by Michelle Cox
Edna blushed a deep red. “I don’t know. I thought I was all for Virgil. You probably think that’s daft, but Virgil’s actually a nice-enough fellow. Just rough around the edges. You just have to get to know him. He’s got an awfully good heart, you know, and I guess I feel a little sorry for him. He doesn’t really mean half the things he says. He’d never steal; I just know he wouldn’t. That’s why none of this ring business makes sense.”
Henrietta wasn’t convinced of this, but she bit her lip rather than say so.
“But then again, Jack’s nice, too,” Edna went on. “He’s very handsome and charming and everything, but I don’t know . . . sometimes I’m not so sure he really means it.”
Henrietta nodded, having oddly felt that way herself around him, and hoped that she had not inadvertently pulled Jack’s attention from Edna, if Edna really cared for him, that is.
“His eyes are lovely, though, ain’t they?” Edna went on. “But then again, there was something nice about when I danced with Virgil. And then all the expense he went through for my gift, whatever the truth of all that is. It all got confused that night . . . I can’t help wonder if it was meant as a betrothal. But he ain’t said anything about it since. Though it does make a girl feel special,” she said, her face slightly flushed. She looked up then as if remembering where she was. “I’m sorry, Miss! I’m talkin’ nonsense. And on your big day, too!”
“Never mind that. I’ve got plenty of time to be dawdling,” Henrietta laughed. “Anyway,” she said, wanting to return to Edna’s problem, “sometimes it’s fun to have rivals.” She gave her an inquisitive look.
“Not for me, Miss. I’d rather know what I’m about. The dilly dallyin’ upsets me. And now,” she said after a moment’s pause, “with both of them in the house tonight . . . I don’t know what I’ll do!”
“Both of them in the house? A chauffer and a gardener? What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard? Well, I guess you wouldn’t have,” she mused. “James is down with the flu, just this morning. Doctor Belden was called in. Mr. Billings had already asked Jack to help out, seeing as it would save him having to get someone temporary in, but now he had to go and ask Virgil to help in the kitchen, too, at this last minute. Provided he can get all the dirt from under his nails out, says Mrs. Caldwell. He’s down in the kitchen now with his hands in a soak.”
“Well, that’s terrible!” Henrietta said. “About James, I mean. I hope it doesn’t turn serious. I lost two siblings from the flu. I don’t really remember them all that well, I’m sorry to say; I was just little myself.”
“Yes . . . I lost my ma that way,” Edna added sadly, gathering up the bedding. “Well, Miss,” she said, visibly giving herself a little shake, “I’d better get on. Mrs. Caldwell will skin me alive, ’specially on a day like today. And I’m sure you’re busy an all,” she said, hurrying now toward the door, Henrietta slowly following her.
“Thanks, Edna,” she said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Why are you thanking me? I should thank you,” she whispered, now that she was out in the hallway. “Good luck!” she said with a smile. “It’ll be all right. You’ll be lovely.” And with that, she turned and hurried off.
Henrietta watched her go, and despite Edna’s cheerful goodbye, she felt a strange sense of foreboding, one which she could neither explain nor completely eradicate from her mind. She wished again that she had had time to visit Helen. Something was nagging at her there, and she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She had been too busy with preparations the last couple of days, and she knew she would be summoned downstairs any minute now. She remembered, then, Edna’s comment about Helen coming up tonight to help with the party and felt encouraged. Perhaps she could find time to slip away down to the kitchen to see her at some point. If nothing else, she planned to have a word with Billings. But, she cautioned herself, wouldn’t that count as meddling with the servants? But wasn’t this to be her future role? she countered with herself. Wasn’t this a case of making sure justice was being done? Oh, she was so confused! If nothing else, she thought with a sigh as she took a last glance in the mirror, it could be argued that it was, at the very least, a case of compassion.
Chapter 15
“Are you sure this is the way?” Elsie asked as Stan maneuvered the truck along the narrow lane they had just turned down. “She said to turn at the sign that says ‘Highbury,’ so this has got to be it,” Stan responded, his tone one of irritability, presumably from the long drive up and now the frustration of having to find the estate itself.
