by Helen Magee
‘That ‘old parlourmaid’s dress’ was one of my better afternoon gowns,’ I told her with some asperity, then I softened as I saw the tears standing in her eyes. ‘Oh, very well, I’ll wear it.’
A thought struck me. ‘Araminta who will pay for this gown?’
‘Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve fixed it.’
‘What do you mean, ‘fixed it’?’
Her eyes shifted warily. ‘It’s coming out of my dress allowance.’
‘Oh, Araminta, shame on you. You know you’ve spent more than your dress allowance this year already. I’ve just been going over the ledgers and you’re far in excess of it and besides, you told me yourself your own ballgown was to be the last this year.’
She jumped up and stamped her foot.
‘Felicia, you are the most boring, priggish, fussy old frump I’ve ever met and it’s my birthday,’ she wailed. She flung herself out of the door.
‘And you’ll probably be an old maid,’ she finished.
She’s probably right, I thought as I watched the door crash behind her. After all I was only two years older than she was and I was behaving like a dowager. The door rocked on its hinges as she thrust her head back round it. Her face was wreathed in smiles.
‘Well, come on,’ she said.
I got up and followed her, sighing. She really was the most changeable of creatures.
It was draped across the bed in my room and even I gasped when I saw it. I lifted a fold of the silk chiffon and let it slip from my fingers. Light as thistle-down, it floated for a moment before it settled. It was a deep red, not ruby nor claret but deeper than that, the colour of those roses whose velvety petals seem almost black in places and indeed when I lifted it the folds of the gown shadowed into soft darkness. It was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. I held it up to me and moved towards the looking
glass.
‘Araminta, it’s beautiful,’ I breathed.
‘You see, you will wear it. You can’t resist it.’
‘Oh, I’ll wear it,’ I said, my eyes shining back at me from the mirror, then my practical good sense reasserted itself. ‘It must have cost a great deal.’
Araminta shrugged.
‘Not as much as mine. Wait till you see it. It’s heavenly.’
I was looking at the gown more closely now, taking in the detail. ‘Araminta isn’t it cut rather low?’
She nodded absently. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I told her it was for an older woman.’
I whirled round. ‘I’m only two years older than you.’
She looked momentarily taken aback, then shrugged again.
‘Are you? You seem older.’ And I suppose that to her I did.
‘Think yourself lucky then,’ she was saying, ‘I couldn’t get Miss Machivor to budge an inch below here,’ and she placed her hand just above her breasts. ‘It’s positively sick making and I’m sure it wouldn’t happen in London. You could always tuck something into the top but I wouldn’t bother if I were you. It always looks so obvious, as if you’ve got a mole or a wart or something you want to hide.’
I laughed and laying down the dress went across the kissed her.
‘Thank you, Araminta, you are very kind.’
She looked at me, clearly puzzled.
‘I’m not, you know, but I do want everyone to look pretty at my ball. I don’t want to be a rose amongst thorns. I want to be a rose amongst . . . dahlias or chrysanthemums.’
I laughed. ‘You mean you want a little competition.’
‘Well, you must admit,’ she said seriously, ‘it’s much better to be the most beautiful woman than the only one.’
‘As I’m sure you will be,’ I said.
She nodded complacently.
‘I daresay I will. Now come and see my gown.’
