by Leah Moyes
I didn’t speak.
“I do not believe we have been properly introduced.” He held out a hand, palm up. His skin was deeply chafed, and dirt filled the creases. Although his dress appeared refined, a certain coarseness lingered about him. He pulled his hand back when I didn’t meet it and tucked his overlong hair behind his ear. This exposed thick sideburns and a scar above his upper lip. A slight sweat stain appeared on his collar.
I remained motionless.
“Are you unaware of the custom of a courteous greeting, Miss . . .?” He baited for my name.
“She is new to England, and our customs Mr. Abbott.” Merritt appeared at my side. I took my first breath since the man arrived. “. . . and she understands enough to know it is improper to approach an unaccompanied lady.” Merritt’s words were firm and direct.
“I meant no harm, Mr. Gilford,” He put his hands up, “My only intent was to make her feel welcome.”
“Thank you for your cordiality, good day.” Merritt guided my arm towards the opening of the carriage and prompted me to step inside. I happily obeyed.
“Who is she, Mr. Gilford?” The man persisted. His tone turned stiff. Merritt’s eyes momentarily glanced my direction.
“She is none of your concern, Josiah.” The sharpness coming from Merritt’s lips surprised me. I had never heard him speak this way.
“Well, let’s hope she’s none of your concern either.”
Merritt directed me to sit, but he remained on the ground. “I believe our pleasantries have concluded for today.”
“You know, Mr. Gilford . . .” The man driveled as he spoke. Merritt reluctantly turned to meet him. “I would reconsider how you address a consort.”
“My father has not acquiesced, Mr. Abbott,” Merritt responded swiftly. “The arrangement is far from finalization.”
“It’s a shame your father does not include you in his business, young Merritt. The contract was settled two days ago at a barrister in London.”
I watched as the man’s face snarled with satisfaction. Merritt quickly turned from the snake, and as both his hands gripped the side of the carriage, his knuckles lost color. I could not sit still.
“Excuse me, Mr.?” I stood up daringly. Merritt’s eyes went wide.
“Mr. Abbott, Miss . . .” He moved around Merritt. His expression displayed pleasure as I now addressed him.
“Mr. Abbott,” I spoke confidently and quickly. “The next time you want to insult a man in the presence of a woman, choose someone who is attracted to the smell of a skunk and the looks of a pig. I’m not that woman. Go home and take a bath, sir.”
Saturated with astonishment, his mouth curled in disgust, but nothing came out.
“You can leave now.” I waved my hand. He took one last look at Merritt, who expressed a smirk of his own, then huffed and stomped away. Merritt hopped into the phaeton with a full laugh. One that was hidden from before.
“I have never beheld such a sight. In truth, I doubt any woman has spoken to him in that manner. Completely inappropriate . . .” Merritt continued laughing, “but much deserved! Well done, Miss Katharine, well done!”
Once his chuckles settled, my expression turned serious, “What was he talking about, Merritt?”
His jaw grew rigid, and instantly I regretted asking. Merritt appeared lost in thought.
“Katharine, Merritt!” Lizzy called with enthusiasm as she neared the carriage. Merritt immediately stepped down to assist his sisters, and my question became lost.
On the ride home, the girls happily chatted about their friends and social gossip. I listened with only half an ear. Much of my attention focused on a now silent Merritt and concern over what Mr. Gilford Sr. arranged that brought such sadness and suffering to his only son.
Chapter Fifteen
July 1878
“Miss Katharine? Miss Katharine!” Lizzy's high-pitched voice sailed from inside the house. Leaning against the stone wall surrounding the veranda, I held still, waiting for what most certainly came next.
“Elizabeth!” Martha cried.
I laughed, envisioning the expected scolding. This was one of those moments I saw the younger version of me in Lizzy. My parents, too, needed to remind me of my femininity and to behave accordingly. I waited for the muffled voices to cease.
