The Rebellious Twin

by Shirley Kennedy

“You have?” Clarinda asked tentatively. After Sara Sophia’s outburst, something she’d never heard her do before, she didn’t know if this was good news or bad.

  “I shall be governess to the eight children of Thomas Rich, the Earl of Middlestone, at a place called Rondale Hall. It’s in Northumberland, near Alnmouth on the River Aln.”

  “But so far away!”

  Sara Sophia nodded sadly. “It’s not likely I shall see you for while.”

  More like forever. Clarinda searched for words of reassurance that it wouldn’t be so bad, but nothing came to mind. Sara Sophia did face a dismal life. She was indeed a nobody, at least in the eyes of the world. “I shall never forget you,” she said softly, “you will always be my dearest friend, even if we never see each other again.”

  Sara Sophia gazed back, a wealth of warmth and affection in her eyes. “You shall always be my best friend, too. I do admire you so, Clarinda. You’re so bright and witty, and compassionate and kind, and you can ride a horse like nobody else I’ve ever seen. I just wish your parents saw you as I do. You deserve nothing but the best in this life.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not likely to happen…”

  Clarinda proceeded to describe her meeting with Stormont on the riding path yesterday — the embrace, which, luck would have it, Rissa witnessed. “She wants us to be friends again and says she won’t tell Mama and Papa. I assume she means it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Rissa said she was sorry about Lord Cranmer. I believe her.”

  “Should you?”

  “She admitted she was wrong. Of course I believe her.” Clarinda noted Sara Sophia’s skeptical little smile. “Besides, even if I didn’t believe Rissa, what more harm could she do?

  *

  That afternoon, Lady Rissa Capelle, elegantly attired in a pink velvet spencer over an embroidered white silk afternoon dress, sat in the back of the family curricle which was proceeding at a brisk pace toward the home of Lady Constance Lynbury. Perched on the high seat in front, Timmons, the chief coachman, dressed in crimson livery, guided the two high-stepping matched bays. A footman, attired in the same gold and red livery, stood on the back step.

  What a fine picture we make, thought Rissa as the equipage turned into the long, circular driveway that led to the fine Tudor Mansion of Lady Constance Lynbury. A breeze caught the curls that lined her forehead. “Slower, Timmons!” she called. Drat the man. Estelle had worked for an hour to create her fine coiffeur, only partly covered by her best ribbon-and silk flower-trimmed bonnet. She did not want it mussed.

  Rissa felt a nervous clenching in her stomach as she wondered if she’d thought of everything. The necklace? She touched the gold filigree pendant that hung prettily around her neck, running her finger over the “C.” She had thought sneaking it away from Clarinda would be the most formidable task of all, but it had proven the easiest. Clarinda always took the necklace off during her bath. It had been easy as breathing to enter Clarinda’s bed chamber while she sat in her cast iron hip bath, chat pleasantly for a time, all the while searching surreptitiously for the spot where Clarinda had left her necklace. Rissa had finally spied it atop the bedside table. The switch was simplicity itself, accomplished when Clarinda, for a brief moment, turned her head away.

  As for the rest, Mama and Papa had left for London, so they were nothing to worry about. Clarinda was in her room, and likely to remain there for the rest of the day. All went smoothly when Rissa, her pulse beating erratically, swept downstairs and announced to Manning, “Tell Timmons Lady Clarinda wishes to go visiting. He’s to put on his best livery and bring the curricle around.” Well done! she had congratulated herself. Despite an inner tremor, her voice rang out strong and sure. If Manning was suspicious, he did not say, as well he shouldn’t, being he was only a servant. The same with Timmons, who, when assisting her into the curricle, had warned, “Watch your step, Lady Clarinda.” Was that a strange look he gave her? Perhaps. Clarinda had never in her life had the least inclination to visit the ladies of the countryside, especially by herself. In fact, she always had to be dragged along. But Timmons was a servant, too. If he was suspicious, it mattered not one groat.

  Rissa’s plan was running so smoothly she could hardly believe it. At first, she’d had butterflies in her stomach, but now they had stopped their fluttering. By the time the curricle reached the main portico, she brimmed with confidence.

  From this moment on, I am Clarinda, even to myself.

