“Though not too much, I hope,” said Adam, “We don’t want to lose her.”
Mustn’t deplete your harem, thought Alexandra.
“That is settled then,” said Catherine. “You will write something and read to us, won’t you Alexandra?”
“I shall be delighted,” said Alexandra hastening towards the door, “If you will excuse me, I shall start immediately.” She turned to see Adam smiling encouragingly. I may be called upon to support myself sometime soon was the thought uppermost in her mind – once she had forced out the butterfly-inducing sight of Adam. “More like bats than butterflies,” she said as she went up the stairs.
Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham
CHAPTER NINETEEN
On the evening of the soirée, Alexandra had wanted to wear her burgundy velvet bolero but Catherine had said it would be wise to wear her shawl so that her arms could be admired. Alexandra was aghast; she wasn’t seeking admiration, well, not of her arms. She was tempted to rebel and set her own style; after all, she had so little to choose from it would give her a chance to be inventive. It had then occurred to her that perhaps Catherine was saving her from the faux pas of selecting any of Laura’s belongings that had been passed to her. Anyway, how could she deny Catherine the enjoyment of helping her dress and styling her locks? So, with her hair brushed high and set in fashionably irregular curls, and her pale blue wrap around her ivory, soft silk dress, which shimmered as she moved, she descended the imposing stairway and joined the many guests attending. Adam was immediately at her side and complimented her more with his eyes than his words. After brief introductions to several of the guests, he waltzed her over to Raffles. No sooner had he done this than he was set upon by the two Carpenter girls whom he steered towards the music room. Raffles was then monopolised by a guest who engaged him in serious, pious conversation.
Alexandra thought it better not to attempt to contribute and her mind drifted to the past few days’ celebrations of Christmas. Frugality having been temporarily abandoned, she and Catherine had enjoyed concocting menus and decorating the table with holly, berries and ivy. One of the greatest joys had been to see cook’s face when she saw what she was commissioned to prepare. She’d displayed an element of panic – why had they left it so late to tell her? It had been quickly replaced by an enjoyably theatrical display of efficiency and creativity. What a household! To have a cook called ‘Mrs Lamb’ completed the farcical but warmly amusing nature of life at “Foxhills”. Alexandra enjoyed assisting and guiding Catherine, but it would be quite wrong to usurp the daughter of the household’s tentative hold on authority.
Now here was the culmination of all the festivities – the Leigh-Fox Christmas Soirée to which all the local dignitaries and families of consequence had been invited. It was becoming a most interesting evening. Catherine clearly impressed Sir Humphrey Frobisher’s eldest son, James, for he had not left her side from the moment they were introduced. It was understandable, thought Alexandra. She looked warm, friendly and highly attractive in her peach-coloured dress. The dress was ornamented with Chinese silk trimmings; Catherine had told her with the merest hint of pride and more of a longing for approval. How fragile her hold on expectations was becoming. The gown was set off by a pearl and amber matching brooch and necklace. “At last, I have the opportunity to wear mama’s jewels. Adam has brought them out from the ‘safe’,” she’d whispered to Alexandra.
An accomplished pianist was playing while the guests took their seats in the music room, so expressively that Alexandra’s curiosity was aroused. She was unable to hide her amazement when she saw Jack at the piano particularly when he began to sing. His voice was deep and pure, one that would charm any woman or lull the most obstreperous baby to sleep. A redeeming feature par excellence.
A most unwelcome thought, pushed rapidly aside, flashed through Alexandra’s mind. Was he the highwayman? Surely not? He didn’t play for long; having drunk throughout the reception he declared himself fatigued, bowed long and theatrically low to the appreciative audience, then found a far corner of the adjoining morning room, where he slept noisily. Father Fox surprised her. He assumed the role of the consummate host and materialized between guests ensuring all were not only content but also being introduced and seated near to ‘the right people’. Every jewel-bedecked girl of marriageable age had been introduced to Jack and Adam. Charlotte, the elder of Sir Charles’s daughters, wearing a mustard-coloured dress with extensive yellow and scarlet satin embellishments, might have been better advised, thought Alexandra. She wasn’t sure of the choice of colours for setting off her thick, red hair. Charlotte had seated herself next to Adam on the front row, and fluttered her feathered fan at him rather more than most would deem seemly. This gave focus to her exceptionally expressive grey eyes – probably not an asset in her case.
