"Aunt Lippy certainly likes her own jokes," said Elizabeth, stabbing a paintbrush listlessly at a soaking wet piece of paper.
Marnie smiled. Then, an idea struck her.
"Girls," she said, "How about we go outside?"
"Mama says we aren't to go outside. We shall get freckles and ruin our pinafores," said Elizabeth.
"I think it would be all right, just this once. We shall paint the wildflowers in the garden. We can make a gift of them for Mama."
She briskly packed up the painting things and shooed the girls outside into the garden. Though the Talbots lived in a townhouse, it was an expansive one, with a long, narrow stretch of lawn behind, dotted with trees and flowerbeds.
Marnie was glad to be in the summer sunshine. She felt she could breathe a little easier outside. It was one thing, she thought, to know that a courtship between Major Chance and Lippy, engineered by Elspeth, was taking place under her very nose. It was another to be forced to listen to it—Elspeth had left the drawing room door flung wide to ensure Marnie, in the library, would hear as much as possible.
Marnie set up easels for the girls beneath a tree. It was good to feel the sun on her neck and her hands, the soft lawn beneath her feet.
She sat on the grass and watched the girls paint, Elizabeth making a mess of a daisy, Isabel choosing to paint a bumblebee with fangs and horns.
"Aunt Marnie?" said Elizabeth. Marnie was forced from her reverie.
"Yes?"
"Can we do something else? Please? Mama always wants us to paint or practice piano. 'You must be accomplished!' That's what she says. But—seeing as we're outside—can't we have a break from being accomplished—please?"
Marnie glanced back towards the house. Blast it, she thought.
"Very well, girls," she said. "Do you know any games?"
"Games?" Elizabeth said. Her expression showed that she was at once scandalised and intrigued by the suggestion.
"Yes, games. The kind one plays out of doors. Do you have a ball, bats—anything?"
The girls shook their heads. Marnie rolled her eyes. Of course, they don't, she thought.
"All right then, we shall use what we have. Each other. Are you ready?"
"Yes!" said the girls, their shining eyes locked on Marnie.
Marnie reached out and touched Elizabeth on the shoulder. "Tag!" she cried.
"Tag?"
The poor girl had no idea what Marnie meant.
"Yes, tag! You're 'it'! You have to catch me or Isabel and tag one of us!"
The girls looked puzzled for a moment. Then Elizabeth shot her hand out towards her younger sister. Isabel jumped back instinctively and shrieked in horror and delight.
"I'll get you!" Elizabeth cried.
In a matter of moments, there was chaos in the yard. Marnie slowed and allowed Elizabeth to catch her. She caught Isabel. Isabel caught Marnie. Marnie caught Elizabeth. The three of them streaked back and forth across the lawn, dodging one another, falling, lunging, and laughing riotously. The easels were knocked, the brushes were scattered, the paintbrushes tumbled from their jars of water. Marnie did not care a jot.
In the joy of movement and contest, she had a few moments of blessed respite from thinking about what must be happening in the drawing room.
She didn't look up at the windows of the drawing room that looked out onto the garden. She didn't see the silhouetted figure, standing there, watching.
Chapter 14
By the time invitations had been sent out for the next of Elspeth's parties, Marnie was accustomed to life in the Talbot household.
She was used to Mr. Talbot keeping her awake with his hacking cough, even though she slept a floor above him. She was used to her sister reading out the contents of Lippy's correspondence, which was filled with hints about a charming new suitor. She was used to Elizabeth's fits of pique and Isabel's tantrums, though she found that both had started to subside, now that she knew the girls better and they had started to grow fond of her.
She had to admit she had grown fond of them as well. When she put her mind to it, she was not such a bad teacher. Elizabeth was a bright girl, hungry for information on nature and the sciences, and Marnie spent many afternoons helping her to sound out the words in books and write on her slate.
Isabel liked to play-act and sing, and Marnie found that the best way to have her behave through morning lessons was to promise that, when they were complete, she could do a performance with Marnie as her captive audience, while Elizabeth played the pianoforte.
