by Joan Smith
Menrod and Lady Althea opened the minuet. My first partner was Mr. Everett. Mama sat with the matrons for half an hour to observe the ladies’ toilettes. She would soon remove to the card parlor. I went to speak to her and her friends before they left. There was a flurry of gossip going forth.
“Mrs. Tighe thinks a match is in the offing between Lady Althea and Menrod,” she communicated to me, on a high whisper. "Their opening the ball together looks very much like it.”
It looked like simple protocol to me, as she was the guest of honor, but some ladies who had attended the dinner were whispering otherwise. They were closer friends than ourselves to the lady concerned, so some credence had to be placed on their word. Mr. Everett listened, frowning in disbelief.
“It is not what Lady Althea intimated to me,” he said. “Just friends, she described the relationship. Friends and connections, I believe she said.”
I stood up with Mr. Farrell, the local M.P., next; then, at the end of that dance, Menrod appeared at my elbow. “There is a young gentleman who is eager to see you, Wendy,” he told me.
I excused myself from Farrell and followed Menrod from the floor, pleasantly curious to learn what gentleman desired my acquaintance. Seeing no one waiting, I said, “Where is he hiding, in the attic?” for he was heading to the staircase.
“No, his bedroom. Ralph wants to see you decked out in ballroom style. Very nice, too,” he complimented dutifully, his gaze including my hairstyle.
“There’s a setdown for me! I thought I had attracted a new beau.”
“Disenchanted with the old ones so soon?”
“You are too kind to grant me more than one. Mr. Everett is my sole conquest to date.”
“Don’t be so modest. I have had my ears scorched the past twenty-four hours for chasing after an engaged lady. By my stepmother,” he added.
“She is imaginative, to find a romance in your falling through the roof.”
“Reality is no bar to a lady’s imagination. She has imagined me to be on the verge of an offer to her cousin for the past few weeks, despite my care to avoid the lady. Unhandsome of me to broach such a subject, but I know your discretion is to be counted on. If you should chance to overhear any rumors of my imminent engagement, you may feel yourself free to squelch them.”
“We had already figured out why your condition of shock lasted so many hours,” I told him, with a knowing look.
“Having exerted your poor little wits to such a wrong end, you will now put them to better use, if you please. I refer to our niece. The wretch talked Althea into allowing her to come down after dinner to make a curtsy to the guests, and is now at work on me to let her attend the ball.”
“At six years of age! That is precocious of her!”
“Exactly what I think. She insists she was allowed to do so in India, when she was only five.”
“Hettie would never be so foolish. She’s bamming you.”
“I told her I would ask your opinion.”
“Kind of you to cast me in the role of ogre.”
We went to the nursery, where the children sat with a servant, decked out in their best togs. Gwen ran to me to throw her arms around me. “I knew you would come, Auntie!” she beamed. “Tell Uncle I can go down to the ball, just for a moment. I only want to see everyone all dressed up so fine. Ralph wants to go too, don’t you, Ralph?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ralph said simply, his eyes as big as sovereigns.
“It is close to nine o’clock. These children should have been in bed an hour ago,” I told Menrod. I was cross at his stunt of drawing me into his problem. “You know it is impossible, children. You are much too young to attend a ball.”
“Lady Althea said it would be all right,” Gwen tried next. “And Mama always let us take one peek.”
“It is too late now. If you were to have had one peek, it should have been at the beginning.”
“You’re mean!” Gwen charged, a tear forming in her eyes, while her lower lip trembled. “We waited all this time. If Mama and Papa were alive, we would be allowed to go. You don’t love us. You hate us!” Her tears and tantrum swelled in unison, till at last Ralph joined in the sobbing from sheer nervousness. I wanted to box her ears.
“This will do you no good, Gwendolyn,” I said severely. Menrod accepted my dictum, but did not support me verbally, so Gwen turned to him.
“Please, Uncle,” she sobbed, her shoulders racking with emotion.
