At that moment Fanny’s voice cut across the room again. “But of course, some people are never satisfied unless they are being attended by the highest ranking members of a party. They expect to be treated like royalty compared to the rest of us.” I caught Fanny nodding significantly in my direction. To their credit, Elise and Nanette did no more than sip their tea quietly.
Step-mamma seemed to think it was necessary to cover again, although she chose her words rather poorly, for she very pointedly said to me “Eleanor, did you not think it was very kind of Baron von Schönfeld to ask you to dance, and very kind of Lady Rousseau to introduce you to such a handsome and well-connected young man?”
I swallowed my bite of macaroon slowly before replying “Yes, I was very grateful to be introduced to your cousin, ma’am. He is an excellent dancer, and we shared many interests. It made the evening most pleasant.” Lady R. nodded appreciatively to me and turned the topic.
After tea we retired to the grounds of Rousseau Manor, for the weather has been very fine and warm this week and Lady R. has a marvelous rose garden with arbors and such to provide very pleasant outdoor exercise. In what I felt to be a very deft move, Lady R. managed to manoeuver the others into walking ahead so that she was left at the back of the group with me. She drew her arm through mine in a dignified manner and began to speak in lowered tones.
“I am obliged to you, Mlle. Stafford, for your tactful comments about my cousin Rupert. It cannot be easy to be so pointedly teased for your kindness in giving him a dance.”
“I spoke the truth of my feelings, Madame. Lord von Schönfeld was very kind to grant me such an attention, and I very much enjoyed the introduction. He seems to be a very pleasant and well-informed person, and it was good of him to speak on subjects that I find so very interesting.”
“I had an idea the two of you would suit rather well,” Lady R. replied good-naturedly. “Rupert is a dear boy, and Lord Rousseau and I are very fond of him. He visits us whenever he can get away from his duties to his uncle. Rupert’s parents died when he was young, and Count von Schönfeld has been his guardian for much of his life. It really was a shame that they came together, for the Count always insists on keeping Rupert from enjoying himself with other young people. And Rupert is so obliging and never complains.”
“He was very dutiful in his attentions to his uncle. It is admirable in him, for he did seem very much as though he wished to be dancing.”
“Oh yes, Rupert is very fond of dancing. It is a pity he does not spend more time with other young people. But his time in Vienna is spent mostly with his uncle’s circle of acquaintance, and they are a good deal older than him.”
There was a pause as we walked along behind the others. I wanted very much to know more about Lord Rupert, but I did not want to appear to pry into Lady R.’s personal family details. Finally I settled on a proper way to bring the subject up again. “I must confess that I was quite surprised when Papa told me of Lord Rupert’s lineage. I did not suspect it from the manner in which we were introduced, and he made no mention of it himself. Had I known, I would have been more formal in my behavior toward him. I hope he was not offended that I did not know the level of deference he required.”
“Oh child, do not concern yourself with that at all. Rupert asked me not to tell you who he was when he asked to be introduced to you. He often conceals his title when he is visiting us. I think he worries that others will be less willing to converse with him candidly, and he dearly loves to talk.” I nodded my understanding and allowed the subject to lapse again or continue as Lady R. chose; further than that would indeed have been prying. We soon caught up with the others, and my opportunity to hear more of Lord Rupert ended. Still, it has given me a great deal to think about.
Papa has already begun to think seriously of accepting Lord Warner’s offer to stay with him in Vienna. I believe he plans to speak with Step-mamma about it sometime soon, but I cannot guess at the outcome. Vienna is not quite as fashionable in her mind as it is in mine, and S. will not like to begin all over with finding new acquaintances when we are already so well established here in Paris. Hettie too will not like to leave; she is under the impression that one of the lords we have met here (though I cannot fathom which one, as she talks of so many) is in love with her, and I very much doubt if the charms of Mozart and Haydn could induce her to quit the scene of such a conquest. Papa will most likely be talked out of the trip, or he will exercise his right as the head of the family and will go himself so as to avoid causing a scene before the French servants. I will be left behind to trail after S. and the others and to play reels until my fingers become too stiff to move. I will not even be able to seek the comfort of a visit to Lydia Galloway, for she told me on Monday that they are departing for Venice next week. Who ever thought that being in Paris could be such an unpleasant experience?
And so I end today’s addition to this letter in as melancholy a manner as when I began. Write soon and tell me your news. I am very gloomy today and trying to imagine what is happening in Kent with you is doing very little to raise my spirits.
Love,
Eleanor
10 April, 1845
Copley Manor, Kent
Dear Eleanor,
Mrs. Potter arrived on Saturday afternoon with her two small children. She has not changed much in the five years since we last saw one another, with the exception of a slight increase in her figure as one would expect from bearing children. In other respects she remains my dear Helen Tanner, fair-haired and with deep green eyes that always put me in mind of a forest full of evergreens. I do envy her height; I had forgotten that she is at least four inches taller than I am.
