Marjorie is petulant, and I suspect she will never want to wear the necklace again simply because I have worn it. She is selfish, and wants to be the first among the daughters to don it. I imagine she might even demand a new necklace of her own if she plays the martyr well enough tonight. In fact, I can already see the wheels spinning in her mind.
When we arrive at the Admiral’s mansion, there is a long row of carriages waiting out front, and we sit and wait for what seems like an eternity. I wonder why we did not leave sooner for the event, but realize that Mother probably planned this. She possesses great skill in navigating the waters of high society, learned from her mother before her. And she knows very well how important it is for us to make the right entrance on this night, when enough of a crowd has gathered. It will be the best way to make the greatest impact for my debut.
From the carriage, I get an exceptional view of the Admiral’s home, which has huge pillars out front that make it look like a museum or opera house, or perhaps a Greek palace. Many speculate as to how he made so much money, to afford a home that could house royalty. Some believe that his wife inherited great riches, while others whisper that perhaps the Admiral used his position in the government to ensure that his investments in the shipping industry profited. Whatever the source of his wealth, the Admiral’s Ball is considered the most coveted social event of the year. To be excluded from it means that one has fallen from grace.
We finally pull up, and are allowed out of the carriage. A red carpet has been laid out on the front steps that leads into the building, and from the second we step onto it, I can already see heads turning my way.
We enter the foyer of their home, which is even more spectacular than the exterior. White marble stretches before us, and the red carpet from outside continues through the entrance to the two doors that lead to the Grand Ballroom. When you look up, you can barely see the ceiling, it is so high, at least two or three stories up.
A harpist greets us with dulcet notes plucked from her strings, but her music only provides a prelude to what sounds like a small orchestra coming from the Grand Ballroom’s double doors. We walk through them, and I breathe deeply. Though I have been here before, it has always been as the underage daughter who blends into a crowd of children who are not quite adults, and never when I knew attention would be focused on me. Though I have seen it before, the sight that greets us intimidates me. A giant staircase leads down to the main floor of the ballroom, where there is already a large crowd of guests. Men are dressed in black suits with white shirts, and there are women wearing the most expensive dresses you can imagine, which some have sailed to Paris themselves to obtain. They eat hors d’oeuvres and drink punch and exchange pleasant conversation. Yet, even from the top of the stairs, far above them, I can see small groups gathering in the corners, whispering to one another, strengthening their allegiances and forming new ones, as they plot to tear down their rivals.
I feel nervous. Marjorie stands next to me, and she is so much better at this than I. Even though this night could prove to be an assault to her reputation, she holds her head high, ready to rise above it all.
She looks my way, and seems to notice my discomfort. And for a brief moment, a look of pity flashes in her eyes.
“Come, sister. We are Caldwells. Let us conquer this night with aplomb.”
And we begin our walk to the main floor.
I take the steps slowly, trying desperately to keep from falling. Even in the best of circumstances, I am clumsy in high heels. And when we finally reach the bottom, a distinguished, older butler greets us. Mother hands him a card with our names printed on it, to assist him with his announcements. But I suspect he knows us, from our previous visits to the Admiral’s home, and our standing in London society. I recognize the man, even though he is of the serving class.
And for some reason, I wonder if he ever wishes to rise up against us, to tear down his entitled oppressors.
“Mister Hugo Caldwell and his wife, Catherine, with their daughters, Marjorie, Caroline and Madeline,” he proclaims to the room, in a booming voice that rises above the din. And I admire him, because I could never be so bold as to speak up in this way.
They do not see me at first, the familiar faces we know from such events, friends of my mother, girls my own age I am familiar with, their brothers and husbands. They think I am Marjorie, because of our similar hair and features. They only study the dresses, and admire the emerald necklace. But slowly, they realize that I am the one who has donned vivid colors, and my sister wears the more demure gown. And a twitter of excitement races through the crowd.
