by Michelle Cox
“Don’t speak about my mother that way,” Eugene said angrily, scowling up at him now like a cornered dog.
“I’ll do as I like, and don’t you forget it,” he said, tapping his finger, hard, on Eugene’s chest. He turned away then and walked toward the door.
“I’ll take my leave now,” he said. “Have you anything else to say to me, Martha? My agent, Bernstein, will be in touch with all the arrangements.”
“Even after all these years, I still haven’t really escaped, have I?” she said rancorously, barely above a whisper.
“No, I suppose not, my dear. I trust your adventure was worth it, however,” he said, looking around disparagingly. “Goodbye then, children,” he said, giving them a last glance and then finally descending the stairs.
Ma’s face crumpled then, and she silently retreated to the bedroom to lie down, giving in to a rare fit of tears, while Elsie made a move toward the kitchen to make her some of the expensive tea that Mr. Exley hadn’t even partaken of. Eugene crossed the room as well, giving both Henrietta and Elsie a vile look as he did so.
“Thanks very much,” he said viciously, stopping in front of Henrietta. “Your own brother? Why couldn’t you let it alone, Hen? You think you’re so much better than us now, don’t you? Now I’m to be in the fucking army while you’re the lady of the manor!”
“Eugene! Don’t swear!” Elsie chided him.
“You’re no better!” he said, turning his vengeance on Elsie now. “You were obviously in on it. How else would Henrietta have known they were there?”
“How dare you steal from the Howards, Gene!” Henrietta said angrily. “Clive was going to get you a good job! Why? Why do you have to be this way? He already helped you once, and this is how you repay him?”
“How dare you defend him over me!” he flung back. “Did you see how many gold trinkets they have lying around? They wouldn’t miss one or two. It’s not fair! We’re starving, and they have gold bits of shit lying around everywhere. You should be thanking me, actually, for trying to help out the family instead of working in some factory for Clive making him more money.”
“You ungrateful wretch!” Henrietta shouted. “Stealing is never the answer, Eugene! Especially from my fiancé’s parents! How could you be so stupid?”
“Oh, my! I’m so very sorry to have ruined your precious image, Hen! Isn’t this what this is really about? You must take after grandfather.”
“How dare you! You don’t even deserve to be in the army. You should be in jail. Pa would be ashamed of you.”
“Do you think I care? He was a fucking coward.”
“Eugene!” Elsie exclaimed.
Eugene stalked toward the door and paused before going out, looking at both Elsie and Henrietta and then the rest of them still huddled against the wall. “You can all just go to hell!” he said and walked soundlessly out the door.
No one said anything for a moment until Jimmy made a little movement forward, having taken his scrap of blanket from his pocket and put it up to his nose for comfort, a babyish habit he still clung to. “Are we really going to move, Hen?” he had asked, looking up at her with his big brown eyes.
—
Henrietta heard a noise then and was startled out of her thoughts. Surprised, she looked around and realized that she was still sitting on Helen’s bed in the little cottage. She had been daydreaming again! What was wrong with her these days?
“Who is it?” she asked nervously, as she hurriedly stood up. She made her way across the little bedroom, assuming it was one of the servants and feeling ashamed that she had gotten so little accomplished. Her apprehension faded instantly, however, when she caught sight of none other than Clive leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually in front of him.
“Clive!” she exclaimed. “You’re back early!” A happy wave of excitement passed over her as she went to him. She had missed him this week while he wrapped up his job on the force in the city. She was used to him spending his weeks there, still trying to finish, once and for all, his position as detective inspector while she spent her time mostly at Highbury with his parents, only occasionally going home to the new house on Palmer Square, where she felt decidedly like a visitor. The wedding, in just over two weeks’ time, would soon be upon them.
“Billings told me I’d find you here,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “Still mucking about down here? I thought you’d have finished by now.”
Henrietta loosened his tie for him, a look she much preferred, but one they were only allowed when alone together, which wasn’t often. “How was it?” she asked solicitously, knowing that he hadn’t really wanted to give up his role as a detective inspector.
Clive arched his eyebrow. “The boys gave me a bit of a farewell party, just a little one, as most of them are still on duty. Very touching, however. The chief gave a very moving speech, for him anyway, given how sentimental he usually is,” he said sarcastically. “Still, I was touched, really. Said some damned nice things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, let’s see. That I’m a first-rate detective,” he said, ticking off the chief’s comments on his fingers, “that I’ll be missed, that I’m dashingly handsome, those types of things. But also that a certain woman is very lucky to get me, and I’m under strict orders to make her happy. So here I am,” he said mischievously, kissing her again, longer this time as he drew her nearer to him, putting his hands on the small of her back. “How convenient that we’re alone.”
“Clive!” she said, pulling back.