I extracted the piece of paper from my pocket later that evening but I could make nothing of it. My Italian was scanty in the extreme and the handwriting would have defeated me on a cursory glance even if the language had not. Not only that but excitement at the thought of the ball and the gown I was to wear was beginning to rise in me so I put the paper away in my little jewel box and promised myself that I would begin to decipher it next day with the help of a dictionary. When at last I was dressed to go downstairs I couldn’t believe that the vision that looked back from the mirror was me. Since my escapade with Alexander and Fergus I had scraped my hair back more conscientiously than ever but tonight I brushed it till it shone as softly dark as the shadows in the gown and looped it loosely high on the back of my head so that it fell in soft curls to the nape of my neck. Around my throat I wore the only piece of jewellery I possessed, a simple necklace of seed pearls and garnets that had been my mother’s, and my shoulders rose white and smooth from the bodice of the gown. It was not quite as low as I had feared so I did not have to ‘tuck something in’ as Araminta had suggested but it was easily the most daring thing I had ever worn. I did not care however for when I moved it floated about me like gossamer and as I watched myself in the candlelit looking-glass I knew that I was beautiful. My eyes looked back at me and they had taken a dark glow from the gown and I was happy. I made my way downstairs and as I descended the staircase Charles turned and saw me. His eyes moved over me and I accepted the expression in them as my due.
‘Felicia,’ he said as I approached him, then there was a rustle of silk on the stairs above us and Araminta was coming down on the arm of her guardian. She was in palest blue starred with tiny flowers that sparkled as she moved, and around her neck was a diamond drop pendant that struck sparks of blue and yellow and pink and green from its depths. Her hair was curled and interlaced with silver ribbon. She was the picture of youthful beauty. She fingered the diamond at her throat as she came near and looked up at Lachlan Grant, her eyes sparkling almost as much as the jewel.
‘My birthday present from Lachlan. Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘Not as beautiful as you,’ said Charles gallantly and bent to kiss her hand, his eyes dancing with merriment. I was surprised to see a faint blush rise in her cheeks as his fair head bent over her hand and something of this must have shown in my face for I felt Lachlan Grant’s eyes on me and turned to find him regarding me somewhat quizzically.
‘My brother is fond of paying compliments,’ he said softly.
‘And you are not,’ I said.
‘I told you once before that we Grants were never courtiers. The fewer compliments a man pays the more valuable they are,’ he said smoothly. ‘Allow me to pay tribute to your gown, Miss Grainger; it is very becoming.’
‘It was a gift,’ I said somewhat shortly, ‘and I am very grateful for it.’
‘Ah, gratitude again. You must get out of this unhealthy habit of being grateful, Miss Grainger. It ill becomes a beautiful woman.’
He was teasing me and I knew it, but I could not for the life of me answer as lightly.
‘On the contrary, Mr Grant, I find that gratitude is one of the noblest of virtues.’
His eyebrows rose maddeningly.
‘I see that the governess is not entirely absent even tonight,’ he said.
‘Oh, Lachlan stop baiting Felicia,’ interrupted Araminta, ‘you’ll only frighten her away and she already thinks her gown’s too daring for decency. Come along, Charles. You can take me in.’
I could not meet his eyes but I could imagine the amusement in them as he offered me his arm, remarking after Araminta’s retreating back, ‘Miss Grainger is nothing if not decent.’
I had perforce to dance the first dance with him though by rights it should have been Araminta, but I kept our conversation to the minimum and made my excuses as soon as the music finished.
‘You have your duties to your guests,’ I said.
‘Of whom you are one,’ he replied. ‘I hope that you will allow me to partner you later this evening.’
I could not refuse. I was rescued by Douglas Sutherland. He seemed even quieter than usual but I did not much wish for conversation in any event. The ballr
oom was crowded with people laughing and talking and dancing. After our dance he said,
‘Would you care to sit out for a while?’
I looked at him gratefully. ‘I would indeed.’
He installed me at a little table set in an alcove and brought me some iced lemonade. As he sat down I followed his eyes and noticed that he was watching Charles and Araminta as they whirled about the room, their steps matching with easy grace. A thought took root in my mind.
‘Araminta is looking very lovely tonight,’ I said.
‘When does she not?’ he asked and his face looked so glum that it was almost comical. I felt I must tread carefully. I said tentatively,
‘She and Charles look well together.’
He turned to me, his expression concerned.
‘You have noticed. Forgive me, it must hurt you as it does me.’
I was taken aback by his sudden confidences. He had never been a man of many words and our conversations in the past had been only on the most trivial of subjects. He was speaking again.