Father goes to greet some of his friends, and Mother immediately leads us to where Mrs. Lawlor and Mrs. Price-Pearce are standing. And Gregory’s mother looks at me with eyebrows raised.
She is a stunning beauty, even at her age, with artfully coiffed blonde hair. She is perhaps the most beautiful woman in the room. Mrs. Lawlor wears a dress of blue silks that match her eyes, and has painted on her make-up with a skill that master artists could not match. Mrs. Price-Pearce is sadly her opposite, small and mousy, a slug-like creature with a waist that is too thick for expensive dresses, and powder that has been caked on too heavily. But there is a kind of feral sparkle to her eyes that tells me she loves the intricacies of this newfound social world she has clawed her way into, and I suspect Philippa’s mother is more than equipped to plot and plan the downfall of others.
“Good evening, Amanda, Loreli.”
“Good evening,” Mrs. Lawlor says, still staring me down, like an eagle ready to swoop on its prey. But she turns to Marjorie abruptly.
“You look very lovely tonight, dear.”
“Thank you,” Marjorie says, trying her best to muster courtesy. But she knows it is a slight. Mrs. Lawlor looks at me with a mixture of anger and confusion, wondering why I am dressed so dramatically, especially before I have been properly presented to the world, such as at an 18th birthday party. It is almost a faux pas on our part, but these things have happened before, and she clearly knows there is a reason.
Mrs. Price-Pearce seems equally confused, and probes us for an answer.
“Caroline, how very beautiful you look. I don’t think that we’ve ever seen you looking quite so stunning before,” she says.
“Like a flower that surprises one with an early bloom,” Mrs. Lawlor says. And the two women cannot not help but to share a knowing smile between them.
“I suspect this evening shall have several surprises. And I do hope they are all to your liking.”
The ladies smile at Mother, but their expressions are guarded, as they are still unsure as to what they should think.
“By the way, I will be having a tea party later in the month. It would be so lovely if you both could attend,” Mother says.
“I will have to check my schedule when the invitation arrives.”
“They will be going out this week,” Mother says. “In fact, I shall send yours out first, to make sure the date suits you. Because I would most certainly not like to see my social standing plummet from excluding such important friends. That would be a very sad fate for one, indeed.”
She turns to us.
“Come girls, let us get some refreshments.”
Mrs. Lawlor and Mrs. Price-Pearce give us cold stares as we walk away, and Mrs. Lawlor glares at us more harshly of the two, no doubt understanding Mother’s subtle suggestion that she has made a grave error in shunning us.
We approach a large punch bowl and wait to be served drinks. Marjorie wanders off, to talk with one of her friends, with Madeline in tow. And Mother goes to address one of her other companions, Mrs. Arbogash, a woman whose attitude is always friendly to all, no matter the tide of malicious gossip. And suddenly, I find myself alone, for a brief moment.
Already, I can tell that interest in my appearance has spread through the room like a fire. I can see Marjorie standing with her friends, and they are looking over at me, whispering. And some of my own friends go to join them. And
my two sisters seem to be the center of attention. They look to me with malicious smiles, and my heart sinks. I cannot help but to wonder what Marjorie is saying to them, to protect her own reputation. Actually, I can, and I pity her for not realizing that what I do is to help us all.
Or perhaps I am the foolish one, for placing such faith in my own lies.
A voice comes from behind me, far too close to my ear, and I realize someone is addressing me.
“I thought you were Marjorie, for a moment.”
It is Gregory Lawlor, and I am surprised that he wishes to speak with me. He practically whispers in my ear, which makes me uncomfortable. Gregory has never taken notice of me before, and it seems odd that he does so now.
“I am most certainly not Marjorie,” I say coldly.
“No, you are not. And that might be a very good thing,” he says, with a smile that turns my stomach. In fact, his closeness and the way he whispered in my ear all sicken me, and I find myself wishing Gregory Lawlor would go away.
