That Inevitable Victorian Thing

by E. K. Johnston

  4

  Margaret stood as still as she possibly could on the fitting stool in the middle of Elizabeth’s room, her arms above her head like she was waving in an aeroplane. The seamstress was pinning up the sides of her dress, and when she was not pricking Margaret, she was tickling her. Elizabeth, whose turn was next, was on the settee, trying not to giggle and failing rather adorably.

  Elizabeth did an infuriating number of things rather adorably. For all appearances, she was a vapid socialite, and yet it was impossible to hate or even dislike her. She knew exactly what she wanted from her life, and since she was all but assured that she would get it, she had a sort of calm serenity to her that Margaret envied. Margaret, of course, knew more or less exactly the course her life was going to take, but she didn’t yet feel prepared for it, and serene was something that she could never quite accomplish.

  “It looks spectacular,” Elizabeth confided. “You have outdone yourself, Amelia.”

  “Thank you, Miss Highcastle,” said the seamstress.

  She didn’t know who Margaret was, which probably accounted for Elizabeth’s profoundly good mood. Margaret had observed that although Elizabeth was usually in high spirits, being part of a conspiracy sent her very quickly into a sort of responsible giddiness. She so delighted in keeping the secret that it never crossed her mind to share it, even by accident. She possessed a public-appearance voice the same way that Margaret’s mother did—the same way that Margaret probably should before too much longer—and she used it to conceal the parts of herself she wished to keep private. It was part of the game that Elizabeth played, but it was also very serious and required intelligence to maintain. Margaret was sorry to have misjudged her at the train station, and watched Elizabeth very closely so that she could learn how to do it, too.

  “If you’ll step down, miss,” Amelia said, and Margaret acquiesced. Amelia carefully removed the dress and set it aside for finishing later. “Miss Highcastle?”

  Elizabeth stepped up onto the stool, and quickly stripped off her trousers and blouse, before submitting to the corset. Like Margaret, she was clad in basic day-wear, though her colouring leant to blues and greens while Margaret’s darker hair and skin favoured reds and golds. The dress that Amelia helped her into was anything but basic. Even without the full crinoline underneath, it billowed around her, and the bodice was lined with seed pearls that must have taken days to sew by hand. No –bot could do work that fine. Margaret had a dress of that sort, but she had left it at home because she was not supposed to be quite that wealthy.

  She didn’t mind. Elizabeth delighted in keeping the secret, but Margaret loved living it. Elizabeth treated her as casually as her own sisters back home did, the Admiral and his wife behaved as though she were their niece in truth, and the household staff, by direction, showed her the same deference they showed to Elizabeth. When they were out in public, which was not as often as Margaret might have liked, she was merely another tourist, albeit one who had a rather large, if unobtrusive, accompaniment of plainclothes guards. She was learning to be two people, and in the process, she thought she might hit on the actual person she wanted to be.

  The only really unfortunate thing was that she missed her parents. The Admiral had gone down to the Royal York on several occasions to see her father and always returned with letters for her, but it was not the same. She missed the power of her mother’s words and the constancy of her father’s affection. She knew that they were even busier than she was, but rather selfishly hoped that they missed her at least as much as she missed them. Visiting the hotel, even under their charade, risked exposing it, and so she had to content herself with letters and the odd –gram.

  “Well?” Elizabeth said, and Margaret realized her opinion had been called for.

  “You look stunning.” Margaret was not in any way exaggerating. “Your dance card will be so crowded, you might have to debut twice.”

  Elizabeth giggled and then stepped down so that Amelia could take off the dress.

  “They’ll be ready by tomorrow morning, miss,” the seamstress said as she gathered up her gear. “I’ll have them sent over, and your own maids can dress you.”

  “Thank you again, Amelia,” Elizabeth said. “I’m beyond pleased with the debut gown, and all the others are equally fantastic.”

