That Inevitable Victorian Thing

by E. K. Johnston

  “I meant to ask before I did that,” he said, because he really had.

  “Yes,” she said, and pulled him forward again.

  This time was different. It was a better fit, with both of them prepared, and Helena’s hands slid up his arms to his shoulders. It was promise and longing and heat, and the corner of the table digging into his chest, just below his ribs. He might have sworn, only his tongue was busy.

  He would have staggered when she let him go, except he was already sitting. There was a fire in her eyes, and an odd sort of determination.

  “Dance the Rover with me tonight.” Her voice low despite their perfect assurance of privacy.

  “I can dance with you all night. No one here will care.”

  She smiled. God, he loved her.

  “Do the Log Driver’s Waltz with Margaret, at least,” she said.

  It was, he realized, a very social move. Margaret was new and pretty, and would not lack for dance partners. He would never be so rude as to inquire after her genetic heritage, but in addition to her brown skin and helix-coiled hair, she had the sort of looks that would make her quite popular with the young men whose parents wanted them to marry a girl with some Hong Kong Chinese ancestry, and there would be plenty of those at the Callaghan party. If August opened the summer dancing with her, though, she would never be made to feel out of place at all. The dance would mean his family liked her, and her own character and charm would take care of the rest.

  “All right,” he said.

  “And make sure Hiram dances with Fanny,” Helena added.

  “You know,” he said, getting up, “Fanny strikes me as the sort who can take care of herself.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it,” Helena said. “Only sometimes it’s nice to be asked, and you know Hiram won’t unless you remind him to.”

  “As my lady says,” August said, with a courtly bow over the hand he still held.

  Helena rolled her eyes and kissed him again, lightly this time, and holding her body back from his. He imagined what it would be like when she kissed him and didn’t hold anything back at all.

  He all but floated home and didn’t realize until he got there that he’d forgotten to ask for the colour of her dress. Hopefully one of Hiram’s sisters knew it. He couldn’t arrange for flowers on this short notice, but he could at least be sure to pick out the proper cravat.

  INTERLUDE

  Margaret listened to Fanny talk as she tied a ribbon around Margaret’s head. It wasn’t particularly fancy, for which Fanny apologized, but Fanny, having only ever worked for the Marcus family, had never dressed this sort of hair before, and Margaret knew only the basics she had taught herself during her weeks in Toronto—Elizabeth’s hairdresser had done her more elaborate styles—and how to bend it up under her wig, not that she could say as much.

  “It’s all right, Fanny,” she said instead. “I like this look very well.” She truly did, though she could only imagine what her mother would say.

  Behind them, on the bed she and Helena had been sharing, were laid out the dresses they’d wear tonight. Margaret had worried that anything of hers might be too ostentatious for Lake Muskoka’s social scene, but Fanny and Helena were both remarkably skilled at sewing and had managed to alter several outfits so that they were suitable. Helena would wear her own boots, and a pair was procured for Margaret from one of Hiram’s sisters. They were scuffed and worn, and Margaret loved them immediately, waving aside all apologies for their condition. Boots were, she was informed, necessary here, because all the men would be wearing them, and that made light shoes or slippers impractical for the ladies. Margaret would wear them with the dress she had debuted in, altered nearly beyond recognition.

  “It just goes so well with your colouring,” Fanny had said, looking at the fabric admiringly. “We’ll change Helena’s debut gown as well, and it will be perfect.”

  Margaret had agreed on the condition that Fanny wear one of Margaret’s gowns. Fanny didn’t even attempt a polite protest of that, and had been absolutely delighted to stand on the footstool while Helena directed Margaret to help her make the modifications for her slightly wider frame.

  “I liked Hiram well enough when he was a cutter,” Fanny said now, pinning a Canada lily into the ribbon so the flower was placed just behind Margaret’s ear. “He’s still the same man, even though he works in the house instead of in the forest. There’s not as much area for promotion, of course, but it’s still good work.”

  “And you would get to stay with Helena,” Margaret said.

  “I would stay with her anyway,” Fanny said. “But there’s no reason I can’t look for bonuses.”

  Margaret agreed completely, though she suspected it was for different reasons. Friendship, she reminded herself, was as much as most monarchs ever got—and even that was hard to come by. She would be content with that. She would.

  HELENA SAT in the kitchen for a good long while after August left her there. She ought to feel swoony and warm and delighted, but instead she felt like the worst sort of deceiver. She did want him to kiss her, and she had liked it quite a bit, but she also hadn’t told him the truth. He might never kiss her again when he found out, and Helena knew enough about who she was to want to forestall that for as long as possible. She did love him, she was sure of it, despite what the Computer said about her genetics and how she felt when she talked to Lizzie.

  She almost wished she’d never logged in. Then she wouldn’t have found out until she and August were married, and they would have found out together. Except that would have been a disaster, too, and then August might feel that she had somehow trapped him. The whole thing was a mess, and the only way Helena could see out of it was to break both their hearts now, and then never leave her own house in New London ever again. Two months ago, she might have done it. But since then, since meeting Margaret and Elizabeth, she had discovered she was not as reclusive as she had always imagined she was. She didn’t want to give up the world so soon after finding it.

