by Nancy Moser
But this morning she’d been called into kitchen service because Cook had decided the way to cure Mrs. Gleason’s cough was to drown it with food. Under way were bread, stewed vegetables, baked apples, and two kinds of soup.
Cook looked up from stirring the steaming pots, her face perpetually flushed from the heat of the stove. “Chop those onions next, Dora, and don’t give me no lip about hating to do it. I’m having to do with two hands what used to be done with six.”
She looked to the bell on the wall that was marked Charlotte. Surely Lottie would ring for her as soon as she was free and remove her from this hell.
Until then, Dora peeled the skin from the first onion.
“Nice’n fine, now,” Mrs. Movery said.
With the very first slice, Dora’s eyes smarted and watered. And tears flowed.
As did her prayers for Mrs. Gleason. In many ways the woman was the only mother Dora knew—certainly the only mother figure she’d had since she was a girl. Dora hoped God would listen to her request— though He certainly had reason not to. Lately she’d grown lax in her prayers. She knew God hadn’t moved away; she’d done the moving. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t experienced moments of heartfelt prayer. When her sister was born sickly, she’d prayed for her health.
The baby died a week later.
Two other siblings died young… . Dora barely remembered them, as if they’d been visitors, come and gone away.
When her father died after a cart of ice fell on him, she’d prayed that she and her mother would make their way without him.
Dora had been forced to go into service at age thirteen—starting out at the Gleasons’ as a housemaid, spending endless hours polishing the silver and dusting. Her mother had gone to Canterbury when the family she’d been serving moved there. Dora hadn’t seen her mother since; letters had sufficed.
Which was why Dora thought of Mrs. Gleason in a maternal fashion. She cared for the woman and often found more to like in her than Lottie did.
Perhaps that’s the way it was with mothers and daughters—a delicate balance between love and hate that was as precarious as carrying an overfull cup of tea up an entire set of stairs. Dora hoped Mrs. Gleason’s current bout with illness would bring mother and daughter closer. Usually good came from bad—if you looked for it.
Suddenly the door leading upstairs burst open and Lottie rushed in. “Dora! There you are.”
Dora’s heart sped to her toes. “Is your mother—?”
“No, no. She’s better. Just come with me.” But instead of leading Dora back upstairs, Lottie pulled her out the kitchen door, around the side of the house, and back toward the gardens.
“Lottie! Let go! You’re going to make me fall.”
Lottie let go of her hand, which enabled both of them to fully lift their skirts to move faster. “Come on!”
The girls ran into the formal gardens behind the house, weaving their way through the maze of pruned hedges, which were looking a bit ragged from lack of care. Lottie was first through a rose-covered arbor leading to a circle of benches.
“Sit!” she commanded.
“Gladly.” Dora fell upon a bench. “Why the rush? What happened? Is your mother fully recovered? You seem so happy.”
“I am happy beyond measure. And what’s happened? The world has changed in our favor.”
“What are you talking about?”
Lottie finally planted herself in front of Dora’s bench. “Mother can’t go to America with me.”
“I’m not surprised. Does that mean you’re staying?” That would be ideal.
“Not at all. I’m going without her.”
“You’re going alone? Your parents, who will not even let you take a walk in the village alone, will let you cross an ocean?”
She shook her head. “I will have a companion.”
Dora’s heart flipped and she began an inner argument, a defense against the new hope that had been suddenly born… . “And who would that be?”
“You!” Lottie pulled Dora to standing and spun her around in a circle. “We’re going to America!”
“On a ship?”
Lottie stopped their circle and laughed. “Yes, on a ship. How else would we get there? Fly?”
Silly her.
But Lottie wasn’t through. “Yet that’s only half the news. Are you ready?”
More than ready. “Quit being so dramatic. Just tell me.”
“You are not traveling as my maid but … as my companion. You will use the other first-class ticket and we will share accommodations like bosom friends!”
Dora sought the solidity of the bench. It was incomprehensible. “Your parents suggested this?”
“It was Mother’s doing. She knows how close we are. And this way we can both go to the Tremaines’, and you can help me with any wedding preparations in her stead.”
“So now you want to marry Conrad?”
Lottie plucked a rose from the arbor and put it to her nose. “Of course not. But one thing at a time. I see how much it means to my parents to have me go. They have enough to worry about with Mother’s health and all the other issues here. I don’t want to burden them with more worries. Unnecessary worries.”
Lottie thinking of her parents’ feelings? This was a surprise.
Lottie tossed the rose into the garden. Then she ran through the arbor, where she stopped and taunted Dora. “Follow me! We have work to do.”
Dora rose to follow. “Packing?”
“Lessons. Our first priority is teaching you how to be a proper lady.”
The packing would be the easier task.
Lottie threw open the doors to her wardrobe and combed through the dresses. She pulled out a satin gown of yellow and brown. “Here,” she said. “Try this on.”
Out of habit, Dora shook her head. This was not the first time Lottie had offered Dora a chance to try on her clothes. Dora had always been tempted. The dresses were so luscious and pretty. But she’d never given in to the temptation, for if Mrs. Gleason or even Miss Agatha had come in, Dora would have been sacked for certain.
