A Ring of Truth

by Michelle Cox

  Bitingly she asked Ma what she planned to do when the wedding rolled around, if she would excuse herself from that as well, secretly suspecting that she just might. Ma’s tired response was that she would cross that bridge when she came to it. This was a new type of response from Ma, one of abject apathy, and though it annoyed Henrietta just as much, it unsettled her, perhaps because it was unfamiliar and because she therefore had no known tactics in place yet with which to navigate it. Since Ma had confessed her past, the sting seemed to have gone out of her normally acerbic comments. She was becoming less and less a creature of ferocity as the days went on and more a creature of a broken sort, still occasionally lashing out, but with claws much duller and useless now. This in and of itself should have slaked Henrietta’s bitterness, but instead it seemed to fuel it.

  For the few days she remained at home, Henrietta could not shake her bad mood, the heated, pointless conversations with Eugene not particularly helping. He spent most of his time in the bedroom, Ma and Elsie doting on him, or out walking, he claimed, half the day and night. Henrietta tried to put aside her feelings and her shame regarding Eugene’s situation until perhaps after the party, when she hoped to have more time to think about it. He was still not free and clear, though she knew Clive was working on getting the charges dropped.

  Something else, however, was nagging Henrietta, but she couldn’t quite name it, though it, too, had an aroma of guilt to it. Guilt perhaps that she was taking up the life Ma had abandoned. It felt fundamentally wrong somehow, as if Ma’s apparent sacrifice had meant nothing, but what else could she do? She was about to make the same one. She was about to sacrifice her own family for another one, for love, just as Ma had, but it hadn’t really turned out for Ma, she kept reminding herself. Ma had abandoned wealth and privilege for her father and her, and now her father was dead at his own hand and she herself was running back to Ma’s old life, a different sort of wayward daughter, which seemed to invalidate Ma’s painful choice in the space of an instant. Henrietta was sure now of her decision, sure of wanting to be Clive’s wife, but being here around Ma, simmering in this emotional stew, made her cross and impatient.

  When Clive finally came to pick her up, she was sadly glad to get away. The sight of Jimmy and the twins crying as she got into the car grasped at her heart, but it had to be done. Bravely she waved goodbye to them, the false smile on her lips perhaps just a little too obvious.

  She was eternally grateful that it was Clive driving her and not Jack, not wanting to be alone with Jack for that long. It wasn’t that Henrietta didn’t trust him, or herself for that matter, but she did not wish to mar the new understanding she had with Clive, their new beginning, as it seemed in her mind. The time for childishness was over now, she told herself. No more secret rendezvous with the staff, no nighttime cups of cocoa. No mention was made as to what had occurred between them in Clive’s apartment, but Clive seemed all the more tender and loving as they headed north in his car, the crowded buildings of the city giving way to the more open landscape of the little towns beyond, mirroring Henrietta’s own drifting thoughts.

  The sky was a brilliant blue, with not even one stray cloud, and the farther they got from the city, the more Henrietta’s musings on her problems at home gave way to musings about her problems at Highbury. For one thing, she knew she had to put aside her silly feelings of inadequacy. She tried to shore up her confidence by reminding herself that she was, in truth, an Exley and a Von Harmon, whatever that meant exactly, and it was time she started acting as such.

  Mr. and Mrs. Howard welcomed her back with open arms, Mr. Howard giving Clive a wink as he shook his hand and clapped him on the back as the happy couple stepped out of the car onto the pea gravel, both of the Howards being there at the doorstep to greet them as they pulled up. Even Mrs. Howard was oddly accommodating and friendly to the extreme, causing Henrietta to wonder if Clive had spoken to them, possibly threatening them. In truth, he had.

  He had been drinking a scotch in the library with his father after the fateful board meeting, his father to celebrate and Clive to steady his nerves, when his mother had walked in.

  “Clive’s done it!” Alcott said proudly to his wife. “It’s all settled now! You don’t know how happy this makes me, old boy.” He went to the sideboard to pour a sherry for Antonia and held it out to her.

