by Michelle Cox
She put her hand up to her forehead to steady herself and took a deep breath. She had promised Alcott earlier in her bedroom that she would do her utmost to ensure that Henrietta and her family felt welcome.
“None of your shenanigans, Antonia,” Alcott had said with an unmistakable suggestion of firmness.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Antonia had replied glibly, pulling on her long gloves.
“Yes, you very well do,” Alcott said. “This wedding has to come off. This is our last chance; I feel it. It’s too late to debate the girl’s qualifications. Clive’s made up his mind, and that’s that. Don’t cross him, Antonia,” he said warningly. “He’s on the edge. At least she’s an Exley; that should count for something,” he hissed. “Be happy with that. If you won’t swallow your silly pride for one night for the sake of your son, then at least do it for Highbury,” he had said in a bitter tone and walked out, leaving her to finish dressing alone.
“Are you feeling quite well, my dear?” Alcott was asking now, looking at Mrs. Howard pointedly. “It’s all the excitement, you see,” he said pleasantly to the two still standing in front of him.
“Yes, of course, darling,” Antonia drawled, shooting him a dagger.
“I was just saying, my dear, that Clive and Henrietta should be making their entrance any moment. Miss Von Harmon, here, is naturally most anxious to see her sister.”
“Yes, I quite agree. No doubt they’ll be along in a moment,” she said, managing a smile. “It’s too bad your mother couldn’t make it,” she continued sweetly. “We were so hoping we could meet her. She’s ill, Henrietta tells us.”
“Yes, she . . . she is,” Elsie said shyly, shifting her weight and managing to make eye contact with Mrs. Howard for a few seconds before looking away again.
“Well, next time perhaps. Excuse me, won’t you? I had better go and find out what’s become of our errant guests of honor. I’ll leave you in Alcott’s capable hands,” she said with barely a smile and made her way out to where the faithful Billings stood at attention.
Expertly predicting her intention, the old servant stepped forward slightly and said inconspicuously, “They’re just on their way, Madam,” inclining his head slightly toward the back hallway, where she could see them now walking together, holding hands and smiling at each other. It was obvious that Clive was besotted with the girl, and a small part of Antonia was, in truth, glad for him. She knew she had her work cut out for her, however, if she was going to pull this thing off in the eyes of society. At least she had a willing pupil in Henrietta, she would give her that. She observed her now with great approval. The Edward Molyneux gown of deep green velvet with a bias cut that they had chosen for tonight’s gala was simply stunning. She had had it shipped from Paris, and Henrietta’s hair was beautifully swept up in a fine mesh of pearls holding it delicately in place. At her neck were the family pearls, given to her just this morning by Clive, as his gift to her to officially mark their engagement. And on her finger, of course, sat the family ring, the emeralds catching the color of the dress perfectly. She had to admit, especially after the rather jarring meeting of her sister just now, that Henrietta was indeed coming along nicely. Henrietta had learned much already in her short time with them thus far, and there was much promise. She shuddered to think what she would have done if Clive had stupidly chosen someone like the sister instead. Yes, thought Antonia, there was hope.
“Ah, Mother,” said Clive with a smile as they approached. “You look lovely,” he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
“Thank you, darling, but not as nice as the two of you,” she said and genuinely meant it. Clive, with his wavy chestnut hair slicked back and his tails and white tie, looked positively dashing. He had considered wearing his dress uniform, but Antonia had advised him not to, and in the end he had decided against it, hoping to leave that chapter behind. It was 1935, after all. The war had been over for nearly seventeen years.
“You look absolutely divine, Henrietta,” Antonia said, patting her hand.
“Thank you, Mrs. Howard, for everything.”
“Antonia. Please,” she said with a smile and kissed her on the cheek. “Come along now. You are both very late; if you delay any longer, I’ll positively have to scold you.” With that, she gave a nod to Billings and then slipped inside the ballroom.
“Ready?” Clive whispered to Henrietta now. “Remember, the Burgess Club was for us. This is for them,” he said, almost grimly, his eyebrow arched and his face set as if he were going into battle.
Henrietta nodded and couldn’t help feel butterflies as she heard Billings’s voice boom out, “Miss Henrietta Von Harmon and Mr. Clive Howard!”
