The Gaslight Journal

by Carla René

  At exactly five o’clock, both women were sitting patiently in the drawing room as Mr. Wilhelm entered, and announced Mrs. Pearson’s arrival. The fashionably attired woman entered the warm room, which now showed signs of life it had lacked in the former hour (tables had been drawn near a glowing fire, and long, lit tapers in the candelabras bathed the room in soft light). Mrs. Pearson’s aged face reflected her approval.

  Mrs. Audley stood and waited for Mrs. Pearson to come to her, extending her hand in friendship as she smiled. “Mrs. Pearson. Please do come and sit down. I am so glad you could accept my invitation for tea.”

  The woman responded in kind as she stood directly in front of Mrs. Audley, obviously heartened to see to share an intimate time with her new friend, for there is nothing greater or more inspiriting than the ritual of tea . “My dearest Mrs. Audley, it is I who am humbled by your kindest invitation. I have been looking quite forward to this all day.”

  “Mrs. Pearson, I would like for you to meet my daughter, Miss Isabella Audley. She is returned for Holiday from Radcliffe. Isabella, this is Mrs. Robert Pearson.”

  Izzy greeted the kind-faced lady, and motioned for her to take a seat beside her, of which the invitation was accepted.

  “It is so very nice to finally meet you, Miss Audley. Your mother does nothing but talk of you incessantly. And I see she was not amiss in her description; you are simply beautiful.”

  A blush crept over Izzy’s face. “You are too kind, Mrs. Pearson, and I thank you for the compliment.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Reddy entered accompanied by the rattle of plates and dishes with the delicacies for the evening. Very succulent was the meats, very thin the breads, and very sweet the pastries. Cream cakes, warm scones and blackberry tarts were all balanced with savories of flavored mustards and basil butter; perfect accouterments for the main courses. Mrs. Pearson remarked in disbelief at how beautiful everything looked, and indeed, the household’s most elegant finery put on a superb showing. Two tables had been covered with the finest of white linen and set with the family china, reserved only for such a social occasion. The pattern of deep red roses in the china’s perimeter was modishly mirrored by the centerpiece, also comprised of the deepest red and brightest white roses, ensconced in a crystal rose bowl that shimmered dutifully in the candlelight. The Waterford stemware sparkled next to paper thin, bone china cups and saucers, which thirstily awaited their lot of freshly brewed tea, served smartly from a silver antique tea service.

  It was the most fortified that Mrs. Audley had felt in the longest time, and as the conversation progressed, she found herself in the highest of spirits. Topics for tea time were specific: only the finest of blithe conversation. And gossip, while expected, must never be harsh.

  And so the evening progressed with the three women finding themselves enjoying their time together as they never thought possible. Much laughter was shared, and many stories told. Of course, whether they were true or not, was not the concern. Since Lilly had become something of a recluse during Isabella’s absence and Mr. Audley’s demise, she had lost touch with those in her closest circle, and was extremely grateful for any news of their present welfare.

  It was learned that Mrs. Driver, an old friend of Mrs. Audley’s, had moved to New York City with her family after her husband’s appointment to the senate, and was having a wonderful time now that she had been fully integrated into that society’s wide circle.

  “Why did Mr. Audley not forge ahead with his aspirations for the senate, Mrs. Audley?” asked Mrs. Pearson, while nibbling on a watercress sandwich.

  “He actually did at one time,” Lilly replied, “but that was just after he was elected to the mayoral office. Shortly thereafter, he stopped viewing the office as a stepping stone, and began to believe he had been entrusted with a God-given appointment, and, therefore wanted to make the best of it. He was happy with his decision right up until the very last.”

  Mrs. Pearson said, “While I did not have the good fortune of knowing Mr. Audley as you did, knowing you this short time, I feel as if he and I were friends as well.”

  It was then shared that Mrs. Beatrice Cummings had fallen on hard times. This was of particular interest to Mrs. Audley, who had served on the women’s suffrage committee with the woman, and had shared her circle of friends.

