CamillasConsequences

by Helena Harker

  “If this is truly what you desire, I am happy for you, but I could not forgive as you have.”

  She nods in understanding. “I told my husband I am taking the girls to our estate in Wales, where they will attend one of the finest finishing schools in the country. In the summer, I will vacation in Italy. He and I will no longer live in the same household. After the girls are married, I will reevaluate my situation.”

  “I am pleased you are striking out on your own and will no longer live with him.”

  “Paddling him helped purge me of my anger. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to punish him to my heart’s content.” A gleam of satisfaction lights up her eyes. “When I say I forgive him, it does not mean I will forget what he has done. That is not possible. It simply means I can move on.”

  The last two words strike me like the blows of a hammer, for I have not moved on. Not one single step. Despite agreeing to accompany Hephaestus to the Autumn Serenade, I am firmly anchored in the past, when Samson betrayed me. “I wish you happiness, Virginia.”

  “I wish you the same, Camilla, for you appear to be a most tortured soul.” She takes hold of my arm and leans close. “However, there is a spark in you this evening that wasn’t there before.”

  “I now have a reason to smile.”

  “And you are not revealing what it is. Hmmm, Camilla Covington, always mysterious. You will have to share this with me over tea one afternoon.”

  I am being invited to tea! “Gladly.”

  Discreetly, she asks another question. “Did you hear about Darmond Fitzwellington?”

  “It seems everyone has.” I will not admit to any involvement, although she must recognize that I instigated the scandal. As innocently as possible, I add, “Wherever has he gone?”

  “I heard he took the Eastern Star on an early voyage in order to escape the shame, but I cannot be certain. No one has seen him since the film made its debut.”

  “Good riddance.” No more letters will be arriving at my home.

  I bid Virginia goodbye, and she returns to her friends. It is late and time to go home, so I walk into the crowded street, where my carriage awaits.

  Chapter Seven

  Ursula pulls hard on the laces of my leather overcorset when the sharp staccato of the communicator rings throughout the dressing-room. I dash to the vanity and scoop up the device as a cry of dismay escapes Ursula’s lips.

  “I’ll have to tighten it again, miss!”

  “No matter!” A message from Hephaestus appears on the paper scroll. Do you still wish me to replace your gate? We had agreed upon today.

  Yes, we had, which is why I wish to look particularly alluring. I glance in the full-length mirror, batting my eyelashes at the vivacious young woman reflected before me, her dark eyes shining, a rosy blush on her pale cheeks. The white blouse and lavender skirt offer a perfect contrast to my long, ebony curls. Quickly, I pen a reply. Yes, at four o’clock, as we previously agreed.

  Ursula takes a long breath and makes a second attempt at the laces. Her voice becomes breathy and excited. “I’ve never seen you act so eager, miss. Is it…a suitor?”

  She steps to the left so I can see her mischievous countenance in the mirror.

  How do I answer her question? “Yes, Ursula, it is indeed a suitor.”

  “Oh!” She squeals in delight, her impish grin widening.

  Sharing the information with someone else makes my situation a reality. I am being courted. After so many years of self-imposed solitude, it still seems surreal. As Ursula ties the laces, she hums a few bars of the wedding march.

  “Do not be so hasty!” I cry out, stifling laughter. Yet I cannot help picturing myself in a flowing white gown, its long, sheer train gliding behind me as I walk down the aisle toward Hephaestus.

  “I’ve never been to a wedding,” she confesses.

  “Never?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then mine—if it takes place, for it is still too early to say—might be your first. I will require your help with my gown, and you may sit in one of the front pews to watch the ceremony as it unfolds.”

  “Are you certain, miss?” Her blue eyes widen.

  While servants are normally banished from the ceremony itself, I feel Ursula has earned the right to attend such an event. She has, after all, tolerated me at my worst, kept my midnight wanderings to herself and refrained from gossiping about me. If she had, surely I would have known of it by now, and I pay her twice the wage of the average housekeeper, which allows her mother to pay rent on a small cottage in the countryside. Ursula would not jeopardize her mother’s welfare, so I have reason to trust her.