  Margaret might try for a hundred years and never manage to sound so simultaneously effusive and sincere. She did make a point of getting Amelia’s business card, though. Once she was safely back home, she would be sure to send an appropriate thank-you as Victoria-Margaret. In the meanwhile, she smiled her best Margaret Sandwich smile, and shook the seamstress’s hand.

  When they were alone again, and Elizabeth had finished dressing, Margaret thought they might send down for tea, but instead, Elizabeth grabbed her hands and pulled her over to the window seat. From there, they had a great view of the city, and they were also far enough from the door that if they spoke in whispers, a person entering the room would not hear them if they stopped speaking quickly enough. It was, Margaret had learned, Elizabeth’s favourite place to sit when it came time to tell secrets.

  “You mustn’t tell my father,” Elizabeth began, “but Mother has given me my identi-chip already. I can scan into the –gnet whenever I like.”

  “Elizabeth!” Margaret was quite scandalized. Of course, her own DNA was already in the Computer, but it was kept as closely guarded by the Church of the Empire as was the Queen’s own genetic code.

  “I’ve already scanned in,” Elizabeth added, her eyes shining. “My profile is set up, though I’ve kept it private for now, of course, and I’ve been able to look at my matches and everything.”

  “What do you think of them?” Margaret’s curiosity won out over her sense of shock.

  “Some are perfectly boring, of course,” Elizabeth said. “But there is one . . .”

  “Oh?” Margaret said. There was a very good chance that this would end in disaster, but at least Elizabeth had the sense to keep her profile private.

  “He’s Bahamian,” Elizabeth said. “His father owns a commercial fleet, and he himself owns a moderately successful sport-fishing business. He’s tall and his face looks determined. He’s got scars on his hands from fishing hooks, or something, so he’s not afraid to do hard work himself. He’s not ludicrously wealthy, but I think I might like to live in the Bahamas, and Father will at least like that his family knows about ships and boats and such.”

  Margaret took a moment to recover from Elizabeth’s sudden font of sharing, deciding that Elizabeth probably needed a moment as well. It was clearly the first time she’d voiced the thoughts aloud, and Margaret knew that Elizabeth was probably practicing how she would like to tell her parents. In the pause, she considered everything Elizabeth had said, but her mind focused on the location: the Bahamas. Technically part of the Empire, they were one of the most independent countries her mother ruled. With some effort, Margaret forced herself not to think of the political implications of Elizabeth immigrating there. She wasn’t sure yet if it was her right.

  “I hadn’t thought you to be that adventurous, I must confess,” Margaret said finally. Elizabeth—the public Elizabeth—was Toronto in her every aspect, it seemed. The city loved her, and exerted a sort of benevolent ownership of her, delighting in her exploits and holding its breath to see if she would stumble. Margaret understood that sort of pressure. Public-Elizabeth never showed her hand, but the Elizabeth that Margaret was coming to know might want something very different from life.

  Elizabeth was gazing out the window, which afforded a view of the finest spring flowers that Rosedale gardens could afford. “I love Toronto, of course. But it is very much my mother’s city. So long as I am here, I will always be “The Admiral’s Daughter,” and in the shadow of my mother’s charitable efforts. If I go away, I will be someone’s wife, but I will be myself, too.”

  Her certainty was a glory to beh
old, and Margaret suddenly didn’t doubt for an instant that Elizabeth would pull it off without a hitch.

  “I envy you for that,” Margaret admitted. “I will never leave my mother’s shadow.”

  “Well if my plans come to pass, then you shall have at least one friend in the Bahamas who doesn’t care if you’re Queen or not,” Elizabeth declared. “You can come and visit me whenever you can, and I’ll treat you exactly as I treat you now.”

  “I look forward to it,” Margaret said. “Though I am not sure how often I’ll be able to travel.”

  “You’re not upset with me, then?” Elizabeth asked, sounding unsure of herself for the first time since Margaret had known her.