  She would tell him. She would give herself tonight—and maybe the summer—but she would tell him. And she would do so before he proposed—maybe during one of those private moments people were suddenly so keen to offer them. She would leave him the out. It was possible he would still like her, but the one thing August had always said was that he wanted a family like his own, and that was something Helena couldn’t give him.

  Make plans and then hope, she’d told him. She wasn’t sure if she had that much hope in her.

  Fanny appeared in the kitchen, having finished with Margaret, and exclaimed over Helena’s still-wet hair. Helena allowed herself to be herded upstairs and dressed, and by the time the last of her ribbons were put in place, she felt she was, on surface, ready for whatever the evening had to offer.

  AUGUST LOOKED up at the familiar sound of Hiram’s knock.

  “The green dress,” he said from the doorway. “Same as the debut ball.”

  August breathed a sigh of relief. He could just repeat his own outfit, too, in that case. In fact, Hiram had already made the same decision, and laid everything out for him.

  “Thank you,” said August. “I can see to myself. Why don’t you go get dressed, and come back in half an hour so that I can tie your cravat?”

  The Callaghan Victoria Day party was quite inclusive with its invite list. Hiram, and his sisters, and Fanny, too, would attend as guests, not as employees.

  “Sally can do it,” Hiram said, not meeting August’s eyes.

  “Sally is busy, and you know it,” August said. “I am sure I can manage.”

  When Hiram had gone to see to himself, August showered and shaved, and then set to dressing. He could not get Helena’s kiss out of his mind. He was not entirely sure he wanted to. His mother hoped that he would propose soon, in part so that their family party on the Segwun could double as an engagement party, but also because she genuinely w
ished for Helena to be a part of the family.

  “You know what I told your father when that girl was born?” she had said to him on more than one occasion, most recently before he left for Toronto and the debut season.

  “That we had better be nice to her, because someday she would be your daughter, too,” August replied. It was the variation of the answer his mother liked the best.

  A knock at the door caught his attention. It was too early for Hiram.

  “Come in,” he said, and the door opened to reveal his father, dressed for the evening already.

  “You did well in Toronto,” Murray Callaghan told his only son.

  August did his best not to flush with shame. He could only hope his father never learned what he had done while he was in the city. “Thank you, Father,” he said instead.

  “These are for you, for when you need them,” Murray said, passing over a small box.

  He left before August had undone the latch to open it, so August couldn’t even thank him.

  Nestled inside the box, on soft pearl-coloured silk, were his grandparents’ wedding rings.

  HIRAM DID try. He tried at least half a dozen times. Then he sighed, resigned to the fact that he couldn’t tie his own bloody cravat yet, and went back upstairs to August.

  THE ANNUAL CALLAGHAN FAMILY

  Victoria Day Weekend Ball

  PROGRAMME

  - THE LOG DRIVER’S WALTZ

  - THE ROVER

  - THE FRENCH CANADIAN BARN DANCE

  - STRIP THE WILLOW

  - THE GAY GORDONS

  - THE EIGHTSOME REEL

  - ST. BERNARD’S WALTZ

  - THE DUKE OF PERTH

  - THE HIGHLAND SCHOTTISCHE

  - THE DASHING WHITE SERGEANT

  CHAPTER

  17

  The great room at Callaghan house was bigger than the entire first floor of the Marcus cottage. It had a two-storey vaulted ceiling, and the side that faced the lake was entirely windows. During regular days, the room was divided so that its size was less overwhelming, but on social occasions, such as this one, the heavy furniture was all removed, and the rugs were rolled up to clear the wooden floor. Instead of the pillow-strewn love seats and so on that usually served a person seeking a reading nook or a place to play cards, wooden chairs lined the walls. Instead of the massive dining table, small stations with food and drink had been placed around the room. Helena saw two of her favourites, pineapple bread and Hong Kong–style milk tea, mixed in with the Nanaimo bars and icewine. The two great fans that hung from the ceiling turned quickly, and every window in the house was thrown wide-open.

  It was, Helena reminded herself, going to be very warm, very soon.

  Across from the windows, a platform had been set up for the band. There were no electric instruments for the Victoria Day party, not that any of them required much in the way of amplification. Everything was scrubbed clean and polished, and ready for summer.

  “Helena!” She looked up to see a flurry of black crêpe flying across the room, and caught the child as he jumped into her arms. It was August’s youngest nephew, gowned and giggling.

  “How are you, Matthew?” Helena asked.

  “I am wonderful,” Matthew declared effusively. “Mama and Mother said that because I’m five this year, I get to be the Queen! Addie was so angry, because she’s only half an inch taller than I am, but they bought her new shoes, and now she doesn’t care so much.”

  Margaret was confused, and Helena took pity on her. She set Matthew down and smiled. Evie was on her way over to say hello.

  “It’s a tradition up here,” Helena said. “Don’t ask me how it started, because I don’t think anyone knows, but the shortest member of the family dresses up as Queen Victoria, and gets to speak in royal plural if an adult tries to give them orders.”

