Falconridge

by Jennifer Wilde

  “You’re absurd, Lauren,” she told me. “Making such a tragedy about all this! It will be such fun—we’ll be together. One more term in this dreadful place and then I’ll be out. We’ll go to the country—my parents have such a gorgeous place. Well fascinate all the men. You’ll dazzle a rich young squire.”

  Nothing would damper her high spirits, and I tried not to let my own depression become infectious. I continued teaching the French classes and supervising exercises for the younger girls. I avoided Mrs. Siddons. When I passed her in the hall two days after our interview, she smiled sweetly and nodded her head, as though she knew that I would capitulate and meet her terms. Mademoiselle Delong had sent word that she definitely wouldn’t be back, and Mrs. Siddons had made no other arrangements for a teacher to replace her.

  I was in the garden one afternoon, two days before school was to close. It was late, and the sun had begun to sink, leaving the sky stained with a pale yellow glow. Inside the school I could hear all the sounds of activity, but here it was calm, the tall stone walls closing out most of the sounds of London. Occasionally a carriage would rumble over the cobbles outside, and the bells of the church across the way would toll mournfully. I held a novel in my lap, but I made no effort to read. I stared at the espaliered apricot trees that grew along the wall without seeing them.

  Clarissa had written to her parents against my will, explaining things to them. Her father had replied immediately that he would be glad to have me go to Paris with them, and her mother had written a note saying that she was delighted that Clarissa would have a companion as France could be very dull for a young woman without someone her own age to share it with. I had met the Nevilles once. Her father was a large, blustering gentlemen with red cheeks and side whiskers, devoted to riding the hounds and hunting. Her mother was a pale, weary-looking creature with none of her daughter’s vivacity, spending most of her time giving tea to the Vicar and managing the country estate. They were an affable pair, charming in their own way, and completely controlled by their lively daughter. I could accept their charity and put an end to my immediate worries, as Clarissa was determined that I do, but I wondered how that would work out.

  Clarissa was the best friend I had ever had, but the relationship would undoubtedly change if I became her paid companion. Although she would not be demanding, I would be at her beck and call. I would have to train myself to be docile and submissive to suit my position, and that would be hard. My nature would rebell. The dear friendship would terminate. No, I could not let myself accept Clarissa’s offer. I was prepared to be a paid companion. I was prepared to become a governess. I was prepared to swallow all my pride, but not at the expense of my dear friend.

  As I sat in the garden musing, Mary, one of the maids, came rushing out. Her cap was perched haphazardly over her tangled copper curls, and her freckled face was alive with excitement. She waved a blue envelope in her hand.

  “A special delivery letter, Miss Lauren,” she cried. “For you! The boy just brought it.”

  I stood up, the novel dropping to the ground. Who could be sending me a letter? I took the envelope from Mary’s hand and waited until she was gone before examing it. It was addressed to me in wild, erratic handwriting, the purple ink standing out against the heavy blue paper. It was postmarked from Cornwall. My hands trembled as I slit the envelope, taking out a sheet of paper that smelled of violets.

  I read the letter through twice, unable to fully comprehend what it meant for me.

  My Dear Child,

  How preposterous of Louise to die without telling me. She always was an abominably independent creature, even as a young girl. I was so shocked when I received a letter from this Mr. Burton, whoever he is. He told me all about your plight, and I was outraged, simply outraged, not to have known anything about it before. What can Louise have been thinking of, not letting me know she was ill.

  My Dear, you don’t know me. I saw you once, when you were a very little girl. Louise brought you along when she visited me in London. That was shortly after your father died—what a lovely man he was, so dashing in his uniform. Things had not been well between your mother and me for years, and the visit did little to clear up the misunderstanding. You know these old family feuds—so tiresome, really. But she’s gone now, my baby sister. Bless her sweet soul.

  You will come to Falconridge immediately. It will be wonderful to have some new blood here after such a long time. It’s rather drafty and dull, but you’ll bring a whiff of fresh air, I’m sure. Perhaps I can make up for the hard feelings Louise and I had by taking care of her little girl. It will be a most welcome task.

