The Companion of Lady Holmeshire

by Debra Brown

  Emma put her hands on her hips. “A repeat, then, of your momentous musings?”

  “Yes, a repeat. And this time there are two most notable matters. First, you must now call me Wills. You must. And...I have a question. How many waltzes will you permit me at the Ball?”

  Pleased at his attention, his engagement having ended, she cocked her head and smiled as they ambled down the hall. “Would you not rather find some less plain girl to step on?”

  He shook his head in feigned irritation. “How you dismay me, when here, I’ve offered you so much. Nevertheless, look! You are the first lady to the Sitting Room. See what wonders it does for you to walk with me? But now you are to be abandoned. On Friday evening I shall dance with you a dozen times.”

  ***

  The ladies arrived and were uncommonly quiet. Emma saw an old iron key in the hand of Helena, who kept tapping it into her palm as they waited for Genevieve.

  She had noticed their exchanging some impatient glances at the dinner table, and it seemed that they had struggled, lost in thought, though not unhappy, to carry on any conversation with the men. The Duke seemed to be aware of whatever it was that was interfering with the pleasantries of the dining hour, and he genially pulled the conversation along with leading questions and thoughtful commentary.

  Wills had, at first, carried on with amiable replies as usual and even took up a topic of his own, but it had fallen flat for the ladies’ nervous distraction. Before much time had passed, he had begun to feel perplexed and alone in his world of ignorance, and he too had become quiet, realizing that something of consequence was in the air. Apparently, misery had shown on Emma’s own face. She was yet trying to imagine what might be the cause of such anxious address and drew some conclusions, but every thought was discarded in the course of trying to fit Genevieve into the puzzle.

  At last Genny arrived at the Sitting Room door and was announced to the ladies, carrying a wooden writing case and paper. She had assumed that the discussion was to be in regards to their charity efforts. The sun was yet required to put in another half hour’s time and effort illuminating the sky.

  Genny sat down amicably next to Emma and across from the ladies, and she opened her case to expose a sketch she had done of the proposed Shakespearean Theater of Chenbury. Helena and Winnie did become interested in the picture, and thus distracted, much to the consternation and feelings of isolation of poor, dear Emma. Helena’s key tapping began to wear a hole in her composure; were they to be taken to some room? No, for the key was ancient, too old for this newly built mansion. It seemed they were waiting for some sort of a manifestation of a keyhole!

  Mercifully, without much more delay, two footmen came in carrying an elaborate, locked trunk. Helena gave orders for the footmen to leave and to admit no one to the area until the door was opened again.

  ~Chapter 10~

  The Midsummer Night’s Dream Ball

  London did its part beautifully by painting the skies in brilliant reds and yellows. The Thames splashed and sparkled, reflecting the colors from above, and even the air seemed fresher. It seemed that there were more songbirds huddling in the trees and more butterflies dancing about under them. Aristocratic carriages, filled with diamond-draped fairies and their woodland escorts, rumbled toward Handerton House from all directions.

  The lengthy banquet table was sparkling, elegantly set, each item being placed by measurement and waiting. The ballroom was drenched in extravagance. It seemed that the planners had decided to spend like never before, and Genny’s change of heart on that matter had come a bit late.

  In the ballroom, lighting was low, only half of the chandelier’s flambeaus being lit to create the nighttime atmosphere. The crystal stars, each with its own tea candle, and the polished silver moon hung from shimmering, silk ribbons stretched across the width of the festive room. Forty potted trees sat on wheeled stands, ready to be moved off the shining dance floor when the waltzes began. Musicians were playing particularly moody, mysterious music.

  The women were forest nymphs and fairies, and gentlemen were fairy kings and donkeys. Shakespeare was in the air, everyone with a quote or two, and many with theatrical displays of scenes from the theme of the ball that they spontaneously performed. People burst into laughter and applauded, sipped champagne, greeted friends and waited for the entrance of the final guests.

  The Earl of Holmeshire was announced, and The Right Honorable The Countess of Holmeshire. Their Graces, the Duke of Trent and his Duchess were announced.

