The Shifting Fog (33 page)

Our focus, you see, had shifted already to the next grand event. For over the coming week, a cluster of indomitable women descended upon Riverton, charged with the weighty duty of overseeing Hannah’s entrance into society. January was the zenith of country balls and the mortification of leaving things too late, being forced to share the date with another, larger ball, was unthinkable. Thus, the date had been picked—20 January—and invitations long since sent.

One morning in the early new year, I served tea to Lady Clementine and the Dowager Lady Ashbury. They were in the drawing room, side by side on the lounge, diaries open on their laps.

‘Fifty ought to do well,’ Lady Violet said. ‘There’s nothing worse than a thin dance.’

‘Except a crowded one,’ Lady Clementine said with distaste. ‘Not that it’s a problem these days.’

Lady Violet surveyed her guest list, a thread of dissatisfaction pulling her lips to pout. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘whatever are we to do about the shortages?’

‘Mrs Townsend will rise to the occasion,’ Lady Clementine said. ‘She always does.’

‘Not the food, Clem, the men. Wherever shall we find more men?’

Lady Clementine leaned to observe the guest list. She shook her head crossly. ‘It’s an absolute crime. That’s what it is. A dreadful inconvenience. England’s best seed left to rot on godforsaken French fields, while her young ladies are left high and dry, nary a dance partner between them. It’s a plot, I tell you. A
German
plot.’ Her eyes widened at the possibility. ‘To prevent England’s elite from breeding!’

‘But surely you know someone we could ask, Clem? You’ve proven yourself quite the matchmaker.’

‘I counted myself lucky to find that fool of Fanny’s,’ Lady Clementine said, rubbing the powdery rolls of neck beneath her chin. ‘It’s a great shame Frederick never took an interest. Things would have been a lot simpler. Instead, I had to scrape the barrel’s bottom.’

‘My granddaughter is not to have a husband from the barrel’s bottom,’ Lady Violet said. ‘This family’s future depends upon her match.’ She gave a distressed sigh which became a cough, shuddering through her thin frame.

‘Hannah will do better than poor simple Fanny,’ Lady Clementine said assuredly. ‘Unlike my charge, your granddaughter is blessed with wit, beauty and charm.’

‘And no inclination to use them,’ Lady Violet said. ‘Frederick has indulged those children. They’ve known too much freedom and not enough instruction. Hannah in particular. That girl is full of outrageous notions of independence.’

‘Independence …’ Lady Clementine said with distaste.

‘Oh, she’s in no hurry to be married. Told me as much when she was in London.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Looked me straight in the eyes, maddeningly courteous, and told me she didn’t mind a bit if it was too much trouble to launch her into society.’

‘Impudence!’

‘She said a ball would likely be wasted on her as she had no intention of going into society even when she was of an age. She said she finds society …’ Lady Violet closed her eyes. ‘She finds society dull and pointless.’

Lady Clementine gasped. ‘She didn’t.’

‘She did.’

‘But what does she propose to do instead? Stay here in her father’s home and become an old maid?’

That there could be another option was beyond their ability to conceive. Lady Violet shook her head, despair bringing a sag to her shoulders.

Lady Clementine, perceiving that some amelioration of spirits was called for, straightened and patted Violet’s hand. ‘There, there,’ she said. ‘Your granddaughter is still young, Violet dear. There’s
plenty of time for her to change her mind.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘I seem to remember you had a touch of the free spirit at her age. You grew out of it. Hannah will too.’

‘She must,’ Lady Violet said gravely.

Lady Clementine caught the whiff of desperation. ‘There’s no
particular
reason she need make a match so soon …’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Is there?’

Lady Violet sighed.

‘There is!’ Lady Clementine said, eyes widening.

‘It’s Frederick. His confounded motor cars. The lawyers sent me a letter this week. He’s borrowed more money.’

‘Without discussion?’ Lady Clementine said hungrily. ‘Dear, dear.’

‘I dare say he knew better than to ask,’ Lady Violet said. ‘He knows how I feel. These are uncertain times. I’m afeared he’s going to mortgage all our futures for the sake of his factory. He’s already sold the residence in Yorkshire to pay the death duties on his inheritance.’

Lady Clementine tut-tutted.

‘Would that he’d sold that factory instead. It’s not like he hasn’t had offers, you know. That business partner of his, Mr Luxton, is keen to increase his share. Talk of independent notions: Frederick’s worse than Hannah. He doesn’t seem to realise the duties of his position.’ Lady Violet shook her head. Sighed. ‘I can hardly blame him. The position was never meant to be his.’ Then came the familiar lament. ‘If only James were here.’