  Mrs. Pearson said, “It is rumored—and you know me, I abhor gossip—but it is rumored that her husband gambled away their entire fortune, left her before he died, and now she is left to fend for herself. Poor dear. There was a trust in his name only that he could not touch before the age of fifty, but his will left no stipulation for it, so it was forfeited to the state. She has had to sell their homes, and is left with nothing to pay their debts. She has been denied credit all about town, and now lives in a poor house, working in a factory to sustain herself. And the worst part I believe, is that all of those who once held her in the highest esteem now refuse to acknowledge her existence. Tragic, really. She has no family to help her and no friends who are willing to support her with a loan until she is able to stand on her own feet again.”

  Mrs. Pearson’s news created a heavy silence that hung over the room’s inhabitants like some thick smoke, threatening to choke their very life from them. She continued to sip her tea and nod solemnly, while Lilly and Isabella sat frozen in horror. Recovery by both ladies was difficult, but they too murmured their, “tragics” and “Ooh, how awfuls,” in chorus with Mrs. Pearson’s. And while neither one of them spoke of this again, unbeknownst to the other, each one held a fear that by some fluke, the same fate could very well befall them, in the same manner.

  A short distance across town in a capacious office of the local bank, a well-dressed man sat behind a prominent wooden desk, that was covered with papers of varying levels of importance. One document in particular directly in front of him engaged all of his present attention. Standing next to him, a clerk, small in stature and plainly attired, listened intently to his master with all of his powers, endeavoring to transcribe to his pad the man’s precise instructions. The sitting man was speaking in direct but hushed tones as if fearing their content’s detection, despite seeming very assured of his task at hand.

  After several intense minutes, both men, after purveying the fruits of their labor, looked up from the paper with a look of evident satisfaction. Finally, the sitting man said in a most affective tone, “Yes, I am sure of it now more than ever. Go ahead with the matter on the Audley home straight away.”

  The clerk nodded, plucked up the piece of paper, and exited the office with as little eclat as he could.

  The sitting man reclined behind his desk and smiled.

  After Mrs. Pearson left, Isabella and Lilly retired to the sitting room to take up their embroidery. As they sat down, Izzy recollected, “Mother, do you remember the time we went boating at the marina and Father accidentally fell overboard? My goodness, we laughed about that until we became ill.”

  “I had nearly forgotten. Did he not trip on his own life jacket that had fallen to the floor of the boat?”

  Izzy laughed. “Yes, I believe he did. And while we were all looking over the side being hysterical, he was bobbing about in the water, saying, “’Hmmmn, tasty, but a bit salty.’”

  At that moment, their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

  “I wonder who that could be at this hour,” Lilly said. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  Isabella shook her head.

  Mr. Wilhem appeared at the door to the study and announced, “Mrs. Audley, a caller for you.

  Lilly made her way up the long hallway to the front door.

  Izzy started to scratch Mr. Puss, who lay asleep on the back of her armchair, while she attempted to listen. She heard a man’s faint voice, but could not make out the conversation. He spoke briefly, and then she could hear her mother’s voice in a pitch higher than usual. Then all was silent. Izzy was fast becoming concerned when Lilly reappeared, looking very shaken. She did not look dire
ctly at Izzy, but instead went to the fire and poked at the coals.

  “Mother? Who was that?”

  Mrs. Audley remained silent. At this point, she had no idea how she would deal with Isabella’s obvious probing that was most certain to follow. Taking a moment to gather her faculties, she formulated a narrative that she hoped would accomplish the diversion.

  “That was the postman. Apparently a letter had been delivered next door to Mrs. McCarthur’s by mistake, and instead of her bringing it to us directly, she returned it in the post and it is just now making the rounds.” She paused and awaited Isabella’s response.

  “Mother, why should that upset you so?”