It was not the life she wanted. But the rebellious spirit had not died in Marnie. It had merely matured. Now Marnie understood that the best way to subvert her sisters' wish to grind away the last vestiges of her happiness was to find happiness, even in her embarrassment, and even while being an outcast in her own family. She took pleasure in what she had—a long walk alone on a Sunday, a friendly gossip with the cook, rubbing Mr. Talbot's dogs under their chins.
And if her sister tried to humiliate her in front of finely dressed guests by making her serve tea? She allowed it.
And if Mr. Talbot claimed she had broken a glass and said the cost would be deducted from her wages? She did not argue.
She had kept her promise to herself that no one should ever see her cry. The only time she came close to tears was at night, when she first climbed into bed and there was nothing to distract her from thinking over all the errors she had made and all she had lost because of them.
Thoughts of her friends, thoughts of her home. Thoughts of Scarlett, of whom she had heard nothing since she had been sent to Miss Robin's.
But most of all, she thought of Major James Chance.
On the day of the party, Elspeth ordered that the girls stay in their nursery. She said she would need Marnie's help all day.
She set Marnie down on a sofa. On the low table in front of Marnie, Elspeth placed an entire drawer full of silver cutlery. Marnie's job was to polish each piece until it shone.
While Marnie worked in silence, Elspeth fussed around the dining room, looking at floral arrangements, tugging the curtains.
"Did I tell you, dear, that Father and Mother will be in attendance this evening?" Elspeth said.
Marnie felt a pang.
"No, Mrs. Talbot, you did not."
Elspeth picked up a book, flipped through it and set it down again.
"And Major Chance, whom I believe you used to know—he will also be in attendance. Did I mention that?"
Marnie felt another, deeper pang.
"No, Mrs. Talbot."
"Oh! It must have slipped my mind. And, of course, you will be allowed to attend tonight's festivities. In fact, I insist upon it! All I ask in return is that you forego your afternoon off tomorrow and assist in putting the house to rights."
"Yes, Mrs. Talbot," Marnie said. She continued with the silverware, taking each fork and polishing until the tines gleamed.
Mrs. Talbot watched her for a moment as she patiently worked the cloth.
"I think it will be a very happy party. A very happy party, indeed!" Elspeth said, twirling a curtain tassel around her fingers. "In fact, I think we shall have something to celebrate before the evening is out! Isn't that wonderful?"
"That's lovely, Mrs. Talbot," said Marnie. She placed the last fork back into the drawer and looked at her work—the tidy piles of cutlery all clean and shining—with a sense of contentment.
"I see you have finished with the cutlery," said Mrs. Talbot, coming over to where Marnie sat. "Let me inspect your handiwork!"
With that, she took a further step towards the drawer placed on the table. In doing so, she clipped the edge of the drawer with her knee. The blow was delivered with substantial force, and the heavy drawer spilled onto the carpet. Fish knives and dessert spoons and cake forks were all dumped out in a loud silver heap.
"Oh! You clumsy girl! Look at what you've done!" cried Mrs. Talbot. "Really, how can you be so careless when there's so much work to do before the party? Pick thos
e up at once—you shall have to polish all of them again!"
She drew herself up and looked down at Marnie, waiting for the girl to lose her temper.
Marnie put her cloth down. She went to her hands and knees on the floor to begin gathering up the cutlery.
"Yes, Mrs. Talbot," she said.
Marnie had no time to get herself ready for the party. Mrs. Talbot kept her working until the very last moment, before admonishing her for the state of her dress and telling her to go upstairs and make herself presentable.
Marnie closed the door to her little attic room. She removed her cap and let her hair—now almost as long as it had been when she first arrived at Miss Robin's—tumble freely down her back for a moment, before coiling it into the tight chignon her sister demanded.
She went to the jug and basin in her room, poured out some ice-cold water and splashed it on her face and neck. There was no glass in which to check her reflection. She simply pinned a fresh cap to her head, brushed down her skirts and went to fetch the children. They had dined early, and she had dined with them. She had spent the hours after the meal readying the children to Mrs. Talbot's specifications—curling their hair with irons warmed in the fire, tying jewelled sashes around their silk and taffeta gowns, easing their feet into little silk slippers.
