by Dilly Court
She dressed herself with care and put her hair up in sleek coils into which she pinned artificial cream roses. She could only catch glimpses of her attire in the small mirror, but as she pulled on her long cream satin evening gloves she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had done her best. She paced the floor, waiting for the bellboy to announce Charles’ arrival. The minutes ticked on relentlessly and her stomach rumbled with hunger. She had not eaten since a breakfast of rolls and coffee on the ship that morning. Her appetite had deserted her at midday and she had not thought about food until she realised that she felt quite faint from hunger. When eight o’clock came and there was still no sign of Charles, she began to think that he was not coming. She continued to walk up and down the piece of drugget that lay between the bed and the chifforobe, and her heart was racing. Just when she was about to give up, a rap on the door brought her to a sudden halt. ‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Bellboy, ma’am. Mr Wyndham presents his compliments and he is waiting for you in the lobby.’
‘Th-thank you,’ Hetty murmured, reaching for her cape. ‘I’ll be down directly.’ She waited for a few moments, not wanting to appear too eager, and then she made her way slowly down the three flights of stairs to the lobby.
Charles came towards her, looking resplendent in his white tie and tails. He held an opera hat in his hand and he looked so dashing that it took Hetty’s breath away. She recalled the first time she had seen him coming down the stairs at Nora’s house in Spitalfields. He had made her breath catch then and it was no different now. She extended her hand and he raised it to his lips, brushing it with a kiss. ‘My, Hetty, you look quite breathtaking.’
There was admiration in his eyes and her spirits soared. She felt herself blushing and she lowered her gaze, controlling her voice with difficulty. It was hard to maintain a calm exterior when she wanted to shout for joy, but after his initial cool reception she had no intention of making a fool of herself. ‘So you managed to get away from your mother’s social evening then, Charles?’ she said lightly.
‘Of course, honey. I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to dine with a beautiful woman.’ He proffered his arm and he was smiling, but his flippant words sent a shiver down Hetty’s spine. She bit back an angry retort and allowed him to lead her out of the hotel. Above their heads the stars were shining and the moon hung over the city like a silver crescent stuck onto black velvet, but there was a chill in the air as they walked the two blocks to a small Italian restaurant which Charles informed her was one of his favourite places to dine. Hetty couldn’t help wondering how many young women he had brought to this place, and her suspicions were intensified by the obsequious manner in which the head waiter treated him. In fact, everyone from the proprietor to the boy who took their coats seemed to know Charles very well indeed. They were shown to a candlelit table set discreetly behind a wrought-iron screen.
Hetty had never tasted Italian food but Charles ordered for both of them. After the waiter had filled their glasses with ruby-red wine, Charles leaned across the table to hold her hand and he was smiling. ‘Now, honey, tell me everything that has been going on in old London town since I left.’
It was not the most flattering start to their evening together, nor the most encouraging. Charles listened intently enough, and his smooth fingers caressed her hand while she talked, but his interest seemed to lie mainly in her business exploits and the building of what he laughingly called her ‘coffee shop empire’. In between sips of the rich, heady wine and mouthfuls of delicious pasta, Hetty told him about the events that had led up to her meeting with Miss Heathcote and how she had selected the sites for the coffee shops.
‘So,’ Charles said, refilling her glass with wine. ‘You have proved yourself to be clever as well as beautiful, Hetty. I am impressed.’
‘It was luck that brought me into contact with Miss Heathcote. It would have taken me years to get this far without her backing.’
‘And you say that she is colossally wealthy, and a spinster too?’
Hetty was disturbed by the flash of avarice in his eyes. ‘Yes, Charles, and she is likely to remain so. Miss Heathcote hates men.’
‘Perhaps she has not met the right one?’ Charles leaned back in his seat, eyeing Hetty over the rim of his glass.
She forced her lips into a tight little smile. ‘Miss Heathcote was crossed in love and will have nothing to do with men. The poor lady is a hunchback and she is quite old.’
‘You paint a most unattractive picture of your benefactor, honey.’
‘I am just telling you the truth, and she is only backing me so that she can prove her business capabilities to the men who were put in charge of her affairs by her father. She is a clever woman, Charles, but a sad and lonely one also.’
‘And yet you left her to her own devices while you crossed the Atlantic to find me. I call that . . .’ Charles hesitated, frowning for a moment, and then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘I call that brave, Hetty.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s a toast to my courageous Hetty, the woman who risked all for love.’
She did not appreciate the levity in his tone, nor the sentiments that he expressed. He made it sound as though she was chasing after him like a silly, lovelorn girl. She had expected better of him.
‘What’s the matter, honey?’ Charles demanded. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
He was drunk, she decided. His eyes were suspiciously bright, his smile slightly crooked and his words a little slurred. She pulled her hand away as he reached out to grasp it. ‘I’m tired, Charles. I’d like to go back to my hotel.’
‘But the night is still young. I thought we might go dancing.’
‘Dancing?’ Hetty drained her wine glass and set it down on the table. She rose to her feet. ‘I’ve travelled thousands of miles to see you, and you want to take me dancing like a common street girl? This isn’t what I expected of you, Charles. In London you told me that you loved me and wanted me to be your wife.’
