by Carla René
Then he would give her an apple for the journey, pat her head, kindly walk her home to make sure no harm befell her, and apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Audley for keeping their daughter so late.
Now slowing in front of Mr. Ruby’s house, she could see the doors and windows were boarded with no sign of life. There were large stacks of boxes sitting on the once pristine porch, and trash from drifters lined the walk ways where the colorful roses once bloomed. Izzy remembered then, that once his wife had died he had no one to proceed him, as all of his children had died from the consumption many years previous.
After brushing away her tears, she moved onward, thankful for the time that she had spent with him, and grateful for her unfailing memory. At least now, John Donne made all the sense in the world to him, and she was grateful to be old enough to understand what he had meant.
She turned her thoughts to happier ones as she neared Bristol street, where Rachel’s childhood home had been situated for many years. It had been their good fortune that they lived in such proximity, and they took every advantage that the situation afforded. There was nothing quite like a childhood friend to steal your beaus, your lunches, and dress ideas for balls, but all fared in gaiety.
In all of Isabella’s time spent at Radcliffe, she still had not the pleasure of locating a most particular friend such as she had in Rachel, and she vowed to keep it for all eternity. Visiting the Hastings always raised her spirits for this reason as well, as they openly regarded her as one of their family.
Each spring the blooming Dogwoods and apple trees thick with white blossoms created the illusion that perhaps one had somehow magically stepped into the deep south, so closely did they resemble cotton fields of Alabama. And even now in December, as she rounded the corner to Bristol, the long line of trees held yet another special beauty under their heavy mantles of snow.
Anxiety quickened her pulse as she saw the Hastings’s home come into view. Her immediate thoughts turned to the worries over her initial greeting to Rachel, but eventually settled upon the notion to allow what will happen to happen. The beautiful mustard yellow porch was fully decked with greenery, holly and a six-foot fir to the right of the door, complete with special ornaments of lard for the winter birds, since the winters in Fairtown tended to be long and arduous.
Finally, standing in front of the door, she found herself almost too afraid to reach for the knocker.
She laughed, since the only other time she remembered feeling this overstrung was when she met Gerald Brighton for her first date. Having been many years past, she realized that beaus will surely come and go, but a most particular friend is to be cherished forever.
She moved the pewter knocker three times on the door and waited. Within seconds, the door opened and standing in front of her was Mrs. Hastings, and suddenly each memory of Isabella’s turned to vivid, lively colors At first sighting Mrs. Hastings looked shocked to see Izzy, and then taken aback. She recovered and managed a strained smiled.
“Oh my dear Isabella, what a surprise this is indeed.”
Izzy felt warmed by the greeting, and took no time in noticing how Mrs. Hastings aging had chosen to hide itself. She still had creamy skin, her tiny waist and beautiful black hair, pulled back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. Pleasantries were exchanged, and while Isabella felt ecstatic, it was not difficult to notice that Mrs. Hastings’ air seemed strange, especially when Isabella inquired of Rachel.
Mrs. Hastings’ hesitation hinted at a secretive undercurrent, and so after advising Isabella that Rachel ventured out to do her holiday shopping, she attempted to put a hasty ending to what she considered an all too lengthy meeting.
Isabella, sharp to notice that she was being maneuvered, quickly added, “I would appreciate your giving her my card. It has been many years since we have spoken face to face and I can hardly contain myself at seeing her. Please inform her that I will be at home this afternoon if she perchance returns before tea. Mother had hoped to extend an invitation for this evening.”
Mrs. Hastings thanked her, politely refused the invitation for her daughter, and promptly closed the door in Isabella’s face, leaving Izzy to stand alone with her wonderment.
And so in a ruminative state, she began her solitary return journey, but now, the snow had lost its glisten, the sun not quite as bright, and the travel had become arduous.
At that very moment, unbeknownst to Isabella, a red-headed woman of four and twenty could be seen peering through lace curtains upstairs in a third story window, quickly allowing them to close before being detected.