"Aunt Marnie?" said Elizabeth, when they were ready.
"Yes, Lizzie?"
"Why do we have to get all dressed up like this?"
"Because there's a party. It's a big occasion."
"Are occasions always boring?"
Yes.
"Well, I don't know. Maybe this one won't be."
"Why aren't you dressed up?"
"Because I'm the governess."
At this, Isabel approached Marnie with her arms behind her back.
"Isabel? What is it?"
The girl revealed her hands, showing Marnie a perfect white daisy.
"Why, how lovely! Let's put it in water."
"No!" said Isabel.
"She took it from the garden. She wants you to put it in your hair," said Elizabeth.
"Is that right?"
Marnie felt a softness in her heart. She knelt and bent her head, allowing Isabel to tuck the bright, cheerful flower into her hair.
"You look very pretty, Aunt Marnie," said Isabel.
"And you two look beautiful. Come on. Your parents will be wondering where we are."
The sound of laughter and chatter spilling from the parlour set Marnie's teeth on edge. The guests had all arrived and were waiting for the evening's formalities to begin—Elspeth had made it known that there would be formalities.
Marnie wasn't sure what she felt most nervous about. Seeing her father and mother. Seeing Major Chance. Or having to maintain her composure when his engagement to Lippy was announced.
She held the girls' hands tightly and ushered them into the room. She deliberately didn't meet anyone's eye, but it was mere seconds before Elspeth rushed over, plumes shooting from her head like fireworks, and dragged Marnie over to where her parents were standing, finely turned out and with glasses of sherry in their hands.
"Here she is!" said Elspeth, her cheeks pink and shining in her excitement. "Miss Marnie—the governess! What do you think about that, Mama? Papa?"
Marnie wasn't sure what to do. She dropped a curtsey.
"Oh, Marnie," said Mrs. Stowe, stepping forward and taking the girl's hand. "Please, please don't do any of that. I could not bear it."
"I don't know, Julia," said Mr. Stowe. "I think it's nice to see the girl showing a little respect. How are you finding the indentured life, eh? Has it knocked a little sense into you?"
Marnie met his eye, her expression calm. "Perhaps it has," she said.
Mrs. Stowe shot Mr. Stowe a dark look.
"Marnie, I have missed you terribly," Mrs. Stowe said. "Know that. Know that I have been thinking of you."
Marnie felt the colour rise in her cheeks. "I know, Mother. Mrs. Stowe, I mean." She swallowed. "H-how is Scarlett?" she said, her voice nearly breaking on her beloved horse's name.
"Gone," said her father. "Quite gone. We had no need of her. We sold her off. Got a fair price, not a great price. Isn't that right, Julia?"
"Gone?" said Marnie. Her voice sounded hollow.
"Well, Julia? She's looking at you."
"It's true," Marnie's mother said, her eyes wide with concern.
Marnie stood still, in utter disbelief.
"What, no tantrum? No screaming? No cursing and stamping your foot? Go on, then—give us the works. We've been expecting it. I think I'd rather enjoy the show," Mr. Stowe said.
Marnie, at that moment, thought that she physically felt her heart break—it was as though a crack appeared across it and her heart was rent in two. Tears pricked her eyes, but she would not cry. She bit her lip. She nodded again and again, too stupefied to say a word. Then, to her relief, she heard a shriek from across the room and turned her head. Isabel had recoiled from a stranger who had attempted to pinch her cheek.
"Excuse me, I must go and mind the children," Marnie said. She turned away, found Isabel and allowed the girl to cling to her skirts. As she did so, Elspeth tinkled one of the teaspoons Marnie had polished twice against her crystal glass.
"Everyone!" Elspeth called. "Everyone, may I have your attention, please?"
Marnie went and sat in her designated place. It was with the girls on a sofa at the front of the room, off to the side. She was in full view of everyone. The sofa had an unobstructed view of the pianoforte and the cleared square of parquet floor beside it.
