by Three Graces
“By the by,” continued Anne Wellfleet airily as they walked down the staircase, “I have not thought it necessary to explain your exact circumstances to everyone coming tonight. So fatiguing. Some of them knew your parents, of course, and I have put it about that you are visiting us.”
Aggie frowned. “That seems like deception.”
“Oh, well, of course you will tell anyone who comes to know you well. But I did not see the necessity of spreading the story throughout the neighborhood. Some of them are such gossips; they would never be done talking.”
“Still—” began the other girl.
“And besides,” interrupted Mrs. Wellfleet, “it won’t matter a particle after tonight.” She smiled as she thought complacently of the information her husband had passed along to her.
“What do you mean?”
Turning startled eyes on Aggie, the other said, “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Just that it doesn’t signify. Come, we should hurry.” And she practically ran down the hall to the drawing room, leaving Aggie to follow more slowly, trying to puzzle out what she had meant.
***
The entire neighborhood came to the Wellfleets’ drawing room that evening. Aggie had never even seen most of them, though several remembered her parents. She stood beside Anne, greeting each guest and being introduced, and tried to keep all the names straight in her head. Long before everyone had arrived, she had given up in despair. It was, apparently, a very populous county. By nine, fully thirty people stood about the room, and the buzz of conversation was overwhelming.
“I believe everyone has come,” said Anne. “I must see about the dancing. You will start, dear Aggie. Shall I find you a splendid partner?”
A little color showed in Aggie’s cheeks. “I promised the first dance to Mr. Dudley,” she answered. “And I admit I am glad now. He is almost the only gentleman I know.”
“Did you? How nice. Let us go and find him.”
They discovered John Dudley, who had arrived sometime earlier, in a corner, deep in a discussion of livestock with several of his male neighbors. “Come, John,” said Anne Wellfleet. “I want to start the dancing, and Aggie says she is promised to you for the first.”
“She is indeed,” he replied promptly. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.”
“Bound to,” said one of his burly companions, eyeing Aggie appreciatively. “But mind you, John, if I were twenty years younger, you shouldn’t walk off with such a prize so easily.”
Dudley laughed and offered Aggie his arm. “I can only thank Providence, Sir Charles, that you are not.”
The burly man’s guffaw followed them out onto the floor. Mrs. Wellfleet went to speak to the musicians she had hired for the evening.
“You have scored a coup,” said Dudley as they waited for the music to begin and the others to choose partners, “Sir Charles is counted quite a connoisseur.”
“He is funny.”
“Oh, yes, though I admit that I do not always appreciate his wit. He is one of those in the neighborhood who mocks my efforts at experimental farming.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. He believes that the ways of his grandfathers are good enough for his grandsons as well. He finds much to amuse himself, and anyone else who will listen, in my changes.”
“Too bad. I shan’t speak to him.”
Dudley laughed. “This is punishment indeed. He will think himself cruelly used.”
Several couples had joined them on the floor by this time, and the music started up. It was a country dance and offered few opportunities for conversation, so Aggie and John had to content themselves with smiles and nods in one another’s direction.
By the start of the second set, Mrs. Wellfleet was surrounded by young men begging for an introduction to her charming guest. She laughingly chose one and presented him to Aggie. This process was repeated several times before supper, and Aggie soon met most of the eligible gentlemen of the neighborhood in this way. She received a great many compliments, and there was no mistaking the frank admiration in her partners’ eyes, but somehow she was captivated by none. This one seemed very young and frivolous; that one awkward and tongue-tied; and another, who fancied himself a budding beau, quite embarrassed her with his fulsome flattery. All in all, Aggie found that she felt a vast relief when John Dudley came up to her as the final set before supper was forming and begged for another dance. Seeing Mrs. Wellfleet approaching with yet another stranger, she consented quickly and took his arm to walk onto the floor.
“What is it?” he asked, amused. “You looked hunted.”
