“Do you see it?” May asked breathlessly, pointing at the constellation of seven stars. “Look just up there now that the clouds have cleared off.” The three sisters were drifting lazily on their backs between the wide troughs of waves.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “the one that looks like the upside-down tiara. I caught a glimpse when I was skimming through the barrel.”
“That’s what it is exactly. A crown. It’s called the Corona Borealis — the Northern Crown. It’s easiest to see in August. But even then, it can be hard to see.”
“How do you know so much about the stars, May?” She saw her two sisters exchange nervous glances.
Then May turned to Lucy. “I have a beau, May. His name is Hugh — Hugh Fitzsimmons — and he is an astronomer.”
“And I, too,” Hannah said. “It’s a long story, Lucy. Maybe we should swim back to the cave. There is still time before dawn.”
“Stannish Whitman Wheeler! He is your beau, Hannah?” Hannah nodded. “He’s famous. Muffy Forbes is having her portrait painted by him.”
“He’s not just famous, Lucy. He’s mer.” Then she added quickly, “Or was mer.”
This was almost too much for Lucy to absorb. “Was? Is?” She turned to May. “And yours — the astronomer. He is mer, too?”
“No,” May said, shaking her head. She seemed slightly wistful.
“But does he know about you?”
“Yes,” May said, and this time she smiled a bit.
Lucy put her hands to her eyes and pressed as if to keep back the tears. “I have someone I love dearly and though he is not mer, he knows the ways of the sea.”
“You do?” both May and Hannah said at once.
“Phineas Heanssler,” Lucy said softly.
“Phineas!” they both exclaimed.
“Yes, but he knows nothing about … this secret life of mine.”
“It might be all right,” May said.
“Or it might not,” Hannah replied.
Lucy lifted her eyes to Hannah. “Why do you say to that, Hannah?”
“The Laws of Salt.” She spoke softly.
“Laws of Salt? What are the Laws of Salt?”
“You’ll learn,” May said.
“It’s not exactly learning. You begin to feel them. Unless someone like Stannish tells them to you for your own sake.” A bitterness had crept into Hannah’s voice that Lucy had never heard before.
“Feel them?” she asked.
“When we take you to the wreck of the Resolute and when you see the figurehead of our mother. You will feel them, and start to know them.”
“But how will they help me with Phineas?”
“They don’t help you, exactly. They just make you feel or know your true nature better, I think,” May said.
Hannah sighed. “You see, I think that Stannish … well, Stannish gave up the sea for the land. He was older than we are.”
“For what? Another love? Another girl?” Lucy asked.
“No, painting. Art.”
“Can’t he have both?”
Hannah shook her head grimly. “He can’t go back now. He would” — she hesitated — “most likely drown.”
“Drown,” Lucy repeated, as if the word were from a foreign language. She would never drown. It was unimaginable.
“We must take you to the Resolute. Then you will begin to understand.”
THERE WAS NEVER a more ardent bridesmaid than Lucy. It was not merely because of the opportunity it offered her to pursue her secret lives but indeed Lucy had grown genuinely fond of Matilda Forbes. Since Lucy was artistically gifted, she often sketched out with her watercolors or colored pencils ideas she had for the wedding. Muffy’s mother, Bessie, had one framed as a keepsake of her daughter’s wedding year. Both girls had served on the altar guild committee, and inspired by the wildflowers they collected, Muffy had decided she must have such a bouquet as a bride.
“But how?” Lucy asked. “Your wedding is in late October and the summer wildflowers will be gone.”
“Oh, we have wonderful greenhouses. I’ll ask the gardener about raising some.”
“But they’re wild,” Lucy said. “I’m not sure if something wild can be raised in a greenhouse.”
“Well, we can try!” Muffy said brightly.
It still seemed wrong to Lucy, so she decided to come up with a more appropriate choice for the season.
Two days later, there was a knock on the front door of the Snows’ house as Lucy was sketching a bouquet for Muffy.
“Come in!” Lucy called out.
