The Gaslight Journal

by Carla René

  “Well, I feel it only fair that now that you own this house, you should live here; raise your children here. Honor Mr. Audley’s memory by filling it with laughter and love again.”

  Mr. Whentworth was smiling as he walked behind Izzy and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Madam, I think that a most brilliant idea.”

  Chapter 29

  All's Well That Ends Well

  All’s Well That Ends Well (Chapter Twenty-Nine)

  The next few days were a blur of activity and excitement. While Mr. Whentworth was not at work, he was at the Audley home, helping along the preparations for both impending moves. He had the Audley’s things transported as soon as was possible back to their home from the warehouse, and while he was in the process of also moving in his things, he and Dr. Davis were in the process of moving some of Lilly’s into Dr. Davis' home.

  In the midst of the move, the two women were trying to plan their double-ceremony what would take place on New Year’s Eve; in two days. When she remembered, Izzy told her mother that Mrs. Aitchison had generously offered to host her wedding at their mansion, and when mother seemed so pleased, she also got the idea to inquire if Mrs. Aitchison might be up for a double-ceremony, as a surprise to her mother.

  “Oh, Miss Audley, that is fantastic news! I would absolutely be thrilled to host both ceremonies for you! One is just as easy as two, and I love a party!”

  And with that, the matter had been settled. With all the women had to do between now and the day of their moves, Mrs. Aitchison assured them that with her generous staff and plenty of time, she could easily handle the wedding—all the women had to concentrate on was getting there with their sanity.

  And so it progressed. Boxes, bags and trunks were scooted, lugged and carried. And while he would definitely remain with Izzy, poor Mr. Puss was not settled in where he would live, as he was either constantly hiding behind a chair, or jumping from box to box. It was agreed that the tapestries, paintings and most of the furnishings would remain in Izzy’s new home (she could hardly believe she was to be its new mistress), along with most of the staff, who were more than grateful upon hearing the news. Lilly’s lady’s maid would be the only one accompanying her to the doctor’s new residence.

  One afternoon, while scurrying to get things done, a horrific thought stuck Isabella.

  “Mother! Mother, come here, please!”

  Lilly entered the drawing room and inquired of the ruckus.

  “Mother, it has suddenly occurred to me, that I have not chosen my wedding gown! Oh, mother, whatever will I do? I do not have time now to have one tailored for me.”

  Lilly smiled. “Dearest, accompany me to my room, please.”

  Izzy did as she was told, all the while wondering what surprise her mother had in store. There, already lain on the bed, was the wedding gown in which she had married Mr. Audley.

  “I want you to have it for your own, if you wish.”

  Izzy had never seen such a beautiful gown before. It closely mimicked the dress worn by Queen Victoria when she married Prince Albert in England. Since she had been the first to bring wearing white into fashion for one’s wedding, all those who were affluent enough to afford the tradition, copied hers. It was an off-the-shoulder gown of ivory satin and short sleeves, tied with blows on the arms and covered in antique lace. The bodice, also of satin, adorned with seed beads, glass beads and Swarovski crystals, fit snugly against the waist and flounced out into a full satin skirt, adorned with lace mid-way down and a flowing, long, lace train. Next to the dress lay the veil, which was entirely of matching ivory lace and adorned all throughout with delicate seed beads and crystals. It was so breathtaking, that Izzy could only stare.

  Lilly had never taken the time to show her the delicate gown, but had often mentioned it. With Isabella’s schooling, however, there resided some doubt in Lilly’s mind as to whether Isabella would eventually settle down and find the right man, although she had always hoped it would be Mr. Whentworth.

  And now, here she stood, with her daughter, all grown up, just about to celebrate the happiest day of her life with her. For a moment, a tear welled in Lilly’s eyes at Mr. Audley not having been there to enjoy this special, momentous occasion with his only daughter.

  Izzy caught the emotion on Lilly’s face, draped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, and said, “He is with us in spirit, Mother.”

  Lilly only nodded her agreement, too choked up to speak.

