Miss Glamora Tudor!: The New Chronicles of Barset: Book One

by ILIL ARBEL

“If you ever come to Hollywood, Mr. Keith, by all means look me up,” said Maisie in her friendly and open American fashion. She did not mean anything beyond good camaraderie, but Emma, who was sitting next to Noel Merton and boring him by gushing about Paris, particularly the glory of the couture houses, saw the way Edmond looked at Maisie and did not like it at all. Not that it mattered, of course, Edmond was free to flirt with anyone he wanted, but she did not think it was seemly for him to show such interest in a total stranger. What about his love for Miss Tudor? She did not like that, either, but no, this was not right, though Emma could not tell exactly what it was that bothered her. As for herself, she was not very successful; Noel, for some reason, did not seem interested in her at all. He barely listened to the fascinating stories she told him, and as soon as she turned her head, he managed to escape and move on to another chair, next to Mrs. Morland. Emma looked at him, stunned by his desertion.

  “Sir Noel, I am afraid you have hurt the feelings of this young lady,” said the famous authoress, always a good judge of human behaviour, as she saw Emma’s stricken face.

  “Emma? Why?”

  “I think she did not appreciate your abrupt way of deserting her. She likes you very much, Sir Noel.”

  “She is a child, Mrs. Morland. There is a limit to how long one can listen to the valueless prattling of a child…”

  He never meant to hurt Emma, but unfortunately, she overheard the conversation, and the blood rushed to her face in terrible embarrassment. But this was not the end. Oblivious to her presence, Noel went on talking.

  “I can’t win, Mrs. Morland,” he said in what seemed to Emma to be a most unpleasant mocking tone. “When I do flirt with women, someone always chastises me, even though it is done with total innocence. And when I don’t want to flirt with someone, who is really a boring adolescent, I am chastised again! What am I to do?”

  Emma got up and left the room with all the dignity she could muster, then ran up to her own room and flung herself on the bed, sobbing. No one seemed to have noticed, and after a short period she felt a little calmer, though infinitely sad. So, Noel thought she was a boring child. Very well, she would not bore him anymore. She would never love again, of course, but this relationship was over for good. Life seemed bleak, grim, and without much purpose.

  As she lay on the bed, recovering from her crying, Emma started imagining a beautiful, bittersweet scene. Someone would knock on the door, and she would say “entrez, s'il vous plaît” in French, which for some reason sounded more sophisticated than “come in, please” in plain English. Noel would come in, wearing full evening dress complete with a cape lined with silk and holding a top hat. Emma would be dressed in a white, flowing velvet robe and silver slippers decorated with white feathers, and the bed would turn into a Recamier sofa. She added a note that her hair must be done in a low chignon, with a pearl pin stuck in it. Satisfied with her appearance in the daydream, she returned to Noel. He would look penitent, distraught, and unhappy. He would sit by her sofa and beg her forgiveness, explaining that his rude behavior was a subterfuge, since he was torn between his adoration of Emma and his loyalty to Lydia. Emma would be magnanimous. She would explain to Noel that there was nothing to forgive, that she admired and loved Lady Merton, and that her feelings for Noel were only warm friendship and high esteem. The tiresome and maudlin dialogue would go on for a while, too long and boring to weary our readers with, and they would part as good friends. Just as Noel was leaning over to kiss Emma’s hand, most respectfully, there was a real knock on the door. Emma froze, aghast. What if it were actually Noel? The last thing on earth she wanted was a real scene with Noel; she hoped to avoid him as much as possible for the rest of her life. Conquering her discomfort, she got up and opened the door, since she was a very polite young woman and could not bring herself to do what she really wanted, which was to scream, “Go away!”

  To her indescribable relief she saw Mrs. Morland at the door, smiling with her usual mixture of benevolence and vagueness that was so well-known to all her friends.

  “May I come in?” asked the famous authoress.

  “Of course, Mrs. Morland! Please do come in and sit down.” Mrs. Morland sat on the comfortable armchair Emma offered her, looked affectionately at Emma, and said. “I noticed, my dear, that you seemed a little unhappy in the drawing room, and then left abruptly. So I thought I would take advantage of my position of an old friend and see if you were all right. I hope I am not invading your privacy.”

