by Wells, J
“Florence, I may need your help,” Heather said, using her amnesia to her advantage. “Since losing my memory, I’ve forgotten how to dance.”
“Oh, dearest Heather, this we cannot have. You shall dance, for, my dearest sister, I shall teach you myself.” Florence fell silent, raising her eyes as if in thought. Then, with a quick look at Martha, she said, “Call for Anna, and do not dally.”
Martha, a bubbly character herself, beamed, her round face lighting up and enhancing her ruddy complexion. Bustling to the door, she returned moments later as requested with Anna.
“We always dance opposite our partners. Anna, Martha, make haste; your role is to play the gentlemen.”
Having watched the dances on many occasions before, it was probably as much second nature to them as it was to Florence herself. Both maids asked their permission to dance, awaiting their reply before taking a bow. Heather shrugged her shoulders, tittering at her two left feet as she tried so hard to keep in sync with the others.
“Ah, y’ll soon get the ’ang of it, miss.” Martha grinned, revelling in the frivolity.
“It would vex my aunt greatly if she could see us all now,” Florence stammered breathlessly, almost laughing in the face of protocol.
Though Martha’s sprits were high, Anna’s mood was less than jovial, every step seemingly made under duress, no sign of a smile gracing her sullen face.
Florence frowned, noticing immediately, and said sarcastically, “By the way, Heather, while dancing with any gentleman, it is etiquette to smile at all times,” throwing a harsh look in Anna’s direction. “It is most rude not to, and shows poor breeding.”
Heather counted as a way of memorising her steps during the waltz and the slightly more intricate country dances, although Florence only showed her the most popular.
“No more please, my head’s spinning,” Heather insisted, throwing herself onto the bed.
Thanking the maids before dismissing them, Florence sat down next to her.
“How do I ask your brother for a dance?”
“No, Heather, you must not on any account. You must wait to be asked, and when any gentleman shows his favour in a form of address towards you, you must oblige. It is deemed rude to refuse a request to dance.”
“Florence, I really don’t think I can do this.”
“Nonsense, I am sure you will be fine. When I am not pre-engaged in a dance with Mr Cox, we shall take a turn around the room.”
Greeted by a sea of merry music and voices, Florence opened the door of the bedchamber. Heather peered down the staircase in anticipation and saw the front door stood open as guests entered to a formal introduction. The hallway overflowed with ladies and gentlemen donning their finery, and there wasn’t a colour or shade absent as gowns cordially brushed together. Statuesque-like, the guests congregated in their chosen clusters.
On reaching the hallway, Heather and Florence were cajoled along towards the open ballroom with its marble arches and ornate fireplace. Towards the far end, a small orchestra played, striking up melodies that prompted dancing, and ladies and gentlemen promenaded around the room before separating into orderly lines, striking up brisk movements and intricate figures around the floor. Meanwhile, single ladies stood in wait for a suitor’s request to dance. Heather was caught up in the ambience and gaiety, longing to catch sight of Mr Boswel, their afternoon kiss fresh in her mind. Florence was watching her closely and must have picked up on her unease, so softly taking her arm and with a polite shuffle between guests, she manoeuvred them to a quieter spot between one of the open archways. Not an obvious move, but one as it happened that was to Florence’s advantage as Mr Cox stole through the crowd towards them. Although not Heather’s type, he looked quite dapper in a black formed jacket and waistcoat. He had a long and narrow face, of which his sideburns took up the majority, his dark hair probably his best attribute. A very bubbly and well-mannered chap, he was quite similar to Florence in most respects, as the world seemed to pass by with them floating somewhere above it.
He bowed regally, inviting her to partner him for the next dance, to which he received her gracious acceptance. Taking her arm, he led her to the centre of the dance floor, where the next sets were about to get underway. Heather fidgeted awkwardly, knowing that from what she’d seen of the dances, these sets could last anything up to half an hour. What would she do now? Alone, she watched on, smiling at Florence and her Mr Cox, who both looked so happy. Her thoughts turned back to herself and her lack of acquaintance with anyone present. Hiding in the wings, she made herself as inconspicuous as possible; a very beautiful wallflower, waiting to be picked.