  After Timmons reined in the horses, he turned and asked, “Do you wish to send in your card, m’lady?”

  “Of course.” Rissa withdrew her mother’s card from her pink tasseled reticule. Across the back she had written Clarinda Capelle in a large, firm hand. She handed the card to the footman. “Ascertain if Lady Lynbury is at home, and if so, ask if she is receiving.”

  Would Lady Lynbury ever be surprised! This was not her regular at-home day. But of course she would be at home, Rissa thought confidently, especially when the daughter of an earl came visiting. She sat back to wait, watching the footman carry the card to the door, ring, and hand it to the Lynburys’ butler as if it were a precious jewel. From time to time she gazed up surreptitiously at the main drawing room window on the first floor. Aha! Almost imperceptibly the drape pulled back. The old cow was peering down at her, no doubt all atwitter that Lady Clarinda Capelle, daughter of the esteemed earl, who never came visiting of her own accord, was actually on her doorstep, waiting to be invited in.

  As Rissa predicted, the door soon opened. The butler whispered to the footman. The footman marched ceremoniously down the steps and announced in a solemn tone, “Lady Lynbury is in and would be delighted to receive you.”

  In no time Rissa was seated on a faux rosewood and gilt sofa in the vaulted main salon, in her hand a porcelain, silver gilt cup full of Ceylon’s finest tea. After some small chit-chat, she remarked, “I am delighted, as well as grateful, Lady Lynbury, that you, in your most gracious benevolence, condescended to see me.”

  From across, the ample Lady Lynbury smiled magnanimously. “But, my dear, of course you are welcome, despite … well, there are some things ‘tis best not to discuss.”

  “But we must discuss it!” Rissa bowed her head and lowered her eyelids, knowing how pretty her long, dark lashes looked lying against her rosy skin. “Ah, how painful this is! You are well aware of my indiscretion with Lord Cranmer which you had the misfortune to witness.”

  At Rissa’s honesty, the loquacious Lady Lynbury not only was stunned into silence, she spilled a spot of tea upon the ample bosom of her gown. “I am so ashamed of my wicked behavior,” Rissa humbly continued. “You must have been so shocked. Can you ever forgive me? You may rest assured I shall never, ever, be so reckless and unthinking again.”

  “Well, of course, I … I,” Lady Lynbury began, flustered as she dabbed her napkin at the unwelcome spot. Regaining some of her composure, she went on, “But of course it was a shock. When I think of the flawless deportment of your dear sister Rissa — “

  “Ah, Rissa!” Rissa gave a sorrowful shake of her head. “How I wish I could be more like my sweet angel of a sister. Her grace … style … behavior are so perfect in every way, whereas I…” Rissa tried to force a tear, but her eyes remained dry. She bit her lip instead. “I could spend a lifetime trying to be as perfect as my sister, and never come close, but at least I shall try.”

  “Well, my dear, that’s all you can do,” Lady Lynbury answered, grandly magnanimous. “I do forgive you. In fact, I admire you for admitting your tendency toward … shall we say, unladylike behavior. I can only hope you have the fortitude to abide by your new resolve.”

  “You forgive me?” Rissa clasped her hands with joy. “Ah, Lady Lynbury, how kind, how generous you are! As for me” — she hung her head again — “I have vowed that in future my behavior shall be impeccable, although” — she sighed and shook her head unhappily — “‘twill not be easy, what with a certain problem I face.” She sighed ag
ain. “But that is a cross I must bear. I shan’t burden you with the loathsome details.”

  Lady Lynbury blurted, “But of course you must!” Then, apparently realizing she had sounded a bit too eager, and had, in fact, edged noticeably forward in her chair, she sat back and continued in a calmer voice, “I mean, perhaps if you confided in me, there might be some way in which I could assist.”

  “Well…” Rissa appeared to reconsider. “You must promise me that what I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence and shall not go beyond these walls.”

  “No need to worry on that score. My lips are sealed, as they always are.”

  Rissa looked stricken. “Oh, dear, I did not mean to imply…. Everyone knows you are the soul of discretion.”

  “So?” asked lady Lynbury, her eyes alight with eagerness.

  “‘Tis that dreadful Lord Stormont who is causing my torment,” Rissa answered simply.

