There was something wrong. At each step she took, someone in the ballroom began to laugh. Soon there was a chorus of laughter. A figure detached himself from the throng and came to the foot of the steps. His shoulders too were shaking.
“Her shoes! Look at her shoes!”
Eugenia glanced down. Her slippers were so worn that her toes peeped through. The hem of her dress was ragged and the sleeves ripped.
The laughter in the ballroom was now uproarious. Tears pricked Eugenia’s eyes but she kept on walking down. Then the figure at the foot of the steps tore away his mask to reveal his identity.
It was Gregor, Gregor Brodosky, and he was laughing at Eugenia along with all the rest.
“Oh,” choked Eugenia, struggling awake. “Oh.”
She felt her face. It was wet with tears.
What a fool she was! The dream had told her that. How could she possibly go to the ball? She had no gown. Great-Aunt Cloris would never buy her one. It was all her own fault that she found herself in this dilemma. She had been so eager to dance with Gregor that she had entirely forgotten the state of her wardrobe.
Even as the memory of her mother’s decision to sell off her jewellery surfaced in her mind, Eugenia suppressed it. She would never agree to a sale.
The Marquis would have received her letter of acceptance by now. She had sent it yesterday. Well, she would have to send him another, rescinding her decision.
Mrs. Dovedale bustled in, humming happily. Eugenia shrank in her chair. She had told her mother last night that she had accepted the invitation to the ball. She had been ecstatic but Eugenia, fearful her mother might pry into the reason for her change of heart, had slipped quickly away to bed. Now she would have to explain yet another change of heart!
Her mother sat down and rubbed her hands together. “What fun we are going to have these next few days, Eugenia my dear.”
“Fun?” echoed Eugenia faintly.
“Preparing for the ball, dear.”
“Mama,” she said quietly. “There isn’t going to be any fun. You see, I-I have changed my mind. I am – not going to the ball after all.”
Mrs. Dovedale spluttered. “Not going?”
“No.”
“You tiresome girl! What do you mean by this incessant torment of your mother?”
“Mama,” pleaded Eugenia. “I cannot go. I have no dress. I will not go in any more hand-me-downs.”
“Oh, is that it?” Mrs. Dovedale looked as if she would faint with relief. “You do not have to worry about that. Everything is arranged.”
“Arranged?”
“I now have the money.” Her mother looked triumphant. “Tomorrow we will go and choose the material and then hire a dressmaker. She will have to work quickly. It is only a week to the ball.”
Eugenia paled. “How do you have the money? Have you sold your jewellery? I will absolutely refuse to see a dressmaker if you have sold your jewellery! And if I find out afterwards, I will never, never forgive you!”
Mrs. Dovedale hesitated. Her daughter’s expression was so resolute that she could not doubt that Eugenia had meant what she said.
“N-no, dear,” she replied slowly. “I have not sold the jewellery.”
Mrs. Dovedale pondered all through breakfast. She remained in the parlour after Eugenia went up to dress. When Bridget came in to clear the table she asked the maid to bring her a pen and paper. She wanted to write a letter and it was warmer in the parlour than in her bedroom.
Bridget complied with Mrs. Dovedale’s request. She wrote slowly, considering every word. Then she sealed the letter and handed it to Bridget.
“You are to take this directly to the address you see on the envelope. I shall give you a shilling for a hansom cab. And,” she added, “you must on no account tell Miss Eugenia.”
*
Sunday seemed long and tedious to Eugenia. Her mother made no further reference to the ball or indeed to the question of money and she, for all her suspicions, was happy to avoid the subject for the moment.
So eager was she to attend the ball now she knew that Gregor would be there that she did not wish to speculate too keenly on where money might have come from. As long as it was not from the sale of her mother’s jewellery! Perhaps Great-Aunt Cloris had somehow been prevailed upon to pay for new gowns. No doubt the old lady would let her know soon enough.
