A Lady in Disguise

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  Mrs. Grenshaw seemed to find nothing amiss, saying in the midst of an air, “Doesn’t she play charmingly! I remember how Emily used to love music and dancing. She was the most graceful creature, as I daresay you remember.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Thorpe said. He’d not gone to turn Nora’s pages as the girl played from memory. Rather, he’d taken an apple from a pyramid of fruit set out to slaughter any hunger pains that had survived the battery at dinner, and now sat near his grandmother, turning it over in his hands.

  Lady Genevieve said, running her needle in and out with increasing savagery, “We all know what Emily was....”

  Mr. Grenshaw said, “Yes, our Emily was a taking little thing. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Nora for the first time this year... er, that is, the first time in years. At first, I thought it was my own darling coming toward me.”

  The girl’s fingers never faltered on the keys.

  “Yes,” Thorpe answered. ‘They are much alike to look at.”

  “They sound alike too. She’s tired for all she had a rest, poor lass, and hardly spoke a word at supper,” Mrs. Grenshaw said, trotting out this excuse for the second time. “Usually her tongue runs like a fiddlestick. Sing along to that piece, Nora.”

  “No, don’t, Miss Ellis,” Thorpe said, just a shade too quickly. “You play so exquisitely I’d much rather just listen to that.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw shifted in her seat, after the silence had stretched for some time, uninterrupted by anything save Nora’s playing. She said, “I was ever so taken aback when I saw Adrienne. How like her mother she is! You’d never take her for the daughter of anyone as dark as you, Thorpe.”

  “No,” Thorpe answered quietly. “I can only hope she’ll take after me in other ways, besides appearance.”

  “Oh, she does,” Lillian said. “I have been with her only for a few days, yet I have seen so many traits that must come from Mr. Everard.”

  “Indeed?” Mrs. Grenshaw tilted her rather flat nose into the air, without looking at Lillian. “I haven’t noticed any.”

  Lady Genevieve put in. “I’m sure her charm must come from our side of the family.”

  For reasons which she did not attempt to explain to herself, Lillian came and sat at the opposite side of Thorpe from his grandmother. He seemed in need of protection, more even than the formidable lady beside him could offer. If it came to war, Lillian knew in which company she would be found.

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, no, grandmother,” Addy said, “I can’t go with you again! I must start my lessons today. Isn’t that so, Miss Cole?”

  Mrs. Grenshaw said, “Your governess will let you off, I’m sure. After all, it is a Saturday. Nobody could expect a child to work on a Saturday; it—it isn’t right.”

  Though the child was backed up between a sideboard and a pillar in the breakfast room, facing down the too eager affection of her grandmother, she still had spirit enough to say, “But Grandfather told Papa he thinks children ought to work on Saturday.”

  “Just those in the mines, dearest, and the mills. Those children are different from you, like school is different from labor. The lower classes were brought up to work hard and wouldn’t understand anything else. You’re a delicate girl, like your mother was. She hated learning about history and all that, you know. She would much rather have me brush her hair or talk about dresses. Wouldn’t you like to do that? I know your Miss Cole wouldn’t mind if you went along with me.” Though she did not address Lillian directly, she glanced archly at her before dropping her gaze once more to Addy.

  Appealed to twice in one minute, Lillian hardly knew what to say. But the fixed look that Addy gave her won over the hungry stare with which Mrs. Grenshaw pinned the child. “I allowed Addy to miss her classwork on Thursday to visit the castle with her father and again yesterday to go with you. I’m afraid I really can’t allow her another unoccupied day. It wouldn’t be good for her.”

  The previous day, Lillian had found once again that her services were not required by anyone. Mr. and Mrs. Grenshaw had asked Thorpe to show them the improvements he had made to his property since their last visit, proclaiming Nora fascinated by the workings of a vast estate. Though Addy had made it plain she was far from fascinated, she had accompanied the party after exchanging a steady look with Lady Genevieve.

