A Thimbleful of Hope

by Evie Grace

  Violet was afraid that she did.

  It was Arvin’s last evening in Dover before he travelled to France, and he was dining with the Rayfields as had become his custom. When it was time for him to leave, Violet’s family retreated tactfully to allow them a private moment to say goodbye. She stood in the hall with him, wondering what to say.

  He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a purple silk handkerchief. At the same time, she caught sight of a flash of gold, and heard something scutter across the tiles and settle beneath the oak hallstand. She ducked down to find it, running her fingers along the tiny gap between the umbrella tray and the floor.

  ‘Allow me,’ Arvin said. ‘Violet, you don’t have to do this. It’s rather unbecoming of you to crawl about on your knees like a maidservant.’

  It was too late – she stood up again, holding the locket between her finger and thumb.

  ‘Give it to me,’ Arvin said, but she turned away and opened the tiny catch, her blood running cold when she caught sight of the ringlet of dark hair inside it.

  ‘To whom does this belong?’ she asked, turning back.

  ‘I could pretend that it belonged to my dearly departed mother, but I’ll be honest with you.’

  ‘Who was she? What was she like?’ The sickly sweet scent of rose petals from the bowl on the hall table filled her nostrils.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He grabbed the locket and slipped it into his pocket.

  ‘You must destroy it.’

  ‘I think you are jealous, dear Violet.’

  ‘I’d be a cold-hearted fiancée if I wasn’t.’ Her cheeks grew hot at the idea of him courting another woman.

  ‘I had thought that this lady – the one to whom the hair belongs – was going to be my wife, but something happened between us and the wedding didn’t go ahead.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you keep it from me?’

  ‘It’s a past chapter in an old book. Why should I revisit it when it caused me such sorrow?’

  ‘Oh, Arvin, I’m sorry. It upsets you.’

  ‘It’s my fault – I should have got rid of it.’

  ‘It still concerns me that you’ve had a broken engagement, yet never told me of it.’

  ‘Violet, you know I love your sweet innocence, but sometimes you behave as though you were still a child. However, to prove how much I adore you to the exclusion of all others … You have scissors in your sewing box?’

  She fetched them, wondering what he was about to do.

  Having taken them from her, he reached out and curled one blonde ringlet around his finger. Then, with a sharp tug, he pulled it straight and cut through her hair, sawing through her thick locks with the scissor blades.

  ‘It will show,’ she said anxiously, looking in the mirror. ‘How will I explain it to Mama and my sisters?’

  ‘They’ll understand – I’ll take this with me and keep it close to my heart while I’m away.’ He opened his wallet and slipped the curl inside it. ‘Now I will bid you au revoir, my … love. Even a second’s absence is too long for me, but this is business and it has to come first. What is it that Shakespeare said, there is a tide in the affairs of men? Your father and I must take advantage of the flood to make our fortunes, and then you will want for nothing. Oh, you look so sad … your disappointment at the thought of my impending absence pleases me greatly.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It means much to me that you’ve already formed an attachment even though we haven’t been engaged for long. It bodes well for the future. I will write to you.’ He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘À bientôt. Until we meet again.’

  ‘Goodbye, Arvin,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll write back.’

  She touched the corner of her eye, wiping away an imaginary tear. The longer he was away, the longer the wedding could be delayed, and she could continue to live with her sisters and pretend the engagement had never happened.

  She watched him walk out of the house and down the steps. He stopped at the bottom, turned and blew her another kiss. With a rueful smile, she closed the door and went to find Ottilie who was in their room, writing a letter.

  ‘What have you done to your hair?’ Ottilie said.

  ‘It was Arvin,’ she said, flushing. ‘He’s taken a lock of my hair which sounds romantic, but Ottilie, I have something to ask you – it’s of rather a delicate nature.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s about Arvin. I found him in possession of a locket of hair – he said it belonged to a lady to whom he was previously engaged.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Violet. He’s promised to you now.’

  She couldn’t explain how she felt: cheated because there had been another woman before her; betrayed because he hadn’t seen fit to tell her.