Her children are a pair of exuberant little boys named Henry and Arthur, and they are four and two years old, respectively. Henry has the most endearing little manners and grand dreams of following in his father’s footsteps and going to sea as soon as he is old enough to join the Navy. Little Arthur runs about after his brother, happily shouting “ship, ship!” whenever sailing is mentioned (which is quite often). However, Arthur is still developing his verbal skills, so “ship” comes out more as “chip,” which I find quite charming. They are both possessed of heads of curly brown hair, which Mrs. Potter says is just like that of their father. Henry has his father’s brown eyes as well, while Arthur seems to have inherited his mother’s green ones. They add a welcome level of noise and cheer to the house.
I have not received your reply to my last letter, which leads me to believe that either you have kept it back for lack of news, or it has become lost in the post. I hope that is not the case, for it would also increase my worries over not having received a letter from Papa. The post is not usually so unreliable, but to have two letters go astray at once is suspect at the very least. I expected to have heard from Papa on his arrival at the Duke of Stirling’s castle; the journey should only have taken them a few days. Papa may be absent-minded about social customs at times, but he is usually quite prompt in his correspondence.
One of the footmen entered with the letters just now and I see one in Papa’s scrawling hand. It appears that my worries were misplaced. I shall pause in my account to you long enough to read his missive and shall relay any news of interest that he may have to offer.
18 April
My dear cousin, it is almost a fortnight since I have been at liberty to finish my letter to you. So much has happened even in so short a time that I feel almost faint trying to organize my thoughts enough to set them down. As you say, I shall start at the beginning so as not to leave out anything important.
I began this letter on the Thursday of last week and wrote that I would share any news that might be in the letter I had received from my father. Imagine my surprise when I discovered upon opening the letter that it was not from Papa, but from the Duke of Stirling! Somehow the letter managed to find its way into my writing desk in the bustle of packing, for I have it here to copy out for you.
Dear Madame,
I hope you
will forgive my forwardness in writing to you directly, but I fear I have some grave news to send that cannot be delayed by anything as irksome as social convention. I regret to inform you that your father was taken ill on the journey to Stirling Castle and has since been in a state of high fever. My doctor has suggested that I write and ask you to journey here at once so that you may be present in the event that Mr. Copley does not recover.
Your father indicated that you are currently in the care of a family friend who would be able to accompany you. If this is so, then your arrival will be looked for at the earliest opportunity.
Your servant,
W. R. Stirling
Naturally this letter distressed me greatly when I first read it, and I was required to read it twice before I felt myself to be mistress of its contents. All my thoughts were on removing immediately to Scotland, though my efforts to effect such a removal would have been somewhat muddled had I been on my own.
As soon as I was certain I had not mistaken the Duke’s words, I went in search of Mrs. Potter. She was in the garden with her children, enjoying the spring sunshine. Her happy look changed at once to one of worry when she saw my face. “Isabella dear, whatever is the matter?” she asked, taking my hand as I stopped before her.
“Papa is ill. The Duke of Stirling has written to urge me to come to Scotland at once to see him.”
“How grave is his situation?”
“I do not know the particulars,” I said, showing her the letter. “The Duke only said that he was taken ill on the journey. But that was nearly a week ago, and for him to still be ill… oh Helen, why did he not write sooner?”
“Perhaps your father did not wish you to worry,” she said as she read the letter over.
“I must go at once. I am terribly sorry that you have come all this way simply to have me run off only a few days into your visit. Of course you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, but I doubt I shall return until I am assured of Papa’s chance of recovery.”
“You are very kind, Isabella, but you must know that I am coming with you. What would your father think if I let you travel so far unaccompanied?”
I paused and thought over her offer for a moment in spite of my initial instinct to decline. “Of course you are right. But will the children be able to make such a journey? I mean to travel with as much haste as possible.”
“Do not worry on their account. They are hardy little travelers.”
With the matter decided, we returned to the house and began the preparations for our journey. Never had a morning seemed to pass with such dreadful sluggishness. I was impatient to be gone. At last Horton appeared in the dining parlor where we were taking luncheon to say that the carriage was ready, and we departed just after noon.
For the sake of the children, I insisted that we at least stop the night in London. I had a letter sent on to your house in the hope that Mrs. Follet would be willing to receive us for a night. Mrs. Potter seemed grateful for this, even though she had not said a word about expecting to stop. I do believe the good woman would have tried to travel straight through if I had desired it. But Mrs. Follet was waiting for us with the utmost kindness, and we were all benefited by a rest in a proper bed. The London stop also allowed little Henry and Arthur to run about and expend some energy without the fear that they would be trampled by a carriage horse.
Traveling as swiftly as possible, we arrived at the Duke’s castle on the sixteenth. At the time I fear we were too weary to notice much about our surroundings, but I have since been able to observe more of the land about the castle and can provide you with a description.
