The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  Doris murmured that she didn’t feel well enough to eat, and the strain of talking made her head worse as if thousands of tiny hammers were beating against her eyes.

  Evelyne slipped into the hot, soapy water, her face pink with embarrassment at seeing Minnie pick up her clothes as if she had fleas, and holding them from her at arm’s length.

  ‘I fell in a cow pat, but I washed them.’

  Minnie murmured that judging by the smell, she’d brought the cows home with her. The problem was that Evelyne had no change of clothes and even if Minnie washed them, they’d never be dry before dinner. Minnie soaped Evelyne’s back and bony shoulders, then went to the door, locked it tight, and leant over the bathtub, speaking in a whisper.

  ‘I’ll bring you some things, but don’t say nothin’ about where I got ’em from, all right lovey?’

  She nipped out of the bathroom and was back within minutes with a neat pile of fresh white underwear. There was a camisole with a small frill round the neck, a pair of satin bloomers with elastic at the knees, and a petticoat.

  ‘They was the Mistress’s, but he don’t know what’s in the wardrobe. Me an’ cook have delved in there a few times, see, everything’s just left in the drawers, terrible waste.’

  Evelyne blushed with shame at Minnie stealing from the Doctor’s dead wife.

  Unlike the rest of the house, there was warmth and friendliness in the big basement kitchen. Mrs Darwin, the cook, was a round, fat woman who bellowed with laughter when she saw Evelyne in the huge bloomers, and gave her a wet, motherly kiss. Evelyne’s hand-me-downs were steaming on the fireguard and an iron sat on the burner ready to press them.

  The front doorbell chimed and Minnie rushed out. They had visitors and the Doctor asked for tea to be served right away. Evelyne watched the fat Mrs Darwin move like lightning, setting the tea tray, wrapping a gold frill around the cake, cutting tiny cucumber sandwiches, everything done fast and efficiently.

  Evelyne, not wanting to get in the way, sat quietly by the fireside, taking it all in.

  ‘He wants you in for tea, lovely, he’s asking where you are.’

  Mrs Darwin threw up her hands in despair. How could the girl go up in her bloomers, her skirt wasn’t ironed yet. Minnie fetched the ironing cloths, laid them on the edge of the kitchen table and began to press the skirt. Mrs Darwin tried to tidy Evelyne’s hair, but she’d never before had to cope with such length and such thickness, and in the end decided to put it in a long braid down her back, whipping out the ribbon from the frilled camisole and tying it in a bow. At the same time Minnie helped Evelyne into the freshly-pressed skirt, and banged the iron over the blouse.

  ‘Shoes, where’s the girl’s shoes, for heaven’s sake, Minnie?’

  Evelyne was painfully self-conscious, Minnie’s shoes were too tight and made high-pitched squeaking noises as she entered the drawing-room. Dr Collins rose to his feet and introduced Evelyne to the two guests who were sitting, straight-backed, on the velvet sofa.

  ‘This is the young girl I was telling you about, this is Evelyne . . . Lady Sybil Warner, and her daughter, Heather.’

  The pair looked so regal, Evelyne wondered if she should curtsey. Lady Warner shimmered with rows and rows of multicoloured beads, amber and ivory, draped across her ample bosom. Her daughter, dressed in oyster silk with a matching hat, had unfortunate buck teeth, which made her appear to smirk. Evelyne shook the outstretched, beringed hand, then squeaked her way to a chair.

  ‘Lady Sybil has very kindly invited you to a soirée this evening, Evelyne, and as Dor is is no better, I er . . . well, I . . .’

  Evelyne had not the slightest notion what a soirée was. She gave the Doctor a perplexed look as Lady Sybil spoke in a very high-pitched warbling tone, as if savouring each trill and tremor.

  ‘We all have to do our part for the war effort, and I am sure you will enjoy yourself. Some of the boys are from the hospital, some are on leave, always good to have a new dancing partner . . . Heather?’

  Heather blinked, startled.

  ‘Come along, dear, we must be on our way.’ Lady Sybil rose majestically to her feet, ‘Thank you so much for your advice, I will make sure Heather remains on your diet . . . so nice to meet you, Eevaleen.’

