Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  “And I have been most anxious about you since I received His Grace’s letter. How long have you been ill? What caused it?”

  Papa chuckled weakly. “My own stupidity was to blame, I am afraid. I insisted on riding most of the way alongside William while his valet took the carriage, for I wanted to talk about his experiments on the journey. On the third and fourth days it rained quite heavily, yet I did not accept his invitation to ride in comfort.”

  By this I ascertained that “William” was the Christian name of the Duke. I sighed and stroked Papa’s hair. “At least you are recovering. Dr. Jones seems most capable, and he assures me that you will recover with plenty of rest.”

  “All the same, I am glad you have come. I shall rest easier having you close by.” Papa leaned forward to kiss my hair and then settled against the pillows again. He seemed tired, so I told him that I needed to see how Mrs. Potter had settled in and left the room. Seeing him awake had alleviated some of my worry, and I was suddenly aware of how little sustenance I had taken during the day. It would not do for me to fall ill as well.

  Dr. Jones rose to his feet and took my place in the room, and I went in search of a servant who could show me to my rooms. Before I found one, however, Helen looked out of her rooms at the sound of my step in the hall.

  “How does your father do?” she asked as I entered. I gave her an account of Papa’s state and we shared a moment of gratitude to Heaven for his recovery. Helen then pulled a bell to call a maid and ordered a cup of tea for me. “The Duke dines in about an hour, but there is no reason why you should not refresh yourself first.”

  “Where are the children?”

  “Sleeping in the other room. You must have fallen asleep yourself; you were gone quite a long time.” The maid arrived with my tea at this time, and it was quite useful in restoring my spirits. I retired to my own apartment, which was located along the south side of the castle, and dressed for dinner, grateful that I had thought to pack an evening gown among my things. Helen and I helped one another with our hair, and we made our way carefully down the tower stairs after summoning a maid to listen for the children in case one of them should wake.

  We were shown directly into the dining room and told to begin our meal without waiting for the master of the house. Thus far neither of us had seen anything of the Duke, although Helen said that she had heard him return to the house just before I joined her. She believed he had his apartments on the third floor for the amount of bustle that had occurred in the stairwell.

  The dining room was paneled with dark wood, and several old portraits of men and women stared down at the ponderous table in serious contemplation. The chairs were covered in deep green velvet and had clawed feet to match the table. The green velvet drapes had been drawn, giving the appearance that there were no windows. Another enormous fireplace was set into one wall. The general atmosphere of the room was one of austere grandeur, without the airy elegance of more modern accommodations. Candles in wall sconces and on the table provided the only light aside from the fire.

  We had been seated for perhaps ten minutes and were partway through our soup when the Duke made his appearance. His dark green coat matched the room well, and his thick hair looked windblown, as though he had stepped in from the hills. Helen and I were somewhat startled by his entrance, but before we could react beyond the clink of setting down our spoons, His Grace had waved a gruff hand to dissuade us from any formalities. A footman drew his chair out and he settled at the head of the table, with Helen and me on either side of him.

  “Miss Copley, Mrs. Potter, my apologies for not attending you at the start of your meal,” he said as he was served. “I trust you have been well taken care of by the servants?”

  “Thank you, Your Grace, we have indeed. I am pleased to find that my father does better than I first feared. Dr. Jones has hopes that he will make a full recovery in time.”

  “Naturally you will wish him to remain as he is until he is better. You are welcome to make use of what resources I have available. I regret that you have had to make such a journey.”

  “Your Grace is most considerate,” I said. The Duke waved away my thanks and took a small notice of Helen, extending his invitation to stay to her and her children as well before beginning his meal.

  You may imagine my surprise at the Duke’s behavior. He was quite civil, although my inclination to think better of him was slightly marred by the fact that he did not speak once to us throughout the rest of the meal. When we had finished, he rose with us and bowed before retiring for the evening. We saw no more of him that night, and so things have gone for the last few days: our host keeping his distance and only engaging in the barest form of polite conversation. I find I am grateful that Helen’s little boys came with us, for they give me something to attend to beyond fretting over my father’s health.

  And now I must turn my thoughts to your letter, if briefly, or I shall not have energy to finish. I am sorry you have had such difficulty in ordering my gown. Pray do not trouble yourself on my account. Whenever the gown is finished, you may have it sent to me here at the Duke’s castle. I feel we will be here for some time.

  I am sorry, too, that you were not able to renew your acquaintance with Lord Rupert. It is indeed quite vexing to be teased about dancing with him. And it is unfortunate that Fanny is jealous of his attentions to you, but sadly not out of character for her. Lady Rousseau was kind to encourage your connection with her royal relation. Of course I believe that anyone would be honored to know you, as you are quite the most refined and accomplished individual I know. You deserve all the distinction you can possibly receive over my cousins in the eyes of those you meet.

  You may direct all of your correspondence to me here at Castle Stirling. I hope that this very late reply finds you in good health and better spirits. Perhaps Lord Rupert has been engaged elsewhere; I shall hope for an end to whatever impediments are keeping him away, and that you will be able to improve your acquaintance with him. Give my love to your family.

