by L C Kincaide
She crossed the room to have a closer look at the lovely petals. From there, her gaze wandered to the view outside, where she could see a stretch of the path she had taken with Lucy to the memorial garden until it disappeared behind one of the stately oaks on the grounds. Before the trees, in the deepening shade and nearly invisible, Mason stood watching her, at least it seemed that way. From this distance he could have been observing the house or just gazing in her general direction. But she felt his eyes upon her, even from there, and her heart skipped a beat. She considered a wave of acknowledgement when a knock on the door turned her head. Styles had arrived. When she looked back out the window, he was no longer there, but now, she had proof that he did indeed exist, and she had not conjured him up as the man of her dreams.
No sooner had they finished lunch and were crossing the hall when Saynsbery announced an automobile had just crossed the bridge. Emma pulled Ivy to the dining room window.
“That will be the Langstones. They’re always the first to arrive, even all the way from London.”
The lady of the manor waited to greet her guests in the central hall with Matthew by her side, while concealed by drapes, they watched a silver Bentley wind toward the house.
“They’ll do a quick meet-and-greet, then head upstairs to rest. You can stay here. You’ll meet them all when we have drinks before supper.”
As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Saynsbery strode forward to assist the visitors. The driver, a handsome man around thirty and dressed in jeans, button-down shirt and jacket, stepped out first. He straightened himself and shot his sleeves.
“That is Robert. Isn’t he gorgeous?” Emma gushed.
From several feet away Ivy detected stormy gray eyes under a shock of dark hair, testifying to his Everdon ancestry. He casually brushed it in place before coming around to the passenger front door.
“Hmmm… I see what you mean.”
Saynsbery held the back door open, and a stiletto-heeled pump appeared, followed by a long leg clad in black leather. Eventually, a young woman, tall and thin, emerged. Her features could be best described as chiseled; all angles, her cheekbones a testament to a superior skeletal structure. Ivy assumed she would have to cover her ash blonde spikes with a wig for the rest of her stay. A Marie Antoinette style would have suited her well though that style belonged to another era.
“That’s Robert’s sister, Grace. She’s a model.”
Grace fished a pack of cigarettes from an oversize satchel, tapped one out and flicked a disposable lighter. She surveyed the house through a haze of smoke.
Next, an older gentleman sporting bushy white mutton-chops began his undertaking from the front seat of the car. He was wide around the middle, and it made the extraction awkward, but he succeeded with his son’s help, somewhat red-faced and a touch out of breath.
“And that is Sir Theo Langstone. He’s a widower.” She turned to Ivy. “Was I right about the muttonchops?”
Ivy grinned at the authentic-looking gentleman. “That, you were! He certainly looks the part.”
They watched the Langstones disappear into the house.
Emma sighed. “I guess I’d better get out there and make an impression on Robert and say hi to the others. It won’t take long, they’ll be off upstairs soon.” Emma turned to go. “But the real fun starts tomorrow.” She made her way to the hall when we’re all here.
Ivy returned her attention to the driveway where another young man bearing a striking resemblance to the dashing Robert climbed out of the back seat next.
Lucy, who had been watching from a distance, appeared at Ivy’s side. “George is Robert’s twin, not identical, but close enough I think, if you get my meaning.” She said. “He is just lovely.”
Ivy started. She wasn’t aware Lucy had joined her and grinned at the observation. All hope was not lost for Emma if there was another brother. Odd she hadn’t mentioned him before. He must be one of the “surprise” guests she had spoken of before.
Grace crushed her cigarette into the gravel, and tottered to the door, rather precariously on the treacherous heels, while Saynsbery piled their cases onto a trolley. At last he had real luggage to deal with, Ivy thought, gratified on his behalf.
The vast hall was suddenly alive with voices rising and falling over one another as the family gathered inside. Elinor stepped toward them with outstretched arms to greet her guests with warm embraces and cheek kisses. As far as Ivy could tell, it was obvious they were on good terms and pleased to be reacquainted after a year’s absence. Still in their traveling clothes, having just arrived from the airport, she looked forward to their transformation later.
From the corner of her eye, she spied Mason as he approached George, and they greeted each other warmly with a handshake. It seemed to her each time she was with him; he was so terribly serious, which she did not mind, but his face lit up when he smiled, and her heart skipped at the sight. Maybe he will bestow her with that smile later, she hoped. It occurred to her just then she was no better than Emma mooning over Robert.
True to Emma’s word, they were already making their way upstairs to freshen up after their long journey, Elinor issuing orders to send up tea.
“The Langstones are fourth cousins. That branch of the family remained in England.” Lucy elaborated. “If I remember correctly, they were against the move to America in the first place. They attribute the tragedy to that, if you can believe it, as if nothing bad ever happens in jolly old England. But they honor the tradition, despite the hardship.”
Ivy thought about that. A five-hour difference, not counting waiting in the departure lounge to board, six hours in the airplane alone, clearing Customs, and the drive from the airport, all for a two-day visit? They didn’t even get a chance to adapt to the time change. It sounded more exhausting than fun to her. She wasn’t sure she could do it. Not every year and possibly for decades on end.