‘I have been much concerned over the past few weeks. I do not know if Lachlan realises.’
‘Realises what?’ I said stupidly. He looked at me in concern.
‘You must know surely that Araminta and Charles have been very much in each other’s company of late.’
‘I know that they have gone riding a lot together, and also with you and your sister.’
‘Not so often with us,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I do not think Lachlan can know or he would be more anxious.’
‘But why?’ I said, ‘Surely nothing could be more natural than for Araminta and Charles to be friends?’
‘Friends yes,’ he replied, ‘but I am very much afraid that Araminta is falling in love with Charles. She is young of course and headstrong and he I suppose is attractive to women.’ He stopped and coloured. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘this must be painful for you.’
I looked at him in dismay. ‘No,’ I said, ‘it isn’t painful at all.’
‘But I thought . . . ’
I heard myself saying,
‘So did I,’ then I stopped. How could I tell a man I hardly knew that I had fallen in and out of love within the space of a few weeks?
‘I see I was mistaken,’ he said, ‘forgive me. We thought . . . ’
‘We?’
‘My sister and I . . . we thought . . . ’ he stopped again.
‘I understand,’ I said, ‘and please there is no need to apologise again. You may be assured that what you thought is not true.’
He looked unduly elated at this. ‘I’m glad,’ he said.
It crossed my mind that he might be glad for the same reason that Lachlan Grant would be. It was not suitable for a family servant, even a governess, even a hybrid between governess and friend like me, to be in love with a member of the family. Then I looked at him and realised he was too kind to entertain such a thought. His eyes were once more on Araminta and Charles.
‘Why would Mr Grant not be pleased?’ I said.
He hesitated.
‘Charles is light minded and he and Araminta together . . . can you imagine? And besides, Araminta is heiress to a considerable fortune.’
I found myself suddenly furious.
‘Are you suggesting that Charles would marry Araminta for her money?’
I might be no longer in love with him if indeed I ever really was, but I still regarded him with considerable affection.
Douglas seemed oblivious to my fury.
‘Well, he has none of his own.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ I said.
‘Fault?’ said Douglas. ‘Why his father’s of course. He lost it and Charles has nothing.’
‘But his brother . . . ’ I began.
‘Lachlan has been good to him of course, in fact some would say he has been too generous, especially in the paying-off of those last gambling debts. But it is to be hoped that now he is being made to work for the estate he will improve.’
My mind was whirling. Charles had said something about an entail and boring legal matters. Of course if the estate had come down through their mother . . . oh it was too complicated.
‘You mean that all this belongs to Lachlan?’
Douglas looked shocked.
‘Oh no indeed. The estate should of course belong to him entirely as elder brother but he has made half of it over to Charles. It’s the money that runs it that belongs to Lachlan, through his father. Charles has no money, merely rights in the estate and that due to the fair-mindedness of his brother.’
‘So Charles should have an interest in running the estate?’
Douglas gave a short laugh.
‘If you mean a financial interest yes he should, but I’m afraid Charles’s father left a good deal of debt so that only now is it beginning to show a profit. As for an interest in its affairs then Charles up until now has never shown much of that. That’s why I mentioned Araminta’s fortune.’
I was angry again. ‘I think you misjudge him,’ I said.
He smiled ruefully.
‘Perhaps I do. In this case I am hardly the best judge.’
He was watching Araminta and his eyes were so sad that I regretted my sharp words.
‘You are in love with her,’ I said.
He bent his head.
‘I daresay you think it’s stupid. I’m more than ten years older than her but yes I’m in love with her and have been since she was in the schoolroom, and she needs someone older, someone who can handle her moods.’
Quite suddenly I recognised the man behind the mild exterior and I thought that if ever Araminta had the sense to realise it she would meet her match in Douglas Sutherland.
I looked up to find Lachlan Grant standing over me.