  As the carriage had drawn away, something about the way the little girl engaged Mrs. Grenshaw in conversation gave Lillian the strangest feeling that Addy was protecting her father. She hadn’t time to analyze this idea. Lady Genevieve had suggested that Lillian volunteer her time to Becksnaff. Rather than spend a useless day, Lillian had agreed and quickly found herself doing a variety of tasks suited to the unskilled and inexperienced skivvy.

  “Considering,” Mrs. Grenshaw said, giving Lillian a disdainful glance and straightening up, “that I have come a long way just to visit her, I don’t think...”

  Addy took advantage of her grandmother’s distraction to slip free. Dashing over to Lillian, she took her hand and leaned back, swinging on it. “She’s my governess. She’s got to do what I say. And I want to learn to read, so I can find my own stories. Like chopping off the king’s head, thunk!”

  Lillian pulled Addy upright. “Don’t be rude,” she whispered. “Thank Mrs. Grenshaw for offering to play with you.”

  ‘Thank you, Grandmother,” the child repeated without expression. “Later, I’ll show you where the frogs live.” She released Lillian’s hand and ran off through the archway.

  Lillian started after her, when Mrs. Grenshaw stopped her by saying, “I shall complain about you to Mr. Everard! Really, to think of a mere governess laying down the law to me on when I can and cannot see my only granddaughter. It almost makes me laugh. Anybody’d think you were mistress in this house and not a mere governess at all, looking at me like that!”

  “Yes, anyone would,” Lillian replied rather absently. She was wondering, in the midst of Mrs. Grenshaw’s diatribe, whether Addy had slipped out of the house. Leaving Mrs. Grenshaw to gasp behind her, Lillian decided to see if a miracle had occurred and Addy had found her way to the schoolroom.

  * * * *

  “Are you serious then, about learning to read?”

  Addy sat by the open windows, a book on her lap, one hand at the top and the other at the bottom. Coming closer, Lillian saw that she held it upside down. “May I see that?” Lillian asked. Righting the volume, she saw that it was Hakluyt’s Diverse Voyages, in the original Elizabethan.

  “It’s very int-interesting.”

  “Yes, I can see why you’d think so. But you know, there’s quite a few books up here. Maybe I can find one you’d like even better.” So saying, Lillian walked to the glass-fronted bookcase and withdrew a slim book bound in gleaming red leather. “Here’s something I know you’ll like. It’s called Tales from Shakespeare. He was a famous storyteller, and a brother and sister have written down his stories for children.”

  Seating herself beside Addy on the deep shelf that with a cushion served as a window seat, she opened the book. She passed over the wordy introduction and turned to a page that had The Tempest written across the top.

  “Lady Genevieve says that you know your letters. Do you only know capital letters?”

  “Great showed me both kinds.”

  “Very well. See if you can find an A on this page.” She gave the book into the girl’s small hands and was pleased to see how quickly they mastered holding it open, each fist grasping a side just as Lillian had done.

  Frowning in concentration, Addy searched the lines of print. Lillian waited with more patience than she’d known she possessed. Her own eyes had fastened upon more than a dozen of the required vowels before Addy pointed to the last letter of Miranda’s name. ‘There’s one! And .. . there’s one!”

  “Excellent. And what comes after A?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Lillian hid a smile. “Why not show me?”

  Slowly, they worked through half the
alphabet. Addy had a quick eye and would often not let Lillian go on to the next letter until she’d picked out every example on the page. Sometimes, she’d be unable to find what Lillian asked for, but in almost every instance, it was because the letter did not appear in that passage of Charles Lamb’s work. Addy also displayed some confusion as to which letter in the L-M-N-0 sequence came first, but at least she did not think it all one letter as had a sister student at the school Lillian had attended.

  As they searched for Q, they were interrupted by a gentle cough. Addy glanced up first, as Lillian was busily leafing through the book in pursuit of the elusive letter. Lillian was aware that Addy drew very slightly away from her, though until that moment she’d been sitting within the curve of her teacher’s arm.

  “What are you doing? Learning to read?” asked a voice so soft and cooing that Lillian at first thought it must belong to Mrs. Grenshaw. But it was Lady Genevieve in the doorway. The older woman regarded Addy with indulgence. What Lillian did not expect was to see that same lenience when Lady Genevieve looked upon her. “I hope you find Addy an apt pupil, Miss Cole?”

