by Joan Smith
“I feel I ought to be doing something in the meanwhile to find myself.”
“We can insert advertisements in the paper, if you are overcoming your aversion to it.”
Strangely enough, I had almost forgotten about my peculiar position. My mind was more bent on claiming the indisputable right to remain on than getting away. Busy with the renovations and the ball, with the excitement of the New Year approaching, I had resolutely pushed all conscious thoughts of my position back to a corner of my mind. It would, of course, intrude when I was alone, particularly at night when I lay in bed, but hard as I would try then to drag forth some pertinent memory or clue, nothing came. I had more dreams, my sleeping hours were more productive than my waking ones. I dreamed again of sheep and highlands, of myself sitting at a desk writing cards, of standing under a sweltering sun in Italy, looking at the Arno, and then painting Abbie as a Botticelli grace. I dreamed once again of the Medici triptych, after a visit from Mr. Gwynne, who dropped by occasionally to talk of art with Sir Ludwig and myself. I had not overcome my aversion to a public advertisement, but began to see I must be ruled by common sense, and was firming up my resolve to do it. “Maybe we should advertise,” I said, a little reluctantly.
“Shall we wait to hear from Mr. Williker?” he suggested.
“Very well,” I agreed at once, snatching at the delay.
“As to doing anything to discover who you are, outside of advertising I can think of nothing. Bow Street notwithstanding, I feel you must be wound up in the Grafton affair, and if he can run Uxbridge to earth, we’ll discover you have some corner in the muddle. So, Red Herring, let it not spoil our party. I am looking forward to our first party, Rose.”
Chapter Eleven
Christmas was not marred by any intrusion of my past. It was a happy event, celebrated in the customary way. The party for New Year’s was marred by a host of sundry annoyances, not least amongst them an echo from my past. Some of the guests arrived a day early, and I saw right away they were not the sort to merit champagne, nor the huge housecleaning we had undertaken. They were inelegant county people who would have been quite satisfied with the normal fare of Granhurst. I was introduced to two persons already familiar to me by anecdote. Valerie Hodgkins, the late Kessler’s first love was there, a dumpy woman whom it was difficult to imagine any man having loved, ever. Annie assured me well within the woman’s hearing, “She was not so Friday-faced when she was eighteen, nor so chubby.” The woman did not appear to recognize the satinwood commode; she scarcely glanced at it. Nor was there any tarnished tea pot in the kitchen; I had been down to check.
The other lady was the one Annie had castigated as muffin-faced, a former flirt of Sir Ludwig. She was not quite so ugly as Valerie, though I would have called her fubsy-faced myself. A squashed, fat face, with a figure to match. She was nudging thirty, still single, and still determined to try her hand at landing Kessler. He was surprisingly dexterous in avoiding her. He must have kept a sharp eye in her direction to move off every time she advanced towards him, and to do it always so nonchalantly that it could not be said he was running.
I was the object of much interest to all these relatives, who suggested variously that I was a French spy, an actress and a fortune hunter, though it was all done by innuendo of course, and in a perfectly forgiving way. It was Fubsy-face’s mother who insinuated the last-named charge. “How very odd you turned up at the door of a bachelor’s establishment,” she said, regarding me with a knowing look.
“Yes, though to be fair, Mrs. Veeley, I had no notion the Reverend Mulliner was a bachelor when I went there,” I answered, refusing to understand her significant glances to Sir Ludwig.
“Mulliner? Good gracious, were you there, too? Another bachelor! I hadn’t heard you had tried a hand with him. But you came to Ludwig, instead.”
“Yes,” I answered civilly, “for it was commonly said in Wickey that he was much richer.”
She bridled up and looked sharply to her daughter, who looked at Sir Ludwig with a warning glance. “Is the engagement to be announced at the ball then?” Mrs. Veeley asked him in a heavy-handed attempt at irony, while Fubsy-face smirked.
“Why, no, we think it more proper to discover Miss Trelawney’s real name first,” Sir Ludwig replied, impassive as a rock to all the jibes.
