by Julia London
“Always envious, were you no’?” Mrs. Garbett had said as she’d yanked one fine gown from the wardrobe after another, tossing them on the bed while Sorcha paced. She pulled a sage green gown from the wardrobe.
“I believe that one was mine,” Maura had said very carefully.
“It was no’ yours!” Mrs. Garbett had snapped. “None of this is yours. Even as a lass, you could no’ be trusted.”
“That is no’ true,” Maura had tried.
“It is!” Sorcha had exclaimed.
“Name one time—”
“My fourteenth birthday,” Sorcha said. “You disappeared with Delilah Frank before cake and missed the celebration altogether. You were envious, that’s what, so you stole my friend.”
Had Sorcha lost her bloody mind? She’d been terribly envious of pretty Delilah and the attention the Campbell twins had lavished on her. “Have you forgotten, Sorcha? You didna want Delilah there, aye? You may have forgotten, but you asked me to walk with her in the garden, you did.”
“That is a lie!” Sorcha had declared. “She is a verra dear friend, that she is.”
“Aye, so dear that you’ve no’ spoken to her in a year,” Maura said before she could stop herself.
Sorcha gasped.
“This is precisely the sort of behavior we mean, Maura,” Mrs. Garbett had said, and thrust a gown the color of bright yellow daffodils at her. “Either your memory is exceedingly poor, or you are quite comfortable dissembling.”
“I have never lied to you,” Maura had said evenly. “I came to you straightaway when Mr. Cadell—”
“Take it!” Mrs. Garbett had shouted, tossing the gown at her. Maura had caught it before it fell to the floor. “I will remind you, Miss Darby,” Mrs. Garbett continued, drawing so close that Maura took a step backward, “that you are here by my good graces alone. Do no’ test me, for you will no’ like the response.”
Maura had bit her tongue. She could hear Mr. Bain’s calm voice warning her to be contrite. She’d looked down so that Mrs. Garbett would not see her indignation and said meekly, “Aye, madam. Thank you for the use of the gown.”
“I hate that gown,” Sorcha had said.
“Never mind, leannan, your gown is bonny,” her mother had said, gesturing to the pale cream silk Sorcha wore. “Do you know what would go best with it?”
Sorcha shook her head.
“The necklace.”
Maura’s heart had skipped several beats. She’d slowly lifted her head and had looked directly at Mrs. Garbett, who was looking at Maura with a smirk.
“Aye, it’s just there, in the jewelry box,” the witch had said, gesturing to the polished wooden box on Sorcha’s vanity.
At least Sorcha had a wee bit of conscience left in her, because she’d looked stricken. “Mamma, I donna think—”
“Put it on. Maura, you may change in the dressing room.”
Maura had hesitated, locking gazes with Sorcha, silently pleading with her, hoping that she would remember that Maura had always endeavored to be her friend.
“Go on, then,” Mrs. Garbett had said sweetly to Maura, and pointed to the dressing room.
Maura had gone. She hadn’t known what else to do, short of wrestling Sorcha for her necklace.
And now, here she was, in an absurd yellow gown, with no help for her hair, and Sorcha seated across from her, wearing her necklace. Her necklace. The necklace her mother used to whisper would be hers one day. You’ll wear it to the grandest balls, you will, mo chridhe.
Maura seethed.
They were seated on either side of Mrs. Garbett at one end of the table, with Adam Cadell next to Sorcha. He looked a wee bit lost and weepy, as if he’d walked into a garden maze and could not find his way out. On Maura’s left was Mr. Cadell, and across from him, Mr. Bain. Maura wondered if Mr. Bain was sleeping with his eyes open. She hardly blamed him—the meal was tedious and Mr. Cadell was droning on about the monthly progression of the moon or some such, and how he and his wife disagreed about the true length of the lunar calendar, to which Mrs. Cadell, seated next to Mr. Garbett, laughed roundly, as if that was the most amusing thing that had ever been said.
