Masquerade

by Nancy Moser

  Lottie attempted to sit up, but her bustle and the drapery of her birthday dress worked against her. Fully frustrated, she clambered to the floor, where the layers of her dress fell into place. “Help me out of this thing.”

  Between the two of them, Lottie’s dress was relinquished and a dressing gown put on. Lottie sat at her vanity and, with a sigh that moved shoulders from up to down, gazed upon her reflection. “Just look at me.

  I fully look the part of a pauper. No wonder Ralph wants nothing more to do with me. I’ll be fortunate if Conrad doesn’t run from the pier at the first sight of me. If only I could run from him.”

  Dora smiled. “Hand me the brush and I’ll change you from windswept to breathtaking again.”

  Lottie succumbed to the pull of the brush and closed her eyes.

  Dora could feel her tension dissolve. Lottie had always loved to have her hair brushed, and Dora was glad to oblige. It was such a little thing and brought Lottie such pleasure.

  “How can my entire world change in a single day? And on my birthday too.”

  “Perhaps all at once is better than a little at a time,” Dora said.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Doesn’t it? For surely tomorrow can’t bring worse.”

  Lottie nodded. “Surely …” She retrieved a pair of sapphire earbobs she’d recently removed and played with them in her lap.

  If Lottie’s world had changed, so had Dora’s. “So you and your mother are going to America, then?” Unasked was whether they planned on letting Dora go along.

  “It’s not America I object to,” Lottie said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. But marrying a man I’ve never met, that I may find disagreeable, a man who doesn’t excite me one whit through the few tidbits I’ve gathered in our courtship by the post …”

  “You don’t have to marry him,” Dora said. “Do you?”

  “My parents are depending on it. They imply it’s my duty as a means of untarnishing the family name. And perhaps it will be my only chance to marry well at all.” She paused, then began again. “But I suppose if we were not at all suited …”

  Yet maybe that would not be a consideration. If the parents of Lottie and Conrad agreed to the match, there would be a match. Sometimes Dora was glad she belonged to a lower class. She could marry for love.

  Or could she?

  Barney Dougan. The butcher’s deliveryman.

  She was not in love with him. Not really. But she’d heard from Cook that it was a fine thing to have Barney’s interest, because it saved Cook a trip in to Lacock to the butcher’s. Barney would linger when he came to the Gleasons’ with a side of lamb or a brace of pheasants, and made Cook call Dora down from her upstairs duties. Barney was a nice enough chap, and nice enough in looks too—burly and strong, with dimples that magically appeared when he smiled.

  At her. Smiled at her. Dora knew Barney would propose. Soon, if she had any understanding of the current gist of his affection. And barring another man miraculously dropping into her life, she would probably say yes. She wanted children. She wanted her own home. And like Lottie, she too wanted love.

  The trouble was, other than Barney there were few chances to find a mate. Dora worked sixteen hours a day and rarely left the house. Once there’d been a footman who’d caught her eye. He’d even shown interest in return, but Dora had called an end to it. Romance between servants was forbidden, and if they had been able to manage it—and had been caught—it would have been Dora who would have been dismissed. More proof that female servants were on the lowest rung of life’s ladder.

  And so, even though she bragged that she could marry for love, it was not totally true. She could choose someone to love with a little more freedom than Lottie had, but mere choosing did not ensure the emotion would follow.

  Yet whether Lottie loved Conrad or not, Dora didn’t think such an arrangement would be the end of the world. Being rich was the key. At least a rich woman could spend her days wearing lovely clothes and jewels, and go to balls where she could dance until the orchestra put away their instruments.

  “I’m so confused,” Lottie said. “I’m sure Mother will accept the Tremaines’ invitation. And perhaps Conrad isn’t as dreadful as I suspect.

  But not being dreadful is hardly what I look for in a husband.”

