by L C Kincaide
“Well, that wasn’t too awkward.” Emma finally whispered something Ivy could comprehend. “Nothing like feeling conspicuous.”
Ivy nearly choked on the wine. ”Is it always like this?”
“No, this is weirder than usual. She’s never toasted a guest. Aren’t you the lucky one!” She muttered.
Oh, God! Ivy groaned inside. There seemed no point in even trying to understand why she was the focus of their gathering.
Throughout the several courses, she observed those around her. Some of the tension from earlier had dissipated, which could also be attributed to the amount of wine consumed during the meal. More than the others’, though, Emma’s glass was more frequently refilled.
“Emma, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Elinor asked at one point, but her daughter ignored her. Elinor and her son exchanged a wordless message. Emma continued to drink undaunted, and Ivy looked forward to the conclusion of the supper. Her appetite seemed to have diminished considerably.
The ballroom sprawled between the two northern wings of the manor house, its size approximating that of the central hall. The architect of the original mansion had clearly intended the expansive space for lavish entertaining and dance by featuring a polished floor that gleamed below a magnificent crystal chandelier. Three tiers and multitudes of crystals in various shapes and sizes sparkled from swags on its graceful gold leaf scrolling arms. Its span of at least five feet, by four feet high, it likely weighed a thousand pounds easily in crystals alone and would have been at home in the lobby of any notable arts venue. Constellations of tiny lights reflected from thousands of facets danced on the gilded coffer ceiling and walls lending the party a surreal ambience. In contrast to the ethereal beauty of crystals, four heavy Gothic floor candelabra stood sentry at the outer corners. Forged in iron and standing five feet high on a base that resembled four claws, they held pillars on curved arms that branched from a central post. A series of twelve-foot high windows, the two sets in the center French doors that opened to the patio beyond, comprised the entire back wall.
Already, Carrie occupied the bench at the grand piano that was tucked into one corner at the back of the room. She had been taking requests and seemed to be happiest when her fingers flew across the keys. Clusters of Edwardian-attired attendees formed, and each found their place in various locations in the ballroom. George and Lucy made their appearance and chatted by the fireplace, while Elinor, Frances, and Grace settled themselves in a formal Victorian grouping in damask off to the side surrounded by potted palms and ferns. Godfrey and Sir Theo slouched in deep concentration over a chessboard on the opposite side of the room. The younger men, Matthew, John, and Robert recounted the last football match near the drinks cabinet.
“Ah! Checkmate!” Godfrey shouted triumphantly from across the room and rose to his feet. “Excellent game! Another?”
“Oh, no! That’s quite enough for me, for one evening.” His friend chuckled. “Perhaps I will fare better with the ladies.” Sir Theo took his time getting up and ambled to the couches where he resettled himself in a wing chair.
“Ivy, dear!” Elinor exclaimed when she noticed her approach. “Please, join us.” She patted the space on the couch beside her. “Tell me, how are you enjoying your stay?”
Several responses came to mind, but she decided on vague diplomacy that would not, hopefully, lead to more questioning.
“It’s been wonderful. I don’t ever recall having spent a weekend in such a beautiful house. I feel very pampered, to be honest.”
“Good. I am glad to hear that. We do this every year and it’s always pleasant to have a new person with us. We tend to forget how this must seem to someone who has not been here before. I imagine it appears rather… “ she searched for the right word, “quaint.”
“Yes, I suppose one could say it is somewhat unconventional.” Frances added.
“It certainly is an interesting tradition.” Ivy agreed.
“Indeed it is, and we always look forward to it!” Theo interjected.
“A tradition, yes, “ Grace stifled a yawn. “but I’m not sure “interesting” is a word I’d choose to describe it.”
He cast his daughter a severe look that was replaced by a pleasant smile when he turned to Ivy. “Some of the young people nowadays don’t seem to understand the significance of family traditions. You see, we consider our family history with great importance.”
His eyes flitted to Grace, but her attention was absorbed by the fire in the fireplace. Clearly, she found the burning log of more interest than the current conversation.
“Does your family hold traditions?” Frances enquired.
“No, not really.”
“Well, to be honest I’d prefer that over having to do this year after year. How liberating that must be!” Grace said to the potted palm beside her.
“Grace!” Her father turned to her, aghast. “You can’t mean that!”
She looked at him squarely. “Yes, actually I do, daddy. I mean it’s a lifetime of coming here year after year.” She leaned toward Ivy, swaying just a bit. She too had partaken of more than a few drinks throughout dinner. “We arrive. We play games. We sit in the house. We eat.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “We play pool, chess, and croquet, or stand around and drink. We wait. Then we sit some more.”
“That’s quite enough, Grace. Remember where you are!” Her father blustered, his face flushed.
Grace rose to her feet and straightened her beautiful magenta dress. “I’d rather forget.” She said. “Excuse me, but I’m getting another drink.” She raised an eyebrow at Ivy.
“Maybe in a minute.” Ivy responded, not sure if that was the right thing to say though she suspected having another glass may not be such a bad idea.