Maura couldn’t take her eyes from her necklace as her indignation slowly filled every inch of her. The necklace was quite fetching on Sorcha’s slender neck. It made her look almost...regal. The diamonds were the size of small beans, and glittered in the low light of the candelabra. The emerald at the center was the size of a robin’s egg. The necklace was remarkably simple, and yet, at the same time, remarkably elegant.
These people were thieves. There was no legitimate reason for them to have kept her property from her. No matter what they thought of her, no matter what crimes they’d assigned to her, the necklace rightfully belonged to her.
How could Mr. Bain possibly retrieve it from Sorcha’s neck?
“Have you no appetite, Maura?” Mrs. Garbett asked sweetly.
Maura looked at her plate. She’d hardly touched the roast beef. “I, ah...”
She was saved when the door to the dining room swung open and a footman entered. He bowed before Mr. Garbett and said, “The trunk has come down, sir.”
“It must have come down by way of Edinburra, then. Bagley, you may escort Miss Darby to Hannah so that she might assist her to pack her things.” He sipped his wine and said to Maura, “Take what you want from the trunk, aye, lass?” he said, gesturing to her.
“But she’s no’ eaten her supper,” Mrs. Garbett said. “What will we do with all this food, then? Throw it to the dogs?”
“I donna see why no’. They will appreciate a wee bit of beef.” He gestured impatiently for Maura to follow the footman. She reluctantly rose, and all the gentlemen rose with her. She gathered the volumes of gown around her and followed Bagley out of the dining room with the rest of it trailing behind her.
Hannah was waiting for her in her old room. She could not look Maura in the eye when she opened the trunk, then stood back and nervously fidgeted with the hem of her apron as Maura looked inside.
There was scarcely anything in the trunk. Perhaps three gowns instead of the ten she’d left behind, a pair of shoes that no longer fit her and a chemise that looked as if it had been stained. “What happened to my things?” Maura asked, mystified. “I left much more than this.”
When Hannah didn’t answer, Maura looked up. The lass’s face had gone red. “What has happened to my things, then, Hannah?”
“I didna ask for it!” Hannah cried.
“Pardon?”
“Miss Sorcha... Miss Sorcha said I should have them,” she said, suddenly tearful. “She said you’d no’ return and I should have them. I thought—”
“They gave you my things?” Maura asked dumbly, and looked into the trunk. “As if I’d died?”
Hannah bowed her head, ashamed.
Maura sighed. “Diah, donna cry, Hannah,” she said. The only thing she truly cared about now was the necklace. “I’m no’ cross with you.” She pulled out one of the gowns and held it up to have a look. “Help me determine which of these might still be wearable.”
They had determined that only two gowns of the three could be salvaged for her use, and Hannah tearfully, guiltily, offered to press them. Maura agreed, past the point of caring about Hannah’s guilt. She was attempting to do something with her hair when the sound of raised voices and a commotion in the hall reached them. It was Sorcha, and it sounded as if she was crying.
Maura went to the door and looked out just as Sorcha and her mother turned into Sorcha’s suite of rooms. Maura went to the door of Sorcha’s room. “What’s happened?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”
“No!” Sorcha cried. She had picked up a cloth and angrily swiped at the bodice of her gown, stained a dark red. Even from across the room, Maura could smell the wine. “Mr. Bain spilled wine on my gown!” she
said angrily. “So stupid, so clumsy of him!”
Mr. Bain was anything but clumsy, and Maura thought immediately that he’d done it on purpose. He’d done it so Sorcha would be forced to change. But why? And then she understood as she watched Sorcha remove the necklace and toss it onto her vanity as if it were costume, then began to struggle out of her gown, snapping at her mother as she tried to help.
“Hannah! Where is Hannah?” Mrs. Garbett shouted.
“Here,” Hannah said, brushing past Maura to enter Sorcha’s room.
“We need a change and fresh water in the basin!”
With the gown off and tossed onto the floor, Sorcha stepped behind a screen to remove the rest of her stained clothing, whimpering as she went along. “I canna believe it!” she cried. “It is my best gown, Mamma!”
