A Promise Given

by Michelle Cox

  “… and the kids.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t be permanent. Maybe for a few weeks at a time, perhaps; you’ll still see them often enough, I daresay.”

  “Oh, please, Aunt Agatha. I can’t come! Eddie’s having a bit of a hard time, lately, and he … he likes telling me things in the evening, and Herbie, too. I … please! I’m not like Henrietta … I wish I could be, but I’m not!” she said in a panicked voice and was surprised that two hot tears had appeared in the corners of her eyes. Though her concern for Ma and her brothers and Doris was very real, a different fear was overwhelming her. She worried that if she went away, how on earth would Stanley ever call upon her then? She had a hard enough time inducing him to come to Palmer Square! If she went and stayed with the Exleys, that would be the end of his visits entirely, she was sure of it.

  “Now, now!” Aunt Agatha said, disturbed. “No need for tears!” She shifted in her chair as she tried to come up with a solution. “What about weekends?” she finally asked. “You could stay with us for part of the week and then go back …” she said, bargaining.

  “But that’s when I see them the most!” Elsie said, despairingly.

  “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Aunt Agatha said uneasily. “Perhaps Wednesday to Saturday afternoon, then?”

  When Elsie didn’t immediately respond, Aunt Agatha saw her chance and continued delicately. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get out from time to time?” she said encouragingly. “We’d take you to the theater and the ballet, lovely parties. A young girl like you should not be alone so very much.”

  Elsie was wavering. She would dearly love to see the theater, but how could she do that to Stanley? And, anyway, she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to stay with them. After all, she barely knew them! And what would Ma say? There would be no end to her ranting.

  “And John and I need some entertainment as well,” Aunt Agatha continued smoothly, sensing victory. “What with Ernest and John Jr. gone and married now, you’d be doing us quite a favor. I always wanted a girl to go about with me and keep me company! Might you indulge us? And it would please Father Exley immensely, I must say,” she said, her voice trailing off now.

  Elsie was so confused. She wasn’t sure what she should do. In her heart, she wanted to stay at home, but she didn’t know how to say no. Aunt Agatha was being so kind, and she didn’t wish to disappoint her. But wasn’t that better than disappointing Ma and Stanley? Oh, why did she always find herself in these types of situations? Her only desire in life was to make everyone around her happy, to not create waves or draw attention to herself. Why couldn’t they have just carried on as they were? Yes, it was nice to have enough to eat and fine things, but sometimes she missed Mr. Dubala’s dusty old shop where nothing ever changed and her Sunday afternoon walks with Stanley in Humboldt Park. As she faintly set down her cup on the table, it came to her as well that though Aunt Agatha was asking her to come and stay, she probably didn’t really have much of a choice if it was her grandfather’s idea. It was becoming clear to Elsie that he generally got what he wanted, thinking about how they had been forced to move and how he had sent poor Eugene away. What was she to do?

  “Well, might I know your thoughts, my dear?” Aunt Agatha asked, somewhat eagerly, now. “Have I managed to persuade you?”

  “Well, I … perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to come and stay—sometimes,” Elsie said tentatively. She didn’t see any way out of this. She would just have to tell Ma that grandfather had insisted, and, surely, given the past, Ma would understand that, wouldn’t she?

  “Oh, I am glad, my dear!” Aunt Agatha said, noiselessly clapping her hands together. “You’ve no idea how pleased Father Exley will be. And don’t fret! You’ll have a lovely time, I’m sure.” And as if she could sense her anxiety regarding Stanley or even the lieutenant, she went on. “You’ll have so many suitors, you won’t know whom to choose!” Elsie rather doubted this, as men usually never gave her a second look. Which is why Stanley’s attentions (at one point in time, at least) and those of the lieutenant’s, if she were honest, were so very welcome.

  “In the meantime, my dear, you must give up this notion of Stanley … Dubowski, was it?” she asked distastefully. “Put him aside. Kindly!” she added when she saw the look of alarm on Elsie’s face. “No need for bad manners, but the sooner the better. I’m sure you’ll see the sense of this,” she added in her previously authoritative tone. “And now it’s getting late, my dear. Perhaps you’d better go. We wouldn’t want your mother to worry, now, would we?”