Aggie sighed. “It is hard, I find, to dance with so many strangers. I have often imagined how wonderful a ball would be, but I see now that it is a great work. One must chat and laugh and look as if she were having a splendid time, even when the exact opposite is the case.”
“Alas, which of our poor young men has left you with this feeling? I take for granted, you see, that it is not I, for I at least am not a stranger, however prosy I may be.”
“You aren’t. I enjoy talking to you. You always talk of such sensible things.”
Dudley grimaced, but she did not notice.
“Some of these gentlemen seem to have nothing in their heads but empty compliments.” Aggie dimpled. “And hackneyed ones, too, my sister Thalia would say. Not one vestige of originality.”
“You inspire in me a wish to meet your sister, tempered with a healthy dread. Is she very severe on us?”
“Not unless you deserve it,” laughed Aggie.
“Ah. In that case, I will take care to avoid her.”
“No, she is really very charming. She is simply so intelligent, you see, that many people seem a trifle dull to her.” They had begun to dance by this time, and Aggie looked up at him. “Thalia is the most intelligent person I have ever met.”
“Admirable,” murmured Dudley, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from her face.
“Yes, she is.”
“And your other sister, er, Euphie was it? She is also a paragon?”
Aggie laughed. “Oh, Euphie is the most delightful girl imaginable, but she is not precisely a bluestocking.” She laughed again, seeming much amused by her own remark.
“You are an amazing family.”
“Why?”
“So much beauty, grace, and intelligence combined. Your father was truly a prophet when he named you, thought I cannot imagine that your sisters are as lovely as you.”
Aggie’s gratification at the compliment was tempered by a protest. “To be sure they are! They are much prettier.”
“Impossible.” He laughed a little.
“It isn’t. And you cannot know how lovely they are, after all, never having seen them.”
“True. I bow to your more expert opinion. But I reserve the right to form my own someday.”
“Oh, yes. I wish you could meet them. I think they would like you.”
“I hope they may,” he replied, gazing into her eyes.
Aggie flushed a little and returned his look steadfastly.
They went in to supper together soon after. John found them places at a table filled with young people, and the meal was very lively, full of jokes and chatter. Aggie, with John beside her, enjoyed herself immensely. And afterward, she found it somehow easier to dance with the new partners her hostess presented to her.
Several sets went by, and it began to grow late. At eleven, there was a pause, and Aggie stood near one of the windows fanning herself and trying to cool her hot cheeks. The spring night was warm, and the room had become stifling as the evening went on. John Dudley came up to her and said, “Very stuffy, isn’t it?”
“Yes, terribly.”
“Would you consent to take a brief stroll with me in the garden? There is something I particularly wish to discuss with you.” He faltered only slightly over his request, but the hesitation made Aggie look up quickly.
“Well, I, I suppose I could,” she answered.
Dudley breathed a deep sigh o
f relief. “Splendid. Shall I fetch your shawl?”
“I’m so warm, I hardly feel I want it, but I suppose I must take it.” Aggie started across the room, and the man walked with her. They said nothing, each preoccupied with the conversation to come.
They had just reached the chair where Aggie’s shawl lay and were picking it up, when Mr. Wellfleet came through a nearby archway, followed by a man in riding clothes liberally spattered with mud. “Miss Hartington,” said the former. “This man has just arrived; the butler brought him to me. But he insists upon seeing you. He says he has a message.”
“I was to give it to the lady herself,” said the other man, “and as soon as may be, as it’s very important.” He spoke stubbornly, as if rehearsing something he had said often before.
“What is it?” said Aggie. “Not my sisters? Has something happened?” She put out a hand, and John Dudley grasped it firmly.
“I don’t know nothing about sisters,” answered the messenger. He pulled an envelope from his coat. “This is from Mr. Gaines, the solicitor. He told me it was terrible important, and you should see it at once. So here it is.” He looked very pleased with himself.