Alexandra had been allocated a chair next to Parson Raffles who occupied a central position at the front. She took her place as Father Fox stood to welcome his guests but he quickly deferred to Parson Raffles for his ‘Christmas Comment’. The parson muttered as he stood, “Christmas Commentary.” Alexandra barely controlled the smile that was sweeping over her face – Father Fox was definitely smarter than people gave him credit for. The parson, feeling obliged to shorten his usual exposition, placed his hands on his ample stomach and began with his ‘closing thoughts’. Very wise, thought Alexandra, they surely knew the story by now anyway.
“Is it not so, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, that God comes to us in the way most suited to our understanding? To the simple shepherds God announced the coming of the Christ Child with hosts of angels cluttering up the skies and singing for all they were worth – they could not be mistaken for anything other than of God.”
Alexandra sat riveted. The parson was using her words.
“To the learned men, the magi, God gave signs in the sky to tantalize their enquiring minds.”
Yes, she thought, lock, stock and barrel he has lifted my musings with Billy.
“The dependable Joseph, a man steeped in the ways of faith, needed no signs and wonders; an implanted dream confirmed and comforted.”
Well, at least that was his original thought. How interesting. He must have been listening to them last week in the stables when they’d been trying to make sense of their lives.
“To Mary he sent the Archangel, Gabriel.” He paused, adjusted his spectacles, and continued slowly which gave even more emphasis to his words. “In her impending condition, as an ordinary woman in a small town, imagine the gossip.” He allowed time for consideration. “She’d need to be greatly reassured.”
Alexandra listened intently, all the time turning over the thought that one never knows who hears and is influenced by what we say and do.
The parson finished with “To you – how does God make his message known to this learned, distinguished company?” In answer, he held high the Holy Bible, showed it to all, lowered his eyes, paused, then slowly seated himself next to Alexandra and winked! “Thank you, Alexandra.”
The entertainment was a display of accomplishments, or lack of them. Feeble applause for the younger Carpenter girl’s rendition of her own short composition on the pianoforte signalled to Alexandra that it was time for her to read. She placed her papers on the music stand and looked across the length of the combined music and morning room; more than one hundred guests hushed as she began to read in her low, spellbinding voice.
“I want you to imagine yourself nearly two hundred years hence.” She paused. “Close your eyes and see yourself travelling along a dark passageway and now, as you open your eyes, you emerge into the light of ‘Christmas Future’.” Not a sound was uttered by the audience, not even by Jack who had been awakened by Johnson’s kick as he passed by with a tray. Alexandra’s engaging story-telling skills crowned her writing. She finished by saying, “And the child sat down alone in the gutter, tired and hungry, and cried.”
She made her way back to her seat next to Parson Raffles who cautiously stood
and turned to face the stunned audience. He rocked to and fro, appearing to be composing a response that would combine the certitude of the writer with the ruminations of the still silent guests.
At length, he ventured a summary. “Honesty and wisdom despised, wealth squandered, corruption still spreading like a plague, a time of plenty and a time of famine – a world in which man has little time for the guiding, inspiring love of God.” He paused, visibly convicted by the profundity of the essay, pinched his nose and sniffed. “Miss Mulberry has reminded us that we all have a part to play in shaping the future of our world,” he rocked back and forth, “achieved by caring for, and educating those close to us to obtain what she calls the ‘ripple effect’. May God richly bless her for this admonition.”
Thunderous applause followed and Alexandra was called upon to acknowledge the audience’s appreciation several times before they would allow her to sit down.
Charlotte Carpenter’s eyes could kill for England.
Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Alexandra! You cannot let this happen!” Catherine’s eyes begged her to consider. “Charlotte Carpenter as my sister-in-law, however wealthy she is, would be a catastrophe!”
“Do not worry so, Catherine. I have saved the family estate from bankruptcy and you from being saddled with a harpy for a sister-in-law.”
“You are teasing, Alexandra. Don’t think I don’t know you by now.”
“Teasing? Not so. I have sold my Christmas story.”
“Alexandra! How wonderful. Who to?”
“Your father is surprising. Much under-rated.”
“I know,” said Catherine smiling fondly. “There’s no point in telling some people though because he disguises his genius so well.” Then she added impatiently, “But what has he to do with it?”
Alexandra looked around the morning room. The early rays of sunshine reflecting on the pale yellow walls, sent a promise of warmth to the cold, fire-less room. “Your father had invited a publisher to the soirée and he approached me afterwards. Today I have received ten guineas in payment for the collection of ten short stories.”
Catherine hugged her. She was an affectionate young lady but this hug was strong and tight, as if she were afraid of losing her. It remained unspoken, but they both knew that events were playing themselves out in a manner that would dictate their fates. Alexandra knew she could not presume on their charity for ever. “Foxhills” needed a saviour.
Catherine stepped back but continued to hold Alexandra’s hand. “Ten guineas? Why that is extraordinary. Imagine what you could earn if you wrote a book.”
“I have already begun,” whispered Alexandra conspiratorially. “It is about a young lady who meets a young man at a Christmas soirée.” Catherine moved towards the sofa. “He has ambitions to follow his father into Parliament,” continued Alexandra. Catherine picked up a large red cushion and threw it at Alexandra who caught it, chased Catherine around the central table and then into the music room.
“Excuse me Miss Leigh-Fox,” said Mrs Lamb, “It being Monday…” she attempted to continue amidst the hilarity.
“Monday, 20th February in the year of our Lord 1815,” said Catherine in her best mock-serious fashion, “Monday – and you wish us to attend to the weekly menus?”
“I do, Miss Leigh-Fox.”
“Then let us do so quickly,” Alexandra said, “then we can go for our ride, Catherine.” With a flourish she produced a sheaf of papers. “All done!”
Cook stared at the menus and with a loud sigh said, “It is customary to consult with me before the menus are made up and for the very good reason that the butcher ain’t goin’ t’ like this. He ain’t been paid for Christmas yet.”
“What!” said Alexandra in feigned horror, “You’d better pay him with this then.”
The cook’s face, plump, pink and highly flexible, reacted with sheer joy. “Four guineas. My, I shall be able to hold my head up when he calls for payment this week. Doesn’t quite cover it, of course, but…”
“You want more?” mocked Alexandra as she grabbed Catherine’s hand and pulled her out into the cold, windy day. Then to Catherine she added, “More will come. I should have thought to do that earlier. I’d no idea the situation was quite so critical. I have a little money of my own.”
“Adam doesn’t want you to. You know that,” hissed Catherine whilst being dragged, arm in arm, to the stables for their customary ride.
“There’s no need to tell him – you liaise with Mrs Lamb now so he has no need to speak with her.”
Billy was holding the reins of Holly and Black and assisted them both to mount; Catherine side-saddle and Alexandra in her preferred manner. She had christened Billy, William Sidebottome, pronouncing it ‘Siddybotome’. “In tribute to you, Billy, for keeping our secret that I don’t ride side-saddle,” she had said. He had replied, “I know you’re not Laura now, Miss Mulberry, but I can’t repay Laura for her kindness so I shall repay you. You are so like her.” When Alexandra asked how he knew Laura and in what way had she been kind to him, he said he couldn’t remember. She had wondered if Laura would have jested so with a loyal groom; wouldn’t it have been kinder to call him ‘Smith’? She also wondered why he neglected to call her ‘Miss Laura’. It was all very odd.
Billy led them out of the stable yard; he appeared to want to say something, smacking his lips and making a little coughing sound.
“What is it, Billy?”
