by Sandra Byrd
Francis stood and we did, too. “Gillian?”
He opened the door, and stood to the side. Colmore Dunn stood behind us. Lining the hallway were dozens of officers, all in uniform, standing at attention. The officer I’d met eyes with at the funeral, whose voice I’d recognized as the one at my door, caught my glance and held it. His eyes were filled with tears. Had he been Papa’s friend, and perhaps tipped him off, in the end?
Francis took my arm. “They want to honor your father because they had been led astray regarding his actions and integrity. As he is not here, and you are, they will honor you in his stead,” he said. “We all took the oath to protect, and your father lived it.”
Tears filled my eyes and began to slide down my face faster than I could brush or blink them away.
Francis recited the Metropolitan Police oath loud enough for every man to hear.
“I, Francis Collingsworth of London, do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will well and truly serve the Queen with fairness, integrity, diligence, and impartiality, upholding fundamental human rights and according equal respect to all people; and that I will, to the best of my power, cause the peace to be kept and preserved and prevent all offenses against people and property; and that while I continue to hold the said office I will, to the best of my skill and knowledge, discharge all the duties thereof faithfully according to law.”
Papa. You kept your oath. I am here for you now as are all these men.
I walked down the hallway and every man stood at attention. I held my head up. My father would have wanted it so. The district superintendent himself offered his arm and led me to the carriage. Colmore Dunn said nothing as I sobbed all the way to Cheyne Gardens.
When I returned home, there was a telegraph from Lady Lockwood. “Thomas awakened, and suddenly progresses very well,” it read, simply. “He shall be in touch soon.”
My heart soared and I fell to my knees and cried. The girls were distressed by my tears until I told them they were tears of joy, and then they rejoiced with me.
The following week, I received a package, and a short note. I opened the note first.
It was in Thomas’s hand! “Do not by any means sell or give this away! I shall see you as soon as I can travel once more. All will be well, so do not worry about the time from now till then—we shall have ever-after together. Sew! Sew! I remain, as ever, your loving and devoted Thomas.”
I could barely contain myself and tore open the package like a child at Christmas. Yards and yards and yards of perfect white velvet: silky, the softest, most glistening fabric I’d ever seen, it cascaded in a shimmering froth over the hand and arm as it was held. So delicate, though, difficult to cut, easy to make a mistake. I would have to take my time and I would do it myself.
“Oooh, miss. For a wedding dress!” Ruby shouted from the stairway.
“Spying again, you naughty girls? No one has proposed marriage—at least not to me!” I pretended to be angry and then we all shouted with happiness and glee before racing upstairs to work till the wee small hours on Cinderella.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
NOVEMBER, 1883
It was the one of the final nights of dress rehearsal for Cinderella, when the press would be present for the practice performance, ready to give what we all hoped would be stunning reviews of affirmation and appreciation. The costumes had been delivered, barely, the week earlier. Miss Vaughn, who was to play Cinderella, was thrilled with all of her outfits, and I was thrilled for her. “It is a triumph,” Wilhelm had told me, and I sighed in relief. There had been no more visits from the police and my employer was happy. I could now, just barely, begin to rest.
The girls, of course, were most excited to see the forest fairies costumes onstage not only because those were the ones they had worked on, but because they themselves had been pantomime actresses.
“I shall see if I can acquire some tickets for you to attend a performance just after Christmas,” I said, and they tittered like mice. “Why is that funny?” I shooed them upstairs to pack up the salon for the Season.
The next day Ruby would go to live with my friend Sarah Gordon, to apprentice with her as a wigmaker. She was excited, and I was excited for her. But oh, how my heart would miss her. Charlotte would stay with me, not only to sew, but to help me arrange a new mission—I’d hoped to set up a dormitory for training young actresses to design and sew. Mother Rachel said she knew just the woman to be the housemother—someone from the Cause!
Later that afternoon a package was brought to me and I opened it.