  How she has changed since those first days when I welcomed her into my home, a silent, broken girl of nineteen, frightened of every creaking step, hiding behind me at the London shops and refusing to communicate with men, not even the elderly fishmonger or the crippled baker who lost a leg in the war. She has grown, gained confidence, and I hope I am responsible for some of the positive changes in her. Unfortunately, her previous employer ruined her chances at marriage. I made certain he paid dearly for the liberties he took with her body.

  “You spend too much time in your own company. The fact you have a suitor is a fortuitous event, miss.”

  “Fortuitous?” I gaze at her in surprise. “Have you been taking books out of my library again?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Borrow as many as you like. Knowledge is a valuable asset, particularly for a woman.”

  “May I ask a question?” She grows suddenly shy and hides behind me so I can no longer see her reflection in the mirror.

  “Of course.” I turn around.

  The poor girl is staring at the floor, her hands behind her back. “You know I enjoy working for you. You saved me from an awful situation, and I will be eternally grateful. But…”

  “Whatever is wrong, Ursula?” I lift her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You will always have a position in my home. Tell me what’s worrying you.”

  “Many ladies in service choose not to marry.”

  “There is honor in service, Ursula, and a woman is no less a woman if she chooses to forego marriage.”

  “That’s it, miss. I don’t wish to forego marriage anymore.” Her lower lip quivers.

  “Has someone caught your fancy?” Whoever may it be? She never leaves the manor save to tend to errands. “Let me guess. The butcher?”

  “No! He’s at least forty-five.”

  “The costermonger?”

  “He doesn’t have his own teeth!” She giggles.

  Who else? “The milliner?”

  “His previous three wives passed away. Makes me wonder what he might have done to them!” She laughs, and the hearty sound cheers me. “Can’t you guess, miss?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Derrenger!” She places her hands on her hips in mock indignation, like a stern schoolmistress upset by a student’s forgetfulness.

  Why didn’t I think of him first? He is the obvious choice, since they spend time together when I send them into London on errands. “You have spoken of marriage?”

  “He’s asked for my hand.”

  “Have you accepted?” I take her left hand in mine, examining her ring finger, which is bare.

  “I wanted to ask you first. Some employers don’t like it when the servants marry. The woman will have children and be unable to work—”

  “Do not worry. You have a place in my home, and if you have children in your future, I am happy for you.” I am, truly. Seldom have I felt happiness for the good fortune of others. The fact that Ursula has sufficiently healed from her past abuse to move forward with her life is a relief. “There is a small cottage behind the manor. It used to be the residence of the overseer, but it is slightly run-down at this time. With some work it could be the perfect location for a newly wedded couple to begin their life together.”

  “Oh thank you, miss!” Her small arms wrap around me and deliver a most po
werful hug. “I was hoping you’d be understanding and keep me on! Thank you!”

  Turning her out is not an option, although most employers would have done so without hesitation. Perhaps I can do one more thing to help her on the road to wedded bliss.

  “Come with me.” I stride to my wardrobe, which overflows with gowns.

  A white sleeve peeks from the rest. I gaze upon it with a mixture of nostalgia, love and fierce anger. I realize I have been holding my breath. Should I? Why not? Keeping my wedding dress is simply another means to tie me to my memory of Samson. “Do you like it?”

  I pull the dress off the hanger and show it to Ursula. Since she tidies my closet, she has undoubtedly seen it before, but she nods and bites her lip as though she has never laid eyes on it.

  “Beautiful,” she whispers. “Fit for a fairytale princess.”

  I hold it out to her. “It is yours.”

  She gasps and her hands flutter to her throat. “No, I couldn’t.”

  “You must. Consider it my wedding gift. I have no use for it.”

  “But your suitor—”

  “Deserves a woman in a new wedding gown, one that does not bear the stain of unhappy memories.” There, I have snipped another thread that binds me to the past, and I relish the new freedom it gives me.

  Ursula admires the shimmering white gown, examining the details on the bodice. “It will need tailoring.”

  “I happen to know a fine seamstress who has yet to make a name for herself.” I smile. “Now go. Hephaestus is on his way and I must meet him.”