  “Lord Stormont?” Lady Lynbury looked genuinely flabbergasted. “Why … why, I find that hard to believe. Stormont is rich as Croesus — a first son — titled — handsome — charming. ‘Pon my word, a fine catch for any girl in the countryside!”

  “So one would think,” Rissa chirruped after a slight silence.

  “You mean — ?”

  “I mean, Lady Lynbury, that looks can be deceiving, and there are times when the true nature of man is not readily revealed.”

  “Really?” By now, Lady Lynbury was nearly bug-eyed, and literally perched on the edge of her seat. “Do go on.”

  “He won’t leave me alone,” Rissa cried, trying once more to squeeze a tear from her eye but to no avail. No matter. Her words were having their desired effect anyway. “Whenever I ride he appears out of nowhere, constantly annoying me. Why just yesterday … well, perhaps I should not repeat — “

  “Please continue!”

  “He tried to kiss me. ‘Twas while I was taking my daily ride along the river path, well out of screaming distance of the house. I was terrified.”

  “But did he — ?”

  “Fortunately I was able to break away, but even so, I live in fear of next time. Such a loathsome man!”

  Lady Lynbury sat speechless, shaking her head, clicking her tongue. “But I never would have guessed.” she finally exclaimed. “He’s such a handsome man and so exceedingly eligible. Do you not find him the least bit desirable?”

  “Desirable?” Rissa glanced around the vaulted room. Ah, the timing was perfect. Not only was the white-gloved butler present, but also a footman and a maid. She bent forward, as if to emphasize the confidentiality of her next remarks. “Lady, Lynbury, would you be shocked if I were to offer you my true opinion?”

  “Not a’tall, my dear.”

  “Then I shall tell you what I think.” Rissa lowered her voice, but not too much. “My parents are insisting that I marry him. You can understand, of course — his wealth, his title.” She heaved a tragic sigh. “I, being the dutiful daughter, will obey my parents’ wishes, but I can assure you, ‘twill be a loveless marriage. I could never love a man like Lord Stormont. How I shall dread sharing his bed! He’s such a … a … toad!”

  “Upon my word!” Rissa’s astonished hostess, who had just lifted her tea cup, set it down again with a clatter. “One never knows, does one?”

  Rissa smiled sweetly. “But remember, you promised not to tell.”

  Lady Lynbury drew herself up. “I have known you since childhood, Clarinda.” She nodded towards the necklace. “I don’t need that “C” on your lovely gold necklace to know it’s you. As always, I have your best interests at heart. Rest assured, you have my promise. All the wild beasts in the jungle could not drag one single word from me concerning your true feelings about Lord Stormont.”

  *

  The next morning, when Clarinda went to put her necklace on, she noticed it had an “R” instead of “C.”

  “Rissa’s necklace?” she asked aloud. Quickly she went to Rissa’s bed chamber where her twin was at her dressing table. “Do you have my necklace?” she asked. “It appears I have yours, although I can’t imagine how they got switched.”

  Rissa appeared quite startled. She looked down at her own necklace, which, of course, had a “C.” “I can’t imagine either,” she said, looking Clarinda innocently in the eye. “It must have been the servants. Shall we ask Estelle?”

  The lady’s maid denied any knowledge of how the necklaces could possibly have gotten switched.

  “How strange,” said Rissa, appearing completely baffled. She removed the “C” necklace and gave it to Clarinda.

  “How very strange indeed,” replied Clarinda, dropping the “R” necklace on Rissa’s dressing table.

  “I guess we shall never know, shall we?” asked Rissa.

  “I guess not.”

  Some mysteries were never to be solved. Clarinda decided it would be best just to forget the entire incident.

  Chapter 11

  Early morning, the Sunday before Christmas.

  Never in her life had Clarinda been more anxious for Christmas to arrive, not even when she was a child and went to bed every night with visions of Yule cakes and mistletoe dancing before her eyes. There wasn’t much different now, except instead of Yule cakes, visions of Robert, Lord Stormont crowded her mind. Each night as she fell asleep, she saw his dark, proud eyes beckon her with hungry longing, just as they had that day on the river path. His arms reached out for her, only now she didn’t try to break away but willingly allowed herself to be swept into his embrace where she, held tight, could feel every contour of his long, lean body. Ah, Robert. Because of Jeffrey she had backed away. Now that she had come to her senses, her supposed lost love was but a dim memory. She could hardly wait to see Stormont again.