  When Izzy pulled back, she said, “Mother? If you loan me your dress, then what will you wear?”

  Lilly turned to a steamer trunk behind her, and pulled out a simpler, less ornate gown made of lavender satin, and trimmed with ostrich feathers. “Muffin, this is your special day. I have already spent half my life with the great love of my life, and so therefore there is not as much ceremony for me in this union. Oh, do not get me wrong! I love him dearly, and think that I possibly have for over a year now, but the true celebration of a wedding is for young people, just beginning their new life. You and Mr. Whentworth deserve every bit of happiness you can find.”

  And so, it was set. Posts between the women and Mrs. Aitchison were exchanged in flurries, setting each and every detail so nothing would be left to chance.

  And they were not the only ones concerned with everything running smoothly. Both men went shopping together a day before the wedding, and picked out the most perfect rings for their brides. After that detail had been taken care of, they then planned where they would take their trip for their honeymoons. It was decided that Dr. Davis and Lilly would spend three weeks in Paris, where she had never been, and that Mr. Whentworth and Izzy would spend a month in India. He knew Izzy’s father had been there on business many times, and therefore Izzy had always wanted to go. It was then decided that Izzy would finish out her last semester at Radcliffe and receive her degree during the next fall.

  So it was settled: neither woman would be the wiser, although both knew they would be traveling to someplace special, as long honeymoons were a common tradition.

  Finally, after much preparation, much discussion, and much activity, the day of the wedding arrived. At exactly three o’clock PM that afternoon, a carriage with a gray horse pulled to the front steps of Capriolé, and both brides, now fully attired and with bouquets, were helped into the awaiting carriage by Charles, who beamed with pride. During the drive to the Aitchison’s, a heavy, wet snow had begun to fall, and Izzy could not have been happier if she had tried. For, sitting next to her, was her gorgeous mother, and waiting for her at the end of that aisle was the love of her own life, Thomas Whentworth the third. She had to stifle a giggle at Mr. Whentworth’s description of how his family reacted when he shared the news of his impending nuptials.

  “Let us just say, they were none too thrilled.”

  “Oh, dearest, what did they do? Did they make it hard on you? Truly! Tell me what they said!”

  “Well, sweetheart, they certainly tried. My mother could only focus on how marrying, and I quote, beneath my station, could only spell doom and gloom for us the rest of our lives, while Katherine could not stop reminding me that your only motive in your attachment was not in your love for me, but in your love of my deep pockets.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Izzy. “And I was so hoping that Katherine would be my willing sister. Surely we are to raise our children together! What joy shall there be if they are enemies of us both? Dearest, are you certain… ”

  And Mr. Whentworth silenced both her fears, and her mouth with a single kiss, thus putting the end to her protestations.

  So today, on the day of their wedding, both Mrs. Whentworth, and Katherine, sat home, alone, refusing to support Thomas in this, the most important day of his life. Both he and Izzy were uncertain if they would ever truly support their union, but with how happy they currently were, at this point, neither one cared.

  When the carriage pulled into the lot set aside for parking, Charles again helped each of the women down from the carriage, and escorted them
, with pride, to the side entrance of the house, where an awaiting butler ushered them into a small room. Mrs. Aitchison had set this aside for the brides, and she was waiting for them when they entered.

  “Oh, dear me! You both look so breathtaking! I think I just may cry,” she said, as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve.

  Lilly protested. “Please, do not do that, or you will have me in tears, as well!” And the three women laughed and hugged much.

  Mrs. Aitchinson said, “Mrs. Audley, did you realize you have some particular visitors?”

  Lilly was nonplussed. “Who could it be?”

  Mrs. Aitchison led Lilly to the heavy curtain draping the door, and Lilly peeked into the ballroom, now graced with many people. And there, sitting in the two end-chairs on the aisle side of the bride, were Mrs. Victoria Jackson, and her son, John. Just then Mrs. Jackson noticed Lilly at the curtain, and beamed her pride at Lilly.

