by Adele Whitby
I shifted my weight ever so slightly as Mum and Madame Lorraine discussed the trim we’d selected.
“I think some beads around the neck, oui, and perhaps the sleeves,” Madame Lorraine said through a mouthful of pins. “Not too much, of course. Nothing ostentatious. A beauty like Lady Betsy needs no adornment; she will shine all on her own!”
I flushed with pleasure at the compliment. It was an honor to have Madame Lorraine design my ball gown. My mother’s French cousin, Gabrielle, had surprised us by insisting that Madame Lorraine, her personal dressmaker, travel all the way to Chatswood Manor just to make my special birthday dress. In a few weeks, Cousin Gabrielle would also be joining us for the birthday festivities. I scarcely knew Gabby, whose glamorous life in Paris kept her too busy for country holidays at Chatswood Manor, but I was excited about having a house full of visitors. Ever since my father died when I was just a baby, Mum and I had been on our own. We made a good team—Mum and I did almost everything together—but sometimes I secretly wished that our little family were larger. What a change it would be to have the Wilsons and Cousin Gabby at Chatswood Manor! Just the thought of laughter at breakfast and cozy evenings in the parlor made me smile. I knew Mum was as eager as I was for our extended family to arrive.
“You know, I am having another thought,” Madame Lorraine mused. She snipped a length of ribbon off the roll, her silver scissors flashing in the sunlight. “What if we add a belt from this ribbon, like so? I will make a buckle to match . . . perhaps even embroider some beads on it. . . .”
“A belt? Instead of a sash?” Mum said, frowning a little. “Wouldn’t that be a bit casual?”
“Non, non. I can assure you, it is the very latest fashion in Paris,” replied Madame Lorraine.
“What do you think, Betsy?” Mum asked me.
“Yes! I love that idea,” I said. “I think a beaded belt would be smashing.”
“How much times have changed since my own birthday ball,” Mum said. “My gown was blue as well, but entirely different in style. It was full length, with a gorgeous overskirt made of shimmery tulle. And I wore gloves with my gown, of course—gloves that stretched all the way past my elbows.”
“Ahh, oui, gloves for Lady Betsy as well, I think,” Madame Lorraine said.
“Well, I’m glad to know that fashions haven’t changed that much,” Mum said with a laugh.
“I remember when Miss Kate—I suppose I should call her Mrs. Wilson—was getting ready for her twelfth birthday ball,” Nellie reminisced. “She hated her fittings—called them frightfully dull wastes of time. The dressmaker was forever begging her to stand still!”
We all laughed—even Madame Lorraine.
“Then one day, I started reading to Miss Kate to take her mind off the torture of her fittings,” Nellie continued. “It did the trick. We had a bit of a reading club back then. Oh, we loved stories more than anyone else in Vandermeer Manor.”
“But not more than me,” I teased. “Tell me the story, Nellie, of how you came to England. Please!” I always wanted to hear about how Mum’s maid, Shannon, had fallen in love with the Vandermeers’ chauffeur, Hank, when Mum had visited Aunt Kate as a girl. Rather than watch Shannon return to England and leave true love behind, Mum and Aunt Kate had conspired to help Nellie and Shannon switch places! It was a thrilling and romantic tale, the sort of story I would expect to hear on the radio during one of my favorite programs. I could hardly believe it had happened in real life!
“A favorite story, to be sure,” Mum said, “but I think some refreshments are in order first. Would you mind fetching a tray from the kitchen?”
“I’ll go,” Maggie volunteered.
“No, no. You stay in case Lady Betsy needs anything,” Nellie said. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“There,” Madame Lorraine announced. “What do you think of the belt? I will add the beads later, of course.”
“Oh, it’s perfect!” I cried.
“Very cunning,” Mum said, sounding pleased. “The perfect accoutrement!”
There was a soft rap at the door. It was one of the footmen, Adam.
“Beg your pardon, milady,” he said to Mum, “but you’ve a telephone call. Long-distance, from America.”
“America!” I cried. “It’s got to be Aunt Kate!”