“What are you doing to discover it?” the mother asked.
“We are making investigations,” he answered vaguely. “Ah, Rose, would you mind coming with me to meet the Helterns, who are just arriving?” he asked, offering his arm and smiling politely as we walked away.
“You see how useful I am in guarding you from Miss Veeley,” I quizzed him. “I’ve noticed you darting off like a frightened hare every time she advances on you. This should be taken into consideration when you bill me for draperies and gowns.”
“I’ll add it on to your marriage settlement,” he answered. “I suppose I must make some provision for you as you are a fortune-hunting pauper.”
I was presented to the Helterns, who were as dowdy as all the rest, and viewed me with as much distrust. I was the freak again, the exotic bird to be examined for plumage and habits.
“What a charming party it promises to be after all,” Sir Ludwig said after he had turned the new guests over to the butler. “Do you not take the feeling you ought really to be behind bars?”
“It is an excellent idea. I feel a strong urge to bite. The Trelawney is possessed of a highly unstable temperament, you must know.”
“I come to understand why. I even understand why the Trelawney nearly bit my head off when first I met her.”
I did not bite, except verbally. I must own I gave the Veeleys a few sharp setdowns, and when the son of the Helterns suggested I was welcome to return with him to London, which I would find vastly more amusing that being Ludwig’s mistress in the country, I told him quite sharply I doubted London or anywhere would be at all amusing under his patronage. He did not take it in bad part at all, but continued putting his proposition to me at every opportunity.
When the evening of the ball arrived, we were all still on speaking terms. Scarcely a friendly word was exchanged, but we did speak of social nothings. I donned the bronze gown with a little assistance from Abbie, who looked very well in her gown with the satin waistband. I had no jewels, of course.
“Why don’t you borrow my topaz eardrops?” she offered.
“I should wear my diamonds with this outfit,” I answered heedlessly.
She looked at me, startled. “Do you have diamonds, Rose?”
“Good Lord! Whatever possessed me to say such a thing? Wishful thinking, I daresay.” Yet it had slipped out so naturally—’my diamonds.’ I had quite a clear picture of one particular set of diamonds in my mind, too. Not large, but well-matched, a necklace and bracelet and earrings. I could almost feel the lobes of my ears tingle. They were always uncomfortable, flashed into my head.
“Maybe Lud would let you wear mama’s diamonds,” Abigail suggested, uncertainly.
“No! Don’t think of it. What would all your relatives say?”
“Why, more of what they are already saying,” she laughed. “I’ll get the topazes.”
They added at least a little sparkle to my ensemble. When Ludwig gave me a careful perusal, however, I wished more strongly than ever that I were wearing someone’s diamonds.
“One would never take it for second-hand,” he complimented mildly. I could see right away he didn’t like the outfit.
“Your jacket isn’t showing its twenty-odd years, either,” I returned. It did look two or three years old though, and was added to my list of items in that house to be replaced.
“I should have thought to lend you some jewelry,” he mentioned, still regarding my gown without enthusiasm.
I don’t think this was actually the improvement he had in mind. The gauze overdress was designed to conceal, and it filled its function pretty well. With the likes of the McCurdles coming to our party, I was determined to appear
in a respectable light. It was partly for this reason I coerced him into opening the ball with Miss Veeley. Partly, too, it was done to restore that pair of female pests to good humor. It put Ludwig in the boughs, but then he had been amazingly hostile throughout the entire visit, constantly repeating when he was beyond his guests’ earshot that this had been a wretched idea, and wondering when were they going home.
Mulliner and his housekeeper arrived a little late. Miss Wickey sought me out, and I told her I was sorry I had not got in to see her lately.
I thought it was only the unaccustomed treat of the ball that had her looking more animated than usual, but she soon disillusioned me. “Surprise!” she said, handing a small packet to me. My next thought was that she was giving me a gift, but she explained quickly. “I found it under the dustskirt of your bed. At the rectory, I mean. I think it must have fallen out of a pocket when I shook out your clothing that night you arrived. You remember, Miss Smith, your cape was wet, and I gave it a shake before putting it away?”
