Cinderella Sister

by Dilly Court

  The fiery spirit took her breath away but sent a warm glow through Lily’s veins. She took a seat opposite Luke. ‘Tell me about everyone at home. How are they all? Has Armand taken Nell to see the new house?’ She hesitated, realising by the look on his face that Luke knew nothing of Armand’s plans for the family. ‘I mean, I thought Nell would have told you by now.’

  Luke tossed back the drink and held his glass out to Gabriel. ‘I think I need another, if you please.’

  ‘I thought it would be common knowledge in the family,’ Lily said, floundering. ‘I mean, it would be wonderful for you all to have a proper home again.’ She turned to Gabriel with a silent plea for help.

  He refilled Luke’s glass. ‘I expect you were on duty in the fire station when Armand discussed the matter with the others.’

  ‘Very likely, but no one tells me anything.’

  Lily was shocked by the bitterness in Luke’s voice. It was so unlike him as normally he was the most good-natured fellow and she loved him dearly. His head might be filled with dreams and rhymes but she had always felt closer to him than fiery Matt or easy-going Mark, who never took anything seriously. She leaned forward to pat him on the knee. ‘Don’t be angry. I’m sure Nell is dying to tell you.’

  ‘I expect you’re right, but I hate all this secrecy and upset. I want everything to be the way it was. I want you to come home, Lily.’

  ‘You know that’s impossible,’ she said sadly. ‘Matt has turned against me and so has Nell. I didn’t mean it to be this way, but maybe in time …’

  ‘It’s still wrong. We should all stick together, not turn on each other like a pack of wolves.’

  Placing her glass on the drum table at the side of her chair, Lily slid onto her knees, taking Luke’s free hand in hers and holding it to her cheek. ‘You and I are still friends, and Molly came here with the best of intentions. The others will come round, but until then I have to remain here with Ma and Everard. They’ve been kind to me and I know Ma would love to see you too.’

  ‘Dinner’s on the table,’ Prissy announced, having barged into the room without knocking. She paused, casting an anxious glance at Gabriel. ‘I done that wrong, didn’t I?

  He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. ‘It could have been done with a little more finesse but we get the point, Prissy.’ He held his hand out to Lily. ‘Shall we?’

  She rose to her feet. ‘Come on, Luke. Let’s enjoy a meal together and put all the squabbling aside. We can’t help what the others think but we can stay friends, and maybe one day you can forgive Ma enough to give her a second chance.’

  A reluctant smile banished Luke’s frown and he was once again the brother she knew and loved. ‘You always were the peacemaker, Lil. It’s not the same at home without you, but we won’t let it come between us.’ He stood up and enveloped her in a great bear hug. ‘I love you, little sister, and always will.’

  Prissy muffled a sob. ‘Ain’t that just lovely? You come again, mister. I can see you’re good for my mate. We’re the best of friends, ain’t we, Lily?’

  Gabriel shooed her out of the room. ‘Don’t let the mistress hear you talking like that, Prissy, or I’m afraid you’ll be back on the farm in the blink of an eye.’

  There was an awed silence in the dining room as Luke and Lily took their places at the table which could comfortably have seated twenty. Its gleaming mahogany vastness was complemented by matching chairs in the style of Thomas Chippendale, although Gabriel assured them they were reproductions and not genuine antiques. If he was trying to make them feel less uncomfortable it was not working. Lily had so far eaten her meals from a tray in the morning parlour or in her room, and this was the first time she had entered the opulent dining room with its heavily embossed wallpaper, ornate plaster coving and ceiling rose from which a brass gasolier with rose-tinted glass shades was suspended. The majestic wooden fireplace was carved in the latest fashion with plant-like fronds and exotic blooms which were replicated in the tiled insets and hearth. The air was heavy with scent from the hothouse flowers in vases strategically placed to bring a hint of summer into a winter room. Set on the table in between silver candelabra an epergne was filled with golden lilies and hung with bunches of black grapes. The mahogany sideboard groaned beneath the weight of silver serving dishes and salvers, and the moss-green velvet curtains were drawn to shut out the cold night.