‘Miss Grainger,’ he said formally, ‘might I have the pleasure of dancing with you once more?’
I walked calmly with him to the centre of the floor and when we began to dance I found the sensation of being in his arms strangely disturbing. I could not bear his silence.
‘Araminta is looking very beautiful this evening, is she not Mr Grant?’ I said.
He cast a brief glance in her direction and said almost dismissively,
‘Pretty, I should say. I have other ideas of beauty.’
His meaning was unmistakeable and I felt myself flush as he continued, ‘And why not call me Lachlan or do you detest the name? Then I could call you Felicia, or even Flissy if you prefer.’
‘I hardly think that would be proper, Mr Grant,’ I said firmly. ‘I am after all in the position of a servant in your household.’
He laughed down at me.
‘There you go again. You are quite determined to maintain your lowly status, aren’t you? I could call that a form of snobbery.’
‘You may call it what you wish,’ I said. ‘It does not alter the facts.’
‘Ah, facts. You would of course be interested in facts. And what if I were to say that I found you curiously disturbing, Miss Grainger? What would you make of that fact?’
‘Curiously disturbing can mean many things, Mr Grant,’ I replied, ‘and I would hardly call an opinion a fact.’
‘Still the governess, eh? Well, let’s see if I can improve on ‘curiously disturbing’. How about damnably attractive, or strikingly beautiful, or desirable or tantalising or just plain maddening? Would any of these do? You may take your pick. They are all facts, or should I say opinions?’
‘Mr Grant, I find your behaviour most incorrect and I must ask you to stop this nonsense at once.’
‘Most incorrect,’ he repeated. ‘I do believe you have a gift for governessing. But incorrect as my behaviour might be, it is not nearly so incorrect as my feelings – now what do you make of that?’
The bantering note had left his voice and I was forced to look at him. I looked away again quickly for I felt he could see right through me.
‘This is most unwise, Mr Grant,’ I said. ‘Your observations are improper to say the le
ast and would be so even if you were free to make them.’
He hesitated momentarily in the dance and his arm gripped my waist almost fiercely as he drew me closer forcing me to look up at him. His eyes glittered and I could not read them as he said, almost under his breath,
‘And there’s the rub, Miss Grainger, I am not free.’
Fear twisted sharply in me at the emptiness in his voice then, mercifully as I thought at the time, there was a stir by the door. Lachlan looked towards it and grew quite still. His hand tightened on mine and I would have cried out in pain if I had not been looking at his face. He had gone completely white and his eyes were on the figure that stood in the doorway. I shivered at the thought of those eyes looking at me like that and turned to see more clearly. She was dressed in black and her dark eyes slanted slightly upwards in a smooth oval face. She saw him and began to move towards us. She seemed to glide more than walk and her gown rustled about her like leaves in autumn. For a brief moment I was reminded of childhood fairy-tales and I thought, the wicked witch has come to the ball. Then the moment was gone, a trick of the light that was all, and Lachlan said one word only and that on a strangely pleading note,
‘Vida.’
She was beside us, her dark eyes turned up to him.
‘You did not expect me, my dear?’ Her voice was soft and slightly accented. She turned her eyes on me and once again I felt an inexplicable chill of fear as she said,
‘And who is this delightful creature, Lachlan? I don’t believe we have met.’
Araminta and Charles were at my elbow.
‘Allow me to introduce Miss Grainger, the new governess,’ said Lachlan.
Her smile did not falter but her voice was mocking as she said,
‘A governess. Really darling, you could be a little more original, and in a gown like that.’ Her eyes swept over me and I felt my cheeks flame, then Araminta’s voice came high and bell-like.
‘Do you like it, Vida? It was my idea. I chose it.’ She was speaking wildly, trying to cope with the tension that hung in the air between Lachlan and his wife. ‘At least Lachlan deserves some credit too, after all he paid for it.’
She faltered to a stop as Lachlan turned on her a look of cold fury while Vida said with a slow smile,