  Dora had been privy to Conrad Tremaine’s letters when Lottie had read them aloud. She didn’t find them nearly as mundane as her mistress did. And if his photo showed him to be a bit plump … wasn’t plumpness a sign of wealth? Dora took no offense to it as long as the man was not overly so and was not slovenly about it. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” she said.

  Lottie dropped the earrings on the dressing table and looked at Dora’s reflection.

  Dora felt embarrassed. “I was just joking.”

  Lottie rose and swept the train of her dressing gown to its proper place. “You joke about my life being ruined? You think it’s funny?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Lottie fell upon the bed a second time. “What’s happening to me should not be the subject of a joke. All is lost. My family expects me to marry Conrad and so I’ll be forced to marry Conrad.”

  Dora didn’t know what to say. “I—”

  “Oh, leave me be.” Lottie turned on her side, showing Dora her back.

  Dora quietly pulled Lottie’s door shut, needing to escape to her own room. So much had happened. But not two steps down the hall she was intercepted by Lottie’s Aunt Agatha. “Connors. I was looking for you.”

  She offered a slight curtsy. “Yes, Miss Agatha?” She noticed the woman was carrying an evening gown. Dora knew what would come next.

  “This old dress needs some adjustment to make it more … usable. Take off the lace here and here.”

  There was no request for alterations; it was assumed. “I’ll take care of it, miss.”

  At the end of the hallway Dora opened a door, lifted her skirt along with the heavy burden of the evening dress, and climbed the steps to the attic rooms. All the rooms were empty now but for her own bedroom and that belonging to Jean, the housemaid. Dora entered her small chamber amid the eaves and moved its chair toward the window to utilize the best light. But before she settled in to work, she sidestepped to her bureau and held Miss Agatha’s lavender dress against herself, enjoying her reflection. It was amazing how a dress could change everything.

  She’d joked about marrying Conrad. But wouldn’t it be grand to marry a rich man and be a real lady of society?

  A bird flew into the window, startling her from her dream.

  Enough. Dora was not a fine lady; she was a maid. Pure and simple.

  She gathered her needle and thread, sat down, and got to work.

  Chapter Three

  Lottie considered skipping breakfast, staying in her room, shunning her parents as her friends had shunned her.

  But to do so would negate her chance and great ability to pout in their presence and make them suffer. If they wanted to sacrifice her life to the wolves of America and arrange a marriage-for-money …

  Behold! The martyr.

  “What are your plans for today?” her mother asked.

  Lottie said nothing but waited for Dora to serve the eggs and stewed tomatoes. Dora moved on to Aunt Agatha.

  Lottie’s father picked up a scone and knife, perused the table, then said to Dora, “Preserves? Where are the preserves?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go fetch some.”

  Unfortunately, Dora hurried out of the room. Lottie wanted her there as a witness so they could discuss the success of Lottie’s revenge later.

  Father sprinkled a pinch of salt over his eggs. “I’m going to ask Derek to get steamer trunks from the attic so you ladies can see the baggage space you’ll have available for the trip. Is that agreeable?”

  “That would be very helpful, Thomas,” Mother said.

  Lottie was confused. Her father had suggested her mother was too ill to tr
avel. Had he given in to her desire out of guilt?

  “Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Lottie?” her mother asked. “About the trunks?”

  Lottie took advantage of yet another chance to kill them with her silence.

  Father cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. That’s that, then.”

  Aunt Agatha put her fork down with extra emphasis. “This is absurd. Lottie, you’re acting like a five-year—”

  Mr. Davies came in carrying a tray. “A special delivery, sir.”

  Lottie glanced up and saw fear flash across her father’s face. Was he expecting bad news?

  Apparently, for he let out a sigh steeped in relief when he saw whom it was from. “It’s from the Tremaines. And it’s quite thick.”

  Lottie gave her eggs her full attention. She had no interest in whatever the Tremaines might have to say—or so it must appear.

  “Lottie, why don’t you open it,” her father asked.