  As Elsie awkwardly rose to leave, then, Mrs. Exley having rung for the chauffer, she had the distressful feeling of having been manipulated and began to doubt her decision almost immediately, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake. Had she really thrown over Stanley and the lieutenant (not that Harrison was hers to throw over, she scolded herself) as well as Ma and the kids for fear of what grandfather would say? Or was it because she didn’t want to hurt Aunt Agatha’s feelings, or, worse yet, for the promise of the theater and the ballet? Whatever was the motivation, she was now quite disappointed in herself as she sullenly pinned on her hat and perfunctorily kissed Aunt Agatha on the cheek. She hated that she was so weak.

  All the way home, these thoughts kept swirling around in her mind, and she again found herself desperately wishing she could talk to Henrietta. She had tried valiantly to fill Henrietta’s shoes ever since she had left them all, which was really all the way back when she had started working at the Marlowe. That’s when it had all started, when Henrietta had got involved with Clive in that mystery case. Then she had moved to Highbury, and now she was married and hopelessly gone on her honeymoon. Henrietta had given her the address of Clive’s aunt and uncle in England; perhaps she should write to her. She was trying hard to be what Henrietta had always been to them—a second mother— but it was obvious she was failing miserably. Look at them! All split up now. But that hadn’t really been her fault. And now she was supposed to give up Stanley as well. She couldn’t really do that! she thought as she wiped a fresh tear now. And yet … a nagging doubt kept coming back to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps Stanley had already given her up. Why else would he stay away? she thought miserably.

  She would simply have to seek him out, Elsie determined, as she blew her nose into her handkerchief, however uncomfortable it might be. She must somehow find a way to explain what was happening and impart to him how tenuous was the rope upon which they now balanced. She sighed as she leaned her head on the window of the car and wished with all her heart that Henrietta were here and hoped, for her sake, that she was enjoying herself.

  Chapter 12

  As predicted, guests began to arrive at Castle Linley as the week progressed, Clive surreptitiously explaining who they were to Henrietta each morning in their bedchamber before the two of them emerged to attend the day’s events and to be formally introduced. It was mostly to be a family party, an opportunity for the English relatives to meet Henrietta and to congratulate the new couple, but like Castle Linley itself, the family had been crumbling away for generations now and only a handful of stray cousins were left.

  Indeed, Lady Linley had been quite at her wit’s end as to whom to invite and had finally settled upon what she considered an acceptable assemblage. The Earl and Countess of Ashforth and their daughter, Lady Winifred, who was quite, by the way, past the optimum marriageable age, had come down from Durham, the countess being a cousin of some sort to Lord Linley as well as to the Prince of Wales himself, making them the highest-ranking pair there. Then of course Lord and Lady Fairfax had also been invited, who were not really relatives exactly, but who were still in possession of two passable daughters, which, Clive wickedly suggested, was perhaps the real reason for their presence at what was supposed to be merely a family affair, Lady Linley no doubt hoping that one of them might become family. There was also the Honorable St. John Sedgewick and his wife, Elizabeth, who had made their way up from Bath, Elizabeth being
an aunt to Alcott and Montague.

  The rest of the party on the night of the reception would be made up mostly of some of the landed local families that the Howards would be expected to invite, most of them, coincidentally, with daughters. To make up the numbers, then, Lady Linley had been obliged in the end to ask some of Wallace’s set, mostly former army officers, who could be counted on to behave correctly and to converse with the young ladies or make up hands at cards if required.

  One of said officers, a Captain Bertram Foley, Clive seemed to happily recognize from the war when they had been stationed in France together.

  “Hardly what Mother had in mind, I’m sure,” Clive said, adjusting his tie once more in Henrietta’s mirror, as he stood behind her. “Not quite the splash I think she was envisioning for us. I’ll have to exaggerate in my letters,” he smiled ruefully.

  The last of the guests were arriving today, the morning of the reception, which, Henrietta thankfully discovered, was really just a big dinner party. No flaunted introductions or orchestras, just a rather formal dinner followed by a gathering of sorts in what the Howards called the reception room.

