That Inevitable Victorian Thing

by E. K. Johnston

  “You’re hardly a lumberjack,” she told him. “You’ve never cut down a tree in your life.”

  “No,” he said. He had started going to work with his father this summer because nepotism was always a way to get around child labour laws, and though so far his duties had been mostly tea-and-biscuit related, he had seen a great deal of the operation, and had liked it immensely. “But I will do, someday soon. And I will live up here where we get five feet of snow in the winter, and there won’t be the University or much company at all.”

  There had been a brief furor in the early spring involving a neighbour across the lake, an improperly secured garbage can, an illegal bear hunt, several cement blocks, and an impromptu burial at sea (of the bear, not the neighbour), the end result of which had seen August’s father stalk around the house for a week, muttering that some people had no business living up north. The incident had, for the first time, made August realize that living in the country was substantially different, beyond a decidedly quieter nightlife. August wanted very much for Helena to be one of those for whom cottage country could be home country, too.

  “Living up here isn’t for everyone. It’s a way of life,” he concluded with more solemnity than was strictly necessary.

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose I would have to learn something to be good at, to help. Would you teach me how to use the tree spikes?”

  They had spent most of the previous summer climbing any tree they could reach the branches of, until one of August’s father’s tree-cutters had suggested they try spikes to expand their range. Helena had been quite enthusiastic, but a chance overheard comment by her mother had kiboshed the idea rather quickly.

  “Your parents will kill me,” August told her.

  “Not when we’re grown-ups,” she said. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Yes, Helena,” he’d said, and meant every word. “When you debut, I will marry you.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she replied. “Now I won’t have to meet too many more people.”

  They had never spoken of it again, not as half a dozen summers went past, though her mother must have somehow caught wind of it, because they were rarely left unchaperoned after that summer. Every now and then, August would think about it, and his heart would speed up momentarily; but if Helena had the same thoughts, she gave no outward sign. He hadn’t gone so far as to make any specific plans, until the previous October, when he’d noticed Helena was missing after the Thanksgiving dinner her parents hosted, and had gone in search of her.

  He found her on the flying fox, not swinging—because Lake Muskoka was frigid and the rope was old—but thoughtful, and pushing her toes against the thin earth.

  “Next year it will be different,” she’d said, not even turning around. The rustling balsam needles had given him away.

  Aside from the wind in the trees and the soft sound of the lake on the rocks, it was quiet. Most of the cottagers on the lake had packed away their boats for the winter, and the loons were all gone because it was fully dark. There was sound from the cottage, crammed with food and people, but even that seemed muted against the autumn night.

  “I know,” he said.

  “Will you come?” she asked.

  She actually sounded unsure. Like he hadn’t been hoping she would ask him. Like she didn’t know he would travel to actual London, not just New London, if she asked. And maybe she didn’t.

  “Of course I will,” he said. She was holding on to the rope, so he couldn’t take her hand. He put his on top of hers instead, and the swing stilled. She looked up at him, heart in her eyes.

  It was that look that had sustained him through the winter. That look, and work. The Callaghans were as old-fashioned as the Marcuses in their own way. They preferred their children to learn the business hands on rather than at one of the Empire’s many universities, though only August and the youngest of his sisters had followed their father into the forest. August’s father had kept him busy—not an easy task in an industry that all but froze with the lake water—and August was grateful for it. There had been land to survey and a hundred other things to learn, and August had immersed himself in his new duties and responsibilities. He had met with the privateer Captain in Toronto, made his first truly independent decision, and regretted it almost immediately as its full weight settled about his shoulders. Still, there were lighter moments, and when they came, he had let himself forget his worries and get lost in dreams and plans. Now, as the Northlander rumbled closer to Toronto, he found himself so full of thoughts that he might boil over.

  UNION STATION was, blessedly, not hosting the Queen today, the monarch having departed for Windsor or some such place by car that morning. August was able to get off the train and beat less seasoned travellers to the taxi stand. Once he secured a car and gave the address of the Callaghan townhouse to the driver, he sat back and let the city lull him into some semblance of calm. There was nothing he could do to make the time between now and tonight pass more quickly, after all, and it was equally pointless to stew about it.

  Evelyn awaited August at the door of their townhouse with one of the new footmen. She was dressed for business, in tailoring that perfectly displayed her taste without overemphasizing her wealth. Though she was mostly a silent partner in the family operation, her stake was the same size as her younger brother’s and would remain so unless she moved away for marriage and he bought her out as they had their other sisters. Though she had not officially informed the family, Evie had no intention of doing that, and had, in fact, begun gradually increasing her presence in day-to-day operations. This had not gone entirely unnoticed, and, frankly, August was glad of it.

  August paid the driver quickly, and hugged his sister at the door. “Evie,” he said and waved off the footman, who must be new, because August didn’t recognize him, when the man tried to take his bag.

  “How was the trip?” she asked, threading her arm through his and pulling him towards the door.

  “It was the Northlander.” He shrugged. “The weather was beautiful, certainly.”

  “And it took three times as long,” Evie said. “Are you that nervous?”