In one swift motion, Mum rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Madame Lorraine,” she said smoothly. “But I must take this call.”
“Mum! Wait for me!” I spoke up.
But she had already hurried out of the room.
I jumped off the dais and felt a dozen pins stab me where Madame Lorraine had placed the ribbon. “Ow!” I cried.
“Wait, please, mademoiselle,” Madame Lorraine urged. “Do not move until I loosen the pins.”
“Maggie, would you help her, please?” I said. It was a rare treat to talk to our American relatives on the phone, and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. Mum always let me sit beside her and listen to her part of the conversation. And best of all, sometimes Mum even let me say hello to Cousin Kay!
The minutes ticked away while Maggie and Madame Lorraine loosened the pins enough for me to wriggle out of the gown.
“Would you like to wear your pink dress again, Lady Betsy?” Maggie asked, moving slower than a swan as she reached for the dress I’d chosen that morning. “Or did you have another ensemble in mind for the afternoon?”
I took one look at the dainty buttons on the dress and shook my head. “There’s no time for that,” I replied as I reached for my silk dressing gown. I flung the gown over my starched white slip and bolted from the room, tying the sash as I hurried down the stairs toward the library. There I found Mum, holding on to the edge of her oak desk as if to steady herself.
“Oh, Kate,” she said into the receiver. “Oh, no . . .”
The expression on Mum’s face—a strangled look of shock and dismay—was not one I would soon forget. I just knew that the news was bad. Oh, please, I thought. Not Kay. Not Uncle Joseph. Please let them be all right.
Without saying a word, I reached for Mum’s hand. She was so engrossed in the call that I don’t think she noticed me until she felt the warmth of my touch. Mum pulled her hand from my grasp and covered the mouthpiece.
“Betsy, I need to speak privately with Aunt Kate.”
“But I—”
“Not now,” she said firmly.
Then Mum returned to the telephone, keeping her eyes fixed on me as I left the library. She didn’t start speaking again until I reached the door.
I stood alone in the hallway, stunned, trying to understand what had just happened. Mum had never asked me to leave the library while she was on the telephone—never. And especially not when she was talking to Aunt Kate! Something terrible must have happened, and the longer I stood there, the heavier my worries grew. How could I possibly wait until Mum was off the phone to find out what had happened?
Suddenly, I realized that my hand was still on the doorknob. And the door was still open a crack. In my shock, I had neglected to close it all the way.
If I leaned forward—if I didn’t make a single sound—it was entirely possible that I could still hear Mum’s part of the conversation.
It wouldn’t be wrong to listen in, I tried to convince myself. Mum and I don’t have secrets from each other. Not even one. And I’m sure she’ll tell me everything later, anyway. She always does.
Holding my breath, I leaned toward the sliver of light peeking through the crack. Sure enough, I could hear Mum’s voice if I strained my ears. I concentrated all my energy on listening, doing my best to ignore the guilt prickling at my conscience.
“But, Kate, I don’t know why he would—surely he knew—of course, of course—”
“Lady Betsy!”
I spun around as if I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Maggie had crept up behind me so quietly that I hadn’t even noticed her—not until her words pierced my ears. Oh, no—what if Mum heard her, too? I wondered.
Adele Whitby wishes she lived in a grand manor home with hidden rooms and tucked-away nooks and crannies, but instead she lives in the next best thing—a condo in Florida with her husband and their two dogs, Molly and Mack. When she’s not busy writing, you can usually find her reading and relaxing on the beach under a big umbrella. She loves getting lost in a good story, especially one set in a faraway place and time.
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Simon Spotlight
Simon & Schuster
New York
authors.simonandschuster.com/Adele-Whitby
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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www.SimonandSchuster.com
This Simon Spotlight hardcover edition August 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. Text by Laurie Calkhoven.
Illustrations by Jaime Zollars. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Jacket design by Laura Roode. Jacket illustrations by Jaime Zollars. Jacket illustrations by Simon & Schuster, Inc. Designed by Laura Roode. The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.
ISBN 978-1-4814-1844-7 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-1843-0 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-1845-4 (eBook)
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2013953185
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