Henrietta gripped Clive’s arm tightly as they entered the room to a hushed buzz of excitement that then spontaneously erupted into applause. Henrietta could not help smiling, despite her nervousness. She steadied herself, trying to remember that this was just another role to play, like the Dutch girl so long ago at the World’s Fair or the burlesque usherette at the Marlowe. Those were supporting roles, though, she realized, and this was finally the lead, the part she had been waiting for; only it wasn’t a part in some fantastical production, she thought apprehensively, it was real.
Forcing herself to keep her head up, Henrietta gazed around the room without really being able to see anyone in particular. It was overwhelming, but she was determined to hold up under the spotlight. Through the noise that was roaring in her head, she vaguely heard Mr. Howard speaking now.
“Ladies and gentleman!” he said loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, the crowd slowly quieting now. “A toast!” he said, and a hush fell over the room. “To my son, Clive Howard, and his beautiful fiancée, Miss Henrietta Von Harmon. May you have many happy years together!” he said with real feeling and held his glass up to them. He took a drink, then, and the crowd followed suit, shouting out, “Here, here!” and, “Cheers!”
Clive nodded his thanks to the crowd and then bent to kiss Henrietta softly on the cheek, causing the crowd to politely clap again.
“And now!” Mr. Howard boomed out, “Please enjoy yourselves!” The small ensemble began playing then, and the general buzz returned to the room as people drifted back into the groups they had formed previously, Henrietta exhaling a deep breath of relief.
“Thank you, Father,” Clive said, approaching the Howards now, Henrietta on his arm, “very much. It means more to me than you know.” Clive reached out and shook his father’s hand then, as Elsie made her way over to them as well, Stan trailing along behind.
Upon catching sight of Elsie, Henrietta breathed another sigh of relief and hurried forward to embrace her. “Oh, Hen! I mean . . . Henrietta,” Elsie was saying now, “You look beautiful! You really do!” she said, enraptured. “Too bad Ma couldn’t see you!”
Henrietta winced at Elsie’s use of the word “Ma,” having been instructed that “mother” or “M’ma” was a more gentile form of address, but she hid any embarrassment from her face and forced herself not to check anyone’s reaction, instead keeping her eyes on Elsie’s.
“Thank you, Elsie,” Henrietta said simply, giving her sister another hug. “You do, too.” She felt a sadness, then, that Ma really hadn’t come after all. In her heart of hearts, she supposed that she had perhaps hoped that maybe . . .
“Oh!” Elsie said, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thank you,” she said bashfully and looked over at Stan, who, drink in hand, was peering at Henrietta over the rim of it.
“Hello, Stan,” Henrietta said coyly. “I’m glad you found it all right.”
“Yeah, I found it all right. Long jaunt up here. Nice place you got here, though, I’ll give you that,” he said, turning to shake Clive’s hand. “Must cost you an awful lot to heat it.”
“Yes, it does, rather,” Clive said congenially, though Henrietta could tell he was trying hard to hold back a smile.
“Where’s Eugene?” Henrietta asked. “And Mr. and Mrs. Hennessey?” she said, looking distrac
tedly out over the crowd.
Stan shrugged. “Eugene’s here somewhere,” he said, looking around absently. “But I haven’t seen Mr. and Mrs. Hennessey yet.”
“They should be here any time now,” Elsie put in. “They said they were leaving the same time as us. Oh, Hen! It’s all so gorgeous! Why didn’t you tell us how beautiful it all is?” she said, continuing her raptures.
She was interrupted, though, by Mrs. Howard, who came up behind Clive and Henrietta now and laid a hand on each of their arms. “Might I steal these two for just a moment?” she asked sweetly. “There are a few people Henrietta should meet.”
“Oh, gosh! Of course!” said Elsie. “No, we musn’t take up your time!” she said quickly, giving Henrietta a smile. “I’ll find you later. I’ll keep an eye out for the Hennesseys!”
“Thanks, Elsie,” Henrietta said, as Mrs. Howard led her and Clive to a little group standing closer to where the musicians were playing. Instinctively Henrietta knew this must be the Exleys and took a deep breath, holding her head high and giving it a little toss.