I opened the package to be confronted with a ring. A plain golden band it was. A wedding ring. “It’s not mine!” I said, handing it back to her.
“Oh but it must be, my dear. I never saw it before, and you were the only one to have used that room in months. It must be yours.”
“No I never saw it before. It’s not mine,” I insisted, shoving it back.
“You wouldn’t remember, would you?” she asked reasonably. “Try it on. See if it fits.”
It fit perfectly, slid on just with a little push over the knuckle, as a ring should. “There! I knew it must be yours,” she said, smiling happily.
You may imagine how I felt. I looked at it as though it were an evil charm. It was clearly a wedding ring. It was half an inch wide, and felt more like a manacle than a ring. “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding hollow.
“You’re welcome, I’m sure. I always had the notion you were a married woman. You had so much self-confidence, managed Mr. Mulliner so well,” she added mischievously. “I never had the nerve to go at him as you did. He still complains about you, calls you an arch wife.”
My gown had no pocket, and I carried no evening bag with me, so that the thing remained on my finger, quite effectively ruining my night. The party, so long looked forward to, went on around me, but my thoughts were all taken up with this ring, and the new idea it must present me with. I was a married woman. Somewhere in this country or another I had a husband, possibly even children. How was it possible I could forget them? How was it possible I could wish they did not exist? The only silver lining to this dark cloud, and it was a tarnished lining at best, was that I was rid of any lingering doubt as to being a lady of pleasure. I had learned and practiced my manipulative techniques within the respectability of marriage, making me a lady of principles.
But was the ring necessarily mine? I had always thought the cloak, gown and shoes to be borrowed. The ring must have been in the pocket of the cloak when I put it on. It had been removed (for what possible reason?) by the true owner. Yet it fit me perfectly. Felt at home to a peg on my finger.
Sir Ludwig had the second dance with his sister. I think he did not wish to incite the relatives and neighbors to too much conjecture by distinguishing me in any way. It was not till a waltz was struck up that he came to me.
“Is it permissible for Miss Trelawney to waltz, or has she not made her come-out yet?” he asked.
“You must know married ladies are always allowed to waltz,” I answered, glancing to the ring, which he had not noticed as yet.
“What, bagged a husband already, have you? I thought it was no more than a carte blanche young Heltern was offering you. Has he been annoying you, by the way?”
“Vastly but no more than everyone else.”
“It’s been pretty bad, hasn’t it?” he asked with a rueful smile.
“It has been horrid, and I begin to feel I have been attacked unjustly, for it turns out I have been married all the time, and you were never in the least danger from me.”
“Is that right?” he asked, looking only amused. “Very poor timing, Rose, to remember Ivor when I am as well as compromised by having you here a month. Nothing but a wedding will restore me to respectability.”
“You had better offer for Miss Veeley, then,” I informed him in an acidic voice. He looked a question.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I held up my left hand. “It’s mine. Miss Wickey found it in my room. It fell out of my pocket, she thinks.”
He blinked twice, without saying a word. Suddenly my wrist was grabbed in a painful hold, and I was being pulled from the ballroom. He didn’t stop till we got to his office, where he summarily yanked the ring off, nearly taking the finger with it. “This isn’t yours. It’s much too tight,” he said angrily.
“It fits perfectly,” I contradicted. Strangely enough, the stubborn thing went back on more easily than it came off.
He reached out to remove it again, but I closed my fingers over it, repeating in a little more detail the story of its turning up after all this time. “It’s not yours,” he repeated firmly. He went on to outline that the cloak was definitely not mine, though it did, in fact, fit perfectly. As had the gown. It was only the shoes that were loose. “It belongs to whoever you borrowed the cloak from. That’s all,” he finished up.
“It fits me,” I insisted.