  “She forgets sometimes, I think, that the English do it differently,” Clive went on.

  “I prefer it this way, don’t you?” Henrietta responded, as she finished the last of the tea Phoebe had brought up to her. Henrietta had observed that everything in England had an air of tradition and heavy formality to it, a quiet mutedness that pervaded all, like a painting so old that some of the color had leached out or faded. Not that it wasn’t beautiful, she admitted. The country around was quite pastoral, and the house held a certain grandeur, perhaps majesty, even though, as Lady Linley had commented, a part of it was closed down. Highbury, by comparison, was much more … what would be the word? Henrietta ruminated. Ostentatious? No, that wasn’t really fair to Highbury. It was more … dazzling. Brighter somehow. As if it were meant to impress. That was it, Henrietta realized. With Highbury and the other North Shore mansions she had so far been brought to, Clive’s parents and their circle at home seemed to try harder to impress, while Castle Linley, despite its crumbling mortar in places and the broken gate near the conservatory, commanded respect and awe without seeming to try at all.

  Even the servants here were different, Henrietta had noted. At home, the servants really were more staff than servants, people who came and went, were fired or hired as need be. Here, they seemed to truly embody the word servant, as if they were born into it and had no other purpose in life. Though Henrietta had endured countless lectures from Antonia about fraternizing with the servants, she had not been able to help befriending some of them at Highbury, thinking fondly of at least Edna and Mary. Try as she might here, however, she could barely get one of them to even look her in the eyes, much less talk with her. The gulf between them was very wide and apparently unbreachable. For one thing, they had a distinct knack, more so than the servants at home, for remaining out of sight.

  And then there were the guests themselves, who, like Castle Linley, also commanded a respect without seeming to put forth any effort. Henrietta was perceptive enough to notice that she and Clive seemed a sort of novelty to the other guests because they were American, not because they held some exalted position as they did at home. In fact, if Henrietta judged correctly, the other guests seemed almost to look down on them because they were Americans, as if they weren’t quite the thing, Clive’s having toiled in a common profession such as the police lowering them further still, all of which Henrietta found ridiculously funny considering they were probably wealthier than at least three quarters of the people in the house. Pedigree, she saw, was everything to them, though to boast of it was equally distasteful, and if Lord and Lady Linley were not his aunt and uncle, Henrietta guessed they would probably not be welcome at a country weekend soiree such as this. Henrietta was used to being regarded as the bottom of the barrel, however, and didn’t mind in the slightest.

  Antonia, she was beginning to meanwhile realize, knew what she was about, and Henrietta resolved to pay closer attention to her edifications. For the time being, however, it was wonderful to be out of the spotlight. Lady Linley had bigger things to worry about than the entertainment of her American nephew and his wife.

  “I have to say that I do, darling,” Clive agreed now. “It’s one of the reasons I so enjoyed living in the city. I got to be just an ordinary person buying sausages from a wagon and drinking beer,” he said, reminding her of the evening they had spent at Polly’s apartment while she had sewed her costume for the Marlowe.

  He held out his hand to her now. “Shall we attempt a real ride today?” Henrietta had of course never been on a horse before, so, earlier in the week, Clive and the stable groom had given her several lessons, cautiously leading her around the stable yard so that she could get the feel of it.

  “Do you think I’m ready?” Henrietta asked tentatively.

  “We won’t go far, and we’ll go slow. But we can get away from here and be alone,” he said suggestively.

  “We’re alone now!” Henrietta laughed, giving her hair one last pat. “Oh, all right,” she acquiesced. “It’s better than having to listen to the countess drone on about Winifred’s comings and goings, which I assume I’m meant to be impressed by. Or to have to listen to Lady Fairfax elaborate one more time about the many suitors who’ve made a claim for one of her daughters. It’s frightfully dull, you know,” Henrietta sighed as she put down her hairbrush.

  “Ah, my poor darling,” Clive said, his mouth twitching as he kissed her forehead. “I’ll spirit you away from this life of drudgery.”

  Henrietta pinched him, but he merely grinned.

  “Immediately after breakfast, then. Let’s get away early before anyone offers to join us.”

