A Ring of Truth

by Michelle Cox

  “Of course,” said John Exley. Mr. Exley, Sr., merely nodded, his eyes following them all the while.

  Once on the dance floor in Clive’s sturdy arms, Henrietta felt a sense of relief, though she knew all eyes were on them.

  “You’re doing beautifully, my darling,” Clive said, smiling down at her. “If I weren’t already so in love with you, I’d be smitten all over again.”

  She was about to offer an apology for her family, but she bit it back, remembering her resolve. “I should hope so,” she teased instead, “or I might have had to approach you myself.” She smiled suggestively.

  “Brazen!” Clive grinned, his eyebrow arched. “You’re not as experienced as you let on, though, you know, Miss Von Harmon. Your secret’s out.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, smiling so that her dimples showed. “I need a teacher, however. So far, you’re doing admirably, but there are one or two things I may be in need of extra help with,” she added with a coy smile.

  Clive looked away and held her tighter, a smile of happiness creeping across his face.

  “Now that’s what I call a happy couple,” said Mr. Hennessey to his wife as they stood off to the side amongst the crowd, watching Clive and Henrietta on the dance floor.

  “You’re quite right, William,” said Mrs. Hennessey. “She’s like a Cinderella at the ball out there. And to think how she showed up at our doorstep all those years ago; a little waif was what she was back then. Good Lord, all skin and bones, the poor thing! Now look at her!” Mrs. Hennessey said proudly.

  “Well, I’m happy for her,” Mr. Hennessey said. “Been through a lot has that one,” he said, nodding his head approvingly, still staring at Henrietta. “Made something of herself, she has. Can’t believe she asked us to come to something like this, though,” he said, looking up at the vaulted ceiling and back down again. “Wonder how much all this costs.” He clutched the bottle in his hands and looked over at his wife now, who stood contentedly eating the rather large collection of hors d’oeuvres she had managed to amass from the veritable army of passing footmen. In fact, her tiny china plate was positively mounded high.

  Alice Hennessey was as rounded as Mr. Hennessey, though a bit shorter, which made them look remarkably similar, like two wooden bowling pins in a child’s game. She was in every way a partner in Poor Pete’s, their corner tavern in the city, and, admittedly, she had not been happy when William had succumbed to pity that day and given Henrietta a job scrubbing floors. They had had little enough money as it was without him hiring an employee, but she had come to see the wisdom of his decision down the line, as Henrietta’s charm and beauty began to bring in more customers and as she herself had grown to love Henrietta just as much as William seemed to. Often, over the years, when she carried William’s dinner, wrapped in a dishtowel, down the back steps to him from their apartment over the bar, she would contrive to bring extras for Henrietta, whom she could see was probably not getting enough back at home.

  Mr. Hennessey had three children by his first wife, who had died when the children were still very little. He had married Alice not long after, but, despite their young ages, the children had never really warmed to her. Their daughter (Mrs. Hennessey called them her children as well from the very first moment of her union with Mr. Hennessey as a kindness not only to him, but to them, though none of the said children had ever seemed remotely grateful for this endearment), Winifred, lived out in New Jersey now with her husband, Roger, and worked as a school teacher. The Hennesseys jointly wrote letters back and forth to her, of course, but Winifred rarely had much of interest to share in her dutiful missives back to them. Mrs. Hennessey had often thought they might someday be filled with the antics of her classroom or the goings-on of the school itself, but alas, that was not to be, as Winifred never veered from relating the briefest of facts, the dry routine of her and Roger’s life never seeming to alter from one week to another. Though they had been married these fifteen years, Winifred and Roger had not yet been blessed with any children of their own, though Mrs. Hennessey still lived in hope, never understanding why William said that perhaps it was a blessing given Winifred’s rather rigid demeanor. Nonsense, Alice would say in response, all she needs is a couple of babies to soften her up! As it was, the blessing of a child not being something in the Hennesseys’ power to give, they instead contented themselves with waiting patiently for Winifred’s letters to come each month and learned to be happy with them, sparse though they were, as, they supposed, it was better than nothing.

