by Carla René
The heartfelt plea and half-truth seemed to set the course, for she paused and saw the forlorn expression her mother’s aging but still very comely face wore, and then reconsidered her speech.
“Oh of course mother, and yes, I will see him.”
She knelt down before Lilly, clasping her hands and continued in a softer manner.
“But you swear that if I find myself distasting him, you will immediately and without repentance, send him away, never to return?”
“I do swear it my pet,” and Lilly placed her hand over her heart with one hand, while crossing her fingers behind her back with the other. It was enough appeasement for the woman-child, who threw her arms around her mother’s neck with abandon.
She returned to her teasing tone. “You know you can be quite a bugger mother; and do not think I do not know what you are up to, but I wish to make you happy, and so I will do it.”
Lilly chuckled, kissed the fair cheek, and said, “Good. Enough of this nonsense. Back to the day at hand. We must find you a proper dress to wear. Mrs. Reddy will take care of the dishes, and I must finish the receipts, so as soon as I am finished, I will help you choose the perfect gown.
“Mother, I have been meaning to speak to you about something. I know we have much to do to ready for Holiday, but please may I call upon Rachel this afternoon? I have missed her so very much, and I know she will wish to see me also. Do you mind terribly? I can be back in time to enjoy high tea with you if you wish.”
“Why do you not invite her? It would be very nice to see her also. And I like the idea of having some youthful laughter in this house again. It will certainly make the mood seem festive. Yes, that would be a lovely idea.”
Without Lilly’s knowledge, Izzy saw the brief pain in her mother’s face as she spoke of joyfulness that no longer existed in their home, and it made her sad. She grabbed her mother’s hand and said, “Mother, you are absolutely wonderful. Maybe she can also give us her opinion on a proper gown for tomorrow night.”
Lilly kissed her daughter’s forehead, and said, “Yes, the idea grows on me. Now, do run along to your room and begin unpacking while I finish those receipts. Then I will be along soon to help.”
“I will be in my room,” came the reply and with that, she was out the door and into the hallway, cooing to Mr. Puss, who had followed her.
Thankful to have another set of moments to herself, Lilly was so unnerved by this time, that after she entered her room and before she began the task of opening her ledger, she sat for a moment at the desk, and hung her head in her hands, while the tears seemed to flow of their own volition. How could she manage to string together such a set of falsehoods? How had it come this far? Why had it come this far? How could she go on like this for another four weeks?
Her inquisitive daughter, if she would only put the pieces together, knew far too much already, and the more she asked, the more panicked Lilly became. She suddenly felt trapped, alone, helpless, and angry. Yes, she realized that she was no longer shedding tears of sorrow, but tears of rage. How in the name of all that is Holy, could he have done this to them?
Isabella’s pleading from across the hall broke the silent thoughts and dragged her back to reality. “Mother, I do not hear you shuffling papers. Hurry and help me! We have spent far too much time apart.”
“Yes dear, you are right. Give me a few moments.”
She would definitely shelve the matter until the evening when she had more to repent for as the day wore on. By the time she finished the last paycheck, she was determined to let that be her last lie.
Chapter 4
A Taxing Proposition
A Taxing Proposition (Chapter Four)
The sun made its way through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the drawing room where Lilly and Isabella had been sitting for the better portion of the afternoon. The room contained some of the finest architectural details afforded Fairtown. Looking from the center of the room, the windows facing the West seemed to expand forever upward from the hardwood floors to the twelve foot ceilings, softened only by the motionless French lace panels. These windows always received the hottest afternoon sun and served as beacons of warmth for the house; not only for tactile purposes, but also for one's spirit. This also attended to Mr. Puss’s mood as well, for he was very serious about his sunbathing.
The fireplace served as the room’s central focus on the South wall, and embodied an ornateness in the columns as well as the rich mantle that was unparalleled by any estate in the town. Hand-carved by the architect himself out of mahogany and dark cherry, the work was original. In their grander days when Mr. Audley still served in office, the family would throw elaborate parties that not one of the invitees would miss, since that meant another lost opportunity at seeing the exceptional house. It was Mr. Audley’s heart-felt wish that Isabella be married in the house, and eventually inhabit it with her own family one day.
Flanking either side of the fireplace were two commissioned paintings; one of John Audley while in office, and the other of his father, also while in office. In rich gilded frames with carvings of fruit and bird motifs, the oils were hung in 1852 and never removed.
In the center of the room serving as its anchor, was an imported Indian rug in rich mauves and mint greens that Mr. Audley had purchased on his last trip to India as a surprise gift for Mrs. Audley’s birthday. Little did she suspect at the time, that he had also purchased a rare mauve wall covering that was custom-made to match the rug. He saved that surprise for a later time. When she returned from a trip in which she had visited her sister in Massachusetts, she wept happily to find that John had stripped the old paper and installed the new, all without her knowledge. To this day, it still remains her favorite room in the house.
