The Child Left Behind

by Gracie Hart

  ‘Just listen to you two,’ Eliza said hastily, realising that George was staring at her niece in a most odd way. ‘Will you be attending the Guild Ball, George? I don’t suppose your mother will be showing her face without your father on her arm?’ Eliza stopped drawing the new design she was sketching and looked at the young, pompous Ellershaw.

  ‘Indeed I will. I’ll attend with my sister, providing that my father is still on this earth, of course. However, I do hope that you will have room for me on your dance card, Victoria? I can think of nothing better than escorting you around the dance floor at your first ball.’ George grinned a sickly smile at Victoria. Perhaps his sister’s words were to be heeded and he should be looking for a wife. If he made young Victoria his intended, it would be years before she’d be old enough to be a bride, while he still enjoyed the protection of having a fiancée.

  ‘I may have a few blank places, I may be able to fit you in.’ Victoria smiled. ‘Aunt Eliza has made me the most beautiful dress, she really has spoilt me. I don’t deserve anything so fine.’

  ‘Nonsense, child, the dress is nothing to the beauty of the wearer. You could go to the ball in rags and your beauty would still shine. There will be an army of young suitors lining up for your attention, of that I am sure. I will have to keep a close eye on you and see that you are not lead astray, especially as you’re really too young to be attracting that sort of attention. Do you not think George?’ Eliza looked at the plump, gaudy young man and saw in him traits of his father, the man all three of the Wild women hated.

  ‘You may be surprised who will admire you, Victoria.’ George sat back and stared at Eliza as she looked at him curiously but Victoria gave his words no heed. ‘Anyway, I must be away, I need to get back to my father, give my mother some relief.’ He rose from his chair and made for the door. ‘Until next week, Victoria. I will look forward to you giving me the pleasure of at least two dances. That is, if I can fight my way through your admirers. Good day, Miss Wild, I will pass on your good wishes for my father’s health to return to him soon.’

  George closed the cutting room door behind him, breathed in deeply and then shook his head. Could he go through with Grace’s plan? Perhaps not, there were no women of marriageable age that he even thought attractive; he’d rather be in the arms of his blond-haired lover in the Molly house, but that would never earn him the respect that he craved. But for now, he would have to return home to suffer the twitterings and jibes of the servants as they watched his every move.

  ‘That dandy is up to something. Mark my words, Victoria. And as for his father, well, we will throw our own party when he’s six feet under and stoking the coals of hell – the sooner he’s gone out of our lives the better.’ Eliza bent her head down and concentrated on her sketch. ‘Let the devil take him and then we can all have some peace.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘For God’s sake, Priscilla, stop this stupid game and get dressed.’

  It was the night of the Guild Ball. William had been made aware of the state of his wife and his patience was wearing thin. William snatched the bejewelled dress out of the quivering maid’s hands and threw it at his wife. ‘I’m getting tired of this simpering idiot act. Just for once be the wife that I need and accompany me to the ball and be my equal in society.’

  Priscilla sobbed as she lay crumpled up into a heap in front of the dressing table in her bedroom. Every year it was the same, every year she had to be cosseted and begged to join him. William had spent several pounds on her new dress and jewellery and now she was going to let him down again.

  ‘I can’t, I just can’t. I can’t face all those people and have all their eyes on me as we are announced and have to walk down the stairs and talk politely to everyone as they whisper about us behind our backs. They think I don’t hear what they are saying, but I do, they hate me and they despise you … I just know they do.’ Priscilla wept, raising her face to look up at William dressed in his best evening suit, his hair slicked back and his small dark moustache and sideburns groomed to perfection with his favourite twinkling ruby stud highlighting his cravat around his starched shirt collar. ‘They do, William, they hate me … especially the women, because they want you for their own, they dream about how you could take them and bed them.’ Priscilla’s blond ringlets fell over her distressed face, leaving her maid’s work of over an hour tangled and unsightly. She rubbed her hand over her eyes and mouth, the powder and rouge mixing in with her tears and smearing across her face, giving her an almost comical effect. She folded her hands over her dressing table, knocking the bowl of hairpins onto the floor as she laid her head down upon her arms and sobbed yet again.