  “Oh, no, I am always happy to see you, Mrs. Morland. Thank you for being so kind.”

  “Would you like to tell an old woman what was bothering you?”

  “Yes, very much,” said Emma, “but dear Mrs. Morland, please don’t call yourself an old woman. Someone like you will never be old, not even when you are ninety…”

  “Still some time until that birthday occurs,” said Mrs. Morland, laughing. “Thank you for the kind thought. So what was the problem?”

  “It was Noel,” said Emma. “He was rude to me.”

  “I suspected that. You see, my dear, Sir Noel is a very nice man. He is pleasant, amusing, and sophisticated, and in addition, his great success gives him a magical aura of importance. But he is not, how should I put it, not… very substantial. His attention flies from thing to thing, person to person, except of course, when his work is concerned. He is easily bored by what other people might find very interesting. It’s just his nature.”

  “There is no doubt that I bored him. I was telling him about my adventures in Paris, and I thought that would be interesting to him, since he knows Paris so well.”

  “I would find your adventures interesting, and so would many other people here. But with Sir Noel, you just can’t tell. He is unpredictable. At his age, he should be steadier and more considerate, but somehow he is not.”

  “Maybe he never quite finished growing up,” said Emma with a sudden flash of insight. “Lady Merton is different; she is like a rock, so reliable.”

  “Oh yes, Lady Merton is an exceptional person, and how she puts up with Sir Noel, I will never know. There was one summer when he behaved very badly… but never mind that, it is in the past. Are you very unhappy about all that?”

  “Strangely, not anymore. I think talking about it with you helped. I did like Noel a little bit too much, but somehow it has just evaporated.”

  “Good,” said Mrs. Morland. “So it should. Evaporate, I mean. I predict that all sorts of wonderful things will happen now, since your mind is free of this burden.”

  “Mrs. Morland, do you think I was very silly?”

  “Not at all,” said Mrs. Morland. “It was very natural, and now it is over and done with. Let’s comb our hair, go downstairs, and never give this matter another thought.”

  “I liked what you said about Noel not being very substantial,” said Emma. “What a great word.” Mrs. Morland laughed, though very kindly, and they went downstairs.

  On Saturday morning, Emma woke up extremely early. She knew everyone must be still asleep, but unable to go back to sleep herself, she decided to get up and walk in the garden until breakfast. Tiptoeing out of the house, so as not to disturb her friends, she enjoyed the beauty of the garden until she had to admit to herself that she was very, very hungry. At this time, she thought, Cook might be up, preparing breakfast. Emma knew Cook from her previous visit, and did not think it would be a problem to get a cup of tea and some toast. She had no idea where the kitchen was located, but with the unerring homing instinct of the not-quite-grown-up when a search for food is concerned, she found it within minutes. Cheerful sounds of conversation and clinking china came from the partially open door, so she just walked in.

  “Miss Emma!” exclaimed Cook, who was having her before-breakfast tea with the housemaid. “So early! Good morning to you, just the same.”

  “Good morning,” said Emma. “Yes, I could not sleep, and I am famished. Could I persuade you to give me some tea and toast?”

  “Tea and t
oast!” exclaimed Cook, scandalized by such an idea. “Young bodies need food. I am frying some kippers on the stove, and here is some bread and dripping. I baked the bread myself, so I know it’s good. None of these nasty vitamins in my bread… and here is a boiled egg to start with.”

  “Thanks, Cook,” said Emma gratefully. “What a lovely breakfast. Do you know, in Paris all you can get is coffee and croissants; by lunchtime, I am starving.”

  Cook shook her head disdainfully. “Yes, I know, Miss Emma. I was in France three years ago, to visit my sister who is married to a French airman, of all things. Don’t you go marry a Frenchie, we told her, they always stray. But she said it don’t mean a thing with French men… well, I would have given him a piece of my mind… but blood is thicker than water, and I went for a visit and she tooked me to a hotel for breakfast just after I arrived.”

  “What happened?” Emma asked curiously.

