by Brown, T. J.
A tentative knock sounded at the door. She tossed the dress on the bed and strode to the door in her dressing gown. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Prudence stood on the other side, wearing a plain striped shirt that stretched across her breasts and a black skirt that hung on her slender hips. Both girls stood still for a moment. So much had changed since they’d parted from each other just that afternoon.
“May I come in?” Prudence asked. She stood erect and dignified, but her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.
Rowena’s heart constricted and her uncertainty broke. “You goose. Get in here.” She pulled Prudence in and shut the door behind her. She wrapped her arms around Prudence. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would be like this.”
Prudence returned her hug for a moment, then pulled away. “It won’t be forever,” she said.
Rowena nodded, even though Prudence’s voice rang false. “I’ll figure out something, I promise.” Even as she said the words, the trap tightened. “It’s just, right now, I don’t know what to do,” Rowena whispered, her arms wrapped over her chest.
Prudence moved away and nodded and Rowena heard her take a deep breath. When she turned back around, a careful smile lit Prudence’s face. “Your things are a mess. I’d definitely have a serious discussion with your maid. Good help is so hard to find.” She took a stack of Rowena’s clothes out of the trunk and began hanging them up.
Rowena smiled back, though the lump in her throat grew. “I don’t have a maid, I have a sister.”
Prudence’s fingers fumbled with the sash she was tying, but when she smiled again it seemed more genuine. “Then why don’t you let your sister put away some of your things while you dress for dinner?”
Prudence threw her a simple white cotton chemise from the trunk and Rowena let her dressing gown drop to the floor. She pulled the shift over her head and then deftly caught the silk stockings Prudence tossed.
“I’ve met your cousin,” Prudence said as she unpacked.
“What did you think of her?” Rowena drew the silk stockings deftly up her legs, first one and then the other. Then she stood while Prudence fit the stays of the lightweight corset around her. All three girls had long given up the heavier, more confining corsets, preferring the simple riding corset, as it was much easier to move in. Because most clothing would not fit without the proper corset, the Buxton girls had most of the waists on their clothing altered. They decided long ago as a group that breathing a bit easier was preferable. The corset was only lightly boned and had a long, straight busk; Prudence buttoned up the front, adjusted it a second time, and then laced it up the back.
“She didn’t say much, though she did ask about the picture of my mother.” She pulled on the laces while Rowena held her breath.
“What did she say?” Rowena asked, clipping the suspender tags to the stockings.
“She just asked if it was my mother.” Prudence rummaged around in a small trunk before coming up with a pair of black French-heeled shoes. “It was strange, though. It’s almost as if she already knew who my mother was.”
Prudence arranged a light petticoat on the floor in a circle, while Rowena slipped the shoes on. Then she stepped into the petticoat and Prudence pulled it up around her. The girls had been helping each other dress for years and knew the routine.
“Why is that strange? Your mother worked here before she married, didn’t she? Perhaps Elaine has heard of her?” Rowena held up her arms and Prudence slipped the dress over her head. Then she did the same with the sheer lace overdress.
“That’s what is so strange,” Prudence said. “Why should Elaine have heard of a mere housemaid who worked here before she was even born?”
Rowena frowned. “I’d never thought of that, but you’re right. It’s not like at home, where we know our staff so well. Most of the time, I don’t think they’d recognize the faces of half the people who work for them.”
“That’s what I thought.” Prudence cocked her head and eyed her critically. “Do you want me to do your hair up?”
Rowena shook her head and sat at the little vanity table. “I’m just going to pull it back and put it in a low knot.” She looked at Prudence’s reflection and hesitated. “It’s so strange for you to help me get dressed and me not doing the same for you.”
Prudence gave her a half smile. “What, you don’t think they’d appreciate my dinner gown?”