  ‘For God’s sake. How much of that stuff the doctor gives you have you taken? You are not in your right mind, woman, just look at you.’ William walked forward and lifted his wife’s head in his hands for her to stare at herself in the mirror. ‘You are a mess. No man in his right mind would want you on his arm tonight.’

  He looked at both their reflections in the dressing table mirror before summoning the maid to help him get his wife into bed.

  ‘You never want me, William, you never did. You are like your father and you’ll end up like your father or perhaps in your case, the devil will take care of you because that’s who you are in partnership with, the devil, not me.’ Priscilla slurred her words as William and her maid escorted her to her bed and pulled back the covers before placing her, still corseted between the sheets.

  ‘Well, the devil makes a better bedfellow than you this night.’ William looked around him and caught sight of the small bottle of tincture that had been the cause of Priscilla’s condition on the bedside cabinet. He picked it up and threw it at the fireplace, smashing it against the polished marble, making the maid scream in horror. ‘Shut up you stupid bitch! Look after your mistress and make sure she survives the night.’

  William stalked out of the bedroom, leaving the maid in tears and his wife lost in her own world. He strode down the curving stairs of Levensthorpe Hall, paying little heed to the portraits hanging on the walls and the servants that tried to make themselves scarce to escape his wrath. ‘You, boy, wait, get yourself a horse and deliver me this note.’ William spotted his young houseboy and stopped him in his tracks as he scribbled a hasty note upon the hallway table. ‘There’s a florin in it for you if you can get a reply to me within the next hour. Tell the groom to get ready with the team. I still aim to attend the ball tonight, with or without my wife.’

  William watched as the young left as fast as his legs would carry him before going into the drawing room and pouring himself a stiff brandy. He stood next to the blazing fire and looked at himself in the full-length gilded mirror that showed his reflection on the opposite wall. He was the image of the perfect gentleman and tonight, by God, he would have a woman of beauty on his arm as he made his entrance at the Guild Ball.

  ‘Are you feeling any better? Should I get the doctor?’ Mary-Anne sat at the side of Ma Fletcher as she lay in her bed.

  ‘Nay, lass, I’m all right, it’s just these old bones of mine. A doctor can do nowt for me, so we needn’t waste any money on him to tell me what I already know.’

  ‘But he could give you something to ease the pain.’ Mary-Anne held the old woman’s hand. She knew Ma Fletcher would not want to tell her just how bad the pain was.

  ‘What pain? I’m just tired. Now, whisht, and stop your fretting. Old Mr Tibbs is looking after me. Aren’t you, my old faithful pal?’ Ma Fletcher stroked the head of her old tom cat with her skeletal hands as he lay next to her, content and purring.

  Mary-Anne released her hand and tucked it under the covers, leaving the other on Mr Tibbs as she watched the old woman close her eyes. Only to open them quickly as she heard a knock on the kitchen door.

  ‘You’ve not sent for him without me knowing, have you? I told you I don’t want him,’ Ma Fletcher groaned as Mary-Anne made for the door.

  ‘No, I haven’t sent for the doctor, if that’s who you
mean. I don’t know who this will be!’ Mary-Anne pulled the dividing curtain back and made for the door, opening it to find a dark-skinned servant boy looking anxiously at her. His dark eyes seemed full of fear as he asked for her to reply immediately to the note his master William Ellershaw had sent her. Mary-Anne unfolded the note and read it.

  Accompany me to the Guild Ball this evening. I am in need of your company and I can’t think of anyone more beautiful to be on my arm this evening. Please, I need you. I will send you a carriage on your acceptance, please don’t say no.

  William

  Mary-Anne read and reread the note. Had William lost his senses? He couldn’t take her. It would have to be his wife on his arm. The scandal of her accompanying him would have all the gossips talking for days.

  ‘What is it, lass? Who’s at the door?’ Ma Fletcher asked in a soft voice.

  ‘Try to sleep. It’s nothing for you to bother about. It’s just a young lad with a note from William, I’m going to send him on his way.’ Mary-Anne glanced at the young lad on the step who looked worried that he had not received an answer as of yet.