  Lilly smiled, gave a tiny wave with her finger, and allowed the curtain to swing closed.

  At exactly three-thirty, Mrs. Aitchison had given the last of her well-wishes and left the two women alone so she could take her seat. She nodded for the harpist to begin, and the most beautiful chorus of Bach began to play, signaling the women that it was their time to exit the little room to begin their new lives.

  Izzy took a deep breath. This had been the moment she had been waiting for since she had been a little girl. As a woman of the Victorian age, she had been taught that women are to marry, and marry well, and in spite of her dreams for a career as a writer, something society frowned upon but that her father encouraged, she had carried those dreams of marriage with her from the time she was old enough to know what the word marriage meant. Unfortunately, she had not been blessed with a sister in which to share this glorious day, but, looking to her left as she walked down the aisle, she could not have been happier in having shared it with her mother: the single most important woman in her life. She smiled at Lilly, who, she noticed, was smiling back at her. Izzy realized that for Lilly, this day was not only important for herself, but in being there for her daughter. The two had been through the most horrendous times of late, and here they were—sharing a joyous occasion, having come through it unscathed. For a time, Izzy was uncertain if their relationship would be strong enough to handle all that it had encountered, but she now realized she need not have worried. For when two people love each other the way she and Lilly do, and they are held together with bonds of love that strong, then nothing would, or could ever come between them.

  The ceremony lasted all of ten minutes, and instead of retiring to Izzy’s home, as the normal tradition would have dictated, they, instead, remained at the Aitchison’s home, where there was room for plenty of dancing and lots of good food. Mrs. Aitchison had designated the little room the official place where Izzy could receive her guests in one corner, and Lilly could receive hers in another. After the spouses had shared their first dance, the brides retired to their room and awaited their guests.

  As they chatted and waited, Izzy had remembered something that she needed to do before anyone interrupted them. She walked over to a bag she had brought with her, and pulled out a box wrapped in delicate paper and trimmed with gold, grosgrain ribbon.

  She walked over to Lilly, sat down in the empty chair next to her, and said, “Mother, I wanted to give you this before everything became too hectic, and did not wish to forget before we left for our prospective trips. I meant to give it to you on Christmas night, but because of your attack and our horrible row, I had forgotten.”

  She handed the box to Lilly, who smiled. “What is this, dearest? You did not need to buy me anything! I do not need a gift as long as I have you and Thomas in my life.”

  Izzy smiled. “I know, mother, but as I was on my way into town my first evening here, I stopped at Mrs. Jenkins' Millinery to do some window shopping, and I saw this in the showroom, and simply could not resist getting it for you.”

  Lilly, wanting to do more protesting, thought better of it when she saw the look of excited anticipation written on Izzy’s face. She did not have the heart to ruin that. So, she tore into the paper without any thought for propriety. There, laying nestled amongst the golden tissue paper, was the Burgundy velvet hat with the pale pink roses that Izzy had chosen.

  Lilly carefully lifted the stunning hat from its box and turned it slowly, inspecting every inch, all while staring with her mouth open at the treasure. “Oh, Isabella, it is simply gorgeous! This must have cost you a fortune!”

  “Not at all, mother. Quite reasonably-priced. I knew I wanted to bring you something special, and when I saw that, I knew that was it. And then earlier in the week, when you were complaining about not having a decent hat to save your head, well, I knew I had made the right choice. So, do you really like it?”

  “Like it, I adore it! You must be the sweetest child anyone on the face of the Earth could have. I love you dearly, little one.”

  A tear trickled down Izzy’s cheek. “And I love you as well, mother. You are the most important thing in my life, so promise me nothing will ever come between us again.”

  Lilly was crying as well. “I promise, muffin.”

  Later that evening, as both couples made their way into their new lives, each woman was given necessity to consider the events of the past week—seemingly long as it was—and in gratitude, were thankful for the grace that once again had smiled upon their family, saving them from a life of poverty, loneliness, and pain.