  “Well, they tried to give me croysents for breakfast! Croysents are pastry, I told them, and no one can tell me they is not. Pastry for breakfast, I ask you, with no eggs, no bacon, no ham, no kippers… you can just picture what I said, and they did find me a proper egg or two. No wonder them Frenchies are so small and weak. I reckon that’s why they lose wars, and we win them. It’s the food, Miss Emma; it’s all in the food. Here is some nice India tea, Miss Emma. I don’t hold with this China tea the gentry likes. It doesn’t draw nice and black like India tea.” She put the plate with the bread and drippings, and a beautifully cooked kipper, before Emma. “And after that, don’t forget to try this jam. I made it from our own strawberries. Or there is honey if you prefer.”

  “Cook,” said the housemaid, who until that moment was absorbed in her own quite substantial before-breakfast tea. “Won’t you please read Miss Emma’s tea leaves?”

  “Now don’t be an impertinent girl,” said Cook, visibly gratified by the suggestion.

  “Oh, no, Cook, I am not being impertinent at all, it’s just that you read better than anyone. Miss Emma, Cook is teaching me how to read tea leaves.”

  “Yes, please, Cook, could you?” pleaded Emma.

  “Very well, if Miss Emma would like me to,” said Cook sanctimoniously.

  “I would love it,” said Emma, who adored such doings and wanted to know everything about her future, now that her preoccupation with Noel was over and her future was a blank slate. Noel’s removal from her thoughts left a certain hole in her mind, a strange little emptiness, which she did not like and wanted to fill up as quickly as possible.

  “Well, let me have your cup, Miss Emma, if you are quite finished drinking,” said Cook, and gazed into the cup. “Come and look too,” she said to the housemaid. “Let’s see what you find out.”

  The housemaid looked earnestly into the cup. “Why, I see an ocean voyage, Cook, it’s as clear as day!”

  “Very good,” said Cook, pleased by her student’s advancement.

  “Does it say where I am going?” asked Emma, secretly hoping to hear something about Hollywood.

  “America,” said the housemaid. But since she did not know the names of any other continents, and did not want to send such a nice girl like Emma to India, which the housemaid heard was having some troubles, that was really the only option.

  “And I see early marrying for you, Miss Emma,” said Cook, resuming her position in the limelight. “Yes, a tall, dark, and handsome young man. I can’t tell if he is English or American.”

  Tall, dark and handsome, Emma mused. Well, that was Edmond all over, of course, but since he had decided to devote his life to Miss Tudor, it probably meant she would meet a good looking American of that description on the ship, on her way to Hollywood. Images of Rock Hudson came into her mind. Yes, someone like that wouldn’t be too bad... She smiled. “Thank you! That sounds like a very nice future!”

  “You are very welcome, Miss,” said the housemaid, and added virtuously, “I must go and start work.” Cook nodded approval and she left. Emma, pleased with her morning activities, thanked Cook again for the nice breakfast and the reading, and strolled back into the hall.

  She entered the dining room, where she found Mrs. Rivers and Maisie drinking coffee while waiting for breakfast. They were having a heated argument and after nodding at her simply ignored her presence, which was fine with Emma who was slightly afraid of Mrs. Rivers. She sat quietly down and listened.

  “But my dear Miss Robinson,” said Mrs. Rivers in a scandalized tone of voice. “They are not married! Not even engaged! And it has only been one year since Lord Arthur’s death! Could Lady Fitz-Gardner really bring herself to behave like that? And what would the public think?”

  “Mrs. Rivers, you know times have changed. If you don’t show a little passion in your love scenes, the audience simply will not believe it’s true love. Remember how much you liked that tango?”

  “Well yes, the tango was extraordinary…”

  “It was not merely the dancing technique, Mrs. Rivers, that attracted your attention. You are a sophisticated lady, a woman of the world… you know that the feelings and desires influenced you when you watched the tango; it had to touch the heart of anyone watching.”

  “Yes, but still, Miss Robinson, you really think a respectable woman could do that sort of thing in public?”

  “They are only kissing in this scene, Mrs. Rivers, if you think about it…”

  “Yes, but the way they do it… She would not let him do that…”

  Lord and Lady Pomfret, Jessica, Aubrey, Mr. Goldwasser, and Glamora walked in, breakfast came with them, and the argument subsided.