  “Bravo, darling!” Antonia said warmly to Clive as she took the proffered glass. “I knew you would see sense in the end,” she said, taking a sip. “Speaking of sense,” she said casually, “it was terribly good of you, darling, to have Fletcher drive Henrietta all the way home. I happened to see him when he returned—quite by accident, really—and he admitted that even he was rather taken aback at the state of, let’s just say, their accommodations. I had no idea it was so extreme! Family troubles, didn’t you say it was? I do hope it’s nothing serious!”

  A tremor of irritation passed across Clive’s face, but Mrs. Howard didn’t seem to notice.

  “Such a shame, isn’t it?” she continued, almost happily. “But when is Henrietta planning on returning, Clive? It’s just that with the party next week, I really do need to know. Any change of heart, perhaps?” she asked carefully, taking another sip of her sherry. “Better to change your mind now, darling, than later,” she said, glancing at him surreptitiously. “No harm done, you know. No shame in that, darling.”

  “Antonia,” Alcott said warningly.

  “I want the ring, Mother,” Clive said evenly, as if she hadn’t just spoken.

  “The ring, dearest?”

  “You know what I mean. I want the family ring. I should have done this before, done it properly. I’ve made a mess of it, but I mean to amend it as best I can.”

  “He’s right, Antonia,” said Alcott. “We need to give him the ring.”

  “Well, if you’re quite sure, Clive,” Antonia hesitated. “It’s just that . . .”

  “Mother, stop. Please. I know what you’re going to say, and, frankly, I don’t care,” Clive said animatedly. “You want me to take over the firm. Fine. It’s done. You want me to take over Highbury. Fine again. Not my first choices in life, but there you have it. There are worse things, I realize that, and I know my duty. I was a soldier once, remember, and, have no fear, my duty will be faithfully discharged.” He took a long pull of his Scotch. “But there is one thing that I will choose for myself. And that’s my wife. I married Catherine because everyone wanted us to. It made sense. We were happy, yes, in our way, but that’s over now. Now it’s my choice,” he said, looking slowly from one to the other. “If she’ll still have me, I mean to marry Henrietta Von Harmon, and that’s the end of it. So, I’ll have not one more word about her inadequacy, her social ignorance, or her poverty, or anything else you can dig up. Do you understand? Those are not the values by which my heart is governed, nor will I teach it to be so. I love her,” he said fiercely. “And I mean to make her my wife and the mother of my children, so you’ll just have to learn to live with it, or so help me God, I’ll walk out of here and the whole bloody place can go to the Cunninghams.”

  “Quite so, my boy,” Alcott said solicitously, coming over to him and patting him on the back. “Quite so. You’ve misunderstood us, no doubt,” he said, shooting Antonia a stern look. “Henrietta is a lovely creature, and we want only your happiness, Clive.”

  Antonia was not so contrite in her demeanor, however. In fact, quite the opposite. “I was only trying to help, darling, as you asked me to, remember?” she said sulkily.

  Clive had seen this maneuver before, however, and kept his face stony.

  Finally, Antonia had capitulated with a sigh. “Very well. Of course we want your happiness, dear. I suppose you know best. You have my word: no more uncomfortable comments. We will welcome her with open arms,” she had said tiredly, her eyebrows creased and a slight frown forming at the corners of her mouth.

  And so they did. Mrs. Howard kissed Henrietta on the cheek now as she stepped out of the car from the long dri
ve up from the city and held her hand, admiring the beautiful family heirloom sparkling now on her finger. Henrietta had not slipped it on until they were in the car, away from Ma’s eyes, carefully removing it from its box resting in her handbag. Affectionately, Mrs. Howard put her arm around her and led her in, Clive and Mr. Howard following, while James came out to unload the bags.

  Henrietta was glad to be back in her old room. It felt as though she had never left, and she took in a deep breath, looking around at everything as she did so. It seemed familiar now, but for the sheer entertainment of it, she tried to see it all again as if it were the first time, as Elsie would no doubt see it when she arrived in a few days, and felt a jittery fluttering in her stomach as she did so. She longed to help them, even Ma, she begrudgingly admitted, if they would only let her. Well, it might take time, she reasoned.