‘Now, now,’ Lady Clem said. ‘Frederick’s sure to make a success of it. Motor cars are quite the thing these days. Every man and his dog is out driving them. I was almost flattened the other day as I crossed the road outside Kensington Place.’

‘Clem—! Were you injured?’

‘Not
this
time,’ Lady Clementine said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m sure I won’t be so fortunate the next.’ She raised one eyebrow. ‘A most gruesome death, I can assure you. I spoke to Dr Carmichael at great length regarding the types of injuries one might sustain.’

‘Terrible,’ Lady Violet said, shaking her head distractedly. She sighed. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much about Hannah if Frederick would only marry again.’

‘Is it likely?’ Lady Clementine said.

‘Hardly. As you know, he’s shown little interest in taking another wife. He didn’t show nearly enough interest in his first wife if you ask me. He was far too busy with—’ She glanced at me and I busied myself straightening the tea cloth. ‘With that other despicable business.’ She shook her head and tightened her lips. ‘No. There’ll be no more sons and it’s no use hoping otherwise.’

‘Which leaves us with Hannah.’ Lady Clementine took a sip of tea.

‘Yes.’ Lady Violet sighed irritably and smoothed the lime satin of her skirt. ‘I’m sorry Clem. It’s this cold I’ve got. It’s put me in quite a mood.’ She shook her head. ‘I just can’t seem to shake the ill feeling I’ve been carrying of late. I’m not a superstitious person—you know that—but I’ve the oddest sense …’ She glanced at Lady Clementine. ‘You’ll laugh, but I’ve the oddest sense of impending doom.’

‘Oh?’ It was Lady Clementine’s favourite subject.

‘It’s nothing specific. Just a feeling.’ She gathered her shawl about her shoulders and I noticed how frail she had become. ‘Nonetheless, I will not sit back and watch this family disintegrate. I will see Hannah engaged—and engaged well—if it’s the last thing I do. Preferably
before
I accompany Jemima to America.’

‘New York. I’d forgotten you were going. Good of Jemima’s brother to take them.’

‘Yes,’ Lady Violet said. ‘Though I shall miss them. Little Gytha is so like James.’

‘I’ve never been much for babies,’ Lady Clementine sniffed. ‘All that mewling and puking.’ She shuddered so that her second and third chins quivered, then smoothed her diary page and tapped a pen on its blank surface. ‘How long does that leave us then, to find a suitable husband?’

‘One month. We sail on the fourth of February.’

Lady Clementine wrote the date on her journal page then sat up with a start. ‘Oh … ! Oh, Violet. I’ve had rather a good idea,’ she said. ‘You say Hannah’s determined to be independent?’

The word itself brought a flutter to Lady Violet’s eyelids. ‘Yes.’

‘So if someone were to give her a little kindly instruction … ? Make her see marriage as the way to independence … ?’

‘She’s as stubborn as her father,’ Lady Violet said. ‘I’m afraid she wouldn’t listen.’

‘Not to you or me, perhaps. But I know someone to whom she might.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Yes … With a little coaching even
she
should be able to manage this.’

Some days later, her husband happily ensconced in a tour of Mr Frederick’s garage, Fanny joined Hannah and Emmeline in the burgundy room. Emmeline, swept up in the excitement of the upcoming ball, had persuaded Fanny to help her practise dancing. A waltz was playing on the gramophone and the two were triple-stepping about the room, laughing and teasing as they went. I had to be careful to avoid them while I dusted and made up the rooms.

Hannah sat at the writing desk scribbling in her notebook, oblivious to the merriment behind her. After dinner with the Luxtons, when it had become clear that her dreams of finding work were contingent on fraternal permission that wouldn’t be forthcoming, she had entered a state of quiet preoccupation. While the currents of ball preparation swirled excitedly about her, she remained outside its flow.

After a week of brooding, she entered an opposing phase. She returned to her shorthand practice, translating furiously from whichever book was close to hand, obscuring her work cagily if someone should come close enough to notice. These periods of occupation, too fierce to be sustained, were always followed by a relapse into apathy. She would toss her pen aside, push her books away with a sigh, and sit inert, waiting until such time as a meal might be served, a letter arrive, or it was time again to dress.

Of course, her mind, as she sat, was not immobile. She looked as though she were trying to solve the conundrum of her life. She longed for independence and adventure, yet she was a prisoner—a comfortable, well-tended prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless. Independence required money. Her father hadn’t money to give her and she wasn’t permitted to work.