“Give it to me.” He reached his hand out impatiently. I slid it off and handed it to him. He took it over to the lamp and looked on the inside for an inscription. There was nothing but a ‘T’ inside, enclosed within a diamond —the jeweler’s mark. This ascertained, he put it in his pocket. “It will only cause talk if you wear it tonight. I’ll give it back to you later.”
Then we stood looking at each other. Neither of us had anything to say, but there was a great feeling of self-consciousness in the room. What was not said was as speaking as words. This changes everything was the feeling. It was a very dismal feeling, indeed.
“Shall we have that waltz?” I asked, with an air of indifference.
“Why not, Miss Trelawney?” he replied. We returned to the ballroom and enjoyed a bittersweet dance, during which neither of us said a word but were minutely aware of the closeness of the other. The first time I had been in his arms for more than a second, and it would in all probability be the last. How good it felt, and how sad.
“We’ll talk later,” he said when the dance was over, as Mr. Heltern began hastening towards me. Ludwig hadn’t even the heart to look angry.
It was an interminable evening. I didn’t miss a single dance. Some feeling of doom and damnation was upon me, whose dispersal required me to be gay almost to the point of ill-breeding. In the eyes of the McCurdles I went a good deal beyond that point, I could see. I found myself laughing and flirting with all manner of scarecrows, most of whom seemed very out of place at a polite party, but then they were country relatives, unpolished diamonds, no doubt. When the supper was over—that supper over which I had slaved, at least mentally— when the musicians had gone off home and the last of the guests departed to their bedchambers or their homes, Abigail, Annie and myself and Sir Ludwig stood in the hallway, breathing a weary sigh of relief.
“I’m for bed,” Annie said, stifling a yawn.
“You run along too, Abbie. I want to speak to Rose,” Kessler said.
She twinkled a tired smile at us and ran up the stairs after her cousin. Servants were cleaning away a welter of glasses and hors d’oeuvres plates in the once green, now blue Saloon. “We’ll go to my study,” Ludwig said, and I followed him there, wondering what he would say.
He closed the door behind us and drew the ring out of his pocket, looking at it with a face showing much the same cheated feeling I felt myself. I reached out for it, not that I wanted it, to be sure. He took my left hand in his and slid it on the appropriate finger. I had no memory of anyone’s having done that before, yet someone probably had, in a church, surrounded by my friends
and the clergy. He grabbed my hand impulsively and raised it to his lips. “We don’t really know, Rose,” he said uncertainly.
I was more angry than sorry. How dare fate cheat me out of this moment? He was as well as saying he loved me, wanted to say it I knew, and I was strongly inclined to hear the words, even if I was married, which was very wrong of me, of course.
I proceeded to try to weasel it out of him. “What difference would it make anyway?” I asked, adopting a pout. “The behavior of your relatives towards me has made it perfectly clear . . .”
“Don’t be foolish,” he scoffed, squeezing my hand quite painfully.
“I suppose you mean me to understand that if it weren’t for this ring you would be offering marriage to a stray picked up off the streets.”
“No, no, picked up at a rectory—much more respectable.”
“I doubt very much I am respectable. I probably ran away from him, whoever he is. Maybe I’m divorced,” I mentioned hopefully.
“Maybe you were never married at all. We don’t even know the ring came from the cloak—borrowed cloak, you wore. We must start advertising at once. It is foolish to have waited so long.”
“I see you are eager to be rid of me,” I said, trying to goad him into some sort of declaration, however vain the effort.
“Rose Trelawney, you are quite shameless,” he declared, “and so am I.” He swept me into his arms and kissed me more resoundingly than I had intended, and I had planned on more than a peck on the cheek. “Now that is what I would do if I were sure you aren’t a married lady,” he said, his lips against my ear and his voice unsteady.
Suddenly I was sure, absolutely positive. The ring I had forgotten, but not these sensations stirring within me. I pulled abruptly away, flustered and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised. “I thought you—expected it.”
“I did.” Oh but I hadn’t expected this sudden onrush of knowledge, this cold certainty that I had every right to the ring I wore. I felt it with the fingers of my right hand, frowning at the sudden memories that washed over me.