The Linnet Bird: A Novel

by Linda Holeman

  I knew I didn’t look fashionable enough to attend the lecture. My clothes clearly announced my working position, and although they were passable for my job, I thought of Celina and her haughty look, her trim shape in the fitted pelisse.

  “Think about it,” he said.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Shaker rushed out at his lunch break, returning with a bulky paper-wrapped parcel. He carried it on his lap all the way home, his fingers spread out on it as if it gave him pleasure to touch it. Once we were at home in the drawing room, he handed it to me. I opened it; it was a gown and hooded cape. The gown was heavily figured amber silk with gigot sleeves tapering gradually to the wrist. There were scallops on the collar edge and skirt bottom. The cape was of a darker gold, and soft wool.

  There was a muffled noise from Mrs. Smallpiece, who sat stiffly on the settee, her hands pressing her stomach. “Dyspepsia,” she said, more loudly than necessary. “I had Merrie fetch me some caraway seeds today, but they haven’t helped with the wind at all.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll like them,” Shaker said, as we both turned from his mother, “but I thought perhaps for the lecture . . .”

  I wished I hadn’t hesitated before I spoke. “Of course. It’s a perfectly lovely ensemble, Shaker.”

  “The woman in the shop told me you’d also need . . . the . . . others. Inside the gown.” He wouldn’t look at me as he said this.

  I looked through the folds, a delicate powdery scent of lilac emerging from the gleaming silk, and found a set of stiffened petticoats, as well as small bustle pads to hold out the skirt from the waist.

  “It’s all too beautiful, Shaker,” I said. “But I don’t know that I should accept it.”

  “Just try the dress on, Linny. Please.”

  I did, realizing that it was indeed a wonderful dress. In my mind I compared it to Chinese Sally’s dresses, and realized that in actuality those had been poorly made and had far less dignity than the figured amber silk. When I came down the stairs and into the drawing room Shaker stood, smiling, clasping his hands. “Fine,” he said. “It’s just fine. I knew the color would be a match for your eyes.”

  Mrs. Smallpiece covered her mouth to stifle a belch. “She looks perfectly respectable in her day dresses,” Mrs. Smallpiece said, her voice waspish now. “You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” she added. “Why does she need anything new, anyway? You’re only spoiling her. What she’s paying for her bed and food isn’t even enough.”

  “What do you mean, Mother? Paying?”

  Mrs. Smallpiece’s chin rose, but her voice held a tiny quaver. “I collected her pay packet from her for the last few months and I’ll do so again at this month’s end. It’s only fair. There are no free rides in this world, especially for one such as her who should be eternally grateful to us.”

  Shaker stood in front of his mother. “You’ll return that money to her,” he said. “She earned it. And if I choose to buy her something to wear, so that she doesn’t have to slouch around in the unflattering frocks of your choosing, it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

  I turned to study the plate rail as if inspecting it for dust, so that Mrs. Smallpiece wouldn’t see my small but satisfied smile.

  I FELT SO PLEASED with my appearance in the new frock and cape that I did attend the butterfly lecture. Once there, however, my confidence fled, and I was horribly nervous as I made my way through the crowd. Perspiration gathered under my stays as I held my forced poise, thinking about every move I made, every murmured nicety. I spotted Celina sitting with another young woman, smaller and slighter. She had foxy red hair and dark gray eyes and was quite striking, her looks only slightly spoiled by a rather long nose.

  As the crowd gathered around a table of tea and cakes after the lecture, given by Mr. Prinsep, an elderly and alarmingly florid gentleman, Celina stood across from me.

  “Hello, Miss Brunswick,” I said, trying to feel brave in my amber gown.

  “Oh. Miss Smallpiece. I didn’t recognize you,” she said, not returning my smile. “Miss Smallpiece, my good friend, Miss Faith Vespry.”

  Faith gave me an open smile, and I noticed her gums. Her teeth were small and even. “So this is the cousin,” she said. Her voice was high and breathless.