“It is too late. Go to bed now.”
“But Aunt Althea is going to bring us an ice. She promised she would. I want an ice!”
“The ices are not ready yet.”
Her bawling became louder, so loud I feared she would be heard belowstairs. “That is enough of that, Gwen,” I said firmly. “Put them to bed,” I added, to the servant.
“I won’t go to bed,” she insisted, stomping her stubborn feet on the floor. When the servant girl reached for her, Gwen flailed out with her hands, giving her such a scratch she drew blood. I had seen enough of ill manners. I pulled Gwen off and gave her a shaking. “You will apologize at once, Gwen, and you will then go to bed.”
“I don’t have to do what you say. You’re not my guardian. I don’t want to live with you. I hate you.”
“I am your guardian,” Menrod said, taking a swift stride toward her and grabbing her arms, “and I say you will apologize to Miss Acres before going to your bed. If there is another word from you, you will remain in your room for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re not my guardian either!” she shouted back. “Neither of you can be my guardian. I want my Aunt Althea.”
Menrod dragged her from the room by one arm, took her out the hallway, shoved her into her own room, and locked the door, then apologized to Miss Acres on her behalf.
“Keep an ear to the door, but don’t go in to her," he told the servant. “Let her put herself to bed. She’ll soon be worn out with this performance. She must learn she doesn’t profit by this sort of carry-on. You run along to bed too, Ralph.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” he said humbly.
“It’s not your fault. A boy would not behave so foolishly. Good night.” As he went down the hall, screams and shouts came echoing through Gwen’s door. I was upset at the unpleasant interlude, did not want to go back to the ball at once.
“We’ll collect our nerves with a drink,” Menrod suggested.
“A glass of wine would not go amiss,” I agreed.
“A glass of wine? You are easily calmed. I intend gulping a quart of brandy. Let us have it brought up. If we go belowstairs, we’ll be overtaken by unwanted company. Come in here—it is my late mother’s sitting room,” he said, opening a door farther down the hallway. A servant encountered along the way was sent for wine and glasses.
Menrod was as upset as I was at the affair. He sat on the corner of a small sofa, clenching and unclenching his fingers, hardly aware of my presence. He wore a distracted expression. I did not urge any conversation with him; I was busy thinking myself. My major thought was that taking complete charge of Gwendolyn was a thing beyond me. She was very spoilt, a manipulator, turning to one of us when the other did not follow her wishes, and in the end turning to Auntie Althea when we both held out against her.
“That wench has got badly out of hand,” he said a moment later. I agreed enthusiastically. “You handled her well,” he complimented. “I have been too soft with her, pitying her because of her orphaned state. She is quick enough to have sensed it, to take advantage.”
“She is not even truthful. Hettie would not have let her attend balls in India. She wrote me of the customs there, and never mentioned that one.”
“I know full well Peter would not have permitted it. Her orphaned state is always called to our attention when she is thwarted. I should not have dragged you into it.”
“Why did you? Was it to show me how impossible the task is that I have been wanting to undertake? If that was your aim, you have succeeded marvelously. I don’t beli
eve I could handle Gwen, with Mama and Mrs. Pudge always there to cater to her every whim. She is a great favorite at home.”
“I am not so underhanded as that!” he exclaimed offended. “I wondered if I was being too severe, that’s all. You too are involved in their upbringing. It was of some concern to you, as well as myself.”
“How could you possibly have considered taking them down to a ball?”
“Lady Althea thought it permissible. Whatever else she may know or not know, she is well versed in social etiquette. I do not attend many country balls. Customs change—I thought perhaps it was some recent innovation.”
“I haven’t heard of it, but if it were to be done, it should have been done for the opening minuet.”
“I could hardly discuss it when I was on duty welcoming guests. One likes to pull crows in comparative private.”
“It is a pity, but let us not permit it to spoil the whole evening.”