  She faced a conundrum. To refuse, she would have to do more than shake her head; she would have to speak. But by accepting, she would be showing interest. She settled on “Let Mother do it.”

  Mr. Davies brought Mrs. Gleason the packet, which was thicker than a letter but smaller than a package.

  Mother opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. Her face beamed as she lifted for display—“Tickets! Two tickets!”

  “My, my, that was quick,” Father said. And timely. It was as though the Tremaines and her parents had orchestrated the entire thing.

  Lottie’s mother perused the tickets. “It’s passage on the steamship Etruria. First class.” She repeated the final two words for Lottie’s benefit. “First class, Lottie!”

  What did her mother expect? Steerage?

  Father shook his head. “Again, I bring up the issue of your health, Hester. Such a long journey …”

  “Nonsense, dear. The accommodations will surely be luxurious. It will be as if I were at home.”

  “But not at home.”

  Wasn’t that the point?

  Lottie’s need to speak overrode her need to pout. “I didn’t say I’d go. We haven’t even responded to the Tremaines’ invitation as yet.”

  “A bit presumptuous of them to be sure,” her father said. “But also quite American. From my experience they have trouble taking no for an answer.”

  “But I haven’t said yes,” Lottie repeated.

  Her aunt rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be such a twit, girl. Your family found you an excellent match. It’s your duty to embrace it. A woman may not get a second chance.”

  Lottie knew that in her youth Aunt Agatha had spurned a proposal. Lottie couldn’t imagine any man being interested in her. She was as pinched and tasteless as a dried prune. Or was the latter the result of the former?

  “I am not being a twit, Aunt. I am merely wanting some say in my future.”

  “And why do you think you deserve this say?”

  “It’s marriage. It’s forever.”

  “My opinion stands.”

  Lottie’s mother put the tickets back into the envelope for safekeeping. “But, dear, now that you know the extent of our situation, I don’t think we can wisely close the door on this opportunity.”

  Who wanted to be wise? When had Lottie ever been asked to own such a trait?

  Apparently now.

  Her father cleared his throat. “I know this entire situation is regrettable. I will go to my grave laboring over …” He did not elaborate. “But the truth of the matter is, Charlotte, you must go. You must meet this Conrad. You must make every—every—attempt to find him amiable and acceptable, and you must marry him and be kept safe and happy and provided—” His voice broke and he stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  At his departure, the silence that encompassed the room was far different from the silence Lottie had attempted to create with her moping. She’d never seen her father break down like that, never imagined he ever felt full of regret and despair. She was tempted to run after him and console him, but considering she had never done such a thing … it would be too awkward. Besides, did he deserve consoling?

  The need to pout was set aside. “Is everything really so horrible, Mother? Is everything ruined?”

  Her mother put a hand to her mouth, her eyes downcast. “The threat of ruination is horrible indeed, and the acts that brought it down upon us are …”

  “Deplorable?” Lottie offered.

  With a moment of hesitation Mother nodded, then looked at her daughter. “A woman’s lot is to endure. It is only the extent of that endurance that varies between individuals of our sex.”

  Lottie had never considered being a female to be as awful as that. Yes, there were limitations and expectations that had occasionally colored Lottie’s life, but in general, she’d been quite happy.

  “Everything seems upside down,” she said.

  Her mother leveled her with a gaze. “Which is why you and I must do this thing, must get away from Wiltshire and find solace elsewhere.”

  Lottie had not thought much about how the arrangement could be to her mother’s benefit. “You wish to get away?”

  “I wish for peace—something I fear I will never be able to find here. Not with your father—” She commenced coughing, and it soon turned into a full-fledged fit. Lottie brought her a glass of water and stood by her side until the horrible hacking had passed. Mother handed Lottie the glass. “Help both of us, Lottie. Marry Conrad. Gain a good future before it’s too late to do so.”