“Lucy, that is so common. Just because we don’t have a full-time maid here doesn’t mean you let just anyone in,” her mother said as she rose and went to the door.
“Yes?” Lucy heard her mother say in a slightly querulous tone. “What do you want?”
“Oh, Mother, it’s Boynton from the Forbes cottage,” Lucy said, leaning over from her perch on the couch.
“Yes, ma’am, a note for Miss Lucy from Miss Matilda.”
Lucy took the envelope and opened it.
Dear girl, please come right away. Need your advice on bridal veil.
Affectionately,
MF
Lucy smiled.
“Of course, Boynton. Tell her I’ll be right along.”
“I can give you a lift if you’d like to come now. I’ve got the trap.”
“Yes, just let me get my shawl and hat.”
“Lucy, do you think it’s proper?” Marjorie asked icily as Boynton walked down the front path.
“What, Mother? Muffy needs me.”
“Yes, but a servant just showing up like that? In those coveralls, not liveried. In Newport, according to the duke, every servant has specially designed livery and instead of mere traps, people like Mrs. Vanderbilt and the Drexels all have phaetons, according to Percy.”
Lucy mustered as much patience as possible before she replied. “Mother, this is not Newport. It’s Maine, and if Percy Wilgrew, the Duke of Crompton, thinks Newport is better, let him go there.”
“Now, don’t be that way.”
“What way?”
“You’re always so critical of Percy. And by the way, we are to have luncheon with him, so don’t be late.”
“Where?”
“At the Abenaki.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean for how long? As long as luncheon takes. Do be nice to him,” she said with a sigh.
“Mother, I think I have been very nice. Extra nice, as a matter of fact.” Since the nasty quarrel with her parents, Lucy had made an effort to be less confrontational with Percy Wilgrew. She had been civil and even cordial. Regretting how she had snapped at her mother, she turned to her and gently said, “Of course I’ll be at luncheon. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, Lucy, you’re just so dear, so special. Your father and I only want the best for you.”
Special, Lucy thought. If she only knew!
What would her mother do? The thought chilled her to the bone.
“You see, it’s supposed to fit like this and then the veil will flow out from the back!” Muffy stood before an oval mirror in her mother’s boudoir. Her mother’s maid was adjusting the diamond tiara on Muffy’s dark brown hair, which recalled the seven stars in the Corona Borealis that Lucy had seen that night through the barrel of the wave. “I think Tiffany’s reset them perfectly. Don’t you?” she said, turning to Lucy.
Lucy did not know what to say. She was hardly an expert in jewels. But in truth she felt that the jewels looked better set in the sky. The tiara appeared too big for Muffy’s small head. But perhaps with the veil, they would not seem so overpowering.
Lucy answered cautiously, “Yes, the diamonds are quite lovely. Where will the veil attach?”
“Right back here.” Bessie stood up and pointed to small silver loops at the back of the tiara. “Marisa, will you go fetch the veils?”
“Certainly, madam.”
Two minutes later, the maid was back, her ar
ms embracing what appeared to be a huge mound of clouds.
“This is our first choice,” Muffy said, putting on a lace veil. Lucy thought it made her look top heavy and did little to reduce the rather monumental feeling of the tiara. She wished they would simply forget about the tiara with the seven diamonds, but she knew this was not an option. After twenty minutes of trying on at least five different veils, some of tulle, some of Alençon lace, some waltz length, some fingertip or elbow length, and some cathedral length, Lucy sighed. “I have an idea, but … but I’m not sure if it’s ever done.”
“We certainly don’t want anything too revolutionary,” Bessie Forbes said.
“What if Muffy wore two veils?”
“Two veils!” the mother and daughter exclaimed.
“Yes. First the Alençon lace that is shoulder length and then the tulle that is waltz length.”
“Well, I suppose we could try it.” Bessie Forbes’s voice wavered slightly as if she were considering a life-threatening decision.
Yet two minutes later, everyone in the room was gasping with delight.
“I think it looks nice,” Muffy said.