  “For setting up your profile early?” Margaret asked. “You know that’s none of my business.”

  “No, not that,” Elizabeth said. “I meant for getting married at all. You see, I know your Ladies cannot be wed, and if you ask me to join you, I will. It’s just that until you came to stay with us, I didn’t know that we were friends. I thought it was just because of our fathers.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth.” Margaret leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I didn’t really think that we were friends, either, despite what our fathers wished. And I haven’t even thought of the Ladies I’ll assemble yet, but I would never ask that of you if you didn’t want it. I would rather you be my friend and be happy in your own life, than be in my service and always feel like a part of you was missing.”

  “My first daughter will definitely be called Margaret, then,” Elizabeth said. “I may call them all Margaret.”

  They were still giggling about how inefficient that would be when Elizabeth’s youngest brother, who still thought it was amusing to play at being a page, came to fetch them for dinner.

  “WILL WE be suitably awed by your attire, ladies?” the Admiral said, once they’d given thanks and begun to eat.

  “Amelia has outdone herself, Father,” Elizabeth promised. “She has such an eye for the latest colours and lines, and even though Margaret and I couldn’t look more different, she has managed to fit us both perfectly.”

  “Margaret?” Lady Highcastle asked.

  “I could ask for nothing finer nor more suitable, even if I were at home,” Margaret assured her. “She even re-dyed my silk slippers so that they would match perfectly.”

  In all circumstances, Lady Highcastle was not one to waste words; the ones she did use were exquisitely chosen. She couldn’t help but smile as she recognized a similar measure of diplomatic skill in Margaret.

  “Your father has arranged for you to have tea with him tomorrow, Margaret,” the Admiral said. “The Queen is going to Windsor to tour the fort in the morning, and that should distract most of the press. You’ll be able to have afternoon tea and be back here in plenty of time to get ready for the evening.”

  “Father, are you sure?” Elizabeth said, even as Margaret’s heart surged. “They’ve been closing the Don Valley Parkway so often for construction lately. What if there’s traffic?”

  “The Parkway is open tomorrow. I do have some sense of how these things work, my dear.” He spoke to her with a sort of absolute fondness that made Margaret miss her own father all the more, even now that she knew she would see him tomorrow. “Margaret, does that suit you?”

  “It does, sir,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Do we ever get to see the Queen?” Elizabeth’s second youngest sister asked. The Highcastles did not enforce “children must be seen” at the dinner table on the grounds that the children would never learn to talk in polite company if they were not permitted to talk at all.

  “Patience, darling,” the Admiral said. “Remember, someday you will get to tell your own children that you lived with a Queen for a time.” This was said with a wink to Margaret. “And in the meantime, we must be happy to wait. Soon enough, when your sister and Margaret have debuted, the Queen and Prince Consort will be able to visit all of us.”

  The younger children began to happily speculate what games their “Uncle Edmund” might play with them when he arrived. Elizabeth had told her shortly after her arrival that while her sisters and brothers wished to meet the Queen, it was Edmund Claremont who had the special place in all their hearts. Margaret could hardly blame them. Her mother was a force to be reckoned with, and while her father could be if pressed to it, he was far more likely to spend hours playing strategy board games or patiently manoeuvring any number of china dolls through the intricate politics of a tea party. He was also somewhat freer to travel than her mother was, which meant he’d spent enough time in Toronto to make connections that the Queen had not.

  By the time dinner was over and the youngest siblings were bundled off to the nursery, Margaret was excited about so many different things her brain could hardly keep up with the conversation. If Elizabeth had told her mother, Margaret could not tell. After tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter. They would be adults, full members of the Empire, and able to make that sort of decision for themselves. Margaret could only hope that, after a month of constant companionship, some of Elizabeth’s certainty would have finally worn off on her.

  HENRY

  I am covered in mosquito bites.

