by Michelle Cox
Henrietta looked around covertly, hoping no one was noticing her talking now to Jack. She tried to keep her shoulders in line with his so that they remained side by side, making it not so conspicuous that they were indeed having a conversation.
“I do, honestly, Jack, but not now!” she tried to say out of the corner of her mouth.
“When then? You’re never around like you used to be. I can’t just come up to the house, you know.”
“Jack, listen, I . . . I can’t do that sort of thing anymore. I promised Clive . . .”
“That what? That you can’t talk to whoever you want to? That you’d be his obedient dog and only come when he calls you? Is that it?”
“Jack!” she said, venturing to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I . . . I didn’t mean it . . . just that . . . I thought we were friends.”
Henrietta sighed. “I like you, Jack, but I . . . I can’t be friends with the servants anymore. Not like that.”
“They don’t own you, you know,” he said bitterly.
“Yes, I know that,” she said, exasperated, though she was rather taken aback by his increasingly angry tone, one which, before tonight, she had never heard from him before. “It’s my choice,” she said after a pause.
“I see. Well, I’ll be off, then,” he said, obviously upset.
“Jack . . . don’t be like that.”
“I thought you cared about Helen is all,” he said with a shrug.
“I do! I was planning on slipping down to the kitchen to say hello to her, if I can ever get away. That or find Edna to give her a message from me.”
“Helen’s not down there.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that she’s not. The flu, same as James, is what I heard.”
“Oh, no!”
Henrietta internally scolded herself for not going down earlier to the cottage. Hadn’t she had a bad feeling? Silently she resolved that nothing would stop her from doing so tomorrow morning. “Is Edna around?” she asked, giving the room a searching perusal, but instead of locating Edna, her eyes caught Clive, laughing with Sophia as they talked with the Exleys. Just at that moment, he happened to look her way, and she saw his eyes flicker almost imperceptibly toward Jack then back to her. Sophia put her hand on his arm, then, and he was reluctantly brought back into their conversation. But he had seen, she knew, and she felt a small knot of tension in the pit of her stomach.
Beside her Jack gave a wry laugh. “Maids don’t serve above stairs; don’t you know that? They’re kept below; only men, footmen, that is, can serve in public.”
“Jack, please!”
Distraught, now, she was about to say something more when a tall woman in a pale blue dress appeared at her side, causing Jack to instantly stand at attention with his empty tray held dutifully in front of him. The woman eyed him carefully and did not seem fooled by his now-formal stance. “I’d like a sherry, please,” she said to him condescendingly. “Not too dry.”
“Very good, Madam,” Jack said deliberately and gave a slight bow before hurrying away.
“Watch that one,” said the woman, her eyes still following him before she turned her attention fully to Henrietta now. “He’s an insolent one. I’m a master at reading servants. I’m always right in that department, though no one usually listens to me.”
Henrietta wasn’t sure what to make of this strange woman. Though she had obviously never met her, she had a familiar look to her, her wavy chestnut hair done up in the latest fashion, her clear, honest hazel eyes. She briefly glanced over again to where Clive stood, but he still had his back to her.
“You must be Miss Von Harmon,” the woman said, holding out a gloved hand. “Since no one appears to be even remotely interested in the formalities, at least where I’m concerned, anyway—though, I will say, we are dreadfully late—allow me to introduce myself. I’m Julia Cunningham, Clive’s sister.”
“Oh!” Henrietta said, making the connection now about why she looked familiar. She did indeed look very much like Clive. “I’m so glad to meet you! But how . . . how did you know it was me?” Henrietta asked, curious.
Julia laughed. “Well, I could flatter you and say I recognized your great beauty, which Clive has repeatedly mentioned in his letters to me,” she said, her eyebrow uncannily arched just as Clive’s was wont to do. “But in truth,” she smiled, “it is the ring.”
Henrietta glanced down at the marvelous ring on her finger and smiled, holding it up a bit. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? I feel terribly afraid that I might lose it!”