But now everything had changed. Now she had the blessing of the lady of the house.
“Come on, Dora. Put on the dress.” Lottie held the two pieces toward her.
Permission or no, Dora still hesitated. Although she’d been guilty of holding one or two of Lottie’s gowns against herself, she had never been brave enough to actually put one on. Being given permission to do so now—being directed to do the very thing she’d always forbidden herself to do …
“Dora, what’s wrong with you? It’s just a dress.”
A dress that represented the ever-present chasm between them. Just as Lottie would never consider wearing a maid’s uniform, Dora had never considered wearing—
Actually, she’d considered it, had even dreamt about it. What servant hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be on the other side of the service?
Lottie sighed. “This is ridiculous. If you don’t want to even try it on, I’ll just put it away and tell Mother you refuse to travel as my companion and—”
“No!” Dora said. “Let me try it.”
Dora unbuttoned her black blouse. Feeling a swell of modesty—for though she had seen Lottie in all manner of undress, the act had never been reciprocated—she turned away from Lottie to remove it. Then her skirt. She set the garments on Lottie’s bed and took the gown, one she had seen Lottie wear on numerous occasions.
The skirt portion went on first. It had a long train and was as cumbersome to wear as it was to mend or press. But it was a beautiful dress. The top basque had a rounded bottom and three-quarter sleeves. Although Dora had touched such luscious fabric before, she had never felt it on her arms or shoulders. Caressing her arms and shoulders.
Lottie helped her with the front buttons. Looking at her mistress helping her … it was odd to have their roles reversed.
“It’s such a pretty yellow color,” Dora said. “And the lace at the arms and neck is beauti
ful.”
“It’s not just ‘yellow,’ Dora. You should learn the terminology. The bodice and train are an Isabelle yellow in a satin brocade. The draping across the front is a golden brown plush. And the lace you mention is white point duchesse.” She finished the buttoning and pointed to the fringe at the bottom of the front drapery. “The fringe is made of amber beads and is set upon a crimpled silk edging.” She went back to the wardrobe and brought out an armful of pleated muslin. “And once we attach this balayeuse under the train instead of a petticoat … I do love the way it swishes behind me when I walk, and how the pleated trim of the muslin shows.”
Dora was unable to help with the attachment and had to allow Lottie to do the work. She knew there was no way for a woman of means to dress herself in such a gown. And now, to be dressed by another …
Lottie emerged from under the train, her hair falling this way and that across her face. “There,” she said as she blew a strand away with a puff of air. “Now come to the mirror and behold the lady.”
They moved to the full-length mirror in the corner. Dora gasped at the sight. “It’s so lovely. I feel like a princess.” Dora found it hard to take her eyes off her reflection and stood taller, her chin raised in a regal pose. She felt oddly important.
“Ah, but the look is not yet complete.” Lottie rushed to her jewelry box and returned with a necklace. She clasped it around Dora’s neck. “Citrine and Bohemian topaz. Father gave these to me on my seventeenth birthday.”
“I know,” Dora said. She touched the stones warily as if they were the crown jewels. “They are stun—” Dora noticed Lottie staring into space. “What’s wrong?”
Lottie blinked. “You know.”
“Pardon me?”
“You know about Father giving me the necklace on my seventeenth birthday.”
Dora didn’t understand. “Of course. I was there. As I was present for your thirteenth, your fourteenth, and fifteenth and—”
“Every birthday since I was twelve.”
“Yes.”
“And every Christmas.”
“Yes.”
“And Easter.”
Dora didn’t understand the direction of the questioning.
Lottie took her hands. “Don’t you see? You know all about me. You’ve witnessed every moment of my life.”
“Not every moment.” Dora thought of the balls, the teas and parties—occasions where she’d been left at home.
“Everything that has occurred in our household has been under your scrutiny.”
“I would not call it scrutiny, but yes, I’ve been here.” Dora still didn’t understand Lottie’s point.
“So coming to America with me … it’s perfect.”
Once again Dora peered at her image in the mirror. The dress, the jewels … much of being a lady lay in the trappings.
But not all. Far from all.
“I don’t know how to make conversation with your set. And though I’ve observed the etiquette, looking and doing aren’t the same thing. The only education I’ve had is sitting in when your governess taught you and helping you with your lessons.”
“You may be undereducated, but you are far from stupid, Dora. And your speech patterns reveal little of your roots.”
Dora would agree. The advantage of living with the Gleasons from such an impressionable age is that in many ways she’d become one of them. And unlike Lottie, Dora could name all the counties in England and could list its monarchs back to William the Conqueror. Not that any of this information was useful, but she was proud just the same.
Lottie retrieved a cloisonné comb and tried to place it in Dora’s hair. “With just a few lessons, I could teach you all you need to know about being a lady.”
“Just like that?”
Lottie bit her lip—which meant the transition would not be “just like that.”
“What you must remember,” Lottie said, “is the first rule of being a lady.”
“Which is?”
“You must be polite, prompt, pretty, and proper.”