“Fancy having a name for your house . . . and a sign to go with it!” Elsie sighed dreamily.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Stan muttered.
“I agree,” Eugene said from behind them where he lay stretched out on the backseat. “Rich bastards that have more money than they know what to do with!” He sat up now and peered down the lane just as the massive Highbury with its turrets and gabled rooflines came into view. “See what I mean? Look at this joint,” Eugene said. “Hen’s landed the big time here.”
“Oh, my!” was all Elsie could say. “Oh, Stanley! Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“If you like monstrosities, I suppose,” he said absently, still trying to figure out where to go.
Eugene laughed in the back.
“Stanley!” Elsie moaned. “You said you’d be nice.”
“Course I’ll be nice. What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t a man have an opinion?” he snapped.
They could make out a man in uniform now, waving them forward and directing them to the circular drive in front of the entrance of the large stone house. Stan, determined to arrive at the party of his own accord, though Henrietta had offered to send a car, slowly drove the delivery truck he had begged and borrowed from Mr. Kreske to the spot indicated, another servant in uniform stepping forward now.
“Look at these monkeys,” Eugene said under his breath.
With some difficulty, Stan rolled down the stiff window. “Where should I park this? In back okay?” he asked the servant, who had gingerly bent down toward the half-open window as if not wanting to dirty himself on the truck’s dusty exterior.
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the servant said, reaching for the door handle and opening the door before Stan could say anything, while another servant moved in a slow, dignified manner to open Elsie’s. Stan, not sure what to think, just sat in the car. Elsie quickly descended, however.
“Stanley, come on!” she urged. “You heard them; they’ll take care of it.”
Reluctantly Stan got out, then, followed by Eugene. Stan walked around to the back, where he began opening the rear doors to get their bags, Henrietta having convinced them of the wisdom of staying the night rather than driving all that way back to the city at what would surely be a late hour. Elsie had never been away from home before, and she was tingling with nervous excitement. The servant who had opened the door for Stan hurried forward.
“Please, sir,” he urged condescendingly, “I’ll take those. No need to exert yourself.”
“Yeah? Well, where will I pick them up at?” Stan asked, his hands on his hips, unconvinced.
“They will be taken directly to your rooms, sir,” the servant responded distastefully.
Stan looked from him to Eugene. “What do you think, Gene?”
“Stanley!” Elsie finally said, her embarrassment growing. “Come along! More cars are driving up now!” she said, looking down the lane to where a Rolls-Royce had just turned into the drive.
“Oh, all right,” Stan said, reluctantly handing the keys to the servant. “But be careful!” he warned him. “This isn’t mine, you know. Can’t bang it up or anything.”
“Of course not, sir. Very good, sir,” the servant said, bowing slightly. Elsie thought she detected the smallest grimace of distain on the footman’s face and glanced quickly over at Stanley, who, thankfully, she noted, had not observed this small slight to himself. Determinedly, Stan too
k Elsie’s arm, then, and they made their way up the stone steps, Eugene trailing behind them.
Elsie was grateful to have Stanley to hold onto, as she was frightfully nervous at the prospect of the night ahead. Terrified was actually a better word to describe her current feelings. She had never been good in social situations. She always felt too big for her clothes and always seemed to say the wrong thing in public. It was mainly for this reason that she preferred going out in Henrietta’s company. Henrietta had a natural charm about her and never seemed at a loss of what to say, especially to men, Elsie’s own particular downfall. She was so happy to have found Stanley. She had discovered, as time went on, that he was very easy to talk to, almost like a brother, and she grasped his arm now as they went in, grateful that she had him to rely on, as Eugene certainly wouldn’t be of any help, she knew. Eugene had been unusually quiet when he first came home from the police station (Elsie couldn’t bring herself to say the word jail now, even in her mind), but he was back now to his querulous self.
