Creatures of Will and Temper

by Molly Tanzer

  “There will be a consequence for your sister, Evadne, though it is not for you to tell me how to raise my daughter,” said Mrs. Gray as she opened a drawer and retrieved a letter. She turned, looking severe. “Evadne is right, Dorina. You have betrayed my trust. I do not say this because you were with Juliana—I say this because a young woman cannot be too careful with her reputation, especially if she hopes to marry well. Therefore, I shall alter your London trip.”

  “Oh, but Mother—”

  “I am not canceling it,” said Mrs. Gray. “That would be cruel; I know how much you have longed to go. But I fear you will be too much for Basil to look after. Therefore, I have no choice but to command your sister go with you.”

  It was Evadne who cried “Mother!” this time.

  Her sister was a character study in fury, her fists clenched at her sides, face red, back straighter than her silly swords. She would have made the perfect model for Isabella, before sticking her lover’s head in a pot of basil, or Guinevere, standing over Lancelot and Elaine.

  “I had a letter from your uncle a few days ago, asking if you would like to come along with your sister, Evadne; I hadn’t thought to mention it, knowing your opinion of London. This seems a perfect compromise, however, as before your sister arrived all you could talk about was her need for supervision.” Dorina shot her sister an indignant look; Evadne sniffed and turned her nose up. “Now you can supervise her.” Evadne began to protest, but their mother held up her hand. “You claimed to have Dorina’s best interests at heart when you told me everything, did you not?”

  There was nothing Evadne could say to that; their mother had won. Dorina was elated, but was wise enough not to show it. She was still going to London—that was all that mattered!

  “I suppose you’ll need some new clothes, Evadne,” said Mrs. Gray thoughtfully. “You can’t possibly go to London wearing your”—she gazed at her elder daughter—“current fashions.”

  “My clothes are fine.”

  “Not for town. We’ll go tomorrow. We’ve barely a fortnight to get everything ready for your journey, so—”

  “Not tomorrow,” said Evadne quickly. “It can’t be tomorrow.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “We’re to go to dinner.”

  Mrs. Gray looked puzzled. “Really? Where?”

  “Freddie’s house.” Evadne was blushing terribly. “Mrs. Thornton has invited us. To celebrate . . . his return.”

  A quiet descended upon the room in the wake of this announcement. The Thorntons, being of humbler means than the Grays, rarely invited them to dinner, and Dorina would have bet fifty pounds it meant Freddie had finally—finally!—proposed. Mrs. Gray also looked like she’d take that bet, too; she was staring at her daughter, trying not to smile too broadly. Dorina, however, did not hide her emotion.

  “Evadne!” she exclaimed, moving to embrace her. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “As am I,” said their mother. “I’ll send a servant to tell them we’ll all be delighted.”

  Evadne did not look as pleased as she should, and she pushed Dorina away with more than necessary firmness. “There’s nothing to be happy about,” she said stiffly. “It’s just dinner.”

  “Oh, Evadne. If Freddie hasn’t proposed yet, surely he intends to,” said their mother.

  “No. Freddie is . . .” To her surprise, Dorina could see her sister struggling. “He’s engaged. She’ll be there too. He wants us to meet her, as we’re friends of the family.” She shrugged. “They’ve had an understanding for years.”

  Dorina’s mouth fell open. All her ire toward her sister evaporated and condensed into outrage on her behalf. “Well I never! I can’t believe he’d do that to you!”

  Evadne tutted at her.

  “He hasn’t wronged me in any way,” she said loftily, but Dorina could tell she was really quite upset.

  “Yes he has!” declared Dorina, looking to their mother. Mrs. Gray did not look pleased. “Years! What are years to the devotion you’ve shown him for decades! The nerve of that . . . that rascal!”

  “Freddie is blameless,” said Evadne, but Dorina heard an ominous trembling in her voice. “He is following his heart, and I wish him joy.”

