Betsy’s Story, 1934

by Adele Whitby

  “I won’t regret it,” I said firmly. “It seems wrong for the Elizabeth heir to have a birthday ball while the Katherine heir goes without. I’d like to . . . to find another way to celebrate. Something that Kay could do as well. Perhaps instead of spending all that money on a big party for only me, we can think of a way to put the money toward something to celebrate both of us, as a family. I think that’s what Great-Great-Grandmother Elizabeth would have wanted. What do you think, Mum?”

  “I think that’s a splendid idea,” Mum replied, a proud smile breaking over her face.

  My heart leaped. “So you agree?” I asked excitedly. “We should cancel?”

  “If and only if it’s what you truly want.”

  “It is.”

  “Then that’s what we will do,” Mum replied, holding up her palms.

  “Oh, thank you, Mum! Thank you!” I cried as I hugged her.

  “And your timing is perfect, Betsy, because when the advisers arrive this afternoon, we’ll revise the accounts accordingly,” Mum continued. “Starting tomorrow, you and I shall begin the work of undoing the preparations we’ve already made.”

  “Thank you again,” I said, feeling at a loss for words and overwhelmed with love for my mum. I knew I had made the right decision, and my heart swelled knowing how much trust Mum was placing in me.

  Just then, a loud chime rang through the room.

  Mum rose from her desk. “The advisers are here,” she said. “Run along now, Betsy, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Yes, Mum,” I said.

  Remembering my promise to Juliette, I returned to the kitchen right away. She and her assistant, Eloise, were piping delicate rosettes of frosting onto a layer cake.

  “She agreed to cancel!” I cried happily, raising my voice over the clanging from the back of the kitchen, where Daphne, the scullery maid, was scouring copper pots. “My birthday ball is canceled!”

  Eloise was so shocked that she dropped her spatula, splattering frosting across the tiles. “My apologies,” she murmured as she bent down to wipe up the mess with a rag.

  But Juliette grinned at me from behind her pastry bag. “Oh, wonderful,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased. “I’m really not surprised. Canceling the ball will save your mother a tremendous amount of money. I am sure that Lady Beth is very grateful for your decision.”

  My smile faltered. “What—what do you mean?”

  “Oh, dear. Now I’ve upset you!” she cried. “Lady Betsy, you must not pay any attention to me.”

  “Do you think there’s a problem with our estate’s finances?” I asked anxiously.

  Juliette bent so low over the cake that I couldn’t see her face. “Many estates are overburdened by debt,” she said. “But I am just the chef. I wouldn’t know about such things.”

  “But it sounded a moment ago like you knew something,” I said. “Please, if you know something, do tell me!”

  “Of course I do not know anything. As I said, I wouldn’t know about such things,” Juliette responded. But I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me something. Or that she was afraid to tell me something. A knot formed in my stomach as I tried to think of a way to convince Juliette to tell me what she knew.

  “Eloise!” Juliette exclaimed suddenly. “What happened to your pastry bag?”

  In her haste to clean up the spilled frosting, Eloise had left her pastry bag unattended, and a large pool of frosting had oozed out of it.

  “Daphne! Please bring some wet rags and help Eloise clean this mess at once. I can’t stand an untidy kitchen,” Juliette said. Then she turned to me with an apologetic smile. “You must excuse us, Lady Betsy,” she continued. “We are so eager to make a good impression on the council of advisers tonight. It’s of the utmost importance that they view Chatswood Manor as a model of efficiency and frugality, you know.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. I knew now wasn’t the time to try to get more information out of Juliette. She had an important job to do, and I didn’t want to be in the way. “Thank you for listening, Juliette. The cake looks beautiful.”

  “You are too kind,” she replied. Then she turned back to the cake, adding a cascade of rosettes to the top tier. I wished that I had something equally engrossing to capture my attention. Because try as I might, I couldn’t forget Juliette’s words: Canceling the ball will save your mother a tremendous amount of money.

  Was it possible that Mum and I were in the same situation as our American relations?

