A Different Reflection (6 page)

“There are these too!” he then remarked as he opened the dresser to the side of the wardrobe, revealing long gloves and fans made of what looked to be ostrich feathers, dyed in shades that matched the gowns. As he pulled open the bottom drawer, he revealed five pairs of shoes – each one to match a gown – alongside small purses of pearl and lace. “You like them?” he asked.

“I'm speechless, they are so, so beautiful; I feel honoured that you have shown them to me,” I told him as I gently touched the fine silk and lace.

“Margaret had impeccable taste. She had the crimson one made for her birthday ball; a sign of her passion and love that she missed with Howard. Alas, she never wore it.”

“Why ever not? It is such a shame that she did not wear such perfection!” I replied as George lifted it out of the wardrobe for me to inspect it further.

“She decided it was maybe the wrong sign to everyone else. Reds of any shade were depicted as someone desperate to attract attention!” he remarked. “She opted for the blue; I imagine it mirrored her feelings on the inside.”

I sighed heavily. “I feel like I knew her. You are so good at telling stories, George. If I didn't know any better, I would think you had been there!” I replied.

George placed the dress back into the wardrobe and closed the doors. He smiled, gestured for me to exit the room and then he looked around the whole room, smiled and closed the door behind him.

George was quiet on the walk back down the staircase, and I had the distinct feeling that the fate of Margaret and her loneliness played heavily on his mind. Maybe it made him think of his loneliness? I linked my arm with his and looked at him. “She will be happy again now, George, as she is reunited with the love of her life!” I remarked. He smiled and patted my hand in recognition of my words, but he did not reply. Once we returned to the day room, as it had been near on three hours since lunchtime, George made more tea and I looked more closely around the room in which we sat. It was filled with intricate ornaments, beautifully handcrafted antique furniture, and fabrics that I knew could not be replicated today hanging at the windows. The old shutters still existed, and as I sat at the window seat and looked out across the garden, I had my own visions of how amazing this house must have been. I had not really noticed that George had returned until he passed me a cup and saucer.

“Lost in thought, Katharina?” he asked. I sighed.

“It was such a different time then, everything was different; business, family, acquaintances, social ethics, love, chivalry… I find it very hard to understand where everything went so wrong today. I mean, everything then seemed to mean so much more!” George nodded at my words.

“I think there is some truth in that, Katharina; I do think people take too much for granted these days. Although, I think in years past some people took too much for granted too, like young master James!” he then stated as he took a sip of tea.

“Yes, you must finish the tale of James. Quite the handsome fiend he seems to be shaping up to be!” I remarked. George took a sip of his tea as he looked in the mirror opposite.

“Fiend? Maybe too strong a word. Bloody fool seems more appropriate!” He smiled.

“What did he do?” I asked. “Well, besides the gambling, the using of women and the lack of respect for himself and what his mother required of him!”

“Indeed. Unfortunately his mother was heartbroken for a second time when he had his thirtieth birthday. He was now classed as a philanderer and there had still been no marriage. One woman however was to change his whole life forever on that birthday, until such a time that he could learn a little respect!” he concluded as he stood and walked toward the mirror. I almost thought that he was mumbling to himself under his breath, and it made me slightly uneasy again.

“A woman made him come to his senses?” I asked. He turned and faced me.

“Well, she taught him a lesson!” he replied. He shook his head and then gestured for me to join him.

I placed my cup on the table and walked toward George, who smiled warmly at me. “As an old man, I find that I cannot wait for long lengths of time between meals. Shall we go and prepare dinner, then we can change and eat not too late?” he asked.

“Sure, if that's what you would like. I am happy with that,” I replied as we left the room, but not before I picked up the tray with the beautiful porcelain teapot and the cups, saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl. As we walked, I pried. “So in what way did this woman teach James a lesson? It wasn't gruesome, was it?” I asked, slightly hesitantly. He laughed.

“It may have been kinder, but no, nothing gruesome. Let us make dinner and then we'll have something to discuss whilst we eat!” he replied.

