Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale

by Britain Kalai Soderquist

  Your heartsore cousin,

  Isabella

  10 July, 1845

  The Rose and Crown Inn, Manchester

  Dear Eleanor,

  Papa and I have stopped in the town of Manchester so as to avoid traveling on the Sabbath. We arrived yesterday afternoon, and one of the first things Papa did was inquire after our mail. He returned to the parlor with both of your letters, and in spite of the contents of the second one, I was most grateful to receive them.

  Oh Eleanor, I wish I had received them sooner! Your advice would have changed much about my behavior when the Duke proposed. My own musings stopped where yours began; I believed I deserved an explanation. But I did not think it through as thoroughly as you did. It is clear now that you are right. I should have trusted more to the merit of Mr. Adamson’s regard for the Duke, to his own unexceptional behavior. Indeed, even the villagers were becoming less inclined to be angry with him the more he was among them. Had he done anything intentionally reprehensible, they would certainly have continued to despise him.

  My journey here has not been pleasant. The morning after the Duke’s proposal I asked Papa if we might return home immediately. He was very concerned and wanted to know what had happened to cause such a change. I did not wish to tell him of my foolishness, but it would not do for him to suspect anyone other than myself. Still, details were beyond my abilities to convey, and I merely informed him that the Duke had offered for me, and that as I had refused him, I felt it best we not continue to presume on his hospitality. Papa seemed stunned, as though the feelings the Duke and I had been developing for one another had completely escaped him. He agreed that we could go and left me to my packing. The Duke had not joined us at breakfast, and I did not see him through the whole course of the morning.

  Nearly every other member of the household I did see before I left. Each of the maids came in turn to express their surprise and distress. Mary also came to show the little gold ring that Pierre had given her and to bubble about her engagement. As none of them knew my reasons for leaving so suddenly, I had to pretend to be interested in her excited plans, but my heart was not in it. Mrs. Kirke’s goodbye was the most affecting, for I have come to love her quite as much as though she was my own grandmother. I made her promise to correspond with me and to tell me how her grandchildren are doing. The one consolation I have is that I do not think the Duke will neglect to help her in visiting the village anymore.

  By the afternoon the carriage was ready, and I realized for the first time that I would have to say goodbye to the Duke. When the moment came I tried to act normally and looked into his face.

  “Goodbye, Your Grace. I thank you for your hospitality and kindness to us these past weeks.” I meant only to curtsey and walk quickly to the carriage, but my poor heart could not tear itself away so easily. Instead my hand met his and he held it for some moments, looking down at me with that severe gaze that had marked the earliest part of our acquaintance. How many things he wished to say to me I could not guess. He seemed to struggle for some moments before deciding that it was best to simply let me go.

  “Your servant, Miss Copley, as always.” He bowed over my hand slightly, and I was free. Not looking around to see the expression on Mrs. Kirke’s face at this odd behavior, I climbed into the carriage and waited for Papa. He stood on the castle steps and spoke with the Duke for what seemed an eternity before parting with a firm grasp of the hand and coming to join me in the carriage. Saunders set the horses in motion, and we were gone. I had purposely chosen the forward seat so as not to have a glimpse of the Duke and the castle as we rolled down the hill for the last time.

  Papa seemed to think that it was best not to press me for details that first day, but after the second day had passed without my voluntarily entering into the subject, he chose to bring it forward himself.

  “My dear, I think we have been silent on this subject for far too long. Will you not tell me what has happened?” His tone was unspeakably kind, and even in my reluctance I knew he would not judge me too harshly. I told him everything, the words spilling from me faster and faster until they were gone and I was left feeling hollow.

  Papa listened without interruption until I reached the end of my story, when he released a heavy sigh. “This is grave indeed.”

  “Did I do the right thing, Papa?”