Charles stood up a little unsteadily and the jocular expression faded from his eyes. ‘Hetty, for the love of God, don’t make a scene in public.’
She was past caring. She was exhausted both mentally and physically and she was desperate to know his true feelings for her. ‘I am not making a scene, but I want to know – I must know what your intentions are towards me. If you don’t love me any more just say so, Charles, and I’ll leave on the next ship bound for England.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Charles signalled to the waiter. ‘I’ll have the check now.’
‘I’m waiting,’ Hetty said impatiently. ‘I must know how I stand.’
He came swiftly round the table, placing his hand beneath her arm and guiding her towards the street door. ‘Not here, Hetty.’ He turned to the waiter who had reappeared with the bill, and Charles produced a handful of coins which he dropped onto the silver tray.
The proprietor advanced on them with an anxious look on his face. ‘I trust that everything was satisfactory, Mr Wyndham.’
‘Perfectly, thank you,’ Charles said, snatching his cloak and top hat from the boy who was hovering tactfully in the background.
Hetty smiled her thanks as the proprietor stepped forward to assist her into her cape, but Charles barely waited for her to fasten it before hurrying her out of the restaurant. ‘That was uncalled for,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘You made a show of yourself in there, Hetty.’
‘No, I won’t have that. You’re drunk and if anyone made a fool of themselves it was you, Charles.’ She marched off in the direction of the hotel, too angry and hurt to continue the conversation. Commonsense was telling her that his actions were not those of a man deeply in love, but part of her still desperately wanted to believe in him. She could hear his footsteps growing closer, and she began to run.
‘Hetty, stop.’
Ignoring him, she dodged in and out between couples strolling arm in arm, and narrowly missed being run down by a man on horseback as she raced across a side street. Ch
arles caught up with her just as she reached the hotel steps. ‘Honey, I’m sorry. You’ve got it all wrong. Just listen to me for a moment.’
Hetty paused with her foot on the bottom step and her hand clutching the railing. ‘I don’t think so. It was my mistake in thinking that you were sincere when you said you loved me. I can see now that it was all a game to you, Charles.’
‘No, indeed it was not. I mean, it is not a game. I do care for you very deeply, Hetty. It’s . . . it’s just . . . look, can we go inside? I can’t explain out here on the sidewalk. Someone might see us together and it would get back to my father.’
‘And that would be a disaster, I suppose?’
‘You don’t understand my circumstances.’
‘No, obviously not, but I’m tired and you’re drunk. I think you’d better go home.’
‘For the love of God, Hetty, let me come to your room and I’ll explain everything.’
‘That wouldn’t be the done thing even in Spitalfields, Charles,’ Hetty said, shaking her head. ‘Go home. If you want to see me tomorrow, you know where to find me.’
He caught her by the hand as she was about to mount the steps, and taking off his top hat he clutched it to his chest with a slightly tipsy but genuinely apologetic smile. ‘No, I can’t leave you like this. We will speak further, but you’re right, I am not in a fit state to talk sensibly. If you will do me the honour of calling on me at home tomorrow morning I will explain everything.’
Hetty looked down at his slim, pale fingers as they curled around her own small hand, and her heart beat just a little faster as she saw a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he had acted this way because she had caught him by surprise? Maybe he still harboured tender feelings for her? Why else would he invite her to visit his home? She gazed into his troubled eyes and she nodded her head. ‘All right, I will.’
Once again, he raised her hand to his lips. ‘Tomorrow morning then, at ten o’clock.’
‘I’ll be there. Goodnight, Charles.’ Hetty turned away from him to walk slowly up the steps. She did not look back as she entered the hotel lobby.
In spite of everything, she slept well that night and in the morning she was up early and was first down to breakfast. The waitress was frankly curious and obviously fascinated by Hetty’s English accent, and every time she passed the table she stopped to refill her cup with coffee or to enquire if Hetty wanted more toast or butter. Gradually the dining room filled up with people, most of them businessmen, but there were a few couples who cast curious glances at a young woman sitting on her own. Hetty finished her meal and was glad to escape to the privacy of her room, where she waited until it was time to leave for Washington Square. She was both nervous and excited, but at the back of her mind there was the nagging suspicion that Charles had not been entirely honest with her. He seemed so different now from the carefree, fun-loving young man who had stolen her heart in London. She took his ring from the ribbon that she always wore around her neck, and she slipped it on her engagement finger. It was much too large, but she hoped it would soon be replaced by something more suitable.
She dressed with care in a grey watered-silk morning gown trimmed with black braid, which was the only other garment that she had been able to fit into her suitcase. Lastly, she opened the bandbox and took her new hat from its cocoon of tissue paper. Granny had spent many hours making it especially for her and it was a truly delightful confection. Fashioned from fine straw, iridescent feathers, satin bows and tulle, it perched on her head creating just the fashionable effect that Hetty desired. A quick glance in the mirror above the mantelshelf boosted her confidence. She was out to impress the women in Charles’ family, and to win back his love for her, if indeed it had waned during their long separation. At a quarter to ten, she set off with high hopes, pulses racing and the sensation of a million butterflies fluttering about in her stomach.
