A Bright Young Thing

by Brianne Moore

  “You’re sure?” he asked hopefully.

  “As sure as one can be,” I answered as brightly as I could manage. No use worrying the poor boy any more. “What did she want anyway?”

  “Oh,” he looked down at his hands, embarrassed. “Well, she wanted to be a bridesmaid, but I told her that was very much out of my hands. I think I’ve appeased her by giving her a reading. Cousin Gertrude will be very put out, but …” He shrugged helplessly.

  “You can be sure that won’t be the last thing she’ll ask for,” I sighed. “Even after you’re married, she can hold this over you. And me.” The thought filled me with a fierce rage. Would I ever be free of this terrible woman? “I’m so sorry, Mustard. I should have warned you. I never thought she’d go after you as well.”

  “What, then, she’s threatened you too?”

  I nodded. “She threatened to show the note around if I didn’t dance to her tune.”

  Hampton’s face hardened. “Well, I’ve never heard of a lady behaving in such a manner,” he declared. “It’s simply not … well, it’s not all right at all, is it?”

  “No, it’s not. But I don’t see what we can do about it just now.” I might have been willing to do battle with Millicent for my own sake, but there were others to consider. “Would it help if I didn’t come to the wedding, Mustard?” The thought saddened me: Going north for the wedding would give me a chance to see Hensley again, and that was a balm I sorely needed. And I was fond of Belinda and Hampton and wanted to see them on such a happy day.

  Hampton thought for a moment, then set his jaw. “No, certainly not. Belinda wouldn’t allow it. She’s spoken endlessly of you and the other girls since you all returned from Paris. She’s quite fond of you, and so am I. No, please do come, Astra. Unless, of course, you think it would all be too painful. I know Rakesburn is very close to Hensley.”

  “It’s never painful seeing two people who love each other come together,” I reassured him with a genuine smile. “I’m glad to see you happy, Mustard.”

  “I am the luckiest of men,” he agreed. “And I’m sure your husband will say the same someday.” He rose. “Afraid I must dash now. There are china patterns that need selecting, or so I’m told.”

  “Important indeed! I don’t want to make you late for that. I’ll show you out.”

  As I closed the front door behind him and turned, I spotted Reilly going up the stairs and called out, “Did you have a pleasant day, Reilly?”

  She paused and turned. Still bright and smiling. “I did, miss. Thank you. Went to the flicks and saw the new Chaplin film.”

  “Did you and your friend enjoy it?” I asked pleasantly.

  Her smile, it seemed, turned brittle. “Friend?”

  “Yes. I thought I saw you speaking with a woman outside just a little while ago.”

  A long pause. “I don’t know her, miss. She was just needing directions is all.” She flickered a smile and hurried up the stairs.

  Chapter Ten

  It was a glorious May day, and I was going home. Nearly. The close of the month saw Toby and me on an afternoon train, puffing toward Leicestershire for Belinda’s wedding.

  I was happy to be going, but I couldn’t have asked for a worse traveling companion. Toby, bundled in a sour-faced heap on the seat opposite mine, glared out the window as the green and pleasant land slipped past, taking civilization with it.

  “The countryside,” he snarled. “Dirt and wildlife and fresh air.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” I pointed out. “Nobody forced you onto the train. You simply couldn’t be bothered to put up a fight.”

  It was his mother’s doing. Jeffries had made a point of delivering both of our invitations during tea, when he knew Aunt El would be present.

  “Good lord,” Toby had exclaimed, “are they inviting everyone they’ve ever met?”

  “You should be grateful for that, Tobias,” his mother responded, practically giddy (well, as close to giddy as Aunt El ever got) at the prospect of her son being invited to a ducal wedding. “Astra, when you write your acceptance, please do one for Tobias as well. You’ll word it much better than he will, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, Mums, no! It’s in May! Who in their right mind is in the countryside in May?”

  “Not another word!” she’d shrilled. “You will go, Tobias, and that’s the end of it!”

  He’d thrown me a pleading look, but I certainly wasn’t going to argue with her. She was already cross with me because, after my meeting with Edgry, I’d asked her, as politely as I could manage, to please not decide what should be done with Raymond’s and my money without consulting me.