  Dear Cousin Kay,

  Mum told me of the terrible trials facing you. Oh, Kay, I am so sorry! I want you to know that I love you so much and I wish that there was some way for me to help. Please tell me if there is anything I can do! Today I made the decision to cancel my birthday ball. I know it’s not much, but I won’t have one if you can’t.

  I was interrupted by Maggie’s knock at the door; it was time to get ready for dinner. She helped me put on my best dress and brushed my hair until it shone brighter than a bronze penny. Maggie had just finished pulling my hair back with a rhinestone barrette when Nellie came to fetch me.

  “All ready, Lady Betsy?” she asked. “You look pretty as a picture! Come along, now. Everyone’s in the drawing room. Mr. Embry will announce dinner shortly.”

  “Thank you, Nellie,” I replied.

  As we walked to the drawing room, I noticed that Nellie was unusually quiet. “Any news from the tour?” I asked. Whenever the advisers visited, they spent hours locked in the library with Mum, poring over the accounts; afterward, Mum took them on a tour of the grounds so that they could see how the estate fared. Mum and her council of advisers didn’t always see eye to eye, but that had never stopped Mum from voicing her opinions.

  “Ah, well, that’s not for me to say, milady,” Nellie said in such a way that I could tell she knew more than she was willing to let on. But before I could ask what she meant, we had reached the drawing room, and Nellie gave me a quick smile before retreating down the corridor.

  “Excellent timing, Lady Betsy,” a deep voice murmured behind me.

  I turned around to see our butler, Mr. Embry.

  “Is it time for dinner already?” I asked as he reached past me to open the door.

  “Indeed it is, and I think you’ll be highly pleased with the meal,” he replied.

  I smiled to myself as I remembered the delectable cake that Juliette had labored over.

  “Darling!” Mum cried when she saw me standing in the doorway. “Do come in. We were just talking about you!” She turned to the three gentlemen standing beside her, who bowed as I approached. I remembered them well, of course: Lord Turley with his sharply pointed beard; Mr. Markham with his shiny silver hair; and Mr. Edwards, who had a perfectly round pair of spectacles perched upon the bridge of his nose. They had been Papa’s dearest friends before he died, and it was in honor of his memory that they took such an interest in Chatswood Manor, offering Mum their guidance and expertise as she managed the estate and family fortune.

  As usual, the council’s wives had arrived to join us for dinner. Mrs. Markham was my favorite. Her blue eyes flashed merrily at me as she took my hands. “My dear Lady Beth, you must be mistaken,” Mrs. Markham said to Mum. “Betsy is but a child, not a sophisticated young lady like I see before me.”

  I smiled as I curtsied to her. Mrs. Markham was known for exaggeration, but the compliment made me happy all the same.

  “Dinner is served,” Mr. Embry announced in his most somber voice.

  I followed the group into the dining room and, when everyone was ready to be seated, took my place on Mum’s right side. The footmen had scarcely begun to serve the first course when Lord Turley turned toward me.

  “Now, now,” he began in his gruff voice. “What’s this nonsense I hear about canceling your birthday ball, young lady?”

  A warning flashed through Mum’s eyes—but it wasn’t directed at me.

  “Lord Turley, I thought that this matter was settled,” she began, but a cry fr
om Lady Turley interrupted her.

  “You must be joking, Thomas!” she exclaimed. “Canceling the birthday ball? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  “Oh, you mustn’t,” implored Mrs. Edwards. “I ordered my gown months ago!”

  “You see?” Lord Turley said triumphantly. “Surely you’ll reconsider this foolishness. Why, I’ve never known a girl your age who wasn’t utterly delighted by the notion of a ball in her honor. What possible reason could you have to cancel?”

  I was about to explain about my cousin Kay’s situation when Mum spoke for me.

  “We’re so sorry to disappoint you,” Mother said with a steady voice. “But I can assure you that Betsy and I have given the matter careful thought and remain confident that we’ve reached the right decision.”

  “Right for whom?” challenged Lord Turley. “Certainly not for the estate. Why, when word gets out, the rumors will be scandalous, to say the least.”