  Love,

  Isabella

  20 April, 1845

  24 Rue de Verre, Paris

  Dear Isabella,

  We attended the service today with the Dupontes, and they returned to our house for lunch. After they left, Papa spoke with Step-mamma about Lord Warner’s invitation to visit him in Vienna. As I predicted, the outcome was not good. Step-mamma is very much against the idea of a removal from Paris, especially now that we are settled in a house and she is able to entertain in proper style. Papa was not even able to prevail upon her to allow him to go alone. I do not know the details, but I can imagine it all. No doubt she insisted that his attendance on us was absolutely necessary for one reason or another. Perhaps she even trotted out Hettie’s imagined suitor and told Papa that he needs to be available should the gentleman wish to declare himself. In any case, whatever she said was enough to convince him to stay. I am severely disappointed, but you know from my last letter that it is only what I expected.

  I have had a letter from Lydia Galloway. She and her family are safely arrived in Venice, and Lydia is quite in raptures with the place. She has ridden out in a gondola several times and says that the experience is divine. I am quite jealous of her. I wonder if she will visit the glass blowing facilities on the island of Murano. I have heard that the craftsmen there can make anything out of glass. (Venetian glass is quite prized as a collectible.) Lydia has promised to send me anything of interest that she comes across.

  Something rather odd has been occurring lately. Baron Wilhelm (I believe I have mentioned him before) has been spending quite a lot of time with us of late. I cannot account for this change in his behavior, as he has never before shown so much interest in us. He does make an agreeable addition to our family party; he is an intelligent, well-spoken man with plenty of good sense. However, I am beginning to have my suspicions about this last quality, for the only reason I can think that he would have for spending so much time with us is that he must be in love wit
h someone. Perhaps he is the nobleman Hettie believes loves her? In fairness, Hettie is the better-looking of my stepsisters, and her manners are better than Fanny’s as well. I would have thought a man of Baron Wilhelm’s intelligence would gravitate toward a woman with more natural desire for education and improvement than Hettie. But one cannot account for the things a person will approve of when once in love, I suppose.

  The best news I have for you is that the modiste wrote to say that the fabric for your gown will arrive within the fortnight. It has taken much longer than I originally anticipated, and for that I apologize. When your gown finally does arrive, a pair of slippers will be included, along with a matching fan and gloves. Of course I must do such things completely, so I could not help ordering the rest of the things you would need to complete the ensemble. Soon you will be outfitted in the best Parisian style. And do not think of the expense, for I wish you to consider it my gift to you for your next birthday.

  There is not much else to tell, I am afraid. I shall write again whenever I have news. Give my regards to your papa when you next write to him and to Mrs. Potter as well.

  Love,

  Eleanor

  P.S. I hope my last letter did not go astray, for I have not received a reply yet. Perhaps your response has been lost?

  22 April, 1845

  24 Rue de Verre

  Dear Isabella,

  I have at last received your most recent letter. How dreadful it must have been to travel such a distance in anticipation of potential tragedy! What would you have done if you had arrived too late? It does not bear thinking of! I am heartily glad that the Duke, for all his other faults, has proved to be a man of principle and foresight. It occurs to me that your father likely did not ask him to send for you at all. Fevers are most distressing and cause one to forget all sorts of things that are of the greatest import. Do you recall Alice, our upstairs maid in Kent? She had a fever once, and Mrs. Darton told me she was so delirious that she could not even recognize the faces about her in the room. It seems very likely the Duke sent for you on his own when he realized the gravity of your father’s ailments. In any event, I am heartily glad that your father is in recovery and will be sure to pray for his full restoration to good health and spirits.

  Your description of the Scottish countryside has me quite in raptures! It puts me in mind of the stories my nurse used to tell me when I was small. You did not have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Rowe, but she was born in Glasgow and knew ever so many of the old Gaelic tales about the sprites and spirits that roam the moors and highlands. Lydia Galloway’s description of Ireland bears a striking resemblance to the Scottish countryside as well. How interesting it all sounds! Our English land may be just as fertile, but it is generally flat in the few places I have traveled and not very interesting to observe. I suppose you did not think to bring your drawing materials with you, but perhaps you may indulge me and find time to create an ink sketch of the castle. I have a great desire to see it.

  You are very kind in your comments about Lord Rupert, and I assure you that from my very limited knowledge of him I believe him to be fully deserving of your praise. Some people are so full of goodness that one can sense it even in one meeting. Unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to meet with him again. With the symposium ended, the chance of our meeting has decreased somewhat, although I do wonder that we have not met him in our numerous engagements with Lady Rousseau since the ball. He told me that he and his uncle were staying at Manor Rousseau, and it surprises me that we would not have met him over tea at the very least. Surely his uncle is not such a bear that he would insist on taking his tea apart from Lady R. and her visitors, and on Lord Rupert’s remaining away from society so completely. But the determined absence of either gentleman from any party of Lady R.’s acquaintance has led me to speculate that they must be gone from Paris. It is a pity we did not meet sooner, for from the conversation we had at the ball, Lord Rupert had actually been in town during the whole of the symposium, and we had attended several of the same speeches without realizing it. I am trying very hard not to dwell on missed opportunities, as they cannot be altered now, and moping has never done anyone any good.