  Their son, Tommy, the youngest, was likewise a bit estranged from them. He had left long ago after a couple of scrapes with the law and after Mr. Hennessey had likewise sadly found a large amount of cash missing from the old black cash register on the bar of Poor Pete’s. The last they had heard he was in New Mexico or Arizona, or someplace like that, though they had not received a letter in a long time, which Mrs. Hennessey knew was very heartbreaking for her William. Indeed, Mr. Hennessey had been heard on more than one occasion to say that Tommy had always had a chip on his shoulder, and that nothing anyone did could ever seem to knock it off for him, poor lad.

  And then there was Billy, the oldest and their favorite, though neither of them had ever dared to say that out loud. He had been killed in the war, and that had been the end of it, the end of him, and the end of anything that had ever resembled what might be called mirth in the Hennessey household ever again, really. As if by some unspoken agreement, the Hennesseys rarely spoke of him, except on the anniversary of his death, when they would take out the photograph of him in uniform, the medal that had been sent to them, and the letter telling them that he was no more and that he had died bravely.

  So it was that when Henrietta had come along, she had naturally become more or less like a daughter to them in more ways than one. At first Mr. Hennessey had taken her on out of guilt that he had let Les Von Harmon nearly drink himself into a state of delirium before he had stumbled out and killed himself. Guilt had haunted him for months after that until Alice had finally brought him round to his senses, telling him that if it hadn’t been at Poor Pete’s it would have been somewhere else. Les was bound to do it, she said, after it had come out that he had been so terribly in debt, and it wasn’t their responsibility what happened when their customers left the premises. Anyway, she had shrugged, at least his last hours were spent happy with a bottle of rum.

  But Les hadn’t looked happy to him, William knew. His eyes had looked haunted and pained. He could still see them sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep, those eyes, watching him. Watching him when his oldest daughter, Henrietta, had shown up at Poor Pete’s, begging for a job. How could he refuse her, especially, he realized immediately upon seeing her, as she was so obviously going to need someone to watch over her? She had been gorgeous even then, and unexplainably, he had felt an almost-immediate desire to protect her, a thing of beauty that one only witnessed perhaps once in a lifetime. While she worked for him, he was able to keep his eye on her, and he eventually made her a 26 girl, hoping that if she made more money she would stay longer. Once or twice a month, he would even resort to stacking her tips despite the watchful eyes of Mrs. Hennessey, though he couldn’t afford to do this every time, as profits were pretty slim as it was. The Depression had been hard on them so far, though money, he knew, could always be found in people’s pockets for vice.

  When Henrietta had announced out of nowhere that she was leaving to become a taxi dancer, he had fretted with worry, but, as Alice had so wisely pointed out, they couldn’t keep her forever. He had young Dubowski report in sometimes on how she was doing, as he knew he followed her regularly and carried a torch for her, even now, he surmised, as he looked across the room where Stan stood stiffly next to Elsie, though his eyes, Mr. Hennessey saw, never left Henrietta.

  He had spotted Stan and Elsie standing in the corner right after they had themselves arrived, and they had come hurrying over to greet them, eager to exchange comments of shock and surprise at everyt
hing they saw around them. At last he and Alice would have something substantial to write to Winifred this week.

  Elsie had just a few moments ago gone to get Henrietta, but she hadn’t returned with her. Instead, next thing he knew, Mr. Hennessey saw Clive and Henrietta out on the dance floor. Well, he could wait. He enjoyed just watching her shine. He had always known Dubowski wasn’t for her; she needed someone better. Not that young Stan wasn’t a first-rate sort of chap, the kind of kid one wouldn’t mind having for a son, but Henrietta deserved someone truly special, he thought, as he looked again at Clive. Howard seemed a decent sort, had looked him in the eye and shook his hand manfully. He had to admit that he had been touched beyond words that he had come to ask him—him!—for Henrietta’s hand. It had meant a lot to him, and he felt this Clive was perhaps someone worthy of his Henrietta. He looked around again at the opulence he saw everywhere and mused that if anyone could pull this off, it would be Henrietta. Yes, she belonged somewhere like this, and he felt somewhere in back of him that Les’s watching eyes would approve as well.