  Papa shook his head. “I do not know for certain, but it is done and likely for the best in the end. But I cannot like this, Bella. You should have come to me and told me of your concerns. It is my duty to protect you, and I could have made enquiries on your behalf that would have spared you this situation.”

  I fear my mouth was hanging open in a most unladylike manner as he said this. Why had I not considered that before? Papa could have discovered the answer to the Duke’s mystery weeks before, could even have been informed of the situation by the Duke himself long before he had formed any intention of offering for me. (Here again you are correct in the advice you gave me as well. It seems everyone has been wiser than I.)

  “I should have inquired about it on my own when I noticed the odd behavior of the local townsfolk, but I fear I am to blame again for neglecting my duty. Too late I have rectified the situation, and I am now in a position to share the details I should have known weeks ago. Should it help you at all to know the full story?” I nodded, though I was rather ashamed that even a spark of curiosity still existed in me.

  For the sake of brevity I shall summarize the story Papa told me. You know already that the Duke inherited his father’s title and estate at the age of one-and-twenty. He was newly finished at Cambridge and had returned only a fortnight before his father succumbed to illness. His mother having passed away seven years before, the Duke was now left to run his lands on his own.

  At school the Duke had excelled in the study of science: botany and chemistry in particular. It was his passion, and one of the first changes he made to the castle was to convert half of the third floor into a laboratory for his experiments. The rose garden was an ideal test subject for his various growth enhancement compounds. It seems he experimented quite heavily in those days with varying degrees of success. It was viewed as an odd hobby, but as the lands and grounds were managed with decent regularity and the Duke was young and energetic and kind, the servants and local folk did not think much of it. Indeed, he was rather a symbol of pride to the neighborhood for several prizes and distinctions he had won while at school.

  The Hamilton family was indeed a distant familial connection of the Duke’s father. The family consisted of a minor knight, Sir Edmund Hamilton, his wife Lady Anne, and their only child, a daughter named Katherine who was some five years younger than the Duke. They were intended for one another from birth; their estate being entailed on the Duke in the event that Sir Hamilton produced no heirs, it was a logical plan.

  Katherine Hamilton was a reputed beauty and quite intelligent, if somewhat careless of the needs and wants of others. She had been raised to expect a grand title and fortune and was taught only that she was responsible for providing charity to her father’s tenants. The virtues of genuine kindness and disinterested welfare she never achieved. (At the time I wondered how Papa came to know such specific details of Miss Hamilton’s character. I can only conclude that he was informed by someone who knew her well, Mrs. Kirke or Mr. Adamson, or perhaps the Duke himself. He did not indicate, and I did not ask.)

  The Duke’s first years as master of the castle passed without much change. He continued his experiments, and the Hamiltons continued in their expectations of the connection with his noble family. In the summer of the Duke’s twenty fifth year and Miss Hamilton’s twentieth, they were officially engaged. The wedding was set to take place that autumn, but a poor year of crop yields had left the family resources in somewhat strained circumstances, and the event was put off until the spring. In an effort to make up for the poor yields of the early crops, the Duke suggested to Sir Hamilton that they use one of the compounds the Duke had been experimenting w
ith in his rose garden. The artificial materials he used had shown great promise, and he was confident that the final crops of the year could be encouraged to produce larger yields that would recover some of the earlier loss.

  Sir Hamilton was hesitant to trust the compound at first, having no knowledge of the substances the Duke proposed to use. But knowing his own education was lacking, and trusting in the Duke’s confidence, Sir Hamilton eventually agreed to allow him to test his theory on part of the estate produce garden. If the results were favorable, the compound would be used on the farms in the spring.

  When the harvest came, the Duke took several specimens from the garden to his laboratory to study their quality and ensure his experiment had worked. But the compound had not worked. The produce was unfit for consumption, poisonous despite appearing quite normal. As soon as the result of his testing was known, the Duke rode to the Hamilton estate to warn them. I need hardly tell you that he discovered his mistake too late.

