That Inevitable Victorian Thing

by E. K. Johnston

  Elizabeth spoke as though she were being recorded, which made Margaret feel a bit uncomfortable. Her disguise was not so impenetrable that it would withstand close examination by a camera. Of course, it was also possible that this was actually Elizabeth’s normal way of speaking and sure to get very annoying very quickly. Margaret didn’t hear any camera drones buzzing around, so she suspected that it was just Elizabeth being Elizabeth. Hopefully, she would calm down, or this was going to be a very long trip, indeed.

  “Come now, Elizabeth, my dear,” said the Admiral, taking Elizabeth’s arm as though to steady her against the rush of the crowd and cutting her off before she could say something she was not supposed to. “I imagine Her—Miss Margaret—is tired. Jet-lagged and the train besides. You must be exhausted.”

  Margaret’s stomach rumbled again loudly, to her utter mortification, but the Admiral only winked.

  As much as he’d reminded himself that he was merely taking charge of his oldest and dearest friend’s daughter for a few weeks, Admiral Highcastle had found himself gripped by uncharacteristic anxiety as he’d scanned the station for his new charge. Once she was safely in their grasp, though, he felt himself relax. Margaret was a remarkable combination of her father’s temperament and mother’s appearance, plus something entirely her own, and if anything, her very human display of hunger set him at his ease. “Perhaps we should stop for a bite on the way home?”

  Elizabeth laughed, attracting the attention of every young man who stood around them, even though she paid them no mind. Margaret did like that the other girl was not a flirt. Elizabeth’s face might be on half the magazines in the Empire, and her style monitored more closely than American corsairs on the Saint Lawrence Seaway, but she was not casual with other people’s feelings, even as her debut approached.

  Margaret let herself be taken through the crowd, Elizabeth on one side and the Admiral on the other, while the –bot—and her own unobtrusive security—trailed along behind them. The car had been left in the drop-off zone, which was still a mess of mounted police, hopeful bystanders, and relentless photographers, but Admiral Highcastle’s appearance was enough to clear a path. The driver packed away the case in the trunk while Margaret took her seat. It was all so efficient that Margaret barely had time to look up at the lights of the Royal York and wonder where in the hotel the Queen was staying, or to smell the hot dogs that broiled endlessly in the carts outside the station doors, tempting passersby to an impromptu dinner.

  “Wait until you see the invitations Mother has secured for us,” Elizabeth said as the car pulled into traffic. “We’ve got notes for all the important teas, and the gala at the Royal Ontario Museum to close the season out. I’m so terribly excited, I don’t know how I’ll wait out the whole month.”

  “There must be plenty to do.” Margaret had been looking forward to seeing as much of Toronto and the surrounding area as she possibly could. “Even if we won’t have all the parties just yet.”

  The debut had been central to Margaret’s plan—she was shallow enough to admit that she wanted it despite the tradition that precluded a Princess’s involvement—but the idea of the month of balls and teas that would follow, knowing that at any moment someone would put all the pieces together and ruin her design, was enough to sour her on them. Perhaps there would be some scandal and that would draw attention away from Elizabeth’s antics, but even thinking it, Margaret knew that it was a silly thing to hope for, not the least because anything that could distract the press from Elizabeth Highcastle’s debut would probably have to be at least catastrophic.

  It might come to nothing. She would probably be recognized long before her debut, even if she stayed at the Highcastle house in Rosedale for the duration. It was pointless to worry, in any case. They had done as much coordination as they could before leaving England, but there were a lot of details surrounding her debut that could only be taken care of while they were in Toronto. The wardrobe was bound to be a nightmare, for sure, because the spring weather next to Lake Ontario was so difficult to predict, and Margaret was dreading the new dances she would have to learn. At least she didn’t have to worry about sponsors. Lady Highcastle would present her, albeit as a cousin and not as her true self. Elizabeth, of course, was sponsored by none other than her godmother, Queen Victoria-Elizabeth herself. That was why the Queen had come to town, or at least it was part of the reason for her trip.

  No Queen could do what she wished merely for the sentimentality of it.

  “We are going to have so much fun,” Elizabeth said, gushing as she took Margaret’s hand again, but otherwise speaking quite normally. The other girl’s excitement was contagious, and in spite of her tiredness and all of her concerns, Margaret felt her heart lighten. Perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t so bad after all, and the pair of them had merely needed to grow up before they could understand each other. It would certainly make their fathers happy, and Margaret would someday need loyal allies and trusted confidants on both sides of the Atlantic. It would be even better to have someone with such a profoundly different skill set.

  “I do hope so,” Margaret said. She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand lightly, and was surprised to realize that she genuinely meant the warmth in both her words and her gesture. “I’ve come a rather long way.”

  “Oh, I just know we will,” Elizabeth said, laughing again. Her smile really was enough to brighten the whole car. “A lovely, normal time.”

  Her Royal Highness, the Princess Victoria-Margaret, did her best not to gawk out the window at the receding CN Tower, and hoped for normal very much.

  HENRY

  Are you really called Lizzie, or is that just the name you picked for your profile?

