Dahlia's Music

by Caitlyn Quirk

  “That sounds nice,” Dahlia said tentatively. The maid looked thrilled and immediately went to work. Between hair pulled over her face, instructions to look down, or up, or left and right, most of the ministrations occurred without Dahlia being able to visually monitor any of it. When at last she had a clear view of herself in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. The maid had woven cream ribbons into the braid that encircled her head. There was a loose knot on the top of her head with sprigs of baby’s breath peeking out from under it. As promised, it was a “partial” twist with the surplus tresses trailing down in two long shiny, curls which rested on her shoulders.

  “Oh,” was all she could utter. The maid was looking at her reaction in the mirror.

  “You like it then, miss?”

  “Oh, yes. How did you do that?” The maid had a broad smile and a look of slight relief which Dahlia didn’t see as she was turning her head one way and another, admiring her hairdo. Finally, Dahlia turned in her seat to look directly at the maid. “Thank you so much…um, sorry I don’t know your name.”

  “Matilda, miss.” She gave a quick curtsy.

  “You’re a genius, Matilda. I think you made me quite…pretty.”

  “God did that, miss.”

  “Well, thank you but I don’t know as if He ever made me feel as pretty as you have.” She stood up and took Matilda’s hands, surprising the maid. “That is a gift I won’t forget.”

  The maid looked down, embarrassed, but pleased. “You’re welcome, miss.”

  Dahlia took one more look in the mirror and flounced out of the room to find Lady Sweet. She found her on the second floor landing, looking magnificent in a deep blue gown with the palest yellow lace trim and gold and blue cording tracing the layered bustle. A collar of sapphires adorned her neck, and matching earrings glinted in the light of the chandelier. Dahlia smiled in awe, the sound of a spinet interlaced with violins and a harpsichord swirling in her head. It was Lady Sweet’s musical identity, and the effect of the sounds accentuating the vision in front of her made Dahlia think of the princesses in the books she read as a child.

  “Lady Sweet, you look so beautiful!”

  “I’ll second that!” called her husband from the bottom of the stairs. “You shall put all the other women to shame with your beauty, my dear.”

  Sharon took Dahlia’s hand and the two descended the stairs. Sir Sweet only had eyes for his wife as she gracefully wound her way down the curved staircase. Randal took his wife’s hand and kissed it, never taking his eyes from hers.

  “You are breathtaking, Sweet Sharon,” he said with the intimate play on their surname they had shared since their wedding night.

  “Thank you, Randal,” she breathed.

  Dahlia stood quietly by them, feeling invisible but enjoying the interaction of the loving couple. Sir Randal turned to her then, grabbed her hand while still holding his wife’s and said, “I shall be the envy of all the gentlemen at the ball, arriving with the likes of you two! Look at you, Dahlia! Almost grown up, you are. Why only yesterday you were running around with pigtails trying to keep up with the boys. Tonight, the boys will all be running after you!” She blushed at his jest.

  “Come now, ladies, get your wraps on. I have a warmed carriage waiting to take us to this fete.”

  Chapter 10

  The Honorable William Bathurst was the fifth Earl of Bathurst, and his family estate to the west of Cirencester featured magnificent gardens designed in part by Alexander Pope when it was originally built by the first Earl of Bathurst. The estate manor was magnificent not only in scale, but design. Its baroque style was elegant and the grey stone set it off from the colors of the surrounding countryside. As the Sweet’s carriage approached from Cecily Hill, the manor was alight with candles in every window and torches lining the long drive to welcome the guests. The line of carriages carrying their elegantly dressed passengers made a train up to and around the circular path. As each carriage emptied, it was immediately waved on by liveried grooms.

  Waiting for their turn, the Sweets commented on the guests they recognized ascending the broad stone steps to the front door which was swathed in fresh fir boughs and a stunningly large wreath.