Why didn’t she defy his wishes? Leave home, run away, join a travelling circus? Quite simply, there were rules and rules were followed. Ten years later—even two years later—things had changed. Conventions had collapsed beneath the weight of dancing feet.
But at that time she was trapped. And so she sat, like Andersen’s nightingale, locked in her gilded cage, too listless to sing. Gripped by a cloud of ennui until the next tide of feverish activity should come to claim her.

That morning, in the burgundy room, she was a victim of the latter. She sat at the writing desk, back turned to Fanny and Emmeline, translating the Encyclopaedia Britannica into shorthand. So concentrated was she on the task that she didn’t so much as flinch when Fanny shrieked, ‘Ow! You elephant!’

Fanny limped to the armchair as Emmeline collapsed with laughter onto the chaise. She slipped off her shoe and leaned to inspect her stockinged toe. ‘I dare say it’s going to swell,’ she said petulantly.

Emmeline continued to laugh.

‘I probably won’t be able to fit into any of my prettiest shoes for the ball!’

Each protest only served to plunge Emmeline into deeper glee.

‘Well,’ Fanny said indignantly. ‘You’ve ruined my toe. The least you could do is apologise.’

Emmeline tried to arrest her amusement. ‘I … I’m sorry,’ she said. She bit her lip, laughter threatening again. ‘But it’s hardly my fault that you continue to put your feet in the way of mine. Perhaps if they weren’t so big …’ And she collapsed again.

‘I’ll have you know,’ Fanny said, chin trembling with pique, ‘that Mr Collier at Harrods says I have beautiful feet.’

‘He would. He probably charges twice as much to make your shoes as he does for other ladies.’

‘Oh … ! You ungrateful little—’

‘Come on, Fanny,’ Emmeline said, sobering. ‘I’m only joking. Of course I’m sorry to have stepped on your toe.’

Fanny humphed.

‘Let’s try the waltz again. I promise to pay better attention this time.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Fanny said, pouting. ‘I need to rest my toe. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s broken.’

‘Surely it’s not as serious as that. I barely trod on it. Here. Let me take a look.’

Fanny curled her leg beneath her on the sofa, obscuring the foot from Emmeline’s view. ‘I think you’ve done more than enough already.’

Emmeline drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm. ‘Well how am I to practise my dance steps?’

‘You needn’t bother; Great Uncle Bernard’s too blind to notice, and second-cousin Jeremy will be too busy boring you with interminable talk of war to care.’

‘Pooh. I don’t intend to dance with the great-uncles,’ Emmeline said.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have little choice,’ said Fanny.

Emmeline raised her eyebrows smugly. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Why?’ Fanny said, eyebrows narrowing. ‘What do you mean?’

Emmeline smiled broadly. ‘Grandmamma’s convinced Pa to invite Theodore Luxton—’

‘Theodore Luxton?’ Fanny flushed. ‘Coming here?’

‘Isn’t it thrilling?’ Emmeline clutched Fanny’s hands. ‘Pa didn’t think it was proper to invite business acquaintances to Hannah’s ball, but Grandmamma insisted.’

‘My,’ said Fanny, pink and flustered. ‘That is exciting. Some sophisticated company for a change.’ She giggled, patted each warm cheek in turn. ‘Theodore Luxton indeed.’

‘Now you see why I have to learn to dance.’

‘You should have thought of that before you crushed my foot.’

Emmeline frowned. ‘If only Pa had let us take
proper
lessons. No one will dance with me if I can’t do the right steps.’

Fanny’s lips thinned into an almost-smile. ‘You’re certainly not blessed as a dancer, Emmeline,’ she said. ‘But you needn’t worry. You won’t want for partners at the ball.’

‘Oh?’ Emmeline said, with the ersatz artlessness of one accustomed to compliments.

Fanny rubbed her stockinged toe. ‘
All
the gentlemen present are expected to ask the daughters of the house to dance. Even the elephants.’

Emmeline scowled.

Buoyed by her small victory, Fanny continued. ‘I remember my coming-out dance like it was yesterday,’ she said, with the fond nostalgia of a woman twice her age.

‘I suppose with your grace and charm,’ Emmeline said, rolling her eyes, ‘you had more than your fair share of handsome young gentlemen lined up to dance with you.’

‘Hardly. I’d never seen so many old men waiting to step on my toes so they could return to their old wives and catch some sleep. I was ever so disappointed. All the best men were busy with the war. Thank goodness Godfrey’s bronchitis kept him out else we might never have met.’