A Bright Young Thing

by Brianne Moore

  “Someday you’ll do this for your children,” Mother had said as we planted a border of asters.

  “We both will!” I’d told her.

  The thought of it made my heart ache.

  As I neared the house, I slowed to a trot and turned toward a gradual rise that gave the best views over the gardens. Hensley’s roofline peeked over the hill. My stomach jumped at the sight, then twisted uncomfortably, and I pulled the mare to a halt.

  Why was I doing this? Seeing the place would only make me sad. To be so close but still unable to truly call it mine. And now, with Freddie’s news, returning to Hensley seemed a more remote possibility than ever.

  But I had to come back. I couldn’t stay at Aunt El’s forever, dependent on her resentful charity. This was home. It had seeped into me. Or perhaps it had been part of me from birth, something passed along by my parents just as surely as height or eye color. Perhaps that’s how it was with these old houses: you twined together, and the longer you’d been there, the harder it was to break away. This was where all of our memories lived, sunk into gardens and pets’ graves and pleasant rooms my mother had taken such care in arranging.

  The mare shifted beneath me, and I absently patted her neck, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. “Think of a flower, slowly opening,” Mother had said. But when I tried, all I could see were her flowers. Her morning glories and roses. And Father, breathing them in. “I hope heaven is like this.”

  My heart squeezed and my eyes stung. I turned the horse so I couldn’t see the roof anymore. I’d see Hensley again when I could walk through the front door and truly call it mine. The thought of seeing it as a visitor was too depressing.

  As I guided the mare back down the slope, I saw a rider approaching at a canter. Dunreaven. I considered galloping away, not wanting to meet him like this. My mind was everywhere; I’d have no witty exchange to duck behind. My eyes still prickled, threatening tears. He’d know something was wrong. I felt tender and exposed. A shell-less turtle, yet again.

  I didn’t move. It was too late anyway; he was nearly with me. I tried to pull myself together. Pasted on a wobbly smile.

  “You’re up early this morning,” I observed.

  He pulled up a few feet away and tipped his hat in greeting. “Good morning, Miss Davies. I hope you don’t mind: the stableboy said you came this way, and I was hoping to catch you up and ask for a tour of the countryside.”

  “I’m very happy to give it.” I nudged the mare forward, away from the house.

  He fell into step beside me, glancing my way. “Is everything all right?” he asked after a few minutes of riding in silence. “You don’t quite seem yourself. No witty remarks to greet me with?” A teasing grin. “My goodness—have I managed to rattle you?”

  “Not you, but …” I drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t have my wit about me just now.” I nodded back in the direction of the house. “Hensley is there.”

  “Ahh.” His face softened into an expression I’d never seen before. It was understanding and sympathy, without pity. “Did you see it?” he asked quietly.

  I shook my head. “Too difficult,” I croaked, looking away from him as the sting behind my eyes increased. I couldn’t cry in front of him. “That must seem weak to you.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” he reassured me in a gentle tone. “It is a hard thing, coming home after a loss. Even when you think the shock has worn off and you’ve steeled yourself and it’ll be all right, it still hurts. Sometimes much, much more than you expect.” He looked away from me now, and I wondered if he was swallowing tears of his own. Instinctively, I halted the mare, reached out, and laid a hand on his arm. He smiled a silent thank-you, and said, “You see, I don’t have my wit about me either, right now.”

  I squeezed his arm and retracted my hand. Until just then I had forgotten that he, too, had lost both of his parents. He understood.

  “It’s a strange thing, being alone in the world,” I observed as we began walking again. “Though I suppose I’m not really alone.”

  “There’s a difference between being alone and feeling alone,” he said. “I think we both know what the latter feels like.”

  We looked at each other and smiled, and I realized that now I didn’t mind feeling so exposed. I liked it, actually. I felt lighter—that shell had been a burden.