By the time she reached home, such a state of despair had befallen Isabella that she did not hear her mother’s greeting as she entered the hallway and hung her wrap.
“Isabella? Did deafness overcome you while on your walk?” she said, while walking up from the kitchen.
“I am sorry mother, I did not hear you. Would you repeat it please?”
“Sweetheart, you look flushed. You are unwell. Come and have a cup of hot tea to warm you. I was preparing to have some as well,” and she proceeded to lead Isabella into the sitting room.
Too many thoughts to comprehend danced around Isabella’s mind, and so she sat staring dumbly into the fireplace, unaware that the grate was altogether depleted of fire. Her mother’s activities also went unnoticed; Lilly walked over to the teapoy they had picked up on one of their excursions to India, and began to pour hot Earl Grey from the antique silver service into the small cups that had once belonged to her mother. After pouring a spot of cream into the tea and watching the clouds form, she handed it to her daughter, who again did not hear her speak.
“Dear? I asked if you would like some cake and fresh fruit to accompany your tea.”
“Apologies Mother, yes, that would be lovely.” She sipped her tea, while watching Lilly slice a delicate piece of the cake and surround it with thinly sliced apples.
Lilly finally sat in her chair, sipping her tea and nibbling on her own plate of apples.
Many moments of silence passed before Lilly began, “So now dearest, are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Mother, I can not explain it. I venture a hypothesis that it was more of an impression than an actual event.”
“Did you see Rachel?”
“No, I saw Mrs. Hastings; and by the way, she sends her compliments.”
This news seemed to brighten Lilly’s mood, and she began rambling incessantly of how an overdue call was on the table without thought for Isabella’s present sensibilities.
“Mother, please. I am trying to keep my thoughts.”
“Apologies dear,” She said. “You were saying?”
Isabella, with much trepidation and pain of heart, began recounting the events that transpired not more than an hour’s half previous. As she spoke, she could not help but attempt to decipher the obvious mystery that had beset her, yet paid every effort to retell only the facts, and allow Lilly to make her own determinations therein.
“The air was decidedly icy, and I almost felt unwelcome in their home.”
Lilly stopped chewing. Doubts flirted with her common sense; doubts that laced themselves with the possibility that the Hastings had learned of her recent situation and in turn informed their daughter, which would be a most unfortunate occurrence, if in fact, it held any truth. Her uncertainty at how to proceed consumed her for the moment. Verily, she had committed her person to enlightening Isabella of the recent events on this very morn, but in light of this new exploitation, her recantation was decided. She had wanted Isabella to learn of them in as gentle a manner as possible, so she proceeded cautiously as she dared.
“My muffin, I am sure it is of no consequence. Mrs. Hastings has many people in her home at the present, now that it is quickly nearing Holiday. I took heed that Rachel’s older sister and her new husband are calling from Rhode Island, and Rachel’s older brother and wife are bringing the babe to meet the family for the first time. I am most certain that she meant no abruptness. She must have many affairs plagu
ing her mind at the present, and nothing less than forbearance from you will be the ordered remedy. When you call upon Rachel tomorrow, all will be explained.”
Izzy strongly considered this counsel and then agreed with a sigh. “Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to think that simply because I am now in town, everyone will be free on my schedule.” She then laughed.
This comforted Lilly as well, but not for Isabella’s sake; rather the comfort of her own, as she was certain that if she just had one more day to prepare, the recounting would go smoothly and spare Isabella the most pain. Yes, in her mind, it was settled. She would reveal all tomorrow.
“In the meanwhile, my memory slipped to inform you of something. I will be but a moment.” And Lilly disappeared into the hallway.
Izzy waited while sipping the rest of her tea, and by the time she got to the leaves, Lilly returned, carrying some calling cards.
“I am sorry that it slipped my mind,” she said as she handed them over.