  It was not the answer Lilly had wanted. She needed to cover her tracks, but how could she when she felt to be on the verge of tears? Then it happened: there at her own fireplace, her mind began to spin out of control. Every sound ran together, and images blurred beyond recognition. When she gasped for breath, Izzy took note of the situation and rushed to her mother’s side.

  “Mother? Please come and sit before you faint.” She led her mother back to her chair. Once she was safely seated, Izzy went to the dry sink and the basin of cold water in the formal dining room, and she wet a cloth to give Lilly for her face.

  When she returned, Lilly detected Isabella’s concern. She took a sip of the fresh tea Izzy had just poured for her, and said, “Dearest, please, do not worry. I will be fine. I think I am just excited by all of the happenings of today.” The lie was out of her mouth before she knew it.

  Izzy pleaded with her to allow her to escort her to bed, but Lilly begged off and convinced Isabella that she should retire. Izzy finally relented and retired to her room, none the wiser.

  Mrs. Audley was thankful for another incident of grace.

  At some point later that night, Izzy was awakened by what she thought were voices downstairs. She could not clearly make them out. She reluctantly crawled from her bed, threw on her robe and made her way to the bedroom door by the light of the fire. She opened the door, but as soon as it creaked, the voices stopped. After listening for moments more, she decided it must either have been her imagination or a Tom outside, and climbed back into bed.

  At the opposite side of the staircase, across from Isabella’s room, Lilly continued to cry herself to sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Returning The Favor

  Returning the Favor (Chapter Seven)

  The next afternoon found Izzy at her wardrobe, deep in assiduity over her attire for the coming afternoon’s social engagements. If she were to be honest, they were the only things that she found herself to be living for at the moment. It was the aspect of daily living in being free to choose with whom one associated that Izzy sorely missed while away at school, and one she wished to return to, more than ever. So she made certain to ready herself in extra finery. In exactly one hour, she was herself, to call upon the very prominent and socially estimable Katherine Whentworth, which made her stomach churn as if birthing butterflies. After Miss Whentworth's note had arrived shortly after tea the previous evening, and Izzy must have read it over ten times before drifting off to sleep, she could now, with little prompting, repeat its contents word for word:

  My dear Miss Audley,

  Tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock will find me at home, so shall it be the perfect time to call. Do come prepared to join me for tea.

  Please send my compliments to your mother.

  Until then.

  Miss Katherine Whentworth

  As she dressed, she realized that it had been shortly before Father's death since the two women had been intimates, for to Isabella, Miss Whentworth would have been deemed her best friend had she and Rachel not grown up together. Isabella met the Whentworth years ago upon their arrival from London, and had been immediately accepted as one of their circle.

  This meeting alone would have made the perfect day had it not been for her mother, who thoughtlessly and without prior consent, extended an invitation for tea at a later hour to Thomas.

  Thomas Whentworth the Third, brother to Miss Katherine. The arrogant, young, opinionated youth whose eye wandered incessantly toward Izzy, but to her, he lacked every common decency she found pleasing. He was reputed to be one of society's finest and most eligible bachelors, thus being dubbed a "most suitable match" by Father himself.

  One blistering night in August ten years ago, during Hattie Mason's ball, Isabella stood prostrate on her doorstep for hours. Of course there had been much speculation within her circle as to the possible causes that her escort did not show, but none that gave Izzy's heart any peace. In her opinion, this was just another one of Thomas's childish games that he was so famous for, and it was at that exact moment of humiliation that she determined to never speak with him again.

  Yet here it was, three hours hence that he would be in her own sitting room taking tea. The thought of it angered her all over. How would she be able to conduct herself in a manner pleasing to Mother, since her mother knew the details of what had transpired so many years before? But, this was to be a question best answered at a later time, for her mentation were dragged back to the present as Elizabeth entered the room.

  "Elizabeth, I've chosen the apricot silk," said Izzy.

  "Oh mistress, what a fine choice; the color compliments your skin so well," said Elizabeth, as she pulled the dress down from the wardrobe and helped Izzy into it.