Suddenly, all eyes turned as the very handsome Mr Boswel, partnered by the beautiful Miss Thornber, took to the dance floor. Her impelling emerald-green gown befitted the feelings of envy that Heather felt so very ardently, which she was sure everyone in the room could see. She watched their dance intently, the dreamy way in which she looked into his eyes, the brief words whispered on contact; turning one way, then the other, and finally, a slight separation. Heather glanced around the room, her eyes resting on Anna, whose expression was a mirror image of her own – a scowl filled with contempt.
Heather’s gaze was interrupted as she observed Anna watching them as they danced. She could see she wasn’t the only one in the room who was in love with Mr Boswel. Half an hour passed, anything but quickly, and how she longed for Florence’s return, but one set led to two. On Florence’s return, the mood of the music slowed, and Heather closed her eyes, trying to remember her dance lesson as best she could, counting the beats in her mind. She realised the dance playing was a waltz, with a much more intimate feel.
“Miss Richardson, would you do me the honour?”
Heather opened her eyes and looked up. Not waiting for the man to finish his sentence, she hurriedly agreed. After a quick glance at Florence for approval, she was swept away in Mr Boswel’s arms, his posture firm and masterful as he took the lead.
Tilting his head so as not to be overheard, he said softly, “Miss Richardson, I have never seen anyone hold as much beauty as you do this evening. I have scarcely taken my eyes off you for fear you would be whisked off by another.”
“I thought you looked more than happy with Miss Thornber.”
Frank smiled an unreadable smile, but added no comment. Projector-like images presented themselves on passing as they waltzed their way between twirling couples. Lady Haunchwood wore a midnight-blue dress much like her mood, dark and sombre, and when her eyes caught Heather’s briefly, it was just long enough for Heather to see the utter contempt she felt with their alliance. Releasing her posture slightly, she leant her head against his chest.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about earlier. I’d hate it if you got the wrong idea about me; I don’t make a habit of kissing strangers.”
“Miss Richardson, I would describe us as being anything but strangers.”
“The kiss ... I’m really sorry.”
“If it makes you feel ill at ease, I shall erase it from my memory.”
His words left her empty, as this wasn’t what she meant and far from what she wanted. They continued to dance in silence, words now eluding her, and instead she clung onto his warmth and the sweet essence of his skin. With the orchestra’s finishing notes and the dancing finale, she felt his grip loosen. She couldn’t bear it, and lifting her head she gave him an upward glance.
Almost choking on the words, she said, “I love you, Frankie, I guess I always have. I was just too blind, or too stupid, to see it.”
His eyes widened, searching her own, and she felt his hand tighten against her waist. He froze; Heather saw a hand resting on his shoulder.
“Mr Boswel, have you taken leave of your senses?”
He turned immediately at the sound of her voice; it was plain to see that he had fuelled his aunt’s wrath.
“Miss Thornber takes refreshments alone, an unforgivable predicament in which she now finds herself.” The haughty-faced old w
oman looked down her nose at Heather, adding, “Miss Richardson, Mr Hammond has been waiting for a formal introduction to you all evening, and this seems to be just the perfect timing. Walk with me, dear girl.”
There was no case of arguing, her words unprecedented and to be obeyed. As Heather’s eyes followed Mr Boswel in search of Miss Thornber, she was introduced to the most surly and pompous man imaginable, of portly stature, and the years between them too many to count. Cringing as he led her to the dance floor, she somehow managed to smile throughout, acting the perfect lady, yet struggling inside in more ways than one. As soon as was acceptably possible, she excused herself from Mr Hammond’s charge. Making haste in her departure from the ballroom, she stood in the hallway and wondered where Frank could be. She looked around and saw that the dining room stood empty, the tables made up in readiness. The parlour also accommodated guests, more ladies than gentlemen, chatting while partaking of hot beverages and a selection of finger food.