  “It was the best thing at the time,” she’d responded irritably. “Really! You don’t appreciate anything I do for you!”

  Unsurprisingly, she was not inclined to help undo that trust she and Edgry had created.

  “Your foolishness in Paris proves this was the best thing,” she’d insisted. “What ridiculous things would you buy if you had all that money at your disposal?”

  No amount of arguing that I had every intention of using the money responsibly persuaded her. Her heels were well dug in. And I didn’t want to press the issue because heaven knows what she’d do if I annoyed her further. She was already taking every opportunity to shout and scold me, Dandy, and even Reilly. Not that Reilly seemed to mind: she had been in a very chipper mood the past few days. I think I actually heard her humming while she folded my blouses around sheets of tissue paper and slipped them into the suitcases.

  Despite Aunt El, I’d been feeling somewhat optimistic. Edgry had duly returned his “fees,” and I’d engaged a new lawyer. This man did not think I was an idiot and supplied me with regular reports detailing my income and expenditure, so at last I felt I was getting a much better grasp on my finances.

  But then, I saw Freddie at Waterloo Station.

  “Tobyyyy! Miss Davieeeees!” he’d bellowed down the platform.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Toby had moaned. “They really did invite everyone.”

  “Going to the wedding?” Freddie had asked, bounding our way. “That’s marvelous. There seem to be a lot of us going. It’ll be quite the party!”

  “How excellent,” Toby had responded flatly.

  “And I’ll be claiming you for a dance at the ball right now, Miss Davies.” Freddie’d waggled a finger at me. “No dancing out of it this time. Dancing out! Ho!”

  He had followed us to our seats and plunked down next to me, chattering about all the excellent parties he’d been to and the ones he’d be missing because he “just had to go and stand by old Mustard when he takes the plunge and slaps on the ball and chain. It’s just the right thing to do, isn’t it? Besides, seems like all the pretty girls in London are going.” He’d leered at me as he pulled out a flask.

  “Your nobility is an example to us all, Freddie,” Toby had darkly observed.

  “I am a gentleman,” Freddie had agreed, offering the flask to both Toby and me.

  “It’s a bit early,” Toby had remarked as the train jerked out of the station.

  “Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere!” Freddie took a deep swig.

  Toby had frowned. “Are you drowning your sorrows, Freddie? I’ve noticed you tend to jabber and drink when you’re upset.”

  Freddie’d fiddled with the flask, then slid his eyes toward me with a brave smile. “You may as well hear it from me. Mr. Porter’s taken his business elsewhere.”

  It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over me. I’d been afraid this day would come, but hearing it now, when everything else seemed like such a mess, made me truly feel like I was staring into an abyss. My stomach twisted several times. I’d gaped at Freddie. Even Toby’s eyes had widened. “All of it?” I’d gasped.

  Freddie’s smile had turned a little desperate. He’d shrugged and nodded. “Sorry to say, but, you know, these things happen! My father’s not been well and, uh, the running of the business has sort of fallen
off a little. We were late on a few shipments … Ah well, can’t be helped! Nothing’s certain in business, eh? Maybe we’ll find someone else.”

  Someone else to make a regular order that large? Someone else with a factory that needed supplying?

  “Who else might that be, Freddie?” I’d wondered, hands twitching as I fought the urge to grab him by the lapels and shake him.

  He’d shrugged again. “Dunno. Someone, maybe. Hopefully. And soon. Gosh, you know what? It’s a little stuffy in here. Think I’ll go to the bar car and have a snifter.” Off he had stumbled.

  Toby had sighed, then reached over and patted my shoulder. “Well,” he’d said philosophically, “at least you still have your health.”

  As we disembarked, a frighteningly young man with lank black hair and hands jammed into the pockets of worn corduroy trousers ambled over and said, “Ye’ll be the ones stayin’ wi’ th’ ’orshaws, right?”

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” Toby wondered.

  The boy gave him a withering look and said, “This way.” He led us to a cumbersome, black, cloth-topped touring car that reminded me of a hearse.

