by Adele Whitby
“Mrs. Fields keeps a sharp eye on the food supply, and I’ve never seen her without her keys at her waist,” I said. “If only she would set them down now and again, we might be able to sneak into the pantry or the larder.”
“And Mr. Fellows has already scolded us for being in the servants’ hall,” Katherine said. “If he catches us in the pantry, he’ll surely tell Papa.”
“I don’t want to make Papa angry,” I said. “Especially after he told us to drop the whole subject. We’ll simply have to take extra food ourselves at meals—a little at a time so that it won’t be missed,” I decided. “And when we have enough, we can send it to a family in Ireland.”
I was pleased with this plan until my very practical twin raised a very practical question.
“How will we send it?” Katherine asked.
“We’ll put the matter to Sean O’Brien when he returns next week,” I said. “He’ll know how to manage things.”
Katherine nodded and then sighed. “I do hope Essie can find out something about his wife.”
“He’s like a storybook knight on a romantic quest, searching for his damsel,” I whispered.
“What if his Maggie is really Mrs. Fields, and she was only pretending not to know him?” Katherine giggled. “Maybe she prefers bossing scullery maids about to having a husband.”
“Or she could be Mrs. Cosgrove,” I said, giggling along with her. It was nearly impossible to imagine Mrs. Cosgrove as young and in love.
“Mrs. Cosgrove is from Devonshire, not Ireland,” Katherine whispered. “I’ve heard her speak of it.”
“And Mrs. Fields’s first name isn’t Maggie. It’s Gwen,” I whispered back.
“Or so she says,” Katherine answered, wiggling her eyebrows and giggling even harder.
Papa looked up from his letter. “How many birthday secrets do you girls have?”
“We’re only talking about the dancing, Papa,” I said, lowering my book. “I do hope you’re ready to waltz with each of us at least once.”
“Not to worry,” Papa said with a smile. “I think my old bones remember the steps. And there will be young men to dance with after you’ve finished with your poor old Papa.”
“Oh, Papa,” I said, running over to give him a kiss on his cheek. “I could never be finished with you.”
“Nor could I,” Katherine said, joining us and kissing his other cheek.
“You are good girls,” he said. “Now, off to bed, and try to keep the whispers and the giggles to a minimum. You need your sleep.”
“Yes, Papa,” we answered in unison.
I turned to Mr. Fellows, who, as always, stood at the ready to help with anything we needed. “Could you let Essie know we’ve gone up, Mr. Fellows?”
“At once, milady,” he answered and then nodded to one of the footmen.
While Mr. Fellows’s back was turned, I took a biscuit from a silver tray on one of the side tables and, grateful that my dress had pockets, slipped it inside. Katherine, seeing me, did the same. Our plan to send food to the people of Ireland had just been set in motion!
The gaslight candelabra in the great hall lit our way to the staircase and up the stairs to the second level.
Katherine entered my room with me. A cheerful fire burned.
“Where shall we hide the food?” I asked. “If Essie finds out, she might give us away to Papa. I’m sure she would agree with our decision to help, but she wouldn’t want to go against Papa’s wishes.”
“In the corner of the dressing closet,” Katherine answered after considering for a moment. “She goes in there only to find clothes that aren’t in our armoires, or to walk from room to room.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said.
There was a wooden trunk in the corner of the room that made the perfect table, and we each deposited our biscuits.
“It’s a small start,” Katherine said.
“But it is a start.” I was imagining a cache of food large enough to fill the trunk.
I was startled out of my reverie by Essie. “Lady Elizabeth? Lady Katherine?” she called. She had entered Katherine’s room first and was nearing the dressing closet.
Katherine and I dashed into my room.
“Whatever were you two doing in there?” Essie asked.
Katherine’s eyes darted from Essie to me.
“Only wondering where our riding habits were,” I stammered. “We thought we might ride Star and Cricket tomorrow, so we were looking through our dressing closet.”