Elspeth went to stand in the cleared space, her skirts a truffle-brown crumple travelling behind her. Lippy, Marnie now saw, was also at the front of the room. Nearby, looking as composed and handsome as ever, was Major Chance.
"It truly is wonderful," Elspeth began, "to see so many kind and darling friends among our guests tonight. We believe we shall be sharing some very happy tidings indeed—but first, it seems fitting for our darling Lippy to set the mood with a little music."
"No! Not again!" cried Elizabeth before Marnie could hush her.
Elspeth shot the entire sofa a withering look.
There was a general shuffling and murmuring in the crowd. Lippy, in a bright pink silk dress with a low, sweeping neckline, her hair curled into a complicated series of wreaths on her head, assumed her seat at the pianoforte.
This time, Elspeth herself turned the pages as Lippy sang. She sang song after song after song, and soon, Marnie noticed a pattern—they were all songs with weddings in them. All songs about pretty, good and pure-of-heart girls finding their one true love after hardship and sacrifice.
"She's bloody awful," whispered Elizabeth into Marnie's ear.
Marnie, miserable though she was, fought the sudden urge to laugh.
"Where did you learn to curse like that?" she whispered.
"From Father, of course," said Elizabeth.
"Try to be good and listen," Marnie said.
Finally, Lippy finished her repertoire. The audience applauded politely, but without enthusiasm, and there were no calls for an encore.
"And now, please permit me to say a few words," Elspeth said, stepping forward. "As you know, we have a special guest in our midst tonight. Someone who has recently become very dear to our family. Someone who has gotten to know my sister very well in recent times. Someone who, in her, has found a source of continual delight. I am, of course, referring to Major James Chance, who has seen fit to grace my little parlour with his presence once again. Major, would you like to take the floor?"
Marnie glanced at Lippy and saw how she sat expectantly at the piano, her chin raised and bosom puffed in triumph.
There was an air of grim expectation as Major Chance, dressed rather formally in cream breeches, long boots and a navy coat, took the floor. Elspeth glanced at Marnie, smiling. Marnie, in her oversized, ugly brown gown and servants' starched cap, sat calmly between her charges.
Her face betrayed no
thing. No one could have guessed how she roiled inside. Elspeth had arranged the entire affair to make her suffer, and Marnie was suffering dreadfully. Her heart lurched in her chest as she watched the major take his place in front of the pianoforte. She wanted to cry out in rage as Elspeth had a servant pop the cork on a bottle of champagne, fill a glass and pass it to him. She felt all the old impulses—to run, to curse, to pick up the champagne glass and smash it to smithereens. But they did not well up inside her and overflow anymore. She felt them pass through her. She breathed deeply and clutched her hands together in her lap. She started counting backwards…one hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight...
Major Chance set the glass of champagne down.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said. "I am not much one for speeches or for pomp and ceremony of any kind, really. I do not like to listen to great public declarations, and so in recognition of how little I like to occupy the position you find yourselves in now, I will make this as brief as I can."
Elspeth beamed at him encouragingly.
He cleared his throat and continued. "The fact of the matter is that I find myself in a position I never expected. I grew up the son of a farrier—"
"No need to dwell on past unpleasantness," Elspeth said, looking around and hoping no one had heard.
"Thank you, Mrs. Talbot," the major said. "In any case, I have found myself considering the question of marriage from rather a new perspective. Once, I was someone who could marry on a whim. Now, my fortunes have changed, and there are certain things I am supposed to consider coldly before I make my choice. I have found myself thinking about those qualities one is supposed to treasure in a wife, comeliness—"
As he said this, Lippy preened. Marnie looked at the floor.
"Sweetness, patience, accomplishment, propriety. A good name. A good family. A good reputation."
Lippy and Elspeth exchanged a smile.
"As we all know, the question of whom one should marry is not to be taken lightly. It is a most serious choice—one that will affect the entire course of a man's life."
"Hear, hear," called Elspeth.
A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3) Page 16
