"One never grows accustomed to such misery," Julia retorted heatedly, kneeling on the bare wooden floor to wrap a protective arm around her sister, board and all. "I never did."
Another shrug from Aurelia. "That is because you were overindulged as an infant. Everyone knows that too much coddling in infancy spoils one's constitution. Jemima, on the other hand, has been under my guidance since birth, so she suffers no such weakness. In view of that fact, she should bear up against the rigors of the backboard without the untoward discomfort you claim to have endured."
"No, she will not. She shall never be forced to bear up to the backboard, or to any other form of unnecessary discomfort. Not while I have a breath in my body," Julia said, her fingers shaking with fury as she began to unlatch the complicated series of heavy leather straps and steel buckles lashing the brutal contraption to her sister. As she unclasped the iron collar, soothingly stroking the reddened skin beneath it, Jemima ducked her face away from her aunt to shoot Julia a quick look of gratitude. With her pale golden curls and robin's-egg-blue eyes, little Jemima was the only Barham daughter who favored their fair mother. Overwhelmed by tenderness at the sight of tears streaking the child's pale cheeks, Julia planted a kiss behind her ear, hugging her close as she promised, "It will be all right, love. I will speak with father about the matter. I am certain-"
"It is your father who ordered the board," Aurelia interrupted, her sharp voice lashing through the room like the crack of a whip. "It seems that Lady Mabley saw Jemima at her daughter's picnic last week and commented upon her poor carriage to several of the ladies in your mother's circle. Your mother was, understandably, distressed when the observation reached her ears and took to her bed with a megrim. When your father learned what had happened, he bid me to remedy the girl's defect. And as we all know, I am your father's most humble servant." Bitterness spilled over into her voice as she uttered that last.
Julia smiled and winked at her dejected sister, seeking to reassure her. "All the more reason for me to speak with him," she countered evenly, at last liberating the girl from her prison of iron, leather, and wood. Taking her now-free sister's hand in hers, she stood, saying, "Come, Jemima. You may accompany me downstairs and take air in the garden while I consult with father. I daresay that you have not set foot outside the nursery all day. You must come as well, Maria."
She held her other hand out to her twelve-year-old sister, Maria, who sat at the table pretending not to notice the scene unfolding before her as she studiously deciphered whatever tedious, and no doubt pedantically moralizing, French parable their aunt had assigned her to translate. Judging from the soft hiccups coming from the girl, a sure sign of distress in Maria, the translation had been assigned as a punishment. Knowing Aurelia as well as Julia unfortunately did, the subject of the piece would most probably be revealed to be a searing condemnation of whatever infraction the woman had determined Maria to be guilty of.
When Maria hesitated in accepting Julia's invitation, her gaze darting nervously between her sister and her aunt, Julia prompted, "Come, dear. I am sure that Aurelia will agree that you could both benefit from some exercise." That was a lie, of course. Aurelia would never have willingly acknowledged their youthful need for sunshine and exercise, not knowing, as she did, how much her charges enjoyed their frolics in the garden. Indeed, had the woman been given her way, she would most probably have imprisoned the girls in their barren attic nursery, robbing them of the pleasures and company to be found in the outside world.
Maria's skittish gaze arrested on Julia for a moment, her brown eyes full of longing and her small white teeth tugging furiously at her bottom lip. Then she hiccuped and looked at her aunt. "My lady?" Though the utterance was a simple one. soft and devoid of inflection, it spoke eloquently of the tragic extent to which Aurelia had crushed the child's spirit.
Wanting nothing more than to strangle Aurelia for so thoroughly cowing her beloved sister, Julia too looked at Aurelia and echoed. "My lady?" Unlike Maria, her voice was laden with meaning, promising a battle should the woman not deliver the desired response. Truth be told, she almost hoped that her aunt would deny the request, thus giving her leave to vent a measure of the blistering rage that smoldered within her.
Apparently her aunt was in no mood for conflict today, for she nodded once in curt dismissal. "Very well. You are both excused. However, I shall expect you back at your lessons promptly at half-past three."