In my one month of teaching here at Charlock, I coveted these rare moments of solitude. It had been an eventful month. Despite my consistent attempts to follow protocol, it became more than apparent to all that I failed miserably in elite British propriety. If it weren’t for my growing friendship with the Gilford children, my stay at Charlock would have ended weeks ago.
During this time, I managed to offend most of the family’s outside acquaintances with my liberal comments on matters of slavery, servitude, religion, and politics. Lizzy was kind enough to point that one out to me. I justified my honesty only because the questions were directed to me. I also showed excessive ignorance in blurring not only the male and female roles of present British life but the hierarchy of ranks, partly because I insist people should carry their own weight. But, by far, one of my biggest struggles to date was the excess clothing requirements. Being reprimanded by Ana on more than one occasion, I surrendered to her rebuke that swimming in the river in my slip was unfitting of a lady, even a governess. I felt confident I did her a favor since my original intention was to skinny dip. It was the frigid temperature of the water that nixed that idea, not necessarily the modesty. Besides, no one hardly went to the river. If it hadn’t been for the stable boys, I would’ve gotten away with my swimming exploits entirely.
Like second nature for Merritt and Lizzy, they defended my western behaviors by merely explaining, “Katharine is from America.” Forgiveness would then come quickly in the form of a shameful nod or occasional condolences. A routine that cycled often. Mostly because I still believed no permanent harm could happen in this make-believe world. That I’d wake up from this bizarre dream at some random point back in 2010, with only a recollection of how lifelike the dream actually was.
“There you are, Miss Katharine!” Lizzy declared behind me. “I’ve been calling you.”
My laugh preceded me as I circled around. “A lady should always keep a gentle voice . . .” I lowered it to a whisper, knowing Mrs. Gilford would not find my humor funny.
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “A lady should be virtuous, ignorant, lack all intellectual opinion, and cease to speak at any given time.” She mocked her mother in dramatic fashion.
“She’s only trying to raise you to be a beautiful, obedient woman, the only way she knows how.” I tried hard not to add to the contempt.
“I have splendid news, Katharine!” The shift in her voice came quickly. She easily forgot the basis of her tantrum. “Mum says you can go to the ball!”
“What ball?”
“What ball?” Lizzy’s perfect complexion scrunched like an old woman, presumably shocked that there could be a person in all of England who had not heard of the famous Charlock Manor Ball. I knew of it . . . of course I knew of it. I only told the stories every day for almost two months, but it didn't occur to me I’d ever witness it firsthand.
“It’s the family’s grandest occasion. Papa cautioned that you are hired help—but mum said, you have accomplished your instruction duties with satisfactory success and I insisted you’re like family to me and Abby and you should be privy to attend—” She took a quick breath and kept going, “and papa conceded . . . so?”
A dull haze blurred my thoughts and held my tongue. I hated social gatherings . . . parties . . . weddings. I was sure a ball was similar. My facade remained blank, but Lizzy didn't wait for me. “Mum says blue is my most appealing shade, but I believe a deep red would be highly flattering.”
I tuned her out. I considered the dances I found familiarity with, and nothing remotely close to a ball came to mind. The only communal opportunities I engaged in as a teenager were at the local Y in the form of an awkward teen night, but that ended in bru
ised knuckles versus sore feet. At ASU, I frequented the clubs on Mill. The version of dancing there would be considered highly vulgar in their eyes. Come to think of it, it was highly vulgar for me, but I was usually drunk. I rarely remembered the details.
After I met Jeff, things changed. I no longer sought excitement that way. The appeal vanished. He showed me how to get a natural high and probably saved my life. He became my center of gravity, and when he died, I flailed. I had no stability or direction.
Shortly after the funeral, people resumed their lives. My parents returned to New York. Jeff’s parents fell into their own grieving routine, and my friends went back to school or work. That’s when I hit rock bottom. Holding a bottle of the highest proof liquor I could find on the shelf, I sat at the top of Flat Iron and drowned myself in his absence. I let my feet dangle off the edge for hours, telling myself the pain from the fall would be better than the agony of living without him. Then I saw Jeff’s face and couldn’t do it.