  Ursula scampers out the door, clutching the gown to her breast. After she disappears, I spend a few moments rummaging through my jewelry box, selecting a pair of pearl earrings. Then I pore over my many rings, some of them gold, some silver, some embedded with precious stones. Which one shall I choose?

  An hour later, the dogs alert me to Hephaestus’ arrival, and I stride demurely down the stairs and out the door, containing my enthusiasm with difficulty. My suitor has arrived with a horse-drawn wagon bearing the new gates. Devlin and two rugged workmen sit in the wagon, legs dangling over the side, chatting animatedly.

  “Good afternoon, Hephaestus.”

  “Good afternoon, Camilla.” He greets me with a nod of the head and his eyes rove deliciously over my figure.

  I am certain he wants to sweep me into his arms, but cannot for fear of scandalizing everyone present. He wears the simple clothing of a metallurgist, a soot-stained shirt and dark trousers. How I wish to fall into his embrace.

  “Devlin, how are you?”

  He jumps off the wagon, clad in garments identical to those of his master. “Excellent, Miss Covington!”

  “He’s a hard worker,” says Hephaestus somewhat grudgingly.

  “I told you he would be an asset to Flames of Paradise.” I gaze at the two gates, which the two laborers struggle to remove from the wagon. “Your workmanship astounds me.”

  The gate does not have straight railings, but ones that curve and twist and sprout iron leaves so realistic I expect them to tremble in the wind. As the men carry the gate past me, I notice that every leaf bears delicate veins.

  I cannot approach Hephaestus amidst all this bustle. “I shall return when the work is done.” For now, I will go to the stable to speak with my coachman and discuss his plans for the upcoming nuptials.

  Derrenger measures feed into the horses’ mangers, whistling a merry tune. I surprise myself by joining in, and he whips around, oats dropping to the ground, his mouth open in amazement.

  “Congratulations, Derrenger! Ursula spoke to me of your proposal.”

  “I don’t know if you need to congratulate me just yet, miss.” He grabs a broom and sweeps up the feed. “She hasn’t accepted.”

  “She will.”

  Relief spreads over his handsome face. “I wasn’t sure. She hesitated. Said she had to think about it.”

  “She wanted to ask me first, in case it affected her employment. It won’t,” I add.

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “She has no ring upon her finger,” I scold, “and no lady should be without a ring.”

  “I’ve been putting a little aside for a few months, but I wanted to buy her something special. She works so hard.” He frowns as he utters the word “hard”, and I wonder if I have taken Ursula’s tireless work for granted. Most households hire several staff members to help inside the home, while I have only one. Perhaps the time has come to interview an additional maid.

  “Give her this.” I pull a ring off my finger, a band of pure gold with a small emerald, one of the spoils of my trade.

  He stares as if I have offered him a chest overflowing with Spanish dubloons.

  “Take it.” I laugh at his reluctance.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.” Tentative, he reaches for the engagement ring, and then turns it over and over in his fingers. He almost brings it to his teeth to bite it, and I burst into fresh laughter.

  “You will hear me laugh much more often, I assure you. I also assure you the ring is made of genuine gold. There’s no need to crack a tooth to prove it.”

  “Sorry, miss.” He looks down, sheepish.

  “Find a romantic place and propose to her on bended knee. She will cherish the moment forever.”

  “I will,” he says. “Thank you again, Miss Covington.”

  I glance outside, where the men are taking down the old gate. The new one will give the entrance to my estate an entirely new flavor, livelier and less staid. When the workers have finished their task and Hephaestus waves them away, I hurry to him. The wagonload of laborers disappears over the ridge, and the moment it does, Hephaestus steals a kiss. Squealing, I pull away, mindful of Derrenger’s proximity in the stable.

  “You are a genius with iron!” Every leaf captivates me. Near my foot, I spy an iron garter snake winding its way up a vine. “Brilliant touch!”

  “My work is over. What would you like to do this evening, Camilla?”