  “Ah, there’s Colonel and Mrs. Parkinson and their son and daughter-in-law,” said Lady Sweet, and Randal peered out the window at the Quartermaster of the northeast quarter. Mr. Parkinson was the eldest of the Quartermasters, with only one surviving son who lived with them on the estate. As yet, the son had no children and it was rumored his wife was barren. They seemed to therefore relish having guests, and loved having gatherings that would fill their house and grounds with laughter and fun. In lieu of a big family of children, they seem to acquire pets of all sorts of shapes and sizes. They had dogs, cats, birds, turtles, rabbits, horses, and hundreds of sheep that gave the estate its steady income. Dahlia loved visiting in spring when all the little lambs were born and were frolicking around the pastures.

  “Old Teddy seems to be getting up all those stairs alright,” said Randal. “His rheumatism often gives him fits this time of year.”

  “There’s father!” cried Dahlia as her father stepped from the carriage and was followed by her five brothers. She giggled, “It must have been a very crowded ride! No wonder they sent me over to arrive with you!” It was seldom the entire family went together and when they did visit neighbors, at least three or four of the siblings always went on horseback, including Dahlia who preferred that to the carriage. The ride usually turned into a race with her brothers which was infinitely more exciting than bumping along the path in the carriage.

  The Sweets recognized several couples from London that Dahlia didn’t know, indicating the guest list was extensive indeed. Dahlia saw several members of the Gaggle with their parents and siblings and could not help wonder what their comments would be on her new hair dressing. For supposed friends, they were very critical of one another when one was out of ear shot.

  When they were but several carriages away from their own arrival, Sharon drew in a quick breath. “Darling,” she motioned to her husband. “Isn’t that Josephine McElroy?”

  He quickly looked out, saw the woman in question, then looked back at his wife. They both smiled.

  “I do believe it is, my dear.”

  “Who’s Josephine McElroy?”

  “Only one of the greatest singers to grace Victoria’s court! Oh, Dahlia, I’m so pleased she will hear you sing tonight!” Sharon turned to her husband. “How is it she would be here?”

  “Must know the Earl himself. No doubt they were introduced in London at some point.”

  “Why should you be pleased that she hear me sing?” asked Dahlia, slightly confused with the connection, and a little worried about being scrutinized by such a famous singer. What if her talent was found wanting to such an accomplished professional?

  “She is known to take young singers under her tutelage – very few mind you – but she has made all of them very successful in their own rights as a result of her connections.”

  Dahlia wasn’t sure what ‘very successful’ meant but she immediately pictured herself being whisked off, stuck in the impersonal cacophony that was the city of London, and having to be very prim and proper all the time.

  Sir Sweet saw the telltale sign of Dahlia’s furrowed brow and laughed. “Don’t worry, Dahlia. You’ll like her. Darn fine woman with a wit as sharp as a knife and a will as strong as nails.”

  Dahlia watched curiously as the woman walked up the steps. She was perhaps older than her father, and plump but stylish in what appeared to be an ermine coat. She had a magnificent hat on with a huge feather arching over her head. She wasn’t sure she was going to like Josephine McElroy, but she liked her style.

  Finally, the Sweet’s carriage arrived at the steps and it was their turn to disembark, perhaps, thought Dahlia, to be commented on by those in the carriages behind them.

  As they entered the great house and had their coats taken by the impeccably dressed serv
ants, Dahlia could smell the rich aroma of the fir boughs. There were so many boughs adorning the interior, Dahlia wondered that the surrounding woods had any branches left on them.

  They made for the receiving line where Lord Bathurst was attending his initial duties to his numerous guests. Dahlia had first met him when she was five. As with most of her acquaintances, Dahlia’s mind conjured his tune, which was stately, slightly old fashioned, and had a touch of melancholy to it.

  He smiled at the sight of her. “Miss Dahlia,” he said, and she curtsied.

  “Good evening, Lord Bathurst.”

  “Tonight shall be an evening to remember, Miss Dahlia! Not only will you be entertaining my guests as is now customary, but you will be joined by the great Josephine McElroy who I have lured away from the Queen herself to grace us with her voice!”