  ‘You’re worried that if he’s already broken one engagement, that he will break it off with you?’ Ottilie tipped her head to one side. ‘Or perhaps you’re hoping that he will?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘He called me his love, but he also talked down to me as if I was a child, and it’s always in the back of my mind that he wanted you first.’

  ‘He chose me because I’m the eldest, no other reason. I’ve been thinking, though – much as I’m grateful for what you’ve done, you don’t have to go through with it. I’ll come with you to speak to Pa.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘When I’ve said I’ll do something, I’ll do it,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘If you’re sure you won’t be terribly unhappy,’ Ottilie said.

  At least Arvin was being attentive to her. He had had at least one affair of the heart before her, which proved that he was capable of love, he had dined with the Rayfields every day since she had accepted his proposal and he had promised to write. She had seen how happy her father was at the prospect of a grand wedding. There was no way she could back down now. She had given Arvin her word.

  ‘He’s not so terrible, Ottilie. When we went walking together that day, he put me at ease. He’s thoughtful too, and romantic – he’s offered me his mother’s Chantilly lace to wear at our wedding. Don’t worry about me – I could do worse than marry him.’

  If she wasn’t allowed to work for a living or study for a fulfilling career, then she would throw herself into marriage as was expected of her, and she would do it well. She would be the best wife he could possibly have: beautiful, well dressed, a mistress of interesting conversation, yet feminine and submissive. How hard could that be?

  Chapter Eight

  Marry in White, You’ve Chosen Right

  Aunt Felicity and Jane went back to Canterbury, leaving Violet and her sisters in charge of taking Mama to the bathhouse. When they were about to leave one morning, Violet heard shouting. She went into the kitchen to find that Cook was trying to get rid of a woman wearing filthy clothes and muddy boots, a regular on the streets of Dover, who’d called to sell her besoms.

  ‘I’d like you to leave.’ Violet picked up one of the brooms and tried to chase the broom-dasher out. ‘You’re making a scene.’

  ‘Ah, it’s one of the Misses Rayfield,’ the woman said, standing her ground. ‘Your father ’as sold ’is middle daughter to keep ’is business afloat.’

  ‘Ignore ’er,’ Cook snapped. ‘She’s three sheets to the wind.’

  ‘It’s obvious why the gen’leman wants her – ’e’s almost twice ’er age.’

  ‘Mrs Wembury, you ’ave a dirty mind,’ Cook said, enraged. ‘Do as the young lady says! Get out and don’t darken this door again.’

  The broom-dasher snatched up her wares and stomped from the kitchen, heading out through the back door.

  ‘Good riddance!’ Cook snorted. ‘Thank you, miss. I’m sorry you ’ad to ’ear that. You’ll be back for luncheon?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She returned to meet her sisters and Mama in the hall, and they walked down to the bathhouse, one of two such establishments on the seafront. Eleanor carried a bag containing Mama’s bathing outfit – a
flared dress with long sleeves and Turkish-style bloomers made from flannel – while Mama took Ottilie and Eleanor’s arms and struggled along the seafront.

  ‘I’m puffed out,’ Mama complained.

  ‘We’ll soon be there,’ Ottilie said. ‘You’ll be able to rest.’

  They managed to find their mother a place at one of the tables in the busy bathhouse waiting room, where the bathing attendants and waiters were bustling about, trying to keep order among those waiting for their turn in one of the baths or machines. There was an old woman with a terrible cough, and another with bandages around her head.

  ‘I didn’t realise there would be so many people here,’ Ottilie said.

  ‘Sea bathing is a popular remedy for many ills, but I fail to see how being stuck in here with all these sick people can be good for anyone,’ Violet observed, holding a handkerchief to her mouth to keep out the noxious vapours coming from the hot bath in the room next door.

  ‘Violet, can I have a word?’ Ottilie went on.

  She stepped aside. ‘What is it?’

  ‘This way …’ They stood in the queue at the desk to book one of the machines outside. ‘I’d like you to distract Eleanor while Mama is busy. Tell her I’ve gone on an errand.’