Grace gave her a now familiar shrug and wandered over to the drinks cabinet muttering something about her wig.
“Please, excuse my daughter. She is spirited and becomes high-strung when she’s been constrained for too long.”
Ivy nodded sympathetically. They had only arrived yesterday. But maybe the years of the tradition were wearing thin with her too.
Elinor sat in stony silence throughout the exchange. Frances turned to her. “Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going very well.” She too rose to her feet and excused herself.
“Indeed.” Sir Theo reassured his hostess. “She is fine. Have no fear, she won’t do anything rash. By the time we are home, she will have forgotten all about being bored and will only have happy memories to dwell on.”
Elinor turned to him. “I’m counting on it.” She said barely above a whisper. “We all are.”
The gentleman nodded hastily. “Yes, of course.” He harrumphed excusing himself and strode across the room to where Grace was mixing a concoction.
Once again, Ivy found herself amid someone else’s personal drama and pretended she hadn’t heard a word. This time there wasn’t even a way to avoid it. She wished Emma was there — where had she disappeared to? Or Lucy, for that matter? She didn’t want to be trapped with Elinor and tried not to squirm in her discomfort.
“Thank you for including me this weekend and for these beautiful clothes.” She said at last, the awkward silence between them becoming unbearable.
Elinor’s eyes warmed when they met hers. “You are so welcome, dear. I am so glad you are here with us on this occasion.” She leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “You see, the young generation, they don’t grasp the importance of what we are trying to accomplish, of how much we have sacrificed to be able to do this year after year and make it as magnificent and true to history as we can. But you do have an appreciation for such things, I sense that.” Her eyes acquired a glassy cast. “You are the right person to be here. Do you not feel it?”
Ivy nodded mutely. The conversation had taken a turn for the bizarre.
The lady sighed heavily, the frills at her bosom rising and falling dramatically. “I do pity Grace at times, but today was such a perfect day. I had hoped she would enjoy herself out of doors in the sun and not be surly.” Her tone betrayed resentment. “Really, is it too much to ask of the girls to appreciate everything we have done for longer than certainly they can remember?” Elinor’s pale cheeks flushed from her increasing agitation. Ivy wished for someone to come over and rescue her, change the subject and diffuse the situation. She searched for something else to say to mollify her.
Carrie had in the meantime returned to the piano and was entranced in a Chopin piece. The soulful chords filled the room and the awkward silence.
“I am sure they do. Everything is so authentic, I was just telling Lucy earlier that I often forget I’m in the current century.” She said this intending for lighthearted banter and to reassure the older woman that her efforts were not at all wasted. Instead, Elinor stiffened and blinked at her several times.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“That I forget what century this is…” she repeated lamely, perplexed by her reaction.
“And you said this to Emma?”
“Well, yes, Emma too.”
“And Lucy.”
Ivy nodded, once again discomfited with the impression she said the wrong thing. Goosebumps erupted on her arms and she wanted to run her hands up and down, but resisted.
“Ah, Lucy. I haven’t seen her this evening.” Elinor’s eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other, round and apprehensive. “I wonder where she is…”
“She was by the fireplace chatting with George only a minute ago.”
Elinor started and her eyes flew to the fireplace. “George…” she muttered to herself.
“They must have wandered off. They’ll probably be back soon.”
Elinor’s eyes remained wide and affixed to the fireplace. “Yes — I’m sure they will be…” She attempted to put her glass down on the occasional table at her elbow, and after missing it twice and only bumping the edge of the marble top, she finally managed better aim and set it down.
Ivy was taken with the sudden urge to flee and find Emma wherever she had disappeared to. Before politely taking her leave, she asked Elinor if there was something she can get her, a fresh drink perhaps, a shot of Brandy, not that she couldn’t use one, but the lady continued to stare mutely at the same spot at the fireplace, seemingly oblivious to everything else.
On her feet, Ivy searched the room for Emma, but she wasn’t there, nor was Lucy anywhere to be found, and they were the only two people she wanted to have a conversation with, apart from Mason, who was also somewhere unknown.
Yet again, she couldn’t help thinking how the weekend retreat had not evolved into what she first thought it would be. Sure, it was all these things, an authentic recreation of the era, from the stately manor down to her shoes, all arranged in exquisite detail, but it was not playing out the way she had imagined it would.
She had not expected to be pursued by demented old women in wheelchairs, insulted and threatened by jealous aristocrats, or fussed over by a befuddled hostess. It certainly never occurred to her that Emma would make a habit of getting drunk every night either. And last, but not in the bit least was Mason, the elusive Everdon of the manor, for all intents and purposes, the kind of man she always hoped to meet, but no longer believed existed. His sporadic appearances left her weak in the knees and yearning for more. But she finally had to ask herself the dreaded question; what if there is no more?
She didn’t know who to trust, but with mere hours left of the weekend, maybe it wasn’t important. She was returning to her own reality soon enough.