“Alright, it's a deal, George. But then I must learn something about you. That is, after all, what my story was supposed to be about,” I confirmed, thinking about what my editor had said, but being somewhat obsessed with James Aldersley.

Making dinner with George was fun. We talked and swayed along to music on the radio, mainly Radio Two and ‘golden oldies'. Once dinner was in the oven, I looked at my watch; it was now a quarter past five. Time was flying, and my stay would be over here faster than I could imagine, so I needed to keep focused. George had already given me one glass of wine whilst making dinner, so I told myself to be responsible, as I was working.

“I am going to shower and change for dinner, George, if that is alright?” I enquired.

“Absolutely, me too. It is not very often I get to have dinner with a beautiful young woman. It is certainly a night for me to remember!” he remarked. I smiled at his humour.

“I will see you in about half an hour, George!” I replied as I turned and took my wine with me to my room to change.

I closed my bedroom door behind me, tasted my wine (a large mouthful) and then placed it on the dresser before throwing myself on the large, four-poster bed. I closed my eyes and reached out my arms; I couldn't even reach the edges, this bed was so big! It was soft, with heavy fabric, and I couldn't wait to wrap myself up in it later that night. I clambered back to my feet and walked toward the window, unfastening my earrings; the rain had not relented since it started and it was getting heavier. It was dark and cloudy, and as the rain lashed on the old leaded windows, I shivered. I drew the heavy, long curtains to close out the cold. On grabbing my wash bag, I ventured out into the hallway, and walked two doors down to where George had explained the bathroom was. Even though I had been given a brief tour, it was hard to remember exactly what lay behind each door. I was relieved to find that I had chosen the correct one, and walked into the vast space that was the bathroom.

It was decorated in an old style, with the bath in the middle of the floor, but it thankfully had taps and plumbing. I looked toward it and sighed, wishing I had the time to wallow in warm, foamy bubbles in the deep roll-top bath, but half an hour by any girl's standards was not going to allow that! So I turned to the large shower that was built into one of the recesses and turned it on. I undressed and stepped into the warm and refreshing spray. The large fluffy towels were enormous and almost trailed along the floor, but the feel and smell was divine. I walked across to the mirror, stood and looked at myself, then attempted to put minimum make-up on. It wasn't like I was venturing out on the town, so I didn't need much make up. I thought I would try and look flawless in complexion with very little, as I somehow felt that George would appreciate that more. I slipped on my robe and hung the large towel once I was finished and ventured back to my room. As the rain had wet my hair earlier and it did not look too good, I had washed it quickly. With hairdryer in hand, I quickly tousled it as I dried it, leaving a length of natural waves. Tonight I would clip it up to suit my tea dress.

Once ready, I quickly reached for my phone. I found no missed calls or texts from John but, knowing he was busy, I sent a text anyway, saying: ‘All is going really well. The story is as interesting as I thought. Find out more about George tonight over dinner. This place is amazing! Don't work too hard – Kat x'. I was in all honesty slightly annoyed that I had not heard from him, so I decided that I would leave my phone in my room to charge. I slipped my nude-coloured heels on, checked my hair, which I had now neatly pinned up, applied some light lip gloss and left my room.

Returning down the grand staircase gave me shivers, thinking of the balls in past years and the people that must have attended. I had visions of the dresses and laughter and conversation, but was then brought back to earth with a large flash of lightning that lit the slightly dark entrance hall. I scurried quickly down to George's apartment and knocked as I entered. I couldn't help but smile as George turned to me, dressed in a suit. It looked somewhat dated, but I liked it. It was dark grey in heavy tweed; he had a cravat that was pinned and a crisp white high-necked shirt. He bowed at my presence and then smiled back. “Why Katharina, you look delightful!” he stated.

I curtseyed in return, then placed my empty glass on the counter and replied: “George, you look very handsome!”

“Why thank you. One does like to make an effort!” he joked. “Shall we?” He gestured for us to leave his apartment and return to the main house. Surprised, I turned and exited. I had thought that we would be eating in his humble apartment, but he had apparently decided differently!

We walked back through the kitchen. As my heels clicked along the stone floor, he continued: “I decided that if we are to let you have a taste of this house correctly, then we should eat in the dining room!” he confirmed.