  The Sunday before Christmas finally arrived. Clarinda awoke from a restless sleep before dawn. Throwing her covers off, she slipped from bed heedless of the chill in the air and the darkness outside. Robert had returned. She had learned the news from Estelle, that reliable font of gossip gleaned from all the servants of the countryside. Lord Stormont, accompanied by his friend, Lord Wentridge, had arrived at Hollyridge Manor yesterday afternoon, accompanied by a large entourage of servants, household goods, and no less than ten of his finest horses from Oakley House. “Mon Dieu, m’lady! he ees settling een and plans to stay.”

  Clarinda had rejoiced at the news. Now, trying to slow herself down — she must not appear too eager — she dressed in a dark wool serge gown, wide-skirted for easy riding, and embroidered with pearls. Over it, she donned her new brown redingote. She peered at herself in the mirror, a la Rissa, she thought with silent mirth, and decided she was not bad looking by half in this latest of fashions borrowed from the stage drivers’ Carrick Coat. The redingote had multiple capelets banded with black velvet, as well as smart tabs for buttons down the front and more bands of black velvet around the bottom. I do want to look pretty for him. She donned the matching bonnet.

  By the first light of day, Clarinda was at the stables slipping a harness and side saddle on Dublin, who needed riding, and besides, Rissa would never know. The weak winter sun had barely cleared the horizon as she brought Dublin to a slow trot along the river path, this time riding sedately on her side saddle. These past few months had been dreadful, she mused as they went along, but for the first time in ages she felt blissfully happy — fully alive. She had hardly dared think of the possibility that Stormont might propose, but what if he did? She knew now that she loved him. Today, if things went as she hoped, she would tell him so straight-out. She would not be coy. If he loved her, if he proposed … her heart welled at the thought of how perfect their life would be. Once her parents realized he loved her, not Rissa, they would be so ecstatic they would forgive her for everything. No question, they would grant her their blessing. At last she could get away from her twin and be her own person. At last she could marry a man she loved — and, oh, the joy of it! — a man who loved horses. They would raise children, and thoroughbreds,
and Arabians, and be blissfully happy the whole rest of their lives.

  She touched the reins to Dublin. Her wish was like a beautiful fairy tale, too good to be true, and it would be best not to think about it. Yet it could really happen. With spirits high, she eagerly turned her horse off the path toward the stables at Hollyridge Manor. She wondered if Stormont, too, had arisen at the crack of dawn, beside himself with eagerness to see her again. She would wager that he had. She would wager, too, that he would be at the stables waiting, anxious to hold her in his arms once again.

  *

  She was wrong. Stormont was not waiting at the stables, nor did he ever come.

  She had waited, and waited, and waited some more. She had yearned for Sara Sophia, but, alas, her friend had left for the far Northern reaches of Northumberland. She had fed and groomed both Donegal and Dublin — swept hay, heedless of her brand new redingote — greeted Pitney when he arrived to begin his work for the day. He was both surprised and happy to see her, but had no comment other than to mention that more stable help would be needed now that his lordship, who had arrived yesterday, had brought with him ten additional horses. Not that she had asked if he had arrived. She had too much pride.

  The sun was high in the sky when she, at last despairing, declared, “My, my, how the time flies, Pitney. I must go home now.” With a proud tilt to her head, she rode Dublin sedately until out of sight of the stables. It was not until then she halted Dublin and bowed her head in despair. Robert had not come. There could be no excuse. Either he had forgotten, or, worse and more plausible, he had deliberately chosen not to keep their rendezvous.

  Only a few tears flowed before she wiped them away and resolved not to cry anymore. Her swell of pain was beyond tears. What good were tears when her life was over and her heart broken? With a moan of distress, she whispered, “Let us go home, Dublin.” She had left Graystone Hall with her hopes high. Now, with Sara Sophia gone, her parents’ harsh disapproval hanging over her, and this latest — Stormont’s desertion, she must return to continuing misery. She desperately wished she could look forward to some semblance of happiness in her life, but a bleak, black future lay before her.