  “That I chose to spend an extra two hours confined to a train carriage?” August said with mock-sincerity.

  Evie rolled her eyes. “In any case, you’re here now and you’ve got three hours. Don’t waste time, brother-mine. I’ve laid out your suit already.”

  “Three hours?” August said. “To get dressed?”

  Evie shot him a look, and August suddenly understood why she had insisted on accompanying him and his father when it became apparent that their mother would be staying with the baby.

  “Never mind,” he said, knowing when to quit the field. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “That’s my boy,” Evie said, ruffling his hair as though she were their father and didn’t have to reach up to do it. “Alex will show you up to your new room. Hiram is in the kitchen fixing something, but he’ll be along when it’s done.”

  “Or when his sisters get tired of his meddling and throw him out,” August said.

  “That’s why you brought him on, isn’t it?” Evie asked. “Because you wanted a valet who understood the plight of sisters?”

  “At least his are all younger,” August replied, pulling his face into its longest expression. It had the desired effect, as Evie began to laugh in spite of herself.

  “Oh, you’re the end,” Evie told him, and pushed him in the direction of the stairs.

  Alex led the way up. August’s room was in a different place now that their mother had redecorated. His father had requested that his suite be large enough to include a study, and his mother had very much enjoyed the project of converting the top storey, formerly the attic nursery, into a suitable set of rooms.

  “Thank you, Alex,” August said when they reached the final landing. “
I think I can manage from here. And welcome to the household.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex replied. “Thank you. It’s a good one, and I hear we’re to hope for expansion soon.”

  “If all goes well,” August said. Apparently, Alex wasn’t as new as he thought, but then again, Hiram’s sisters were all very capable gossips.

  Alex smiled at him, a warm expression, and turned to go back down the stairs. August opened the door, and went in to prepare himself for one of the more important nights of his life.

  LIZZIE

  Henry, I don’t know if you’re reading this anymore. I know we never really talked about our intentions, and I’m not even sure what mine are, but I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings somehow. Please, just tell me you’re well. I would just like to know that you are well.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Gabriel and Anna arrived in Toronto by car, having decided not to place themselves at the mercy of the Queen’s transportation schedule. They also left New London at some ungodly hour of the morning, thereby missing rush hour traffic and affording them time to stop for an uncharacteristic second cup of coffee that Anna Marcus found she needed after an equally uncharacteristic sleepless night. They finally reached Theresa’s house in time for a late breakfast.

  Helena had, of course, already been awake for some time, having also been far, far too nervous to sleep.

  It would have been better if there were something she could do, but there was nothing. Her dresses were all complete, thanks to Theresa’s deft hands and excellent eye for detail. Her jewelry and assorted accessories, including the soft dancing slippers she would wear tonight, had all been acquired, checked over, and laid out. She was absolutely forbidden from entering the kitchen, lest she cut herself, and since Fanny had already started preparing her hair, she couldn’t do much of anything that involved strenuous movement.

  So Helena waited in the dayroom, which really did have the best light, while her parents were settled into the room Fanny had occupied all week. Fanny would move downstairs with Theresa’s own staff while Helena’s parents were in town.

  “I wish they’d let you sleep upstairs with me,” Helena had told her, wincing as Fanny pulled at her curls. “I know you can’t come tonight, but I was looking forward to telling you all about it.”

  An invitation for Helena in New London would have included Fanny as a matter of course. The Highcastles’ invitation had not, and Helena was sorry for it, not to mention a little put out. She had no idea how to ask for an amendment without offending her hosts, and Aunt Theresa hadn’t brought it up. Of all the things Helena didn’t particularly like about Toronto, the marked difference that social position made and her inability to navigate it with any real surety was the highest on her list. Helena had been totally focused on the perception of her own upward move, lest she misstep. She was, to put it mildly, appalled with her own hesitance, and now it was too late.

  At least Fanny had already debuted on her own, and wouldn’t be missing out on that score. It was the only true regret Helena had about the evening, though Fanny had never so much as breathed displeasure about the fact that she wouldn’t even get to watch the party from the balcony. Helena would be sure to remember every detail to relate back to Fanny later.

  “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again,” Fanny pointed out. “You aunt has her ways, is all. I’ll be fine downstairs, and you won’t wake me up with your chattering when you come in.”

  “Fanny—” Helena started, but the other girl cut her off.

  “We’ll have a whole month after your parents leave. I’ll stay up for you those nights. This night is for your family.”

  “You are my family,” Helena pointed out. “You’ve lived in my house almost half a decade!”

  “That’s nice of you to say, miss.” Fanny hid behind her Toronto formality, but Helena could hear the tears in her voice. “I really do look forward to hearing about your night. Now, downstairs with you before your aunt attempts the stairs again.”

  Helena had fled, but she wished she’d made more of an issue of it afterward. Aunt Theresa was old-fashioned, it was true, but she was also scrupulously fair and had been nothing but kind to both Helena and Fanny since their arrival. Helena was sure she could have discussed her feelings with her aunt openly. It was too late now, though, with Fanny’s things stored below-stairs, and Anna Marcus standing in the vestibule, declaiming rather emotionally about the fine city-girl her daughter had become.