“Nonsense!” said Julia. “Not with your lover constantly clasping your hand; that will surely keep it in place. However, Clive’s not the most affectionate man, is he? Not in public, anyway. Where is the ‘old boy’?” she said looking around. “Shouldn’t he be permanently at your side, showing you off to everyone?”
“He’s . . . he was dancing with Miss Lewis, I believe her name is, but I don’t see them now,” Henrietta said quietly, looking over to where they had been standing.
Julia laughed outright. “Oh, yes! I quite forgot. She begged me for an invitation, so I finally relented, knowing it was harmless, of course. You’ve nothing to fear there, my dear. It was very fleeting, if it was anything; more Mother’s scheme than anything else. Clive, I think, went along with it to appease her until he’d had enough. Oh, heavens, no!” she said, laughing again, Henrietta’s face still displaying a trace of apprehension. “Clive and I are very close, my dear. And I don’t think it’s a breach of confidence to tell you that he’s already written me too, too many letters in which you repeatedly and rather boringly—no offense meant, of course—make up the main theme, telling me over and over of his great love for you. It really becomes rather dull reading.” She paused here for a moment before continuing. “But I’ve not heard him this happy, this excited, in many long years,” she said with real sincerity now. “And I have to say, my dear, I love you unabashedly just for that. I hope you know how fragile is the heart you hold,” she said, looking into Henrietta’s face with great kindness. “Despite his rather gruff exterior, that is. But I expect you know that already, don’t you?”
Henrietta looked into Julia’s eyes and was again discomfited by how much it seemed like looking into Clive’s. “Yes, I . . . I think I do,” Henrietta answered quietly. “He’s quite different, you’re right, when we’re alone . . . not that we’re alone that often!” she added quickly with a blush.
“I can only imagine,” Julia said confidingly, her face breaking into a big smile again. She put her arm through Henrietta’s. “I like you!” she said, looking out over the crowd as she did so. “I want us to be the very best of friends; would you mind terribly?” She looked back at her now. “I suppose you have an awful lot of friends already. So do I, come to think of it. But I want you for my especial friend! Please say yes!”
She was so enthusiastic, so cheerfully encouraging, that Henrietta couldn’t help but smile and say that, yes, she would be her especial friend. In her heart, she was pleased, actually, because, besides Elsie, she hadn’t ever really had time for a real friend. There had been Polly, of course, and Lucy, but they were really just girls from work, not bosom friends. For the whole of the past week, she had tried to mentally prepare herself to simply “get through” tonight; she certainly hadn’t expected to come away with a new friend.
“So! How do you find us?” Julia asked, taking a sip of the sherry Jack had just delivered, deliberately not looking at Henrietta as he hurried away. “Not too ferocious, I hope? You musn’t mind Mother. She’ll come round. She always does, especially where Clive’s concerned. She’s a terrible snob, it’s true, but she actually does have a good heart, when she cares to reveal it, that is.”
Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say to that and noticed that Elsie was standing off to the side talking still to the young officer. Where was Stan? The one time she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. Any other time he was const
antly lurking about, one step behind her . . . And where were the Hennesseys? Perhaps they might rescue Elsie . . .
“And what do you make of the Exleys?” Julia said, looking over at them now. “You can’t imagine Mother’s shock at finding out you’re their best friends’ niece! It was sheer heaven to have heard her! She wasn’t sure what to do! And it’s not often Mother is confounded. Still, the Exleys are an okay lot, as families go, snobbish as well, sorry to say, but then again, they all are, really. You might have had a worse time of it, oddly, if your grandmother were still alive, but since she’s gone now, Mr. Exley might be more, shall we say, forgiving.”
“It’s my mother I’m worried about,” Henrietta ventured to say, deciding to try out her new confidant.
“Yes, I can see how it probably is. I’m guessing that’s why she’s not here, is that not right?”
“She simply can’t face them, I think,” Henrietta said apologetically. “Something like that, anyway.”
“Hmmm . . . Yes, it will take time, I should imagine. But it’s not impossible.” She smiled. “That must be your sister,” she said then, changing the subject and looking out toward Elsie, “in the brown suit.”