I opened the box. It was filled with a dozen yellow long-stemmed roses tied together by a silver blue ribbon, and a card. “I would enjoy attending the dress rehearsal with you. Can you be ready by seven? With love, Thomas.”
Thomas? He was in London? I’d had no idea! Why the dress rehearsal? Of course, well, of course I could be ready. Had he made arrangements? It would be most irregular for members of the public to attend if Mr. Harris had not been consulted.
I took a deep breath and then went through my wardrobe to find something suitable to wear.
Perhaps the blue crushed velvet. It set off my eyes and would look pretty with a snowy muff and fur hat. “Ruby!” She came running down the stairs. “Help me make a beautiful woven plait of my hair!”
“Yes, miss,” she said. “Right away.”
An hour later I looked in the mirror. Ready.
Ruby raced back up the stairs, and just before seven I heard a carriage roll up outside of my house. It was Thomas!
That day, I had no care for protocol. I flung the door open wide and raced down the steps, slightly slippery, and fell into his arms. The night was dark with autumn already, and the fog had crystallized into tiny jewels that hung in the air. He held me at arm’s length for a moment, then pulled me to him, whispering my name and kissing my temples, my forehead, my lips. “I’ve come back for you, my love, my life. Let me look at you, keep you, never let go of you.”
I nearly sobbed with relief and clutched him tightly, breathing deeply of his sandalwood and musk, but then, though, oh! Perhaps I might be hurting him. “You look so healthy, so well, but I do not want to hold too tight.”
He laughed, loud and robust, strong. “You will never hold me too tight, my dearest love. I am well and your costumes are complete and we are together and shall never be parted again.” His voice lowered to soft and soothing.
He ran his fingers over my face before pulling me near and kissing me. I closed my eyes and reveled in the moment, enmeshed in him, fully believing, now he was here, that all was well.
“You’re back. You’re recovered,” I whispered once more, senselessly, thankfully. He kissed me once more and I heard a pair of giggles. Ruby and Charlotte stood on the porch steps.
“Come along, then,” Thomas called out to them.
Why, yes, they, too, were dressed and ready to go out.
I turned to him. “They are accompanying us?”
He nodded. “Yes. I asked Mother Martha as well, but she declined.”
We four got into the carriage and merrily made our way to the Theatre Royal. We walked through the beautiful doors and then into the foyer, which was filled with the press, some important patrons, and people in production—all of my lifelong friends! They looked at me and some waved. I had the idea that they were expecting us to be here somehow.
How wonderful. I had told Thomas I rarely attended as a guest, and he had arranged for me to do so on this most important night. A man strode toward me, purposefully. “Miss Young. I’m so pleased you could attend as an honored guest tonight.”
I could barely stop myself stuttering. “Mr. Harris. Thank you, thank you very much. It’s an honor, sir!” I was about to introduce him to Thomas, but they nodded toward one another so I assumed they had already made an acquaintance.
“My dearest,” Wilhelm came close. “Here, take one of the front-row seats.” He led us forward, and when we arrived at our seats I found that my frie
nd Sarah was already there, and so were Francis, Colmore Dunn, and Matilda, who waved a friendly hello.
“You arranged for everyone to be here?” I could barely believe it.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “You worked so hard. It only seemed right they celebrate with you.”
We sat down in the middle of the row, just a few aisles back, and in a moment, someone tapped my shoulder. “Lisbeth!” I cried in delight.
She smiled. Jamie and Lady Lockwood sat on either side of her. “We all came from Hampshire for . . .” She stopped for a minute. “To ensure Thomas traveled well,” she finished.
Well, yes, that made sense.
The lights dimmed and the curtains were pulled back. Act One.
The show was magnificent and the girls and I thrilled to see our work come to life on the stage. I sensed a change in the mood, though, from the stage and round me as we headed into the final acts. Thomas took my hand, directed me to stand, and then led me to stand in front of the stage.