  “She certainly seems to know her letters. She tells me you taught them to her.”

  “I have tried to teach her the alphabet and her numbers, but I’m afraid I haven’t yet taught her to make sense of them. But I’m sure you will soon enlighten her as to their proper use. Are you enjoying Miss Cole’s teaching, Addy?”

  “Yes, Great. Look!” She took the book from Lillian and walked over to her great-grandmother, carrying it like some state treasure. She opened it to show a copperplate engraving of a sprite pinching a lumbering Caliban. Yet Addy took no interest in the picture as she busily pointed out different letters to Lady Genevieve.

  “My, you are good! May I see that?” Lady Genevieve looked at the title page. “I am not familiar with this book.”

  “It only came out last year,” Lillian said. “You needn’t worry; the tales have been rendered suitable for children.”

  “Yes, Thorpe is very thorough. It makes me wonder just how long ago he decided Addy should have a governess.” Returning the book to Addy, Lady Genevieve said, “All the same, Addy and I are so pleased that you’re here. Miss Cole, we’ve decided that we’d quite like to give you a present.”

  “That isn’t necessary. Lady Genevieve, though I thank you. Both of you.” Lillian could forgive herself for wondering if, according to Lady Genevieve’s gothic notions, her idea of a gift might be a box of poisoned bonbons or a paper knife with spring-loaded darts in the handle.

  “No, my dear, I insist.” She unpinned the oblong of ivory lace that wrapped the shoulders of her sky-blue morning dress. “What do you think, Addy? Shall I give her this?”

  Addy replaced her newfound treasure on the shelf before nodding and saying, “Isn’t it pretty!”

  “I couldn’t,” Lillian reiterated.

  “I should very much like you to have it. That dress you wore yesterday was charming, if a trifle severe. Lace is wonderfully softening when worn correctly.” Lady Genevieve laid the lace in Lillian’s lap.

  Lillian blushed with guilt at her evil thoughts of Lady Genevieve. Glancing at the lace across her skirt, she realized a strange yet beautiful flower was woven three times in the mesh, every detail clear. “What magnificent workmanship!” she exclaimed, her fingers brushing over the silken strands.

  “My blind aunt Mathilde would work bobbin lace by the hour, her fingers flying over the pins. Her affliction prevented her marrying, but she made lace for the wedding of every bride in my family. She invented these flowers herself, because she’d never seen one. Despite her difficulties, she was the most avid gossip I’d ever known.” Lady Genevieve’s smile obliterated twenty years at least from her face, and Lillian felt she could see her as she must have been while listening to an aunt’s chatter as the deft fingers wove their magic.

  “Great,” Addy said, pulling at her great-grandmother’s blue silk skirt. “Show us the dress you married.”

  As though returning from a long distance. Lady Genevieve quivered slightly. Refocusing on the child, she said, “I beg— oh, you don’t want to see that again, do you?” The little girl nodded emphatically. Lillian was fascinated. Seeing this. Lady Genevieve explained, “The dress I was married in.”

  “Ah!”

  A few minutes later, they were in an anteroom of the long, low attic that ran along the rear of the castle. While Lady Genevieve and Addy tried to determine in which of many trunks they’d last seen the costume, Lillian drifted over to look out the high round window. Through it, she could see almost all the grounds, including the stables.

  Lady Genevieve, coming to see what occupied her, said, “Do you ride. Miss Cole?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “If you had brought your habit with you, I know Thorpe would have asked you to accompany him this morning. He hates to ride alone, as he says it is dull.”

  “I don’t think he’ll find it dull today. He has just this moment ridden out with Miss Ellis.”

  “What? Where?” Stooping, Lady Genevieve peered under the frame, only in time to see two figures, splendidly mounted, galloping off past a stand of trees. “I am sure he’d prefer your company. I imagine Miss Ellis refuses her fences. Perhaps you shall join him tomorrow.”

