by Ella Edon
"Of course, Miss Robbins." The young woman went and collected the stack of mail, and then walked over to the newspaper office on the other side of the room to gather up a half-dozen extra copies of the Birdwell Caller. "It has been an exciting day here, what with the invitations going out. It looks like nearly every young lady in town received one!"
"Invitations?" Merope looked down at her big stack of mail, frowning. She would have to look through it carefully after she got back to the inn.
"Oh, don't worry, miss. You have one, too, of course!"
Of course. All the Swansea family knew everything everyone was doing, since it fell to them to sort the mail each day. They knew as much as her mother did, and nearly as much as Mr. Rooker at the Rook & Rooster Pub.
Merope paid the charges for the mail and for the copies of the newspaper, and then hurried back to the inn. Before she could get to the kitchen to sort the mail and see what else needed to be done, her mother took her aside in the still-busy dining room.
"I keep hearing that there is to be a ball out at Albany," Mrs. Robbins said. "One week from tomorrow. Are you certain Mr. Brookford did not mean to invite you for that day? For the ball?"
"The – ball?" Merope looked down at the stack of mail in her hand. "Miss Swansea did say something about invitations going out, but not what they were for. What ball did you hear about?"
By way of answer, Mrs. Robbins caught her by the arm and hurried her into the kitchen.
"The ball at Albany, of course!"
"At – Albany?" Now Merope felt even more confused, and a single thought raced through her head: If there is to be a ball at Albany, why did Mr. Brookford not invite me to it yesterday when he had the perfect opportunity?
"Yes, at Albany! People are hardly talking of anything else, especially the young women and their mothers," Mrs. Robbins said. "It's to be as grand a ball as Albany can manage, with as many guests as it can hold. It's not so large as Worthington, of course, but is still suitable for quite a nice affair."
But Merope just stood in confusion. "The entire time I was with him yesterday, he said nothing about a ball. Not a word. Just that he wanted me to meet his family at – at some unspecified date."
Mrs. Robbins sighed. "Well, don’t waste any more time. Give me half that stack and you search through the other half! We must find that invitation!"
Quickly, they both began looking through the wax-sealed letters and paper-wrapped parcels. "If everyone is getting invitations this morning, then Lady Albany must have prepared them all days ago, and had them delivered just this morning. It was certainly not decided last evening, after Mr. Brookford made you the invitation simply to visit."
"He could have decided to withdraw my invitation, once he thought about the things that happened yesterday," said Merope. "I looked ridiculous on that pony. I couldn't control it at all. Then I stumbled and fell down in the street like a drunken fishwife. Next to Sally, who rides perfectly well, I was positively bumbling. All of that may well have been enough to change his mind, on second thought."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Robbins. "He invited you after all that, didn't he?" She went on looking through the stack. "It has to be here! Where is it?"
"Right here," whispered Merope. She held up the piece of neatly folded, cream-colored paper with its thick seal of red wax.
"Well, of course it is," said her mother, dropping the rest of the mail onto the table. "Open it! Quickly!"
Almost too carefully, Merope broke the seal, brushed away the bits of wax, and unfolded the paper. In a nicely written hand, Merope saw that she was invited to a ball at Albany House on Wednesday, the seventeenth of July, at seven o'clock in the evening.
"There, now, you see?" said her mother, peering over her shoulder to read. "You are most certainly invited. We have only a week to make certain you have a proper gown and pearl hairpins and – "
"But – then – why did Mr. Brookford say nothing about a ball when he invited me yesterday?" said Merope. "It seems very strange that he invited me only to meet his family – and did not say a date – when he knew there would be a ball at his home in a week's time – "
"Merope, I don't know!" her mother finally said, beginning to lose patience. "What matters is that this handsome and well-respected man took you out riding yesterday, says he wants you to meet his parents, and invited you to a ball at his family estate. This will be your chance to get him!"
Merope started to answer, but then just nodded. She was not sure what more she wanted . . . but there always seemed there was something missing with every man she knew. She hadn’t yet decided Mr. Brookford was the one for her.
"Besides, dear," her mother went on, "I am certain that Mr. Brookford is taking it for granted that you will stay there for a few days after the ball. Albany is seven miles from here and takes some two hours in a carriage, even at a good pace. He certainly does not expect you to leave the instant the ball is over!"
Merope felt baffled as ever, for there was still no definite time as to when she was supposed to arrive at Albany and when she was supposed to leave. For right then, she supposed she should take her mother's advice and not worry about it. There was still plenty of time for all of those small mysteries to be solved . . . though she was finding it harder and harder to wait until they were.
Chapter Thirteen
"Merope! You must run to the marketplace before everyone leaves. We need at least another ten pounds of beef for tonight's meal. Hurry, now! If you don't like the look of the beef, get pork. Or fish. Or chickens or ducks. Bring something!"