“Tomorrow?” Essie asked. “I think you’ll be much too busy with lessons and your dress fittings.”
“Oh, I did forget that Madame Dubois was coming tomorrow,” I said quickly. “We’ll have to ride the ponies another day.”
“And whenever you need your riding habits—or anything else—you need only ask,” Essie answered with a quizzical expression. She frowned a little bit as she regarded us further. “You don’t have to go searching through the closets, girls. You know I know where everything is! Why wouldn’t you just ask me?”
My eyes met Katherine’s, and I willed her think of something to say. It was no wonder Essie was looking at us like that—it was very unlike us to go rifling through our closets when Essie always fetched whatever we needed from there. Would she figure out we were up to something so soon after we began?
Katherine jumped in and changed the subject. “Have you been writing in the journal we gave you, Essie?” she asked.
Essie gave us one more long look, and then the puzzled expression on her face softened into a smile. “I have, milady,” she answered, helping me out of my dress and into my nightgown. “It was hard at first to write on those beautiful pages in my own messy hand, but I write a sentence or two when I can.”
“Do you ever write about us?” I asked, wanting to keep her talking.
“Oh my, Mr. Fellows would show me to the door if he thought I was writing down the secrets of the house.”
“So you never write about us at all?” Katherine prodded.
Essie looked around, as if she thought Mr. Fellows might be listening in. “Sometimes I do,” she said quietly. “You are the most important people in my life, so sometimes I must. But I’ve given you code names in case my journal falls into someone else’s hands.”
“Code names,” I exclaimed. “How exciting! That’s like something out of a novel in Papa’s library! What are they?”
My toilette finished, Essie led us toward the dressing closet and Katherine’s room.
“Oh, do tell us,” Katherine urged.
Essie looked around again and then, still in the dressing closet, leaned in with a whisper. “It must be our secret, girls! Do you promise to keep it?”
“Yes!” Katherine and I exclaimed together.
“Lark and Sparrow,” Essie replied.
“Am I Sparrow?” I asked.
Essie nodded.
“That makes me Lark,” Katherine said.
The nicknames made perfect sense, of course. Essie had named us after birds of the same shade as our very favorite colors, red for me and blue for Katherine.
Essie pulled us into a hug. Katherine reached for my hand and squeezed it. It felt so good to be embraced by our wonderful Essie.
“Don’t forget. This must be our secret,” Essie said. “Now, let’s get you ready for bed.”
When Katherine was ready, I crawled under the covers with her.
“Just for a few minutes,” Essie said, turning off the gaslights. She set one candle aflame on Katherine’s nightstand. “You both need your sleep.”
I nodded and wished her good night, watching her walk through the dressing closet into my room, where she would do the same.
“How sad it is that Essie never got to know her mama,” Katherine whispered.
“I cherish my memories of our mama,” I answered. I could feel the tears pushing against my eyelids. One escaped and rolled down my cheek.
I thought Katherine might not notice. I didn’t want to
set her to crying too. But my twin knew what I was thinking and feeling. Katherine reached out and took my hand once again, her own voice thick with tears.
“I’m so glad we have reminders of Mama. When I look at them, it sometimes feels as if she’s near,” she said.
“Do you still have her trinket box?” I asked.
Katherine nodded and slipped out of bed to get Mama’s mahogany box. The gold inlay on the top gleamed in the candlelight, and I could remember the box sitting on the desk in Mama’s parlor.
The box was filled with things that Katherine and I loved to play with when we were little—hairpins, buttons, old keys, single earrings that had lost their mate. Whenever the servants found something while cleaning, they’d bring it to Mama, and into the box it would go until someone came to claim it. Mostly whatever it was stayed in the box.
Katherine picked up a silk button that had been painted red.
“Do you remember when you first decided red was your favorite color?” she asked. “You left the nursery with your paints and brushes and tried to make all of your clothes red.”