She whirled around and Rowena gave a halfhearted laugh. Even a half smile lit up the planes of Prudence’s pretty features and Rowena once again wondered how someone as attractive as Prudence could be unaware of how lovely she actually was. “I think you’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”
Prudence’s smile dimmed, then disappeared from her face entirely. “But it isn’t my clothes they would object to, is it? It wouldn’t matter if I were dressed from head to toe in an original Poiret, they still wouldn’t want me sitting at their dining room table.”
Rowena fiddled with her brush to avoid Prudence’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Pru” was all she could think to say. She had never thought of her family in this light before. The extent to which her father had shielded them from the realities of life at Summerset suddenly dawned on her. And yet he had never shied away from revealing the truth to his girls about anything else, so why hide the depth of entitlement and prejudice that defined places like Summerset? Because he loved it here, she realized. He saw the dark cost of places like Summerset and knew they couldn’t run this way forever, but he still wanted his girls to appreciate the grace, dignity, and elegance of the home that he loved so much. She thought again of the intolerance that even her frivolous cousin Elaine would show Prudence and she winced. “I’m so sorry, Pru,” she repeated.
“I know.” An aching silence of things unsaid filled the room. “I’m going to go help Victoria dress.”
Rowena nodded and turned to her reflection. She twisted her hair and held it in place while she jabbed ivory and pearl combs haphazardly into the knot. If they didn’t like the way she wore her hair, they could jolly well sod off. Very little about this situation was her choice. She didn’t choose to have her father die, nor did she choose to have a family full of insufferable snobs.
“So why do I feel so guilty?” she asked her reflection. She took out her delicate pearl dog’s collar, considered it, and then set it aside for the simple gold locket her father had given her. Restless, she decided to go down to the drawing room, even though she would be early.
She passed Victoria’s room and heard Prudence laughing. Victoria’s high-spirited nonsense—reciting poetry and changing the words—could make anyone feel better. She almost went in but decided against it. Even though it wasn’t fair, she had a feeling both girls blamed her for their current circumstances and she didn’t want to put a pall on their fun. God knew they needed it.
Elaine was already in the drawing room when Rowena arrived.
“My, your mother has been busy, hasn’t she? This is the second room I’ve seen so far that’s been completely redecorated since I was here last.”
Every piece of furniture in the room had been swathed in a hectic rose and cream print fabric. In contrast, the plush rug beneath her feet was a plain dark red. Gold patterned wallpaper adorned the walls and in the center of the room hung the focal point, an enormous crystal chandelier suspended from a ceiling of such intricate plasterwork, it looked as if it had been carved from stone.
Elaine snickered. “Well, really, what else does she have to do?” She moved over to a serving table. “Would you like to try an American cocktail before my parents come down?”
Rowena raised a brow. “What are you drinking?”
“Have you tried a gin sling?”
Rowena shook her head.
“Colin taught me how to make one last time he came up from Oxford. They’re quite good and will make you silly in a very pleasant kind of way.”
“Oh, why not?” Rowena thought she could use a little silly right now. She watched as Elaine
expertly mixed the contents of several cut-glass decanters together. Obviously, she’d done this before. “How is Colin, anyway?”
Elaine grinned at her, and once again Rowena was struck by how much her cousin had changed in the last year. Her skin glowed alabaster against the black silk of her gown and the added inches from her French heels made her look voluptuous rather than pudgy. “Do you want the parental version or do you want the truth?” Elaine asked.
Rowena took the glass Elaine handed her. “I always prefer the truth.”
“He hates university almost as much as he hates being here. Oh, don’t get me wrong. He loves Summerset, we all do, but he doesn’t want his whole life to be the price of wheat, wool, and rents. He’d much rather just fiddle with his motors, but who ever heard of the Earl of Engines?”
Rowena took a careful sip of the drink and then shuddered as it burned its way down her throat. “So what is he going to do?”
Elaine shrugged. “What else can he do? What can any of us do? Exactly what’s expected of us, of course.”