I have never liked him. Certainly, he is handsome enough, but I could never tell why Marjorie was so enraptured of him. Though he is tall and has brown hair which is thick, I have always detected a certain pallid tone to his skin, which I find unappealing. It makes him seem sickly and weak, or at the very least suggests that he would produce inferior progeny. Even worse, he is callous and arrogant, but perhaps that is the common bond he shares with my sister.
He is definitely not Roland.
“Perhaps you will grant me the honor of a dance this evening?”
“I most certainly will not! I consider that request most inappropriate,” I say, under my breath.
But Gregory Lawlor only laughs.
“It most certainly is not!” he says in mock horror, ridiculing me. “We are neither of us married. And we should take the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company while we can, before we are engaged. Which might be happening quite soon for both of us. In fact, this might be our last chance.”
He looks me up and down, examining my dress. Gregory Lawlor leans closer, in a most unwelcome way.
“At least in such a public place,” he says, grinning.
I am about to turn to find Mother or Father, but I need not look far, as miraculously, I am saved. Roland is suddenly there, at his side, and it comes as a great relief. He is like my personal angel, radiating a protective light around me.
“I’m afraid all of this lady’s dances are reserved for me,” Roland said. “And that is the way it will be from now on.”
Gregory Lawlor looks almost angry at being interrupted. But Roland cuts an impressive figure with his height and strong frame, towering above him. And he looks far more handsome in his black suit and tails than Gregory does. I am immediately dazzled by his blue eyes and thick blonde hair, a fact which Gregory seems to take note of, with irritation. Mr. Lawlor realizes he no longer exists to me, though I am conscious enough of his presence to know he is more than a bit curious as to who Roland is.
“We have not been formally introduced,” Roland says, with a small bow. “I am Roland Bennett.”
“Gregory Lawlor,” he says, shaking Roland’s hand. “And how exactly are you related to Caroline?”
“You will find that out soon enough, my friend,” Roland says. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. But in the meantime, why don’t you go seek out her sister, Marjorie? I’m sure she would appreciate a kind word from you on this evening. And I would very much hate to see such a beautiful lady disappointed.”
Roland addresses Gregory in a strange way. He puts his hand on the cad’s shoulder, and almost gives him a command. Gregory seems annoyed at first, for a brief flashing moment. He is not one to take orders from another man. But suddenly, his look changes to one of great interest, as though Roland’s suggestion is the most fascinating of concepts.
“Marjorie is here? I had no idea. I’d thought perhaps she was sick. If you would excuse me, I would love to go say hello.”
Gregory bows and slinks away, and a sense of joy overcomes me, at no longer having to be near him. And even though I can still feel Marjorie staring daggers at me from across the room, which is probably worse now that she has seen me talking with Gregory, I am thrilled to have Roland here with me again. And I am fascinated by the skill he had in dealing with Gregory, his impressive influence over others.
But I shouldn’t be surprised. I, too, am under his spell.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I say. “I feel it has been ages since we were last together.”
“Do not worry. The time will come soon enough when we are together, forever.”
Forever. Again, he uses that word, giving it a certain punctuation which makes it stand out in a somewhat alarming way. It once more conjures images of fairytales in my mind, and the idea of spending an eternity with Roland is certainly not without its appeal.
“It’s odd. Even though this is a party, I feel more that I am in a pool, surrounded by piranhas.”
“Worry not about piranhas, or any other such scaly creatures,” he says, leaning in, almost speaking in a whisper. “I will protect you from them all. And I will never falter in that duty.”
I almost feel that he is referring to Father, and the trouble he has gotten himself into of late, with his company’s finances. And it offends me, for just a moment. But the unpleasantness is easy to forget, because Roland is right. That is exactly how he makes me feel, protected from all the horrors of the world. And suddenly, the Admiral’s Ball feels like a party again, and I am happy to be exactly where I am.
