Cynthia Bailey Pratt (11 page)

“The master sent me with a letter, missus.”

“A letter? Is he well?”

“‘Bout the same, I’d say. Sorry to come so late, but there weren’t no point in putting up somewheres for this little bit of the night.”

“You’ve done well. Give me the letter.”

“Here it is.” Fumbling inside the breast of his leather coat, the servant brought out a large packet. Danita could see the red wax that sealed it dully reflecting the light of the several candles Figgs, his wife, and two of the maids held.

Mrs. Clively suddenly seemed to realize she was not alone. “Figgs, why do you stand about? Find a bed for William Etter. Has his horse been seen to? Must I think of everything myself?’’

The two maids, anxious not to be put to work at one o’clock in the morning, stole up the stairs. One made a face at Danita as they passed. Interpreting this to mean that they were all three in collusion against Mrs. Clively, Danita crept back to her own bed. She had been disturbed by the sounds of the gathering servants because she’d been unable to sleep.

Her bedroom faced New Bond Street. A restless breeze moved the muslin curtain in the moonlight. Danita lay there and looked at it, hoping the vague, shifting patterns would lull her into sleep. All the time, though, she knew that beyond the window, beyond the low-burning streetlamp, across the street, Sir Carleton slept.

Unfairly, Danita blamed him for her sleeplessness.
He
was not troubled by the consciousness of debt.
He
could do as he liked, with no one to naysay him. And the explanation wasn’t merely the difference between men and women. She had tried to make herself independent and she’d failed. As soon as she could, she would go out into the world and try again. Knowing the salary a governess could expect was not high, Danita promised she’d skimp and go without to send him the rest of the money. Determining this, Danita closed her eyes resolutely and tried to force her body into a relaxed position. But sleep did not come.

With a moan of frustration, Danita flicked back the counterpane and reached for a woolen shawl. Wrapping herself up, she crossed to the window. The soft curtain lifted against her cheek. She put out her hand to still it.

The street below was surfaced in mother-of-pearl, from the light of the not-quite full moon. Somehow, Danita knew no one but herself was awake in New Bond Street, or perhaps in all of Bath. The Assemblies had ended promptly at eleven, as was the custom. The invalids were all waiting for morning before fixing again upon their illnesses. Even the chairmen were safe in bed, freed for a few hours of carrying others about until arms and shoulders ached. The house beneath her sighed in its sleep, with faint creaks as it settled in.

Suddenly, in the street below, there was a man. He came along slowly, his hands thrust beneath the tail of his evening coat. Moonlight reflected softly from his hair, and gleamed from the pale bosom of his shirt. Danita did not need to have her certainty confirmed by the light on his face. It was Sir Carleton. She withdrew at once into the darkness beyond the window. Who knew what else the smooth light, pouring like cream over every surface, might reveal?

She could not bear not to know what he was doing. Slowly, carefully, she peered out again through the curtain, not daring to put it aside for fear he’d notice. She told herself he had gone, or if not gone, then certainly he would not trouble to stop outside Number 12. But he did. As he looked up, Danita felt his eyes lift to her very window, though how she knew the direction of his glance, she could not say.

The silence grew until it felt like a weight about her shoulders. She knew he could not see her, yet felt illuminated by the moon as though she stood in the street beside him. She wished she could go down to him, to hear how he had fared at the tables tonight. But it was impossible. Mrs. Clively would surely hear.

For a long time, Danita stood and watched him, until, at last, Sir Carleton went up the steps to Number 15. He moved as though he were very tired, or disheartened. Even after his candle had flared and faded in the window across the street, Danita stood clutching a shawl, in a room suddenly cold.

When Mrs. Clively came down immediately after breakfast, both girls were startled to see her. Usually, Mrs. Clively went out early to visit the Pump Room, for both a bathe and a drink of the water. Then, she would retire to her room until the evening. With her entrance into the morning room, a strange tension began to tug at their usual morning calm.

 “Aren’t you going to greet me, sweet?’’

Berenice shook off her surprise and came to kiss Mrs. Clively’s cheek while Danita sank into a curtsy. “Very pretty, child. Did you enjoy your second Assembly as much as the first?”

“The music was excellent, ma’am.”

“And you, Berenice? I saw you break hearts. That Mr. Newland is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. And his manners, in the main, are acceptable. I think, perhaps, if he continues to behave himself, you may receive him here.”