A pale butter-yellow sun shone through the partially denuded branches of the trees in the gardens of Washington Square. Uniformed nannies pushed their small charges in perambulators. Well-dressed women walked pampered canines, with their maidservants in attendance ready to take the leash if their mistresses became fatigued by so much effort. Hetty braced her shoulders, took a deep breath and crossed the street to mount the steps of the Wyndham mansion with a show of confidence that she was far from feeling.
This time the maidservant admitted her to the entrance hall without any argument, and Hetty, although she was used to the grandeur of Miss Heathcote’s Mayfair mansion, could not help but be impressed by the splendour and understated elegance of the Wyndhams’ residence. A cantilevered staircase carpeted with an oriental runner rose majestically from the highly polished parquetry floor. The walls were hand-painted with a delicate tracery of foliage, and huge urns were filled with hothouse lilies and orange blossom emitting an almost overpowering fragrance. Hetty was vaguely aware of the ornate plaster cornices and corbels above her head, but her heart was hammering against her ribcage and her palms were damp. She felt quite breathless, and she wished that she had not laced her stays quite so tightly, even if they did reduce her already small waist to a hand’s span.
She followed the maid through double doors into a parlour that was the size of Miss Heathcote’s drawing room but much brighter. Daylight spilled in through four floor-to-ceiling sash windows, illuminating the panels of Chinese Garden wallpaper, where exotic birds with colourful plumage perched on stylised branches entwined with flowers. Crystal and gilt chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their facets glinting in the sunlight and reflecting in coloured prisms on the ceiling. The Empire-style chairs and sofas looked too delicate to hold the weight of anyone heavier than a small child. Hetty was dazzled, slightly overawed and more than relieved to see Charles standing with his back to the Adam-style fireplace where a welcoming blaze roared up the chimney.
He came towards her with his hands held out and a genuine smile of pleasure on his handsome features. Her heart leapt inside her breast and she would have walked straight into his arms, but he took her gloved hands in his, holding her away from him as his gaze travelled from her perky little hat to her high-button boots. ‘My dear, you look splendid. You’re quite a lady now, Hetty. Indeed you are.’
Her hopes of a passionate embrace were dashed but she revelled in the open admiration of his gaze. ‘I am still the same girl you knew in London, Charles.’
He released her hands, shaking his head. ‘No, honey, you’ve changed almost beyond recognition. I fell in love with a slip of a girl who was out to conquer the world. Now I guess you’ve done that, Hetty.’
‘No, you’re wrong. I am making my way in business, it’s true, and I may have learnt how to dress and how to behave in company, but my feelings are just the same. I still love you, Charles.’
He turned away to stare into the fire, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I guess you do, although I can’t see why.’ He shot her a brief glance over his shoulder. ‘I am not the fellow you think I am, Hetty.’
‘But you are, Charles. At least, you are not quite the person I thought you were at first, although you explained all that to me when we went to Hyde Park. Do you remember that day, when you kissed me by the lake and you told me that you loved me and wanted me to be your wife?’ She dragged off her gloves, holding up her left hand so that the firelight glinted on his gold signet ring.
‘I remember,’ Charles murmured, keeping his face averted. ‘I should not have said those things to you.’
Hetty’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins and her heart missed a beat. ‘Are you telling me that it was all lies? Don’t you have any feelings for me at all, Charles?’
He turned slowly and his face was a mask of regret. ‘My dear girl, of course I meant it then, and I guess I do still love you in my way, but . . .’ His voice tailed off and he stared over her shoulder as the door opened. ‘Mother!’
Hetty spun round to see a tall, slender middle-aged woman with fair hair and smoky blue eyes that were so similar to those of
her son, it was impossible to mistake her for anyone other than Charles’ mother. Standing just behind her were two young women, also blonde and blue-eyed, who were staring at Hetty as though she were an exhibit in a freak show. Charles took a step forward, clearing his throat. ‘Mother, may I introduce Miss Hester Huggins, from London, England.’
Mrs Wyndham inclined her head, unsmiling. ‘How do you do, Miss Huggins?’
Hetty bobbed a curtsey. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’
‘And these are my sisters.’ Charles embraced them both with a vague wave of his hand. ‘Cecilia and Isabella.’
The sisters nodded to Hetty but Cecilia’s expression was calculating rather than friendly and Isabella’s pretty face was alive with curiosity. Hetty felt as though Cecilia was evaluating the cost and style of her outfit and finding it sadly lacking. She nodded to them both, clasping her hands tightly behind her back so that they would not see the gold ring that hung loosely from the third finger of her left hand. Mrs Wyndham glided across the Aubusson carpet to alight on one of the spindly, damask-covered sofas. ‘I understand from my son that you are on vacation in Philadelphia. Is it the custom in England for young women to travel abroad without a chaperone? I am afraid we are not so broad-minded or so careless of our daughters’ reputations here.’
‘Mother,’ Charles protested mildly. ‘That is not quite fair. Hetty and I became acquainted during my stay in London, and she is now a successful businesswoman in her own right. I believe that English girls are more emancipated than the daughters of Philadelphia society.’