Warmth spread through Rowena’s chest and the tension in her neck and shoulders eased. She took another appreciative sip. “So he gives up being a mechanic to be an earl?”
“Who’s giving up being a mechanic?” Victoria came into the room behind them.
“King George,” Elaine answered quickly, giving Rowena a look.
Victoria threw herself onto the chaise. “Now you’re being silly, but go ahead, keep your little secrets. I have some of my own.”
“And what would those be?” Rowena finished her drink and handed Elaine her glass. Elaine finished as well and then secreted the glasses behind a marble statue of Artemis.
Victoria waved her hand. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Girls! My poor darling nieces. How are you bearing up under the tragic loss of your dear father?”
Rowena shivered at the sound of her aunt’s cool, cultured voice. “I can’t speak for Victoria, of course, but I am doing as well as can be expected,” she said.
“I’m perfectly wretched, Auntie.” Victoria rose from the chaise and clasped her hands in front of her. “I feel just like that poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
“I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless,
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. . . .”
“I can just imagine, poor dear,” Aunt Charlotte interrupted. Victoria took the hint and went and kissed her cheek without treating them to the final lines.
Rowena took a deep breath and followed her.
Aunt Charlotte had been the most beautiful debutante of her season, perhaps during the entire eighties. Dowagers still spoke of her beauty and the exceptional ease with which she comported herself at such a young age, even among the Prince of Wales’s smart set. She’d capped off her stunningly successful season with a brilliant match and was soon giving glittering parties attended by the cream of English society. For years she had been applauded for both her beauty and wit, and even now it was only up close that one could see the slight melting of her lovely features, as if she were one of last season’s leftover apples. The renowned wit seemed perennially missing.
Aunt Charlotte suffered through Victoria’s kiss, then turned to Rowena. “I’m sorry for your loss, my dear. I know poor Conrad is desolate. Your father was a wonderful man.”
Rowena knew that her aunt and her father had a mutual avoidance pact. But then, if the roles were reversed, he would be offering the same polite, empty words. “Thank you, Aunt Charlotte. How are you feeling? I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the service.” She leaned in close to kiss her aunt’s cheek and then realized her mistake when her aunt started sniffing. She must reek of gin.
Her aunt’s blue eyes flickered over her, but Rowena knew she wouldn’t say anything. Yet. “I’m feeling much better, thank you for asking, and we will have our own little service here tomorrow. Oh, Conrad, here you are now. Shall we go in to dinner?”
Dismissed, Rowena stepped away as her uncle led Aunt Charlotte to dinner.
Summerset had two dining rooms, a large formal one for parties and a smaller one for when they dined en famille. It was the smaller one they went into now, which was one of Rowena’s favorite rooms. With its low crossbeams and built-in china cabinets, it looked like the kind of place built for happy families to break bread.
Of course, the Buxtons did not “break bread,” they dined. Even when they were eating informally as a family, there were never fewer than seven courses.
The table, a long, dark, highly polished rectangle, could comfortably seat twelve. Aunt Charlotte sat on one end and Uncle Conrad sat on the other. The girls clustered in the middle. Rowena wondered whether they sat this way when only the three of them were present and decided they probably did. Elaine sat next to her, Victoria across from her.
Rowena eyed her sister with concern. The attack this afternoon had left her pale; only her eyes showed her agitation, darting from Aunt Charlotte to Uncle Conrad. Rowena frowned. What was she up to?
She found out a few minutes later over the poached salmon when Victoria said, “I have to tell you, I am not at all happy about the way you treat guests in your home.”
Next to her Elaine dropped her fork into her plate, spraying the table with little droplets of cream. Rowena’s breath hitched as she looked from Uncle Conrad, who had frozen in shock, to Aunt Charlotte, who hadn’t even flickered an eyelash.
For a moment no one spoke, then Aunt Charlotte smiled gently. “And in what way do you find our hospitality lacking? Was your room not ready? I can speak to the housekeeper if you like.”