“The Cadells are rich enough that you’ll have all the gowns you need, Sorcha,” her mother said impatiently, and fell onto an upholstered armchair at the hearth. That’s when she noticed Maura, still standing there. “What do you want? Go on, then, off with you!” she said with a flick of her wrist, as if Maura were a pesky dog.
Maura slipped away, closed the door behind her, her mind racing.
Her necklace was there, on the vanity, in plain view. She had to let Mr. Bain know. Better yet, she ought to think of how he might come up and fetch it. But that would mean she should keep Sorcha and her mother occupied? How in blazes was she to do that?
She returned to the drawing room, her mind racing. She was not surprised to find Mrs. Cadell at the pianoforte. She seemed to think herself quite the talent, and even before Maura was sent away, Mrs. Cadell took a turn at music every evening.
Her husband and Mr. Garbett were standing together near the hearth, crystal snifters of brandy in hand, laughing together. Mr. Adam Cadell was seated in a chair, a book in his lap, a scowl on his face. He didn’t look up when she entered. In fact, the only one to notice her was Mr. Bain.
“Would you care for a brandy?” he asked.
“Please,” she said. She followed him to the sideboard, nodding in greeting to the gentlemen who looked up as she passed. He poured a bit of brandy into a snifter and handed it to her. She took it, looked him in the eye and said, “Vanity.”
Mr. Bain clasped his hands at his back and bowed. “Aye, you’re most welcome, Miss Darby,” he said, and walked away, strolling to the other side of the room to join the other gentlemen.
Maura’s thoughts were swimming in confusion, her heart hammering in her chest. Had he heard her? Did he understand what she meant to convey? If he’d understood her, if he actually found a way to take the necklace, he risked all. What if he were caught? What would Mr. Garbett do? He said his occupation was dependent upon his reputation—if he were caught, she could well imagine that Mrs. Garbett would make it known far and wide. She ought to help in some way, and as she tried to think of how, she turned away from Mr. Bain.
Her gaze landed on Adam Cadell. He’d stood from his seat and was standing near the sideboard now, watching her carefully. “Oh,” she said, feeling startled. “Mr. Cadell. I didna see you there.”
“Miss Darby.” He had a strange look on his face, almost as if he was disappointed or annoyed. Had he heard her utter the word vanity? What if he had? It would mean nothing to him. Not unless the necklace went missing, and then he would think back to this moment—
He glanced across the room to Mr. Bain, then back to Maura. Her heart seized painfully. Surely he did not suspect they were plotting together. Diah, no. She would not permit Adam Cadell to ruin this for her, too.
She panicked, set aside the brandy without tasting it, and moved closer to him. “How are you, then, Mr. Cadell?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes moving to her mouth.
“How have you fared since...all that has happened?”
He lifted his gaze. “How do you think, then?” he asked. “Every day, every moment has been a challenge, aye? I have missed you, Maura.”
What a ridiculous young man he was. Did he think she’d come back for him? Did he think she would tolerate his desire now, after all that had happened? If Sorcha saw him speaking to her like this, his expression so intent, standing so close...
“Mr. Cadell.” She glanced around, uncertain what to say or do, but when she looked at Mr. Bain, she had a sudden stroke of genius. She knew precisely how to create a diversion. “Would you care to dance?”
Mr. Cadell looked as startled as if she’d just slapped his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dance,” she said again, and glanced at his mother, who was so intent on her playing that she had failed to keep an eagle eye on her son.
“I donna... We ought no’—”
“What harm is there? I’ll be gone on the morrow.” She suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him into the middle of the room. She dropped her hand and picked up her skirts, and began to dance the steps to a minuet, rising up on her toes, then down again, holding her skirts out and taking her steps around him.
“What’s this?” Mr. Garbett said, having noticed them, and then laughed. “What a lark! You’ve no’ enough dancers, Miss Darby! Adam, lad, Maura is an excellent dancer. Here, I’ll join you,” Mr. Garbett said, and stepped up to Maura’s side and began to match her steps.
Mrs. Cadell turned to see what the commotion was about and instantly stopped playing. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Go on, woman, play the song,” her husband said gruffly. “There is no harm in a small diversion.”