  LIZZIE

  Oh no! My friend and I sat out for a bit, and I didn’t get a single one, but she is absolutely covered from head to toe. I told her that means she is sweeter than I am, but I don’t think it made her feel any better.

  LIZZIE

  Henry?

  LIZZIE

  Henry?

  LIZZIE

  Henry, are you all right?

  CHAPTER

  5

  The Beck Northlander swayed back and forth as it creaked southward along the rails. The outdated train was bulky, overbuilt, and beautiful; a relic of summers gone, and most people didn’t take it because it took too long to get anywhere. August’s father and his only unmarried sister had gone ahead of him yesterday in a regular Beckbox, but he had lingered. His mother had gone to visit his middle sister, Harriet—well, really the newest grandchild—and the staff had all been given the week off for their own entertainments. For twenty-four hours, August had been alone in the house to consider the path his life was about to take. He had hoped the solitude would help him marshal his thoughts, but instead, all it had done was remind him how alone he really was.

  The train ought to have been a comfort as it made its slow and steady way to Toronto in the warm spring sun. August was used to the pace, so he didn’t find it—or the lack thereof—alarming. The route was primarily for tourists, and as such made stops at almost every station between Bala and Union, but it had wider windows than typical Becktrains did. Usually, August preferred it for exactly that reason, but today he could not focus on any of the train’s usual comforts.

  He hadn’t seen Helena Marcus since Thanksgiving, which was not unusual. Since the Marcus family were summer people in Muskoka, they typically arrived after Victoria Day Weekend and closed up their cottage mid-October. During the winter months, he and Helena corresponded entirely by –gram or letter, and only very rare, very short, visits. This past year, they had both been so busy that they barely had time for even that. August was taking on more responsibility in the family business, and Helena was hard at work completing her studies. Though he missed her terribly, he did take a great deal of solace from the fact that she had rushed through a program in accounting, which he took as a sign that she still intended to join him in the forest and contribute, in her own way, to the Callaghan family lumber and shipping enterprise.

  And now he would see her at last, but instead of the quiet University Ball he had been expecting, it would be a loud and ostentatious city affair. His own sisters had had their debuts in Penetanguishene, which by Toronto standards was positively woodsy, and by August’s standards was absolutely perfect. He’d expected Helena’s New London debut to be a great deal more staid, thoug
h there was a large engineering faculty at the University, and with engineers you could never really tell. He had no idea how his mother had managed to secure his invitation to Helena’s debut once the venue had changed, but he appreciated her efforts very much. Helena was undoubtedly more anxious than he was, and he hoped to offer whatever support he could.

  Also, he had been looking forward to dancing with her for an exceptionally long time.

  He did not remember summers before Helena was in them, though he had three of them on his own before she was born. His faintest memories were of his sisters, cooing over a new baby he had been devastated to learn was yet another girl. Their peninsula was not exactly isolated, but the Marcuses were their closest neighbours and by the time August was five and Helena was two with no signs of another sibling on the way, he despaired of ever having a playmate. His solution had been eminently practical: for several years he just pretended that Helena was a boy, and by the time he could no longer deny the fact that she was a girl, their friendship was already irrevocably established.

  He had taught her to swim, and got her into all sorts of trouble because he often forgot that she was younger and could not, for example, paddle a canoe across the lake unsupervised as he could do. He lamented ever having taught her to play chess, because she routinely thrashed him at it, but at least they were evenly matched when it came to outdoor games like quoits, cottage croquet (which was a bit like polo, sans the horse), and diving.

  When August was thirteen and Helena ten, his oldest sister had her season, and though neither of them had attended, it was the summer they realized, simultaneously, the path on which they seemed to be headed.

  “Are you going to marry me?” Helena had asked him flat out, one evening while she sat on the flying fox they used to propel themselves into the lake. He was pushing her, but she wasn’t jumping. She just kept coming back to him, again and again.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he’d admitted. “Would you like to be the wife of a lumberjack?”