“Oh, no. The room is wonderful as always, Auntie.” Having dropped her pronouncement, Victoria seemed disinclined to hurry, and she buttered a roll with studied nonchalance. After taking a bite and then a sip from her water, she turned to Aunt Charlotte, evidently thinking she would get further with her than with Uncle Conrad.
“As you know, we brought our friend to stay with us. I expected her to be welcomed just as any of my guests would be, but instead I find that she has been given a much smaller room upstairs.”
“You’ve brought a guest?” Aunt Charlotte shook her head, causing the teardrop-shaped diamonds in her ears to sparkle. “I heard of no guest. Just you and Rowena and your maid.”
Aunt Charlotte’s voice was solicitous, and uncertainty flickered across Victoria’s face, but her little sister was nothing if not stubborn.
“Prudence. Prudence is my friend and I would like her room to be changed, please. Or if that isn’t possible, she can sleep with me. She often did at home, you know. It’s no trouble at all.”
Next to her, Elaine actually gasped and Rowena’s heart pounded in her chest. She glanced at Aunt Charlotte to see her reaction but there was none.
“Oh, you sweet girl. I can understand your confusion, but the girl is a maid, not your friend. You can be friendly with your maid, and you should be, but they can get uppish if you treat them like equals. Even my own Hortense, whom I adore, will take certain liberties if I show too much familiarity.”
Victoria looked stunned.
“But things are changing, Auntie,” Victoria tried again, but she was cut off.
“And not for the better. We all have responsibilities—our servants have theirs and we have ours, and one of my responsibilities is to make sure my poor orphan nieces are brought up properly and make good marriages, though why God saw fit to give me three girls to marry off, I will never know.”
Rowena couldn’t keep still any longer. “But that’s just it, Aunt Charlotte. Though Victoria and I are grateful to you and Uncle Conrad, I would say that we’re brought up already.”
“I won’t rest until both of you are safely and properly married. Only then will I feel I have done my duty. Isn’t that right, Conrad?”
Uncle Conrad nod
ded. “I would have to agree.”
Victoria looked from one to the other, bewildered. Rowena gave her a fierce frown, but Victoria ignored it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t see what any of that has to do with Prudence staying with me,” Victoria said.
Aunt Charlotte gave a stiff smile. “That’s just it, my dear. As a young girl, you are naturally idealistic. As your elders, your uncle and I have a responsibility to protect you from those who might take advantage of your kind nature. Now let’s speak no more about it.”
Victoria threw down her napkin, exasperated. “Protect me from Prudence? What are you talking about?”
“That is enough!” their uncle thundered.
Everyone froze in various states of surprise. Even Cairns, their butler of twenty years, fumbled as he served the roast hare. Rowena had never heard her uncle raise his voice. He didn’t have to—he got exactly what he wanted without doing so.
She lowered her head but observed him out of the corner of her eye. His chest rose and fell quickly and two splashes of red marked his cheekbones, but instead of looking angry he just seemed . . . pained.
From across the table, Victoria’s eyes pleaded with her, but it wouldn’t do any good. Rowena dropped her gaze and remained silent.
And hated herself for it.
CHAPTER
SIX
This is all wrong.
The family crypt lay about a mile from the main house, right behind the old chapel. The chapel itself had been allowed to fall into disrepair after Victoria’s great-grandfather had built a new one adjacent to the house. The crypt, built into the side of a small berm, had not been relocated. On top of the berm sat a large marble wall that proclaimed the names of the fallen male Buxtons. The female Buxtons had burial plots surrounding the berm.
The entire family stood on the berm where the name Philip Alexander Buxton had been freshly carved at the bottom of the list.
Well, not the entire family, Victoria thought. Prudence wasn’t here.
Victoria had whispered that fact to Rowena before they left the house, but had received a black look in return. Rowena hadn’t wanted to rock the boat; she was scared of falling over and drowning.