I laughed at the memory. “I was discovered before I had time to paint more than a few buttons. They were all replaced, but Mama kept this one.”
“She used to smile when she came across it,” Katherine said with a yawn. “Just think . . . when you’re the lady of Chatswood Manor, married to Maxwell Tynne, the servants will bring you the trinkets they find.”
“I wonder if the queen has a trinket box,” I said. “When you marry Prince Albert, you’ll have to inquire.”
Katherine’s giggle was interrupted by another big yawn, soon matched by one of my own.
“Time for sleep,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. I slipped out of her bed and ran through the dressing closet to my own. I left the doors open, as was our habit. Then, on the count of three, we each blew out the candles on our nightstands.
“Sweet dreams,” we called in unison.
Seconds later, I had drifted off to sleep.
After breakfast the next morning, our dressmaker, Madame Dubois, was due to arrive for our next-to-last dress fitting. I took advantage of our free hour to work with my paints—I was in the middle of creating a canvas of our spring gardens—while Katherine wrote in her journal. She was writing a story about a secret fairyland in that very same garden.
“I wish Madame Dubois didn’t seem like she was going to burst into tears every time she looked at us,” I said.
Katherine looked up from her story. “It is quite upsetting, isn’t it? I suppose it’s because she misses Mama so much.”
Madame Dubois had been Mama’s favorite. The two of them could go over fabrics and dress patterns for hours.
“We mustn’t let her make us sad today,” I said.
Katherine agreed. “We’ll think of only happy things—like how elegant we’ll look at our birthday ball.”
I nodded. I was in the middle of adding a brilliant blue sky to my painting. “At least she’s not coming at teatime today. We won’t have to make conversation while she sighs and wipes her tears.”
“And eats every last tea sandwich,” Katherine said with a laugh.
I laughed too. Madame Dubois did enjoy her food. But not today. Coming so soon after breakfast, she wouldn’t expect to be fed.
But suddenly it occurred to me that we were missing an opportunity. “Tea sandwiches!” I cried. “Let’s ask Mrs. Cosgrove to provide a hearty tea. We can add whatever Madame Dubois doesn’t eat to our cache of food for Ireland.”
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Katherine said.
I rang for Mrs. Cosgrove and relayed our request.
“So soon after breakfast, milady?” she asked. “Do you think it’s really necessary?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, nodding earnestly.
“The dressmaker is rather famous for her large appetite,” Katherine added.
Mrs. Cosgrove couldn’t argue with that. “Of course, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Katherine. I’ll let Cook know.”
With that settled, I put away my paints while Katherine finished her chapter, and we left the drawing room to wait for the dressmaker in my bedchamber. We came upon Essie getting a rather sharp scolding from Mr. Fellows in the great hall.
“That will be the end of the matter, Essie,” Mr. Fellows snapped. “I have a delivery to attend to.”
“But, Mr. Fellows, Sean O’Brien—”
“An end to the matter,” he repeated. “Chatswood Manor will become the target of every charlatan in England and Ireland if we allow his storytelling to continue.”
“But that’s just it, Mr. Fellows,” Essie said. “I don’t believe he is a charlatan.”
“If you want to remain employed here, you will drop this nonsense. Am I understood?”
Essie spotted us and gave a quick shake of her head, letting us know not to try to intervene.
“Am I understood?” Mr. Fellows asked again.
Essie lowered her gaze. “Yes, Mr. Fellows.”
As soon as the door to the servants’ hall closed behind him, Katherine and I ran to Essie to find out what had happened.
“Not here,” she whispered, looking about. She led us upstairs and then filled us in on what had caused Mr. Fellows to scold her so.
“I asked him if I could look at the staff ledger to see if Maggie O’Brien did indeed work at Chatswood Manor twenty years ago. He flatly refused. He’s convinced that Sean O’Brien is a liar and up to no good,” she said sadly.
“I believed Sean O’Brien,” I told her.