Their willingness to be more intimate had ebbed and flowed between them over their short courtship. When she had first come to Highbury, Henrietta had been the more eager, it had seemed, sometimes teasing him, and even offering herself to Clive one night at his apartment in the city, but Clive, after his behavior in the park the night he had proposed, had kept an honorable distance and had resisted any of Henrietta’s overtures, charming though they might have been. Now, however, as the wedding drew close and the prospect of the wedding night in particular loomed large, they had once again shifted roles. Clive’s resolve was loosening while Henrietta was becoming more reticent and shy. Unfortunately she could not help dwelling on what her mother had confided to her about her father, and about men in general. Surely Clive would not be a brute, she reasoned, but she had indeed seen a violent side to him. Where she had once looked forward to her wedding night with Clive, having already felt on fire at times as he had kissed and sometimes touched her over the summer, she was now oddly nervous and even a bit afraid. Surely he would be gentle and patient, wouldn’t he?
She smiled at him now. “Why don’t I make us some tea?” she said, disengaging herself from his arms.
“Here?” he said, amused, folding his arms back across his chest and leaning again against the doorframe.
“Why not?” she said, making her way to the old-fashioned stove now. “I love this little place.”
“Don’t you have anything stronger?” Clive asked.
“I’m afraid not, you naughty thing,” she teased. “And anyway, I think you’re already a bit intoxicated.”
“You can tell?” he asked, grinning now as he sat down at the old table, opposite to where she hovered in front of the stove, so that he could watch her.
“Yes, so some tea will do you good before you have to face your mother at dinner,” she said, reaching for some mugs off the side hutch.
“You have a point,” he said wearily, looking around the cottage. “Are you almost finished with all of this rubbish? You didn’t really have to do this, you know. Or are you just trying to hide from Mother?” He grinned across at her.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe a little.” She began pouring the boiling water into the teapot. “There’s not too much left to do, I suppose. But what will become of the cottage, Clive?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Father hasn’t said. Probably board it up until it’s needed. Either for when Mary retire
s, or perhaps Virgil and Edna might want it if they end up getting married.”
“I see,” she said, putting the cozy over the pot and coming around to where Clive sat. “Well, as a matter of fact, I had an idea …” she said hesitantly, looking down at him now. Clive reached for her hand, and when she slipped hers into his, he pulled her onto his lap.
“Clive!” she said, laughing a bit.
“Tell me your idea. I was having a hard time hearing you up there.”
Henrietta paused, looking into his eyes. “Let’s us live here,” she said quietly.
“Here?” Clive laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I’m not being ridiculous, Clive! Please? Just for a little while,” she went on hurriedly before he could say no. “Just until you have to take over Highbury. Or maybe not even that long … maybe just the first year. Please,” she said earnestly.
The urgency in her voice caught his attention. “But why, darling?” he said softly now. “This is little more than a hovel. It isn’t really fitting to what we both agreed to be. I thought you’d accepted your role at Highbury. Don’t tell me we have to go through all this again.”
“No, Clive. I … I have. Honestly. We can still be fully part of Highbury, entertaining and all of the duties, but … this could be our place. Somewhere just for the two of us. I … I want to take care of you,” she said, putting her hand to his cheek, a gesture he had come to love, “not let it up to the servants. I … I want to learn to be your wife here. Just the two of us.”
Clive let out a deep breath. “But Mother’s had men altering the east wing for us for weeks now. She will not be amused that she’s had a whole apartment done up for us simply so that we could live in this antiquated cottage.”
“Well … we … sometimes we could stay there, too, I suppose.”
“Henrietta, this is madness,” he said, not unkindly, but suddenly seeming very tired.
“Please, Clive,” she said, staring into his eyes.
He sighed. “Let me think about it,” he said, somewhat unhappily and tried to smile—but it was unconvincing.
Timidly she leaned forward and kissed him. She retreated just a sliver then, and he paused to stare at her partially open lips and kissed her again, harder this time, breathing deeply.
Eventually she forced herself to pull back and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “You won’t hurt me, will you, Clive?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“Hurt you?” he said, baffled, sitting up a bit straighter now. “Of course not, darling,” he said, looking at her carefully. “But do you really need to ask me that?” he asked softly.
She longed to tell him her fears of the wedding night and what might be expected of her, sexually, as a wife, as her mother had alluded to. And what about the Howards? What did they expect of her? Unfortunately, she could not get Helen’s revelation about the Howards’ desperate need of an heir out of her mind. That she would be surely “kept busy” as a result, as Helen had put it. And what of Clive? she wondered. He had ever been gentle with her, but she had on more than one occasion felt his tense passion just under the surface, and likewise she had a hard time forgetting the image of him shattering Neptune’s nose with his fist and the blood that had subsequently gushed forth. It made her feel sick even still. In her heart she did not doubt Clive’s love for her, but she could not deny the nagging suggestion that her being very young with many childbearing years ahead of her was a definite bonus for the Howards. She had become more and more preoccupied with these thoughts as the wedding drew near, and then—miraculously almost—it had come to her one night that if she and Clive were to perhaps be somewhere outside of the confines of Highbury, somewhere like this isolated cottage, for example, they might thereby escape any expectations, any unpleasantness, as it were …
She struggled to find a way to explain all of these scattered thoughts to him, but it was difficult for her to figure them out herself. “I … nothing,” she said finally, meeting his eyes momentarily before looking down at his hand that now grasped hers.
