Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton)

by Rasheed, Leila

  “Can you?” he asked.

  She dropped her eyes. She knew he was comparing her own desire for independence with his own, and it hurt to acknowledge he was right. She reached into her reticule and drew out a folded magazine. “My article came out,” she said, holding the copy of The Spectator out to him. “My first published work, and the first work I’ve been paid for.”

  “Ada! Congratulations!” He smiled proudly as he skimmed through the article.

  “What I mean to say is…” She hesitated. “It was the earnings from that publication that paid for my train ticket to come here. And somehow I feel I’ve earned it, the right to be here—now, with you—more than if I were squirreling away money from my dress allowance. So I do understand. Yes. I understand how you need independence.”

  He looked down at her, his eyes soft. “I want to kiss you very much now,” he said gently.

  She blushed. They were in public. Students in their gowns strolled past on the bridges; tramcars and motorcars rattled by.

  “We’d better not,” she said quietly.

  They walked on together, a new sense of closeness between them.

  He cleared his throat. “Maybe this is a good moment to tell you something I have discovered. Well—something I set to find out. I knew it mattered to you.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your father. I know—forgive me, but it is impossible not to know—that his reputation was badly tainted by his actions in India. I asked around to find out the truth of the matter.”

  She clenched the handle of her parasol tightly. “Go on.”

  “It’s not what you think. He refused to conceal the deaths of Indians in British custody, men who had protested the partition of Bengal. Certain people did not like that, and forced his hand. Smeared his good name to protect their own foul ones. He is a just man, Ada. You should be proud of him.”

  Ada smiled. “I am,” she said. Her heart swelled. At last she could hold her head up again. Her father wasn’t a coward, wasn’t a traitor, wasn’t any of the things they had called him.

  “I was too harsh in what I said at dinner. Your father believes in something greater than himself. He believes in the British Empire, in everything good about that. And I—I believe in India.” He hesitated, then went on. “I think we all have to believe in something greater than ourselves. Something as distant and magnificent as the stars.”

  They had reached the street on which Emily’s rooms were. Ada paused, her heart heavy at the thought of parting from Ravi. It was too soon; they had so much more to speak about.

  She turned to him to ask when they might see each other again, and was aware as she did so of a growing, roaring noise in the air. It seemed to come from all around her, to sweep her up like a gigantic wave or a hand. It trembled in the old stones of Oxford; it shivered the spring leaves on the trees. Confused, she stepped back and looked around. Others in the street were doing the same, some looking excited, others frightened. The noise was so loud now that she could barely hear herself think. She looked up—and above her, in the gap of blue sky between the buildings, came something as huge and bright and terrible and smoky as a dragon. She gasped.

  “An aeroplane!” she heard Ravi exclaim through the shuddering roar of its engine.

  She looked up, following his gaze. He was right. She had only heard of such things, never seen them. Her mouth opened in awe. Sunlight glinted from the aeroplane’s fuselage, and she thought she glimpsed the pilot looking down, tiny and goggled as an insect. The pigeons took flight in panic from the stone ledges of the ancient buildings. People called to each other in excitement, rushing out of houses and cafés to point up as it flew on.

  “An aeroplane!” she echoed, her fear giving way to excitement. Looking upward and turning to follow it, she felt dizzy, exhilarated, and frightened too.

  “But how can it fly? It must be heavier than air—” She trailed off. It didn’t matter how it was happening: it was happening, right before her eyes. The impossible was possible.

  “It’s the future,” Ravi murmured. His eyes shone. “I told you, didn’t I, Ada? Everything is possible. We only have to aim high enough.”

  She looked at him, her eyes shining. But as she did so, she saw something that made her heart sink faster than an aeroplane crashing into the ground. Parked opposite her was her father’s motorcar.

  Ada ran, breathless, up the stairs to Emily’s rooms. Her heart beat out an agonized tattoo. Her father couldn’t have seen her with Ravi. Please, no.