Elsie took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and smoothed down her skirt as she took in the beautiful foyer, her face immediately breaking into a smile of happiness for Hen and what her new life was to be, though she could never imagine herself here. It was far too grand, too beautiful by far. She offered up yet another silent prayer that the evening would go okay, that they wouldn’t embarrass themselves somehow. Already they had had a near miss when Stan had arrived at the Von Harmon apartment to fetch her and Eugene, only for her to observe, in a panic, that his good serge trousers needed letting down! Hadn’t his mother noticed? They had been delayed, then, while she had hurriedly fixed them, hoping upon hope that this wasn’t a bad start to the evening.
Before she had returned to Highbury last week, Henrietta had taken Eugene to Kaufman’s and bought him a jacket and a tie and had insisted on buying a new dress for Elsie as well, as nothing of Henrietta’s new wardrobe fit her, and, anyway, upon further consideration, Henrietta was of the opinion that Mrs. Howard might not be too pleased should she so freely lend one of her newly acquired gowns from New York or Paris to her sister, even for just this night. Henrietta had tried to convince Elsie to get an evening gown, but Elsie would not be persuaded, choosing instead a brown wool suit (trimmed with faux fur!), which, she wisely pointed out, she could use for other occasions—perhaps even her wedding, she had said shyly with a bashful smile—whereas an evening gown would be utterly useless to her beyond tonight’s extravaganza.
No, Elsie reminded herself, even as she again smoothed down her wool skirt with perhaps just an inkling of regret now, seeing glimpses of women at the top of the staircase passing by in shimmering gowns, she had been wise to choose this one.
A butler (at least that was what Elsie presumed he was) appeared and led them up the grand staircase, Elsie’s brown Oxfords sinking a bit with every step she took into the thick red Oriental carpeting, so that she finally resorted to proceeding up the stairs on just her tiptoes. She clung to the immense gleaming banisters, wondering how long it took to polish them to such a high sheen and deducing that Henrietta was certainly quite brave. Elsie knew her limitations, at least she thought she did, and she knew she would never have the courage, Stanley or no, to ever be at home in a place such as this, but she hoped with all her heart that Hen could.
The butler led them to the threshold of a large vaulted room in which hung several crystal chandeliers, all ablaze with candlelight. Elsie’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt her stomach seize up yet again as she gazed at the beautiful silk drapes hung at two-story windows on the far wall, the delicate silk-embossed wallpaper, the linens on little tables scattered about, and the huge displays of flowers that seemed to be everywhere. A small ensemble played in the corner, and a host of footmen weaved in and out among the guests, carrying large trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres to the swelling crowd. Elsie was tempted to pinch herself to make sure it was real, but she felt in danger, actually, of not being able to move at all. Before she could test this theory by trying to enter, however, the butler, still standing beside them, smoothly prevented them with an outstretched arm.
“One moment, if you please,” he said, his thick jowls not moving. “Your names?”
“I’m Stanley Dubowski,” Stan said proudly, trying to puff out his chest, “and this here’s Elsie, that’s Henrietta’s sister, and this is Eugene, her brother,” he said, pointing a thumb at Eugene. “We’re invited, you know.”
“Just so, sir,” said the butler emotionlessly and with the smallest of deferential nods. “If you’ll just wait a moment, I’m to announce you,” he said and stepped inside the room just in front of them.
Elsie’s stomach knotted again, and she looked desperately over at Stanley. Before anything could even be said between them, however, they heard the butler’s sonorous voice boom out, “A Miss Elsie Von Harmon, a Mr. Eugene Von Harmon, and a Mr. Stanley Dubowski!” He stepped aside, then, bowing slightly, as they entered the room.
Elsie felt her face flush and then, after a moment of panic, somehow found her legs moving, Stan pulling her slightly. She didn’t dare look up but instead concentrated on the parquet floor as they moved across it, allowing herself to be ignominiously led.