Mrs. Robbins left the kitchen, hurrying back out to the dining room to see to her guests. With a nod to Hilda, Merope left off drying the silverware, put on a plain bonnet, picked up a basket, and collected a little money. Then she left the inn and stepped out onto the wooden walkway.
The market was held on Tuesdays and Fridays in an open, shady space just south of Miss Magpie's Bakery & Cook Shop. Merope hurried across the cobblestone street and walked up to the marketplace, enjoying a bit of late afternoon sun as it peeked through the soft grey clouds.
A few of the merchants were beginning to take down the boards and tables that made up their temporary stalls and load everything into their small wagons, no doubt wanting to get back to their farms before evening, so they could care for their livestock. Those who did not have so far to go usually stayed for as long as they could, in hopes of last-minute customers. Today, with her substantial order for immediate delivery, Merope would make them glad they had waited.
Her mother's suspicions about the beef had been correct, for it seemed that all the best cuts had been bought up earlier. What was left was not to Merope's liking, and she was certain her mother would never approve. So, she continued looking among the stalls which offered pork and mutton and lamb – and the first one she spotted had a small sign which read Bird Farms – Pork & Sausage.
Merope smiled. That was, of course, the farm that belonged to Daniel Bird and his family, and they nearly always had something good to offer. She walked along the display, looking at the hams and chops, and finally ordered fifteen pounds to be delivered right away to the inn with payment forthcoming.
With business done, she decided to take advantage of her small break from the very busy inn and took a walk through the rest of the market to see if there was anything else worth getting. And then she heard a familiar feminine voice calling her name.
"Merope! Merope Robbins! Wait!"
Merope turned around to see none other than Sally Henson hurrying towards her.
"I have the most exciting news! Just today, I got an invitation to a ball. A ball at Albany House!"
Merope simply glanced sideways at her. "Yes, Sally. I got one, too. And so, it appears, did every other young woman in Birdwell." She shrugged and turned away, suddenly becoming very interested in the last of the potatoes on display. Merope greeted the farmer's wife behind the table, very carefully selected a dozen or so potatoes, arranged them in her basket, remarked on
the weather, and paid for the potatoes before finally turning around again and looking at Sally.
Her friend stood there with her own market basket, looking as anxious as a cat in the middle of a busy road. "Merry! Look! Look at this invitation. Cream-colored paper, nearly white! And the thick red wax with the beautiful seal of the Viscount of Albany. It's all so exciting!"
Merope just shook her head and started off towards the market exit with her basket of potatoes. "Yes, Sally. It's exactly like the one I received. The post office was filled with them this morning.”
Sally hurried after her. "They know about the ball," she said, with a very smug little smile. "But do they – do you – know about the rest of it?"
Merope was nearly at the exit, when she paused, and slowly turned around. "The rest of it?" she said. "What are you talking about?"
Very slowly and triumphantly, Sally unfolded her invitation and showed Merope a little card which had been tucked inside.
Miss Henson,
You are cordially invited to come to Albany House on Monday, the fifteenth of July, to stay the week.
I shall send a carriage for you and your friend, Miss Merope Robbins. The carriage will arrive at noon on that same day at the Robbins Inn and return you both to the same place on Sunday, the twenty-first of July.
Your servant,
M. Brookford, Lady Albany
Merope read the card once. Then she stood for a moment, blinking, and read it again. "He says that – he wishes for both of us to stay the week? He is sending a carriage to collect us?"
"He is!" Then Sally looked back at her, pretending to be wide-eyed and shocked. "Why, Merope – surely you also received a card about being invited for the week!"
Merope just glared at her.
"And – there must have been something about a carriage being sent for you?"
"There was nothing," she finally said, very tensely. "Nothing at all. I opened the invitation myself. It was sealed. There was nothing."
"Oh my, oh my!" said Sally, trying to look concerned, while obviously being delighted at Merope's confusion. "I am sure it was just an error. My own card clearly states that the carriage will be sent for both of us to stay the week, but never mind, Merry. I will be happy to share my invitation – and Mr. Brookford's carriage – with you! Oh, what fun the week will be!"
"Such fun, indeed," Merope whispered, under her breath. Then, she gave Sally a cold smile. "If you will excuse me, my mother is waiting for me. We have almost more business at the inn than we can handle of late. But such are the wages of success."
"Of course, of course," laughed Sally. “I would help you out, but my father is coming back very soon with the wagon to take me home. And I cannot wait to search through my dresses and make certain I have enough to wear for the week! Oh, how happy my mother will be. She will be so eager to help me make something new!"
Merope simply turned and walked away, even as Sally continued chattering and giggling.