Maria practically bolted up in her eagerness to escape, only to remember herself in the next instant. Hiccuping several times in quick succession, she dropped a deep curtsy, her delicately sculptured face flushing a fiery red as she murmured, "Thank you, my lady. You are most"- hiccup!-"kind."
Jemima abruptly dropped Julia's hand and followed suit, her sister's example reminding her of her own manners.
Aurelia frowned. "Do keep your back straight when you curtsy, Maria. You look like a puppet with a broken string. As for you, Jemima"-her disapproving gaze pounced on the younger girl-"how many times must I tell you not to rock when you dip?"
"I thought that your curtsies were lovely. Perfect, in fact," Julia contradicted, the sight of Jemima's crestfallen face making her hands itch anew to strangle their wretched aunt.
Poor, darling Jemima. All she wanted in life was a measure of kindness and an occasional word of praise, not so very much to ask. It was the same with Maria. Unfortunately, since their parents seldom spared them more than a passing glance, and they were allowed little fraternization with the servants who adored them, they were left with no choice but to look to Aurelia for affection and approval. But, of course, Aurelia never gave it. She never gave anything that was good, or kind, or could be mistaken for affection to her charges. Thus, it fell to Julia to provide it. And, heaven help her, she gave as best she could, working so very hard to fill their yearning need. At times she even felt as though she were succeeding. But at other times- heartbreaking moments like this-she despaired, questioning whether her love alone was enough to fill the void in her sisters' souls. They were awfully big voids, after all, ones that should have been filled by constant love and nurturing from their parents, grandparents, and every single person who touched their young lives.
Jemima met Julia's gaze then, smiling faintly at her praise, an expression that never quite reached her wide blue eyes. Such old eyes for one so young, Julia thought, her heart wrenching at the sight. Sad eyes, full of disillusionment and weary defeat. Maria's eyes were much the same-as were her own. For beyond their name, beyond their blood, the strongest bond the three sisters shared was their legacy of lonely longing for affection.
"Come, loves," she murmured, squeezing the words past the sorrow swelling in her throat. Holding out her hands again, she injected a cheery note into her strangling voice and added, "I saw Mr. Mullock this morning, and do you know what he said?"
Jemima shook her head, while Maria skirted the schoolroom table, her gaze nervously flitting to Aurelia as she went.
"He informed me that the goldfinch eggs he showed you in the topiary obelisk last week have hatched. He said that he would be glad to hold each of you up to see the babies if you wish him to do so." Bless Mr. Mullock, the jolly head gardener, and his unfailing kindness to her sisters.
Maria, who adored animals and no doubt would have adopted a menagerie of strays had Aurelia allowed the girls to keep pets, brightened visibly at the news. "Did they all hatch? Oh, and are the babies all quite well?" she exclaimed, grasping Julia's left hand while Jemima latched onto her right one.
Julia smiled, pleased to have brought a sparkle to her sister's eyes. "I do not know, Maria. I was hoping that you would take note and report your findings to me. However, judging from the vigorous chirps coming from the shrubbery, my guess is that the nest is full and the birds are all in fine feather. It-"
"Jemima. Maria," Aurelia's voice cut in.
Julia stiffened at her aunt's harsh tone, her simmering anger roiling to a full boil as she felt Maria wince and Jemima tremb
le.
"My lady?" her sisters chorused in dutiful unison, the flush of anticipatory pleasure draining from their cheeks as they half turned to acknowledge their scowling aunt.
"Do have a care for your gowns. I will not have you returning to the schoolroom as filthy as beggars." It was a warning, of course. A malicious one meant to lessen the children's pleasure in viewing the birds.
Giving the small hands that still clutched hers a quick squeeze of reassurance, Julia tossed over her shoulder, "If they soil them, we shall have them washed. We had five laundry maids in our employ at last count, so you can rest assured that you shall not be required to clean them yourself." With that, she pulled her sisters from the room, closing the door behind them with a resounding slam.
