Masquerade

by Nancy Moser

  “I do.” Far too well. But oddly, although the news was bad, it felt good to know.

  Her aunt sat back in her chair and nodded, obviously satisfied. “That’s a good girl, then. So go on now. Attend to the preparations and act happy about it.”

  Lottie rose, then did something she’d never done in her entire life. She went to her aunt’s side, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek.

  She left her aunt there, with a hand to that cheek, as stunned as Lottie herself.

  “All these trunks?” Dora asked.

  “Three for mother and three for me,” Lottie said. She blew a coat of dust off the top of one.

  “Don’t do that. I’ll wipe them off.” Dora studied the stickers on the trunks. “These trunks have been all over Europe.”

  “Before I was born, my parents traveled extensively. I went with them a few times when I was little, but I don’t remember any of it.”

  “Didn’t you say Ralph was going on a grand tour next year?”

  Lottie’s head snapped in Dora’s direction. “Don’t ever say his name in my presence again.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dora opened one of the trunks to check the space inside. If only the current fashion didn’t require the bulky padding of various bustles. Yet they were infinitely better than the full hoops of the previous decades. “How many gowns are you going to need?”

  Lottie bit her lip and thought a moment. “All of them? Or should I assume Mr. Tremaine will shower me with a new wardrobe?” Lottie moved to her armoire and examined her dresses, pulling out the skirt of a royal blue silk, then one of deep rust, then a burgundy. Dora loved the vibrant colors that were in fashion. “I’ve always liked the blue silk because it brings out the blue in my eyes,” Lottie said.

  “Did Ralph tell you that?” Why did I say that?

  Lottie stopped all movement and glared at Dora. “I told you not to mention his name. What’s wrong with you?”

  Dora sank onto one of the trunks and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m never snappy like this.”

  Lottie sat beside her. “And you’re never rude. I’ve always been able to depend on your constancy and patience.”

  With little trouble, Dora recognized what was bothering her. “You’re leaving for America, but I’m not. I’ll be left behind. Do I have a job here? Should I look for employment elsewhere? I’ve never worked for another family.”

  Lottie jerked her head to look at Dora. “We’ll be separated. We’ve never been separated. We can’t be separated.”

  “We don’t have a choice. The Tremaines only sent two tickets.”

  Lottie stood. “Then I’ll ask Father to buy another one for you. It wouldn’t be first class, of course, but—”

  “I doubt there’s the money.”

  “Then I’ll smuggle you in.” Lottie opened a trunk. “Here, get inside and see if you fit.”

  Dora got up and closed the lid. “I can only imagine what the ship’s captain would do with a stowaway. I have no wish to walk the plank.”

  “But we can’t be separated.”

  “We have no choice.”

  Lottie opened the trunk again as if considering a way to make it work. Dora knew it was hopeless. No matter how much Lottie wanted Dora to go with her, it was not to be.

  Then suddenly Lottie let the lid of the trunk fall, her face aglow with an idea. “As soon as I get there, I’ll get Conrad to send for you. I’ll tell him I can’t live without you and—”

  “And you’ll bat your eyes and pout and smile and get your way.”

  “It is what I do best.”

  If anyone could get it done, it was Lottie. “So we’ll not be apart terribly long, then,” Dora said.

  Lottie took Dora’s hands and spun her around. “Before you know it, we’ll both be in New York City. And your presence there will make the experience with the Tremaines far easier and bearable.”

  Dora felt better. If it ever came to pass …

  Even though Lottie was out of breath she kept walking.

  She’d made a good attempt at accepting the inevitable. She’d made peace with her mother and would do so with her father when he returned from work. She’d made peace with Dora and had vowed to find a way for them to be together in New York. And she’d even forced herself to be practical and go through her clothes and choose which ones would stay and which would go.

  Go.

  The notion of leaving the house and taking a long walk had grown into a necessity, so when Dora was called to other duties, Lottie fled into the sunshine and the wide hills that surrounded Dornby Manor.

  The coolness of the day was a good counter to her exertion. Although Lottie held a thought in the back of her mind that she was leaving this place and might never return, she could not allow the thought full access. She would think about that later. Right now she needed to find the joy the country always provided.

  September heralded her favorite time of year. She loved the changing leaves of autumn and the way they’d relinquish their perch to carpet the ground. At the moment, there was still competition between summer and fall as to which would win: green or orange, warm or cool, lush or lean.

  Happy or sad, wealthy or poor, loved or rejected.

  Lottie stopped beneath the canopy of a huge elm and sat upon an ancient bench. She chided herself for not bringing a book. She’d read many books in this spot and had traveled to many unknown worlds here.

  Soon I truly will be traveling to an unknown world. America.

  She’d looked at the United States of America on a map and had been shocked to see its size. England was the size of a single state instead of a separate country. A person could easily get lost in such an expanse of space.

  She blinked and straightened her back as though straightening the thought. “I could get lost over there …”

  Lost.

  Run away.

  Missing.

  Never to be heard from again.