“You know them wheel-boards, Miss Mulberry?” He looked her directly in the eyes before he continued. “I’ve made six so far but the wheels are difficult to get hold of. I’d got some truckles but I’ve run out now. The wheelwright says he’ll give me a hand to find some old roller skates, but a little payment might go a long way.”
Alexandra hoped truckles were what she’d imagined, not that it mattered. “I must get scribbling,” she said enthusiastically, “but I can give you a guinea when we return. That ok?”
Billy beamed. “The lads in the tavern wanted to show you how useful they are. D’you think you’d be able to take a look?”
Alexandra looked at Catherine’s puzzled face. She’d forgotten the wheel-boards; the writing had taken over and she’d never explained to Catherine. She leaned towards Billy. “Tonight? After dinner?”
“You’re on!” he responded.
Alexandra’s face lit up. They could communicate like no others.
~
When Catherine and Alexandra returned from their invigorating gallop, they just had time to change before the welcome ritual of afternoon tea in the sitting room. Still flushed with the exercise, they entered together and were surprised but delighted to see Parson Raffles with Adam and Father Fox. The gentlemen stood to greet them. Jack, as usual, was missing. They seemed a little uncomfortable, though the parson was kindly and attentive towards Alexandra.
“How is your writing? Another story nearly finished?” he enquired.
Alexandra could not help smiling. Talking about her writing was a rare pleasure. “I am making slow progress, though I think I shall have finished a slim volume of short stories within a month or two.”
“Your talent is God-given, Miss Mulberry,” the parson began.
“Oh please call me Alexandra.” She felt accepted now: why was everyone so formal all the time?
Parson Raffles and Adam exchanged glances. Glances which Alexandra could not interpret though she thought Catherine might have done, for she looked from one to the other and then to Alexandra with an air of concern.
“I shall be delighted to do so, Alexandra, and in turn, I shall be pleased if you will call me Emmanuel when we are amongst friends, as now.”
“Raffles,” said Alexandra, “May I call you Raffles? It trips off my tongue so much more easily.”
“Trip away,” said Raffles enjoying her playful mood.
The air of formality had been broken to good effect, courtesy of Raffles’ innate sense of fun, and Catherine bus
ied herself pouring tea and passing little buns around. Father Fox seemed to be in a world of his own.
“This God-given talent,” resumed the parson, “it…” he hesitated, “I wondered…”
Adam stood up. Alexandra noticed he looked… no she could not put a word to it. As a writer, she thought she ought to be able to, but he’d turned away before she could capture it. Father Fox puffed on his pipe and blew smoke rings and, as Alexandra watched him, she noticed he was shaking his head so that the smoke rings rose in two columns.
“I wondered…” but Raffles failed to voice what he wondered and tried tackling the subject from a different angle. “Marriages are in the offing. Would you write a poem to be read at a marriage celebration?”
Alexandra felt her blood drain to her feet. That’s why Adam was pacing the room and unable to meet her gaze. “No.” she said emphatically, “Poetry is a separate discipline.” There was a long pause before she added, “I’m sorry. I know I could not do that.” Not for Adam’s marriage to some other woman.
Father Fox triumphantly blew one very large smoke ring.
Small talk followed, tea was drunk and Raffles left hastily. Johnson cleared the tea plates and cups, and Father Fox accompanied a reluctant Catherine from the room pausing at the doorway to say, “I am pleased to have you here, Miss Mulberry.” Then he turned and Alexandra could have sworn she saw him wink. Was he saying that, no matter who else came, she would always be welcome?
“May I speak to you for a moment, Alexandra?”
Adam and Alexandra were alone. Alexandra’s stomach somersaulted: she felt quite sick. Surely he could not be marrying that Carpenter girl? Should she donate her diamonds? Would that be enough to save any foolhardy decisions…? What was she thinking! Interrupting her runaway thoughts, Adam said tenderly, “I need to speak to you of marriage.” He sat down, grasped his hands together and looked her straight in the eyes.
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