“What . . . ?” I asked, but he did not answer.
The “prince” then walked to the front of the stage. What was happening? His lines, though, were correct, and he spoke directly to us.
“Why, who is this? I do declare I’ve seen that face before. It is—it is, I’m sure it is the girl that I adore.”
Thomas turned toward me. “Yes,” he said softly. “I am here with Gillian, the girl I adore.”
Then Miss Vaughn, in her Cinderella gown, came forward and stood near the prince, speaking to Thomas. “There’s some mistake about it, sir. Too humble I’m by far.”
I smiled and said to Thomas. “Yes, she speaks the truth.”
The prince spoke again. “Oh, no, you are the princess of the ball last night—you are!”
“Last night, and the night before, and the month before, and all the months ever after,” Thomas said, drawing near to me. He partially withdrew something from inside his coat.
The prince spoke his line. “Now sit down, dear, and try it, it’s a natty little shoe; but though the size is rather small, I’m sure it will fit you. ’Tis clear you are my darling of the forest and the ball, so prove it, Cinderella love, afore the gaze of all.”
From the stage, the chorus struck up once more. “Such a nice little slipper, come try my plan. See now if you get it right on you can. If you are true, and your duty will do, you can get on the slipper, you can, you can.”
Thomas went down on his knee, and undid one of my shoes, which felt intimate and right. Then he slipped on a perfectly fitted slipper—one that looked somewhat like my mother’s but was, in fact, designed to my sensibilities and size.
“You are your own woman, wearing your own shoe,” he whispered. It fit perfectly. He stood again. “Will you be my wife, Gillian?”
A tear slid down my face and he brushed it away. “I will, Thomas. Most eagerly.”
He leaned over and kissed me, and the stage and audience burst out in applause and calls.
In a moment, the chorus broke out once more in song. “Cinderella, thy troubles are over! From thy side, Prince, no more she’s a rover! And together you both are in clover!”
I spoke the next line after Miss Vaughn prompted me. “My life,” I whispered to Thomas, remembering his words to me just an hour earlier. He’d read the script.
He answered after the prince. “My love.”
“Me for you,” I said.
“You for me.” He wound his fingers through mine. “As we happy ever after shall be.”
When the performance was over, Jamie and Lisbeth said they would see the girls home so Thomas and I could travel together. His driver took the long way. Thomas said to me, “I cannot wait any longer. Let’s be married, in Hampshire, at Christmas.”
Christmas! I could not tell him that there was no possibility that I could have my wedding dress sewn within a month. There would be other duties to tend to, arrangements to make.
He leaned over and cupped my face in his hands, looking at me without flinching, before kissing me softly, then searchingly, then deeply, once, twice, thrice. My head grew light and I leaned forward to respond by kissing him a fourth time before pulling away to steady myself.
“You’re not marrying me for my land, are you?” he teased, and I grinned. I’d written to him about Mrs. W and the forged letter, which was no doubt why he had decided not to invite her this night. “If you’ll wait till we are married, I can transfer Winton back to you, without duties owed.”
“There is no need,” I said. “Our children will inherit all.”
“There is a need,” he said. “It is yours. What would you like to do with it?”
I thought for a moment. “Jamie and Lisbeth should live there, I think. Perhaps your mother would like to join them. She’s become so accustomed to their companionship.”
He laughed aloud and put his hand on the back of my head, drawing me to him again, kissing me passionately before reluctantly pulling away. “I can wait no longer,” he insisted softly. “Christmas cannot come soon enough.”
We arrived at Cheyne Gardens and he said good-bye to me, reluctantly. The girls were not yet back; I assumed Jamie and Lisbeth had taken them on a scenic route as well to allow Thomas and me time alone. I went inside the house, quiet, a hush, and then proceeded upstairs to tell Mother Martha the wonderful news. But when I arrived on the third floor, I found her room empty, and her things gone. There was a note, and I picked it up and read it.