  ‘What kind of errand?’

  ‘Don’t ask me then I won’t have to lie.’

  ‘I see. Yes, of course. I’ll say we’ll wait with Mama. You go, Ottilie.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly, her cheeks growing pink.

  Violet booked a machine, and they waited Mama’s turn, drinking tea.

  ‘Where is Ottilie?’ Eleanor demanded.

  ‘She seems to have vanished,’ Mama said.

  ‘She’s gone to buy mace and sultanas for Cook. The grocer left them off the order by mistake.’

  ‘You are a terrible liar.’ Eleanor smiled.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Mama asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Violet said. At least there was no risk that Ottilie would run into Pa. He had an appointment with the solicitor that morning to alter his will. She had no idea about the details – Pa had kept those private – but she trusted him to make sure that her mother and sisters were looked after upon his death.

  ‘Mrs Rayfield. This way, please.’ A young woman showed them through to the rear of the bathhouse and let them out on to the beach where a machine, a horse-drawn wheeled wooden cabin with a canvas top, was waiting. Eleanor passed Mama’s bag up to the dipper, a middle-aged woman who would push their mother into the sea and assist her in getting out again when she’d had enough. Violet helped Mama into the machine, the dipper closed the door from the inside, and the horses towed it down the beach to the water, heading out some distance before stopping.

  ‘I know very well where Ottilie’s gone,’ Eleanor observed as the driver unhitched the horses and brought them back to the shore.

  ‘Promise me you’ll keep it from Mama,’ Violet said.

  ‘I won’t breathe a word,’ Eleanor said. ‘I hope this works. Have you noticed Mama’s hair and how it falls out when you brush it?’

  Violet nodded. Her nails were breaking too.

  While the horses waited, stamping their feet and flicking the flies away with their tails, they returned to the waiting room.

  ‘I wonder what Ottilie is saying to John,’ Eleanor said. ‘Do you think they will elope? It would be very romantic if they went post-chaise to Gretna Green.’

  ‘Romantic, but foolhardy. One cannot live on love alone. John is dependent on his father. Besides, we would never see them again – Pa would cut Ottilie off for certain.’

  ‘You may be right.’ Eleanor looked past her. ‘The flag is up – Mama must be ready to come back. I was afraid she might drown with the weight of all that wet flannel. I hope Ottilie turns up soon.’

  So did Violet. The longer the horses took to drag the machine back across the beach, the better.

  ‘I’ll go and look for Ottilie. You wait for Mama,’ Violet said.

  ‘I’ll do my best to distract her.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Violet hastened outside and looked along the promenade. She walked up and down, searching the crowds for her sister until she caught sight of her straw bonnet and blue dress. As Violet had expected, Ottilie was with John, talking animatedly.

  Violet turned back to the bathing house to see Eleanor walking towards her, arm in arm with Mama.

  ‘I tried,’ Eleanor mouthed.

  ‘Hurry, Ottilie,’ Violet muttered under her breath, but her sister was exchanging a kiss – a kiss on the street with her sweetheart! – and it was too late.

  ‘Where is your sister?’ Mama asked.

  ‘She’s had to run an errand for Cook – to buy mace,’ Violet said.

  ‘Has she? Isn’t that John Chittenden over there?’

  ‘Where? I can’t see him,’ Violet said.

  ‘Neither can I,’ Eleanor joined in.

  ‘You two need spectacles. I can see him as clear as day. Who’s that with him?’ Violet glanced at Eleanor, who frowned. They had run out of options. ‘It’s our Ottilie. Oh! I was feeling better …’ Mama touched her chest. ‘All of a sudden, I’m not so good.’

  ‘Please don’t upset yourself,’ Violet said.

  ‘So she has gone out to buy mace and come back with John instead, when she has been forbidden to associate with him in any way?’

  ‘Hello, Mama,’ Ottilie said, walking up to them.

  ‘I saw you,’ their mother said coldly. ‘How dare you show us up by cavorting in public with your father’s enemy!’