  And there was something else: a strange sensation between us. One that was familiar to me and yet at the same time utterly alien. It was a comfortable feeling, a warmth and a security. What you feel when you embrace someone who trusts and loves you, and whom you trust and love in return. I’d never felt this way around any young man before, and it baffled me. Is this what falling in love was like? Did I even want to fall in love with him? Oh, he had all the proper requirements: charm, youth, position. But he couldn’t help me get Hensley back. And what would he think about Raymond?

  And yet, keeping him at arm’s length was starting to feel exhausting, and unnatural. Just one more battle when I was already so heavily engaged.

  But maybe it wasn’t love at all. Perhaps it was only an infatuation, or a friendship developing further. One day I might look back and laugh at my girlishness. My naivete.

  Did he feel it too? He smiled at me again, and I sensed that he did.

  He stopped his horse again and twisted in the saddle so he was more fully facing me. “At the risk of overstepping my bounds by some miles, may I ask you something?”

  My heart sped up. “Of course you may.”

  “I think we may safely consider ourselves friends?”

  I grinned. “I’d say so.”

  “Then could we dispense with formality and use Christian names? I’d rather just be Jeremy with you.”

  My smile broadened. “Of course. I’d like that.”

  He smiled back, and I basked in it, feeling warm all over.

  “Now, Jeremy, I believe you wanted a look around the countryside,” I said, gathering up the reins and digging my heels into the mare’s sides. “Come on. There are some wonderful bridle paths this way.”

  * * *

  The invigorating ride and a hearty lunch back at Elmswood restored me: The sense of lightness held, and I felt energized and even a little hopeful. So much so that I once again settled down in the library and started writing business notes. Things I didn’t understand, things I wanted to know, people we could approach, arguments I could use to persuade Porter to return. I worked and worked, and before I knew it, the shadows had begun to slant, and the clock in the hall was chiming teatime. I started to put my papers aside and Alice poked her head in.

  “I’m so sorry—no need to wait on me,” I told her.

  “No, no, it’s quite all right. You seemed quite possessed of a cacoethes scribendi. I hated to disturb you.”

  “You’re not disturbing me,” I reassured her.

  “Oh, well,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, seemingly afraid someone else was listening. She slipped into the library and tiptoed up to the desk. “I was wondering: What are you working on?”

  “Oh, it’s—it’s some business matters,” I answered. “I’m trying to work some things out with a company I’m invested with.” I immediately regretted telling her that—surely a friend of Aunt El’s would believe that the business world was no place for a girl. I should have just said I was writing a poem or something.

  I steeled myself for a lecture, but instead Alice’s eyes widened and she breathed, “Really? Why, how remarkable! You young ladies these days—you do so much. How I envy you!” She drew up a chair and sat beside me.

  “I’m not doing much at all,” I admitted. “Mostly I’m just discovering how little I know.”

  “Well, you must start somewhere,” she said staunchly, reaching out and squeezing my arm. “Keep at it, my dear. You go out and you find people to answer your questions, and you keep at it. You seem like a clever thing; I’ve no doubt you’ll learn quickly.”

  “That’s really kind of you,” I said warmly.


  She smiled, rose, and went over to one of the bookshelves. She quickly retrieved a small stack of books and returned, spreading them out on the desk. They were all Greek and Latin works: Ovid and Livy and some names I didn’t recognize.

  “These were my father’s. He was a professor of ancient cultures. When I was a little girl, I’d pick them up and try to read them but, well, they were all Greek to me.” We chuckled together. “He saw me looking at them, so he sat me down and taught me Greek and Latin. Turned out I had a knack for it. He and I used to converse in Latin sometimes. It annoyed mother and Bellephonica to no end.” She smiled mischievously at the memory, then sighed. “I wish I could have done something with it, but it was not to be. There wasn’t much a girl could do with such things, back then. But now! There are possibilities, aren’t there? At least, it seems like there are. Some. So do pursue this, Miss Davies, if that’s what you want. I’m sure your parents would have encouraged you, just as my father did.”

  Would they? I had my doubts. But then, perhaps if I’d applied myself to something like this while they were still alive, they’d have trusted me to help when Mother fell ill. Hopefully they would have trusted me enough to actually tell me she was ill in the first place. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and my breath was ragged as I breathed in. Think of flowers! Count back from ten!