“Oh, really? I don't want you going to any trouble, George!” I replied as we walked across to a door that showed a subtle glow through the frame. He pushed the door open to a roaring fire in the fireplace and the long dining table that I remembered seeing before on my tour. It was set with an intricate lace cover and place settings for two, at one end of the table, opposite each other. I smiled. “Oh George, this is beautiful!”

“Yes, it is a room that I like very much. Before we go in, though, I am going to make you keep your promise – I hope that you will grant me one dance in the ballroom!” he suggested.

“Absolutely, I would love to. I'm not the best dancer, George, and your toes may suffer, but yes. I am so excited!” I replied as I clapped my hands together in anticipation. It was something that I had seen many times in stories, fairy tales and movies: the grand ballroom, where so much tension, pleasure, passion and connection happened. I linked arms with him and we walked across to the ballroom door which was open. The lights in the ballroom were on; they were subtle and reflected the painted ceiling and the gold ornate carvings along the walls, which were imbedded with gilt mirrors designed to reflect the many dancers at such a function. I stood and turned, taking in the whole room, and smiled.

George walked across to an old gramophone and placed the needle gently onto the turning record he had chosen. Immediately after the lovely crackling sound, a whole orchestra burst into life and he walked back across to me with his hand outstretched. “May I have the honour of this dance?” he asked. I nodded and then we took our positions in the middle of the floor. George held himself so well, standing as he took in the beat of the music before gracefully leading me around the whole ballroom floor. We moved easily and turned; he led with such elegance that I fluidly followed. As the music came to an end and he continued to keep spinning, I threw my head back and laughed. It was a sheer delight, and I felt for the first time in ages so very, very happy. The music had stopped but the player still crackled, and then George stood me steady and released me from the confident hold that he had. “Thank you. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed dancing!” he sadly stated, as if he had missed it for so very long.

“The pleasure was all mine. I feel like a princess in a fairy tale in the most elaborate room!” I replied. He turned and walked to lift the needle from continuing the crackling and then walked back to me and held out his arm.

“Shall we dine?” he then asked.

“Let's!” I simply replied, as we walked back to the dining room.

“Please, be seated and I will pour you some wine!” he then instructed as he gently guided me to my seat and pulled back my chair. I nodded in acceptance at his request and gently brushed my dress neatly down, once sat, as George placed a linen napkin in my lap. “Red wine?” he asked.

“That would be lovely, thank you!”

“I shall return promptly with dinner,” he then stated as he disappeared back out of the room.

I took a sip of the wine and then glanced around the room at the ornate features. The mirrors reflected the glow of the fire, and as I sat and gazed at the leaping flames, George returned with plates in hand. He placed my plate down first and then his own before sitting. I lifted my glass: “A toast I think; to new and interesting friends, who are delightful company!” I spoke with sincerity. By all accounts, I would rather sit and talk to George over dinner than many of John's work colleagues and friends.

“Indeed. New and interesting and beautiful new friends!” he then replied as we held up our glasses, chinked them just once and took a sip.

“This looks really good, George!” I then stated as I looked at the dinner in front of me.

“Well, it was not just my fair hands that made what we are about to eat!”

“Shall we?” I asked, realising how hungry I now was.

Dinner was delicious. George had followed it with a chocolate tart that would give Gordon Ramsey a run for his money. By the time we had finished, a few glasses of wine later, I was contently full. I needed to make sure that I did not lose sight of why I was here, although I felt that I could escape here for a long time. “George, I really must ask you about
you
! I still have a story to write and I know less about you than I do about James Aldersely,” I then remarked.

George sighed and sat back in his chair, took a sip from his glass and then replied, “But to know about me, you have to know everything about James!”

“Well, again you intrigue me! Do you want to tell me about you?” I asked, wondering if he wasn't willing to divulge anything to me about himself.

“It's complicated and, I assure you, hard to believe. Although you may think that I am a story – and of that I can assure you, Katharina – I am not sure how successful it will be for you!”

“Can I be the judge of that?” I asked, hoping that he wasn't going to now say nothing at all about how he came to be living here.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes I do. I think!”