  Heather gave Evelyne a doleful look as she followed her mother. Just as Lady Sybil and Dr Collins reached the hall, David arrived home. He removed his hat with a sweeping gesture.

  ‘Lady Sybil, I must apologize for my lateness, but I was held up at the barracks.’

  ‘Don’t apologize, David dear, quite understandable, and we shall be seeing you both this evening. Heather, say hello to David. Thank you again, Dr Collins, come along, Heather.’

  Evelyne craned forward to see them depart and then went over to the window. A Rolls-Royce was parked outside, with a uniformed chauffeur holding the door open. She could hear David and his father talking in the hall.

  ‘Don’t tell me, Pa, you are actually socializing this evening?’

  ‘No, no, I’m on duty, but Lady Sybil kindly invited Evelyne.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, most kind, Doris isn’t well enough to travel, it’ll be a nice outing for the girl.’

  ‘Outing? Outing? Father, it’s a dance, really, you might have discussed it with me.’

  ‘You weren’t here . . . where are you going? David?’

  David looked into the drawing-room and met Evelyne’s startled gaze. He cocked his head to one side.

  ‘Well, it appears Cinderella’s been invited to the ball.’

  The next moment David was running up the stairs calling for Minnie to run his bath. Soirée, dance, now a ball – Evelyne couldn’t make out what on earth they were talking about. Dr Collins walked in and caught her bewildered expression. He felt sorry for her. ‘Pay him no attention, you’d like to go, wouldn’t you?’

  Evelyne chewed her lip. Just thinking of spending an evening with David made her so excited she couldn’t speak. The Doctor opened his wallet and coughed, a nervous, ticklish cough.

  ‘Don’t suppose you brought a party frock with you, so, Minnie . . . ?’

  Minnie was just rushing up the stairs after David.

  ‘I’m just going to run Master David’s bath, he’s already had one today so I don’t know how hot the water will be.’

  ‘Minnie, will you take Evelyne out and get her a frock to wear for a dance?’

  The Doctor handed Minnie a folded note and then glanced at his fob watch, murmured that he must be off and scuttled out. Minnie looked at the five-pound note and her jaw dropped.

  ‘Lord love us, look how much he give me! Get your coat, lovely, I’ll be two minutes.’

  Evelyne hadn’t even had time to thank Dr Collins, it had all happened so quickly. She squeaked up the stairs after Minnie, who disappeared into the bathroom to run David’s bath.

  Evelyne was buttoning her coat when she saw David coming out of his room, barefoot and wrapping his dressing gown around him.

  ‘Well, well, appears we are going out together tonight.’

  Evelyne swallowed, unable to look into his teasing, smiling face. As she passed him he quickly tugged her hair. She stopped, but he continued down the corridor to the bathroom.

  Minnie was waiting for Evelyne at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Come on, hurry, I don’t want to be caught by Mrs Darwin, she’ll find something for me to do and we need all the time we can get. Come on, we’ll go out the front way.’

  Evelyne followed her out and as the door closed behind them, Minnie snorted.

  ‘I never known a man take so many baths, ever so particular, isn’t he?’

  David was actually in rather a good mood. The chaps had ribbed him quite a lot about his afternoon at the inn, but he was now very much ‘in’ with the ‘in’ set, and everyone had been impressed with Ridgely’s account of David’s prowess with the two ladies.

  He lay in the perfumed, soapy water. His skin tingled as he scrubbed himself hard with the loofah, worr
ied that he may have picked up some disease from the tarts. He shivered with revulsion, remembering their bodies: he couldn’t understand why on earth Ridgely and the other officers enjoyed these prostitutes. They revolted him, but the improvement in his reputation made it worthwhile. He set about scrubbing himself with renewed vigour, perhaps he would find someone more to his liking at the Warners’ dance.

  Evelyne and Minnie took the tram into the centre of Cardiff. They didn’t go to any of the big stores with the elegant models in the windows – they went down a back lane into a small second-hand shop run by a Jewish family. Minnie assured Evelyne that this was where all the posh people who had fallen on hard times sold off their dresses, and they were sure to find something at half the price they would pay in any of the fashion houses. The added bonus of this arrangement was that, as Minnie knew one of the shop assistants, maybe they would get a few shillings off their purchases.

