by Adele Whitby
“James, will you help me?” I asked urgently. “Will you help me clear Shannon’s name?”
A troubled expression clouded his eyes. “I don’t know, Lady Beth. I need to keep my position here. My mum depends on me to send my pay home to care for the little ones—my brothers and sisters.”
Then James sighed. “But I like Shannon, and it’s not right what’s been done to her. So I’ll do everything I can, Lady Beth. And that’s a promise.”
“James!”
Mr. Harrison’s voice rang across the courtyard.
James and I both jumped up, looking as guilty as though we’d been the ones stealing biscuits.
“I’ll thank you to tend to your duties, James,” Mr. Harrison said sternly. Then, without a word to me, he led me back into the house. I didn’t even have a chance to thank James—or to apologize for getting him in trouble.
“Lady Beth, I thought that I made myself perfectly clear yesterday,” Mr. Harrison said. “The downstairs is no place for you. Do you understand?”
“But, Mr. Harrison, I just want—”
“No, milady, I cannot indulge this reckless behavior. It’s not right for the staff to see you downstairs. It upsets the natural order of things.”
Two shameful red circles burned on my cheeks. How foolish I had been to think that Mr. Harrison had noticed Gabby’s and Helena’s strange behavior at dinner last night. How foolish to think that he was on my side. All he cared about was appearances and which part of the house I stayed in.
Of course I understood my place at Chatswood Manor. How could I not? It had been drilled into me by Mother, by Father, by my nannies and governesses ever since I was small. I knew that everyone at Chatswood—everyone in our village, actually —would someday look to me for guidance. But this was different. Shannon’s future was at stake—and it was up to me to do something about it! Wasn’t that so much more important than following some silly rules about where it was proper for me to go and where it wasn’t?
“Yes, Mr. Harrison. I understand,” I said stiffly as we reached the top of the stairs.
“Very good, Lady Beth. I bid you good day,” he replied with a curt nod of his head.
Frustration welled inside of me as I watched Mr. Harrison retreat. I was beginning to lose hope that Shannon would tell me why she had the laundry basket. If I could only discover the answer, I felt confident that Mr. Harrison would let her stay—permanently. Perhaps the housemaids could help me. Since the laundry was their responsibility, they might know why a basket had been found in Shannon’s room.
I stood alone, lost in thought. Mr. Harrison had told me that I could not go downstairs. But he had said nothing about questioning the staff upstairs!
The upper floors of Chatswood Manor were buzzing with activity as the housemaids hurried around. I knew I would find most of them in the ballroom, decorating for my birthday party. Sure enough, as I approached the ballroom, I could hear voices. It sounded like Nora and Jennie. I paused outside the door to listen.
“Steady, now,” Nora said. “Don’t bruise the blossoms!”
“This is too much work for two people,” complained Jennie. “Where are May and Peggy? A fine time to leave us with all of this to take care of, with the birthday party just hours away!”
“Well, now, you can’t very well blame them,” Nora said. She sounded as if she had been holding on to a morsel of scandalous gossip. “After the scene in the basement this morning.”
I heard Jennie suck in her breath. “Go on. Go on!”
“Someone has been throwing garbage down the laundry chutes!” Nora said gleefully.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Jennie. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I’m sure that I don’t know,” Nora replied. “Though Mrs. Beaudin says it’s the custom in France to have garbage chutes in the walls.”
“Filthy!” Jennie said with a contemptuous sniff.
“And what a dreadful mess it made—in every single basket, too! Now poor Peggy and May are down there picking garbage out of the laundry, searching for new stains on the linens—oh, they’ve got their work cut out for them, and I don’t envy them one bit.”
“Better them than us,” Jennie said as she and Nora left the ballroom. They stopped suddenly when they saw me.
“Oh, Jennie, here you are,” I said, as though I’d been looking for her. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course, milady, but I’m really very busy,” she said. Jennie watched Nora continue down the hall, as if she wished that she had been so lucky.
“I want to ask you about the laundry.”
“The laundry?”