“We must sail a tighter ship in future, Wendy. When I refused her the new riding habit, she weaseled it out of you. When you refused the mink tippet to go with it, she got the fur-lined cape out of me. I have a good mind to renege on that promise. And when all else fails, she trots to Lady Menrod or Althea. They are as bad as your mother and Mrs. Pudge—putty in her hands.”
"Thank God Ralph at least is biddable. I daresay he too will become more difficult as he grows older. You were correct to deny me the privilege of raising them. I won’t fight the custody application you have made.”
“Do! Please! I am fed up to the eyeballs with Gwen. I was within ames-ace of giving her a good thrashing. Earlier today, when I refused to let her wear my mother’s diamonds, she threatened to run away to you, who are always so kind and sweet to her.”
“It’s really Ralph I like.”
“You like him too much. The girl needs a firm hand—like yours,” he said, taking my fingers in his.
“No, no—I would never be able to spank her as I ought. I hesitate to lob an inch off my plants, Menrod. To spank a child would be beyond me. You keep her.”
“She’ll get dreadfully spoiled when I am away, bear-leading all the servants,” he pointed out, half joking now.
"The cottage is too small. You said so yourself.”
“Peter had money. I'll turn it over to you—Mrs. Livingstone’s house is empty.”
“Don’t grovel. It doesn’t become you.”
“We’ll work something out.”
I extracted my fingers from his, without much opposition. “It was a bad idea I had. It seemed like Fate, at first, as if God had meant me to have the children, as I had none of my own, and nothing else that mattered very much in my life.”
“We men are conceited enough to think women were put on earth to nurture us, and we them. You were putting the cart before the horse. It was a husband you should have been seeking, not the children.”
“Well, I am no longer seeking the children, at least. I would not have Gwen in my charge for all the cream in Devon.”
“You refuse to share the burden with me, then?”
“I don’t mean to say I am abandoning them entirely. I will always be at the cottage, to give a hand in any way I can.”
“That was not what I had in mind.”
“I know it. Pray forget what you had in mind. You had your chance to be rid of her, and unwisely lost it.”
There was a tap at the open door. Glancing to it, I saw Lady Althea entering, with an angry, fixed smile on her face.
“What is this awful tale Gwen tells me, about your not letting her down to see the ball, Miss Harris?” she enquired.
“You appear to have heard the story,” I answered.
“Oh, heartless! How can you be so unfeeling? She is sobbing and weeping. Let us take her down, just for a moment, Menrod. I promised her some of the iced cream before she went to bed, and it will not be ready till midnight. Mr. Everett—your friend, Miss Harris—says it should be readied at the very last moment. Gwen is under your care, Menrod. What do you say?” she asked, with a coaxing smile.
He had arisen upon her entry. She did not take a seat either, which left me looking up at them from my chair, too weary to arise. “We have agreed she is much too young to attend a ball,” Menrod told her.
"Agreed? Miss Harris has dictated, you mean. Previous to her arrival, it was agreed Gwendolyn and Ralph would be allowed down for a few minutes.”
“It was discussed, not agreed. Our decision has been taken,” he replied firmly.
Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, then grew wider in vexation. Her nostrils also flared. From my seat below, she looked closer to ugly than I had ever seen her look. She sniffed, throwing back her copper head. “I find it odd Miss Harris should intrude into our affairs,” she said.
“The affair is her business and mine—no one else’s.”
“This is a change of face! You have complained often enough about her interference...” She stopped in mid-speech, to stare mutely at Menrod. I looked to see what in his reaction had brought her to a halt at this interesting juncture. His jaws were clenched in anger. He looked ready to strike her.
“Well, I see I am interrupting your tête-à-tête. So odd you choose to abandon your own ball. You will be down later, when Miss Harris releases you?” she asked.
“When we have finished our private discussion,” he agreed.
She glared once at us both, turned sharply, and left, without another word.
“You are released, Menrod. Our private discussion is about over,” I said.