“Nice! It’s brilliant. Lucy, you are a genius! Muffy, your father will be so pleased. He was, in his old Boston way, hesitant about the tiara. Thought it was a bit de trop, as the French say.”
Lucy couldn’t have agreed more with Mr. Forbes, but smiled. Bessie Forbes squealed and jumped up to hug her. Muffy stood to the side quietly wrapped in the cloud of tulle. The sweeping waltz-length veil billowing out over the shorter lace one somehow did balance the tiara. Lucy peered through the gauzy mist of the veil to find Muffy’s very still and utterly expressionless face. She could not help but recall the resignation in Muffy’s voice when she had spoken so candidly about her future husband. “He is the dearest man. But it’s not passion.” And this wedding did not seem to be a wedding. This bride did not seem to be a bride, and the voluminous mist of fabric was perhaps more a shroud than a veil.
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “It seems quite lovely this way. Thanks, Lucy. Thanks so much.”
“I’m happy I could be of help, but it’s almost one, and Mother expects me at the Abenaki for luncheon.”
“You were of more than just help. You are a life-saver!” Bessie Forbes exclaimed. This overstatement struck Lucy as deeply ironic. “Do tell your mother that you are the best bridesmaid my daughter could ask for!” Mrs. Forbes effused.
Lucy just laughed. She would tell her but in private. She did not want to bring up the subject of brides or weddings with Percy Wilgrew present.
As she was leaving, Muffy whispered. “Is you-know-who going to be there?”
“Naturally.”
“Now, girls, who is ‘you-know-who’?” Bessie asked.
“Percy Wilgrew, Duke of Crompton,” Muffy replied quickly.
“Oh, he is so delightful, a real charmer. Do you know that —” she began.
“Mother! You’ve told this story a million times.”
“Well, it’s a wonderful story and only Percy could have pulled it off.”
“What is it?” Lucy felt she had to ask.
“He met Mrs. Astor, the Newport one. The Mrs. Astor,” she emphasized so it would be clear that it was not the Bar Harbor one, who she seemed to think was a tarnished inferior metal next to the real fourteen-karat gold one. “You know she is normally so proper and private, but she was so fascinated by Percy that he actually got her to dine in public at Sherry’s. It was in all the papers the next day. You see, she is such a grande dame that she never had dined in a restaurant. Rather like Queen Victoria, I suppose. She never dines out. It was a landmark event when Mrs. Astor walked into Sherry’s accompanied by Percy.”
“Really?” Lucy replied, trying to feign interest. She smiled to herself. Phin created entire ships pulled from the depths of his imagination, and Percy’s greatest accomplishment was convincing a rich old lady to go out to dine.
“And she dined out. The diners at Sherry’s couldn’t have been more surprised if Queen Victoria had walked in.”
It was positively eerie. Lucy felt as if she had entered some infinite loop of conversation, a perfect echo of the conversation she had just left, almost word for word. The Duke of Crompton was holding forth at a tea table on the veranda of the Abenaki Club with several ladies, including Lucy’s mother, along with Isabel Schuyler and Melda Gibson, a proper old maid who was a distant and impoverished relative of Isabel’s.
“Oh my goodness!” Marjorie Snow slapped her plump cheek in amazement at the story the duke was telling.
“Lucy, dear, so glad you came. Dear Percy, you must repeat the story for Lucy.”
And so he did. Lucy tried to appear as attentive and engaged as possible. She asked a few questions. She was trying, she thought. She hoped her mother noticed.
“And how was your visit with Muffy? Muffy trusts her, as does her mother, Bessie, implicitly.” She looked over at the duke.
“I’m sure they do, and might I hazard a guess that your visit had something to do with the peacock diamonds?”
“Peacock? Is that what they call them?”
“Oh, yes. They were said to belong to the emperor of China.”
How Percy Wilgrew knew the reason for her visit defied Lucy’s imagination, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction of asking. She turned to him and smiled very sweetly. “Yes, that in fact was the reason for my visit. They have had the stones reset for a tiara to which her veil will be attached. I, of course, know so little about jewels. We have none,” she said distinctly. “After all, we are a parson’s family.” She could feel her mother wince at the word parson.