“Yes, the laundry. I was wondering if you knew why Shannon had a laundry basket in her room yesterday.”
Jennie didn’t meet my eyes. “Oh, milady, I’ll be in for such a tongue-lashing if I don’t help Nora bring in more garlands!”
“Then I’ll walk with you,” I said. “You see, I’ve got to find out what really happened to the Trufant locket. Come, we’ll go to the garden together and chat along the way. I suppose I could even help you hang the garlands, if it would ease your burden.”
“No, no, that would never do!” a creaky voice spoke up.
“Great-Grandmother Cecily,” I said in surprise as she approached us.
“The birthday girl can’t go into the ballroom before her party begins,” Cecily said firmly. “It would ruin the surprise!”
Then Cecily swatted at Jennie’s arm and said, “Run along, now. You’ve more important things to do than gab in the corridor.”
Jennie curtsied and hurried on. I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed tremendously relieved to get away.
Then Cecily slipped her arm through mine. “Come now, Beth; bring me to the parlor,” she ordered. “I would like to sit by the fire. You can keep me company.”
I forced myself to smile and nod, though what I really wanted to do was run after Jennie and finish asking her questions.
“Yes, Great-Grandmother,” I said dutifully.
In the parlor, Cecily settled herself on the couch beside the Chinese lacquer cabinet and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. That’s a good girl,” she said. “Now, tell me why you were badgering that poor maid.”
“I wasn’t badgering her,” I replied. “I just wanted to ask her some questions. I think that Shannon has been unfairly accused of taking Cousin Gabrielle’s locket, and I want to find the real thief.”
“Oh, yes, quite right,” Cecily said. “I agree.”
My mouth dropped open. “You do?” I exclaimed.
Cecily nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, I am sure of it.”
“How do you know, Great-Grandmother?”
Cecily blinked a few times before she answered. “Know what?”
“Know that Shannon is innocent?”
“Shannon? Who is Shannon?”
I took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “We were talking about Gabrielle’s locket,” I began.
“Oh, yes, the one that was stolen,” Cecily remembered. “She’s lucky that she got it back, my dear. When Elizabeth’s chatelaine disappeared, it was never seen again.”
Now I was confused. “What chatelaine?”
“Elizabeth had a chatelaine, and she wore it always,” Cecily said. “She loved it so. She pinned it to the front of her dress, a beautiful silver brooch with trinkets attached—I recall a tiny notebook and pencil, a paint box, a tear-catcher, which I’m sure she filled to the brim after Lady Mary’s passing. You could always hear Elizabeth approach. Her chatelaine announced her by chiming like tiny bells.”
“What happened to it?”
“One day it just . . . vanished. It was right after Elizabeth married Maxwell, so perhaps she felt that as a married woman she’d have no more time for such indulgences—though we were all very sad to see her give up her paints. She was very talented, you know. And, now that I think on it, the chatelaine disappeared after Katherine departed for America. So perhaps Elizabeth took it off since
there would be no more long afternoons painting in the garden whilst Katherine composed her verses.”
“But I thought Elizabeth was the poet, not Katherine,” I said in confusion.
“Isn’t that what I said?” Cecily retorted, leaving me even more perplexed; perhaps I had misheard her. “Either way, Elizabeth removed her chatelaine, and it was never seen again.”
“Was there an investigation? Were the staff quarters searched as they were when Gabrielle’s locket went missing?”
Cecily shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. The staff at Chatswood loved Lady Elizabeth, and no one would have stolen a thing from her. No, she seemed quite content to pretend that it had never existed. But you can see it there in the portrait. Like I said, she wore it always. Until suddenly she didn’t.”
“How strange,” I said.
Cecily smiled knowingly. “Chatswood Manor has always been a place where secrets are born,” she said. “And it’s where they’re buried, too—never to be spoken of again.”
“Secrets? What secrets?” I asked eagerly.
Cecily gave me a sharp look. Then she stifled a yawn and said, “Run along and leave an old woman to her thoughts, dear. Don’t bother the staff with silly questions; it’s not your place. And ring for the girl on your way out, please. I should like a spot of tea.”