  There was some rabid expectation and unkind intention on the part of a few, but a Miss Carrington did not appear. Lady Embry loudly sighed with relief upon noting her absence, though it frustrated some of her retaliatory intentions, and she demonstrably commended Lady Breyton for stopping the flow of servants into society. She floated about, dressed youthfully for a matron of some size, with a bodice meant for a smaller bust. Her seamstress sought to please her despite the blow to her own reputation.

  Embry presented as an obnoxious figure, assuring everyone that she was behind the decision to bring an abrupt halt to this destructive trend on the part of the Holmeshires; the housemaid was not even out in society! She was sure that soon they would be back to normal, the best people’s refusing of Emma having restored their senses, and everyone would be happy again. Even the Holmeshires themselves would eventually thank her!

  Winifred used the event as an opportunity to discuss the urgency for an increase in philanthropic efforts. She commended writers like Hannah More to her friends, but said that more than writing and preaching was required. There must be a movement among the moneyed to provide help for the desperate! And were they aware of the sentiments of Her Majesty the Queen in this regard?

  Wills and Genevieve spoke to many about their charity; Wills approached and prevailed upon the gents, and Genny the ladies. Wills, dapper for a donkey, and fascinating in his speech, pointed out the terrible conditions in the workhouses and how families were broken up therein. Men had to go to the men’s side, he told them, women to the women’s, and children were separated from their parents and might grow up not even knowing of them. All were humiliated, made to wear the workhouse garb. His gestures were compelling as he spoke of children who were severely depressed and had no will to excel, feeling as though they could not succeed. How could they, someday, be the workers that would support London’s economy? Indeed, they might be dependent through their entire lives!

  Why would people even go there? asked the atonished ignorant, those caught up in their leisure. After all, could not their families provide for them?

  Gabriel Hughes, dressed as a fairy king, was able to respond. Many families have not the resources, he said. Some of those in the workhouses had simply become too old to work, he said, or for other reasons they had had to accept the hated reality of life in the prison-like situation and succumbed to it. Perhaps they were crippled, injured, not of sound mind, and surely this was not by choice.

  Many, he pointed out, even in these depressed times, had refused to accept the indignity heaped upon those who entered. They preferred to live out in the winter weather, doing what they could to obtain food and clothing. Would one leave this hardship to even their pets? Could this not be prevented as often as possible by the building of decent homes for temporary shelter with dignity and helping to provide work for the people? Should they be given a start, as the privileged are, surely they could make a living for themselves! London could benefit from the efforts of men and women willing to earn their keep. There was, after all, so very much that needed to be done to enhance the beauty and healthfulness of the Town.

  Many of the partiers were duly impressed and vowed to personally support Wills’ work. Promissory notes would be written, events supported, and an unusually talented peer even kindly offered to paint a mural to beautify a new shelter!

  Lady Embry, on the other hand, reminded people that the able-bodied sloths of the world needed correcting, that the Lords of Parliament had spoken a
nd that for the government, it would be workhouses. And she was, sadly, right.

  “Her Majesty, the Queen!” At the announcement, a hush fell over the noisy crowd, and the costumed people backed away to form an entrance for her. Young Queen Victoria stepped in, dressed in a pale lavender gown covered with crystals, giving the appearance of dewdrops forming on a forested creature at night, and wearing a diamond-studded circlet. She was followed by her mother, the Duchess of Kent, in palest peach. Emma, whose name was not announced, entered in a deep red gown with the bodice overlaid with lace. She wore a sparkling tiara, her ruby necklace and earrings of diamonds and rubies.

  Embry was, of course, horrified, and immediately hustled in a quite unseemly manner, and most inappropriately, to the side of the Marquess and Marchioness. She went fussing and demanding an answer! Had their men gone to sleep at their posts? Why was Emma here, “dressed so outrageously—not in pale color, so out of her class, not in the theme of the ball, and worst of all, following after the Queen?” She must have stolen her way in, for she had not even been announced!