No one spoke as they trooped down the narrow stairs, the only sounds marking their passage being that of Maria's hiccups and the scuff of their soft-soled shoes against the rough wooden steps. As with most noble households, the nursery and schoolroom were located on the upper floors to save the Barham parents from being disturbed by their children's racket. Not that Aurelia permitted the girls to engage in madcap play, nor was their infant brother, Bertie, allowed untoward crying by his bevy of nurses. No. It was just that with children, there was always the possibility of an eruption of disagreeable noise.
It wasn't until they had descended to the third floor of their sumptuous Upper Brook Street mansion, and were halfway down the elegantly appointed corridor that Maria broke their silence. "I do believe that you are the"- hiccup!-"bravest person I know, Julia. Indeed, no one else has the courage to talk back to Aunt Aurelia in such a bold manner. How I wish that I-"hiccup!-"were so very brave"- hiccup! hiccup!-"perhaps then, she would not have dared to tear up the play I was writing."
Julia halted midstep, taken aback by her sister's report on their aunt's latest outrage. "She did what?"
"She tore up Maria's play," Jemima piped in, her childish voice shrill with indignation. "And it was a very good play. I was to act the part of the pirate princess."
Maria nodded. "Aunt Aurelia said that plays are the worst sort of rubbish, and that in writing one I am no better than the lowest Grub Street hack. She also said that"- hiccup!-"engaging in amateur"- hiccup!-"theatricals promotes an unladylike boldness of action and a displeasing elevation of the voice." Hiccup hiccup! "As punishment for my vulgarity, she is making me translate a story about the downfall of an heiress with a fondness for the stage."
Of course she is, Julia thought angrily, hard-pressed to keep herself from marching back up to the schoolroom and taking Aurelia to task for her latest act of cruelty. Knowing better than to do so, aware that the vindictive woman would punish Maria should she learn that the girl had reported her spiteful action, she replied, "Aunt Aurelia is wrong. Amateur theatricals are a harmless enough pastime. Why, I cannot think of a single girl in the ton who has not written or performed in at least one." She nodded to reinforce her point. "However, since Aurelia is set against theatricals and will not suffer you writing your play in the nursery, you must write it during our time together. If you like, we can perform your finished work in the garden with Mr. Mullock and his assistants as an audience." Aurelia knew better than to intrude upon Julia's time with her sisters, so there would be little danger of the woman learning of their forbidden enterprise. The light flew back into Maria's eyes. "Can we really do that?"
"We can, and we will," Julia promised, pressing a kiss to the top of the girl's head. Like golden-haired Jemima, Maria, with her unruly mane of copper curls and thickly lashed brown eyes, showed promise of growing into a great beauty. Now dropping their hands to hug their slight forms to her sides, she added, "By the by, I think that you are both exceedingly brave-every bit as brave as you think me to be. And I am beyond proud of you."
Maria drew back slightly to stare up her, frowning her incredulity. "Brave? Me?"
"Yes, you. You are both brave, because no matter how badly Aunt Aurelia treats you, you always have the courage to remain kind and loving to those around you. To love takes great courage, and the strength of your love is the true measure of your bravery."
"Is that why Aunt Aurelia hates me so, then? Because she is not brave?" Jemima inquired with a gravity that should have been beyond her tender years.
"No! Oh, no, darling," Julia exclaimed, wanting to weep at the hurt behind her sister's words. "Aurelia does not hate you. No one could ever hate someone as dear as you." She fell to her knees and grasped Jemima's shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze so she could be certain that the child understood her words. "Aurelia is a sad, bitter woman whose heart was badly broken years ago. The break never quite mended, you see, so she finds it difficult to love anyone. The way she is, the way she acts, has nothing to do with you-either of you!" She released one of Jemima's shoulders to convulsively grasp Maria's hand. "No matter what she says or does, you must never think that you deserve her unkindness. You have
done nothing to earn it. Nothing! And if she cannot see how very wonderful you both are, well, then, to hell with her!"
"Julia!" Jemima and Maria chorused in shock at their sister's use of profanity.
"I mean it," Julia said with a firm nod. "To the devil with Aunt Aurelia. She does not deserve the honor of loving you. Moreover, you do not need her love. You have plenty of other people who love you, worthy ones."