  She opened the door, ready to face the worst. Her father rose from an armchair, a thunderous scowl on his face. Emily stood with her back to the window. Her face was streaked with tears.

  “So there you are,” said her father ominously.

  Ada had no words. She looked at Emily, but Emily just shook her head despairingly.

  “Please do not distress me by lying. Charlotte told me where you were going and why.”

  Charlotte? Ada was shocked. How could Charlotte have found out?

  “I am sick at heart to think that you set out to deliberately deceive me—to see Miss Gorman behind my back.”

  He could not possibly have seen her with Ravi, she realized, or he would have spoken of that at once. Horrible as the situation was, she was relieved. Her real secret was safe. It gave her courage to speak.

  “Papa—I’m sorry. But I want to go to Oxford. I—”

  “We’ll speak of this in the car. Good morning, Lady Emily.” Her father’s voice was icy. Ada gave a last despairing glance back to Emily as she was pushed out of the room. Emily mouthed, I am so sorry. That was the last Ada saw before her father slammed the door shut behind her.

  He marched her down the stairs in silence and pointed to the motorcar. Miserably, Ada got in. He followed her.

  “Back to London, James,” he commanded the chauffeur.

  As the car pulled away, Ada looked through the window, hoping for a last glimpse of Ravi, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “I cannot understand your behavior!” her father burst out. “First the incident with Rose and now this? I would never have thought it of you—Georgiana, perhaps, but not you! Ada, I am ashamed.”

  “Well, I’m not!” Ada found herself retorting. Part of her was horrified at herself, but she knew she could not stay silent. She was in enough trouble as it was—and it would be dishonest to betray her own principles. “I am doing what I believe in, Papa. It’s only what you did in India.”

  Her father pressed a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain. “Yes, and my reputation suffered untold harm as a result—as will yours if this gets out. Do you not understand that your only hope is to make a decent marriage? And you are destroying your chances before you are even formally out.”

  “Why is my only hope marriage?” Ada protested. “Papa, some women go to university and practice as doctors and solicitors. Some are journalists. Some are—”

  “And some are washerwomen and some scrub floors, but you are an Averley!” her father snapped back. “Your employment is to find a good husband this season.”

  “I don’t care for the season! I don’t want to spend three years dancing meaningless dances with mindless men. I want to be independent, I want to earn my own money. If I go to university, I can—”

  “Stuff and nonsense. You have no idea how difficult the life of a working woman would be.”

  Ada bit her lip, hurt by the scorn in his voice. He softened his tone, seeing her face.

  “I don’t wish you to be unhappy, far from it. But you are not Lady Emily Maddox, who has an independent fortune and an indulgent brother.” He paused, then went on. “The truth is, William has been profligate. More than profligate. If I had not married Fiona, the estate would now be bankrupt. He has been running an illegal gambling den from the Marquess of Carlton’s house in Grosvenor Square. He has lost hundreds of thousands.”

  Ada stared at him in wordless shock.

  “Yes. You see now why it is so essential that you
marry well? You talk of independence. How much independence do you think you will have as an old maid, dependent on William for every penny? How much do you think Georgiana will have?”

  In a gesture of frustration and anger, he slapped his glove against the window. Looking out, he added, “And if you do not marry well, Somerton could be lost to the creditors. Do you want people to say that was your fault? The loss of an estate that has been in the family for over five hundred years?”

  There were tears in his eyes, Ada was shocked to see. She could think of no reply. The world, that had seemed full of limitless possibilities a moment before, now seemed to have shrunk to a prison of glass and steel. And yet Ravi’s words came back to her: We all have to believe in something greater than ourselves. Those words gave her strength, and she knew that she would never give up her dream of independence. Somehow, despite all the obstacles, she would find a way.

  “Georgiana,” said Michael, as he looked around the door of the music room, “may I talk to you?”

  Georgiana, who was looking through some sheet music, jumped and the papers slid to the floor.