Before we can say anything more, Father steps out from the group of men he was conversing with across the room. And he begins tapping the glass from which he is drinking, a tumbler filled with an amber liquid which I’m sure is strong. The music stops, and all the conversations subside.
Roland puts his hand on my back, gently, and moves me forward to the periphery of the crowd, maneuvering us so we can better hear Father’s words.
“I would like to make a short announcement, if I may be so bold as to interrupt the festivities,” Father says. “I am a man of few words, and I will get right to the point. Tonight, my wife and I take great pleasure in announcing the engagement of our daughter, Miss Caroline Caldwell to Mr. Roland Bennett. We are very pleased to welcome Mr. Bennett into our family, and hope for a long and prosperous union between them.”
“Congratulations,” one of Father’s friends says, quite loudly. And polite applause fill the chamber.
Mother looks around with a smile on her face, making sure to connect her eyes with other matrons in the room, the ones who hold the greatest sway amongst their peers. It is her way of letting them know that this union is one that pleases her, that will ensure her continued presence in London society, and that whatever rumors they heard about misfortunes befalling the Caldwell family are just that, rumors, and unfounded ones. And the women she stares down look at Roland in turn with interest and a desire to find out who he is, to determine if there is some way they can pull us apart. Which will never happen.
Another man steps forward, and I recognize him as Philippa Price-Pearce’s father, though he is difficult to remember as his features are quite bland. Sadly, the thinning grey hair on his head is his only distinctive trait, the one that reminds me of who he is.
He, too, raises his glass.
“I would also like to make an announcement, if I may,” he says, with a trembling voice.
But his words are less welcome than Father’s, as Mr. Price-Pearce does not have as distinguished a reputation. It is only in the past several years that his family has been able to encroach upon high society. But, nonetheless, the people in the room listen politely.
“My family also has an engagement to celebrate. Of our lovely daughter, Philippa, to Mr. Gregory Lawlor.”
The applause rise up again, and to my surprise, are perhaps a bit more loud. It shouldn’t surprise me, as the Lawlor family is well-known in our circles, and I am glad to have the attention
taken away from me. But I cannot help but to wonder for a moment if the people clapping their hands are mocking Gregory just a bit, because he now stands next to Philippa with an uncomfortable look on his face. One might think he had been dragged there, which I suspect is not far from the truth.
There is a financial element within his union, not unlike my own.
But I’m sure he considers Philippa to be something less than a prize within his own mind. She is a plain girl with a figure wider than Marjorie’s by a good half, and brown hair that is somewhere between the colors of wet sand and mud. And though she wears a dress more colorful than Marjorie’s, somehow Philippa makes it look like it came from a maid’s wardrobe. And I cannot help but to laugh inside, because I know Gregory is mortified.
And my poor sister begins to sob, I can see it from across the room. Though Gregory doesn’t notice, Marjorie quickly leaves, and rushes out to the darkness of the gardens, where no one can see her cry.
A light music begins to play, and Roland turns to me.
“Would you care to dance?”
And I take his hand.
I am usually not terribly light on my feet, though I have, of course, learned to dance competently in my classes. But in Roland’s arms, I feel transformed. We move to the center of the dance floor, and I somehow spin about, effortlessly. And it feels magical, I can tell all eyes are fixed on us. Soon, Gregory comes with Philippa, who looks absolutely giddy. He moves stiffly, and as they dance about, others join in.
The images in the room rush by my eyes at a dizzying pace, yet for some reason, something catches my attention. A young man stands against the wall, behind the refreshments. And it is strange to me that I am able to make note of him when everything else seems a blur.
As we pass around the dance floor once more, I spot him again. And it troubles me, somehow, because I know he is watching us with a degree of interest the rest of the crowd doesn’t show. Or perhaps, it is because I feel that his attention is focused on me.
The music stops, and we applaud politely. And luckily, from where I am standing, I can view the young man from the corner of my eye.
The Meridian Gamble Page 21