  Thankfully, not many of the other guests were awake when they descended to the main floor, most of them having their breakfast in their rooms, so Henrietta and Clive were able to make their escape after informing Stevens of their desire to ride, allowing time for him to tell the grooms to ready two horses. After making pleasant conversation with Mrs. Sedgewick, the only other guest at breakfast, Henrietta dutifully went upstairs to change into riding breeches and a jacket.

  “You’re rather fetching, my dear,” Clive said a half an hour later as he helped her up onto Daisy, the mildest of the horses. The air was crisp despite the unusual appearance of the sun, suggesting that it might be the last nice day before the weather turned.

  With a nod to the stable boy still holding Henrietta’s horse, Clive led them off across the vast acreage toward the village beyond, and Henrietta, though still unsteady with the huge bulk of the horse underneath her, felt a thrill just the same. It was wonderful to be out in the open air with her love, her new husband. She still delighted to call him that as she gazed at him, riding slightly ahead of her.

  They rode for about a mile until they could just see the village down below them in the valley, Clive trying to explain the territory and showing her all of the places he and Julia spent exploring with Linley and Wallace when they were children. When they reached a little grove beside the worn track leading into the village, they dismounted and led the horses through the trees to a little brook that eventually ran down to meet the river alongside the village.

  “This was one of our favorite places,” Clive said as he walked closer to the brook, surveying it. “Julia used to say that it was a fairy bower,” Clive laughed.

  Henrietta smiled and looked around. A few fall anemones could still be seen arching toward any stray rays of sun that made it through the thick tree branches, almost bare now, their brown leaves lying all around them. Henrietta breathed in the heady scent of the decaying leaves mingled with the fresh scent of the brook and was almost overcome by a warmth of feeling, a connection to something eternal that welled up in her. As if he felt it, too, Clive took her hand. He looked over at her now and she at him, both of them searching each other’s eyes. Finally Clive leaned close to her and softly kis
sed her lips. “I love you so very much, Henrietta.”

  “I love you, too, Inspector,” she whispered.

  He drew her to him, then, and rested his forehead against hers. “Sometimes I’m afraid of how much I love you,” he whispered back, his voice slightly catching. Henrietta tenderly put her hand to his cheek and met his lips again with her own. He returned her kiss, slowly increasing his pressure, his hands going around her now and pulling her closer to him until he could feel her breasts against his chest. They continued this way until Clive’s breath began to come faster, his arousal rising, and Henrietta could feel his excitement. They had already made love this morning, and the night before; indeed there hadn’t been a night since the wedding that they hadn’t come together, Clive proving a most patient and excellent teacher. He was always gentle with her and loving, and she felt no shame with him, no embarrassment at what he did to her, what he asked her to do. His attraction and passion for her never seemed to wane, nor hers for him, so much so that she secretly wondered at times if she were an unnatural woman. No other woman she knew of admitted to having pleasure in sexual intercourse, except of course the lesbian lovers she had witnessed in the dark corners of the Marlowe. They alone had shown pleasure, such that Henrietta’s own desire at the time had been piqued.

  Henrietta had never felt this happy, this alive, this confident in her fulfillment as a woman and now a wife, but she was beginning to realize, sadly, that hers must be a rare relationship, and felt a new sadness for her mother and Julia and the myriads of other women she knew who did not enjoy the attentions of their husbands but merely gritted their teeth and endured it. Her mother’s words floated back to her: Spread your legs and be quiet; don’t struggle, and All men are the same—they only want you on your back. Either getting a baby put in or pushing one out.

  She had been lucky, she knew, and she would try to educate Elsie as best she could when her time came, to give her the advice that she herself had so longed for. And, yet, she couldn’t imagine Elsie in the throes of passion, especially in the hands of Stanley Dubowski. The thought of it made her shudder or laugh, depending on her mood. Her best advice would be what Lucy’s had been to her, to just relax, to not think of it as shameful. Somehow, though, she didn’t see either of them relaxing, imagining Stan, for his part, reading instructions from some sort of manual on the subject with the same seriousness he would attach to reading about how to defuse a bomb.