“Prissy has lovely jewels,” Marjorie Snow added. There was a tinge of desperation in her voice as she raced down the conversational field like a player trying to recover a fumbled ball.
The duke continued seamlessly, as if he had not heard the jewel remark at all. “You know, it has always been my thinking that Bessie Forbes, really one of the most stylish women here, or anywhere for that matter, would find herself much more comfortable in Newport. She is so very, very … Newport!” He then turned to Lucy and beamed. “You are in a very special position, Lucy. To be selected as a bridesmaid — what an honor.”
“Yes. I am very pleased, for Muffy is a lovely girl. I shall miss her when she moves to England,” Lucy replied demurely.
“Oh, you shan’t at all. You shall visit her, and Lyford Hall is quite near to Ashleigh Manor. It will all be so convenient.”
Convenient? Lucy thought but dared not ask.
As lunch finished, Lucy rehearsed the little speech that was to be her excuse for not accompanying her mother home, and precluded Percy from accompanying her anywhere. Muffy loved nothing more that devising pretenses for Lucy’s secret meetings with Phineas.
“I am afraid I have a very special assignment to complete for Muffy. All I shall tell you is it has to do with certain garments for the bridesmaids. So I must be on my way to speak with a certain seamstress. All very top secret.”
“Oh, Lucy, bless you, child. What would the Forbeses do without you?”
“I can’t imagine,” Percy said. “And by the way, now that the Van Wycks are building a boat larger than the Bellamys’, I understand that the Forbeses are also considering one even bigger than the Van Wycks’.”
“Yes,” Marjorie said. “I heard that as well. Did Muffy say anything to you, darling?”
“No,” Lucy replied. “We were concentrating on bridal matters.”
“Well, I have it on good authority that the Heanssler boatyard is said to be contracted,” the duke offered.
Percy turned to Lucy and said almost confidentially, “It’s really going to be quite amazing, I hear.” He turned to the others. “I think the royal family might be envious of the Forbeses. You know, the Prince of Wales just commissioned a new yacht. I don’t think his mother was too keen on it.”
“Why not?” Lucy asked.
“She�
�s rather frugal actually. It seems quite ridiculous, but that’s the way she is. And getting more so in her dotage.”
“I understand that she still dresses in mourning for her late husband, Prince Albert.”
“Yes. They were very devoted.”
His remark struck Lucy as odd. “Aren’t most married couples?”
Marjorie Snow shot Lucy a glance as if to demand, “Why must you always question so?”
“Well, yes, but the prince has been dead for years now, decades.”
“But if she still mourns him, perhaps dressing that way makes her feel most comfortable.”
“Yes, but as a monarch, her duty is to her country. It casts rather a pall, you know. When you have a title, you cannot think just of yourself but of the dominion of which you are the protector. Even mourning can become an indulgence when there is a realm to consider.”
“An indulgence, Your Grace?” Lucy turned to the duke in wonder.
“Quite right,” Marjorie Snow murmured. “Stephen often counsels grieving widows or widowers that it is God’s will that one get on with life.”
Lucy continued speaking despite the fact that her mother had given her a kick under the table. “I am having a hard time understanding how what the queen wears or how long she mourns really has to do with the average British citizen like yourself.”
The duke winced, then chuckled slightly. “Average, Lucy? I hardly think of myself as average.”
“I meant no offense, sir.” She could feel waves of discomfort radiating from her mother, but she could not stop herself from speaking out. The others at the table had fallen silent. Their heads swiveled first to Lucy and then to the duke, as if they were watching a tennis match. Yet she was not embarrassed at all. His sense of superiority with more than an irksome tinge of entitlement was insufferable. If he knew how “average” she truly was — at least in one sense — he would most likely dismiss her at once. She only wished she had the courage to tell him that her mother’s fanciful stories of their connections to Aunt Prissy were just that. But she dared not. They would all look like fools, then.
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