After returning from Church the weather became inclement, which meant there would be no walk that afternoon. Instead, Mrs. Dovedale asked Eugenia to come to her room to read to her. Eugenia scanned the room for sight of the jewellery box and was relieved to see that it sat undisturbed in its usual place. When her mother seemed asleep, Eugenia tiptoed over to the box and, lifting it, gave it a little shake. It was locked so she could not be sure, but it seemed full. Satisfied, she set it down again.
Her mother stifled a smile in her pillow, thankful that she had thought to fill the box with loose buttons and bobbins of cotton.
All she required now was a positive response to the letter she had written earlier that day –
Reassured that her mother had indeed not sold her jewellery, Eugenia felt free to daydream again of the ball and the dances she would share with Gregor Brodosky.
The following morning she put a tortoiseshell comb in her hair. Every few minutes she ran to the mirror to pinch her cheeks. She must keep them looking rosy for Gregor.
At ten o’clock she heard a carriage draw up outside. Her heart quickened. Perhaps Gregor had decided not to walk to the house this morning. It was still raining, after all.
The doorbell sounded. She waited, heart pounding, but nobody ascended the stairs. Puzzled, she opened the door and walked out on to the landing.
The Marquis and her mother stood in the hallway below, talking in low voices. As Eugenia watched the Marquis drew a large packet from his overcoat. He handed it to Mrs. Dovedale. She appeared to thank him and then ushered him into the drawing room.
Eugenia frowned. What was the Marquis doing here, so early in the day? She hoped she was not going to be summoned to take tea with him. She might miss the arrival of Gregor.
At ten thirty the bell sounded again. This time it must be Gregor! She heard voices, louder than before and stepped out onto the landing. The Marquis was on the point of leaving and had stopped to exchange greetings with Gregor. Drawing on his gloves as he spoke, he glanced up over Gregor’s head and saw Eugenia gazing down.
She flushed under his stare and drew back. The Marquis departed. Gregor waved Bridget away – she was preparing to escort him to Great-Aunt Cloris’s room – and bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time. Eugenia stepped out again from the shadows.
“Ha! Little flower,” he said.
“Gregor – ” Eugenia flushed again at the sound of his name so openly on her lips. “Gregor – did you know that – I too am going to the ball?”
“At the Lady Bescombe’s house?”
“Yes. Will you – will you dance with me there?”
“Every dance that is not promised to another, I will dance!”
Eugenia blenched. “Are there many you have promised – to others?”
A strange look crossed Gregor’s features. “You are questioning me?” he growled.
“No.” Eugenia was nonplussed. “No. Why do you use that tone?”
Gregor regarded her darkly from under a lank of hair. Then suddenly he tossed his head and grinned.
“What a delicate creature! How the wolves would gobble you up?”
“W-wolves?”
“In Russia, there are wolves.” Gregor came close. Eugenia trembled as she felt his breath on her cheek. “They eat young girls. Like this.”
His mouth touched her face. Her lip, her nose, her chin. Then he drew away laughing. “We will dance. Never fear.” he cried, and ran on up to Great-Aunt Cloris.
Eugenia, stunned, gazed after him.
She could not fathom his character, but what did that matter? He was surely the most exciting man she was ever going
to meet!
A little later she was summoned to her mother’s room.
Eugenia could not help noticing the jewellery box on the bedside cabinet. It was ostentatiously open, revealing all the jewellery that Mrs. Dovedale had once threatened to sell.
Before Eugenia could ask, her mother ventured the information that the Marquis had called earlier to offer them the use of one of his carriages for the ball.
Eugenia thought she would enjoy driving to Lady Bescombe’s in a beautiful carriage, even if it did belong to the Marquis. She refrained from expressing her enthusiasm, however. She was painfully aware of the inference her mother already drew from the fact that Eugenia had agreed to go to the ball. She told herself it was not her fault if her mother imagined romance where romance there was none.
She wondered aloud about the packet, however. Mrs. Dovedale had not realised that Eugenia had witnessed the exchange and looked somewhat disconcerted. She plucked at a loose thread on her cuff for a moment before replying.
“The Marquis had brought me some herbal remedy for recurring headaches,” she said.