“Do you think I should wear my ruby combs or intertwine pearls in my hair?” Lizzy hadn’t recognized that her audience became unresponsive, and in my self-pity, I forgot her as well.
My mind spun. I couldn’t imagine going to a ball and consider dancing, flirting, or conversing with anyone but Jeff. The very idea of facing another man intimately even for a simple dance was heart-wrenching. Jeff could never be replaced. Yet, here now, in this elaborate dream, a twinge of curiosity hit me. If only to attend for the mere sights, sounds and smells of an actual ball. To see the coaches, dresses, lights, and music—like the fairy tales I read about growing up.
“Isn’t this news most pleasing, Miss Katharine? There will be plenty of eligible men to dance with.” She fantasized in a place all her own and missed my not-so-subtle roll of the eyes. The way she dreamily described the images led me to believe this was not her first one.
“I have to get the latest fashion,” She relished. “I saw a Charles Worth gown in the news press a week ago, and it was divine. Papa was less inclined to agree due to the bodice cut. It plunges daringly lower on the hips, but it’s what all the ladies of fashion are wearing in Paris and London, why should I be deprived?” Lizzy remained worlds away as she pranced into the house, romanticizing aloud, her grand entrance.
I stayed on the veranda and inhaled the foreboding smell of rain. The clouds weighed heavily above, successfully trapping the sun from shining through. Although the skies had not yet opened up, the lack of warmth caused a chill to ripple up my arms and goose bumps to appear.
I remained stationary against the wall, watching Merritt and Abby play together down on the grass below. He was teaching her how to hit a ball with a board, similar to baseball. Merritt constantly doted on his sisters with adoration, proving he’d make a loving father someday.
Mr. Gilford Sr. was a generous man on paper—responsible, firm, thorough and smart, but rarely home. He never seemed to want that one-on-one time with the girls and only occasionally disappeared with Merritt if it involved hunting or fishing. This made me sad. My dad worked just as hard, but a day never went by that he didn't make time for me.
I missed my parents. If only I’d let them know how much they meant to me before all this happened. I could only imagine how many missed calls waited for my return, hoping my mom hadn’t called the U.S. government or Scotland Yard in a panic. She was sure to be boarding a plane herself to come and find me, only, it wouldn’t matter, she’d never find me here.
Thinking about the Gilfords once more, I suddenly recalled a detail from the tours I’d forgotten about since my fall. I racked my brain trying to remember the facts, but all that came forth was the event—the specific date remained unclear. I remembered sharing the sad fact that the main family portrait on the mezzanine was painted in 1878, this very year. Painted shortly after the ball, but before Mrs. Gilford's untimely death. Familiar pangs struck my chest. Although I had not lost my own parents, the bitter sting of losing a loved one hardly differs.
Troubled with this thought, I weighed the idea of telling the Gilfords this news without appearing like a lunatic. How can I get them to appreciate their mum for as long as possible? Is it ethical for me to intercede? I paused. Ethical? Really? Here I am debating if something I knew was ethical, yet I was stuck in 1878?
I tapped my finger against my chin as the wheels in my head whirled. I need to proceed carefully. What if I said something or did something that changed the outcome of the future, a future that could even affect me? Although, if I’d been told I only had a few months to spend with Jeff, I would’ve never left his side. We don't always get to say what we want to before something happens, and then suddenly our entire lives change. I guess that’s why we’re told by older, wiser people to treat each day as if it's our last, but it's easier said than done. Especially when you think such happiness could never end.
Deep in thought, I hadn't realized Merritt and Abby had disappeared. I didn't even know how long I deliberated until Merritt’s voice rose from behind and caught me off guard. “Miss Katharine?” He uttered.
I jumped.
“My apologies. Did I alarm you?”
I turned and smiled in his direction. The burning in my cheeks was sure to be seen as I tried to brush off the embarrassment. “No, Merritt.” I acknowledged.
“Are you well?” He moved to join me next to the wall.
“Yes,” I spoke with some reserve. Holding one palm to my forehead, my action contradicted my answer. “Why?”