  “I want to let you into my world. I have been a closed door, and it has been challenging for you to get to know me.” The admission is difficult. Trusting him requires me to make a supreme effort. “However, you must agree to give me a glimpse of your world in return.”

  “You know all there is. I’m a metallurgist, one with more artistic skill than most. Or so I am told,” he adds in a modest tone. “But I lead a life of hard work and simplicity, which I find rewarding.”

  It seems much patience will be required to convince Hephaestus to divulge his past. Although I have become an expert at prompting men to confess their deepest secrets, I must use a different strategy with my suitor. For a moment, I flounder. What method will I choose to elicit information from him?

  “Come with me.” I lead him into the stable, past an inquisitive-looking Derrenger who cranes his head to get a better look at my suitor. “Derrenger, tell Ursula to bring my Panoptoscope equipment bag.”

  “Yes, miss.” He runs off, no doubt delighted to share a bit of gossip with his fiancée.

  In a corner by the tack room, propped against the wall, is my Silverwing. “You said you had flown one of these in the past.”

  He strokes the synthetic fabric that makes up the wings and lightly touches the directional levers. “Many years ago.” His gaze grows distant, as though he is lost in memories. “When I traveled abroad, I used the dirigible.”

  “Where have you traveled?” I ask.

  “Europe.”

  An infuriatingly vague response. “Which country?”

  “Italy. Rome has a rich culture, a fascinating history and the streets are lined with architectural marvels. Every church has breathtaking frescoes. The Sistene Chapel,” he takes a deep breath, “cannot be described in words. It must be seen.”

  “Metallurgists seldom travel beyond England’s borders.”

  “I have always had a passion for art, particularly sculpture.” He tips my chin. “I am not your everyday metallurgist.”
>
  “Of that I have no doubt.” Our lips meet in a kiss as hot as an open flame. When we part, I motion to the Silverwing. “My glider can be modified to seat two.”

  He grips my arms in excitement. “Then we must do so. It has been so long since I have soared through the skies.”

  With practiced ease, I hoist the folded contraption over my shoulder and head for the door. Laughing, Hephaestus tells me to stop. “You are an independent-minded woman, unaccustomed to having a man help you. That must change.”

  He unburdens me, tucking the length of the Silverwing under his arm. The gallant gesture warms my heart. After I retrieve the extra seat and attachment cords from the tack room, we begin to assemble the glider in the pasture by the stable. Hephaestus depresses the knob that causes the alumino-composite skeleton to snap open, and he holds the contraption immobile as I fasten the extra seat behind my own, clipping the straps in place. After a few more moments of tinkering, the modifications are complete.

  “Flying is freedom for the soul,” I explain.

  He arches his brows, as if contemplating my remark. Ursula returns with my Panoptoscope bag. She could have given it to Derrenger, but she must want to examine Hephaestus for herself. Next to him, she has a tiny stature, even smaller than my own, and she gasps as she looks into his dark eyes. Her eyelids flutter, she smiles at me.

  “He’s so handsome!” she whispers. “But I thought you’d pick a man of the upper classes.” The moment she says it, she looks abashed.

  “It’s all right.” For I should get used to this type of reaction. Considering my wealth and status, many socialites will not accept the fact that I am being courted by a man of the middle classes. I have barely become accustomed to the idea myself. No matter. My life is my own, and I will make whatever choices lead me down the path of happiness.

  “Thank you, Ursula.” With a last appraising glance at Hephaestus, the girl runs to the stable, undoubtedly to share her impressions with Derrenger.

  I swing my bag over my shoulder, realizing that my white blouse and lavender skirt are most inappropriate clothing for this type of activity. Nevertheless, after buckling myself into the harness and ensuring Hephaestus has safely done so as well, I flip the switch that begins the whisper-soft whir of the engines. I make a running start, Hephaestus keeping pace behind me. As the Silverwing rises into the aether, I sit in the chair, sensing Hephaestus adjust his bulk into his own seat. The wind whips my face and I relish the invigorating sensation. While both my hands keep busy tending to the directional levers, and my skirt flies wildly above my knees, my passenger leans forward, placing his hand on the smooth skin of my thigh.