  “Mr. Hennessey!” Henrietta cried as she came toward them, the dance having ended and other couples taking to the floor now as another song started up. Henrietta’s eyes positively glowed, and Mr. Hennessey thought she had never looked more beautiful, more radiant. She hugged him tightly and then, releasing him, held her arms out to Alice, who quickly licked her fingers before embracing her as well, carefully holding onto her plate with one hand as she did so.

  “Thank you for coming! I know it was a long journey for you!” Henrietta said, genuinely happy to see them.

  “Here you are,” Mr. Hennessey said, handing Clive the bottle he had been fretfully gripping since he had arrived. “Little engagement gift for you.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hennessey!” Henrietta exclaimed, recognizing it as one of the dusty bottles of scotch that always lay tucked away on the top shelf of the bar, unused. “That’s one of your good ones!”

  “Laphroaig 1890,” said Clive, examining it with a low whistle. “Where’d you come across this?” he asked, impressed.

  “Billy sent it back when he was over there. Before . . .” He broke off, then.

  “Billy was their son who was killed in the war,” Henrietta explained gently.

  “I didn’t realize. I’m very sorry,” Clive said genuinely. “What regiment, if I might ask?”

  “18th Infantry.”

  “Brave they were. I was in the Second Calvary.”

  “You were? I didn’t know that . . .”

  “I’ve got the bum shoulder to prove it,” Clive said, smiling as he tapped his shoulder. If it were possible for Mr. Hennessey to approve of him any more, it had just occurred.

  “Thank you,” said Clive, nodding to both of them. “We’ll save this for a very special occasion, indeed.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Mr. Hennessey said, beaming proudly, glad that his gift had been so favorably received and appreciated.

  “You’ll make the most beautiful bride!” Mrs. Hennessey exclaimed, leaning excitedly toward Henrietta. “I can’t wait to see your dress!”

  “Alice!” Mr. Hennessey exclaimed, a look of shock on his face. “We haven’t been invited!”

  “Well, of course we’re going to be invited, good Lord!” Mrs. Hennessey said, finishing off a tiny meatball, the last morsel on her now-empty china plate. “The poor thing’s invited us to this,” she said to him as if Clive and Henrietta weren’t standing right in front of them. “It follows, then, that we would be invited to the wedding; isn’t that right, Henrietta?” she asked plainly, turning to her now.

  Henrietta smiled at her and nodded. “Of course you’re to be invited. In fact,” she said more seriously, looking directly at Mr. Hennessey, “there’s something I was hoping to ask you.” She looked up at Clive for assurance, and he gave a slight nod of encouragement. “Mr. Hennessey, I . . . I was hoping you might give me away. At the wedding, I mean. Would you . . . would you consider it, walking me down the aisle, that is?”

  Mr. Hennessey’s previously jovial face transfigured then as his brows furrowed and he swallowed hard. “You’re sure?” is all he managed to say, looking at Clive.

  “Of course I’m sure,” she said, slightly puzzled. “If you wouldn’t mind. If you do . . .” she went on quickly, “Eugene will do it, I just thought . . .”

  “No!” he interrupted sharply. “I’d . . . I’d be honored to,” he said, forcing a smile and grasping her hand tightly. “Honored, girl,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he muttered rather abruptly and jostled past them, laboriously weaving his way through the crowd.

  “Ahh, the poor thing,” said Mrs. Hennessey. “Overcome he is, is all. Just give him a minute,” she said with a quick smile and a little wink. “Pleased as punch, he is,” she said and hurried after him.

  “Do you think I’ve upset him?” Henrietta said to Clive as she watched the Hennesseys leave the room.

  “Yes, but in a good way,” he said, reaching for her hand and holding it.

  They were not to be left alone, however, as Henrietta became aware of a very chic, elegant woman now approaching them. She had been standing nearby with a rather dapper young man, who released her now and stood watching her in a disgruntled sort of way as she made her way over to them.