  LIZZIE

  It’s just a name. What about you?

  HENRY

  Ditto. It seemed appropriate at the time.

  LIZZIE

  Do you think it’s weird that the site knows our genetic makeup, but not our actual names?

  HENRY

  I find it comforting, actually. I’m all right with God knowing both, but I think everyone else should get either one or the other.

  LIZZIE:

  That seems fair.

  CHAPTER

  3

  The train was horribly late because the Queen had been at the Leafs’ last-bid playoff game, and all the traffic—pedestrian and automobile alike—between Front Street and the harbour was strictly monitored by her security forces and the RCMP. Even if the game had ended on schedule, it would only just have been over when Helena and Fanny’s train arrived. In an uncharacteristic show of force, the home team had rallied in the third to tie, and then folded immediately in sudden-death overtime, plunging the city into deep—though not entirely unexpected—melancholy. This ruined Aunt Theresa’s plans for dinner in the city, and instead she sent her car for the girls, who were finally shepherded out of Union when the crowds had dispersed.

  “I did not miss this part about visiting Toronto, Miss Helena,” Fanny said.

  Helena winced. Fanny had almost always called her by her given name, unless she was in trouble, but ever since Anna had confirmed that Fanny would be the one to accompany Helena to Toronto, Fanny had insisted on being quite formal. It sounded especially forced when they were alone.

  “Well, I don’t imagine anyone will be painted blue again during our stay,” said Helena, looking out the window at a group of rather dejected fans.

  “I meant the crowds, miss,” Fanny said. “It’s a bit more than I expected.”

  “I’m sure the actual ball will be very well controlled,” Helena assured her. “I get the idea that the Highcastles don’t allow for much of anything to ruin their parties, and this one will be especially important to them, because of Elizabeth.”

  “I can’t wait to see her,” Fanny confided, sounding much more like her old self than she had in days.

  “The Queen?” Helena asked. S
he was rather dreading it for her part. It was all well to read about protocols and watch other people carry them out. Having to do it herself, in front of a gathering, was making her nervous.

  “Well, yes,” Fanny said. “But I meant Elizabeth Highcastle. I’ve read so much about her, in the magazines and such, and I think it will be fascinating to see her in person.”

  “To be honest, I’ve been so terrified of meeting the Queen that I haven’t given much thought to Miss Highcastle.” Helena couldn’t imagine Elizabeth wanting to spend too much time with her, anyway. Helena was very well aware that her invitation was mostly a charity, and assumed that a socialite known throughout the Empire would be too caught up in her own debut to care very much about whether the girl from New London even attended.

  “Well, I shan’t likely get too close to the Queen, now, shall I?” Fanny pointed out. “I’ll content myself with our own nobility.”

  “I wish I were debuting in New London—or in Penetanguishene,” Helena said. She had not dared to voice the latter sentiment where her parents might hear her, but she knew that Fanny was a romantic and wanted nothing more than to see Helena dance the Log Driver’s Waltz at a northern wedding, preferably her own. Helena looked wistfully out the window and saw old brick houses instead of the tall pines that she wanted.

  “I am sure it will be fine,” Fanny said.

  Helena swallowed a sigh. “I’m glad you could come, in any case,” she said.

  “I’ve managed every summer in Muskoka,” Fanny pointed out. “I am sure I can handle Toronto.”

  One of the aspects of looming adulthood Helena dreaded most was learning the balance between honoring the professional pride of those who chose careers in service and her own natural inclination to see them as extensions of family. She took comfort in that at least Fanny never seemed to misunderstand her meaning.

  Helena went back to watching Toronto slide by outside her window. Her aunt lived on Avenue Road, in a house that was much, much taller than it was wide. When the car finally stopped in front of it, Helena could barely see the eaves without holding her neck at an awkward angle. The width of the house was slightly offset by the house beside it, with which it shared a central wall. The driver came around to fetch Helena’s luggage, and she and Fanny stood awkwardly on the sidewalk. Helena, who had always considered herself a practical girl, was slightly mortified by how many things she had brought with her, but with all the balls and teas to consider, there was really no alternative.

  “Helena!” A voice rang out from the porch, and Helena looked back up at the house. “My dear girl, it is so lovely to see you!”

  Theresa Finnegan was nearly eighty, but you would never know it to see her. She did have shockingly white hair, but that was nearly always pinned up under an equally shocking hat. She wore clothes of the most recent style, though she often altered them to suit her own tastes. She swore loudly at televised sport when she was at the pub on Saturday afternoons, except for cricket, which she deemed too dignified for any decent heckling. Once you had her confidence, it was yours for life.

  Helena had been a little bit afraid of her great-aunt when she was younger, intimidated by Theresa’s boisterous manner whenever she had come to New London. She had never known her grandmother, on either side, and when she was little she was a bit resentful that Theresa was such a drastically ungrandmotherly type. As she got older, however, Helena appreciated Theresa’s sheer determination to live the life she wanted, and although she had not spent a great deal of time with her—this would be her first visit to her great-aunt’s house—she was always happy to recall that they were related.