  She looked at her case perched at the end of the bed and resisted the temptation to unpack it all herself. She had to school herself to stop acting like one of the servants! Instead, she shivered with pleasure and sat down on the chaise lounge, trying to find a comfortable position. She looked again at her lovely ring and felt another burst of love for Clive. She knew it was silly, but the ring somehow made her feel more confident, more sure of herself, as if it were a token or a sort of ticket, honestly procured, that allowed her now to walk about freely in this world, to become an inhabitant, not just a spectator.

  Unable to settle, Henrietta got up and walked to the window, gingerly pulling the lace curtain back so that she could see the grounds below. The sun caught the jewels on her finger and illuminated them as her eyes travelled to the lake beyond, sparkling as the sun caught it, as if it, too, were layered with diamonds. Though the cottage was not in view from where she stood, her thoughts turned to Helen and her own poor excuse of a ring. A ring kept all these years for a girl who was long-ago dead. The sadness of it overwhelmed her. She wondered what would become of the ring, and of Helen, actually. Would she eventually just die, alone, in the cottage? Hopefully not from fright, she thought, shivering a bit.

  In her heart Henrietta felt that the ring rightfully should be returned to Helen. It had been either taken from her by theft or given over in a state of confusion. Either way, it seemed still her possession. As much as she liked Edna, Henrietta wasn’t sure it held any real sentimental value for her. It had obviously been given as a love token by Virgil, but Edna these days seemed only to have eyes for Jack. She should do the right thing, Henrietta concluded, and return the ring to Helen. She wondered how Billings had handled the whole mess, if at all, as he seemed to think these petty quarrels amongst the servants beneath his consideration. And she wondered if Jack really had gone to Selzers to investigate. She was dying to ask him, but she had made a promise to Clive, and even more so to herself, to remain aloof, to be the woman he wanted her to be.

  She sighed. Poor Helen. Surely it would be considered acceptable to simply visit her and see how she was getting on? Perhaps she could take Clive with her to make it seem more respectable. Wouldn’t this sort of thing be their duty some day? But if that were true, she reasoned, why didn’t Mr. and Mrs. Howard involve themselves more? She recalled, then, the sad state of the stable bedrooms. Clearly, there was much that could be done.

  Unfortunately, however, she did not find a chance to broach the subject with Clive all day, as they were kept busy with a photographer that Mrs. Howard had arranged to be on the estate to take formal engagement pictures of them, and it had gone on longer than anyone had expected. Clive had told her on the drive up that he could only stay one night, but when they parted for the evening after dinner and a round of bridge with his parents, Henrietta found herself disappointed nonetheless that they had had so little time alone. But she was determined to not be a “petulant child” and managed to keep her emotions in check. She hoped she was improving.

  “Good night, Henrietta,” Clive had said, as they parted outside her bedroom door now.

  “I’ll miss you,” she said longingly.

  “I know, darling, but we’re so very close on this case, and I’d also like a word with Eugene’s Fr. Finnegan. He’s cleverly evaded me thus far, but I mean to ferret him out just the same. Anyway, I’d only be underfoot here.”

  “What do you mean?” Henrietta laughed, “I’ll be underfoot!”

  He spontaneously kissed her then, and after looking down the hallway to see that no one was about, he drew her to him and kissed her again, longer this time.

  “When can we get married, Clive?” she asked breathlessly when he finally pulled back. “Please say soon.”

  “Yes, I agree. Very soon, darling,” he said, gently brushing back a strand of her hair that had come loose.

  “Why do you call me ‘darling’?”

  “Because you are my darling. You’re darling in every way,” he said, running his finger along her shoulder now. “Does it bother you?”

  “It did at first a bit, but now I quite like it.”

  “I’m glad,” he said and kissed her goodnight, leaving her feeling weak as she shut the door and laid down on her bed, unable to go to sleep for a very long time.

  The next few days threw the entire household into a frenzy of excitement. Despite the heightened activity, Henrietta still hoped to find time to slip off to see Helen, but it was not to be. Not only was Clive already gone, but Henrietta herself was kept very busy by Mrs. Howard with last-minute fittings and details, all of which, to her credit, Henrietta tried her hardest to be interested in. Likewise, she attempted to contain her interest in the servants to just that of Helen and successfully avoided conversation with any of them, including Jack. She found it most difficult, however, not to speak to Edna when she came to clean her room each morning, so she began making it a habit to be out of the room by the time Edna appeared.