Mrs. Howard was positively brimming with delight now as she put her hand on Henrietta’s bare back and gestured toward the man and woman standing in front of them. “Henrietta Von Harmon,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. John Exley, your aunt and uncle and our very dear friends. John and Agatha Exley, Henrietta Von Harmon, Martha’s daughter.”
“Oh, my dear!” Mr. Exley said, taking her hand formally, but then leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek, Mrs. Exley joyfully joining in on the other side as well. “We had no idea! None whatsoever that Martha even had a child! We’d lost all contact with her! Oh, you must believe us. It wasn’t until just a few days ago that we discovered who Clive’s intended really was. It’s all been hush-hush, you know! Still, old boy,” John Exley said to Mr. Howard, who was standing near Clive, “you might have let on before this. We’ve been driven mad with curiosity!”
“I wanted it to be a complete surprise,” Antonia said with a cool smile, “but Alcott convinced me it would be too much, too cruel to find out just tonight. This way you had at least a few days to get over the shock of it.” She let out a false little laugh.
“The shock!” said John, laughingly. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. We . . . we thought Martha dead, really, or gone to live in California or some such place,” he said quietly now, causing a somber tone to creep in over the jovial, happy conversation. “Father told us . . . well, never mind. It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Well, I’m very glad to meet you,” Henrietta said, happily, trying her best to encourage the pleasant tone they had begun with. “I had no idea Mother had family nearby. She never spoke of it. Still,” she said cheerfully, “better late than never, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, I quite agree,” Clive said, chiming in.
“Isn’t it strange, but for the off chance of meeting Clive, none of us would ever have known of the other’s existence? It’s quite a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Henrietta offered.
“Indeed, yes!” Mr. Exley said, recovering. “What a happy occasion all round. Well done, Clive! I must say, your future bride is quite beautiful, despite the family connection,” he laughed, giving Henrietta a playful wink.
“Thank you, sir,” Clive said, smiling proudly.
“I understand Martha isn’t here?” Mr. Exley said, looking out reactively over the crowd. “I was sorely disappointed to find she was too ill to attend.”
“Nothing serious, is it, dear?” Mrs. Exley put in.
“No, it’s . . . it’s more of a nervous condition, really,” Henrietta said hesitantly.
“Ah! I see. Martha always was very sensitive,” John Exley said, almost to himself. “Still, there’s time, I daresay. Perhaps we could come to her at some point?”
Henrietta felt a sense of panic at this suggestion, but she forced herself to not reveal it. “Yes, perhaps,” she smiled politely, “when she’s quite recovered.”
“But of course, of course,” he said reassuringly.
“Perhaps you’d like to meet my brother and sister, though?” Henrietta offered. “They’re here tonight.”
“We’d be delighted, my dear. How many of you are there, did Alcott say? Eight? By Jove! Who would have thought it of Martha!”
“Yes, there are eight. Two others died of the flu, though, when they were quite little.”
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Exley put in. “Ten births!”
“And you’re the oldest; is that correct?” asked Mr. Exley.
“Yes, that’s right.”
A servant came through with a tray of champagne, then, and as Henrietta gratefully reached for a glass to calm her nerves, she was surprised to see that it was Jack! He had the insufferable effrontery to wink at her, but she looked away. Clive, however, she was almost certain, had caught it.
“And how old is the youngest?” Mrs. Exley was asking.
“Just turned five. There’s two of them; they’re twins.” This conversation regarding her parents’ proliferative history was becoming embarrassing to Henrietta, but she didn’t know how to shift it.
“Good heavens! Wait until Father hears this,” Mr. Exley said, musingly.
Henrietta saw her chance. “Your father? That would be my grandfather?” she asked, her face lighting up in a smile. “I never knew any of my grandparents. We grew up quite alone, as you can imagine. Is he here?” she asked, looking at Mrs. Howard now.
Before Antonia could say anything, Mr. Exley answered for her. “Yes, he’s over there at that first table. He’s suffering from gout and walks with a cane at the moment, or I daresay he would have been over here already. In fact, I’m sure he’s quite cross that we haven’t presented you as yet. Come. Shall we? And then we’ll go and meet . . .”