  THE END

  SECRETS

  “Beware, for secrets will be your demise.”

  As I sat surrounded on every side by glad merry-making and celebration, I found the repeated recollection of Margaret's discourse to be of great distraction, its truth cutting so deep that had I not taken notice of my bodice with my own eyes, I would have placed wagers on the spilling of my own blood, so real was the pain of it. In my blessed years of knowing her as my sister and closest confidant, I had never questioned her advice, and she gave me no reason to do so now. However, gray is sometimes not as gray as it is merely black and white. Choices are made.

  But my thinking was interrupted by the steward.

  “Fill your glass again, madam?”

  “Yes, please, you are kind.”

  He dared not meet my eyes, for to welcome such presumptive behavior on my part would undoubtedly raise questions as to my character, that old men such as Jackson Grant (sitting diagonally and to my left), who carried between their temples every register of the social scandals and mysteries that bubbled just beneath the surface of London's streets for the last sixty-years, would use to their future advantage, should the occasion ever afford itself. Which meant that the semblance of propriety took precedence, or else tongues would wag quicker than one could have quit the ballroom.

  I ingested the burning elixir and closed my eyes in ecstasy.

  I looked up, closely regarding the banquet hall. I surmised that the arrangements and decorations of the hall probably served a two-fold purpose: one, to numb the emotional upheaval that an unfortunate encounter with the indigent would likely produce, and two, to signify and aggrandize the season’s delights over the privation of the forgotten. The hall, illuminated with torches, was hung with curtains of deep Burgundy and gold rope, adorned with wreaths of the fir branches and bright red holly berries, which served as nothing more than a trite nod to the blood shed of Christ long ago; ceremony, really. Its long tables were bedecked with the finest imported silk from India, and a single, white rose was laid by every plate. Its silver and crystal shimmered first hence and thence in the refulgent candlelight from the dazzling candelabras that graced each table, casting an almost hypnotic glow all around.

  I basked in its serenity, and in doing so, nearly missed the girl behind the bar. I had never seen such vacuousness in my day. Perhaps she appeared so striking because of the disparity of opulent dress with her simple, blank face. I was intrigued, yet I dared not approach, for she was merely common help, an
d especially on such a night as tonight, one would never consider compromising their station with such an act of impertinence. If one must associate with common help on any other grounds than to direct them in household duties, it was done surreptitiously.

  She noticed my gaze and I looked away quickly, but not before a flash of recognition crossed her face. Had she spied me on a previous occasion?

  I discounted it as I took another sip of the stinging liquid, and noticed the group of other guests that had been bidden to the festival, as indeed I had been. Occasions such as this called for the most expensive finery for the ladies, usually hand-tailored, and for the gentlemen, the taller the hat the richer his holdings. These were not merely social gatherings, they were annual testaments, and as is the habit of people thus afflicted, they gave their chief pleasure in exhibiting these miserable sores to any who would give themselves to the pain of viewing them.

  Which then begged the question: Into which category did I fit? I know not in what truth the answer mattered, for did its disclosure have power to change my condition, or merely the perception of a change? Shifting points, nothing more. Scriptures hold that a double-minded man is unstable in all his ways, and at this very moment, I felt as one bestriding an invisible fence, for I indeed was in attendance, but not without bewildered conjectures behind discreet curtains. So I took another sip of my drink, and tried to swallow down my rising guilt.

  I would, for now, however, ignore those that would undoubtedly seek to avail themselves of the opportunity that my own equivocation afforded, and concentrate on those guests closest in proximity to myself, beginning with my escort to my left. In all honesty, he would likely prove to be the most miserable visitant of the evening, and that is not taking into account his severe lack of oratory skills. He was a young man of fair skin, smooth cheek and unfashionable mien, his intolerable mounds of dark hair only augmenting the existing semblance of a complexion to that of a common chimney sweep; perhaps not of wood smoke, but merely that of his own pipe, which he took immense delight in during our most intense and heated seminars.