  Dahlia didn’t know if it was a good thing to “lure” anyone away from the Queen, even if he was an Earl. He seemed truly pleased by this, however. As his guest, she supposed she ought to show gratitude – and servitude, partly because of her own trepidation at the comparison between her abilities and those of this woman.

  “Lord Bathurst, I should not dare sing with such a talent here. I am happy to cede my place to a singer of such renown, if it please you, sir.”

  “Nonsense! Miss McElroy was intrigued to meet such a young singer who I praised so!” He winked at her, and this, as much as his mentioning her talents to someone of Miss McElroy’s caliber, gave her confidence.

  “Very well, sir. It will be an honor to meet her.”

  “And so you shall, you are to meet her in the conservatory at 9:30.”

  With that, Lord Bathurst turned to the Sweets to keep his receiving line moving. Free now until the obligatory meeting with Miss McElroy, Dahlia turned to the great ballroom where dozens of couples where already dancing and dozens more were conversing along the perimeter. She saw several gaggles throughout the room, but decided to avoid them for the moment. Continuing to scan the room, she saw her father and Colonel Parkinson with her eldest brother Mark. Leland and Steven were talking with the Smythe brothers. They were twins who, although good natured, were responsible for getting Dahlia’s brothers into quite a lot of trouble over the years with their outlandish pranks. Dennis and Daniel were their given names, but the duo of Denny and Danny were infamous throughout the county. They were, therefore, two of the most popular boys within the ranks of the young men. Dahlia had been the target of many of these pranks when she was young, but she simply laughed along with them when the chair she sat in buckled because of a cut leg, or when she was doused with water upon opening the barn door. Learning that they had much more entertaining reactions from other girls, who screamed or cried or got angry, the twins and their cohorts stopped tormenting Dahlia. On occasion, she had even been asked to join them in their exploits.

  Dahlia was about to approach this group to say hello, when Edward Standford walked up to them from the opposite direction. She stopped abruptly and turned away. Edward was the son of the fourth quartermaster, William Standford, whose estate lay east of the Talbots’. He was a bully who differed from the Smythe twins and her brothers because he was mean-spirited and spiteful. He was horrid as a child, always complaining and tattle-tailing on others. He had not improved with age. He trained his dogs through fear and whipped his horses when they did not do as he asked.

  Focused on avoiding Edward, Dahlia nearly bumped into his father.

  “Dahlia!” he said as she came up short in front of him.

  “Sorry, Mr. Standford. How are you this evening?” She said courteously. She didn’t like the father any more than the son.

  “I am quite well, Dahlia. And may I say you are looking quite enchanting this evening.” His words were always very pleasant, but his eyes seemed to bore right through her and his smile was more of a leer. The hair stood up on her neck when she was alone around him, and the music – if it could be called that – which her mind conjured in his presence always sounded slightly off key.

  “Thank you, Mr. Standford.” She curtsied quickly and walked off, desperately seeking other company. Cecile Markham, the eldest member of the Gaggle, was the first person she saw. She made a beeline to where she stood talking with two other girls Dahlia knew, Adelaide and Victoria.

  All three of them remarked on her hair, very positively of course since she was in their presence. She likewise commented on their attire in the most flattering terms, as was the custom whether she liked their dresses or not. It was part of the Gaggle rulebook to do so, she had learned. When she had mentioned this to Lady Sweet, she had laughed at Dahlia’s name for the girls and their rules. Lady Sweet said it was also part of the boys’ rulebook to make pleasant commentary on girls’ outfits, and that she had probably appreciated their application of the rule. Dahlia had admitted she had. ‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’ Lady Sweet had said, laughing.

  Cecile, as one of the older and therefore more prominent girls, took pleasure in answering Dahlia’s questions concerning etiquette and had taken on the role of instructing her even when it was not necessary. Dahlia guessed it gave her a sense of superiority. Cecile was the youngest of four sisters, and the only one remaining at home – unmarried, but actively engaged in finding her own husband. From being lowest of the sisters all those years, she seemed to relish being the oldest of her circle of friends. Dahlia let her think or feel what she liked. As tedious as she could be, she did know a lot about social circles and proper manners in courtship having watched her three older sisters navigate these waters successfully.