He shook his head and laughed. “She’s an impossible woman,” he said, dismissing her. I found the incident anything but laughable. I was boiling mad, as much at his having complained of my interference as anything else. He calmly poured two more glasses of wine, raised his glass, and made a toast.
“To your continued interference,” he said, with a bold smile.
“I’ll drink to that. And to your kindness in relating it to Lady Althea.”
We drank ceremoniously. “Initially I may have made a few comments... That stiff jaw does not encourage me to continue,” he pointed out.
“Good. I have had enough of this subject. Shall we go back down now?”
“By all means. I think folks ought to have a dance or two, when they attend a ball. You have not stood up with me yet,” he said, offering his hand to aid me up from my seat.
We went together, arm in arm, down the lovely curving staircase, without talking. My mood softened to pleasure, to see the chandeliers sparkling, the beautifully gowned ladies and black-coated gentlemen walking to and fro, standing in clusters all around the hallway and on into the ballroom. There was a pause in the music, which sent many couples off to the refreshment parlor.
Lady Althea was there, complaining to Lady Menrod, who looked uncomfortable to be in the middle of a quarrel. She gave us a worried, placating smile. Menrod, to spite them, took a closer grip on my arm and inclined his head to smile at me in a besotted way.
“I do believe your friend Everett is measuring my hallway up for refurbishing,” he said, indicating a corner where my friend was indeed scrutinizing an intricate piece of carving to discover the secret of its smoothness.
When Everett glanced up and saw us, Menrod bolted in unseemly haste toward the ballroom, to lose himself and me in the throng. Lines were beginning to form for a country dance. “I am not up to such a scramble, after the past half hour’s annoyance,” he declared, echoing my own feelings. “I’ll ask the musicians to play some waltzes.”
“If you want to empty the floor and dance solo, go ahead. Hardly anyone waltzes yet, here in the country.”
“Do you waltz?” he asked.
“Yes, badly.”
“If even you have attempted it, I am convinced my other guests will be adept by now.”
After that vote of confidence, I was careful to stay off his feet. Our conversation was on the most mundane of topics. He mentioned the troublesome necessity of having to plaster Mama’
s ceiling, enquired whether Lady had turned up and heard she had not, made a few bad jokes about Oakdene and my mistress-ship of it. He only put on his doting smile when Lady Althea came into view. On those few occasions, his frosty eyes melted as he stared at me in a bewitched way.
“Do you really think you are fooling anyone with this lovesick performance?” I asked him.
“What can you mean?” he asked, feigning puzzlement.
“I mean those rumors that we are to hear an engagement. You are using me to show the world you don’t intend to marry Lady Althea.”
“Who else should I use? But really it is only Althea and Lady Menrod I have to show. What do you care? You’re safe—engaged to Mr. Everett. What is the status of that peculiar engagement, at the moment?”
“You know I am not engaged to him.”
“He is more generous in allowing himself to be used than you are.”
“You don’t have to remind me. He is criminally good-natured. He makes me feel guilty, he is so generous.”
“You’ll feel much better when you learn the reason for his eagerness to wed you.”
“Did he tell you?” I asked.
“He was kind enough to give me his reason, when I asked,” he admitted, holding in his laughter.
“Why did you ask? It’s none of your business.”
“Simple curiosity, madam. Life is dull in the country, with no petty intrigues going forward. I might have been worse employed.”
I realized the significance of that speech, but was too curious to dwell on it. “What did he say? What was his reason?”
“I have a theory regarding bad news. Hardly an original one—it comes to us from the Greeks. I never transmit bad news if I can help it. It redounds to the discredit of the transmitter. Why should I receive the poke in the eye that is due Mr. Everett?”
“That bad? This is a mystery. He knows I have no money. He can see for himself what I look like. What is it? Tell me, Menrod. I promise I won’t hit you.”
“Ladies’ promises are writ on water. Usually hot water.”
“It’s not... he is not sorry for me? Is it pity—is that it?” I demanded, mortified to suspect I had discovered the humiliating truth. His generosity might well take this form.