  Your Uncle Charles will come to the school to pick you up when the term is over. He’s pleased to have some excuse to get to London. I must say this is an unexpected turn of events for all of us, but one which gives an old woman much excitement.

  Love,

  Helena Lloyd

  I folded the letter and put it carefully back into its envelope. The sun was almost gone now, and dark green shadows crept across the path. A sparrow perched on the wall, scolding me loudly. Lamps were being turned on inside the school, and I knew Clarissa would soon be looking for me. Slipping the letter into the picket of my apron, I wondered what kind of a person my aunt was. I wondered what had caused bad blood between her and my mother, and I wondered about Falconridge, too—and what might be waiting for me there.

  Clarissa had mixed emotions about the letter. She was pleased that I had someplace to go and disappointed that I would not accompany her to Paris. We were in our room, doing the final packing. My uncle would arrive the next morning, as well as Clarissa’s parents, and we were both sad as it would probably be a long time before we would see each other again. The room was a nest of boxes, tissue paper, clothes, and books, all strewn in every direction, littering every piece of furniture. The school was strangely silent, a mood of melancholy prevailing within the old walls. Clarissa sat on the floor, her long blonde curls hiding her face as she arranged bits of jewelry in a jewel box.

  “I still don’t feel right about it,” she said. “They are strangers to you—even if they are relations. Why didn’t your mother ever mention them? I don’t like it at all.”

  “It’s a solution to all my problems,” I said.

  “I suppose so. But—Cornwall is so far away. And whoever heard of a house called Falconridge? It sounds dreadfully dreary, Lauren. Do you really have to go?”

  “I must, Clarissa,” I said, wishing she would stop.

  I had my own apprehensions about it. I would be a stranger, among strangers, in a part of the country alien to me. There was a mysterious air about the whole thing. How I longed to stay at this school, even after Mrs. Siddons had been so odious. At least it was familiar, and there were people I knew, however hateful some of them might be. I folded my dresses neatly, determined to keep busy, to keep from thinking too much about what was soon to happen.

  “Life is so strange,” Clarissa said. “You find people and then you lose them. We won’t lose each other, though, will we, Lauren? We’ve been like sisters. So much has happened.”

  I nodded, putting the dresses in a small trunk.

  “You will probably meet some terribly exciting man. It could happen, you know. You will sweep him off his feet with your good looks. I have seen the way men look at you when we walk down the street. They turn and stare.”

  “They were turning to stare at you,” I protested.

  “No. I’m pretty—I know that—but you’re—you’ve got something. You have—destiny in your face. It’s written there, plainly, for all to see.”

  “What a ridiculous way to talk, Clarissa. You’ve been reading too many novels.”

  “Have you ever been in love, Lauren?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Neither have I. Isn’t that sad?”

  “Not at all. I’m sure it would be quite unpleasant.”

  “Perhaps it is. And then again.…”

  “You’re talking nons
ense,” I snapped.

  “Well find out. I think it’s terribly romantic, really, you going off to an old house in Cornwall. The men there are supposed to be tall and very good looking, with sun-bronzed skin and dark hair, very devilish. Perhaps you’ll meet one, Lauren.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t care to.”

  Clarissa stood up, holding a pendant in her hand. It was a bright red drop of rubv, suspended on a thin silver chain. She dangled it on her fingers, watching the stone swing to and fro. Then she clasped it firmly in her palm.

  “I am giving this to you,” she said.

  “But you can’t. How absurd. That’s a real ruby. Your father gave it to you.”

  “He’ll get me another,” Clarissa said firmly. “I want you to have it. I want you to wear it, so that you will remember me when you are surrounded by all those devilishly good looking Cornish men. Here, take it, Lauren. It’s a farewell present.”

  She slipped the pendant over my head and fastened it behind my neck. The cold hard stone dropped beneath the collar of my dress and rested on my bosom. Clarissa sat down on the bed beside me, and I took her hand. I squeezed her fingers tightly, afraid to say anything. All the sadness of the past weeks welled up in me, and I closed my eyes.