“Do they stay on after the weekend?”
“No. Everyone leaves on Monday.”
“But surely, they continue their trip somewhere else, in a hotel, maybe?” She pressed on.
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know what they do once they leave here.” She gave Ivy one of her mysterious smiles.
Clyfford and Saynsbery arrived bearing fresh table linen and cleared away the used dishes.
“Let us go outside while we still have light.”
By the time the Ruskins arrived, the sun was already in its decline. Twin beams sliced through the darkening day and wavered as they neared the house.
“Ah, the Ruskins are here!” Emma announced, running to the window. They were in the drawing room playing pool, at least Emma was playing, and Ivy was happy enough to put down her cue, already having lost two games to her.
A black Mercedes rolled up the drive and slowed to a stop in the glow of the outside lights. Saynsbery, on the ready, strode toward it. A young man about Robert’s age was the first to emerge from the driver’s side. It was John, the heir to the throne of the Ruskin Hotel chain, according to Emma. His butterscotch hair was swept back off his brow, and he wore a tweed suit cut in the Edwardian fashion, already in the spirit of the weekend.
“He stands to inherit the whole fortune. He’s a very good catch, mum says.” Emma looked pointedly at Ivy.
“I can see why.” Ivy agreed. “With or without a fortune.”
A tall and spindly gentleman unfolded himself from the passenger side. The top hat he held in one hand would add several inches more to his already considerable height.
“And that’s Godfrey Ruskin.” Emma continued the introductions as the guests appeared.
Assisted by Saynsbery, the next to emerge was the gentleman’s wife, Frances, a tall, red-haired woman in a wool traveling suit and fashionable hat sprouting with feathers. Her sharp green eyes surveyed the surroundings in the fading light with a
certain wariness.
Coming to the other side, John held out his hand for a small gloved one that belonged to his sister, Miss Caroline. She peeked around timidly from underneath the brim of her hat and tilted her head downward.
“Carrie’s a sweet girl, and a bit shy. Wait until you hear her play the piano. Incredible!”
“They seem like nice people.“
“They are, but we’re not exactly close. If it wasn’t for the annual weekend ritual, who knows if we’d ever get together. We have nothing else in common that I can tell, but to their credit, they always make the most of it, as you can see by their clothes. Anyway, they’ll go to their rooms and be back for before-dinner cocktails, after we have all properly dressed for the evening.”
Emma left the room and joined the new arrivals. Once again, the sound of excited voices from the hall echoed as Saynsbery transferred the luggage and delivered it upstairs in the elevator.
Thinking everyone was accounted for, Ivy turned away when from the corner of her eye, she noticed one more guest. Stepping out of the shadows into the house lights, she appeared in a fluid motion in gold damask and a fashionable hat adorned with a mass of autumn blooms and feathers perched atop a head of burnished curls.
She was a little older than her, perhaps in her early thirties, and she carried herself regally with every step measured, as she crossed the stretch of gravel. She impressed her as a woman who expected doors to be held open for her, a chair pulled out, and her wineglass refilled without so much as raising an eyebrow, and it would have been perfectly acceptable in 1903, but in the current day, it impressed Ivy as deeply affected. Then again, it was possible she was an excellent actress and intended to play her part as if contending for an award. Yet, there was something about her that struck Ivy as insincere though she couldn’t put a finger on it. She hoped she was wrong, but the feeling was there, nevertheless. She felt an instant, inexplicable dislike for her.
“Victoria Seabrooke, formerly Ruskin.” Lucy uttered with a trace of contempt in her voice, moving closer to the window. Ivy waited for more, it seemed the manner in which Lucy spoke the name ought to be self-explanatory. So, she was not alone in her estimation of the last guest.
“She tried to win Mason over by making him mad with jealousy. When he continued to thwart her advances, she cast her charms in the direction of a wealthier and older gentleman, Mr. Fortescue Seabrooke. Then Mason announced he was returning to Europe for the next two years, and Victoria sealed the deal by marrying the Mr. Fortescue.” Lucy shook her head. “When Mason returned, Victoria again threw herself at him, but Mason would have none of her nonsense.”
“She sounds very determined. Little seems to stand in her way.” Ivy mused.
Lucy snickered. “Having a husband certainly did not, but silly old Fortescue neglected to pay heed to his age, and he indulged in some foolhardy behavior over the next three years, trying to impress his much younger bride, no doubt. One fine afternoon during a hunt on a particularly spirited steed, the horse jumped a fence rather than going around it like all the other horses, and he was thrown off. Poor Fortescue’s foot caught in the stirrup, and the animal dragged him almost a quarter mile before his boot came off, and he was left lying broken in the field!”
“Oh, no! How terrible!”
“Indeed, it was. The young widow spent the next two years in courts, dealing with her step-daughter with not much of a social life of her own.”
“That certainly put a crimp in her plans.”
“It served her right. I never liked her. She has two faces, the one she lets us see is not her true one. Poor old fellow deserved better than what he got in her.”
“I had that impression too.”
“It is good to be on one’s guard around her, but you already know that, don’t you?”
“I suppose, I do.”
They watched Victoria Seabrooke enter the hall, her eyes sweeping the hall and start toward the stairs.