  Prissy hurried about doing her best to serve the food, although when she spilt artichoke soup over Luke’s hand Gabriel suggested that it would be best to leave the dishes on the table and they would help themselves. Prissy hesitated, looked doubtful, but was eventually persuaded to return to the kitchen and help Cook serve the remove.

  Luke had licked the soup off his hand, but when Lily frowned at him, indicating the stiffly starched white table napkin, he shot an apologetic glance in Gabriel’s direction. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said humbly. ‘I didn’t want to dirty it.’

  ‘That’s what they are there for, old chap,’ Gabriel said easily. ‘Our soiled linen keeps the laundress in employment, so who are we to cheat a poor woman of work?’

  Luke did not look convinced and Lily hastily changed the subject. ‘The soup is good. I wish we could share it with the others.’ She bit her lip, glancing anxiously at Gabriel. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I hate to think of Grandpa and the rest of them living as they do, and me being fed like a princess and living in luxury.’

  ‘I say enjoy it while you can,’ Luke said, swallowing the last spoonful of soup with an appreciative smacking of his lips. His pale skin flushed scarlet as he caught Gabriel’s eye. ‘That weren’t right, I can tell from your expression. What did I do wrong this time?’

  ‘Nothing, I can assure you. In some countries I believe it is good manners to show appreciation of the cook’s culinary efforts in that way, although polite society is extremely boring and stuffy and generally it’s best not to make mouth noises at table.’ Gabriel replaced his soup spoon at a right angle and Lily followed suit. She had observed the diners at Verrey’s and table manner were obviously of great importance to the toffs. She wondered if she would ever be able to fit in with Ma’s set, and she gave Luke a sympathetic smile, but to her surprise he seemed to have taken Gabriel’s advice in good part.

  ‘I’d like to learn all this etiquette business,’ he said earnestly. ‘I don’t intend to stay a fireman all my life. As soon as I get my poems published I’m going to give up work and concentrate on being a poet. I want to be like Ma’s friend Mr Rossetti and his sister. I’d give anything to meet them.’

  ‘Then you shall, my darling.’

  Lily turned her head to see their mother standing in the open doorway, her lissom figure silhouetted against the oak panels as she struck a dramatic pose. Illuminated by the combination of gaslight and candlelight, she glittered from head to foot. Her hair was piled on top of her head and her fiery curls were threaded with strings of imitation gems. A matching necklace which could have been real diamonds, or an extremely clever copy in paste, enhanced her slender throat and neck, plunging spectacularly into her décolletage. Her gown of white silk taffeta shot with palest blue and trimmed with cobwebs of fine lace gave the impression of moonbeams glimmering with each sinuous movement of her body. Lily caught her breath in a gasp of pure admiration, thinking that Ma knew how to make an entrance; judging by the expressions on Gabriel’s and Luke’s faces she held her audience spellbound.

  Charlotte held out her arms. ‘My darling boy. How wonderful of you to come and visit your mama.’

  Luke rose to his feet, conflicting emotions evident on his boyish countenance. ‘I didn’t,’ he said baldly. ‘I come to see my sister.’

  ‘Came, darling,’ Charlotte corrected, smiling and holding her arms out to him. ‘You came for whatever reason, but you are here and that’s all that matters to your loving mama. I’ve missed you, my dear boy.’

  Luke stood statue-still. ‘Not enough to come and see us though, Ma.’

  ‘Ahem.’
Everard appeared behind Charlotte, clearing his throat and eyeing Luke with a certain amount of apprehension. ‘Luke, my boy. You’ve grown up a lot since we last met.’

  ‘I was thirteen when you run off with Ma.’

  Gabriel pulled out a chair. ‘Would you like to join us, Cara? We’ve only just begun supper.’

  ‘I thought you were going to the opera,’ Lily said warily. ‘We weren’t expecting you back so soon.’

  ‘It was such a bore,’ Charlotte said languidly. ‘Carlotta Carcopino was supposed to be the prima donna but she has a sore throat and cannot sing. I refuse to sit for hours listening to someone’s understudy, so we came away before the performance began.’

  ‘But not before your mama was seen and admired by countless genuine opera lovers,’ Everard said mischievously. ‘You were the star tonight, ma belle. You turn heads wherever you go.’