  “What is that thing?” Toby asked.

  “A Humber,” the boy answered in a defeated tone.

  We all climbed in. With some coaxing both physical and verbal (“Come on, girl, come on,” as the boy eased on the clutch and the gas), the car wheezed itself onto the road, and we sped away at a thrilling fifteen miles an hour, bumping painfully over the untended ruts and potholes. The snail’s pace gave Toby plenty of time to scowl at the countryside as we made our way to Elmswood, the home of a pair of sisters who had been friends with my aunt for years. I’d never met these ladies, but on her rare visits to Hensley, Aunt El would make a point of seeing them. Afterward, she would scold my mother for not including them in her social circle.

  “Oh, lord, the Horshaws,” Mother would say, rolling her eyes as soon as her sister’s back was turned.

  “That house,” Father would agree, wincing.

  Elmswood had been built by a merchant who did fairly well for himself in the Elizabethan age. Subsequent owners had added to it over the centuries, tacking on bits and pieces with absolutely no thought or respect for the building’s original design. It looked like someone had cut apart pictures of other houses and stuck them together in a bizarre architectural collage. Dormer windows cut across the roof line, a brick extension with long sash windows stretched to one side, and the Humber wheezed to an exhausted stop beneath a heavy, Gothic-style porte cochere.

  Toby and I climbed out while Reilly waited to be taken around the back with the luggage. The boy gave her a nudging look, however; then hopped down and shouldered through the front door with his hands full of cases and a hatbox. Reilly hesitated, throwing me a questioning glance. I shrugged. Down she came as well, picking up one of the remaining valises and trailing after us as we followed the boy inside.

  The main hall was dim at floor level, but as our eyes adjusted, I saw it had a beautifully carved staircase that wrapped upward past a large diamond-paned window that probably would have made the place nice and bright if it wasn’t north facing. At the foot of said staircase was a tiny gray-haired lady. Her face was spiderwebbed with creases, hands clasped in front of her, clenched to the white-knuckle point. Like my aunt, she was dressed well out of fashion, though in this lady’s case she was only about ten years behind the times, in an ankle-length, blue-striped cotton dress. Her hair was parted rigidly down the middle and pulled back in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck.

  The boy dumped the suitcases at her feet and stomped back out for the rest.

  “You’ll be Astra and Toby,” the lady observed unnecessarily. “Welcome to Elmswood. I’m Alice Horshaw, but of course you must know that already. Manifestum est. I regret my sister, Bellephonica, cannot see you, but she’s recovering from a great battle with influenza.” She sighed. “Brevis ipsa vita est sed malis fit longior.”

  “Fit? Influenza? Oh dear, you won’t want us here,” said Toby disingenuously. “We’d better go back, Astra.”

  “I certainly hope it’s not serious,” I said, flinging an eye dagger his way.

  “Aegroto, dum anima est, spes esse dicitur,” she answered. “You need not worry, it’s quite safe. The doctor has assured me she is no longer contagious.”

  Toby smiled tightly. “What a relief.”

  Alice looked me over and her face softened. “You look very much like your mother.”

  “Thank you,” I responded, smiling.

  Alice next glanced at Toby. “You look very much like your mother as well.”

  Toby tried, unsuccessfully, not to look offended.

  “I shall show you to your rooms,” Alice continued, turning and ascending the staircase. “Excelsior!”

  Toby and I swapped sideways glances.

  “What does that mean?” I whispered as we followed her up the stairs.

  “How should I know? I’m not Caesar,” he hissed back.

  “I thought all you learned at school was Latin!”

  “Yes, and who on earth remembers any of that? It’s like algebra or dangling participles: the people who remember how to use it in adulthood are always the ones you avoid at parties.”

  “My sister’s room,” Alice announced, gesturing to the first door on the right at the top of the stairs. “Noli ursam fodicare,” she whispered.

  “Right you are,” Toby responded.

  “Your room, Tobias,” she said, indicating the room opposite her sister’s. “And you, Astra, are at the other end of the hall, next to me.”