  Dorina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “His heart! His joy! What about your heart? Your—”

  “Stop!” cried Evadne. “You’re being a child about this! We’re going—and we’ll be polite!” With that, she fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Gray after Evadne’s footsteps had retreated. “Perhaps this London trip will be good for you both. She will need a distraction. Poor Evadne. She’s counted on him for so long!”

  “You agree with me, don’t you, Mother? That he treated her unjustly?”

  “Whether I do or no, Evadne’s feelings are the ones I’m most concerned with right now.”

  Dorina felt the rightness of her mother’s admonishment. “You’re right. I shall be polite. For her sake, not his, tomorrow.”

  “Good. And as for now, I forbid you from disturbing your sister. Let her feel her pain in private.” Dorina nodded. “But, before you go . . .”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I do not wish you to think I am condoning your behavior with Juliana by allowing you to go to London. I seriously considered punishing you by canceling the trip, but I choose to believe you when you say this was a singular indiscretion.” Dorina held her mother’s gaze, even if privately she was cringing. “Do not betray my trust or insult Basil’s generosity by behaving outrageously, do you understand me? Embarrassing yourself and this family while you are in London will have serious consequences for your later life. So keep away from girls like Juliana, with their novels, all right?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Don’t you ‘yes, Mother’ me,” said Mrs. Gray. “I know your ways, my dear, and you’re not half so sincere as you pretend, while being twice as earnest as you’d like anyone to believe. Trust me when I say you court danger if you let your heart rule your head, especially at your age.”

  “I understand,” said Dorina. “I do, really. I promise.”

  “Then go and occupy yourself in whatever way you find most intelligent,” said her mother. “As for me, I shall go and reassure your father that everything is fine before writing to your uncle to let him know Evadne will be accepting his kind invitation.”

  Dorina kissed her mother on the cheek and walked calmly from the room, but once outside, she allowed herself a little jump of triumph. She was still going to London! Even with Evadne watching over her, she would have the grandest time, she just knew it.

  3

  Demons are present in the world of men even when no image of them can be found. Their presence is asserted as a suggestion, a manner. They can be sensed in the curve of a line, in a heady fragrance, in the subtleties of certain colors.

  —On the Summoning of Demons

  Looking eagerly at the London streets beyond the cab window, with her nose and hands pressed against the glass and her feet tucked up under her bottom, Dorina looked much younger than her seventeen years. In spite of her annoyance at being in London, it brought a smile to Evadne’s lips to see her sister so excited. She had been rather cross with Dorina for most of their journey—and most of the days leading up to it, truth be told—but in that moment she felt a surge of affection for her, remembering the family trip they’d all taken to Brighton over a decade ago.

  Then, Dorina had clambered over their mother’s lap, sitting in nearly the same posture to get her first look at the sea. How she had shrieked with joy to see the waves! Not Evadne, though—she had sat quietly, tall enough to see for herself, but unsure if she liked the gray, undulating expanse. Neither the strangeness nor the size of the water had impressed her.

  She felt a similar sense of unease regarding London.

  Dorina had been so different back then . . . The stunning young woman across from Evadne bore little resemblance to the little monster who
had skinned her knee tumbling out of the coach in her excitement. Her curly hair had stuck out at all angles before it matured into the cascade that tumbled down her back when it wasn’t pinned up; her nose had been round as a button before lengthening into the straight sweep envied by all the girls in Swadlincote; her arms had been chubby sausages, which time had stretched and re-formed into the graceful limbs ending in the slender—if ink-stained—palms and fingertips now on display for London’s passersby.

  Dorina had changed in other ways, too. She used to think of things other than herself and her own pleasure, for instance. Yet even when Dorina had been less focused on herself, the two sisters had never really gotten along. Like during that family trip to Brighton . . . Evadne’s smile faded as she remembered the day Dorina had nearly drowned—or so it had seemed to Evadne at the time.