"We do?" Maria could not have looked more dubious, an expression mirrored by Jemima's face.
Another nod from Julia. "Of course you do. Mother and father love you enormously, as does Grandfather Kilminster." When her sisters continued to look doubtful, she added, "There is Mr. Mullock. Does he not always take time to show you the wonders of nature every time you venture into the garden?" At their nods, she nodded back. "And Cook, why, did you know that the only reason she bakes jumbles is because she knows how much you like them?" Jumbles were delicate, lemon-flavored biscuits that were cut in the shape of bowknots and sprinkled with sugar. "Oh, and how about Mary-Margaret, the nursery chambermaid? Does she not always have a story, or a jest, or a song to cheer your day when she sees you?"
"They do seem to be fond of us," Maria admitted slowly. By now, her hiccups had all but vanished.
"As does Mr. Brice," Jemima chimed in. Mr. Brice was the weathered old coachman who just happened to have a soft spot in his heart for children. "Remember the cunning sugar-paste birds he gave us after church on Sunday when Aunt Aurelia was not looking?"
"See?" Julia smiled and nodded yet again. "That proves my point exactly. You do not need Aunt Aurelia's love, not when everyone else in the house loves you so."
"I suppose not," Maria conceded, smiling back.
Jemima, too, smiled. "No."
"But of all the people who love you, can you guess who loves you most of all?" Julia playfully quizzed.
Her sisters exchanged a grin, easily catching the spirit of the game. "Who?" they demanded to know, though, of course, they already knew.
"Why me, of course, sillies!" With that, she lunged forward and grabbed them both in a fierce hug.
"And that is best of all," Maria declared, hugging Julia back. When Jemima followed suit, practically hurling herself at Julia in her eagerness to join in on the fun, Julia collapsed back under their weight, laughing beneath their hugging assault. As they wrestled about on the thick Savonnerie carpet runner, their laughter ringing around them like the joyous tidings of a Christmas bell, Julia rolled against something hard, something that felt suspiciously like a pair of feet. Large ones.
"Ahem!" The owner of the feet cleared his throat.
Praying that it wasn't their father, Julia poked her head around Jemima's shoulder to match the face with the feet. It was Cuthbert, the majordomo. She smiled her relief. Beneath his patina of venerable crustiness, Cuthbert harbored the heart of a prankster. He was displaying that penchant now as he grinned at her and her sisters, visibly amused by their boisterous antics.
"Cuthbert," she acknowledged with as much dignity as she could muster i
n her admittedly undignified position.
"My ladies." Always the epitome of courtesy, he bowed as formally as if she and her sisters were princesses seated on their thrones. "Your father bade me to convey his desire to speak with you, Lady Julia. He awaits you in the library."
"Excellent. I wish to speak with him as well," she replied, grimacing as she extracted a tendril of her hair that had somehow become trapped in her mouth. "I was on my way downstairs to find him when I was waylaid by this pair of monkeys." She nodded at her sisters, who lay collapsed atop her, giggling with the giddy silliness of youth. Grinning at the rare sight of their glee, she added, "Could I, perhaps, prevail upon your kindness by begging your assistance in removing them?"
He grinned back, his age-mottled skin crumpling into a multitude of cross-hatching creases. "But of course, my lady. Monkey removal just happens to be a particular specialty of mine." Holding out a hand to each of the younger girls, he said, "If you please, monkeys?" When they took his proffered hands, their giggling renewed by his tomfoolery, he hauled them to their feet, saying, "Up we go, then."
Now free, Julia sat up, mortified to discover that the skirt of her yellow-and-blue print day dress had somehow become twisted and was now rucked up well past her knees. Her cheeks burning, she tugged it back down again, stealing an anxious glance at Cuthbert to see if he had witnessed her shocking display. To her relief he wasn't looking at her, but at Jemima, who was animatedly describing a monkey she had seen in Hyde Park dressed up like Napoleon Bonaparte. Thus assured of her modesty, she turned her attention to her hair, one side of which had come loose and now dangled across her cheek.
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