  ‘What’s he say, lass, is he sorry for his outburst? Can I sleep without worry tonight, knowing that he is still smitten by you?’ Ma Fletcher whispered.

  ‘It’s more than that, Ma. He’s asking me to the Guild Ball. I can’t possibly accept, he must have lost control of his senses.’ Mary-Anne crumpled up the note.

  ‘You go, lass, this is your chance. Get yourself done up in all your finery and show him how you feel. He wouldn’t be asking you if he didn’t think anything of you. Get gone!’ Ma Fletcher spoke as loud as she could, her breath ragged.

  ‘But I can’t leave you.’

  ‘Mr Tibbs and I aren’t going anywhere. We will both sleep until you return. Tell him yes, and be gone. Go on, don’t let the lad wait any longer else it’ll be the worse for the poor little bugger, if I know William Ellershaw.’ Ma Fletcher closed her eyes and imagined the faces of the good and great as William Ellershaw was announced to one and all with his lover on his arm. How she wished she could be there.

  Mary-Anne looked at the note again and at the poor lad who was counting the seconds for her reply. She looked down at Ma Fletcher and kissed her on her brow.

  ‘Say yes,’ Ma Fletcher whispered.

  ‘Ooh, I don’t know. He asks too much.’ Mary-Anne looked at the note again.

  ‘Please miss, I need a reply!’ The young lad wailed.

  ‘I must be mad, but yes, tell him yes! I’ll be ready in an hour.’ No sooner had the words left Mary-Anne’s mouth than the young lad vanished into the night. He’d no time to wait for her to change her mind.

  ‘There, the deed is done. Now go and stun them.’ Ma Fletcher smiled with her eyes still closed. ‘And give this old woman some peace.’

  Mary-Anne stood and looked down at her old friend and pulled the curtain back into place. She’d no time to waste if she was not to let William down and get tongues wagging. But leaving Ma Fletcher as ill as she was tugged on her heart-strings and filled her with guilt as she climbed the stairs and took out the red dress that she had altered for the ball. She smiled. The sheen of the velvet caught in the candlelight and she held it next to her and admired herself in the mirror. Should she wear it? Or should she wear one of the gowns that she had stolen from New York?

  She stood for a moment undecided, realising that her time had come, but yet again she was to turn her back on someone who needed her to pursue her own happiness. She breathed in deeply and whispered to herself, ‘Just once more, and then I promise to behave and look after those I love.’

  She quickly stepped out of her everyday dress, sprayed on au-de-cologne and arranged her hair, fixing it up high on her head and adorning it with fake paste diamonds. She fastened a long ruby necklace around her white, swan-like neck. When Ma Fletcher had given it to her to go with the dress, she had said: ‘That’ll catch him. Just like a thieving magpie that is attracted to anything that shines, you wearing it will catch his eye.’

  She stepped into the full skirts of her red dress and struggled to fasten the back of it before standing back to admire herself in the mirror of the oak wardrobe. She felt like Cinderella transformed before her arrival to the ball, only she knew that William Ellershaw was no Prince Charming and that perhaps she was about to begin a life full of regret. After all, he was still married, and the wagging tongues of the gossips would slaughter her with scathing words and looks. Was he really worth it? Did she really want to go through with all that and what it entailed? Too true she did; she’d be his mistress, just to cause pain to his father. While the old man lay on his deathbed, he deserved every bit of hurt. Besides, she was not just doing it because of him. Her love for William was growing stronger with every day and she had to make him hers.

  Any doubt was cast to one side as she heard the clatter of hooves and her carriage drawing up outside the house. There was no time to be worried, William and the ball were waiting and she was going to make every moment count. She hoped that Victoria would understand and forgive her for perhaps spoiling her first ball by taking away the attention from her attendance. She justified her act of selfishness by consoling herself that if she won the affections of William and he provided her with the lifestyle she desired, that Victoria and herself would want for nothing.

  She glanced at herself again in the mirror, held her head up and whispered to herself ‘For Victoria and a better life.’ She walked down the stairs and glanced quickly behind the curtain at Ma Fletcher asleep with her cat before placing her fur shawl around her shoulders and closing the door behind her at Speakers’ Corner.