  ‘John bears no grudge against the Rayfields,’ Ottilie said, her face bright red. ‘The argument is between Pa and Uncle Edward.’

  ‘Our families will never reconcile – Mr Chittenden has accused your father of being a thief and a user, even though he’s settled almost half of the outstanding debt for his share of the Dover Belle so far. John is Edward’s son – he is tarred with the same brush.’

  ‘But, Mama—’

  ‘Don’t you “but, Mama” me. I’ll be speaking to your father when he gets home. No, Ottilie. Don’t say a word. You have disappointed me.’

  They were banned from leaving the house – all three of them – for a month, Pa having decided that May could take their mother to the bathhouse instead. All they could do was entertain themselves.

  ‘There’s a letter for you, Violet.’ Eleanor came into the schoolroom one morning and danced around the table, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, what intrigue.’

  ‘Anyone would think it was addressed to you.’ Violet smiled. ‘Is it written in a man’s hand?’

  ‘It is doused in the scent of cologne,’ Eleanor said.

  Violet snatched the envelope and rushed away to the window seat to read its contents.

  My dear flower, my little ladybird. I hope you don’t mind me addressing you as such.

  Arvin expressed his affection in such a dear way, Violet thought.

  ‘Are you there?’ she heard Eleanor say. ‘I’m sorry for making fun of your letter. It was mean of me.’

  Violet pulled the curtain aside and peered out from her hiding place. ‘It was indeed.’

  ‘I have your forgiveness?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘May I sit with you?’

  She drew the curtain back further, and Eleanor sat down.

  ‘It’s from Arvin,’ Violet said.

  ‘I guessed so.’ Eleanor raised her feet on to the cushion and hugged her knees. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘You will keep this to yourself?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘At least until I may be allowed to use it in one of my books and under false names.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You look sad, dear sister. I’m afraid that Mr Brooke doesn’t make you happy.’

  ‘I am content, that’s all I can say. I mean, he’s an interesting man with a sense of humour, but …’ Her voice faded as William came to mind. She didn’t love Arvin – she doubted that she ever could.


  ‘He is very old,’ Eleanor finished for her. ‘Mr Archer – the apothecary – is twenty years older than his wife.’

  ‘At least.’

  ‘Mrs Archer is waiting for him to drop off his perch, so she can live the life of a merry widow.’

  ‘Your imagination will get you into mischief one day. You know, it isn’t so bad – when I become Mrs Brooke, I’ll have my own rather wonderful establishment and a husband whose star is rising in Dover society.’

  ‘I’ll help you compose your reply, if you like,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some paper, a pen and ink.’

  They settled down to write …

  Dear Arvin,

  I find your words most flattering, especially the way you have expressed your sentiments. I am missing you and wish for your safe return very soon. I hope your sister is well. Dover is much the same as when you left. Although Mama is unwell, she is most annoyed because Dickens – you may remember that he is the cat – has scratched the new wallpaper. Pa has refused to pay for the decorator to return to replace it – he says he will wait for the cat’s demise which in his opinion can’t come soon enough. Mama would be mightily sorry, though, because she loves Dickens as if he were one of her children.

  The preparations for the wedding are gathering pace. The invitations have been sent out and I have a dress fitting next week.

  Please write more often if you can.

  Yours sincerely,

  Violet

  She crossed out ‘Yours sincerely’ and put ‘From your affectionate fiancée, Violet’.

  They exchanged several letters over the following weeks. She received the last one three days before he was due to return for the wedding, expressing his joy at the prospect of their marriage and informing her that he had organised their honeymoon … to Edinburgh and the Highlands. She brooded on the fact that she had wished to go to France, before realising that she was being churlish. Queen Victoria spent many weeks at Balmoral and if Scotland was good enough for Her Majesty, it was good enough for her.

  The day of the wedding dawned and as it was the middle of October, there was a chill in the air. Violet wished that May had been allowed to light a fire in the grate, but Pa had ordered that fires should only be used in the parlour and dining room. He said they were an unnecessary luxury.