  “Why of course!” she said eagerly. She glanced toward the windowsill, where the roses he had given her stood in a vase, lovingly, if not very artistically, arranged by herself. “And thank you again for the flowers—they’ve lasted so well.”

  Michael gave them a cursory glance. “So they have.”

  He led the way from the music room down the stairs. Georgiana as good as skipped along behind him, with a quick glance in the mirror to check that her hair was becomingly arranged.

  “So what is all this mystery about?” she asked as she followed him out of the side door and into the gardens.

  “You’ll see.” He sounded awkward, and her curiosity deepened. He was leading her into the maze—no, into the rose garden. How romantic! She trembled with anticipation.

  Once they were deep within the rose garden, he stopped and turned to her abruptly. He looked self-conscious. “Georgiana, I have something to tell you.” He was blushing.

  Georgiana’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, surely, this was it. He had led her into a rose garden, after all. He had given her a bunch of roses. And now he was shuffling from foot to foot and clearing his throat. Nothing could look more like love.

  “I wonder if you can guess what it is,” he went on.

  “Is it—is it about love?” she managed.

  His blush deepened. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, it is. How did you guess?” He shrugged. “I suppose it was obvious from my behavior the other day.”

  Georgiana almost swooned.

  “I want to ask you something,” he went on. “I hope you’ll say yes.”

  This was moving too fast even for Georgiana. Am I too young to get married? shot through her head. Michael was so very handsome—and yet she had been looking forward to her first season so much. Besides, what about Ada? It would look bad for the younger sister to marry before the older.

  “I—I don’t think I can,” she blurted. “Not yet, at least. I don’t think it would be fair to Ada.”

  “Ada?” he stared at her in surprise. “What does she have to do with Priya?”

  Georgiana stared at him with her mouth open. The world, which before had been spinning deliciously, ground to an abrupt halt. “P—Priya?” she managed. “You love Priya?”

  “She’s the most beautiful, most elegant, most ladylike—” A dreamy expression had come over his face, one she had never seen before.

  “O-o-o-oh…” Georgiana tried desperately to hide her disappointment. “So the roses—”

  “Yes, I meant to give them to her, but like a fool I ruined the moment. That’s what I wanted to ask you, you see. Every time I come near her I can’t think of a word to say. So I thought maybe you—” He looked at her pleadingly. “I mean, you’re a girl, aren’t you? You know what to say to girls. If you could just let her know how I feel, maybe find out how she feels—”

  Georgiana took a deep breath. Her insides felt like a sand castle that had just been hit by the biggest wave on the beach. But she could not let him see that. It was not his fault that she had been mistaken. And besides, she had Averley pride.

  One thing stood out clearly to her. “Michael—she’s the nursemaid,” she said as gently as she could.

  “So? She’s beautiful!”

  “I know, but…” She searched for words. Being the calm counselor of reason did not come easily to her, but she sensed that she had to warn him. “Michael, you’d never be allowed to be together, don’t you see?”

  He kicked angrily at the gravel. “I didn’t think you would be so snobbish about it—”

  “I’m not being snobbish. I’m being practical. Can you imagine what your mother would say?” From the expression on his face, she gathered that he could. “Is it really fair to Priya, to put her under such pressure?”

  Michael hung his head. “Maybe not,” he muttered. “But then what am I to do?”

  “Wait,” said Georgiana instantly. “I don’t think you should give up loving her, but I think you should wait awhile before speaking to her. I think it would be easier for both of you.”

  The look of unhappiness on Michael’s face caught her heart. She came close to him and put a hand gently on his arm.

  “Don’t despair, Michael. I promise that if you still feel like this in a year’s time, I’ll do everything I can to help you be together. But it’s got to be above board, don’t you see? For everyone’s sake.”

  The lamplight flickered in the darkness of the servants’ passage. It threw eerie shadows across Martha’s face as she glanced behind her.

  “Hurry up, Tobias. I don’t like this.”