  “Oh, oh, my dear, are you all right? I’m sorry!” Alice patted me on the back as if I were an infant to be soothed.

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” I said as she gently led me to a divan. “I’ve just been thinking about my mother a great deal recently.”

  Alice nodded sympathetically. “She was a lovely lady. And she loved you so, so much. She talked about you all the time, and kept all your bits and bobs from when you were a baby. It was so sweet.”

  I blinked at her. “I didn’t know that you two were friends.”

  “Oh, not friends, really. We visited a bit, but there was … a coolness between our two households.” Alice shrugged. “The matter with her sister … it was to be expected.”

  “Her sister? Aunt Elinor, you mean? What matter?” The questions came out in a gush, and Alice looked startled. And then something flashed across her face. A momentary flutter. Something like realization.

  “Oh. Oh well, there was a disagreement. It passed. Such a lovely place, Hensley! And your mother had very ambitious plans for the gardens.”

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to remain in control. Alice patted my hand and cooed soothingly. “It’s a terrible thing when a girl loses her mother young.” She sighed. “You have suffered a great misfortune. But remember: Ad astra per aspera.”

  I blinked at her. “I don’t know what that means,” I admitted.

  “Oh, of course! Silly of me,” she tittered. “‘To the stars through difficulties.’” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I forget sometimes. Slipping in and out of Latin became such a habit with dear Papa, I don’t seem able to control it.”

  The door opened and Arthur poked his head in. “Ye’d best get to the drawing room. That man’ll not leave ye a single tart if ye don’t.”

  “Bring up some extra tarts for him, Arthur,” Alice said as we moved toward the door, arm in arm. “That poor boy. The way he eats, I’m convinced your aunt starves him. Oh!” She stopped and turned to face me. “I nearly forgot: Bellephonica told me she saw your maid out in the garden earlier with someone.”

  “Did she?” I’d given Reilly the day off, so I didn’t see much harm in her being out in the garden. “Is she not supposed to be in the garden?”

  “No, no, it’s perfectly all right. Only, ’Phonie said they seemed to be speaking quite intently and for a very long time. And she said they were over near some hedges and thought maybe they didn’t think they could be seen from the house. It was a woman she was speaking with. Had very red hair, apparently.”

  The same woman she’d been speaking with in London, perhaps? For an alleged stranger, she certainly had a knack for finding Reilly. Why on earth would Reilly lie about knowing her?

  “Did Bellephonica recognize the woman?” I asked.

  Alice shook her head. “No. I’m sure it’s nothing—just a friend. But you can never be too careful when it comes to one’s servants and the people they mix with. I only thought you should know. Come along, the tea will get cold and the tarts will vanish if we don’t hurry.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Like many brides, Belinda had assumed her wedding day would be perfectly sunny and glorious. How could it dare rain on such a special day?

  Well, it dared.

  It bucketed. A real drenched-in-seconds, biblical downpour that showed no signs of letting up. I woke to the unwelcome sound of it, and when Reilly pulled the curtains back all I could see outside was a solid sheet of gray.

  “It might stop before the ceremony,” I suggested, more hopefully than I felt. Even if it did, the roads would be rivers in some places. As I dressed, I wondered how Belinda felt about this. Hopefully she was so blinded by love she wouldn’t notice or mind.

  Alice, Toby, and I had a quiet breakfast, watching the rain cascade its way down the windows. Toby pouted into a boiled egg and said nonsensically, “This would never have happened in London.”

  “Yes, it never rains there,” I flung back.

  “You know what I mean!” he snapped as he angrily buttered a slice of toast.

  “Now, now, omne bene erit,” Alice said.

  Toby glared while continuing to scrape butter across his bread like both had personally offended him.

  “Surely it will be all right,” Alice continued. “She wasn’t planning on having the wedding outdoors anyhow.”

  “There were plans for the wedding breakfast to spill into the gardens,” I told her.

  Alice’s eyes flicked to the windows. “Amantes sunt amentes,” she murmured.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Toby nodded and bit savagely into his toast.