  “I heard some of their fighting,” said Mr. Goldwasser to Emma privately. “The eternal war between the generations. Who do you think is going to win, Miss Lover?”

  “I think Maisie will win in the end… But Mr. Goldwasser, I wish you would call me Emma. It’s very nice and grown up to be called Miss Lover, but you are so much like Mrs. Morland… I asked her to call me Emma a long time ago.”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “And do you think you can be bold and American enough to call me Jake? You will have to start adapting to our ways, you know.”

  “I’ll try, but it may take some time. Calling important people by their Christian names does not come naturally to English girls. But why would I have to adjust to the American ways?”

  “Because, my dear, I can see your future. It will be shared between designing for the stage in England, and the cinema in the United States.”

  “Really?” said Emma, trembling with excitement, thinking about Cook’s tea leaves that had predicted just such a surprise.

  “If not for any other reason, did you not notice that Glam adores you?”

  “She was always very kind to me,” said Emma breathlessly.

  “Remember how she felt that Edmond Keith was like a son to her? She would love to mentor and help someone, but a young woman would be much more appropriate. A fascinating woman like Glam should have had a daughter… but such are our lives; no one can have everything. Once she likes someone, Emma, she would go to great lengths to help them.”

  “And you really think she likes me? I so much admire Miss Tudor, I always have. Such an honor…”

  “Oh, yes, she was very open about it with me. She wants you to finish your studies in Paris, and then start working on some films with her. She knows that you will also want to do the stage – and she will respect that – but you won’t need her for that, of course, since you have Clover and Miss Dean. They will make sure of your future on this side of the ocean, and Glam and I will take care of a GMG career.”

  “Mr. Goldwasser, I am about to cry,” said Emma. “I simply can’t believe my good fortune.”

  “She is very good, Mr. Goldwasser,” said Jessica. “I know something about clothes and costumes. I saw Emma’s latest work from Paris, and indeed, the improvement is amazing. Didn’t you think so, Aubrey?”

  “Indeed I do. I feel so responsible and important, bringing out both Edmond and Emma i
nto the limelight.” And Aubrey turned into a benevolent Tsar, conferring favors on his people.

  “I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “I know she is good. And as for young Keith, he might also think about Hollywood. Why not bring him with you, Clover, when you come to work on Dance We Shall? Bring both youngsters; let them look at Hollywood a bit, get an idea.”

  Emma held her breath, waiting for Aubrey to answer. She could think of nothing she would want more… Images of grandeur beyond description, trips through the huge studios, visits to great mansions, meeting every film star she had ever admired, all passed before her eyes. Would Aubrey agree? Was such happiness possible? No, he would say she was not ready before doing a course in Italy, or that Edmond must put up a show in London first, or that…

  “Great idea,” Aubrey said calmly, as if all this was just normal business. “We will do exactly that. Excellent training for both of them, I completely agree. Emma, there is a journey in your future…” And he turned this time into Nostradamus, but Emma, bursting with happiness, did not notice the new persona, to Aubrey’s chagrin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As planned, the Mertons and Mrs. Morland left after Saturday’s dinner. Emma was sorry to lose Mrs. Morland, but relieved to see the last of Noel. Not that he had the slightest idea of her discomfort, but it was better not to think of him ever again.

  Following Sunday’s lunch, the guests spread out, some to sit in the drawing room and chat, some to make sure their belongings were packed properly, since they planned to leave after tea. After checking the drawers in her room to make sure nothing was left behind, Emma went downstairs and strolled into the garden. She was a little sad, a common state of mind when a pleasant house party comes to its end, and unusually tired. She tried to cheer herself up with the thought of the very exciting future that awaited her, but for some reason she was restless, and did not look forward to her regular routine, even though she enjoyed her stay in Paris very much. The weather stopped cooperating, and a cool wind rose, not really cold, but unpleasant enough to send her back into the house. Passing by the library window on her way in, she stopped for a moment to adjust the buckle of her belt which had become loose. Voices heard from inside attracted her attention.