Yet, despite the peculiar goings on, she resolved to make the most of her stay for the remaining hours. Who can say if she had to participate in this reenactment event year after year without fail, she too wouldn’t succumb to boredom like Grace and Emma had, and perhaps others, who repressed their true feelings? Or, maybe something even worse than that.
She was given a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she wasn’t going to waste it.
On her own for the time being, she contented herself gazing out the window. It was full dark, and she couldn’t make out anything outside only her reflection and that of the room behind her. She almost didn’t recognize herself, dressed as she was, and decided she liked her new appearance, the upswept hair, beaded gown, garnets sparkling around her neck, and if she resembled the late Amelia Everdon, it was a coincidence, nothing more. Let them see what they wanted. They had primed themselves for it. If anyone objected to her wearing the jewels or the dress, they had voiced no objections.
Now that she was looking more closely at her image, even her hair was styled in the same fashion as Amelia’s in the portrait. If she didn’t know better, she would think someone was playing a joke dressing her up like the unfortunate lady, but it was Mason who had sent her the dress and the jewellery, not Elinor. What motive was there for him to recreate her? It next occurred to her that Amelia Everdon died on the eve of a party such as this over a century ago. Surely, Elinor and company weren’t going to reenact that part by shoving her down the stairs! She almost laughed out loud at the thought. Is that what had Emma so freaked out? Certainly she hadn’t arrived at that conclusion herself? Whatever the reason, Emma was right, something was in the air. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to clear her head.
“If no one told you yet, you are especially beautiful tonight.”
Ivy’s heart leaped, and she opened her eyes. Mason’s reflection appeared behind her, a handsome figure in a black evening suit, ever present standup collar and puff tie, and she returned his gaze. We look like the couple in the portraits, she thought. His eyes met hers, and her back warmed from his closeness, a welcome comfort after the chilling experience with Elinor. She hoped no one was watching them.
“How did you know?” She whispered, her hand moving to the garnet choker.
He smiled in response. “What else would you have worn?”
There was no answer she could think of, only more questions.
“They are perfect for you. No one else could have worn them the way you do.”
“They are so beautiful. The dress too. Thank you.” She kept her voice deliberately low.
“This is a special evening.” He said. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It is now.” She held his gaze, wanting to feel his arms around her.
“Yes, it is.” He spoke softly.
A clock on the mantel chimed the half hour, and a hush settled over the room. Only Carrie continued to play a soothing concerto, content in her own world.
“I need to ask something of you.”
Ivy waited, curious what it could be.
“When the clock begins to sound the eleventh hour, come to the central hall and wait before the stairs.”
She gazed at him not understanding the nature of the request, but she sensed he did not plan on staying.
“Don’t leave.” She blurted out, tired of his disappearances, their stolen moments growing shorter by the hour. Had he forgotten that for her all this will soon end? The glowing heat between them intensified, he had moved a fraction closer. His gaze held hers in the reflection of the window pane, pleading for her indulgence though he was unwilling to say why.
“Please, will you do as I ask?”
“All right, I will.”
His hands, whisper soft, brushed down the length of her arms, and she closed her eyes against the exquisite sensation. When she opened them, he was no longer there.
Outside, rain began to spatter against the glass, and the reflected room dissolved in streaks.
Emma appeared at her side and leaned close, whispering in her ear. “I need to talk to you.”
Ivy turned to her. “Sure. Wha
t is it?”
“Not here.” Emma’s eyes darted nervously around the room.
Ivy searched her face and frowned. ”What’s wrong?”
“You need to leave.”
She stared back at her, wide-eyed. “What? No, not that again!”
Emma shushed her. “Not so loud!” Her gaze swept the room to make sure no one was paying attention, but Elinor was watching closely. The Ruskins; Godfrey and Frances, and Sir Theo also looked oddly interested in their hushed conversation though they were marginally better at concealing it. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Sir Theo motion to Robert.
“The keys to the SUV are in the car in the garage. Make some excuse, change into your clothes and use the side door we used last night.”
“I can’t just disappear…”
“Look, Ivy, “ Emma’s voice was urgent. “They’re all in on it… I can’t explain, and I can’t go with you, but I’ll make sure mum’s distracted and you can get away. Don’t argue with me!” She cut off another protest. “Just go. Go soon. It’s not stealing if I give you the keys.”
Ivy was aghast. “Am I in danger?”
“Yes — No — I don’t know…” Emma was flustered.
What was she thinking? The situation was ludicrous, her urgent pleas amidst a Brahms concerto. So what if Elinor was acting peculiar? She’d been that way pretty much since yesterday, and it had spread to the others now. She protested anew when applause broke into their conversation, the musical interlude having reached its conclusion. John was at Grace’s side and the dashing Robert was heading straight toward them.
“Damn. What timing!” She turned to Ivy. “When the coast is clear, go!” She just issued the instruction when Robert arrived and politely led Emma away.
Ivy turned away from the room as she thought about Emma’s desperate pleas. Several pairs of eyes roamed her back, Ivy was certain of it. A lull in the conversation ensued and thankfully, Carrie filled the strained silence with Stravinsky.