“Yes, Great-Grandmother,” I said, trying not to sigh as I rose. I should’ve expected her swift dismissal. After all, that was how it always went: The more questions I had, the harder it was to find their answers.
After lunch, Mother told me to rest in advance of my birthday party. I am sure she expected me to sleep, but how could I? I decided that lying on the bed, quietly reading Essie’s journal, would have to do.
Returned late last night from a trip to London with the family. Such an adventure it was! My eyes scarcely knew where to look first—the streets crowded with people, the horses on the cobblestones pulling carriages and buses, the buildings and bell towers crowding the streets. And my! How people stared at the girls—as if they’d never seen a set of twins before. Of course, I know the girls are quite a sight, being as nearly identical as they are. Though I can always tell the girls apart—I’d be a poor excuse for a lady’s maid if I couldn’t—most who meet them cannot. It’s little wonder that Sparrow always wears red, while Lark insists on dressing in blue. I daresay it helps everyone else to tell them apart, even their father! Not that their mother needs to rely on their clothes. She knows her girls the way only a mother does.
I gasped out loud. Twins! Twins named Lark and Sparrow! But there had only ever been one set of twins at Chatswood: Elizabeth and Katherine. I was sure of that much. So it stood to reason that Essie Bridges was talking about Elizabeth and Katherine. She must have been their ladies’ maid. All her stories about “the girls” were actually stories about my own great-grandmother and her sister! The hands that wrote these words brushed Elizabeth’s hair, I thought. They tied Katherine’s sash.
Then I frowned. But why did Essie call them Lark and Sparrow? I wondered. Were they nicknames . . . or something more? My mind raced as I pondered this. Perhaps they were code names Essie used, to protect herself in case it was discovered that she was keeping a journal about the family. Surely that would have been frowned upon. But how would I find out which one was which? Though I wasn’t even halfway through, I decided to read the journal over again from the very beginning in case there were clues I had missed.
Just then there was a knock at my door. It was Shannon, and her face was shining with excitement.
“Excuse the interruption, Lady Beth,” she began. “But Lady Liz sent me. She says it’s time to get ready for your birthday party!”
“Already?” I exclaimed as my heart started pounding.
“I’ve drawn your bath,” she continued. “It’s piping hot, and I used the perfumed oils your father brought from London. Lady Liz told me I might. After all, tonight will be the most special night of your life, Lady Beth. And it begins right now!”
After a long soak in the violet-scented water, I returned to my room. Sitting at the dressing table, I closed my eyes while Shannon arranged my hair.
“You know, Shannon,” I said. “I’ve been wondering about something.”
“Yes, milady?”
“If laundry duty is the worst of all the housemaid’s chores, why did you still have a laundry basket after you became a lady’s maid?”
Shannon sighed, ever so softly. “Lady Beth, as I have already said—”
“I want to help you,” I interrupted her. “That’s all. If you would just tell me—I’m sure that whatever the reason is, it can’t be that bad—”
“If I could tell you, I would,” she said, her voice full of sorrow.
We were quiet while Shannon helped me into my gown. Then she stood back to look at me, her hands pressed to her heart.
“Oh, Lady Beth,” Shannon breathed. “You are a vision.”
I hardly recognized my own reflection in the full-length mirror. My silk gown was as blue as the larkspur that grew in the garden, with a gossamer overskirt the color of sunlight at dawn. Whenever I moved, it shimmered as though stardust had been woven into the delicate tulle. The finest lace peeked out from under my hems. Satin gloves, the same shade as my dress, stretched to my elbows. And my hair—oh, my hair! Shannon had carefully arranged it into waves around my face, with beautiful curls flowing down my back. She had also woven a golden tiara through it, which reflected the light like a halo. It was the most grown-up hairstyle I’d ever worn. Of course, I couldn’t wear my hair all the way up. Not yet, anyway. Not until I was ready for marriage—and I wouldn’t be, not for at least five or six more years.