  “Lovely.” I followed her to an unexpectedly pleasant bedroom, papered and upholstered in pale green toile. A carved four-poster took up most of the space, leaving just enough room for a wardrobe and a dainty lace-draped dressing table.

  “I think—I hope—you will be comfortable here,” said Alice, twisting her clasped hands as I got my bearings.

  “Oh yes, certainly. Thank you,” I reassured her.

  My enthusiasm coaxed out a tiny smile and her hands stilled. “I am glad you and Tobias have chosen to stay with us,” she informed me, with a quick nod. “Quite glad. We entertain little here. My sister … But after all, homo sit naturaliter animal socialis. So it’s nice that you’re here.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said a little uncertainly. “That’s very kind. And I’m sorry if our visit disturbs your sister in any way.”

  Another smile, but a wry one this time. “It’s for the best that she’s bedridden just now,” she told me. “She is not a natural hostess. Is there anything you need?”

  “Where might I find writing paper?” I was hoping to send Freddie a note asking to meet when he was sober enough to discuss things rationally.

  “In the library, just at the bottom of the stairs. We dine at seven o’clock promptly. Arthur will bring up the bags. I will leave you now.”

  And with that, she was gone.

  * * *

  The festivities got under way the following night, with a pre-wedding ball at Rakesburn. The last time I had been there was for a dinner the October before my parents died. I remembered my father being excited about some Flemish tapestries the duke had recently purchased, and my mother eating very little. At the time I thought it was nerves.

  Tonight the house was lit up like a Christmas tree, and car after gleaming car was dropping passengers at the door before chugging away. As the Humber lumbered forward, Toby pressed against the window, trying to make out the faces of fellow guests.

  “Tommy and Sylvia Ruckle,” he murmured as one glittering pair disembarked from a Bentley. “And the Arnold brothers,” as the next car released a stream of tow-headed young men.

  “How many are there?” I asked as one Arnold after another hopped out.

  “I’m not sure. They all sort of blend together after a while.” Toby answered. His mood was vastly improved, thanks, no doubt, to the splendid food on offer at Elmswood. We’d been treated to some delicious straw
berry tarts at teatime. When asked, Alice had blushingly admitted she made the jam herself. She had glanced up toward her sister’s room as she spoke, as if she were afraid of being scolded for bragging.

  “Could you send a supply down to London?” Toby had hopefully asked her.

  I’d been happy to discover that the newest part of the house contained a beautiful library. The long sash windows provided plenty of light, and it was quiet. The perfect spot to do some thinking about what to do now that Porter had abandoned Vandemark. Another client would need to be found, but who? Freddie couldn’t be relied on to fix this; it would have to be me, but I had no idea where to begin. I wound up spending the afternoon looking out the window, thinking, and coming up with no solutions.

  The car coughed and heaved itself to Rakesburn’s entrance, drawing a few raised eyebrows from the Arnold clan. Arthur stepped out to open the door for us.

  “Right, then,” said Toby. “Once more into the fray!” He winked as he descended and gave me his hand.

  I followed, carefully draping my train into place behind me, and now the Arnolds’s eyebrows were rising for an entirely different reason. I was wearing the red dress from Paris, with pendulum-shaped diamond earrings my father had given Mother for a twentieth anniversary present, and combs in my hair that glittered with diamante swirls and foliage. Despite the long journey in the crawling car, I looked spectacular. Tommy Ruckle gave me an appreciative look as I passed by on Toby’s arm, and Sylvia Ruckle responded with a good, sharp elbow to Tommy’s ribs. His yelp followed us inside.

  There was no doubt that a wedding was imminent. Thick ropes of white flowers, ivy, and ribbons were swagged up and down the front hall and the banisters of the stairs. Enormous urns spouted fountains of lilies that thickened the air and delivered a perfumed slap as soon as you entered. Toby blinked, his eyes watering at the smell.

  But I breathed it in. Inhaled the heady atmosphere: rich flowers and tinkling laughter and softly glowing lights. Girls lifting gloved arms in greeting to their friends. Couples whispering, hands drifting surreptitiously around waists. Plans being made.