  Finally, however, the long-awaited day of the engagement party arrived, the cool morning air producing a surfeit of dew after mingling with the warm ground. Birds of all varieties could be seen hopping about on the wet grass, devouring the many insects hiding there. Henrietta was a bundle of nerves and scolded herself repeatedly for wanting Clive at her side sooner than this afternoon. She forced herself to dress calmly and sat patiently as Andrews did her hair.

  “Thank you, Andrews,” Henrietta said politely as the older woman packed up her little case of hair accoutrements.

  “Good luck tonight, Miss,” the normally silent Andrews ventured. “Be a lovely party,” she smiled genuinely, the gap between her front teeth showing momentarily.

  Edna came in, then, just as Andrews left, and Henrietta, feeling about to burst from the strain, broke down and grasped Edna by the arms. “Oh, Edna! I’m so nervous!” she burst out, taking one of the pairs of shoes Edna had just polished from her arms.

  “Oh, Miss!” responded Edna, appearing to not know what to say. Henrietta thought she saw a hurt look in the girl’s eyes and felt ashamed.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been distant, Edna,” she said sincerely. “I’m trying to . . . trying to . . .”

  “I know, Miss.” Edna smiled sadly. “I understand. I figured it would happen sooner or later,” she said, which caused a fresh swell of guilt to pass over Henrietta, as well as a fresh irritation at the silly code of propriety that prevented the two of them from being friends.

  “Here, let me help you with the bed!” Henrietta said, pulling back the coverlet of the bed as Edna went to set down the other shoes.

  “Oh, Miss! No! Not on your big day . . .”

  “Please let me help you, Edna. If I don’t do something, I think I’ll scream!”

  Edna, apparently not one to hold grudges, smiled her acquiescence, then, and the two set to work stripping and remaking the bed, the physical act of doing something concrete going far to calm Henrietta’s nerves.

  “I miss all of you, you know,” Henrietta said as she smoothed the coverlet back into place. “I have to force myself not to sneak downstairs at night,” she said earnestly. “But I . . . I told Mr
. Howard . . . Clive . . . that I would try to be . . . oh, I don’t know . . . more proper, I guess you could say.”

  “Like you’re doing now?” Edna couldn’t help but say with a teasing smile.

  Henrietta threw a pillow at her. “Ungrateful girl!” she said, laughing. “Now!” she urged, plopping another one down on the freshly made bed, “tell me some gossip before you have to move on. I don’t dare help you in the other rooms or Mrs. Caldwell will be sure to know somehow. Then it’ll get back to Mrs. Howard and then to Clive, and then all is lost, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s Kitty, if you ever want to know,” Edna said confidentially. “She’s the snitch.”

  “I see,” Henrietta murmured, grasping hold of the bedpost and looking at Edna expectantly. “Well?”

  Edna laughed. “There’s not much to tell. You’ve only been gone a few days, really.”

  “Any news of Helen’s ring?”

  “Just that Mr. Billings took hold of it. Says he’ll get to the bottom of it, but it don’t seem like it to me. Meanwhile, Virgil’s in a state. Never seen him like this before. Demanding his money back, he says, or the ring itself. Helen’s taken herself off to the cottage. Supposed to be up here today, though, to help with the party.”

  “What about Jack?” Henrietta said tentatively. “Any word from him?”

  “About the ring?” Edna asked, puzzled. “What would he care?”

  “Just that he said he might inquire at the shop in town and see if they remember who came in to sell it,” Henrietta said, trying her best to appear nonchalant in regards to Jack’s movements.

  “Well, that’s not a bad idea!” Edna said. “Why didn’t I think of that? Or, better yet, Mr. Billings? He ain’t takin’ this seriously, that’s for sure. But, no, Jack ain’t said anything, least not to me, anyways,” she shrugged.

  “Who do you really fancy, Edna?” Henrietta asked suddenly. “I thought you were sweet on Jack, but maybe it’s Virgil after all?” she teased.