“Henrietta?” said Elsie, very timidly, from behind Henrietta. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but the—”
“Martha?” said Mr. Exley, who had suddenly gone very visibly pale and was staring at Elsie. “Forgive me,” he said then, quickly. “You’re obviously not Martha,” he added with a flustered chuckle. “You must be Henrietta’s sister, isn’t that right?”
Elsie nodded and looked to Henrietta for guidance.
“This is my sister, Elsie,” Henrietta said formally to Mr. and Mrs. Exley. “These are our aunt and uncle, Elsie. Mother’s brother and his wife.” Henrietta had instructed Elsie beforehand that they would be here, but her awkwardness was nonetheless obvious.
“Pleased to meet you,” Elsie finally said shyly.
“Forgive my outburst, my dear, but you look exactly like Martha,” Mr. Exley exclaimed. “Extraordinary!”
Elsie blushed and managed to stammer out, “Thank you.” Henrietta rescued her by gesturing toward Eugene, whom she had noticed had shuffled up as well. “And this is Eugene, my brother. Eugene, Mr. and Mrs. Exley, your aunt and uncle.”
Eugene shook their hands but didn’t smile. “Ma’s never spoke about you.”
“Quite understandable, really,” Mr. Exley said, feigning a smile and clearing his throat.
“I daresay, John, if you’re not going to have the decency to bring the girl to me,” came a gravelly voice behind the Exleys, “I have no choice but to come to you.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Mr. Exley said, making room between himself and his wife for the older gentleman to come through. “We were just coming. Allow me to present your granddaughter, Henrietta Von Harmon. Henrietta, your grandfather, Mr. Oldrich Exley.”
Everyone seemed to hold their breath as Mr. Exley, Sr., looked keenly at Henrietta. He was slightly stooped, but he still commanded a presence, despite his snow-white hair and narrow pointed beard and the horn-rimmed glasses he wore at the end of his nose. He peered at her now, and Henrietta bravely held his gaze, though she couldn’t read what was in his eyes. He seemed neither judgmental nor overly kind, either. “You have a look of your father to you,” is all he said. “Still, that isn’t your fault, is it, my dear?�
� he grunted with a poor excuse for a smile as he took her hand and kissed it. “I’m very glad to meet you after all these years. It’s been far too many.”
Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief as he released her hand then and turned to Elsie and Eugene.
“And these are my other two grandchildren, are they?” Mr. Exley, Sr., asked, peering at them closely. “Now these two have a look of Martha to them. Same dark hair, same eyes.”
Elsie gave a little curtsey, causing Henrietta to squirm internally. Only maids curtsied! “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Elsie said deferentially. “It’s lovely to have a grandfather, isn’t it, Hen? I mean, Henrietta . . .” she added quickly.
“This is Elsie,” Henrietta said, forcing her voice to be calm and sure, “and this is my brother, Eugene.” Eugene shook his hand weakly and met his eye for only a moment, Mr. Exley, Sr., studying him intently.
“And there are five more of them at home, Father! Can you believe Martha’s been living in the city all these years and had such a pack of children? I wouldn’t have thought it, would you?” John said, clearly attempting to propel the conversation smoothly forward.
“No, I would not have,” the older man said seriously. “But then, Martha was always one for secrets and surprises. However, the fact that she has chosen not to attend tonight is certainly not one,” he sniffed.
“Well, I’m delighted,” said John Exley. “My brothers will be, too. Martha was our baby sister, you see. I’ll write to them directly upon returning home tonight. We have so much catching up to do, perhaps we—”
He was interrupted, then, by Mrs. Howard, having just herself been approached by the silent Billings, who had whispered something in a low tone to her.
“Clive, darling,” she said, after dismissing Billings with a nod. “It seems the musicians have been asked to play something more suitable for dancing, but that can’t be done until the floor is opened by the two of you. I’m sorry to take you away from this irresistible reunion, but would you be so kind as to oblige?”
“But of course, Mother,” Clive said with uncharacteristic alacrity. He looked at Henrietta, then, and held out his arm to her. “Shall we?” Gratefully, she took it. “You’ll excuse us,” he said, bowing to the assembled Exleys.