  Theresa had been, as Gabriel suspected, nothing short of thrilled to host Helena through her unexpected season in the city. By the time Helena and Fanny arrived, Theresa had rearranged her absent son’s room for them to stay in, because it had an attached study that was large enough for Fanny to sleep in.

  “Aunt Theresa,” Helena said, extending her hand only to be enfolded into a surprisingly firm hug. She waited until her aunt released her before continuing. “Thank you so much for agreeing to host me during all of this.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it, darling,” Theresa said. “I haven’t had this much fun in years, and so far all I’ve done is hang new curtains. You’ll have a grand debut, to be sure, but I shall be the talk of the neighbourhood for at least a decade.”

  Helena laughed, and Theresa pulled her up the stairs towards the house. Fanny followed demurely behind, carrying the case that contained Helena’s jewelry and cosmetics. On the sidewalk, the driver lined up all the cases and began ferrying them to the porch, where Theresa’s footman took over the job.

  “Now, the main floor is the kitchen, parlour, and day room,” Theresa explained. “The housekeeper and upstairs maid live in the basement. Thomas here goes home in the evenings, because he says there are too many females in the household for him to ever win any arguments. I keep my rooms on the second floor, and you and your maid shall have the attic.”

  Helena looked at the narrow staircase and then back at her belongings with a sort of apologetic horror.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Thomas,” Theresa said. “Just have him take your essentials up. I’ll want to take a look at all your party dresses and shoes, so they can stay in the day room for now. That’s where I sew, anyway. It has the best light.”

  Helena indicated which of her bags—thankfully neither of them very heavy—Thomas should take, and he and Fanny disappeared upstairs to unpack. Theresa led Helena into the parlour, where the housekeeper was putting out tea.

  “Helena will pour, Louisa,” Theresa said. Off Helena’s look, she added: “You might as well practice with me, darling. I’m not likely to sell your photo to a magazine.”

  Helena did not for one second believe that anyone would take her picture when there were girls like Elizabeth Highcastle about to be photographed instead, but her aunt was clearly enjoying the potential drama of it all, so she didn’t say anything. Instead, she took the pot and poured out two cups. At her aunt’s request, she added a dash of milk to one cup, but left her own unadorned.

  “Very well done,” Theresa congratulated her. “I could barely see your hands shake at all.”

  “I’ll practice,” Helena promised.

  “I’m only teasing, darling,” Theresa said. “Now, tell me about what society you have seen in New London, and we’ll see how much we have to cram into the next week.”

  Helena told her about the few events she had attended. As her father’s daughter, she had been to the University Hospital Christmas gala every year. She didn’t dance, of course, but there were always events for the children, and they invariably snuck out to watch the dancing, anyway. The Findings Ward was more given to charity dinners, held to show donors what their money was going towards. Anna disliked those events a great deal.

  “The Queen pays for nearly everything, anyway, as she should,” Anna would say. “The donors only want to be sure that everyone knows they have made contributions to the cause. I hate to have my patients trotted out like so many trained animals.”

  Helena didn’t think her Aunt Theresa needed to hear that part, but then again, Anna had to have got her ideas from somewhere. It was entirely likely that Theresa shared her views.

  “Well, at least you’ll know how to behave in company,” Theresa said. “And you’ll be likely to mind your tongue. That’s always half the battle at events like these, and even more so in your case, as there are likely to be reporters hovering around like vultures.”

  “There are bound to be more interesting debuts than I,” Helena said, pointing out what she considered to be the obvious in a way she hoped did not ruin her aunt’s fun. “I am sure we’ll be fine.”

  Fanny and Thomas came into the parlour, or rather, they walked along the far wall of it. The house was only about eighteen feet wide, and had the hallway been walled off, the pa
rlour would have seemed much too small.

  “Very good, Thomas,” Theresa said. “Please take Fanny to the kitchen. Louisa can feed you both dinner and tell Fanny what she needs to know about the house.”

  Helena could see into the kitchen from where she was sitting and thought it was a bit silly not to speak directly to Louisa herself, who could undoubtedly hear them. Apparently, her aunt’s house was as formal as Fanny had been expecting. Helena hoped that neither of them would become too lonely as a result of their new restrictions.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Thomas. He led Fanny into the kitchen, and the sounds of a meal for three being laid out could be clearly heard.

  “It’s silly, I know,” Theresa said. “We had a much bigger household when my Alberts were home. Now I’m just an old woman with old habits, and they humour me quite wonderfully.”

  Helena smiled. If the rest of her time in the city went only half so well as the first few hours off the train had, she wouldn’t mind it quite so much after all.

  LIZZIE

  Sorry I was gone for a couple of days. We were travelling.

  HENRY

  That’s not a problem, I was on the road as well.

  LIZZIE

  We took a Becktrain.

  HENRY

  It was an expression. I took the train, too.

  LIZZIE

  Not knowing what you look like makes me crazy! Maybe we were on the same one.

  HENRY

  Anything’s possible, I guess.

  LIZZIE

  I shouldn’t pry.

  HENRY

  You think I haven’t wondered about meeting you, too?

  CHAPTER