  The village had long been under the patronage of the Hamiltons and the family was well-liked there. Their deaths were a terrible blow and word soon spread that it was the Duke’s experiment that had caused their untimely demise. Darker rumors circled, naturally, hinting that the Duke had poisoned the family in order to receive his inheritance sooner. Despite being untrue, the damage was done, and the Duke was devastated. His actions were exonerated by the local authorities, but still he could not escape the prejudice of the neighborhood. Leaving the whole of his newly expanded estate in the hands of his father’s steward, he fled to the Continent for several years. On his return he buried himself in his work again, only venturing from the castle when necessity required it of him. Indeed, his visit to the Duncans was his first removal from Scotland in nearly six years. He swore never to use artificial compounds in his work again.

  You may imagine the effect this recitation had on my feelings. “Oh Papa, I have been so dreadfully foolish!” I wanted desperately to cry, but equally desperate was the desire to not come completely undone in the carriage. Papa looked most worried, and I could not bear to cause him further distress. We rode in silence for most of the rest of that day.

  The only other person who knows the whole of my folly is Helen, for I sent a note to her on our arrival in Manchester requesting that she call on me if her sister’s condition allowed it. She came today for tea and was most sympathetic. Her steady kindness brought a measure of relief to me, and little Arthur’s comfortable warmth as he sat on my knee during the whole of the visit did much to dispel the gloom I have been living under these several days past.

  And now I must try and turn my thoughts to your news, which is far more pleasant than any I have had to share. I am most happy for you, dear Eleanor. It seems that you are secure of the happiest future possible. Only you are good enough to deserve such a situation. Pray tell me when I may share your news with Papa. We are both in need of cheering up. Perhaps we shall journey to the Continent for your wedding. For of course you will be married in Vienna, owing to Rupert’s position and connection to the Imperial Family. What a grand event that shall be! Fanny and Hettie will be quite envious when they hear of it, though Aunt Sylvia will likely use the connection as a means of increasing her standing in society to the furthest extent. I suppose this last circumstance cannot be helped, and I would not have you give up a happy marriage for such an insignificant reason.

  I confess I long to see you. Do you think you will return to England before the wedding? If so, I should be grateful if you would visit us for a time. You have been traveling much of late, but I hope that a journey of twelve miles will not be too distressing. I am looking forward to being in Kent again. Perhaps the package with the gown you sent me will be there, for it never did arrive in Scotland. Pray do not concern yourself over it. I am sure you will be able to sort it out on your return to Paris.

  Love,

  Isabella

  10 July, 1845

  Warnerhaus, 9 Salztorgasse, Vienna

  Dear Isabella,

  The entirety of this week has been a flurry of preparations for a ball that Lady Warner has insisted on hosting before our departure to Paris. I have assisted her most readily in planning, for I do so love a ball. It will be held next Saturday so that we might rest on the Sabbath before our journey on Monday. It will be the last social event of significance that I attend here in Vienna.

  I am endeavoring not to dwell on my imminent removal from this wonderful place. Thinking of it only depresses me and does not allow me to enjoy my final days to the utmost. Rupert and I avoid discussing the subject, which is difficult when he is with us every day. He is not the only one; all of my new acquaintances have been visiting with more regularity than ever before. Lady Gunther came to tea yesterday and was most kind in wishing for my quick return to the city. The Müssens have come nearly as often as Rupert, and our afternoons have been quite merry of late. Even Count von Schönfeld has come to see us outside of an evening invitation, and he very gallantly expressed his sorrow that he would no longer be able to enjoy the company of his “charming opera enthusiast.” The people here have been so very kind to me, Bella, that I find I am quite forlorn at the thought of bidding them adieu. Lady Warner offered most kindly to bring me with her when she returns home, but I know that Papa’s steward has written him at least twice to urge his return to Kent, and I doubt that we shall remain on the Continent beyond the summer.