  Lottie’s throat grew tight. Oddly, one of her favorite lines from Sense and Sensibility came to mind. When Willoughby was asked why he disliked Colonel Brandon, he said, “He has threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine.” His words were well suited, for Lottie disliked how the current situation threatened her life with rain when she wanted—and expected—it to be fine.

  Aunt Agatha interrupted her thoughts. Lottie had forgotten she was even present. “See here, girl,” Aunt said. “Don’t you think it’s about time you think of someone besides yourself? What little money is left they’re giving to you in a dowry, to assure your future. Our world is collapsing around us. Escape while you can—and take your poor mother with you.”

  Lottie felt a swell of shame. Suddenly the concept of going to America enlarged its scope. It was not only about pounds and pennies; it was about protection and permanence—and survival.

  Her mother extended a hand, and her fingers grazed Lottie’s arm. “We love you, Lottie. I know we are lax in saying as much, but …”

  Suddenly, in spite of their flaws and errors, Lottie knew this to be true. Her parents did love her. Although she’d known it in theory, she was now faced with their love revealed, exposed, and presented in a very tangible way. Love was not a word, nor even an emotion; it was an action, providing shelter and shield.

  They loved her, but had she ever loved them in return? She’d used them, manipulated them, annoyed them, worried and ignored them. She’d made fun of them in private and had wasted their times together with selfish thoughts of what she could get out of the meeting.

  Her mother glanced toward the door and rose. “I must go check on your father.”

  Lottie, left with the unpleasant prospect of being alone with Aunt Agatha, also said, “If you’ll excuse me?”

  “Sit down.”

  Lottie was stunned by her aunt’s tone.

  “Do as I say, girl. Sit your body down and listen to me.”

  Lottie returned to her chair, her nerves tingling.

  “I really should check on my parents,” she said.

  Her aunt had something else in mind. “What you really should do, Charlotte Regina Gleason, is grow up. Immediately. You’ve been treated like queen of the castle far too long and to bad results.”

  “I beg your—”

  Aunt stopped Lottie with a hand. “You can beg all you want, but I won’t listen to a bit of it. Your father is a fool. He made decisions that will affect all of us badly. And though she is
my sister, I must also call your mother a fool to put up with that man’s philandering.” She shook her head in disgust. “You haven’t helped matters with your pouting and whining and acting never satisfied.”

  Lottie thought of her lukewarm reaction to her parents’ birthday gift. Now she realized they’d given her an heirloom because they couldn’t afford something new.

  Aunt Agatha wasn’t through with her yet. “But I forgive you all that because they encouraged your behavior and did nothing to stop it. A child will push until a parent pushes back.”

  Lottie would accept the scolding but didn’t need a full lecture. It was best to apologize and be done with it. “I see now that I’ve not acted as I should.”

  Her aunt shook her head. “Feel bad on your own time. I don’t care if you fall on your face, beg forgiveness, and give all your possessions to the poor. What I do care about is that you help this family in a tangible way by marrying Conrad Tremaine. Only with you and your mother off to America, attended to and established, can your father deal with the repercussions of his own folly.”

  “What repercussions?”

  “You think he tells me?”

  No. Even Lottie’s mother didn’t know the full details. But Lottie herself had already felt a good dose of the consequences of her father’s mistakes. It could only get worse.

  “Not that you’ve given me a thought, but I plan to find solace in London with a cousin.”

  Lottie was further shamed, for she had not considered her aunt’s future for even a moment.

  “The point is, girl, life is changing for all of us, and we don’t need the distraction of Little Lottie whining about the loss of a friend or the absence of a new dress.”

  “I’m not that shallow,” she said.

  Aunt leveled her with a look. Then her face softened and she reached a hand toward Lottie, letting it fall upon the lace tablecloth between them. “You’ve been given a chance to help, girl. Take it. Go to America and take your mother away from the humiliation here. What you do once you get there is not my concern as long as my sister doesn’t have to worry about you. Do you understand?”