  “I would, Lady Genevieve, but as you have just pointed out, I have brought no habit with me.” Either one of the servants had reported the content of Lillian’s wardrobe to her ladyship or Lady Genevieve herself had pried. Either way, Lillian thought it very rude, but all of a piece with Lady Genevieve’s behavior thus far. At least her sapphire necklace had not been discovered. Lillian knew better than to lower her defenses because of Lady Genevieve’s change in manner toward her. If the lovely Nora had not come with her aunt and uncle, undoubtedly Lillian would still be facing hostility and coldness.

  Lady Genevieve sniffed and moved away, her skirts flicking over the unfinished flooring. A wicked spirit prompted Lillian to say, “Perhaps Mrs. Grenshaw would be interested in seeing your wedding attire as well.”

  At first, it seemed no one had heard. Then, grudgingly, Lady Genevieve said, “I suppose she would. John, go and ask if she’ll deign to join us.” One of the two footmen who stood by to wrestle with the miscellaneous boxes bowed and went back down the stairs to the lower level.

  “This one. Great, I know it is!” Addy tried to pull at the rope that bound the humped-top chest and hurt her hand. As she flapped it, her mouth wide, her great-grandmother came over to look at the chest.

  “No, that is not the one. I don’t know what’s in there. Open it, Bert.”

  The second footman came over and quickly unknotted the cords. The lid creaked as he pushed it open. A strong smell of Red Rose, enough to choke on, arose from the clothing bundled in the chest. Addy made a face, and Lady Genevieve clapped her handkerchief to her nose. The footman reeled, his eyes rolling up in his head.

  Mrs. Grenshaw appeared in the doorway at that moment and rushed forward, inhaling deeply. “That’s the fragrance Emily used to wear! Oh, how long it has been since I smelled it last. Did these things belong to her? Why weren’t they sent to me with the rest of her belongings?”

  “I believe,” Lady Genevieve said, “that my son sent you several mementos of your daughter, not everything she owned. Naturally, what my grandson purchased for her remains in the house until Addy is old enough to know what she wishes to do with her mother’s possessions.”

  It was doubtful that Mrs. Grenshaw heard what the other woman had said. She had gone on her knees beside the opened trunk and was now rooting through the folded gowns, gloves, and garters. “These have hardly been worn,” she crooned, lifting out a glove of crochet work. “What tiny hands Emily had. Come, Addy, look! They were your mother’s. Why, they’d hardly fit you and she was full grown.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw pressed the relics to her cheek for an instant before letting them fall. “And here,” she said, as she took a gown by the shoulders and stood up
, the material unfolding as she rose. “You see, she was small and slight of figure. I could span her waist with my hands. But how daring on a horse or in a carriage! Look, here’s her riding habit. She must have been charming in this, with all this black frogging down the front, just like a soldier.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Grenshaw, to the best of my recollection, Emily never wore that. Why she had it made, as she was in an interesting condition at the time, I cannot tell you. Perhaps she thought she might wear it later.”

  The fact that for Emily there had been no later hung unspoken in the air, scented as it was by both the perfume of a long-dead woman and dust motes that swirled and sparkled in the sunlight that came through the round window. Lillian could not help but think of Emily’s husband, riding in the sunshine, unaware that his wife’s fragrance lived again in his house.

  Addy broke the silence. “Here, Miss Cole. You’d better take it then.”

  Mrs. Grenshaw closed her hands, crushing the fabric. “What do you mean, child?”

  “Well, Great said I can do what I want with this stuff,” Addy said, kicking the trunk. “And Miss Cole just said she doesn’t have a riding habit.”

  “It won’t fit me, Addy. I’m much too large. I thank you, however, for the thought.”

  “It could probably be made over. Miss Cole,” Lady Genevieve said. “Let me see it, Mrs. Grenshaw.”

  “No!” Mrs. Grenshaw jerked the habit out of Lady Genevieve’s reach.

  Lillian, appalled, said, “I really don’t think ... please, Mrs. Grenshaw, don’t alarm yourself. As you said, Emily was extremely petite and I am not.”

  “Don’t you dare call her Emily! Isn’t it wicked enough that you’re trying to usurp her place without that?”

  Very much aware that the two young footmen as well as Addy were standing by with both ears extended, Lillian said, “Let me assure you—”