  I reached for a slice myself, but then Arthur came in and announced, “There’s a man ’ere from the ’all. Says ’e’s been sent to fetch Miss Davies. The bride’s ’ysterical.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

  “Hysterical? Why? What’s happened?” I asked. Arthur shrugged. “I’d better go, then,” I said, setting my toast aside. My stomach was already knotting. Summoned to Rakesburn by a hysterical Belinda the morning of her wedding? Dear lord, had she found out about Hampton’s note? Had Millicent, after all, carried out her threat?

  “What am I to do?” Toby asked plaintively.

  “Finish murdering your toast and then meet me at the church,” I answered. “Arthur can drive you. I’m sorry, Alice.”

  Alice waved her hand. “Never mind, my dear. You are needed. Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur: A friend in need is a friend indeed.”

  I followed Arthur into the front hall, where a uniformed chauffeur was waiting, looking quite put out by all the fuss.

  “Can you just give me a moment to change?” I asked, zipping past him and up the stairs.

  Reilly was in my room, laying out my wedding clothes.

  “I need to go to Rakesburn now,” I explained. Without question she began unbuttoning and relacing, and in less than fifteen minutes I was in the car and driving to Rakesburn along muddy, rutted streets that, as I feared, were already starting to flood. I wondered if the Humber would manage by the time Toby was ready to leave.

  Everyone was scurrying at Rakesburn, and the air was as rich with anxiety as it was with floral perfume. As I passed one of the drawing rooms, I spotted a clutch of ladies inside, gathered around Belinda’s mother. She was waving a handkerchief and calling for smelling salts. I swallowed hard.

  Joyce appeared on the first floor and leaned over the balustrade. “Astra! You’d better come up here. None of us are much use at all.”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, ascending the stairs like Anne Boleyn going up the scaffold. “What happened?”

  Joyce shrugged. “I can hardly understand a word coming out of her. She’s summ
oned just about everyone. It’s a complete crush in there.”

  Oh, God, I was going to be facing a mob.

  “Honestly,” Joyce huffed as we headed down the hallway together, “I can’t believe nobody thought to bring some phenobarbital with them. The stuff’s as vital to a wedding as a groom and veil! I’d give her one of mine, but I took the last one yesterday.”

  We heard Belinda long before we saw her: her wails were ricocheting off the walls of the hallway leading to her room. I wondered how long she’d been keeping this up and felt sorry for anyone with a bedroom nearby.

  We stepped into her room, which was so crammed with people it was difficult to shoulder in. The heat and mix of perfumes were enough to make you feel light-headed. Someone had drawn the curtains, shutting out the dreary outdoors, but nothing could disguise the sound of the rain thrashing against the windowpanes. I will say, though, Belinda’s sobs were making an excellent attempt.

  The bride, a perfect picture of complete and utter grief, sat in the middle of her bed in a crumpled pink dressing gown, face red and tear-streaked, eyes bloodshot.

  Bridesmaids, friends, and female relatives clustered in concerned little knots, patting her and making soothing noises. A few ladies, having already given this up as hopeless, were scattered on chairs and settees. Everyone looked desperate to escape. I considered slipping back out and hiding downstairs, but then Belinda looked up, and her face crumpled anew. I froze, waiting for the onslaught.

  “Look what’s happened!” she gasped, pointing to the covered windows. “Just look! My beautiful wedding’s ruined! Ruined!” She shrieked this last one. Three bridesmaids sitting near her cringed.

  I blinked. All this … because of the weather? A sudden feeling of hysteria came over me, along with a rush of relief, and I nearly began laughing. I managed to strangle the mirth and wondered what to say. What could I say, really? Or do? I couldn’t make it stop raining. What would Cecilia or my mother say if they were here?

  “Oh.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, thinking, then grabbed a brush from the dressing table and hissed at the nearest girl to fetch a cool facecloth. “Belinda,” I said in my most calming voice, sliding onto the bed and looking her right in her reddened eyes, “I want you to try doing something for me. I want you to close your eyes and slowly count backward from ten. Or imagine a flower slowly opening.”