Before Eugenia could pursue the subject her mother hurried on. The Marquis had, it appeared, also come to recommend a particular dressmaker in the Burlington Arcade, a Madame Lefain. Many ladies of his acquaintance had their gowns made by her.
As intended, this item of information distracted Eugenia. She asked eagerly when she and her mother might visit the dressmaker and was told that they would leave that very minute.
Eugenia hurried away to don her hat and coat.
Madame Lefain stocked a large range of materials in premises behind the Arcade. There was silk and silk mousseline and taffeta and crepe and muslin and satin and satin brocade, in a hundred colours. Eugenia’s eyes opened in wonder at the choice. How could she possibly decide? She might have been there all afternoon had her gaze not alighted on a bolt of rose pink satin. This was the colour she had imagined when she had envisaged herself dancing with Gregor.
Madame Lefain thought the rose pink an excellent choice. She showed Eugenia a pattern that she thought would be most becoming and was absolutely ‘of ze moment’.
Mrs. Dovedale chose a deep purple indigo silk.
Shoes were produced that Madame Lefain assured them she could have been dyed to match the gowns.
Mrs. Dovedale declared herself most satisfied with the purchases. Eugenia tried to appear non-committal but inside she was excited beyond measure. Not since she was a child at ‘Paragon’ had she been able to spend time and money on her appearance.
If she dazzled Gregor it would be more than worth it.
*
The day of the final fitting came. Madame Lefain fussed about Eugenia, straightening the hem here, shifting the shoulder there. Then at last she stepped back.
“Voila!”
Eugenia blinked at her image in the pier glass. Could that – Princess – really be her?
Mrs. Dovedale clapped her hands. “Splendid! You must go and show yourself to Great-Aunt Cloris.”
“Oh, yes!” agreed Eugenia. “Since it is all her doing!”
Mrs. Dovedale caught her daughter’s arm. “All her doing?”
“Did she not agree to pay for our gowns?”
Her mother hesitated. “Of course. But you must not mention it. She wishes it to be – an anonymous gift. So please do not take it upon yourself to thank her.”
Eugenia was surprised but nodded all the same. “All right. If that is her wish, I shall say nothing.”
It was a Saturday. Mounting the stairs to her great-aunt’s room Eugenia found herself grateful for the first time that Gregor would not be there. She did not want to spoil his first sight of her at Lady Bescombe’s ball.
Great-Aunt Cloris seemed moved when she saw how beautiful her great-niece looked. She moved stiffly to her dressing table and took out a row of pearls that had a pink lustre to them.
“You must wear these. They will go very well with the dress.”
“Oh, thank you, Great-Aunt Cloris. They are perfect.”
The evening of the ball arrived at last. At seven o’clock a carriage bearing the Buckbury crest arrived at the door. Great-Aunt Cloris and Bridget watched from the house as the footman opened the carriage door and ushered Eugenia and her mother inside. They waved and the carriage set off.
Mrs. Dovedale was barely settled into the plush velvet interior than she was at the window, opening it to see who might be watching their grand progress through the streets.
“Why, no one is out to notice us at all!” she moaned. She thought for a moment and then called to the coachman.
“Could you endeavour to drive by Cavendish Square, my man? And be sure and stop at Lady Granton’s house at number 32.”
“What are you asking, Mama?” whispered Eugenia.
“Lady Granton is not attending the ball tonight,” her mother replied. She is somewhat unwell. I should like her to see us in our gowns.”
Eugenia shook her head and leaned back against the soft upholstery.
The coachman, in order to detour by Cavendish Square, was turning the carriage round at a crossroads. Mrs. Dovedale hung out at the window, calling out instructions.
“You need to turn that horse’s head a little more firmly. And aim for that street on the left.”
There was a shout of warning. Horses reared whinnying in their shafts. Wheels grated against wheels. The Buckbury carriage shuddered on its axle.
Eugenia started up in horror as the door against which her mother was leaning swung wildly open and she was flung out, screaming, into the dark and misty night.
There was a thud and the screaming ceased.
Trembling, Eugenia leapt from the carriage.