“So did I,” Katherine added.
“Whether we believe him or not, that’s the end of the matter,” Essie said. “You heard Mr. Fellows. I’ll lose my position if I keep making inquiries.”
I couldn’t believe Mr. Fellows could be so hard-hearted. “Speak to Papa,” I urged Essie. “He won’t refuse you when he hears Mr. O’Brien’s story. I’m sure of it.”
Essie didn’t look convinced, but our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Cosgrove with Madame Dubois.
“Tea will be up shortly,” she said.
“Tea? At ten o’clock?” Madame asked.
“Yes, of course,” I said enthusiastically. “We’re hungry.”
“Be careful of the dresses, please, ladies,” Madame Dubois fretted. “Mustn’t stain them before the big night.”
Mrs. Cosgrove gave us another curious glance, but said nothing more about the tea.
“Now would be the perfect time to go talk to Papa,” I urged Essie while Madame Dubois had her back to us.
“Yes,” Katherine said. “Mr. Fellows will be busy with the deliveries for the party. Now’s the perfect time.”
Essie looked from Katherine to me, and we both nodded encouragingly. “All right, then,” she said finally. When Essie had left, Madame Dubois began to remove our ball gowns from their muslin coverings. The last time I had seen them, they had not yet been stitched together, and now I gasped.
“Beautiful,” I said, reaching to touch the white silk organza. My dress had red lace and embroidery while Katherine’s had blue. The necklines were just slightly off the shoulder, and each dress had a small train. The full hoop skirt had three flounces. I couldn’t wait to waltz around the ballroom, feeling it twirl around me like a cloud.
Madame Dubois helped Katherine and me out of our day dresses and then lifted the gown with blue accents and motioned for me to step forward. I wasn’t surprised. She never could tell us apart.
“That’s Lady Katherine’s dress,” I said, stepping back.
“I am sorry, milady,” she said.
Katherine stepped forward and let the dressmaker slip the dress over her head. She turned to me with a shy smile while Madame fastened the buttons up her back.
“You look beautiful and elegant,” I said. “Like a grown-up.”
Katherine beamed at me. “You will, too,” she said, climbing onto a low stool. The dress fit perfectly. The only thing left to do was the hem.
; Madame Dubois carefully pinned Katherine’s hem and then began to work on mine. I felt beautiful, too, like a young lady, not a child. “You’ve outdone yourself, Madame,” I said.
She stood back and admired her work, then raised her eyes to my hair, which was already slipping out of its combs.
“Have you decided on your hairstyle for the ball?” she asked.
“We’re still trying out different things,” Katherine said.
“Lady Katherine can wear lovely side curls to frame her face,” I said. “But my own curls fall flat five minutes after Essie fixes them.”
“Perhaps you can wear different hairstyles,” Madame Dubois said. “To help your guests tell you apart.”
We discussed the merits of one hairstyle over the other while Madame helped us out of our ball gowns and back into our day dresses. No one had yet touched the tea tray on the table by the fireplace, but I could see Madame’s eyes drifting in that direction as she finished her work and made arrangements to return two days before the party for our final fittings.
It was rather rude of me, but as soon as I was dressed and our ball gowns were back in their protective muslin, I led her to the door. I didn’t want those tea sandwiches and scones to disappear! I wanted to send them to Ireland.
“You can see yourself out, can’t you, Madame?” I said. “Lady Katherine and I have quite a bit to do to prepare for the big day.”
With a last, longing look at the tea tray, the confused dressmaker stepped into the hall. A housemaid happened to be walking by, and I asked her to show Madame out.
“Of course, milady,” she said. “Follow me, Madame.”
Essie arrived at just that moment. Her face was flushed and she appeared upset, but I thought it had something to do with not getting back in time to see us in our dresses.
“Don’t worry, Essie. You’ll see us in our ball gowns on the night of the party,” I said. “Did Papa show you the ledger?” I asked.