Though Heather was a distance away and unable to make out what they were discussing. On tiptoe, eyes searching, she located that formidable lady, Lady Haunchwood, an artistry in manipulation, all pleasantries and preening. The cooing Miss Thornber was weaving her web of enchantment, and all Heather could do was watch as Frank fell under her spell. The ball all of a sudden lost its appeal; having laid her feelings on the line, they were now only a forgotten dance away. The word fickle that Florence had used may not have been far from the truth. But was Frank really to blame? Miss Thornber could easily match or perhaps even surpass her in looks, and as for connections and status, there was just no contest.
Lady Haunchwood stood back, revelling in their accord. Dinner was now as unpalatable as Heather could have ever imagined, and nobody would miss her if she slipped away; even Florence was far too occupied. But she couldn’t think badly of her, she deserved a piece of happiness, her and her Mr Cox. Why do I always seek out philanderers? Impossible relationships? Isn’t there anyone in any lifetime who could love me and only me? She couldn’t help her feelings and how very dearly she loved him. Whatever, she thought. The only thing calling her now was her bed. Dragging her tired and deflated body up the stairs, she left the ball behind her.
She called Martha early, being unable to sleep, rushing her somewhat to finish her hair. When she reached the top of the landing, she heard the familiar tone of Lady Haunchwood speaking with Mr Clements, the butler. Their voices rose from the vestibule, leaving her heart empty on overhearing of Frank’s early departure and his escorting Miss Thornber back to her Hampshire estate.
~•••~
The weeks rolled into months, all quite uneventful, one day merging into the next. Anna’s presence was becoming quite oppressive and leaving Heather feeling uneasy, especially during meal times, when she always stood by the fireplace, her previous cool and distant looks now deathly stares of hatred. But then Heather remembered the words spoken to her about ‘mad Anna’, and so presumed it to be an unpleasant trait felt and seen by everybody in the house. After all, she had witnessed the way in which Anna looked at Frank previously, so after a while thought nothing more of it. As the masquerade approached, although uncomfortable Heather felt somewhat relieved, as the vision she’d lived through could not possibly come to fruition now, as there was no word of Mr Boswel’s imminent return. Though she missed him dearly, she knew that due to his absence Anna would be spared the catastrophic events that Heather had seen take place. So she relaxed back into the nineteenth century, with its slow way of life. Her fondness for Florence grew as she did her very best to educate Heather in the niceties of their ways, spending many an hour walking in the gardens together. After dinner had been served, to avoid Lady Haunchwood’s sharp tongue Heather would often wander off unnoticed, spending solitary moments reflecting as she sat by the lake under the evening’s darkening cloak.
“Dear sister, how can you possibly sleep?” Florence said as she burst into the room, exuberant as ever, more so if that were possible, the masquerade now but a day away.
“There is so much to be done; my aunt has all the servants in the drawing room as we speak, and my Mr Cox will be attending. I so look forward to dancing with him.”
The house was a hubbub of excitement that morning, and even Anna was too wrapped up in the festivities to pass her usual detrimental stares. Unfortunately, Lady Haunchwood had taken ill, and the doctor had been called for. But for Heather it was the first evening meal she actually enjoyed, just herself and Florence; how they giggled between courses, with no reprimand. As evening drew nigh, she left Florence flapping over her attire for the coming masquerade.
Heather felt somewhat different this particular night as she sank down in her usual spot on the water’s edge, as though she was being pulled back to reality, and from where she belonged. Encompassed by an overwhelming loneliness being away from her mum and dad, she pictured them sitting together without her, and of course the grand opening, which she so didn’t want to miss. It had been years coming, and she just felt it was her time to go home. After all, she had accomplished what she set out to do, and everything was now as it should be. Although in her heart she knew she’d always love Frank, for her, he could only ever be a beautiful dream, and one she’d have to leave well and truly in the past. She felt weary, her eyelids heavy, and succumbing to her feelings she closed her eyes, listening to all the weird and wonderful sounds the evening brought with it.
Suddenly, there was the fresh crack of branches underfoot, and a reassuring hand touched her shoulders.