“Just wait. She will not linger downstairs since Mason is not here, claiming exhaustion, and we shall not see her until he makes his appearance. She is also predictable.”
Lucy sighed and straightened her shoulders. “Right then, enough talk about unpleasantness. Perhaps we ought to ready ourselves as well.”
She headed into the hall to greet Victoria. All the others had disappeared upstairs.
“Victoria, how lovely to see you again.” Lucy’s friendly greeting echoed in the hall. “I do hope your journey was not too terribly exhausting!” She hooked her arm in Victoria’s, and they made their way up to the open gallery.
She was curious if Lucy was correct in her prediction. This situation had all the makings of a drama waiting to unfold.
Ivy took special care with her appearance, and with Styles’ help with her hair, she was more confident. Having seen the attention to detail the Ruskin family paid to their costumes, and most likely the Langstones were of the same mind, she was not about to take chances. Dressed in yet another exquisite outfit she found in the armoire, this one in emerald damask, entered the parlor. She hoped Mason would join the gathering, and Lucy.
“Ah, there you are.” Elinor’s face lit up when she saw her. “I hope Emma has been looking well after you.”
“Yes, she has been a very good hostess.”
“Oh, that is splendid. And if there is anything you need, just ask Clyfford.”
Ivy kept her smile intact. Clyfford hadn’t by her room since yesterday. Maybe the lady of the manor had lost track of the staff now that she had so many people here to deal with.
“Thank you, I will.”
“We are all in for a treat tomorrow. It’s our annual croquet match, and I do hope the weather will cooperate though it always seems to year after year. Do you play, dear?”
Ivy couldn’t remember if she had ever played the game, but nodded enthusiastically, just the same. “Yes, I am looking forward to it.”
Elinor smiled pleased. “We only see the cousins once a year, and the Ruskins. Then we close the house. This is always our last event.” She said with finality.
Ivy imagined the great manor house standing solitary against a backdrop of a white winter. It seemed sad to leave it abandoned. Careless, even with all the beautiful art and rare books housed within its walls.
“I hope your lovely orchids survive the transition indoors.”
Elinor turned to her, wide-eyed. “Orchids?”
“The ones in the hothouse. I imagine you will take them with you when you return to the city.”
“You have seen them?” Elinor asked in a tone of wonder and disbelief.
It suddenly occurred to Ivy she may have overstepped her bounds, trespassed where she should have stayed out. But it was Mason who had taken her there. She would have been better off keeping quiet. She wished he was here to explain it was his idea to go there.
“Yes, earlier today. I’ve never seen so many varieties. They are beautiful.” She finished lamely.
The woman regarded her with an odd, faraway expression. “Yeees…” A semblance of a smile hovered over her lips, but didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she nodded. “The orchids. They are — lovely, aren’t they?” Elinor faltered, all the while maintaining the expression like a mask.
Luckily for Ivy, it was at this moment the senior Ruskins entered the room.
“Ah!” Elinor blinked back to the present. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” She hooked Ivy’s arm in hers. “Frances, Godfrey…” The introductions began, and between the greetings, Saynsbery placed a drink in her hand.
“Yes, from Boston!” Elinor continued said with zeal while Ivy tried to divert her attention from the awkward conversation and focus on the guests.
Mr. and Mrs. Ruskin could have stepped from the pages of history, and again, she admired their care to detail. From Godfrey’s
slicked-back white hair to his high-collared shirt, waistcoat, and black evening suit, he cut a handsome figure of a respectable, older Edwardian gentleman. His bejewelled wife sparkled in a purple jet encrusted gown that set off her red coils. If the elaborate up-do was a wig, it was a custom one, for it matched the shade of her eyebrows perfectly.
The Langstones joined the gathering moments later, led by their patriarch, Sir Theo. All dressed for the event and befitting the time period, they made a striking group. Emma was right about Sir Theo, he spared nothing in fitting in with the spirit of the occasion, particularly the mutton-chop whiskers.
Grace was nearly unrecognizable in her scarlet gown and ash blonde wig. She was also several inches shorter without the stilettos.
Ivy watched with interest as friends and family greeted one another after a year’s separation. Then Elinor, taking her again by the elbow, introduced her to the newcomers as if she were an honored guest, something which she thought was unwarranted since she was an outsider and would most likely never see any of them again once the weekend was over.
“I found these two stragglers!“ Emma announced from the doorway, John on one arm, Carrie on the other. Mason had still not appeared, nor did Lucy. And, as Emma had predicted, neither did Victoria.
More handshakes followed, and Ivy realized that somewhere between shaking hands with Frances Ruskin and Grace Langstone, her bracelet had come off. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, lest she attract even more attention, she scanned the floor for it before someone stepped on the pearls.
“Ivy.” Elinor asked, concerned. “Whatever is the matter?”
Of course, she would notice!
“My bracelet — the clasp must have come undone. It’s somewhere on the floor…”
“Oh, my goodness!” Elinor sounded more upset than the situation called for, and everyone stopped talking and turned to her. “Everyone! Do be careful, Ivy’s bracelet has fallen to the floor!”