  In the meantime, please be sure to keep me informed of all your doings and any news you have of your father’s recovery. I am longing to hear more about the surrounding countryside and any adventures you have while you help Mrs. Potter chase her boys about the old castle.

  All my love to you and your papa,

  Eleanor

  26 April, 1845

  Castle Stirling, Scotland

  Dear Eleanor,

  Your first letter must have been delayed somewhat because I received both of your correspondences at once this morning. I must admit it was a welcome sight, for it provided a new subject of conversation at the table between Mrs. Potter and me. Old friends we may be, but it is frightfully difficult to find new topics to discuss when we spend all day together with hardly any addition to our society.

  I am not inclined to agree with you about Baron Wilhelm’s behavior. True, he may be spending more time in company with your family than he has before, but could this not simply be a naturally-occurring event? You must share a large circle of acquaintance in Paris, particularly due to the Baron’s membership in the Linguistic Society. Or perhaps Aunt Sylvia has been over-liberal in her invitations to him in the hope that he might attach himself to one of her daughters? She may be working to assist Hettie in her attempt to attract him. Of course, you might well be correct in assuming that he is already attached to someone in your family, although I doubt very much that either Fanny or Hettie could have created such feelings in a man as sensible as you describe the Baron to be. Indeed, I would be much more likely to believe that he has fallen in love with you than with either of my cousins. As you warned me about Gilbert Cosgrove’s intentions and I ignored them, I think it likely that you will not believe me when I say that I would not be surprised to hear in your next letter that the Baron has begun singling you out for admiration. (We are always alike in these matters; willing to suspect on others’ behalf, but never on our own.) Baron Wilhelm is not Baron von Schönfeld, but he seems to be a far better choice than Gilbert. Do you have any reason to think that you would return his addresses if he offered for you?

  I am very sorry to hear about Aunt Sylvia’s reaction to Uncle Charles wanting to visit Vienna. Her stubbornness seems quite perverse at times. To think that her desire for Fanny to continue exposing herself to ridicule is more important than Uncle Charles’ work with linguistics is the height of folly and contempt! I am quite vexed with her. If it were not for the fact that I have gained materially from our near relationship, I would wish that Uncle Charles had never met Aunt Sylvia, for then you would never have been placed under the care of such an absurd woman.

  Papa continues to mend well, although he is still too weak to spend more than a few hours out of his room at any given time. The formal drawing room is on the ground floor, but there is a smaller sitting room down the hall from our rooms that we have taken to using instead. It is quite cozy and affords a view of the hills to the north of the castle where many of the shepherds roam with their sheep. They are out regardless of the weather, except on the days when it rains most heavily. Papa joins us in the afternoons for tea and sits close to the fire while Helen and I alternate between reading to him, pouring tea, and keeping Henry and Arthur from spilling crumbs on the carpets.

  Our days here are not much different from those back in Kent. When the weather is fine, Helen and I take the boys outside to play on the grass just before the castle’s small drawbridge, or in the magnificent terraced rose gardens on the south side of the building. (Have I mentioned these gardens? Never in my life have I seen such large and beautiful blooms! Only your mother’s garden at your house in Kent compares, and these roses are even larger and more ornate than those. The scent is stronger than the most expensive perfume and quite lovely. I had not thought there was enough sun for them to be in bloom a
lready, but they are thriving. Perhaps the Duke uses them in his scientific experiments?) On rainy days we explore the castle, which is much bigger than I had originally guessed from my glimpses on the road. The only place we avoid going is the west side of the third floor, where the Duke’s rooms are located. It is my belief that his apartments take up the whole of that side, for even the doors in the southwest and northwest stairwells have been locked to deny access to the wing, and the hallways on both sides are set halfway with large sets of double doors. The only other inaccessible area of the castle is down in the dungeons, but that is due more to the damp and cold atmosphere than anything secret or sinister.

  The only omission to our regular routine from life in Kent is that of paying social calls, for Helen learned from Mrs. Kirke that there are no noble families within twenty miles of the castle. It seems that the Duke lives quite the life of a hermit. Helen and I have spent much time in conversation with Mrs. Kirke, whose advanced age prevents her from walking to the village to indulge her love of gossip. (Apart from the steep climb up the hills, the village is nearly five miles from the castle.) Her son James (who lives there with his family) is a shepherd and sometimes is able to stop in and visit her for a brief moment.

  “But the master is not fond of company, so we try not to indulge in visits very often,” she said, with a small shake of her head.

  “But surely you must be allowed to leave on occasion to visit your son? Does His Grace never offer you the use of his carriage?”

  Mrs. Kirke’s cap bobbed madly as she replied, “Saints bless you, child! No, he does not. He would not think on such a thing for one so old and frail as me. His head is always so full of numbers and formulas and the like that it would never occur to him.” This seemed rather odd to me, for a gentleman who deserved the name would not allow his research to overshadow the duties he has to his household. But Mrs. Kirke spoke as though the matter was quite settled, indeed, as though she expected nothing better for herself, and so I merely raised an eyebrow at Helen who was brushing dirt from little Arthur’s knees after a fall.