When she did finally have the courage to actually look up, she was grateful that no one seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of notice besides perhaps one or two elderly women in the corner who seemed to be whispering something to each other. Bravely now, Elsie looked around a bit more, trying hard to locate Henrietta. She had naively (she saw that now) expected that Henrietta would be right inside the door waiting for her, but that didn’t make sense, did it? Stan meanwhile continued to lead them further into the room to an uninhabited space to the left of the main doors, Elsie taking in the little details of the room as they made their way. It was more beautiful than she had imagined, more beautiful even than Henrietta had described it! But then again, she supposed Henrietta had done that on purpose to spare her feelings, and she felt a fresh rush of love for her sister. “Isn’t it lovely, Stanley?” she whispered.
“I suppose so,” he said with his hands awkwardly in his pockets. “If you go in for all this sort of thing,” he added miserably. He looked moodily around the room and knew he could never compete with this. No wonder she had chosen the inspector, when he had all of this to give her. Obviously Howard must have told her early on; why else would she have become so attracted to him so quickly? It was a cruel blow, seeing Henrietta in this new light. He had thought she was good—pure of heart and all that—but he saw now that she had succumbed to temptation after all. Temptation of an easy life. Why else would she want this crotchety old man? He was clearly a snob; anyone could see that. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with real attraction, he had reasoned a hundred times before. In truth he had pondered this many times late into the night and could only come up with pity on Henrietta’s part. She must have pitied the inspector, he had concluded, an old war vet. But now! Now he saw it for what it really was. Now it was all becoming clear. She had been lured by the money, not pity! The inspector went down a notch in his opinion as well. Flashing his millions at a young girl. Playing with her the way he had at the Marlowe. It made him sick, it did. If it were up to him, he’d have nothing to do with either of them ever again, but here he was, linked to them through Elsie—his tried-and-true Elsie.
Anyone could see the advantage of choosing Elsie over Henrietta! Now this was the girl for him, he repeatedly convinced himself. He had discussed it long and hard with his parents, particularly his mother, and they had all agreed together that marrying Elsie would be the all ’round right thing to do. His father had delicately asked if he really loved her, saying that he didn’t like to ask, of course, but, not being able to rightly determine the answer from his own inferior, to be sure, observations, he felt it necessary to ask out loud, to which Stan had become quite incensed, saying that of course he loved Elsie—what a silly question! All that remained was
time, he had said, time for him to save up enough for a modest ring. He took Elsie’s hand now in a fit of feeling, Elsie turning and smiling at him and returning his gesture with a gentle squeeze of her own.
Where was Henrietta, blast it? He looked around for Eugene and saw that he had already drifted toward a passing servant who was balancing what looked like a very heavy tray of champagne. He watched as Eugene slyly took a glass.
“I say! Hello!” came an English voice beside them, and an older, stout man, an elegant woman on his arm, appeared as if out of nowhere. “I’m Alcott Howard,” he said pleasantly enough, holding out his hand to them. “Terribly sorry to have not greeted you at the door. Been a bit tied up in the other corner, one might say.”
“Stanley Dubowski,” Stanley said, firmly grasping his hand.
“And this is my wife, Antonia,” Mr. Howard said, gesturing toward the rather stern-looking woman at his side. Mrs. Howard’s face held a decidedly false smile, as if it had been painted on, and she limply held out her hand to them.
“You must be Henrietta’s sister. Elsie, isn’t it?” Mrs. Howard asked with exaggerated politeness, all the while looking her up and down, appalled at what she was wearing. Hadn’t Henrietta counseled her? Her attire was more appropriate to a walk on a moor, had there been one nearby, or perhaps the inspection of a school if one were some sort of officiating body employed to do so. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. Her escort—Stanley, was it?—was just as unsuitably dressed. She had specifically told Henrietta that it was white tie! And here he was in a serge suit! Her eyes darted beyond the pair of them conversing clumsily now with Alcott to what must be the brother, a drink already in his hand, of course, and having the bad manners to openly gape at his surroundings, one of his hands in his trouser pockets! Antonia silently despaired.