Berenice exchanged an appraising look with Danita. “Thank you, Grandmamma. I do quite like him.”

“As you should. Come, tell me what you are doing.”

 “Cousin Danita is showing me a new French satin stitch. She says its quicker to work than the kind you...that is, than the other kind I knew.”

Mrs. Clively glanced at the rather dirty flowered footstool cover Berenice had been working on for months. Begun as a Christmas present for Mr. Clively, it turned into a birthday present, but now was called a gift for whatever event came next in the calendar. “How excellent your eyesight must be. Much better than mine, I am certain. Would you kindly read out this letter to me? Danita, go and ask Mrs. Figgs to come to see me when she can find a moment.”

Usually, Danita read out any letters or invitations Mrs. Clively received. Perhaps Uncle Lemuel mentioned matters in the letter Mrs. Clively did not wish to share. As Danita gathered her silks and needle-packet, she realized this could not be. For if Mrs. Clively knew already what information her husband sent, why have anyone read the letter out?

Berenice studied it, a crease puckering her smooth forehead. “Oh, dear. Grandfather’s handwriting is difficult, isn’t it? ‘My dear wipe...wife ... I hope this ...’ oh, dear, f...i ... m ... no, it’s an ‘n’ I think.”

Coming to the rescue, Danita read over the other girl’s shoulder. “ ‘My dear wife, I hope this finds you well. I have nothing to complain of, though the doctor warns me to take care, but he does not know how much I have still to do.’” She paused. “Is Uncle ... I mean, Mr. Clively, unwell?”

The older woman’s lips had turned down sullenly when Danita began to read, though she had not complained, realizing perhaps that waiting for Berenice to puzzle out the words covering two sheets of paper would take a fortnight at least. “He fancies himself ill, and that fool of a doctor coddles him. Neither of them knows what it is like to truly suffer.”

“Are you missing your treatment today. Grandmamma?”

“I shall go later. Would you like to come with me? I feel I scarcely ever see you these days.”

Berenice’s comments after a single sip of the famous water had not been favorable. But the vast elegance of the Pump Room itself had impressed her as a suitable background for her beauty.

Since coming to the spa, Berenice had learned that she was beautiful. People had told her that forever, but she found they mentioned it less and less as they knew her longer. In Bath, though, she could always count on meeting someone new, who would remind her of it. “Thank you, Grandmamma. I’d love to go. And Danita has never been. You can’t say you’ve been to Bath, you know, unless you’ve drunk the waters.”

Mrs. Clively said, “Danita, aren’t you going to tell Mrs. Figgs what I asked you?”

“What about the letter?” Berenice put in. “I can’t read Grandfather’s writing. It makes my head ache.”

Strangely, Mrs. Clively hesitated before saying, “Very well, Danita, go on.”

The letter was mostly taken up with news about the estate, details about the tenants and mild gossip about the neighbors. Mrs. Clively did not seem to listen to any of the news. Berenice only pricked her ears when Lemuel Clively digressed a moment to discuss his horses. The last paragraph was the only one with any interest for Danita.

‘“I trust our niece enjoys her visit with you. I know, Judith, you will think I am spoiling her but I have sent a sovereign by William Etter for Danita. Convey to her my wish that she spend it on some frivolous item. I know you care for all her other wants. For you and Berenice I reserve my whole love. Your fond husband—Lemuel Clively.’”

Danita lifted her eyes from the page. Rare indeed that anyone would make a special mention of her, let alone trouble to send a gift. Remembering how furtively he’d pressed the first two sovereigns into her hand, she felt almost like crying at this further evidence of his generosity. “Has Mr. Etter left for Roselands yet?”

“No. He awaits my reply. Why do you ask?”

“I must write and thank Uncle...Mr. Clively at once.” She left her place by the cold fireplace, handed the letter to her great-aunt, and seated herself before the desk in front of the morning room window. Unscrewing the top to the ink bottle, she dipped the pen.

“Wait a minute. Cousin. Before you write, shouldn’t you have your present? Grandmamma, is Danita’s sovereign in your room?”

 “You needn’t trouble yourself, my lamb. I shall give it to her later.”