Gently Clive lifted her chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. “Henrietta, if you are referring to our wedding night, or any night thereafter, for that matter, I will never hurt you,” he said quietly. She felt her face grow instantly red; he could ever read her mind. “I promise. We’ll go slow, as slow as you want. I only want to please you,” he said tenderly, the longing in his voice clear.
Though she was extremely embarrassed by the turn of the conversation, she searched his eyes nonetheless and found them, as always, sincere.
“Something has changed, however, which I would wish to know. I’ve been sensing it lately, anyway, and these questions would confirm it. I rather thought you enjoyed my attentions, desired them, even,” he said tacitly.
Henrietta blushed again and looked away.
“What has changed, darling? Has someone said something to frighten you? Surely not Julia? Hers is a very different sort of marriage. An unfortunate one,” he put in grimly.
Henrietta stood up now and brushed down her apron. “No,” she said, “not Julia,” mentally noting, though, that Julia might be a good person to confide in regarding such matters. “It was my mother, actually.”
Clive sighed. “Of course it was,” he said, languidly crossing his legs now and propping his head with his fist, his elbow casually resting on the table. “Henrietta, no doubt …”
There was a knock and a cough, then, which made Henrietta jump. Clive, however, did not even turn around.
“Yes, Billings?” he asked tiredly, still looking across at Henrietta as he said it.
“Forgive me, sir. But Madam wishes me to remind you that you are all dining at the Exleys’ tonight and that Fritz will be bringing the car around in one hour’s time.”
Clive exhaled tiredly. “All right, Billings. We’ll be there directly.”
“Very good, sir,” he said with a bow and promptly disappeared.
With a tired smile, Clive stood up. “Duty calls,” he said wearily.
Henrietta came from around the table, unpinning her apron as she did so. Carefully she placed it on the thick, rustic planks of the table, but not before reaching inside the pocket to retrieve Helen’s photograph.
“What’s this?” Clive asked when he saw it.
Silently, Henrietta held it up for him to see.
He smiled sadly. “You were fond of her, weren’t you?”
“I was, yes.”
“You’re a sentimentalist, wanting to keep this.”
“Something should be kept, don’t you think? To mark that she lived a life, however sad.”
“How do you know it was sad?” Clive asked pointedly.
Henrietta shrugged and gave him a small smile. “True enough. Perhaps just a part of it was sad.”
He took her hand, then, and led her out of the cottage. “As for the other matter, let’s discuss it later,” Clive said as they slowly began walking up to the house. “Perhaps on the terrace,” he said, looking sideways at her. Henrietta returned his smile but, embarrassed now, secretly hoped that they would not.
Chapter 2
Several hours later, Henrietta found herself seated in the formal dining room of the Exleys’ mansion in Lake Forest. Mrs. Howard had advised her on what to wear and now looked on with apparent approval at the effect created by the indigo Jean Patou gown of silk crepe with a pleated bodice and matching evening gloves. The dress was pulled tight across Henrietta’s waist but flounced out near the bottom, and the strand of creamy pearls that settled nicely in the deep cut of the bodice completed the remarkable illusion that she had been born to this life.
Though John and Agatha were perhaps the Howards’ closest friends, Alcott and Antonia had rarely been invited to the mansion in Lake Forest belonging to the oldest Exley brother, Gerard, and his wife, Dorothy. Oldrich lived here with them, too, and Antonia had mentioned several times this week that she was looking forward to watching just who really ran the Exley roost, both the f
ather and the son having equal reputations of ruthlessness. Of the third brother, Archibald, who resided in New York, Antonia knew little, she had said, except what she heard now and then from John and Agatha.
It was therefore revealing to observe that both Gerard and Dorothy commandeered the ends of the table, while Mr. Exley Sr. was seated at the midpoint of the table, forming a triangle between them. The rest of the seats were occupied by John and Agatha, of course, as well as Julia and Randolph, who had been obligingly invited as well, as it was to be considered a “family” dinner party.
It struck Henrietta as being exceptionally strange that during this dinner between the two families, the people that were supposed to be representing her family were still basically strangers to her and that the family she was marrying into seemed more like her actual family after having stayed with them for most of the summer. To Julia, especially, she had become rather close. Ma and Elsie had been invited tonight, of course, but Ma, as usual, had declined, and Elsie had stayed back to be with her, not wanting to come on her own. Everything seemed so mixed up and out of order.
Since the engagement party, Henrietta had not seen her Exley aunts and uncles, and, indeed, she had only seen her grandfather on two more occasions. Once, of course, had been the terrible day when he had descended upon them to be reunited, horribly, with Ma, and the other had been several weeks after that when he had invited just Henrietta for tea and a “proper chat” at the Lake Forest house. After the episode with Ma, she had been reluctant to go, not a little afraid of Mr. Exley Sr., if truth be told, but Antonia had insisted, saying that Mr. Exley very rarely entertained and pointing out the obvious, that she could not very well ignore her grandfather forever. Though she knew Mrs. Howard was right, Henrietta thought it rather unfair that Ma had somehow gotten away with avoiding the lord of the family all these years while she was not to be allowed that same luxury.