Included in the decor were sofas and love seats in a matching hue, but darker shade of the same mauve; an imported color from Germany, reserved only for the most affluent; another reason many families vied to have it decorate their own homes.
On the North wall, flanking a doorway leading to the formal dining room were hand-carved, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, again, from mahogany. While it is true that they had a well-stocked library within Mr. Audley’s own private study, these shelves were stocked with volumes highlighting Mrs. Audley’s and Isabella’s own tastes.
In this room is where they placed the enormous floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree each year, and that was an incredible sight, due solely to the large ceilings. It took nearly one hour to light each and every candle hanging, but oh, the smell of fresh greenery! The Audley household was always filled with the smells of the season, which included evergreens, spices and citrus. Citrus was always a luxury that they came to expect each year, and would never give up.
As both women sat silent, working on their individual sewing projects, Lilly noticed that Isabella was smiling to herself.
“And would you care to share those thoughts making you smile?”
Izzy, startled, smiled again and said, “Oh. I was just remembering the way the house always smells and looks at Christmas. I cannot wait until we are able to hang the greenery. It just does not seem to be Christmas without it.”
Without looking up from her sewing, Lilly only said a small, “Um,” under her breath. She was becoming good at appearing to be insouciant by circumstance, while inside she was dying of unmitigated terror, wishing it all to be over very soon.
“My, my, what is it that has your attention so captured, mother?”
“Just the hole in this favorite neck scarf of mine. It seems that I mend it and mend it, and yet a newer hole appears each season as if by magic. The same with my hats. I cannot keep a decent hat to save my head,” she said, then chuckled at the unintended pun.
Izzy took notice of the hat remark, and it was all she could do to keep from blurting out her wonderful secret of the lovely one awaiting her mother’s head.
At that instant, Charles, the footman entered the room.
“’Scuze me madam,” said the fifty-five year old who
had taken care of their stables and horses for nearly twenty years.
Lilly looked up from her sewing. “Yes Charles, what is it?”
For a moment he did not speak, looking down uncomfortably at the hat he held humbly in his hands.
“Come on dear man, spit it out,” said Lilly, with much impatience.
“Well ma’am, I hate to interrupt you, but it is about today’s wages.”
As quickly as she could muster, she turned to Isabella and whispered, “Dearest, this is of a personal nature. Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”
Isabella nodded and exited.
With the room to themselves, Lilly turned back to Charles, changed countenance and proceeded. “Now Charles, what is the problem?” Lately, her temper had been shorter than ever with the servants, but she resolved to never let Isabella know.
Charles squirmed. “Ma’am, it is Martha, my wife. She took ill bout a fortnight ago and the doc says she needs bleedin’, but we do not have the extra money. I tried not ta bother you with this until after I got my wages today, but it is hopeless with how much I get. I was hopin’ you could see your way to advancin’ me a week’s worth. Doc says that if we do not do this now, there will not be any hope for her.”
Lilly was silent. Her eyes wandered over to the fireplace, now dark with a fire-less ash, and she stared. A deep weight pushed on the top of her head, dousing her mind in a thick, black haze. She could feel her ears beginning to close, yet each passing second made her heartbeat even louder. With all the strength she could muster, she met Charles’s eyes, stood to her feet, and in a small voice, said, “Charles, I am so sorry that your wife is ill. I know how long you have been with her, and how special she is to you. You know that I will do whatever I can to help. I am sorry that you waited this long to speak with me. I, of course, will advance you a week’s wages, and I sincerely hope that the time lost has not been of detriment to Martha’s health. Do keep me informed of her progress, will you, not?”
The tension in Charles’s face weakened, and without remembering his place, he, with force of gratitude, threw his arms about Lilly’s neck, choking back a grateful sob. She was on the verge of a cry as well, but for a reason that only she understood.
After they parted and Lilly took care of paying the advancement, she made her way to the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Reddy. Little did she know that as she spoke near the staircase, Isabella was descending the carpeted stairs, and overheard her mother tell Mrs. Reddy that there would be no meat or cheese for next week’s groceries.
The chiming of the mantle clock struck four, and Izzy sprang from her seat. “Well mother, it is time. I am going to change into a walking outfit and call upon Rachel. It has been so long that I am just too excited for words.”
Rachel Hastings was Isabella Audley’s best girlfriend since they met each other in the first grade. And as girlfriends go, they held similar interests, mannerisms, and beliefs. She too was a fiery spirit with strawberry blonde hair to match. Both very intelligent women, they were never afraid to speak their minds on issues as broad a topic as that of political import, or matters of fashion. While in childhood they both were interested in the performing arts, yet it was after high-school that the dream took an alternate route, with Rachel choosing to pursue the written word and engaging in the composition of novels and eventually stage plays, rather than ending up like one-third of society’s women in what one would call the “sweat trades”. If they did not fulfill their destinies for spinsterhood or motherhood, they ended up working as milliners, seamstresses, domestic household servants, framework knitters, washer women, nailers or straw-plaiters, to name a few. Since Rachel too, came from a family of privilege, she was afforded the luxury of choosing one of the cerebral vocations. Her father was a gentleman, and her mother a matron of society, so the young ladies shared similar backgrounds more than their own common curiosities.