  “Rumors,” Mum replied, shaking her head contemptuously. “I’ve never given much mind to such things, and I know that you haven’t either, Lord Turley.”

  “What seems to be is as important as what is,” Mr. Edwards said. He fancied himself very wise, but often his words left me confused. “You must ask yourselves if this is the message you want to send to the county: that Chatswood Manor can no longer manage to maintain the oldest traditions of the family.”

  “But that’s not why we canceled!” I exclaimed. I snuck a glance at Mum out of the corner of my eye as I suddenly wondered . . . or is it?

  “Of course not,” Mum said firmly. “And really, Mr. Edwards, I believe you are leaping to conclusions. You reviewed the accounts yourself just this afternoon. The estate is sound. How could anyone suspect that we canceled the ball due to financial troubles?”

  “Perhaps anyone who hasn’t reviewed the accounts,” Mr. Markham said darkly. “Or any garden-variety gossipmonger, of which our community boasts many, I’m sorry to say.”

  “I’m not about to let the fear of such people dictate my decisions,” Mum replied.

  “There has been talk, though,” Mr. Markham continued. “My valet mentioned that—”

  “Surely, Mr. Markham, you wouldn’t bring baseless gossip to my table!” Mum exclaimed, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  Mr. Markham flushed with embarrassment, but before he could continue, Lord Turley spoke up. “If the ball must be canceled, I can’t understand why the money you allocated for it won’t be returned to the general account.”

  “Because that money still belongs to Betsy—to celebrate her birthday as she and I see fit,” Mum explained. “And that is my final word on the subject.”

  “I do wish you would reconsider,” Mrs. Edwards said with a pout. “I was very much looking forward to debuting my new gown.”

  “We are sorry,” Mum apologized again, “but I’m afraid that we cannot be swayed. Now, Mr. Edwards, you must promise me that you will take your beautiful wife to London this spring. I should hate to think of her new gown languishing in the wardrobe, unworn!”

  Then Mum laughed; the sound was so lilting and lovely that she never laughed alone. Soon even Lord Turley was smiling. I laughed, too, but it wasn’t genuine. I would’ve given anything to know what Mr. Markham’s valet had told him. What was the nature of these rumors . . . and who was spreading them?

  And perhaps most important, why was Mum so quick to silence them?

  A few days later, I spent my afternoon writing beside Mum in the library. The decision to cancel my ball wasn’t difficult, but undoing the preparations we’d made turned out to be much more complicated. Mum had telephoned the vendors right away to cancel, but she said that I had to write personal notes to everyone who’d been invited. Every day, I wrote so many notes that by dinnertime, my numb fingers could barely hold a pen. Worst of all, I had barely even begun my letter to Kay!

  I was laboring over a note to the Honorable Lord and Lady Lorrington when Mum glanced at my work. A slight frown crossed her face. “Be mindful of your penmanship, Betsy,” she said gently. “Beautiful words deserve beautiful handwriting.”

  “My handwriting would be more beautiful if my hand didn’t feel like it was about to fall off!” I complained as I put down my pen and shook my fingers. “I wish I had a typewriter.”

  Mum looked shocked. “A typewriter! Betsy, you can’t write a note on a typewriter. It’s too impersonal.”

  “I think it looks smart,” I replied. “So professional! My Hollywood Hello magazine had a page from a real radio play script, and it was done on a typewriter. If I had one, I might try writing a radio pl—”

  I was interrupted by Mr. Embry as he delivered the afternoon post.

  “No telegrams today?” Mum asked.

  “I’m afraid not, milady.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mr. Embry,” Mum said as she flipped through the letters. “Oh, look, Betsy. Here’s one from my cousin Gabrielle in Paris. She must’ve written a response the moment she received your note.”

  What had I written to Cousin Gabrielle? I tried to remember, but all the notes I’d written over the past few days were a blur.