  “If you ever need me,” she said, “you know you can call on me. I am so worried, Lauren. If only we knew something about these people. I can’t help but think it strange.…” Her voice faded away, and we sat in silence for several moments.

  I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror across the room. I saw two young women, one very blonde and pretty, her head resting forlornly on the shoulder of the other whose dark eyes stared so seriously. We made an attractive picture—Clarissa dressed in soft pink, my own dress dark tan, all the colors blurred slightly in the foggy gray glass. The bells of the church tolled again, and the sound was indescribably sad. I felt so close to this girl, the only person in the world with whom I could feel secure. In a few hours I would be leaving her. I would be leaving everything I knew. I stiffened my shoulders and gave Clarissa a gentle shove, trying to smile.

  I could not afford to lose courage now. I would need every bit of it in the days to come.

  The sun was bright the next morning, sparkling on the cobbles and making bright pools of yellow on the sidewalks in front of the school. Pigeons scattered about the bell tower of the church, cooing loudly, fluttering silvery blue wings. Stacks of luggage almost blocked the way in front of the school, and the girls waited eagerly as carriages drove up and stopped. There were squeals of delight, arms were flung about parents, and carriages drove away with wheels rumbling over the stones. Clarissa wore her new bonnet and a blue dress trimmed with white lace. She carried a white lace parasol, twirling it by its ivory handle. She was very excited, her cheeks very pink, her blue eyes sparkling. We had said our goodbyes the night before and resolved to let no shadow fall over the actual moment of parting. We stood there together, waving to girls who were leaving. My own gaity was forced, and I sensed that Clarissa, too, was putting on a front for my benefit.

  “I do hope your uncle arrives before my parents,” she exclaimed. “I so want to meet him. I wonder if he will be tall and distinguished. His name certainly is—Charles Lloyd, so distinguished sounding. He must be terribly wealthy to have an estate in Cornwall, don’t you think?”

  “Falconridge is merely a house,” I replied.

  “But it must be awfully large to have a name—probably an estate. I think it’s exciting. You must write me all about it.…” She continued to babble, filling the minutes with words, as neither of us wanted to lapse into silence.

  “Perhaps I’ll come to visit you,” she said. “I’ll be out of school in June. Just think—no more Mrs. Siddons’. It’ll be wonderful. Maybe my parents will let me come for a long visit. And you can come see me. I would love that so.…”

  We both looked up at the old clock on the bell tower. It was almost eleven. The pyramid of luggage had been greatly diminished, and only a few girls stood waiting, impatiently now. Clarissa tightened her white gloves, pulling them closer to her wrists. She gnawed her lower lip and tried to smile.

  “Are you still wearing the pendant?”

  “Naturally.”

  “I’m so happy you’ll have it.”

  “I’ll treasure it, Clarissa.”

  The dreaded silence came. Another carriage pulled up, and the last girl clambered inside while a servant strapped her bags to the roof. The carriage drove off, the horses stomping briskly on the cobbles. The only luggage left was Clarissa’s smart set of dark blue leather and my own battered brown trunk with its tarnished brass tacks. The pigeons whirled in the air above us, looking for food. The school behind us was empty now, except for servants. Mrs. Siddons had left early in the morning to catch a train that would take her to visit her sister in the country.

  “I don’t know what Father can be thinking,” Clarissa said. “He knew I would be waiting at ten.”

  “They’ll be here. You must be patient, Clarissa.”

  “And your uncle.…”

  “It’s early. And—my aunt just said today. She didn’t say what time. He probably doesn’t know to be here in the morning. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, dear. Lauren.…”

  “Here comes a carriage,” I said hastily.

  “It’s them!” She cried. “See—Mother’s waving her handkerchief!”

  The Nevilles got out of the carriage and embraced their daughter. I stood back in the shadows of the wall, trying to look away but unable to do so. Mrs. Neville wore a dress of pale gray linen with a coral brooch. She smiled tearfully as her husband growled and whirled Clarissa in his arms. Here was a kind of love that I had never known, shining clear in the faces of all three of them. Mr. Neville set his daughter back on her feet and patted her shoulder. The coachman began to fasten her luggage on top of the carriage.