Remaining friends all this time had been their utmost priority throughout the years, and they had survived all happenings that one could only imagine, except that of a man. They decided long ago that no man would be worth coming between them. Attaining a level of solidarity that even the rolling currents of societal undertow could not destroy, the girls vowed a commitment of steadfastness that served as a wellspring of inspiration for those closest to them. Loyalty between friends was avowed and disavowed as quickly as one could lace a corset or unbutton a boot.
And now, after three-and-a-half full years, she would finally get to embrace her dear friend. The fervor was too much.
"Tea will be promptly at six."
"Do not worry. I will be there and back with plenty of time left over."
And with that she scooted upstairs without any thought for decorum that a lady should consider, grabbing her skirts around her knees as she took the stairs two at a time.
Smiling, Lilly vividly recalled a time when she too, could not remove herself from her home quickly enough to see a cherished friend. Those were indeed gleeful times.
She sighed. How would she be able to get herself and her daughter through this holiday in such a condition as would soon befall them? As soon as the thought passed through her mind, a cloud passed over the sun, sending a chill up her spine.
Chapter 5
A Plan Is Hatched
A Plan is Hatched (Chapter Five)
The afternoon sun created fantastic, dancing prisms of light on the mounds of fresh snow. From the ground, the sky looked absolutely clear, as if one could materialize the wind by merely wishing it. On such a day as this, all things in direct opposition were crystallized, without appearing to emanate from any effort. It was easy to see the great expansiveness of the town from overhead through exposed craggy tree limbs, while at the same time seeing the smallness of it as one moved down its streets, peering on beloved family pets asleep in their dog houses through uncovered backyards. Everything out in the open, while still undercover. Very prominent people, carrying on cozy, intimate lives.
Izzy felt as if she were a colt loosed into a large field, and since her footman was tending to his wife, she set off on foot. The brisk afternoon walk to the other end of town invigorated her spirits, although fending off the matrons’ keen eyes and sharp tongues for such flagrant behavior would serve as an equalizer of such. Torn was she between remaining true to her requirements, and bringing reproach upon the family name, for it was unseemly for young ladies of Isabella’s station to be seen unescorted.
The green silk of the afternoon walking gown that she chose glistened in the sun, and mirrored the gaiety of the spirit of the season, blending perfectly with the red ornaments of holly berries on the trees and street lamps. It was one of her favorites, and had been given her by Mr. and Mrs. Hastings on her coming out day that she had shared with Rachel. So elaborate was it, that she had not been afforded the luxury of traveling with it to Radcliffe, and so left it behind with great sorrow, but not without much luck in her favor, as Mother had forwarded ample sustenance for her years at school, which did indeed include new apparel.
As she proceeded up their street and onto Harrison, the usual flood of childhood memories crept into her mind, illuminating her heart with joy. There was Mrs. Winston’s home on the corner, and Mr. Ruby’s large but beautiful home situated adjacent.
One Halloween day in particular held a fondness in Izzy’s heart. At the lunch hour, she and Rachel crept out of the school yard and over to Mr. Ruby’s cozy kitchen for much forbidden morsels of English toffees and chocolate milk, in lieu of the usual sustenance required by the boards of education for lunch. Mr. Ruby, a widower, enjoyed being kind to the neighborhood children. That evening, he piled candy and apples so high that children for ten blocks came running, certain in the knowledge that Mr. Ruby would never run out before getting their own sacks filled. And each time they knocked on his door yelling “Trick or Treat” with giggles, he acted surprised, which made the children laugh all the more.
John Audley minded not in the least at Izzy’s involvement with
Mr. Ruby, for sometimes in the summer months, he would allow Izzy to tend to minor chores for the elderly man such as weeding or sweeping his porch. She was always rewarded with a glass of lemonade, and for a girl of nine, a true prospector’s dream. But Izzy’s favorite came when Mr. Ruby would ask that she sit on the great porch and read to him in the cool of the evenings. Sometimes it was Shakespeare, the Holy Bible, or Thomas Hardy, and at other times it was his favorite, John Donne. There would be some days when he would ask that she read several chapters of “Divine Meditations ” until it was long past dark, and at times, lingering shamelessly upon his favorite poem:
iDeath, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me;
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.
She could never fully exact its meaning, and Mr. Ruby would only smile with a far-away look on his face, and say, “Well my little miss, it means that soon I will be a happier man, everything that John Donne has written will come into my powers of understanding, and that God’s wisdom has a special place for those who have come of age.”