  She was abruptly shushed by Lady Breyton and pushed aside. The Queen, the Duchess and Emma, whose steps were the only remaining sound in the room, came to be greeted by the hosts. Though such reception was always accorded the Monarch, much of the actual hush was due to awe and astonishment over the housemaid, Emma. Much attention was on her as she followed the Queen. But Lady Breyton, in confusion, pretended to be unaware of her presence, and Emma backed a few steps away. Lord Breyton, on the other hand, was stunned and had a look of fear on his face. He forgot to greet the Queen for looking at the servant girl in her diamonds.

  The Duke of Trent then approached and mentioned to the host family that he would like to make an introduction. Of course, because the Queen wished it, and because he was a royal duke, he was allowed. The crowd remained stunned and silent.

  The Marchioness was fearful of allowing the party to take this uncharted direction. She was unsure of what propriety and her friends would demand in such an unusual situation. Time sped past her while she was evaluating what they would all require. Though mere seconds passed as she looked from face to face, it seemed to be a dazed hour. What was their verdict? There was no reply in their intently perplexed stares. What should she do? And then, as if in a vision, she saw the Duke step forward to speak. She froze.

  “I will assist our hosts in welcoming you all tonight. We are happy to have Her Majesty, the Queen, with us,” he began. “Now that she has arrived, we will soon begin the dancing. Have our hosts not provided us with a wonderful, starlit woodland for our festivities this night?” Everyone applauded inattentively; their minds were not on the setting. “Before the dancing begins,” he smiled, thoroughly delighted. “I would like to make an introduction to you.” Now he had everyone’s attention. Breyton stepped back to protect his wife’s hand in both of his. “Please meet Her Royal Highness, the Princess Emmanuel of Tremeine, niece of His Majesty, King Julian III, who recently contacted Her Majesty in an effort to locate Emmanuel.”

  The Duke paused, Emma stepped to his side and the Marquess stood looking at her, numb. “The Princess was recently named after her mother, the late Princess Emmanuel of Tremeine, by the King.” The Duke looked intensely at Breyton. “Perhaps you have heard of her before?”

  The Marquess barely managed to stutter out a, “Yes, Your Grace.” It was as he had suspected. He bowed in forced homage to the Princess. The entire multitude bowed and curtsied as the Duke continued.

  “The late Princess went on holiday in Italy twenty and some years ago, where she met a Viceroy who stopped there on his way to India. He had recently received the title the Marquess, the Lord Breyton, for heroism at Waterloo. They married,” he related to loud gasps, “and soon thereafter, Breyton went on to India for his tour of duty. The Princess returned to her home in Tremeine to await their life together, where she realized that she was with child. Perhaps you would like to become better acquainted with her daughter and learn from her the rest of her story, should she choose to reveal it. For now, I believe, Her Majesty, the Queen, is ready to dance!” And Trent backed into the crowd, leaving the stunning Emmanuel of Tremeine alone, unique in deep red, in the center of the room.

  The Marchioness looked at her husband in dismay. He confessed to her that, yes, it was true. Ashamed and humiliated, he tried hopelessly to explain, “My darling, surely you understand. I was young. One becomes confused about life, you know, in one’s youth.” He spoke gingerly, completely discomfited. “And she was royal. It was a cardinal opportunity. I was son-in-law to a king! You must understand, my beloved?”

  “We were engaged, sir, did you consider that? You had proposed to me before leaving for India! And where is this wife of yours, now?”

  Genny had drifted to Emma’s side and had curtsied to her, and they were locked in a sisterly embrace before a stunned throng. “You look so elegant in your mother’s dress, Your Highness! You will stand out from the crowd, as you ought. I am so proud to be the only one in this huge assembly to be allowed to claim you as my sister!” She then stood back and looked at her again. “I know well that you have the loveliest white gown in existence, but I am so pleased that you wore your mother’s regal red.”

  “My darling sister, I am so pleased that you have accepted me so willingly. With so much in common, we will enjoy, indeed, a sisterly life.” Their smiles gleamed, in even the twilight of the stateroom.