  Jeremiah Goldstein’s tailoring establishment and pawn shop was a back street hovel. Rows and rows of suits hung on racks, and there were shirts stacked to the ceiling. Minnie knew everyone in the shop, and Evelyne wondered how many of the doctor’s wife’s clothes had found their way here.

  Minnie’s friend was named Clara. They kissed and joked with each other, then Clara opened up an Aladdin’s cave of ball gowns, feather boas and sequins. There was a smell of body odour in the room, of stale perfume clinging to the garments. Clara walked around Evelyne, looking her up and down.

  ‘She’s a right bugger to fit, our Minnie, she’s all skin and bone for one, and then there’s her height. She’s not a dainty one, that’s for sure.’

  Gown after gown was taken down from the rails. Whether they were too short or too long they all looked dreadful. Clara disappeared and came back with her arms full of bridal gowns.

  ‘Eh, she’s not getting married, our Clara, they won’t do. For Gawd’s sake, she just wants a dancing dress, a lovely frock that swings when she moves . . .’

  Clara ignored Minnie and held up a cream satin. She pulled the dress over Evelyne’s head, at the same time giving Minnie instructions to go to her cousin Bertha ‘what does all the ladies’ hair in the salon in the main street’.

  The bride must have been as tall as Evelyne, the dress was the first one that was the right length. None of them had any thought about what fashion was now in, they wanted something long and swirling. Clara was snipping round the back with a large pair of scissors, then she whipped out a box of pins. She snipped some silk orchids off a peachy-coloured dress and started pinning them round the neck.

  ‘Have to hide her salt cellars, you could balance a teacup on those bones . . .’

  Evelyne was covered in pins, and still trying on shoe after shoe. Eventually, buried beneath a pile of feather boas, they found a pair of cream satin shoes with lavatory-shaped heels. They made Evelyne that much taller, but Clara assured her the hem would drop a bit anyway.

  By five-thirty Evelyne was so tired she wanted to go to sleep, but there was no rest for her. She was bathed and perfumed, keeping the noise down all the while so as not to disturb Doris. Minnie said Evelyne would not have time to eat, she would need all the time until eight o’clock to get herself dressed up.

  Bertha, her mouth full of hairpins, brushed and braided, twisted and curled the mass of golden-red hair.

  By seven-thirty Evelyne’s hair was still not quite ready, but the dress hung waiting for her to slip into it. Mrs Darwin had whitened the shoes slightly, as you could tell they had been worn. Minnie suddenly jumped up, panic-stricken, they’d forgotten to get Evelyne a cloak, how could she travel there in an open motor without a cloak, she’d freeze to death.

  Minnie disappeared to poor, dead Mrs Collins’ wardrobe, which was becoming remarkably sparse. She returned with a glum face saying there was only the black mourning cloak Mrs Collins had worn for funerals. Mrs Darwin told her to fetch it, it wasn’t the wrapping that counted, it was what was inside, and no one would notice, they’d whip some of the black ribbons off it.

  Finally, Evelyne was ready, and Minnie, Bertha and Mrs Darwin stared. It was a shame, there wasn’t one item of jewellery on the girl, but they’d done it, she was ready, and she could be taken for a lady any day of the week. Evelyne looked at her reflection and her mouth trembled. This wasn’t, couldn’t be, Evelyne Jones . . .

  Bertha sat on Minnie’s bed, picking up hairpins and tiny ribbons. Minnie came in and ran to the window.

  ‘She’s going now.’

  Bertha joined her at the window and they stared out, watching the car slowly draw away from the dark pavement.

  Doris clung to the window-frame watching her sweet Evie leave the house. She looked so beautiful, and Doris felt so proud. Weak and tired out, she held on to the furniture as she made her way back to bed, replaced the icepack on her brow and sighed. She began to daydream of her wedding day, of her beloved Walter. That was what Evelyne had looked like, a bride.

  There was a sweeping gravel driveway, and several other cars already parked by the house. Evelyne’s head was spinning, she had never seen such comings and goings. The mansion was white, with pillars and huge trees on either side. Lamps illuminated the garden and the lake, and on the velvety lawns the bushes were thread with tiny glass candleholders all indifferent colours. She had to pinch herself to believe she wasn’t dreaming.