  Eliza and Victoria arrived in their carriage at the bottom of the steps that led to the Guild Hall. It was a warm late spring evening and the air was full of chatter and laughter as they alighted down the carriage steps to join the great and the good of Leeds.

  ‘I’m sure there are more people here than ever before.’ Eliza glanced around her, smiling and acknowledging fellow business people and colleagues.

  ‘I didn’t know it was this busy, Aunt. Just look at the ladies in their finery and the men in their suits. I feel quite humble to be attending this event. There are so many important people here.’ Victoria pulled her black and lilac wrap around her shoulders as she lifted her long purple skirt up to climb the steps into the Guild Hall.

  ‘Hold your head up high, Victoria, you are just as good as them, if not better. You look very pretty. Remember your manners and try to be polite at all times.’ Eliza walked up the steps of the hall, keeping in step with her niece and cooling herself with her lace fan decorated with hummingbirds that matched her hair piece and the embroidery on her blue satin skirts. They both stopped as two footmen asked for their names as they stepped into the hallway before entering the main hall itself.

  Victoria looked at both the men in their powdered wigs and crimson coats with gold braided waistcoats underneath. With their breeches tucked into white stockings and black buckled shoes on their feet, they were indeed straight out of a fairy tale.

  ‘Miss Eliza Wild and Miss Victoria Wild.’ The voice of the younger of the two footmen carried clear and loud above the music as Victoria and Eliza made their way down the marble stairs into the main ballroom with all eyes upon them.

  Victoria felt the colour come to her cheeks as she heard some of the ladies comment upon their apparel and smiled as she noticed groups of single young men whisper to one another as they made their entrance. She concentrated on every step as she demurely made her way down the steps onto the ballroom. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she noted the many faces that her aunt acknowledged and she smiled politely.

  ‘There, that’s the worst bit. You’ve no escape making your way down those stairs from the eyes that take in your every move and make note of every stitch of clothes that you are wearing. I think we impressed, judging by the looks on one or two ladies of note.’ Eliza smiled at her young niece. ‘Now let’s help ourselves to some ref
reshment and then we will seek out Grace. She’s bound to be already here, unless her father has taken a turn for the worse.’

  ‘Don’t mention him tonight, Aunt, let’s forget that he exists. I just want to have the perfect evening and forget who I am.’ Victoria took a deep breath and followed Eliza to a table adorned with flowered wreaths and swags. In the middle of it, huge crystal glass punchbowls were brimming with claret-coloured punch that was being ladled out into small crystal cups by man-servants dressed in the same dress as the footmen. No sooner had Eliza passed her niece a small cup of the punch, than an eager, dark-haired young man – who looked scarcely sixteen – edged his way towards Victoria, egged on by his group of friends who had pushed him forward to make himself known to her.

  ‘May I be the first to ask you for a dance, Miss Wild?’ He hesitated, not confident that his request would be accepted.

  Victoria looked at her aunt for her permission.

  ‘Go on, give me your punch. Go and enjoy yourself.’ Eliza could see no harm in her niece enjoying a dance. She knew the young man in any case – he was Stephen Sanderson, the son of a well-respected corn merchant from near York, and if he was anything like his father, her niece would be safe in his arms. ‘I’ve spotted Grace and George near the window. Join us when you need a breather.’ Eliza smiled as Victoria took the hand of the young man. It was a night for the young and Victoria should make the most of her hour at the ball. She made her way to where Grace and George were sitting, balancing both cups of punch in her hands. She only wished Tom Thackeray could be by her side. Perhaps one day he would be if his dreams came to fruition.

  ‘May I have the next dance, Miss Wild?’

  No sooner had Victoria finished her first dance with Stephen Sanderson than another hopeful young boy was asking for her hand. Victoria placed her dance card in her hand and smiled as she wrote down the names of the squabbling suitors on her little notebook that was attached to her wrist. She had no idea that she would be so popular given how young she was, but the music and attention made her head spin as she waltzed around the dance floor. All eyes were on her and the beautiful dress that she was wearing as she tripped and swirled and politely made conversation with her besotted partner.