  Twenty minutes and one exhausted ladies' maid later, Isabella kissed her mother good-bye, and headed to the awaiting carriage, with Charles at the ready. It was highly improper to call upon a lady of such high station as Miss Whentworth without a proper carriage and footman; calling upon Rachel allowed for such informal visits, this one certainly did not.

  The carriage rolled promptly through their neighborhood and onto Main street. A big, wet, heavy snow began to fall, and the scenery had come alive. Main street was peppered with folks who were doing their Christmas shopping early, for as the carriage passed, each store appeared to overflow with shoppers too burdened with bags to wave at Izzy's passing, but everyone recognized the Audley carriage. In the distance, carolers could be heard, their cantabile reaching into the depths of Isabella's soul, and she was convinced at one point that she could hear Charles' voice above all else.

  Fairtown's square, which stood at its center, contained an immense statue of its founder which was now decorated with a wreath of pine boughs and holly. A twenty-foot Fir stood near the statue, decorated with large red, green, and gold glass balls—they wore whipped cream tops from the accumulating snow. The gas lights that surrounded it were also bedecked with wreaths, and as the carriage rolled by, Isabella lowered her window to get a whiff of the fresh greens. She smiled as she remembered how nice it was to be near familiar things.

  After passing the square, Isabella yanked the cord for Charles to stop, for out her right window, a chestnut vendor caught her attention and she could never pass up a hot cup of steaming cider. Quickly gathering her skirts, she accepted Charles's hand and stepped onto the pavement—which now looked like meringue from the snow—while nearby onlookers began to gasp stare. The smell of roasted chestnuts permeated the wind, its woodsy scent so thick she could taste it. Stepping up to the cart, she smiled and ordered two cups of cider, and the man behind the cart recognized her.

  "Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain't-a Miss Isabel Audley, come home from that fancy school a-hers," and he smiled a large, partially-toothy grin.

  "Hello, Mr. Jones," said Isabella, eager to return the grin.

  "Enjoyin’ yer time home I ‘spect," he said, as he handed her the hot cups, one of which she passed to Charles, who nodded his thanks.

  "Oh my, yes. How are you and your family?" she said.

  "We's doin’ just fine, thank ye for askin’. And how's yer momma?"

  Isabella smiled, for she had missed her periodic chats with the elderly gentleman on her frequent jaunts through town. She knew in her heart that she probably should not have struck up a f
riendship with the old man, since she was after all, society. But his gentle face and kind ways always drew her in. She also figured that since his family had long since fallen on hard times, taking home news of the "society folk" from their conversations was probably the high point of his week, so Izzy did not mind in the least. It was probably what father would have done as well.

  After chatting for a bit, Izzy then said her farewells.

  "Well, ye come back here as soon as ye can, will ye? Oh, I almost forgot. Please tell yer momma that I'm awful sorry 'bout what happened. I hope things work out for ye." At this, he tipped his hat, wished her a Merry Christmas, and began helping the next customer.

  Isabella stood frozen. This made the second person in town to comment on some tragedy that had supposedly befallen their family. So why was she the last to know?

  Before she could think of it further, Charles politely pointed out the lateness of the hour and helped her back into the carriage. It took all the courage she could muster to enjoy the remainder of the journey, and by the time they arrived at the Whentworth residence she was in much improved spirits, albeit, nervous.

  Accompanied by Charles, she made her way up the front steps of the grand home to the porch, which was decked in lush greenery and red bows. White tapers graced the lengthy windows, awaiting night fall when they would find their destiny and light up the night. Again, the greenery filled her senses and heightened her feelings, reminding her what a special occasion this was.

  Inside, the home was lavish and grand—only the finest architectural work had been contracted. Luxuriant Indian tapestries honored the hard wood flooring, and remnant pieces of Louis XV furniture stole attention from the other fine furnishings. All in all, it was a house that admirably rivaled Capriolé. Isabella was led to the door of the drawing room on the second floor, and instructed to wait while she was announced to the mistress.