Mrs. Cadell didn’t instantly do as he said, and he thundered, “Play!”
She turned. She brought her hands down woodenly onto the keys and played. Mr. Garbett hardly seemed to notice. He was enjoying himself, either uncaring or oblivious to the notion that his wife and daughter would not care for the dancing, and gestured for Adam to join them.
As Maura came around again, she caught Mr. Bain’s dark disapproving look, but then his expression shuttered and he regarded them as any guest might, with a bit of amusement, a bit of tedium.
He was surely angry, and of course there was no way she could pause to explain that she was helping him. She wasn’t certain he’d even understood what she’d said at the sideboard. But Maura kept to her steps, knowing that Sorcha would return at any moment and find them dancing and would lose her fool mind, and thereby, create the diversion that Mr. Bain would need to retrieve her necklace.
She dipped, she twisted, she laughed gaily as if they were all having a grand time of it. So did Mr. Garbett, who was well in his cups, and far too jolly for the bit of terrible dancing he was doing.
Adam moved stiffly, clearly uncomfortable with the dance and too weak to simply walk away. “Have a bit of heart, lad!” Mr. Garbett shouted at him. Adam tried—but he was a terrible dancer, and he bumped into Maura, nearly knocking her off balance. His bumbling made her laugh out loud—this was absurd, the whole thing absurd.
Fortunately, it was very quickly over, for Sorcha and Mrs. Garbett entered the room just as Maura had linked arms with Adam and twirled around. Mrs. Garbett cried out with alarm when she saw what was happening, and Sorcha shouted, “Adam!”
“Mr. Garbett, how could you!” his wife exclaimed.
“How could I what?” Mr. Garbett asked, apparently truly mystified as to what his crime was now. Sorcha began to breathe erratically, as if her heart was failing her. Mrs. Cadell leapt from the pianoforte and swore to Mrs. Garbett that she had not approved, but had been commanded by her husband to play for them. That prompted Mr. Cadell to argue that had not been the case at all, and in the melee, Maura held her breath because Mr. Bain had slipped out, unnoticed, unremarked.
Maura couldn’t say how long the arguing went on, with Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell insisting it was nothing but an innocent bit of diversion as Adam’s face turned red. When it seemed that Mrs. Garbett might accept that, Maura said, �
��Then shall we dance again, Mr. Cadell?” which sparked another round of argument. Mrs. Garbett announced her decided opinion that Maura had returned expressly to steal Adam’s heart at the same moment Sorcha tearfully accused Adam of not loving her and believing Maura prettier than she—all accusations Adam foolishly did not refute.
The arguing went on long enough that Mr. Bain slipped back in, picked up a brandy snifter and stood at the back of the room as if he’d never left it. It was remarkable. Impossible! Still, Maura wasn’t entirely certain until his gaze met hers, and she would swear, would swear, that his eyes were shining with a smile.
Maura suddenly threw her arms wide. “Enough, I beg of you!” Enough, enough, please, enough.
Everyone stopped talking at once and turned to her with varying expressions of outrage. “I beg your pardon. May I offer my sincerest apologies, Sorcha? I never meant to cause you strife, on my word, I did no’! I meant only to pass the time, aye?”
“You are diabolical,” Mrs. Garbett said heatedly. “I will have you gone from this house at morning light and never shall you return, Miss Darby.” She put her arm around Sorcha, who was sniffing as if she’d been tearfully contemplating her future without Mr. Cadell. But Sorcha had not been crying, as her nose was not swollen or red. She’d been stewing.
“I think it best if you retire,” Mr. Bain said coolly.
“Aye,” Maura said, and tried not to read too much into his tone. “Again, I do beg your pardon,” she said with all the contrition she could muster. She tried to steal a look at Mr. Bain as she went out, but he’d turned his back on her. She kept walking, one foot before the other, the anxiety in her heart ratcheting with each step she took. What if this had all been for nothing? What if she’d come back to suffer this interminable evening, and would be forced to leave here without her necklace, sent off to marry a faceless man whose name she could not recall? What if every tie to her true self was severed here, tonight, by these awful people?