  Heedless of their mother’s warnings, Dorina had swum out too far only to panic when her feet no longer touched the sand. How she had screamed! Believing her sister to be in real danger, Evadne had shed her dress and struck out after her, thinking of nothing but saving her, and quickly. Evadne remembered the taste of the salt water, the cold against her bare skin, the shouts of her mother and father. In the moment, she’d thought they were worried for the safety of both their daughters; as it turned out, they had been calling to Evadne, telling her not to worry, that Dorina would be fine. The area where the young children went swimming had been cordoned off by a net, guarding them against the capricious current.

  Evadne had realized that when she reached Dorina, who by then was happily clinging to a sturdy rope, and felt the embarrassment keenly after bringing her sister back to shore. Dripping and exposed in her sodden shift, she’d shivered as Dorina giggled in their mother’s arms—in fact, every one at the beach had laughed, even Evadne’s parents. Only Evadne had found nothing funny about the incident.

  Over the years, Evadne had been forced to endure hearing the story told and retold. The laughter had continued, Dorina’s theatrics always the star; Evadne’s unnecessary rescue the punch line.

  Turning away, Evadne caught sight of her own face reflected in the window. Dorina might have changed dramatically since their trip to Brighton, but Evadne looked much the same: broad of forehead and shoulder, grim of countenance, her hair never holding a style or her body a dress—not with any grace, at least, as evidenced by how she looked in her new and fashionable pearl-gray walking coat and skirt. The clothes were nice enough, save for the shoes, which still pinched, but the waist was narrower than Evadne liked, requiring more severe corseting, which in turn made her sit up straighter than she wanted to.

  She had argued as hard as she could against the cut, but her mother hadn’t listened to a word of it—Evadne must look presentable, even if she would not be appearing in proper London society. Her preferred loose jackets and skirts, casual shirtwaists, and boots, fine for tramping over hill and dale, were not appropriate for traipsing about town.

  The worst part was, this outfit was one of the more reasonable of her new wardrobe. Her tea dress was not to be contemplated—with so much lace and pleating, she might as well be wearing a wedding cake. Well, she’d packed several pairs of tweed bloomers, too. Dorina would just have to deal with Evadne being comfortable every once in a while.

  Evadne’s smile almost returned as she contemplated what else she’d snuck into her trunk: her epee, fencing mask, and practice leathers. Her mother had seen them set out and protested their inclusion—when would Evadne find the time to fence?—but Evadne had secreted them in the bottom of her trunk the night before they left.

  She had her reasons; she just didn’t wish to discuss them with anyone.

  Dinner with Freddie had been as mortifying as Evadne had imagined it would be. Mr. and Mrs. Thornton had been excited and gracious; her parents and sister sober, their restraint bordering on disapproval. Of course Freddie had noticed, and it had made him tense. He’d fumbled over the grace he said before supper, and seemed overly anxious to champion his future bride to his old friends, especially after Dorina turned her nose up at the girl as if she were some despised dish at the table.

  Evadne alone had treated Miss Bell with the respect she was due, shaking hands with her and drawing her into the conversation when it became obvious that half the guests were determined to ignore her. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been the right thing to do, especially with her family being so stiff and unpleasant. But of course, that was Evadne’s lot—she might be unfeminine in her appearance, but she could and would be a lady, even in the face of disappointment and heartbreak.

  She had been rewarded for her forbearance, after a fashion. No, Freddie hadn’t realized the error of his ways, leaping up to propose to Evadne as she made small talk with Miss Bell, but as the evening wore on, he’d taken Evadne out for a walk in the fresh air, just the two of them, when his fiancée entertained everyone else at the piano.

  “So you are to go to London with your sister,” he’d said, leading her down the garden path, her arm threaded through his.

  Evadne had nodded in the starlit darkness. “I shall miss your wedding, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” Evadne had tried her best not to notice the obvious relief in his voice. “I know you wish me all the best.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I wish you all the best, too, Evadne,” he’d said, patting her hand awkwardly. “I shall be gone once you return, and I don’t know when I’ll be visiting again. My parents have already declared we shall have Christmas in Middlesbrough, and after that, with any luck Miss Bell and I shall have a family to think of . . .”