Dora could be polite and prompt, but the rest … “What if I make a fool of myself? What if people guess that I’m not really a lady but—”
“Remember the lady’s second rule.”
“What’s that?”
“Smile. A smile is the best defense against offense.”
Unfortunately, Dora feared her offenses would be too numerous to defend in any manner, smiling or not.
“Dora!” Barney’s face lit up at the sight of her. He quickly wiped his hands upon a bloody apron. “You rarely come to the village. I ain’t complaining, but—”
“I need to talk to you.” She glanced at the others in the butcher shop and recognized a few. There would be talk, of that she could be certain. But she had no choice.
Barney conferred with the owner of the shop. With a wink, the owner nodded, setting Barney free.
He came round the counter, removing his awful apron along the way. “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you the last time I came deliverin’. Mrs. Movery wouldn’t e’en call you down. That cow. I—”
She took his hand and pulled him out of the shop. On the street she let go but led him past a milliner’s, to the covered stoop of a vacant shop. As soon as she stopped, he grinned and leaned closer, pushing her against the stone wall. “Oh, I get it. You wants to be alone.”
She shoved him away. “Stop it! I need to talk to you.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Talk.”
There was no good way to say it. “I’m going to America with Miss Charlotte.”
He blinked. “America. Why America?”
“She’s getting married.”
“Ain’t none of the dandies round here good ’nuf for ’er?”
“ ’ Tisn’t a question of good enough, ’tis—”
He nodded knowingly. “ ’ Tis a question of money. And the sticky wicket Sir Thomas got himself into. I’ve ’eard the talk.”
Dora ignored the infidelity issue. “It’s always a question of money, Barney.” Although she and Barney were not officially engaged, they had spoken about Barney’s means of supporting her and the family that would surely follow.
He kicked a pebble out of the doorway. “So once she marries, you’ll be comin’ back, eh?”
Seeing him look so hopeful she nearly told him to forget everything she’d said. They’d known each other for years. He was a good man and a hard worker, and more than that, he had feelings for her—he’d said as much.
But did she love him? She cared about him, but love … She remembered Lottie’s desire to find a man who would make her swoon. Did Barney—?
“Dora, you didn’t answer me. You are comin’ back, ain’t ya?”
Was she? Even if Lottie decided not to marry Conrad, Dora couldn’t imagine either of them coming back to Wiltshire. What was here for them? Disgrace? Shame? Complications?
Until this moment, Dora had never thought through the full implications of their trip abroad. Unless something changed drastically, it was a one-way journey.
She grabbed a fresh breath and looked at him straight on. He deserved that much. “No. I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, Barney.”
He stepped away onto the sidewalk, nearly colliding with a man carrying a bushel of apples. His whole body, which usually brimmed with life and strength, seemed to deflate. “Yer leaving me?”
“I … I have to go with Lottie. With her mother sick and unable to go … she needs me.” As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back.
Anger filled him up again and he stood tall, his chin strong. “And I don’t?” At first it was a question, but then he repeated it as a declaration. “And I don’t.” He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t need you, Dora Connors. There’s plenty o’ women who’d love to marry me.”
What was she doing? What was she giving up? Dora was going to America to fulfill Lottie’s future. But what about her own? “I know there are other women who admire y
ou and consider you—”
“Why did I waste me bloomin’ time waitin’ for you, anyways? I shoulda known better. You and your fancy ways and proper talkin’. The Gleasons ’ave done you no favors making you think yourself better than the rest of us clods.”
Dora was stung by his bitterness. She knew he would regret it, and she didn’t want him burdened with wishing he could take it back. She would have enough regret for both of them. For within his bitterness lay the truth. Dora had thought of herself as a step above the other laborers in Lacock. She’d held few illusions that she would ever marry above her station, but she had taken satisfaction in educating herself, in being more than they.
She put a hand upon his arm, and though he tried to shake it away, she held strong. “The Gleasons have been good to me, Barney. I’m not being fancy or putting on airs by learning from them. Given the opportunity, I took it. And I care for you, I truly do. You are a good and able man, and I’m sorry matters are taking me away from you, from this town, from this country.”
“Not that sorry,” he said.
She drew him back into the entryway, and with him close again, she put both hands upon his. “I had no plans to hurt you, and it grieves me to do exactly that. But I have to take this chance in America, Barney. I must.”
“Oh, I’ve ’eard it all right. Streets paved with gold. ’Tis just talk, Dora.”
Was it? She’d heard amazing tales. “I go with my eyes open—as much as they can be. And truth be, I’m not just going for Lottie. I’m going for me.”
“Leavin’ me’s more like it.”
There was no way around it. She put a hand upon his cheek. “Leaving you is my one regret.”
“Then don’t—”
“I must. Until now I’ve risked little. I’ve never been given such an opportunity. That’s why I go. To be brave and step forward on faith.”
He put his own hand over hers and looked deep into her eyes.
“You’ll write to me,” he said. Asked.
She could only nod, even though she knew she would do no such thing.
He lifted her chin with a beefy finger. “I jus’ want you safe and happy, Dora. Be that for me, eh?”