  David waited at the bottom of the steps with a look of irritation on his handsome face as Evelyne stumbled out of the car. He sighed, knowing this was a mistake. She’d almost fallen flat on her face and they weren’t even inside yet. Together they walked up the steps to the main entrance. The double doors stood wide to reveal a marble hallway with more footmen and guests milling about. Music drifted from a ballroom with gilt-edged glass doors, flowers arranged on pedestals at least four feet high exuded their perfume into the air, vying with the fragrances of the laughing, chattering ladies. The sights, the smells, textures and ambience of wealth overpowered Evelyne. Her heart seemed to jump in her chest, her breath came in short gasps, and tremors shook her body. Only the gentle touch of David’s hand on her elbow gave her the assurance that this was real, not a dream from which she would soon awaken. But her over-riding emotion was terror. Behind the masks of smiles, the bows of the footmen, the fleeting glances from the other guests, Evelyne felt they could see right through her – they could see she didn’t belong, she was an outsider.

  A small, sweet, white-haired woman was taking care of the guests’ cloaks. She darted forward to help Evelyne with hers, then with a tiny wave of her hand she directed her to a powder room with a row of gilt-edged mirrors and small velvet piano stools. At least, that was what they looked like to Evelyne. Several girls sat or stood around chattering and powdering their faces, touching the flowers in their hair, dabbing themselves with chiffon hankies dipped in crystal bottles of cologne. Their bracelets jangled and their diamonds glittered. They greeted each other in squealing voices, flinging their arms around each other. Kisses were exchanged, and admiring remarks about each other’s frocks.

  One of the stools became vacant, and Evelyne sat down and mimicked the actions of the girl next to her. She was like a tiny china doll, with pale blonde, curly hair, wide blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She wore the palest pink gown, and her tiny feet were encased in satin shoes. She turned for a moment, giving Evelyne an icy stare that swept from the top of her head to the scrubbed, second-hand shoes. She continued talking to her friends as she stared, then turned back, leaned slightly forward and cupped her hands to her tiny rosebud mouth. Her friends tittered and two other girls leaned back slightly to stare at Evelyne.

  David hovered outside, waiting for her. He saw everyone coming out and wondered what on earth Evelyne could be doing in there. Then his look of impatience changed. Leaving the powder room was an angel. Lady Primrose Boyd-Carpenter couldn’t help but notice David, who was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. As she passed him she gave him a tiny smile. David’s heart lurched in his chest and, forge
tting Evelyne, he turned and followed the vision in the floating pink. She appeared to be very well-known, everyone acknowledged her. Officers kissed her hand as she made her way slowly towards the ballroom. Twice she turned back, aware that David was following, then she was surrounded by a chattering party of people. David caught the arm of his closest friend, Captain Freddy Carlton.

  ‘Freddy, who is she, who is she?’

  Freddy laughed, raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Not for you, old chap, she’s already taken, that is Lady Primrose Boyd-Carpenter.’

  ‘Introduce me, you have to introduce me, I’m in love.’

  Freddy beamed, his round, good-natured face glowed above his solid frame.

  ‘So am I, and I was there before you, she’s mine, so don’t you dare move in. I’ve been after her for months.’

  David leaned against the wall, watching Freddy, full of himself, easing his way through the crowd to Lady Primrose’s side. She turned her heart-shaped, perfect face to smile up at Freddy, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, slipping his hand through his arm. David could have sworn she flicked a knowing look at him as she began to introduce Freddy to her party of friends. The titles rolled, Lady this, the Honourable that, and again David could have sworn that her wicked, twinkling smile was for him alone. He was besotted.

  Captain Ridgely, already flushed with champagne, breezed up to David. ‘Lovely little thing, isn’t she, but I’m here to tell you it’s a kiss on the cheek from that quarter. Place your hand on that type of gel’s knee and all hell gets let loose.’

  David pointed towards Lady Primrose, ‘Line me up there, Ridgely, and you’ll be my friend for life.’

  Ridgely snorted. ‘You must be joking, that’s Lady Primmy, old boy, her family owns most of the mines in these parts. Besides, Freddy Carlton’s got a pash for her, look at the drooling idiot. Her family no doubt already has it arranged, ya know, titles and money always marry each other . . . you, having neither, don’t stand a chance . . . oh, I say, this is more my line, look what’s hovering yonder.’