The castle is set some distance from the local village among a series of heavily wooded hills and valleys. A long road winds up through the hills toward the building itself, and there are natural breaks in the trees that allow one to see the castle at various stages of the climb. The effect is quite picturesque, for the building is old and done very much in the medieval style, square with a courtyard in the middle and composed of heavy, dark grey stone. It is not a large castle compared to those one reads about, but the drawbridge, battlements along the wall walk, and towers on each corner would satisfy even the most exacting novel enthusiast. From the windows to the south one is able to look down on the village, which is set near a river and is surrounded by green fields dotted with tiny white sheep. The shepherds can be seen ranging all over the hills around the castle as well, for the grass is quite thick and green here, no doubt due to the excessive amounts of rain we seem to receive. The overall effect is still somewhat wild despite the cultivation of the villagers; indeed, our English land is quite tame when compared to this countryside.
We arrived late in the afternoon and were quite disheveled after our long hours in the carriage. The Duke himself was not present as we descended from the carriage with the help of a footman. A gentleman of middle height with grey hair and a rather portly frame stepped forward to greet us instead.
“Miss Copley, welcome to Castle Stirling. I am Winston Coburn, butler of the household.” I thanked him and introduced Mrs. Potter and her children. Coburn bowed and continued, “I am afraid my master is unable to receive you this afternoon as he has gone to the village on business. But our housekeeper has prepared your rooms and will show you to them if you wish. We have also prepared tea for your refreshment in the drawing room.”
“That is very kind of you. Mrs. Potter will wish to be shown to her rooms, but I would like to see my father immediately.”
“Of course,” Coburn said with another bow. “I shall take you there at once.” He turned and proceeded up a short set of steps into the entrance hall, a tall and somewhat dim room with heavy tapestries adorning the walls. Halfway down the hall on either side, double doors stood open and admitted a glimpse of the rooms beyond, a drawing room on the right and a dining room on the left. Doors set into the wall at the far end of the hall also stood open, these larger even than those to the drawing room. I could see shelves of books standing in rows, dimly lit from behind by more windows.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Kirke, was waiting just inside with a small staff of three maids and two footmen. She is a thin lady of elder years, much like Coburn. The sparse curls peeking out from her cap are pale grey, as though faded from the golden they once used to be. With a curtsey, Mrs. Kirke took the lead and we followed her to the corner of the hall where a heavy wooden door was set into the rounded bulge of the tower on the corner of the castle.
“If you please, Miss, all of the stairways in the castle are located in these corner turrets. Mind your step and take care of those wee bairns, for the steps can be steep at times.” I reached down and took hold of little Henry’s hand to help him up the steps, while Helen picked up Arthur and carried him carefully, not trusting his ability to climb up on his own. Coburn came behind, no doubt to catch us if one of us missed a step. The stairs wound around the tower and glimpses of the country could be seen through tiny glass windows set at intervals along the climb. The air was cold and wet, as though the rainy afternoon had followed us indoors.
At last we reached a landing with a door. The stairs continued to wind to the upper floors, but Mrs. Kirke led us into the hallway beyond the door. The temperature rose slightly with the addition of carpets on the floor. Here we divided as Mrs. Kirke showed Helen and the children to their rooms and Coburn led me to my father’s chamber, a generously sized room with the heavy furniture one associates with the generation of our great-grandfathers. (I feel that I am repeating myself in describing everything as being “heavy” in style, but that is truly the only word to describe the general feeling of everything about the castle.)
Papa was in his nightshirt in a large, old-fashioned four poster bed. The dark brocade drapes had been pushed back, but the matching counterpane was tucked snugly about his form. The curtains at the windows had been drawn to hide the weak sunshine. An enormous fireplace stood at the opposite end of the chamber and contained a comfortable blaze. Seated in one of two chairs beside the fi
re was a man dressed in the dark coat and breeches of a country doctor. He set down the book he had been reading as we entered and stood up, settling a pair of glasses more comfortably on his nose. Coburn made the necessary introductions and then left us to have tea moved from the drawing room to Helen’s apartments.
“How is he?” I asked as I removed my traveling cloak and approached the bed.
“His fever broke two days ago, but he is still very weak,” Dr. Jones said, moving to stand opposite me. “For now it is best that he rest as much as possible, but I feel confident that with time he will recover. His healing will occur more quickly now that you have arrived. He has been most worried about you.”
I nodded, somewhat impeded in my ability to respond by a lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat as I looked down at Papa’s sleeping form. You know that Papa is not a young man; he married later in life and was the older of the two Copley brothers. (Aunt Sylvia used to hope that Papa’s age would prevent him and Mama from having children so that his estate might pass to Uncle John.) The illness had caused his form to lose some of its strength, and his skin was wan. His hair seemed more silver than it had when he left Kent, although it was combed tidily, and he looked as though he was receiving proper care. He seemed to have aged considerably.
Dr. Jones kindly withdrew and sat with his book outside the door while I stayed with Papa. The exertions of the day seemed to descend upon me as I sat beside the bed and I dozed after perhaps ten minutes. It was only when Papa stirred that I awoke.
“Isabella?” his voice was soft with disuse. I reached out and took his hand, which tightened briefly at my touch.
“I am here, Papa. Mrs. Potter and I arrived this afternoon.”
“It is most relieving to see you here, my dear. I have been worried about you alone at the house.”
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 8