Of course, the most beautiful part of my costume was the Elizabeth necklace, nestled against my heart. Did Elizabeth stand here once? I wondered. Did she look at her reflection in this very same mirror? Did she, too, feel the weight of the Elizabeth necklace round her neck, and know—body and soul—just how much it signified?
“Lady Beth?” Shannon’s gentle voice interrupted my thoughts. “They’re waiting for you.”
My pulse quickened. “It’s time, then?”
“It is.”
Shannon and I walked down the corridor in silence. With every step, my nerves jangled. I had never been the guest of honor at a ball before—not in my whole life! All those eyes would be watching me, all night long—when I walked, when I talked, when I danced, when I ate. What if I stumbled on the stairs? What if I spilled my cake? What if I tripped during a waltz? If I should make a mistake—in front of all those eyes—
Just before we reached the staircase, Shannon held me back. She stared at me with a critical eye, fluffing my skirt, straightening the tiara, and adjusting the Elizabeth necklace.
“You look exquisite,” she finally whispered.
“Shannon? I’m not—”
“Of course you are,” Shannon replied, as if she already knew what I wanted to say. She took my hands in hers and squeezed them. “You’ve been preparing for this moment all your life. And you’ll be perfect. I know it. Now, go, Lady Beth. The party can’t begin without you!”
Shannon’s reassuring words were just what I needed to hear. “Thank you,” I whispered as my dread melted away.
She simply smiled and nodded, then stepped back. I took a deep breath and continued on alone. I could hear a few faint strains of music coming from below.
At the top of the stairs, I was nearly blinded by the chandeliers all ablaze, their light glittering off the crystal. I turned my head for one last look at Shannon. I could hardly see her, she was so hidden by the shadows. But it was enough to know that she was there.
I took another deep breath.
And I started my descent.
Slowly, slowly, one step at a time. My gloved hand rested ever so lightly on the polished banister. I smiled the way Mother had showed me: just enough so that my lips were barely parted, and not so much that my nose crinkled. I remembered what Mother had to
ld me: “Enter slowly, my dear, as you should rush for no one. Take your time so that the whole room may gaze on you and admire your loveliness.”
Time stopped—no, everything stopped! The music, the dancing, the chatter, all of it ceased as my family and the guests turned to look at me. I smiled into a sea of faces: There was Cecily standing beside Grandmother Eliza; Uncle Claude and Aunt Beatrice flanking a sullen Gabrielle. Lord and Lady Everheart by the balcony; Sir Edgar and Lady Jessamine; my maiden aunts clustered around a table filled with sweets. And then, to my delight, I saw Mother and Father waiting for me at the foot of the stairs! Ten more steps—five more—two more—one. I had made it to the ballroom.
Mother embraced me first. “Perfect,” she whispered near my ear.
Then Father offered me his arm and whisked me into the middle of the ballroom. The orchestra immediately began to play another waltz. Father and I twirled around and around until I felt as though I were flying!
“Remember when you were small, Beth?” he asked. “And I’d hold you over my head and spin until you screamed with delight? And the instant I put you down, you’d beg for more?”
“Yes!” I said, laughing. “What a little goose I was!”
“I’m not so certain of that,” Father replied. “Because all I see before me is the most beautiful swan.”
When the waltz ended, the orchestra struck up another, and Uncle Claude was waiting to whirl me around the room. Then Cousin Edward from London, followed by Lord Wright, and then my uncle Michael. After that, I was quite tired out! But there was no time to rest, for Mr. Harrison beckoned to me; it was time for the presentation of the birthday cake. Everyone in the ballroom gasped as the footmen wheeled it in on a trolley. Mrs. Beaudin had outdone herself! Candied violets cascaded down the five-tier cake, with twelve shimmering candles flickering on the top layer. My face was flushed from dancing and delight as everyone sang “Happy Birthday.” Then Mr. Harrison gave me an elegant knife with a mother-of-pearl handle. The cake was far too beautiful to eat, let alone cut, and I felt sorry about slicing it. But oh! my surprise when I realized that it was filled with berries and whipped cream!