  The notion was frightening, yet …

  In its own way it brought her comfort. If the Tremaines were a disappointment—if Conrad proved to be a man she could never marry— she could simply run away. Turn right when her mother turned left.

  But what then?

  Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Once she was in New York and had adapted to the feel of things, she could go off on her own and start over.

  And Dora could go with her!

  She laughed at the thought. Two best friends exploring a new world? The possibility lessened the burden of her parents’ plan. Since they supported the marriage with the goal of Lottie being secure and cared for, surely they also wanted her happiness. What did it matter if she found happiness in a different direction?

  Lottie lifted her face to the sky, letting the sun dapple through the leaves and caress her face.

  It was a plan. A secret plan.

  The best kind.

  Dora was roused from sleep by an unknown sound. She sat up in bed and listened.

  Voices were coming from the floor below.

  It was still dark, but moonlight revealed the time on her dresser clock. Two-fifteen. Who was up at this hour—and why?

  The sound of a horse’s gallop made her speed to the attic window. It appeared to be Derek, the stableboy, riding away as though a ghost were chasing him.

  Someone had to be hurt or ill or …

  Dora pulled a shawl over her nightgown and rushed downstairs. She didn’t need directions to the source of the voices, as the hallway contained Mrs. Movery wearing a robe, Mr. Davies in his uniform—sans tie—Miss Agatha, and Lottie.

  Where were the elder Gleasons?

  Lottie spotted Dora and hurried to her side. “It’s Mother. Her cough …”

  Now that Dora’s ears were tuned to it, she could indeed hear a horrible hacking coming from Mrs. Gleason’s room. She heard Miss Agatha telling Mrs. Movery to make some tea.

  Mrs. Gleason had suffered coughing fits before, but never one that sounded this severe. “What can I do to help?” Do
ra asked.

  Lottie shook her head. “Mr. Davies sent Derek for Dr. Graham. Mother is coughing up blood.”

  That wasn’t good.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Lottie said.

  Dora did a quick inventory and made an observation. “When your father comes out—”

  “Father isn’t here.”

  Dora was taken aback. “Not here? But it’s the middle—” She stopped before she brought more attention to his absence. “If no one is with your mother, why don’t you go to her?”

  Lottie’s face looked stricken. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve always made fun of her coughing, thinking she was exaggerating it for pity’s sake. But this is real, and it’s serious and—”

  Dora gave her a little push. “Go to her. Let her know she’s not alone.”

  Reluctantly, Lottie nodded and wove her way through the others until she disappeared inside her mother’s bedroom.

  Left alone, Dora stood ready in case someone needed something, and did the only thing she knew to do.

  Please help Mrs. Gleason. Help them all.

  Lottie entered the room with trepidation. A lone gas lamp on the bedside table cast odd shadows. Her mother lay against a multitude of pillows, nearly upright. Her eyes were closed, her arms limp by her sides, one hand gripping a handkerchief tinged with blood.

  Is she … ?

  Mother opened her eyes. “Lottie?”

  Lottie rushed closer. “I’m here.”

  “Is the doctor … ?”

  “Derek’s riding to get him.”

  She offered a nod that was nearly imperceptible.

  “What can I do?”

  Another movement, this time in the negative. “Stay with me.”

  “Of course.” Lottie felt completely awkward. What should she say? What should she do—could she do? “I’m sorry for being annoyed at your coughing.”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m annoyed too.”

  Another fit caused her to thrust forward. She fumbled for a bowl amid the covers, and Lottie helped her hold it to her mouth. Sputum and blood …

  Lottie’s thoughts swirled with panic. Help her! Please make my mother well!

  The realization that she’d prayed surprised her. Even though she went to church with her parents every Sunday, sitting in the pews and bowing her head like a good daughter, she never said anything to God. Until now she’d never felt the need.

  Until now.

  So why would God listen to her prayers? Lottie knew the importance society put on getting a proper introduction. It seemed wrong to introduce herself to God so abruptly, wanting something, demanding something, begging for something.

  Yet wasn’t that her forte? With few exceptions Lottie expected to get whatever she asked for. And up until the current financial trouble, her parents had been very generous. They’d never said no to—

  One time they’d said no. A year ago Lottie had set her heart on getting a new wardrobe for their annual trip for the London season. But Father had restricted her to three new dresses and directed her to fill the gap with ones from her existing wardrobe. She remembered pouting about that.

  She doubted her heavenly Father would condone pouting.

  Mother moaned, a sound that ripped Lottie’s soul. She sought her mother’s hand and cringed to find it so frail and fragile. “Please tell me what to do,” she asked.

  Mother’s eyes were closed, her body spent. She mouthed a word.

  “Pray.”

  Proper introduction or not, Lottie gave it her best attempt.

  Chapter Four

  “Lottie. Lottie …”

  She opened her eyes and saw Dora standing over her.

  “You fell asleep in the chair,” she said.

  The events of the night rushed back to her: cough, Mother, doctor. She last remembered sitting in a chair outside her Mother’s bedroom, vowing to stay awake in case she was needed.

  So much for that.

  Lottie searched Dora’s face for answers even before she asked the question. “How is she?”