As Isabella’s mood brightened, she took a moment to thumb through them. “Oh, that is fine. Considering how shaken I was when I entered the house, checking the salver in the front hallway was last on my list of priorities.”
The thought excited her, that perhaps Rachel’s card lie hidden in the pile, and she began her cursory examination. Maybe Rachel made a call while she were calling upon her at the Hasting home! This thought lightened her heart, as it was exactly the kind of thing that happened between them, and just at that moment, the corner of a card on ivory linen with gold engraving caught her eye, and she could swear she felt her heart stop.
iDivine Sonnet X by John Donne.
Chapter 6
When Society Comes To Call
When Society Comes to Call (Chapter Six)
“Katherine Whentworth!” Isabella froze and stared at the tasteful card. “Mother, is this true? Did she make a call?”
Lilly of course saw the fuss, and explained that shortly after Izzy, a beautiful woman of Izzy’s age in a very expensive-looking mustard yellow silk afternoon gown called on her with her footman. She had seemed quite disappointed to find Isabella to be out.
“Yes, I thought you would find that one of particular interest,” said Lilly.
Izzy gathered her composure and hurried over to the small desk in the corner, sat down, and pulled out her nib and a piece of her best parchment. She then scribbled the following note:
My dearest Miss Whentworth,
I offer my sincerest apologies for missing your most thoughtful call this afternoon. If it will be convenient for you, I would like to call upon you tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. Please send word at your leisure.
Sincerely,
Miss Isabella Audley
After appraising her work, Izzy folded the note upon itself, and addressed the outside of the parchment:
20 Myers Street
She then lit the end of the sealing wax and dripped the Burgundy substance onto the edge of the note, thus assuring the privacy of its contents. Grabbing the handle of the emblem with the family crest, she pressed it into the wet wax, and wasted no time in ringing the bell. A man of about sixty appeared from the back of the house, awaiting further instructions from his mistress.
“Mr. Wilhelm, please see to it that this note is delivered at once.”
The tall, grandfatherly man nodded, took the note, and left.
Isabella’s excitement could not be contained and the rest of the afternoon was spent in the most emotional speculations regarding the woman’s visit. The Whentworth were only society’s wealthiest and most gracious family, and anytime one was afforded a visit from them, it was truly an occasion to celebrate.
In all of the excitement regarding Miss Whentworth’s card, Izzy had almost forgotten about the others. She returned to perusing each distinguishable card, admiring the various designs and thumbing over the engraving. They ranged from plain white linen with black lettering, to the more elaborate but still unostentatious ivory linen, belying the authoritative yet commonplace style of the giver and their particular place in the dominant culture. It had always fascinated her that cards must be used at all when making a contact. If she had her way about it, the cards would be mere adornments on the roofs of carriages, held together with the pure spit of the footmen, who, since having to deliver the mistress and her card, would no doubt be all too eager to oblige this practice.
Izzy became sullen again when she did not find Rachel’s card.
Her mother ascertained the matter and intercepted. “Dear, had Rachel’s card been amongst the others, I would have told you at once.”
Isabella sighed and picked up another card. “This one is from Gerald Mattingly, and it seems he is now a physician by the looks of his declamatory card. How wonderful for him. I will promptly set aside time day after tomorrow to call upon him. How does he look, Mother?
“Oh quite well. They removed the hump from his lumbar just last month and the wart on his nose appears to have come off quite nicely. All in all, it was a terrific success.”
Izzy retorted, “Good. Perhaps now he will find a proper wife.”
Lilly smiled. “That was my gentle reminder that you can tend to be superficial at times, my dear. To be honest however, he is quite comely.”
“I am so glad to hear it,” Izzy said, “although I do not care.” She stormed to the darkened grate and stared into its ashes. “Mother, if you are going to treat me with such disdain, then I do not care to discuss it with you.”
“Isabella, please, calm down. I believe it is your frustration in the Hastings matter that has you angry now. Is it not?”