  “Getting cold feet?” Tobias grunted. He was working away at the door of the housekeeper’s parlor with a small metal instrument.

  “You know what’ll happen if we’re caught.” Martha shivered.

  “Don’t fuss. I’ve used this trick a thousand times. They won’t know what’s happened unless we’re clumsy.” The lock clicked open as he spoke. “See?”

  They hurried into the parlor. Martha exclaimed as she bumped into something, but it was only the rocking chair. The room was silent and dark; Mrs. Cliffe had retired hours ago.

  “Just look for Rose’s letter. Miss Ward will pay us well for it,” Tobias said. He scowled. “I’ll never forgive that nursemaid for putting me to all this trouble.”

  Martha hurried to the secretary desk in the corner. Setting the lamp on it, she opened the desk and began looking through the various papers that were filed neatly away.

  “Look out, you idiot, don’t put them out of order or she’ll guess.”

  “Here, you sort through this lot.” Martha handed him a wedge of papers tied with ribbon.

  “These are no good,” said Tobias, after a moment. “They’re just old bills—”

  He stopped speaking abruptly. Martha, still looking for Rose’s letter, did not notice. Tobias read on, his sly face intent. After several minutes, Martha noticed the silence and looked up.

  “This ain’t a library,” she began.

  “Shut it,” Tobias interrupted. A grin spread slowly across his face.

  “What’s up? You found it?” Martha snatched the paper from his hand. She frowned. “This is just old payments to Mrs. Cliffe from Lord Westlake.”

  “Nothing strike you as strange about it?”

  “No. He pays her wages, so what?”

  “Look at the dates, Martha.” Tobias pointed. “Mrs. Cliffe wasn’t employed here then. I was here and I know, she only came in 1904. And I do remember she knew the house very well, and she said she’d been a housemaid here before she left to get married.”

  Martha shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “Lord Westlake was paying money to a housemaid who left his employ years ago. And who came back as housekeeper with a daughter? A daughter who thinks herself a cut above the rest of us and gives herself airs? Come on, Martha. You’re not that
innocent.”

  Martha’s mouth fell open. “Now you say that,” she said slowly, “I do remember that he came down to see her the night he got back from India. I wondered at the time what they were up to—he was in her parlor at midnight.”

  “So it’s still going on.” Tobias grinned. “Forget Rose’s letter. If Stella Ward doesn’t pay for this information, I’m a Dutchman.”

  The trains whistled and hooted, filling the air with steam. Porters hurried here and there, pushing trolleys full of trunks. Ada, on the platform, watched the crowds of people moving about; rich and poor, young and old. Ada felt as if she were looking for someone, but she did not know who she expected to see. Her father had insisted they leave London as soon as possible. She had barely had time to scribble a note to Ravi. Even if he had received it, he would have lectures to attend—

  And there he was. The clouds of steam cleared and blew away, revealing him standing by the ticket offices, looking small and isolated. He was looking around him. Ada’s heart gave a leap. She turned to Rose, who was guarding her trunks.

  “Rose…” She gestured toward him with a glance. Rose’s expression showed she had seen him. “I have to speak to him. Will you make some excuse for me to Charlotte and Fiona?” They were farther up the platform, harassing a guard about the time the train was due to leave.

  “Of course, my lady, but be careful,” Rose answered. “This is a very public place.”

  Ada nodded. She did not need to be told of the danger, not since the shock of meeting her father at Oxford. As she walked back toward the booking offices, she glanced around. No one seemed to be paying attention to her. She caught Ravi’s eye, and saw the flash of recognition. Instead of stopping to talk to him, she walked straight past, hoping he would know to follow.

  Not daring to look behind her, she moved through the crowd toward the dark and dusty end of the station, where the lost luggage office was. A chocolate vending machine and a trolley full of stacked trunks made a corner of shadows. She paused at the vending machine as if she were contemplating buying a Fry’s chocolate bar, and sensed him walk up behind her. He stood very close but did not touch her.