Aggie took the letter mechanically. “Mr. Gaines? But what can he have to say to me?”
“You’d best open it and see,” responded Mr. Wellfleet.
Absently pulling her hand free, Aggie tore open the envelope and spread out the single sheet it contained. The note was short, and she read quickly. “They have found a new will,” she said then, seeming a bit dazed. “Mr. Gaines says I am a very rich woman now and that I must return home immediately to consult with him.” She stared up at Mr. Wellfleet.
“Congratulations, my dear Miss Hartington. So your aunt was not so irresponsible as we thought her. Splendid.”
“Yes, but I… I don’t know just what…”
“It is a surprise, certainly. Perhaps you should sit down, I’ll fetch Anne. She will be pleased.”
“I’ll get her,” put in John Dudley quickly, and before anyone could reply, he strode away, a grim look about his mouth.
The party did not go on much longer, for which Aggie was grateful. She could not make trivial conversation when her mind was wholly occupied with this new development. By the time she had gathered her wits again, most of the guests had departed. She looked around for Mr. Dudley, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she assumed that he had left her alone to become accustomed to her news. No doubt she would see him tomorrow, and they could continue their very interesting conversation.
As predicted, Anne Wellfleet was delighted. The only thing that clouded her happiness was the fact that Aggie would be leaving them. “You will go to London, of course,” she mused. “You must. What a come-out it will be. The town will be bowled out. Oh, how I wish I could see it!” She turned cajolingly to her husband. “Alex, might we go up to town, for just a tiny time?”
Mr. Wellfleet laughed. “Perhaps, if you wish to abandon your children, madam.”
“Oh, no, but, well, Mrs. Dunkin does take splendid care of them.”
He laughed again. “So she does.”
Anne clapped her hands. “It is settled, then. We shall come up to town to watch you dazzle the ton.”
“But I am not at all sure I shall go to London,” protested Aggie. “I don’t know just what I’ll do.” She thought again of John Dudley.
“Not go? Of course you will. You must have a season. And your sisters, too.”
Much struck by this idea, Aggie paused. “Euphie would love a season,” she said to herself. “I must write them.”
“And so will you,” urged Anne. “Wait and see.”
The last guests departed, and Aggie went up to bed without having finally settled this matter in her mind. It seemed to her that there were more important issues to decide first. But one thing was clear. She would have to go home for a time and consult with Mr. Gaines.
She said as much to the Wellfleets the following day, and they agreed, putting their traveling carriage at her disposal. As Aggie thanked them for this courtesy, Anne added, “You must go at once, much as I should wish to keep you. But if you are to reach London before the season ends, all must be done quickly. Why not leave tomorrow?”
“Don’t thrust her out of the house, Anne,” said her husband.
“Of course not! But you agree, do you not, that she should go soon?”
“I do. Business matters should be settled with dispatch.”
“Well, I mean to go soon,” responded Aggie. “Perhaps tomorrow.” But there was doubt in her voice. She did not really care when she went home, as long as she might see John Dudley beforehand.
With this in mind, she sat all morning in the drawing room. But no callers appeared. After luncheon, she walked out to the stream, remembering as she went all the occasions she had met Mr. Dudley there. But though she sat and tried to read for quite an hour, he did not come. Anxiously she hurried back to the house, thinking he must have called in her absence. But the butler told her that no one had come.
Puzzled, and a little hurt, Aggie climbed the stairs to her bedchamber and sat down in the window seat. Where could he be? He had been so eager to speak last night.
Brutus came over and began to claw his way up her skirts. Absently she picked him up and set him beside her. Then she looked down. “I shall send a note,” she told him positively.
“Rrroww,” answered Brutus, as Aggie got up and went to her writing desk.
The note was duly dispatched. Aggie had her valise brought up and began slowly to pack her things. She would have to go soon. She was just finishing her packing before changing for dinner when one of the maids brought in an envelope from Dudley.