Izzy’s countenance softened. “Yes, you are right, and I am sorry. Mother, I am beside myself with grief and just do not know how to proceed.”
Lilly walked to her and draped her arms around Izzy’s small shoulders. “Sweetheart, in life we bear one another’s grief. I am and always will be here for you. Please remember that.” She kissed Izzy’s cheek, which she noticed was moist.
Izzy brushed away a tear and turned to Lilly. “Well, now what?” she said, hoping to gracefully change the subject. “I was so looking forward to having company for high tea. Now we shall be alone.”
“My, how you jump to conclusions,” Lilly said. “Mrs. Pearson will be joining us. It appears that you are not the only one to receive callers.” With a twinkle in her eye, she held up the linen card. “She has requested to come at five, and I have accepted.”
Mrs. Pearson was a new acquaintance that Mrs. Audley had made during Isabella’s absence, and the two women soon found themselves to be most intimate friends.
As the hour for tea fast approached, Lilly recounted to Izzy the history of her newfound friendship with the Pearsons, hoping that she might share in the same high esteem with which Lilly also regarded them. Izzy assured her mother that she would certainly give the situation a chance.
A short time later, upstairs in Izzy’s room, Elizabeth, her lady’s maid, helped to ready her for the evening gathering. Izzy openly despised corsets, and would rather have been tied to a stable wall and covered in oats and honey than to have had to endure the pain and agony of being bound up like some “balloon in a harness,” as her favorite saying on the matter went.
“Miss, please hold still. I am unable to do your laces if you keep moving.” Elizabeth had been in the Audley’s employ for nearly eight years, and knew just what a handful Izzy could be.
“I will not hold still. This thing is simply inhuman. It must have been contrived by a man. That can be the only logical conclusion.”
At that moment, Elizabeth gave a final tug on the laces so hard that Izzy shrieked. “There. You are now laced,” Elizabeth said, and smiled in pride at herself. She ignored the cacophony of ongoing shrieks of pain and “blasts” and “shoots” that continued to emanate from Isabella’s mouth. Elizabeth knew exactly how to handle Isabella; she was probably one of the few who actually did.
“What gown would you like for this evening, Miss?�
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Regaining her composure, Izzy walked to the wardrobe and reviewed her choices. After several minutes, she settled on a dark Burgundy tea gown with black trim. The gown was of the newest fashion, and had a Burgundy silk skirt, with a black bodice that sported a high neckline. It was adorned with black lace and the smallest of seed beads. The sleeves were also of Burgundy silk, possessed large flounces from the shoulder to the elbow, then hugged the arms to the wrists. “This should be smart enough to meet one of mother’s particular friends, would you not agree?” Izzy asked Elizabeth.
Elizabeth gave a nod in silence as she began to help her mistress into the cumbersome gown. Being a lady’s maid and working for such a well-to-do family was definitely advantageous, for it meant to Elizabeth never having to work in a sweat trade, and always getting the Mistress’s old gowns, for it was expected that ladies' maids dressed above their technical station, as they represented the family to all of society. In fact, if one did not have enough maids in the family household, then it was thought that the family had fallen on hard times, so talk would begin about town of their “situation”. In most cases, if the rumors could be proven true, the family was shunned.
Mrs. Audley had already departed for downstairs looking very fetching. As hostess to Mrs. Pearson, she had chosen the less ostentatious attire of an at-home toilette, with dark green skirt and cream bodice, simply adorned with a single red bow at the waist. She had not the luxury of purchasing any new dresses in a long while, and so the wear was beginning to show on what used to be her most prized gowns. But, she held her head high nonetheless and made do as best she could. Being a woman of her age, and a widow, she constantly struggled between the limits and rules that society placed upon one of such wealth, and her own personal convictions regarding superficiality. However, knowing that Isabella would shun the former idea in a minute if allowed, she would never give her daughter reason to believe anything except that she condoned society’s rules for their obvious greater good.