  Clarissa talked quietly with her father and mother, and I could tell that she was explaining to them why I would not be going along. Mr. Neville looked at me curiously, a solemn expression on his flushed face. I smiled, nodding my head. Mrs. Neville came and took me by the hand.

  “We’re so sorry, my dear,” she said. “We were so looking forward to having you along. You would have been such company for Clarissa.”

  “Yes, the more pretty young ladies the better I like it,” her husband added in his gruff voice.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said politely. “It was so nice of you to have considered taking me—but I’m sure this is better. My uncle should be here any time now.…”

  “We’ll wait until he comes,” Mr. Neville said, adjusting his vivid green ascot. His side whiskers were bushy, and his dark brown eyes were very solemn.

  “There’s no need for that,” I protested. “I don’t want to keep you here. You’ll be going to lunch.…”

  “If you really think it’s all right.…” Mrs. Neville said timidly.

  “Nonsense,” her husband snorted. “We can’t leave the child here all alone.”

  I looked at Clarissa. Her eyes were shining, and I could feel the tears welling in my own. I smiled, my lips trembling at the corners. I nodded my head, and she took her father by the hand, leading him to the carriage. They all three climbed inside, Mr. Neville protesting quietly to his wife. The coachman climbed upon his seat and took the reins. The horses, sleek chestnuts with glossy fur, stamped and snorted. I felt a great surge of sadness, but I was still smiling as the carriage began to move slowly down the street.

  Clarissa leaned out of the window, waving to me. She called something out, but I could not hear the words. I lifted my hand and waved to her, and then the carriage was gone. My own shabby trunk stood alone on the sidewalk now, looking even more pitiful. I sat down on it, spreading my dark green skirts out.

  I watched the pigeons. I watched the hands of the clock move slowly around the old stone face. Two women dressed in black went into the tiny shop next to the church, coming out soon with candles. Then they
went into the church, moving slowly through the dark, yawning arch. An old man with a bag of apples shuffled past, his shoulders hunched, looking sad and defeated. The church bell tolled. Several carriages passed but none of them stopped.

  Little Mary, the maid, came outside, wiping her reddened hands on her apron. There was a look of concern in her large brown eyes, and her lips were turned down at the corners. She was hardly more than a child, barely thirteen, yet she had been working at the school ever since I had been there.

  “Your people haven’t come, Miss Lauren?” she asked.

  “Not yet, Mary.”

  “Well, you can’t just sit out here like this. Come inside, and I will give you a cup of tea.”

  “It’s all right, Mary. I’ll wait here.”

  “No, Ma’am. You come inside right now. You look peaked. It won’t do you a bit of good, sitting here in this sun. Come along now.”

  She stood with her hands on her hips and spoke sharply with the voice of authority. She was a comical sight with her golden brown freckles and her tangled copper curls, her face very stern. I felt very weak, as if all the life had been drained out of me, and I hadn’t the energy to argue. I stood up, looking at the clock. It was after twelve.

  “My trunk—” I said feebly.

  “I’ll see that it’s brought inside.”

  “But—my uncle will be here.”

  “Of course he will,” she said firmly. “He’s been delayed. You come on in, Miss Lauren. It’s better to wait inside.”

  The front hall was dark and shadowy, and there was an eerie feeling about the school now that all the girls were gone. It seemed much larger and more depressing. I sat down in a chair near the front door, where I could look out. Mary scurried away, and soon a man came to put my trunk on the front steps. I closed my eyes, trying not to think about Clarissa and the expression on her face as the carriage drove away.

  I could hear the sounds of cleaning and smell the odors of lemon oil and wax. The crew of servants were working furiously, for Mrs. Siddons would be returning in four days to oversee the inventory, and she wanted the school in perfect order by that time. I could hear the banging of cupboard doors and the swish of mops, and wondered if I would soon be doing that kind of work.