  Charlotte bestowed a brilliant smile on him with a modest flutter of her sweeping eyelashes. ‘You always know what to say to flatter me, dearest. But this evening I am happy to be a devoted mama once again.’ She surged forward in a cloud of bergamot and gardenia fragrances and enveloped Luke in an embrace, although she had to stretch in order to place her arms around his neck. ‘My, how you’ve grown, Luke. You were such a little boy when I last saw you.’

  Luke gave her a brief hug before pushing her away. ‘I’m a man now, Ma. I’m twenty-three, too old to be cuddled like a nipper.’

  ‘Darling, how cruel you are.’ Charlotte collapsed into the chair held for her by Gabriel. ‘I’d hoped we could forget the sordid past.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t we sit down and enjoy the rest of supper,’ Everard suggested. ‘We didn’t have time to eat before the theatre and I must confess I could do justice to Cook’s braised partridge.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat a morsel,’ Charlotte said, eyeing a silver basket of bread rolls. ‘Pass them to me, Lily. I might toy with a little soup if the servants haven’t demolished it already. Ring for Prissy, Everard, and let’s sit down like civilised people.’ She turned to Luke. ‘Tell me all about yourself, darling. Do you like being a fireman?’

  Lily caught her breath. How could Ma be so unfeeling? She was speaking to her son as though he were a stranger she had met at one of her fashionable soirées. Lily glanced anxiously at Luke and her heart sank as she saw the hurt in his eyes. He backed towards the doorway.

  ‘I can’t put up with this tonight. I’m sorry, Lily, but all this ain’t for me. I’m a plain sort of fellow and my poetry comes from my heart. I don’t belong here and neither do you.’

  ‘Don’t go like this,’ Lily pleaded. ‘Stay and finish your supper.’

  ‘Yes, there’s no sense in rushing off before you’ve eaten,’ Gabriel added with a persuasive smile. ‘And Perks can drive you home afterwards. Isn’t that so, Pa?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Everard nodded his head. ‘Do stay, my boy. Don’t distress your mother by leaving before she’s had time to get to know you again.’

  Lily cast an appealing glance to her brother. She hated to think that he felt unwelcome, especially as she was beginning to feel at home here.

  Luke looked from one face to another and his jawline hardened. Lily recognised the Larkin stubborn streak with a resigned sigh.

  ‘No, I’ve said my piece,’ he said slowly. ‘I shouldn’t have come but for Lily, and I’ve done what I set out to do. So I’ll be off now. No need to send for the carriage. I’d rather walk.’ He took a step towards the door but Charlotte rose to her feet with a rustle of silk.

  ‘Sit down, Luke. I won’t have this childish behaviour at table.’

  There was a stunned silence as all eyes were upon her. The languid manner had vanished and her eyes flashed dangerously. Luke glanced at Lily. ‘I want to go home,’ he murmured plaintively.

  Charlotte waved her hand at Gabriel. ‘Ring for Prissy. We will sit down and eat our meal and Luke will behave like a man instead of a sulky little boy.’

  ‘Yes, my boy,’ Everard said pleasantly. ‘I’d be very interested to hear some of your poems. Maybe after dinner you would give us a rendition?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Luke shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Everyone at home thinks my writing is a joke.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ Lily insisted. ‘I love your poems, and one day we’ll write a book together. You can do the poetry and I’ll illustrate it.’

  ‘Now there’s a thought.’ Everard guided Luke back to his seat. ‘I have some friends in publishing. Maybe I can introduce you to the right people.’

  Reluctantly, Luke sat down and Gabriel rang for Prissy.

  Lily breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe things were going to turn out well after all.

  It was late evening when Luke and Gabriel took their leave of the party, which had grown lively under the influence of wine from Everard’s well-stocked cellar. Luke, unused to drinking anything other than beer, had lost his normal reticence and had become quite animated. It had not taken much persuasion from his mother to encourage him to recite several of his poems and he left promising to return, bringing his work for them to peruse at their leisure. Lily had agreed to visit Gabriel next day to resume her lessons, and now that she was in possession of her precious paintbox she was even more eager to accept his offer. She had gone to bed that night feeling happier than she had for a long time. If Luke had come round, and if Molly was on her side, then it was just a matter of time before Matt, Mark and Nell understood her dilemma and forgave. She went to sleep clutching the hope that soon the whole family would be reunited.