“Can you be open-minded? More importantly, can you think long and hard before you make a decision as to whether this is a story that has truth? I can tell you it is hard to believe, and I know that I have tried many times before!” George explained as he leaned forward and placed his glass back on the table.

“I like to think that I never judge anything until I have all the facts, and then I can assimilate them into some form of understanding, George!” I confirmed. He smiled, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and looked toward the large mirror at the end of the table before replying:

“Very well! Just remember that you asked me for the truth!” he stated. I nodded and started to feel a little uneasy; that I may not like what I was about to hear. He refilled our glasses, turned to the fire and then began.

“It was now 1750, a year that changed everything. James had many acquaintances scattered across the country, and one thing he did like to do was travel. He would ride for days and stay with other single friends, with whom he would embark on nights of passion, drinking and gambling. In March of that year, he took it upon himself to visit a business acquaintance named Henry Cavendish, another handsome young man of only twenty-five years. He lived in a small village called Haworth, in Yorkshire. He had a sizeable estate and the same way of life as that of James, so they seemed well suited. His friend Henry threw a lavish ball, to which he invited many single suitors for both James and himself, but all the while with no intention of any serious connection other than of that sole night. One very beautiful young lady, by the name of Alice Elizabeth Ainsworth, was asked to attend this ball. She was only twenty-two and had the elegance and beauty that could, it was said, stop a man in his tracks.”

“Let me guess; James wanted her immediately?” I quickly interrupted.

“He made it no secret that she had attracted him immensely. He spent that night with her and subsequently the following week whilst he stayed with Henry. By all accounts, they were inseparable: picnics, gatherings and dinner at Henry's estate. However, when it came to James leaving to return home, he broke the news to her that she would not be joining him.”

“I bet that went down well?” I joked.

“The argument that followed did not make his departure easy. James was furious at her behaviour – she had declared her love for him. He had simply wanted a companion with no further involvement; she did not take the news well. She called him a liar, a scoundrel with malicious intent to women, and made it clear that just because he was leaving, it would not be the end of the matter. However, James left and returned home, and simply put it down to experience.”

“So I'm guessing that she didn't leave it at that then?” I asked intently.

“Oh no!” he replied as he took a sip of his wine, whilst I gulped a large mouthful of mine, wondering what the young woman had done for revenge.

“News travelled fast about James' behaviour. His friend Henry had tried to eradicate all rumours, but Alice seemed to be well connected and she fast had people, particularly women, whispering in his presence. He was angry and frustrated and as women avoided him more, he drank more. Then, in August – the month before his birthday – everything seemed to settle and James became a little less anxious as life appeared to return to normal. He carried on his duties here, drank slightly less and started to attend social functions again.”

“I take it that his philandering ways re-appeared then?” I asked with annoyance. He may have been good-looking, but his treatment of women seemed more reminiscent of men's behaviour today, not back then.

“I am not painting a very good picture of him, Katharina, but you did ask for the truth. I know that his heart is good, and can be again!” he sighed as he re-filled our wine glasses.

“You said ‘is good' and ‘can be'… I think we are getting past and present tenses mixed up here, George. This was a long time ago!” I reminded him. He held his finger up to me.

“Ah, yes, a long time ago it was, but please let me finish,” he asked. I nodded in agreement.

“You cannot stop now; I want to know what happened to that scoundrel too!” I said.

“The lovely Margaret wanted to mark the thirtieth birthday of her only son. With the absence of her beloved Howard, she held a ball here at Northfield, to which she invited all the acquaintances and families that they knew. Of course, there were many girls that attended that James had seemingly had intimate liaisons with, so it was not the most comfortable of situations. His dear mother had the intention of finding him a wife once and for all, should he like it or not.”

“Oooh, I cannot see them lining up if they knew his ways though?” I cringed.

“Well, he conversed, I think, with every person that attended as he made his way through a large amount of wine, but nothing prepared him for the one thing he least expected…”

“What?” I asked. “Someone shot him with a pistol? I bet there were a few who wanted to!” I quickly asked. George shook his head.