  “August was the shortest for a long time,” Evie said, grinning unapologetically. “He loathed it. When Helena was old enough to play the part, he was positively delighted.”

  “Please tell me there are photographs,” Margaret said. She choked a little bit on the words, but seemed, rather unfittingly, amused.

  “He tried to ruin them, of course,” Evie said. “But I’m sure my mother has some around somewhere. Come on, I’ll take you to her, and you can meet my father.”

  Charlotte and Murray Callaghan were standing close to the band platform, making sure the performers had all they required. They turned immediately when Helena and Margaret approached, and made them welcome even though they were clearly preoccupied with their party. Helena didn’t envy the organizational feat, and rather admired that they had any spare thoughts at all. Charlotte did invite them for tea the following day, but Evie guided them towards the table of drinks almost as soon as they had accepted.

  “Mother is very worried about this year,” Evie said.

  “More so than other years?” Helena asked. Charlotte Callaghan’s parties were well renowned for a reason.

  “Of course not,” Evie said. “Though if you ask her—and please don’t—we are all three breaths from disaster.”

  “They’ll calm down when the dancing starts,” Helena reminded her.

  The mere mention of dancing did seem to cheer Evie. “I’m so excited. Margaret, did you have any time to learn the steps?”

  “Fanny was kind enough to make the attempt,” Margaret said. She blushed faintly thinking of potential embarrassment, and of the afternoon she and Helena had spent with their hands on each other’s waists, while Fanny commanded and giggled in equal turns from her place by the speakers.

  “She’ll be able to muddle through,” Helena said, and winked. The truth was that Margaret was a fast learner, but dancing in private was one thing. Dancing when you have to share the floor was something else altogether.

  “Wonderful,” Evie said. “Ah, there’s my brother. It’s about time.”

  Helena looked over and saw that August, too, was wearing what he had worn to the debut ball. She felt her skin grow hot as she remembered kissing him in the kitchen only a short while ago, and hoped that if anyone noticed her blush, they would only think it was because the room was filling up with people.

  “Ladies,” he said, joining them. Evie curtseyed elaborately, and they all laughed.

  If he was going to say anything else, he was prevented from doing so by his mother, who signalled the band to begin playing the prelude to the Log Driver’s Waltz, and made a great show of accepting her husband’s hand as he offered to lead her onto the floor.

  “Margaret, if you would?” August said.

  Margaret looked surprised, as did Evie, but Helena nodded, and pushed her a little bit, and she went. Evie went off to dance with Matthew, or carry him, as was more likely, but the little boy was clearly having the time of his life. Helena was about to take a chair, when someone tapped on her shoulder.

  “Miss Marcus, will you dance?” It was Horace, one of the older foremen. He was her father’s official crib opponent and euchre partner, and Helena was quite happy to see him.

  She smiled and followed him out to the floor.

  The preamble ended, and a clear soprano began singing the words to the song. The pairs of dancers fairly flew around the floor, each trying to outdo one another with intricate steps while not killing each other in the process. August, Helena noticed, was being careful to keep Margaret out from under anyone’s toes, but she was holding her own well enough.

  If you ask any girl from the parish around

  What pleases her most from her head to her toes,

  She’ll say, “I’m not sure that it’s business of yours,

  But I do like to waltz with a log driver.”

  Horace was not an adventurous dancer, but he was very good, and Helena was able to relax a bit while he led. This was the sort of thing she had been looking forward to, she r
ealized. This family and this house and these people, from Murray Callaghan, gallantly leading his wife in the middle of floor, to Matthew, who swung around in Evie’s arms, the pair of them giggling so that Helena was surprised she didn’t drop him.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” Horace said. “It’s always brighter when you’re here.”

  “It’s always summer when I’m here,” Helena pointed out.

  “Perhaps.” Horace smiled. “I guess we’ll find out how you do in the winter.”

  She made herself smile, and found she mostly meant it.

  Now I’ve had my chances with all sorts of men

  But none is so fine as my lad on the river

  So when the drive’s over, if he asks me again

  I think I will marry my log driver.

  As the song went into its final chorus, Horace manoeuvred them away from the more energetic dancers, who would finish the song with their own improvisations. Helena was glad to see August and Margaret among them, Margaret’s dark red dress swirling across the floorboards as August spun her. They were beautiful together, at home in this room as full of faces in varying shades as anyone could have hoped. A dance like this required a measure of trust, and that measure was undoubtedly present. It made Helena feel better to see them getting along so well.

  For he goes birling down and down white water

  That’s where the log driver learns to step lightly.

  It’s birling down and down white water

  A log driver’s waltz pleases girls completely.

  And with that, the dancers stilled on the floor and then turned to clap for the band, and for August’s middle sister, who had done the singing. Horace kissed her hand and departed for the card room with his good wishes trailing behind him. Before it could fully dawn on Helena that Horace’s dance was tantamount to a welcome from Callaghan Ltd., August returned Margaret, smiling brightly, to her side. But there was no time for words before the preamble to the next song began. It was the Rover.