  Next day and every day for a month, Lily attended Gabriel’s lodgings for tuition. Mrs Lovelace made her disapproval clear, but as Gabriel paid his rent regularly and was otherwise a model tenant, she allowed Lily to continue her visits. Even so, she insisted that the door was to be kept open at all times, and at least once an hour they heard her firm tread on the stairs and saw her thin figure walk slowly past as she glared into the room. This made Lily giggle but Gabriel simply shrugged and continued working away at his easel. He would not allow Lily to look at his painting, but she was aware that he was studying her and that she must be the model for whatever image he was creating on the large canvas. She was burning with curiosity, but every day at the end of their session Gabriel covered his work with a cloth and she was not allowed a single peek.

  He always took her out for luncheon and they dined royally, or so it seemed to a girl brought up as frugally as Lily. In the afternoons they visited art galleries and exhibitions and as a cold and snowy January came to an end a thaw set in, sending rivulets of melting ice water tumbling along the gutters and overflowing from blocked drains. Everard had one of his paintings in the Royal Academy Winter Exhibition and Lily was so proud to know the artist that she had great difficulty in containing her excitement when she saw his painting displayed amongst those of the famous artists with whom he and Charlotte claimed acquaintance. She wanted to proclaim their relationships to all those around her who were studying his work, but she managed to restrain herself. Her boundless enthusiasm caused Gabriel much amusement. He teased her mercilessly, but took her out to tea at Brown’s Hotel by way of an apology for laughing at her childish naïveté. They ended the day on a happy note and he escorted her home in a hansom cab, although he declined her invitation to accompany her in as he said he had business elsewhere. Lily stood on the pavement watching the vehicle until it turned the corner and disappeared from view. She felt slightly hurt and let down after an enjoyable day. She had become used to having Gabriel’s undivided attention, and this was the first time he had gone off without revealing his destination. As she mounted the steps to the front door she wondered if he had an assignation with a young lady. Somehow the thought did not please her. She rang the doorbell.

  Just as Prissy was about to let her in a shout from the pavement made Lily hesitate and glance over her shoulder.

  ‘Hold on there just a second.’ A burly man leapt off a butcher’s cart, flinging the reins to one of the sha
bbily dressed, barefoot children who wandered the streets offering to hold horses for gentlemen or tradesmen for whatever sum of money they felt inclined to give. ‘Watch me wagon.’ The butcher rolled his sleeves up and took the steps two at a time, shoving his booted foot over the threshold as Prissy attempted to close the door. ‘Not so fast, young woman.’

  ‘Tradesmen’s entrance is round the back,’ Prissy said, banging the door against his boot.

  ‘I ain’t going round nowhere,’ the man roared. ‘I’m sick of being fobbed off by the cook. I wants to see the master of the house, or the missis.’

  ‘They’re out.’ Prissy tried again to close the door but this time it was blocked by a muscular arm.

  ‘I wants me money and I ain’t going nowhere until I’m paid in full. Three months’ meat and game I’ve supplied, and not got a penny piece in payment.’

  ‘That ain’t my problem,’ Prissy insisted. ‘Go round the back like I said.’

  Lily could see that this was going nowhere and she nudged Prissy out of the way. ‘Can I help, mister? Surely there’s been some mistake?’

  The man’s face flushed to the colour of the brickwork on the exterior of the house. ‘Mistake? I’ll say there’s been a mistake. It was not paying Jeb Colley, that’s the mistake. I want me rightful dues.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s an oversight,’ Lily said, attempting a smile to hide the fact that she was a little scared of him. ‘And they are out at present. If you’d like to call back later …’

  ‘You don’t get me with that ’un. I’m too long in the tooth to fall for that tale. I ain’t budging from this spot until I get all or part of the money owing.’ He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorpost, his florid countenance ill-matched by ginger mutton chop whiskers and a quivering moustache.

  Lily thought quickly. She had five and three in her purse, which Gabriel had insisted she kept in case of emergencies. ‘How much, mister?’