  “Oh, God,” she heard Clive groan and felt him brace himself. The woman, while not exactly beautiful, was attractive in her own way, her face being a bit too long and thin, which gave her the odd resemblance to a young horse. Even her eyes were big and brown, her lashes thick with mascara, and she wore bright pink lipstick on her full lips, which, Henrietta observed, were always held slightly open in a decidedly provocative manner. Her gown was exquisite, a salmon silk with a black net overlay that must surely have come from Paris or London, Henrietta guessed. She was utterly elegant and oozed sophisticated confidence.

  “Are you not going to introduce me to my rival, you naughty boy?” she drawled at Clive.

  Clive took a deep breath. “Miss Sophia Lewis, allow me to present my fiancée, Miss Henrietta Von Harmon,” he said, inclining his head toward Henrietta. “Miss Von Harmon, Miss Lewis. Miss Lewis is an old friend,” he said obligingly.

  “Is that what you call it these days?” she laughed. “Well, call it what you must. I’m an old flame,” she said confidentially to Henrietta. “You must ask him sometime. If he’ll tell you, that is. He can be rather fierce at times, but I expect you know that by now.”

  Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say, or to think, for that matter. So this was the infamous Sophia she had heard about. “Yes, I’ll do that,” Henrietta tried to say confidently.

  “I can see that I’ve upset you,” she laughed. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m not a threat, not a serious one anyway. He tossed me over long ago. Not his type, I can see that now. You like them pretty young,” she said, fingering Clive’s lapel for a moment before letting it go.

  “Not to offend, Sophia, but why exactly are you here? I suspect my mother somehow,” he said, looking out over the crowd as if to locate her.

  “Did you forget I am a friend of Julia’s? I’m here at her invitation, actually.”

  “Of course,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Anyway, you needn’t worry. I’m here with the dashing Lloyd Everton, and I’m quite taken with him,” she drawled, batting her lashes at Clive.

  “Yes, I can tell,” he said, sarcastically, looking over at Everton, who was meanwhile feigning indifference.

  “Do me a favor, though, would you, Clive? Dance with me. One last time. You don’t mind, do you, darling?” she asked Henrietta. “You don’t look the jealous type. Why should you be? After all, you managed to snag him.”

  “I think you’re intoxicated, Sophia.”

  “I’m sure I am! That’s the whole idea, is it not? Please, Clive!” she said with a pouty whine.

  “Absolutely not,” Clive began, but Henrietta interjected.

  “Go, Clive.
Honestly. There’s no harm in it, and, anyway, I’ll powder my nose.”

  Clive looked at her with quiet pause, questioning. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Go on. I trust you . . . remember?” she whispered.

  “Oh, very well,” he sighed, as he gave her a grateful smile and gently rubbed her finger with his thumb before releasing her hand. Stiffly, then, he held his arm out to Sophia to escort her to the dance floor.

  For the first time that night, Henrietta found herself momentarily alone, and she looked over the crowd for any sign of Elsie or Stan, or Eugene, for that matter. She glanced over to where she had left them with the Exleys, but they had all since scattered. She spotted Mrs. Howard watching Clive and Sophia on the dance floor with what looked like delight on her face, seeming to confirm that Sophia had indeed been Antonia’s first choice for Catherine’s replacement. She would have to be careful there, she noted.

  She continued looking out over the crowd until she saw Mr. Howard now, talking with none other than the Hennesseys. They seemed fully engaged in a conversation, and Henrietta wondered what they would possibly have in common enough to discuss so enthusiastically. She was about to go rescue one or both of the parties when she suddenly caught a glimpse of Elsie—on the dance floor, no less—with a young officer! She surveyed the room again for any sign of Stan, but he was nowhere to be seen. Moreover, when she looked at Elsie again, she seemed to be positively beaming, causing Henrietta to sigh. Elsie was ever too obvious. She was about to move closer when she heard a low voice near her ear say, “I’ve finally got you,” startling her and causing her to turn and look. It was Jack.

  She exhaled loudly, “Jack! You startled me!”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.” He shifted the empty tray he was carrying. “I’ve been waitin’ for you to come round to the stables, or at least the kitchen,” he said a bit too irritably for her liking. “I found out some interesting things about Helen’s ring . . . I thought you wanted to know . . .”