Dear Miss Young,
With Ruby moving on to a wonderful situation with Miss Gordon, there is no need for me to remain here any longer. I thank you for your kindnesses; the Lord bless and keep you. I have left a token of appreciation for you in the salon. “He that diligently seeketh good procureth favour . . .”
Mother Martha
The light was on in the salon. Once there, I gasped. In the center of the room, beautifully arrayed on the dressmaker’s dais, was a wedding dress.
“Oh my . . .” I ran over to it. It had been cut from the white velvet cloth Thomas had sent to me—cloth that had been rolled up in bolts that very morning. Not only had it been cut to fit me, perfectly, it had been delicately beaded throughout. It was a sophisticated design that draped perfectly; in fact, it was the most perfect dress I had ever seen, the work of several master seamstresses over six months or more.
Started and completed in one night. How? It was not humanly possible.
It had not been humanly achieved. Once more, the book of Saint Matthew. Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven. Prickles ran up my arms and spine. I went weak in a holy awe at the realization.
Mother Martha had placed Little Women nearby and I picked it up. It was bookmarked; I had somehow expected that. I opened it and read.
Women work a good many miracles.
Yes. It all made sense. How could I have ever guessed? Expected? My heart beat faster as memories came forward. Mother Martha’s frightening off the young man following Ruby. Her knowing the passage to mark when I spoke with Mrs. W. The perfectly cut gloves for Lady Lockwood!
And of course . . . protecting Ruby on the Embankment late at night.
I sank into a chair as I sought to fully understand. The protection our house had unknowingly been under during months of duress. My taking in the girls, to protect them, had brought me protection as well.
“It is not only women who work a good many miracles,” I whispered. “Angels work a good many miracles as well. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for your constant care and attention, seen and unseen.”
The front door opened and the girls ran upstairs. When they saw the dress, they screamed in delight. “Try it on, try it on!” Charlotte insisted and I did right there by lamplight, which cast amber halos over us all. I looked in the dais mirror, and we were all struck into silence.
Ruby sighed. “Miss. You are prettier than Cinderella. You will be the most beautiful bride eve
r.”
If love counted for beauty, I knew that would be true.
Thomas was right: Christmas could not come soon enough.
EPILOGUE
DARINGTON HALL, HAMPSHIRE
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER, 1897
The string quartet played quietly in the background; most of our guests had arrived and were merrily conversing with one another. A pleasant hum went through the room as the champagne was circulated. This year, every year, the charity ball at Darington was held in aid of the sewing homes I’d established in London some thirteen years earlier. Hundreds of girls were trained and sent into safe situations each year.
Thomas, his beard graying a little at the tips, but perhaps even more strikingly handsome as he’d aged, put his arm round me. “Are you happy, Lady Lockwood?” he asked.
“Indeed I am, Lord Lockwood.”
Inspector Collingsworth—Francis—and his wife, Sarah, my dearest friend, Sarah Gordon, mingled comfortably with some local friends of ours. Lisbeth and Jamie were somewhere; I could not see them just then. All of a sudden, a certain silence descended on the room. Eyes were drawn to the stairway, where our daughter had begun to descend.
She was thirteen, just old enough to attend, although her siblings could not, a fact that they had protested loudly to little avail. My heart swelled in affection, and love for her coursed through me. Her hair was rusty brown like Thomas’s, her eyes were mine—no, my mother’s. No. They were blue shot with silver, but they were entirely her own.
She smiled at her father and me and then turned her glance toward someone in the room. I followed her gaze to a young man, perhaps four or five years older than she, who seemed transfixed by her.
Thomas saw him, too, and a dark look crossed his face.
“Come, now,” I teased. “You should be sympathetic to the young man.”
He shrugged a little. “In a decade, if he proves himself honorable and forthright, worthy, and has learnt how to fence, he can approach me. But no sooner.”
“Dance?” I took his hand as the quartet struck up again.