  Emma then eagerly searched the room for the abjuring Mr. Gabriel Hughes. He stood still, but her nod beckoned him to come. He approached sadly, and bowed deeply.

  “Mr. Hughes.”

  “Your Royal Highness.”

  “Sir. I believe you had kindly requested of me the first dance?” She held up her white satin-gloved hand for him to take. They waited in silence for the trees to be waltzed away to somewhere nearer Athens and for the Queen to step forward.

  “I should be happy for you…and I will be someday,” he turned toward Emma and murmured, “but this is the end of my ever-so-dear hopes with you. Though you never encouraged me, it is yet very hard for me accept, and to dance with a smile.” She smiled sadly. They went forward and joined in the Grand March, following the dukes and duchesses, and then the first waltz.

  Afterward, she asked Gabriel to bring her some drink and to sit with her. She graciously postponed the approaching excited visitors, some bearing profuse apologies. Wills, and several other men with their dance requests, were acknowledged with a wave. Wills was, however, asked, “Will you kindly return to me soon?” Gabriel arrived with drinks, and they went to a terrace to talk.

  “I learned just recently,” she began, wishing that she could sufficiently console him, “that the Marquess is my father and that the late Princess was my precious mother. What a shock this has been, and a great joy, though it has quite overwhelmed me!”

  “I have no doubt that this has been quite astonishing, and assuredly bewildering, for you!”

  “It has, sir. I’ve been informed that my mother came to be with child before returning home from Italy, but her father, most angrily, refused to accept the marriage. It was not the bloodline that he had chosen for his grandchildren. He had other intentions for her, marriage to a certain Prince, you see, which she had hoped to escape. She had possibly married quickly to avoid the other match, although her writings indicate that she was deeply in love with her husband. Lord Breyton is not royal, so in my grandfather’s eyes, he was but an outrageous pretender, and was perhaps even intent on the throne! He told her, in a dreadful rage, that he would hide her away until I was born and then send me to my father’s family! She feared that he would actually keep it all a secret and have me put in an orphanage or even destroyed, without her knowledge, so that no one could ever expose the situation.”

  “And I am so thankful that he failed. The world has been highly favored with your presence, your life.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am ever so grateful to have been saved. As it happened, my
mother quickly contacted someone she knew, Caroline of Brunswick, who was soon to be traveling here to England. As she moved through the Continent in the Queen Caroline’s coach, she dressed as a servant woman to hide her identity. The Queen was coming back, hoping to be crowned alongside His Majesty, King George IV. My mother came with her to hide out and wait for her husband to return to the country.”

  “And I know, of course, that Queen Caroline was tried for adultery, turned away at the coronation, and that she died soon thereafter. What, then, became of your dear mother?”

  “The Queen, before her death, commended my poor mother to the care of Her Grace, the Duchess of Trent, who was just returning from abroad. I was born in Helena’s home; the bed I’ve been sleeping in here is the very bed I was born in! My mother became very ill soon thereafter, no doubt as a result of enduring so much cruel grief. She died when I was only a few months old. Alas, I have never known my dear mother, as you have never known yours.”

  “And I wish we had known both. They are in God’s hands.”

  “They are, indeed, in better hands than those they were in before death. Your mother was apparently cast to the streets. My dear mother had written to her husband, the Lord Breyton, that she was ill, that the doctors had said she was dying, and that I would need him. She also told him about her father’s anger, though he had already received threats from Tremeine, as he was not in the King’s favor. She no doubt hoped he would hurry home to see her before it was too late, and to make provision for my care. He wrote back to the address she had given him; the Duke had warned her not to give the Lord Breyton his address in case the letter was intercepted. In his reply, Breyton said that he was not willing to deal with her father and his threats, or to raise the baby after she died. He ordered her to write to her father that the child had died and then put me in an orphanage. His hope, after all, to have a lofty position in Tremeine as well as here, was gone. To him, it was a relief that my mother would die.”