  The one disadvantage of the increase in our social activities is that Rupert and I have had fewer opportunities of speaking to one another privately. We seem surrounded by people at all times. Unfortunately the preparations for the ball have kept me from riding much in the last few days. Our first real opportunity of speaking to one another properly occurred today when we returned the Count’s call after the morning service.

  The weather being fine, we were all soon tempted out into the gardens. After several minutes of walking I realized that Rupert and I had outpaced Papa and the others and were alone near the top of the garden (whether by accident or design I was not completely sure). But we continued to stroll along together, and after a few silent moments Rupert began asking me about my home in England. I had told him about Kent before, but he seemed to be wondering about some more particular piece of information that I had not yet given.

  “Are you sorry to have been away from home for so long?”

  “Yes, in some ways I miss home very much. But I have come to love Vienna so much that I find I do not miss Kent as I thought I would. In London and Paris I certainly missed it, but there is something so inviting about Vienna that I have hardly thought about home since I arrived.”

  “You must have a large acquaintance in Kent, friends that you miss.”

  “My dearest friend is my cousin Isabella, but she lives twelve miles from us, and she has been in Scotland almost since we arrived in Paris. I miss her a great deal, but she is the only friend I am anxious to see upon my return.” Rupert considered this for a while as we continued to walk. It seemed obvious which way these questions were tending, although I did not wish to get my hopes up. But that little bubble of happy anticipation was stubbornly refusing to stop rising within me, and before I knew it I heard myself saying “Indeed, if an opportunity were to arise that allowed me to stay in Vienna, I would leave Kent quite willingly. I dreamed of coming here when I was a little girl, and my expectations have been more than answered. Until now, I never imagined that I could be happy living away from the country, and perhaps if I were forced to live in London or Paris I would still feel so. But here…” I trailed off, realizing that Rupert had halted our progress and was looking at me most intently. “Even Papa likes it here,” I finished lamely.

  “Eleanor, do you truly mean that?” Rupert’s tone implied his uncertainty. As he still held my arm in his, we were quite close. Slowly he lowered his arm and instead took both of my hands, turning me to face him. “Would you be willing to leave even if it meant you were no longer with your family?”

  I could not
help laughing at that. “I sometimes forget how little you know of my stepmother and stepsisters,” I said. “They would not miss me in the slightest, and I certainly do not require their company to make me happy. Papa would be more difficult to leave, but he is able to travel quite independent of anyone else.” Rupert’s blue eyes seemed to have grown even more intent as they focused on my face, and I was distracted momentarily at the sight of them.

  “And your cousin?” Rupert prompted. “Would you be sorry to leave her?”

  “I imagine Isabella will quit Kent much sooner than I will. It cannot be long before Scotland becomes her more permanent residence.” (I have, of course, told Rupert several of your stories about the Duke. I hope you will forgive me for hinting at the possibility of your future connection with him.)

  Rupert nodded and did not speak again for some moments. I could tell he was considering something, because his intent look never faded and he continued to study my face as if looking for an answer of some sort. Eventually his lips broke into a small smile. He dropped his gaze from my face to our joined hands and lifted one of mine toward his lips briefly. My heart seemed to swell and sink at the same time. For a moment I had thought he would propose, but he did not. Whatever decision he had made, he seemed quite satisfied with it, and I would have to wait a little longer. “Come, we should rejoin the others. Uncle will be cross if we are late for tea.” Placing my arm within his own again we made our way back down the garden.

  Over tea we discussed the upcoming Warner ball in great detail. Rupert knew all about it, naturally, but the Count had not yet heard of our plans. “I send my cards tomorrow, and I extend a personal invitation to yourself and Rupert as well. We should be most honored to have you both in attendance,” Lady W. said.

  “That is most kind of you, Lady Warner; you know in general I do not attend balls. However, if it will be my last opportunity to enjoy Miss Stafford’s company, I shall of course make an exception.” The elderly Count gave a slight bow in my direction.