  “Resting. She wants to see you.”

  Within a few steps Lottie felt the consequences of her awkward night’s sleep. But what did a few stiff muscles matter compared to her mother’s ordeal?

  The room was still barely lit, though Lottie could see a sliver of daylight through the draperies at the window. When had it turned to day?

  Her mother was still propped up by a dozen pillows, her face pale, her eyes closed.

  “Perhaps I should come back—”

  Mother’s eyes opened. “I’m awake. Please stay.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Mother held out her hand, and Lottie fell upon it as if it were a holy relic deserving her worship. “I’m so glad, so glad. Thank you, thank you.”

  Lottie felt foolish but would not retract her impulsive gratitude. God had heard her prayers and answered them well. It was a stunning victory, yet she felt oddly humbled rather than triumphant.

  “Where is your father?” her mother asked.

  “I …”

  “He’s with her, isn’t he?”

  Was he? Surely not. And yet … “I don’t know.”

  Mother nodded slightly. “I do. Which is why you must listen to me very closely. You must go to America.”

  There was something in her mother’s tone that spoke beyond her words. She’d said you, not we. In the span of one stressful night had everything changed? “You can’t go with me, can you?”

  Her mother shook her head. “The doctor will not allow it.”

  “But you need to get away too. The trip was for your sake as well as my own.”

  Her mother paused, as if the weight of this lost chance weighed heavily upon her. “It’s not to be. I must remain here.”

  Lottie cringed at the disgrace her mother would have to endure in the coming months.

  To endure. Such was a woman’s lot.

  With a determined breath that seemed to give her courage, Lottie’s mother continued, her voice stronger than before. “I still want you to marry Conrad Tremaine. I want you taken care of by a family of standing—as you would have been here if things had not …”

  She hated to see her falter. “I don’t need to marry a rich man, Mother. Although I’ve certainly enjoyed the life of high society, it’s not as important to me as marrying for love.”

  “You speak as a child who has no idea what a life outside our set is really like.”

  “I weary of saying it, but you’re wrong. I’m no longer a child. Please give me some credit. I can adapt as well as anyone to whatever situation life affords me.” She hoped what she said was true.

  Lottie’s mother extended a hand once more. “I am heartened by your attitude, but as it is … even though I cannot travel, you will not travel alone.”

  Lottie suffered the horrible thought that Aunt Agatha would act as her mother’s surrogate. Lottie would rather travel with a woman off the streets than with her aunt. She shuddered at the thought of an entire voyage filled with her aunt’s lectures addressing Lottie’s shortcomings.

  Considering this alternative, and though the thought of traveling alone was daunting, she had to offer a show of confidence. “I can go alone. I don’t need a chaperone. I know I could do it.” But did she want to do it? Going to America still involved marrying Conrad. Lottie needed time to think, to figure out her best strategy. It was all happening too fast.

  “I’ve come up with an alternative.” Her mother coughed softly.

  “Forgive me, but I don’t want Aunt Agatha—”

  “I agree,” Mother said. “Frankly, the notion of my sister representing our family at the Tremaines’ …” She shook her head. “God love her.”

  And keep her here.

  Mother continued. “My alternative involves having Dora accompany you.”

  Lottie’s legs turned to butter a
nd she took hold of the bedside table for support. “Dora?”

  “Is she not your friend as well as your maid?”

  “She is,” Lottie said.

  “Which is why I want Dora to use the other first-class ticket and travel as your friend, not your servant. That way you’ll have a companion during all segments of your voyage.”

  A laugh escaped and Lottie clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “You find this amusing?” her mother asked.

  “No, no,” she said. “I find it perfect, beyond anything I could have planned myself. Will Father agree?”

  “I will give him no choice.”

  Lottie had never heard her mother sound so determined. Had the time for “enduring” passed?

  Mother offered some advice. “Although it’s a blessing that Dora has already rid herself of the peculiar language mannerisms of her class, you will have to instruct her in numerous points of etiquette and loan her some of your clothes. Do you think they will fit?”

  “We will make them fit.” Lottie couldn’t wait to see the look on Dora’s face when she heard the news and when she tried on one of Lottie’s gowns. On more than one occasion Lottie had offered to give Dora the experience, but Dora had shied away from it, saying it wouldn’t be right.

  Until now.

  Mother closed her eyes, then opened them for one more bit of instruction. “I need you to go to America and find a good life, Lottie. Find a good man. Be happy—for me.”

  There was something slightly singular about this request. Absent was any mention of Conrad or the Tremaines. What was her mother really saying?

  “Do you promise to be happy?”

  “I do,” Lottie said, even though she had no idea what that would entail.

  Her mother studied her, as if seeking the truth behind Lottie’s promise. Giving up her search, she said, “I need to sleep. Go on, now. Go share the news with Dora.”

  Dora hated kitchen duty. Not only was it well beneath her position as lady’s maid, but the smell of raw food made her stomach threaten to do something nasty. It wasn’t that Mrs. Movery was a bad cook; it was the preparation involved that turned her stomach.