“Yes,” said Henrietta, clearly embarrassed. “I tried to get her to wear a gown, but she wouldn’t. She’s not used to this sort of thing, you see. Well, neither am I, really.” Henrietta smiled weakly.
“Oh, don’t worry! It gives the old biddies something to gossip about! And in the end, it doesn’t really matter; you still walk away with the prince, do you not?!”
Henrietta couldn’t help but laugh outright. She found Julia’s witty ridicule delightfully engaging and amusing, despite the fact that Julia herself obviously adhered to all of the societal conventions expected of her, as evidenced by her appearance, her bearing, and even her manner of speaking. It made it all the easier—if only for this evening, anyway—for Henrietta to endure it all, and she felt instantly endeared to Julia because of it.
“Who is it that Elsie’s talking with, do you know?” Henrietta asked.
“The young officer?” Julia asked, peering over at the two of them now, the young man bent very close to Elsie, engaged in what looked like an entertaining conversation. “That’s Lieutenant Harrison Barnes-Smith. He’s a neighbor, of sorts. His uncle—he’ll be around here somewhere . . .” she said absently, looking around and giving up after only a minute. “He was Clive’s commanding officer in the war. I don’t know why they were invited, really; I think Mother’s gotten a bit carried away,” she said, looking around the room again, assessing it more critically this time. “But no one ever listens to me.”
“Is he nice?”
“Who? Harrison? As far as I know. He’s very charming. Bit of a ladies’ man, I’ve heard. Should we be concerned?”
“Well, maybe. Elsie’s quite naive, actually, and she’s, well, she’s almost engaged to someone else. He’s here tonight, but he’s disappeared somewhere. It’s not like him, really. He’s usually annoyingly attentive.”
“Julia! Here you are!” said a thin, impeccably dressed man striding toward them. At first glance, he might be considered handsome, Henrietta decided, with his dark hair and blue eyes. But upon further inspection, she judged his eyes to be small and cruel, especially when he looked at Julia, and his small mouth formed a permanent sort of grimace beneath his thin mustache. Indeed, at this moment he seemed to be looking at Julia with a combination of irritation and something else, perhaps dislike? Surely not!
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, you know! Your mother is very irritated. It seems Clive’s betrothed has also disappeared; no surprise there. She’s probably . . .”
“Allow me to introduce Miss Henrietta Von Harmon,” Julia calmly interrupted him. Henrietta had not failed to perceive a shadow of something darker cross Julia’s face as he had approached. Julia gestured toward him now. “Miss Von Harmon, my husband, the honorable Randolph Cunningham,” she said acerbically, giving him a venomous look. The whole exchange was quite shocking to Henrietta, who found it hard to believe that someone as lovely and jolly as Julia would be married to someone who seemed so mean and despising and who didn’t seem to particularly like his wife all that much. She was at a loss for what to say.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Von Harmon,” Randolph said, bowing slightly toward her but without any real remorse in his tone. “I only meant to convey that your presence is very much required and dare I say, desired, this way,” he said, gesturing back toward where she had last seen Clive standing with Sophia.
“Thank you, Mr. Cunningham,” Henrietta said smoothly, allowing herself to be led along with Julia back to the little group of Howards and Exleys. Julia winked at her and smiled, but Henrietta thought it seemed disingenuous now and saw something else in her eyes, possibly fear. Henrietta was grateful to see Clive among the little group, Sophia nowhere in sight, and he made his way over to her and stood by her side, Julia simultaneously leaving her to greet and stiffly embrace her mother, but not before giving Clive’s arm a quick pat.
“You’ve met Julia, then?” Clive whispered to Henrietta, a look of anxious expectation crossing his face.
“Yes, she’s wonderful.”
“I knew you’d like her.”
“Randolph seems a bit . . . strict.”
“He’s an ass,” Clive said bitterly, glaring at him now. “An utter brute, and I hate him. He’s absolutely beastly to her.”
“But I don’t understand. She’s so lovely, so cheerful . . .”