“You look a bit unsettled—.”
“Oh, no—” I interrupted dramatically. “—I received the official invite to the Gilford annual ball only minutes ago. How could I be upset?” A little sarcasm leaked through, but thankfully he didn't appear to notice.
“Ah, the ball,” Merritt grinned. “Your presence will elevate its distinction that much more.”
I smirked playfully. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Gilford?”
His own cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and he choked an attempt to correct himself, “No, uh . . . pardon me, I only intended—”
“—Yes?” I cut him off, enjoying the tease way too much. I leaned in closer as his body stiffened.
“I meant . . .” Merritt tugged at his collar. “Life is always unpredictable with you.”
I laughed and backed up, giving him some breathing room. “Yes, yes, it is, Merritt. At least it used to be.” My voice trailed off, surprised at how comfortably it came to slip into my old feisty self.
Merritt retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Used to be?” Then a mischievous chuckle emerged, a side I rarely witnessed from him. “You furnish a bit of variation to decorum, milady.”
My brow arched, encouraging him to elaborate.
“I am pleased you will be in attendance at the ball, though you might want to circumvent the Braxtons, and the Marley’s . . .” He listed all the recent visitors to Charlock. “And maybe our cousins, the Kents. Their son, Carlisle, hasn’t been the same since he became . . . acquainted with you.”
I covered my eyes and groaned. “I’m sorry, Merritt. I honestly didn’t think anyone would be up that late.” My urging for a snack one night prompted a run to the kitchen in my altered nightdress, the very short one. Apparently, the introverted nineteen-year-old cousin battles insomnia and wanders the halls at night. Let’s just say it was quite the encounter.
“Don’t apologize. It’s beneficial for people to become apprised of diverse people and customs. It expands their intellect.”
“With that kind of thinking, you must’ve been quite admired at Oxford.”
“Well, no, not exactly,” Merritt paused. “That kind of rationale puts me in a quandary most of the time.”
“With your parents?” I pressed, still curious over Josiah’s comments at church.
“With many people.” He tipped his hat. “I shall take my leave now.”
“Merritt?” I quickly asked. My tone turned serious.
“Yes?”
“When
does your mother leave for London again?” I recalled my previous thoughts.
“Not until the conclusion of the ball.” He seemed relieved my inquiry didn’t involve him. “The preparations for the event require her full attention. This is her most cherished time of year and well . . .” Merritt smiled wide—not like the pity smile I’d gotten used to—but the ‘knock your socks off’ smile I loved. “The Charlock Manor ball is unprecedented.”
I stared at his beautiful teeth.
“I am convinced you will find the night quite agreeable, Miss Katharine. Good day.”
“Uh, huh . . .” My response was mechanical.
Facing the gardens once more, my thoughts went into overdrive. Not so much about the ball, or Merritt, but about Mrs. Gilford. There must be a way to create an opportunity for her to spend some quality time with the family before she dove into her duties for the ball.
To have that secret, weigh heavy on my heart and not do anything about it would be wrong in any era. I would not be able to live with myself if I didn’t try.
Chapter Sixteen
August 1878
As the weeks to the ball drew closer, the house buzzed with energy. The number of workers tripled, and everywhere you turned, the structure and grounds were being transformed into quite a spectacle.
Everyone’s duties either lengthened or altered. Our own lessons reduced to half the time because of Lizzy's constant search for the perfect dress. Mr. Gilford finally relented and brought Charles Worth, the famous designer, from Paris by train. A dozen trunks in tow, they overflowed with his one of a kind designs to indulge the ladies of the house.
“Lizzy, what is going on here?” My eyes widened upon entry to her room. Dresses were laid out in all directions, over the bed, wardrobe, and chests.
“Oh, Miss Katharine, I’m vexed! I've tried them all on and desire them all. Why is it so complicated to be a woman?” A burden she legitimately confessed. I smiled as my hands glided over layers of silk, satin, and lace in all shades and colors. Even though I’d never been much of a dress girl, these were breathtaking.