  Evadne had not known what to say, so she’d said nothing. She had not been particularly keen to join Freddie when he’d asked her, but he’d seemed so insistent, so full of purpose, that she had found herself unable to deny his request.

  “You know, Evadne,” he said after a pause, “were I not so in love with Miss Bell I would envy you.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because you are free to do what you like! London will be such an adventure.”

  “You think so?” Evadne had not been able to keep the incredulity from her voice.

  “Yes!” Freddie had latched on to this. “I’ve taken the liberty of writing you a list of London activities you might enjoy . . . There are several good fencing supply shops you could explore, for example. And, well, you’re always so attuned to what is proper, I’m not sure if you’d be interested, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Well, I wrote down the name and address of a friend of mine, George Cantrell.” Evadne stared at Freddie, not quite understanding what he might possibly be suggesting. “George was a top-tier fencer when we were at Oxford together. And he was also a divinity student, which is why I knew him so well—why I’ve kept in touch, I mean. He lives in London now, and he teaches sport-fencing lessons at an academy, one of the best in London. Bit of a queer fish, but . . .”

  “Queer how?”

  “George always had a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Scholarship student, you know . . . didn’t come from the same sort of family that many of us did. Seemed to always feel he had something to prove. It made him . . .” Freddie looked embarrassed, as well he might. “I realize I’m not making him seem appealing, am I?”

  “No indeed.” Evadne was, frankly, scandalized by Freddie’s suggestion she might call on some stranger—some strange man—just to enquire after fencing lessons, but she also knew Freddie was trying to be kind.

  “At any rate,” Freddie continued, “he’s a good sort, George, and devilish talented.”

  “Thank you for the recommendation.” Evadne was yearning for this interview to be concluded. She was just trying to think of a way to extricate herself when Freddie did it for her.

  “I have it all written up already—the list, I mean, of things to do. And George’s address. Shall we return to the house? I can pop upstairs and get it while you . . .” He sighed, then said, “Thank you for
being so kind to Rose, Evadne.”

  “How could I not be? She’s lovely.”

  “I’m so glad you approve.”

  What else could she do, really, other than reassure him? And though she was still so very disappointed, so very hurt, Evadne had done so—just as she had gone inside with a smile on her face, to rescue Miss Bell from the awkward conversation of her emotional sister and distant mother. Not only that, but she had made small talk until Freddie had returned and surreptitiously slipped his missive into the folds of her shawl. She’d thanked him with a smile, even though at the time she felt she could safely say she would never call on Mr. George Cantrell for fencing lessons.

  But now that London was all around her, looming outside the windows of the cab, Evadne wasn’t so certain. While she was as yet not inclined to seek out this Mr. Cantrell, it was comforting to know she had something secret, something private, something her own waiting for her if she should happen to change her mind.

  At least Chelsea was quieter, greener, and far nicer than many of the areas they’d passed through since disembarking at St Pancras that morning. And as the coach slowed, it seemed her Uncle Basil’s place was in easy walking distance of St Luke’s . . . though, to be honest, she hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic about attending services ever since it became obvious she’d never be a vicar’s wife.

  “We’re getting close!” Dorina’s enthusiasm was palpable; she shifted on the carriage seat, unable to sit still. “Oh, Evadne, I’ve never been so excited!”

  Dorina did not ask Evadne’s feelings on the matter. Either she did not care about her sister’s state of mind, or she assumed—correctly—that Evadne was less than thrilled to be in London, where the tall buildings cast strange shadows, making her feel closed in and closed off from the world. The city odors seeping through the carriage door were so much less pleasant than grass and sun-warmed dirt, flowers, and fresh water. Evadne sighed, stretching as best she could in the confines of the cab. She did not wish to stumble out on half-asleep, tingling legs when greeting her uncle.