Blindly making her way back to the inn, Merope simply did not know what to think and felt pulled in several different directions at once. She had been happy to get the invitation to the ball. But now, the previous day’s riding lesson took on a different luster. Sally, the better rider, was clearly the preferred one. Merope’s throat was tight.
But why shouldn't she be? Sally might look a little short and somewhat plain, compared to most of the other women in the county, but she was also very lively and flirtatious and fun. And she made no secret of the fact that she adored Mr. Brookford, for she flattered him every chance she got. Didn't every girl know that gentlemen did love to be flattered, no matter how much they might protest that they did not?
No doubt, Sally Henson would have been delighted to ride pillion behind Mr. Brookford keeping up a steady stream of amusing conversation all the while. She would not sit on the back of James Brookford's horse like a piece of baggage and then fall to the ground like a trunk dislodged from the rear of a coach. She had clearly been put out, when Merope had been the one chosen.
Though it was hard to admit, it was looking more and more to Merope as though Mr. Brookford favored Sally now – not Merope. It occurred to Merope that she herself had only really been invited because Sally would need a companion for the week and could not travel alone.
Merope could think of no other reason why Mr. Brookford would inform Sally of the coach and – and not inform herself. She supposed that she had been entirely wrong about their interactions. Perhaps, his preference was for a livelier woman.
Merope made her way across the cobblestones. As she approached the wooden walkway in front of the Robbins Inn, she began to remember why she had at first been so pleased at the thought of attending the Albany House ball.
Foremost in her mind was the memory of Mr. Brookford, riding tall on his horse as she had gazed up at him from the fat little pony, how he had tried to help her when the pony misbehaved, and – most of all – his strong form sitting in front of her on Vireo, while she held him close around his slim waist and rested her head against his broad shoulder.
Right then, Merope could not decide whether it would be more painful to decline the invitation and miss the ball entirely, or go to it and have to watch James Brookford spend the entire week with Sally Henson.
Even as she pulled open the door, she knew exactly what she would do.
Though Merope was, at times, convinced that they would not, the days did somehow pass. As she had expected, the first time she tried to drop hints to her mother that perhaps she should not go to the Albany House ball because they were too busy at the inn, Mrs. Robbins would not hear of it.
"Merope! Why do you try so hard to avoid these things? You, the prettiest girl in Birdwell! Normally, you’re so calm and unaffected by whatever is going on, no matter how strange or difficult or exciting! Whatever could be stopping you from going?"
Merope knew that there would be no persuading her mother that she did not want to go because of Sally Henson. Perhaps her mother was right.
"All right. I will go. But I will need a new gown and a new pair of kid gloves."
Mrs. Robbins just sighed and shook her head. "I should have guessed. It's a good thing we have so much business at the inn, even if we are about to drop from the overwork. At least, it will keep my daughter in riding habits and ball gowns!"
Chapter Fourteen
At long last, noontime approached on the following Monday. In between carrying clean sheets to the rooms, polishing the silverware, and sometimes, serving plates of roast beef with gravy and potatoes in the dining room, Merope had carefully packed and re-packed the trunk her mother had loaned her with everything she thought she would need for the one-week stay at Albany House.
A stay that would include a ball, where she would, surely, at least once – dance with James Brookford.
On the very top of all the clothes and other items in the trunk, was her new, and costly, pink silk gown. She had kept Mrs. Vane very busy of late, over at Fabrics, Feathers & Fineries, but right now Merope did not care.
She loved the detail of the maroon silk ribbons stitched along the neckline of the pink gown and had immediately thought of her mother's small ruby pendant. After only a little wheedling, her mother had agreed to loan it and Merope was quite pleased, for it would go wonderfully well with the pink silk. Both the pendant and the new gown were neatly packed in layers of clean paper in the trunk, just waiting for the ball to begin.
William and Henry, the inn’s manservants, wrestled the trunk downstairs, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. Being noontime on Monday, with no coach due and market day not until tomorrow, the amount of business was manageable, and Merope did not feel quite so guilty about leaving her mother to manage the inn herself for the week.
"Come here, dear, and let me see you." Mrs. Robbins left off folding linen napkins and came over to stand beside the kitchen table. "Very good. Very good indeed. The blue-gray muslin with dark blue wrap suits you perfectly. And you're wearing your new
black half-boots?"
By way of answer, Merope lifted her hem a little, revealing her boots. "I love these. Very comfortable. I can wear them for dancing, too. They will go well with the new pink-and-maroon gown."
"And you packed your new kid gloves?"
"I did, andother day dresses and wraps. And, of course, your ruby pendant."
"Please do be careful with that. Your father gave it to me when you were born, and I want to pass it on to you – though not just yet."
"Of course, I will be careful." Merope smiled despite her nerves. She had heard the story about the pendant many times but did not mind hearing it again. "I hope the carriage is not late."