“Mama! Mama!”
There was no reply.
Mrs. Dovedale lay silent, unmoving, her purple gown spread wide on the cobbles, her feet in their satin shoes protruding at an odd angle. Way above her head a jet flame fluttered in its bowl like a lone moth lost in the darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I knew no good would come of the ball,” muttered Great-Aunt Cloris.
Eugenia shuddered. Her eye strayed to the lamp on the table behind Great-Aunt Cloris. The wick was low, the flame flickering.
Flickering. Fluttering. Like the gas jets of the street lamps when her mother lay injured on the cobbles below.
Eugenia covered her face with her hands.
It was all her fault!
If she had not wanted to dance with Gregor – if she had remained true to her original resolution not to attend the ball – she and her mother would never have been riding in that carriage. Her mother would be safe and sound, instead of lying unconscious in her bed upstairs.
People had flocked to help after the accident. The footman, the coachman and another gentleman had carried Mrs. Dovedale back into the carriage. The carriage was not too badly damaged and was able to convey the injured woman and her daughter home to Craven Hill. The coachman had then driven on to inform the Marquis that his guests would not be arriving after all.
Bridget had been sent to fetch the doctor.
Doctor Parfitt had been with Mrs. Dovedale for over half an hour. His footsteps were audible as he moved about the room upstairs.
Great-Aunt Cloris raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“That doctor has a heavy tread,” she grumbled. “A heavy fee, too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Eugenia lowered her head.
There was silence for a while, broken only by the snap of a log in the fireplace or the step of the doctor in the room above. Outside in the street came the sound of a carriage drawing up but neither Eugenia nor Great-Aunt Cloris stirred. Only when the door bell rang did they look up.
“A visitor at this hour?” Great-Aunt Cloris frowned.
Bridget’s light footsteps sounded in the hallway. They heard the opening of the street door, muffled voices and then steps approaching the drawing room door.
“The Marquis of Buckbury,” Bridget ann
ounced grandly.
Eugenia rose in confusion as the Marquis strode forward, pulling off his long gloves. Raindrops glistened in his hair and the collar of his dark cape was damp.
“You – you have left the ball before it was hardly begun, my Lord?” Eugenia murmured.
“Did you really think I could simply dance the night away after hearing the terrible news?” The Marquis shook his head wonderingly before turning to address Great-Aunt Cloris. “I have taken the liberty, ma’am, of ordering straw to be laid outside your house that the invalid might not be disturbed by the sound of traffic.”
“How kind of you to think of such a thing, my Lord.” She signalled to Bridget, who stood gaping at the door. “Bridget, take our visitor’s cape to dry. Then be so good as to bring us some tea.”
Eugenia meanwhile bestirred herself to bring a chair to the fire for the Marquis.
“The doctor is with Mrs. Dovedale now?” he enquired.
“This last half hour,” replied Great-Aunt Cloris. “We await his prognosis – with great trepidation, as you might imagine. My niece was as cold as a waxwork when they brought her home. She has not opened her eyes nor uttered a word since.”
The Marquis listened with concern. He then turned to Eugenia.
“You were not in any way – injured yourself, Miss Dovedale?”
“Not at all.” Eugenia’s voice trembled. “But Mama – poor Mama!
She turned away to stifle a sob. Only Great-Aunt Cloris registered the look of relief that crossed the Marquis’s features at this admission that Eugenia was unharmed. He stood for a moment regarding her bowed head and then placed his hand gently on her arm.
“Everything that can possibly be done for your mother will be done, Miss Dovedale,” he assured her.
Great-Aunt Cloris looked alarmed. “We have to hope that Mrs. Dovedale’s injuries are not grave. She might be my own flesh and blood, but I cannot afford to pay in perpetuity for the services of a doctor. My husband’s money was in Indian cotton, my Lord, and the market is not as healthy as it once was.”
“Great-Aunt Cloris – please do not fret yourself,” said Eugenia in a low voice. “I will pay for the doctor if – if Mama – is badly injured. I will find work somewhere.”
The House of Happiness Page 5