stepped out of the way of what they knew to be Earl Worthington's fine carriage. Thomas was able to keep Raven and Starling at a smart trot as the vehicle rolled down to the Robbins Inn.
Beatrice was delighted by their entrance and couldn’t help waving and calling out to all she recognized, which was virtually everyone. It seemed that all of them were waving back to her.
Easing the horses down to a walk, Thomas saw that even in the crush at the Inn, there was a large, clear space open in front of the door. He saw Mrs. Robbins standing there and giving him a slight wave, beckoning him forward.
Yes, she would want the earl's carriage parked prominently in front of the inn, even though the earl wouldn’t be there. It was as though his mark of approval was out for all to see.
And this spot was exactly where Thomas wanted to be, anyway.
He pulled the pair alongside the walkway and halted them, remembering to keep his eyes forward and his chin down. All he did was watch his horses closely, as any good coachman would do.
There was nothing to worry about. Mrs. Robbins immediately walked to the carriage door as soon as the vehicle stopped. As Thomas had hoped, absolutely no one looked at him. All eyes were on the horses, the carriage, and – especially – Beatrice Clarke, who did look glorious in her gown of salmon-colored silk with white swan feathers and diamond-tipped pins sparkling in her pretty blonde hair.
He knew that his mother would frown on the show Beatrice was making. It was hardly necessary to wear silk and diamonds to an assembly ball, which was open to all who had the price of a ticket, and where the daughters of tradesmen would dance alongside the wives of the upper classes.
But Beatrice would never let anyone forget that she was the wife of a man such as Simon Clarke, the master of Feathering Park—even Simon himself, when she had her eye on something she wanted.
Grace took a deep breath, standing in front of the door to the shop with her Uncle Leonard and Aunt Betsey beside her. It was a very busy and tremendously exciting scene, with torches burning along the street, and carts and carriages traveling this way and that. Everywhere, there were perfectly dressed men and women all headed towards the Robbins Inn.
She nearly forgot everything else at the sight of the largest and most beautiful carriage of them all, turning the corner from the river road and starting down the street. The crowd parted for it like the Red Sea as everyone stepped back to look at the gorgeous black landau and at the handsome man and glittering young woman who rode in it.
Her father had been a good horseman and Cecil Miller had taught his daughter many things about them. Grace recognized immediately that this was a very well-bred, perfectly matched, and very costly pair of Norfolk Trotters. As she watched it pull up in front of the open space that had clearly been left for it in front of the Inn, Grace felt even plainer when she compared herself to the spectacular lady being helped out of it by the gentleman riding with her.
But she had come this far, and it was too late to give up now.
"That was the earl's carriage," said Aunt Betsey, looking closely at it.
"The earl!" said Grace. "But – I thought he wasn’t coming tonight. That he didn’t enjoy such things…"
"We shall see," said Aunt Betsey. "I cannot see exactly who is getting out – but that is, without doubt, the earl's landau. No one else in Birdwell would have one."
"Especially with a matched
pair like those two," added Uncle Leonard. "But enough about that. It's time for you to go."
Grace started to step down to the cobblestoned street, but hesitated. The stones kept any sizeable puddles from forming, of course, but the street was still covered with dirt and manure, all ground to muddy dampness between the cobbles. While wearing her usual sturdy boots, Grace thought nothing of trudging along on such a street, but the delicate little slippers she wore now would never survive this.
"Lift your hems, girl. And come here. Lean against me." Quite unceremoniously, Uncle Leonard put his arm around her waist and lifted her a few inches off of the ground. He lugged her across the street like a parcel, while she clung tightly to him with both arms.
Aunt Betsey followed along closely as Uncle Leonard wound his way around horses, carriages, passersby, and particularly muddy spots. In a