“But I so wanted to go to the shops this afternoon. It will be such fun if we both have money to spend, won’t it, Danita? I shall encourage you to be wildly extravagant. I’ll fetch it for you. Grandmamma, if you will tell me where it is?”

“I tell you, Berenice, she shall have it when I say she might. It is not a kindness to give money for extravagancies to a person who is not acquainted with thrift, and so I shall tell Mr. Clively. Danita, write as I direct.” Mrs. Clively cleared her throat.

“Ma’am,” Danita said, before her great-aunt could continue. “I assure you I am well acquainted with thrift and have no wish to spend money frivolously, despite my uncle’s instructions.”

“Thrifty? You? When you need write to me for a roof over your head? I don’t know what freak Mr. Clively has taken into his head. Fripperies and foolishness for a mere companion! Does he want you to take ideas above your station? Write as I direct, Danita, or it will go ill with you.”

Carefully, Danita replaced the pen on the inkstand, lest it snap in her tightening hand. Poor relation she might be, but she would not be ordered and she did not appreciate being threatened. Meeting her great-aunt’s eye without fear, she prepared to return Mrs. Clively’s comments with a few of her own, when Berenice broke in, glancing worriedly between the others.

“Oh, Grandmamma. Don’t be so hard on Cousin Danita. I’m sure Grandfather only meant she should buy a book. That is a foolish extravagance for him. And I’m sure she is perfectly bookish herself, having been a schoolmistress. Give her the sovereign. It isn’t the least worth getting oneself upset over.”

“You are right, lamb. But I shall write my husband myself and tell him what an ungrateful chit we’ve taken into our home.” Snatching up Berenice’s footstool cover, Mrs. Clively began to unpick the new stitches.

Time passed in uneasy silence, until Berenice, yawning frightfully, announced she was still tired from last night’s Assembly. “I’m going to lie down. Where is that periodical you were reading, Danita?” The older girl picked up
La Belle Assemblée
from the top of the desk and held it out.

Taking it from her cousin, Berenice murmured, “You should have some money. It isn’t as though Grandmamma is giving you a weekly wage, like the other servants.”

“What did you say, lamb?” Mrs. Clively demanded.

“Nothing,” Berenice said with her sweetest smile. She patted away a second yawn. “Oh, dear. I am so sleepy. Aren’t you tired too,  Grandmamma?”

“Ingratitude always makes me tired.”

“Then perhaps you should come up, too. I know you aren’t as strong as you think. Why don’t we take a nap together? I can read to you until we fall asleep.”

Mrs. Clively’s face crumbled into tenderness. “I remember when you never wished to sleep without me near.”

After they left, Danita tore the letter she’d begun in half. She wanted to write her uncle a bright, cheerful note, hiding the fact that his wife considered her little better than a slavey. From the tone of his letter, Danita felt certain he had not known she was to be a lowly companion. She began the letter again, but she had not progressed very far when Berenice was once more in the room.

“Here,” she said, thrusting forward her hand. She cupped a rather dull coin in her fingers.

“Where did you...?”

“As soon as Grandmamma fell asleep, I found it under her handkerchiefs. I found this there, too.” Dropping the coin on the desk, she flourished Sir Carleton’s tribute. “I’m sure she doesn’t want me to have it. But what harm can it do?”

“You shouldn’t rifle other people’s belongings, Berenice,” Danita said, quite in her old manner. But then she chuckled and added, “But I shan’t scold you for it, and I hope you do not get into difficulties over this. I have a need for this money I can’t tell you about.”

“You need a new bonnet.”

“No, I ...”

“Believe me, you need a new bonnet. Come to think on it, so do I. Grandmamma will sleep for hours now. I shall go make myself ready and we will go at once to the milliner’s in Bath Street. I saw the charmingest bonnet of moss silk that was fully two foot high. If it suits me, I shall buy it.”

“Just let me write this letter.” Making her letters large and clear as a consideration to old eyes, Danita wrote, “Dear Uncle—I am sending by Mr. Etter a novel I purchased with your first gift to me. Please keep it for me and read it so that we might discuss its many fine points. I cannot thank you enough....”

While Berenice waited impatiently in the foyer, Danita picked up the two halves of Miss Austen’s novel and went into the region belowstairs. The moment the green baize door swung to behind her, she felt at home. This feeling lasted only until she reached the kitchen. The sound of cheerful chatter that drew her on stopped immediately upon her entry.