“She tries to be, in her own way . . .” He broke off, however, as Henrietta noticed Antonia coming toward them now. Smoothly, Clive managed to turn his back to his mother and say in a low voice in Henrietta’s ear, “Come on, let’s dance. It’s our only chance to be alone.”
She smiled and took his hand as he led her to dance to George Gershwin’s “Someone to Watch Over Me.” To her surprise, they were joined on the dance floor eventually by none other than Elsie and Stan, who was doing his best to keep up. Elsie was smiling beside herself, while Stan’s brow was furrowed as he tried to concentrate on his steps. Henrietta bit her lip and looked away, turning her attention back to Clive.
“Did you enjoy your dance with Sophia?” she tried to ask in an innocent tone, looking up into his eyes to read them, but he skillfully kept them blank. “She’s very pretty,” she added teasingly.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said.
“I think she still likes you.”
“Probably.”
“Well!” she said, trying not to laugh.
“How was your conversation with Jack?” he asked, his eyebrow arched.
Henrietta blushed. She wanted to blurt out that the two incidents were not comparable by any means, but she refrained and played along instead. “Uneventful,” she said casually.
“I see. I might have to interrogate you later,” he said, teasing her now with a smile. “Police business, of course.”
“Would it be wrong for you to kiss me right now?”
“Very much so, I’m afraid. Later,” he whispered, and she gripped him tighter, a happiness filling her as he spun her around the floor, no more mention of either Jack or Sophia being made between them.
It was the only other dance they were allowed, as it turned out, the rest of the evening being spent making their way around the room, greeting the Howards’ guests and fabricating small talk. It was well past midnight when the last of the guests finally said goodnight. Julia, upon leaving, had first taken her hand and then embraced her tightly, promising that she would come round for a visit as soon as she could arrange it. The Hennesseys had also been very ebullient in their goodbyes, thanking the Howards profusely for their hospitality, Mr. Hennessey shaking Clive’s hand stiffly, and whispering to him to take care of his girl. The Exleys, too, seemed loath to depart from their long-lost relation and promised to entertain her and Clive, as well as all the Howards, very soon, to which Clive, of course, offered his thanks, Henrietta simply grate
ful that there was no other mention at present of them traveling into the city to see Ma.
At one point in the night, Henrietta had found herself momentarily alone with old Mr. Exley, during which time he had expressed a desire to talk with her at length and in private on some future date, if that were possible. There was much he would say, he said, about what had happened with her mother. Not all of it had been their fault, he wished her to know, but there would be time enough for that later, he had added in a low voice just as Mr. Howard had joined them then and the conversation had naturally fallen to other subjects.
Indeed, all of the goodbyes seemed to take even longer than the hellos, and by the time Henrietta wearily found herself outside her bedroom door, it was very late indeed, Eugene, Stan, and Elsie having already been accordingly shown to their rooms.
Clive had walked up the long staircase with her, his fingers entwined with hers as they went. Henrietta paused now outside her door to say goodnight to him, as was their routine whenever he was at Highbury. Tonight, however, looking up and down the hallway, he opened the door and led her in, saying in a deep, whispered voice that it was just for a moment, that he wished to hold her for a few blessed minutes in the quiet of her room and to talk, just for a little bit.
Clive was immensely proud of her, the more so because Julia had found a moment to whisper to him that she positively adored Henrietta and wholeheartedly gave her approval. It was the only person in this world whose opinion really mattered to him, except perhaps his father’s, and his heart was full to bursting.
He turned to her now and enveloped her in his arms, resting his cheek against her soft hair, and was sorely tempted to lay her down on the bed there and then, as the whole evening had had the feel of a wedding rather than a party, and it seemed unnatural to not proceed now to a deeper intimacy in a locked room together. He refrained, however, kissing her tenderly instead. When he felt her small hands reach under his suitcoat, touching his chest and then timidly wandering to his back, he thought he might go mad and pulled back with immense effort, breathing heavily, as he gripped her hands and removed them from around him.