“Florence?”
“Miss Richardson. I am afraid not, I hope I do not disappoint.” His deep, distinctive voice was warming to her ear.
Breathing in the moment, she never opened her eyes during the meeting of their fingertips, creating a charge of electricity. Kneeling down, he spun her round. His face was flushed, his usual control lacking, his voice flustered as he spoke.
“The entirety of my world is where you are. You know not how deeply you have entrapped me; these past weeks without you have been a mere existence. Pray, if you do not hold the same depth of feeling, tell me now and I shall go.”
“Oh, Frankie, I do, very much so. I only knew love as a word until you came into my life. My feelings are now so clear, I love you so very much. But what about Miss Thornber? According to your aunt, you’re as good as married.”
“My aunt’s meddling has brought me nothing but misery. She may think she has my best interest at heart, but she forgets it is my heart, my choice, and, Miss Richardson, I believe I have chosen most wisely. On our last meeting you requested that I lie with you, which my stupidity led me to decline.”
He paused, smiling, and scooped her into his arms, lying back with her between the soft grasses. Stars gathered in a mass of constellations, a showering of hypnotic lights filtering through the trees as he lay above her, his burning eyes drinking in her beauty, seeking out a response, her permission. She pulled him close, welcoming the warmth of his body. His hands wandered slowly up her thigh and he ruched up her dress. She could feel him, his rhythmical movements quickening, and she opened up to his advances, losing herself in his kisses. Grasping the earth between her fingers, her breath quickening, she felt his mouth, his tongue exploring, enjoying her. With the intertwining of legs and arms, she moaned into his neck as they made love, and he took her to heights of excitement she’d never known before. Gently manoeuvring himself, he stood, and their bodies formed a perfect silhouette without end. Holding her legs around his waist, he waded into the cold waters, breaking the dark, seductive tranquillity to create ripples, waltzing in the moonlit reflection. Lost in one another, they collapsed onto the bank, trembling and laughing. There they lay in each other’s arms until sunrise the following morning.
As the sun’s first rays broke through passing clouds, they welcomed the day and their newfound love. Once again he took her in his arms and carried her to bed, where they fell asleep embraced in each other’s arms.
Eventually, the st
irring of the servants below woke Frank, and he kissed Heather gently before slipping away unnoticed.
She was woken as usual by Florence’s flamboyant entrance, but today Heather’s exuberance far outweighed hers, although for a different reason.
“Heather, finally the day is here. I’m going to summon Martha, and spend the whole day in my bedchamber getting ready,” she said, twirling around the room excitedly. “I simply cannot choose a dress; you must come and help me. Oh, I do hope my dear aunt is up and well for the masquerade. Why, Heather, you are simply glowing...”
“Dear Florence, I have so much to tell you, though I don’t know where to begin.”
A faint tapping at the door disturbed them. The maid entered, curtsying.
“Yes, Anna?” Florence enquired.
Her eyes locked onto Heather’s. “The mam wishes to see y’, miss.”
“Who me?” Heather gulped, surprised by the request.
“See? I told you my aunt had a good heart. It surely must have something to do with this evening. Pray do not leave me in suspense too long,” Florence begged, skipping onto the landing.
Anna helped Heather get dressed, during which time the maid never spoke. Then she followed Anna along the landing, where servants were at every turn, and she smiled on passing Mr Clements, who was obviously far too preoccupied to notice. Anna stopped at a door, and stood back awkwardly as Heather stepped inside. The curtains were drawn, and she found it quite hard to make out Lady Haunchwood. Everything about the room was dark, from the floorboards to the wooden panelling which graced each wall; the four-poster bed was heavily draped, and only a small kerosene lamp stood on what she thought to be some kind of desk.
“Lady Haunchwood, you wanted to see me?”
“I certainly do,” she said, her voice, though stern, frailer than usual.
“I hope you are feeling better.”
“Well, does it look like it, child? I am certainly not lying here for my health.”
The room fell silent, and Heather didn’t know where to take the conversation.