  With his lordship’s guest list much more expansive than that of most of the county assemblies and balls, there were quite a few new faces in attendance. Cecile, with minor contributions from Adelaide and Victoria, was able to name them and add information about their families, estates, and rank.

  As the evening went on, more girls joined them until they had quite an imposing group. At one point, Dahlia saw Lady Sweet across the room and, turning her back to her acquaintances, made a hand gesture of a goose’s beak opening and closing. Lady Sweet laughed and shook her head.

  Many a brave young man approached the Gaggle to ask one girl or another to dance. The girl would leave, only to reappear and giggle and talk about the boy. Dahlia wondered any boys came over at all. She did not expect anyone to ask her, so she was surprised when a tap on her shoulder had all the girls looking past her at the boy who would pick Dahlia. She turned to find her brother Steven with his hand out to her.

  “May I have this dance?” he said, fully aware of all the female stares, but looking at no one but his sister.

  “Of course, sir,” she teased, and he led her away. She could hear the whispers begin as she left. Positioned on the dance floor, brother and sister smiled at one another.

  “You do know that every girl back there is wishing you had asked her to dance, don’t you?”

  “Oh really?” he feigned ignorance.

  “Yes, and you are merely adding to their anticipation by asking me to dance.”

  “There are an awful lot of them,” Steven said with a serious face. “How could I possible choose from all of them?”

  “Do what most boys do – start with the prettiest.”

  “I did,” Steven said, making Dahlia smile despite his teasing.

  “Then dance with the richest,” Dahlia suggested.

  “The pretty ones are easy to pick out. How would I know who is the richest?”

  “Don’t tell me you men don’t talk. I bet you know the annuities of every girl in this room!”

  “I’m shocked, madam! We men wouldn’t dream of choosing a dance partner based on her income.”

  “No, just a wife.”

  “You are becoming cynical, sister.”

  “No, just educated, brother.”

  “As I am lucky enough not to have been born first, I think I shall leave the marrying well to Mark. I will only marry for love.”

  “I didn’t k
now you where so romantic, Steven. And am I to help you find this love among my new friends?”

  Steven smiled and winked at her conspiratorially. “I do not need your assistance in finding love, little sister, as I have already found it. But I may need your assistance in bringing that love to its due conclusion of matrimony.”

  Dahlia was shocked. Steven was in love? “With whom?”

  “All in good time. But will you promise to support me? I’ll need you to help me convince Father, I think.”

  “Of course, I’ll help you! But who is it?” She darted glances back at the Gaggle as she danced.

  “She is not here tonight,” her brother said, watching her.

  “Oh, the broken hearts! What am I ever to tell the girls?”

  “Since I hope to continue to have a full dance card tonight, nothing.” He smiled that engaging smile and the dance ended.

  “You really are awful!”

  “I know. That’s why you all love me,” he said laughing as they left the dance floor. Dahlia shook her head. The Gaggle certainly did not have the monopoly on playing games, but while the boys played for fun, the girls played for keeps.

  As she walked back towards the girls, she noted they had formed a tighter circle and were talking animatedly. She heard the terms “devilishly good-looking” and immediately looked over at Steve, once again among his friends. Then, she heard Adelaide say, “I wonder who he is?” Everyone knew who Steven was. Apparently in the course of one dance the Gaggle had shifted its interest to someone new. Fickle bunch. She had no idea about whom they were talking. At present, she wasn’t sure she cared. Leave them to their fair-weather longings. She went in search of some punch, which she found towards the back of the ballroom. She sipped her punch tucked away in the corner, safe for the moment from teasing boys and scheming girls.

  When she felt fortified enough to enter the fray again, she set her glass down and was winding her way back towards the Gaggle when a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Instinctively she pulled her arm back, but the grip remained.