  “Oh, Anna,” said Theresa. “She’s still the same person, don’t you worry. And we’ve been so busy that she’s barely seen any of the city at all. She’ll get to do that later.”

  It was true enough. Helena had spent most of the week sewing or desperately memorizing lists of names and faces so as not to embarrass herself too badly at parties. Most of the debuts would be friends of Elizabeth Highcastle or at least people who moved in a similar social network. Helena was the only out-of-town person, save for Elizabeth’s English cousin, who, naturally, would be affixed to Elizabeth herself all evening.

  “Everyone will be just as nervous as you are,” Theresa had assured her. Helena did not find that particularly comforting.

  Helena’s nerves didn’t ease much over breakfast, even with her father there to tell her about all the goings-on at the University. He and Anna had still attended the ball there and reported that Helena was much missed by the local boys, and by her friends from the seminary. Helena tried not to think about how much she missed them, too, and did her best to eat. She’d be wearing a corset for most of the afternoon and evening, after all, and knew enough from her practice with it that she wanted to eat before she put it on.

  After the meal, Gabriel was banished to the parlour, where he insisted that Thomas join him for chess. Theresa looked only mildly scandalized before agreeing.

  “It will keep them both out of the way,” she said to Anna, who nodded.

  Helena would do her final dressing with Fanny in her room but would spend the afternoon in Theresa’s salon, presumably so that her aunt and her mother could coo over her for hours. She did want to show her mother the improvements Aunt Theresa had made to her wardrobe. She was grateful for all of them, but she was equally glad to see the books Fanny must have snuck into the room and placed by her seat in the window. At least she’d have something to consider besides facing the Queen of the Empire in a few short hours.

  “Gabriel and I will probably say this a few more times, Aunt, but we are so glad for the time Helena got to spend with you,” Anna said, settling in with a teacup in one hand and the boots Theresa had bought in the other. She set the tea down, and examined the stitching. “Everything you found to complement what she brought from New London is so finely made.”

  “The advantages of knowing your neighbourhood, my dear,” Theresa said. “We found the necessary items all over. The boots are mine, actually. They fit her nicely and they’re already broken in. Most of the rest is borrowed and reworked to suit our Helena. She has been most adept at helping with the alterations. Most girls her age think it’s –bot work.”

  “There is no point in idleness,” Anna said. “Helena is very good at keeping busy.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed,” Theresa said, sparing a glance at Helena, whose fingers itched towards the books. “She tells me that she has completed enough accounting classes to be certified nationally?”

  One of the most infuriating things about being a debut, Helena had come to learn, was that other people talked about you like you weren’t present. She was perfectly capable of having this conversation with her aunt, and had indeed done so already. Since her mother was present, however, and the person to whom the remarks were addressed, convention demanded she sit quietly.

  “Oh, yes,” Anna confirmed. She did not explain why Helena had chosen accounting, and neither had Helena told Theresa. She was far too accustomed to holding August clo
se to her heart, and in any case, his business was not something she wished to discuss with others until she was officially a part of it.

  “Admirable, indeed,” Theresa said quite proudly. “I would have sponsored her anyway, of course, because she is family, but I am proud to put my name to a girl of her accomplishments and demeanour.”

  Perhaps it was the nerves, or perhaps it was simply the fact that her aunt and her mother were talking to each other like they were all strangers, but in that moment it struck Helena as quite ridiculous, and she began to giggle uncontrollably. Anna looked at her, aghast, but Theresa gave a loud bark of laughter, which just made Helena laugh even harder.

  “Oh, be quiet,” Theresa said. “I so rarely get to play the Grand Lady anymore.”

  “I hope you can laugh tonight, darling,” Anna said. “After you’ve made your curtsey to the Queen and everyone has relaxed. Aunt, you’re right. She can look like a city-girl if she wants to now, but she’s still my Bright and Beautiful.”

  Helena blushed at her mother’s use of a somewhat effusive pet name. Anna had called her that as long as she could remember, and until she had been ten years old or so, Helena had found it very confusing. Then, one Sunday as they had sung the hymn in the great stone Anglican church at the University, it had all become abruptly clear. Her mother didn’t call her “Bright and Beautiful” as a reminder of her own beauty, which, to be frank, even at ten Helena had considered modest at best, but rather a reminder that God had made all of His creatures more or less as He intended to. It was a complicated thing, but then love was rarely a straightforward matter.

  The ice broken, Anna and Theresa turned to catching up. They spoke of Finn a great deal, his career at sea and how he’d coped since the death of his father, and of Anna’s work at the Findings Ward. Helena was left mostly to her own devices, and she happily lost herself in the book Fanny had provided. It was one of her favourites, one she could very nearly recite from memory if she chose to, and Helena silently blessed Fanny for leaving it for her. The late morning sun scraped a retreat across the floor, grudgingly giving up one board at a time. Theresa’s cat—an old, mean thing that didn’t tolerate much in the way of petting—woke from its doze each time the sun abandoned it, before finally heaving itself into the window seat beside Helena. She gave the cat its space. She did not need scratches today.