Aggie tore it open and scanned the contents; then her face fell. The note said:
I regret that an unusual press of business prevents me from calling on you just now.
Be sure that I congratulate you heartily on your recent good fortune and wish you all the best for the future.
Sincerely,
John Dudley
Aggie read it again, frowning. What had happened to make him so stiff and cold? Why should he treat her this way?
She refolded the note and put it back in its envelope, slipping it into her valise. There was nothing to wait for now. She had stooped to summon him and been humiliated. She would leave for home tomorrow.
II.
THALIA
Seven
Thalia arrived in Bath after a full day on the road. The school at which she was to teach was on the outskirts of the town, and her carriage took her past the Pump Room and the fashionable shops on the way. She looked at them with interest, but without regret at the idea that she was unlikely ever to enter them. Since her childhood, Thalia had been more interested in books than in anything else, and she rather looked forward to trying to teach other girls this love.
The Chadbourne School was a large red brick building situated in its own extensive gardens near the edge of Bath. Thalia leaned out of the coach window to survey it as they drove up the drive. This would be her home for an unknown number of years. She had already heard a good deal about it, for Chadbourne was one of the most exclusive and best-known of the Bath seminaries. Here the girls were said to get the finest education available to them in England. Thalia’s green eyes were bright as she looked it over. She had no fears of failure, for she knew her abilities were great; she wondered only what sort of people she would meet and whether they would be pleasant companions and colleagues.
A footman opened the carriage door for her and helped her down. She saw her luggage unloaded, then walked up four steps and through the wide double doors of the entrance. In the hallway, a diminutive maid awaited her. She curtsied slightly and said, “Miss Chadbourne will see you now, miss. If you’ll come with me.”
Thalia followed her up one flight of stairs and down a corridor to an oak door. “Here we are, miss,” said the girl, and she opened the door onto a large, pleasant office/study, shutting it behind Thalia w
ithout coming in. The room was painted blue, and broad windows gave onto the front of the building and the side garden. Books covered the other two walls, even in shelves over the doorway, and there was a large table set before one of the windows with two blue velvet armchairs before it. Thalia liked the room immediately; she felt comfortable in it. And this disposed her to like the woman at the desk, who was now rising to greet her. This must be Miss Aurelia Chadbourne, the headmistress and descendant of the founder of the school.
The two women looked at one another frankly for a moment. Thalia saw a tall, slender, commanding woman with light gray eyes and brown hair. Miss Chadbourne was dressed quietly, but with an elegance that made Thalia the more aware of her own drab traveling dress and the braids wrapped around her head. “Good day, Miss Hartington,” said the older woman then. She did not smile. “Sit down, please.”
Thalia moved to one of the armchairs, and Miss Chadbourne sat down behind her desk once more.
“I want to welcome you to our school,” continued the headmistress. “I hope you will be comfortable here.”
Thalia looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the leather-bound books on the walls. “I think I shall,” she replied in a voice as cool and cultivated as her companion’s.
A slight smile curved Miss Chadbourne’s lips. “You must not take this room as typical, I fear. Here I receive our parents and guardians. It is furnished for them. Your own quarters will not be so luxurious, Miss Hartington.” She watched Thalia closely.
“I don’t care for luxury.”
“Doubtless.” The other’s voice was dry. She hesitated, then continued. “I wanted to speak to you immediately, Miss Hartington, even before you were taken to your room, because I have some misgivings about our association. Frankly, I am not at all certain that you will like it here.”
“I am perfectly capable of doing the job,” replied Thalia stiffly.
“Oh, indeed. I am not concerned about your skills. They are, in fact, far above anything we usually require. From the list of your studies and the reports of your quite impressive tutors, I should say you are an exemplary scholar. No, I am more worried about your reaction to the day-to-day living situation here. You are used to something quite different, I know, and can have no idea of what you face. I think you will have difficulty adjusting.”