  “Shall I read it aloud?” Mum asked. “ ‘Dearest Beth, I was ever so pleased to receive a note from little Betsy, especially since I have long desired to know her better. Then I opened the letter and read its contents. To say that I am astonished would be an understatement! I cannot believe that the birthday ball has been canceled. It is unthinkable—unspeakable—unbearable—’ ”

  Mum looked at me with her eyes twinkling. “It goes on like that for quite a while,” she said. “Shall I skip ahead?”

  “Yes, please,” I said. Mum remained good-spirited about everything, but I’d grown tired of hearing how much I’d shocked everyone.

  Mum’s eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the letter. Suddenly, they grew wide. “And so I write to inform you that you should expect me as planned. Even without the grand birthday ball, I am certain that Betsy’s birthday will be a memorable occasion and I would not miss it for anything. In addition, I have sent word to Madame Lorraine that she is not relieved of her duties; instead, I have commissioned two additional gowns from her, one for you, Beth, and one for me as well! We shall be the most stylish ladies in all of England when she is done!”

  “What did you say?” I exclaimed. “Cousin Gabrielle is coming anyway?”

  “It appears so,” Mum replied.

  I could hardly hide my surprise. Mum and Gabrielle weren’t that close; in fact, I’d met Gabrielle only once, and I was so young at the time that I couldn’t even remember her. But I’d heard all about her, and the stories were . . . well, they were outrageous! She’d come to England twenty years ago for Mum’s twelfth birthday ball and had caused quite a scandal when she tried to frame Mum’s lady’s maid, Shannon, for theft. Luckily, Mum had figured out the truth just in time to save Shannon from being sacked, and Gabrielle had gone home to Paris in disgrace. According to Mum, Gabrielle had apologized and seen the error of her ways, but I was still troubled by what she had done all those years ago. What if she hadn’t really changed her ways? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn’t want to spend my birthday with her now that our American relatives couldn’t join us. It was one thing when she was coming along with our other relatives, but another thing to think of spending time with just her. But from Gabrielle’s letter, it sounded like I didn’t have a choice.

  “Mr. Embry, would you please send for Juliette?” Mum was saying. When our housekeeper had retired a few months ago, Mum had decided not to replace her, choosing instead to give orders directly to the staff.

  “Certainly, milady,” he replied, bowing before he left the library.

  “Oh, Mum, must Cousin Gabrielle come?” I asked. “After we canceled the ball, I’d thought it would be just you and me on my birthday—”

  “That’s what I’d thought, too,” Mum replied. “But Gabrielle is family, Betsy. I don’t see how I could poss
ibly ask her to stay home. Especially after she’s gone to so much trouble to arrange for Madame Lorraine.”

  Before I could answer, Juliette arrived. She flashed me a very quick smile as she stepped into the library, then turned all her attention to Mum. “May I help you, milady?”

  “Yes, Juliette, thank you,” Mum told her. “Our cousin Gabrielle will be joining us next week, and she’s written with some very specific food requests.”

  Mum held out a page from Gabrielle’s letter. As Juliette glanced at it, I noticed all the color drain from her face. Poor Juliette, I thought. Whatever Gabrielle wants must be especially complicated. Why should she have to go to so much extra trouble just to please Gabrielle?

  “As a courtesy to our guest, I’d like to make sure she’s happy,” Mum continued. “So please take whatever steps necessary to fulfill these requests.”

  “Of course, milady,” Juliette replied. “It will be my pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Juliette,” Mum said as she returned to her stack of letters.

  Juliette curtsied before she hurried from the room. But she still looked more worried than I’d ever seen her before.

  “What was on that list?” I asked curiously.

  “Let’s see . . . rack of lamb with mint sauce, crêpe suzette, and lobster thermidor, among others,” Mum replied. “Cousin Gabrielle has always had very particular tastes.”

  And a distinct lack of manners, I thought.

  Mum spoke up, as if she knew what I was thinking. “She can be quite charming. Gabrielle’s really the life of the party, you know. I suspect you’ll enjoy her company more than you think. I have no doubt that your birthday will be infinitely more exciting with Gabrielle at Chatswood Manor.”

  I hoped Mum was right . . . but I still wasn’t convinced.