  I saw Celina’s elbow dig into Faith’s side, but Faith appeared to ignore it. “Celina told me that Mr. Smallpiece had his cousin living with him now. How are you finding Liverpool? Where is it you’re from? Was it Bristol?”

  “Morecambe, Miss Vespry,” I said, firmly. I was ready. As well as any of the information Shaker had passed on to me, I made sure I had read everything I could find on Morecambe and its history and had fabricated my whole past, including dates and places. I was thankful for my effortless ability to memorize.

  “Do leave off the Miss. Just Faith. I know Celina thinks me so very common, insisting on being called by my Christian name. But I know we’re going to be friends, don’t you? Oh, I love the seaside,” she hurried on, barely stopping to take a breath. “Is that charming tearoom—oh, what is it, the Archery?—still there? Mother and Father and I visited there only last year,” Faith said, smiling so broadly that even more of her pink gums showed.

  I was amazed, not by her openness but by how I’d managed to change myself in these last few months. Faith saw me as a contemporary, then, a young woman of a similar standing. “Yes,” I fairly beamed, anxious to prove myself further. “The Archery is highly enjoyable; I’ve taken tea there, in the conservatory, a number of times.” The lie came out so easily.

  “Celina,” Faith continued, her eyes not leaving me, “Miss Smallpiece is not at all as you described. Not at all.”

  “Will you never learn to keep what you’re thinking to yourself, Faith?” Celina demanded, a delicate pink staining her cheeks. She looked down into her full cup.

  “Why don’t you go and put some sugar in your tea,” Faith responded. “It must be terribly bitter, judging by your expression.”

  Celina tsked in an annoyed way, then moved down the table.

  “Don’t mind her,” Faith said. “She’s not hiding it very well.”

  “Hiding what?”

  Faith leaned closer. “Even though you’re a cousin, Celina doesn’t much like the idea of another woman living with Mr. Smallpiece.”

  I frowned, then understood by the way Faith had stressed another woman. “Ah. Miss Brunswick is . . . attracted to Shaker?”

  Now it was Faith’s turn to frown. “Shaker? That seems a cruel name.”

  “Oh. I must explain. It may appear cruel—an old boyhood slur that stuck—but it’s what he insists on being called by those very familiar with him.” I stopped. “And of course, me being family . . . it’s only natural.” I looked through the crowd at Celina, seeing her talking with little enthusiasm to an older woman. “Does Mr. Smallpiece know of her feelings?”

  “Of course not,” Faith said. “She knows there could be no hope of anything between them anyway.”

  “Why?”

  Faith tilted her head. “But surely you must understand the situation. Celina’s father would never approve of Geoffrey Smallpiece.”

  My lips pursed in annoyance. “Because of his affliction?”

  “Poor man. He’s quite hung on strings, isn’t he? But that’s not the most troublesome fact.” She glanced around. “Of course it’s all too delicate to discuss, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I didn’t understand at all.

  “Oh, heavens, I can’t keep this mouth of mine quiet, as I’m sure you’ve seen by now. I do go on, don’t I?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t—”

  She pulled me into a corner. “How coarse of me to discuss financial matters. Please don’t be shocked or disappointed with me. You’re not, are you?”

  I realized she was actually waiting for an answer. I could barely keep up with her conversation, jumping from sentence to sentence. “Disappointed? No, I’m not disappointed.”

  “Although I’m sure you’v
e never met anyone quite so candid.”

  Now I just smiled.

  “It’s just that”—she looked over her shoulder and seeing Celina still involved in conversation, continued—“Mr. Brunswick is, of course, hoping to make a match for Celina that would benefit the family in all ways. There could be no hope of future advancement for either Celina or her family if she married a man like Mr. Smallpiece. Not only financially but also socially.” She fanned herself with her gloves. I had not removed mine. “Heavens. If my mother were to hear me now I would be confined to my room for a week for speaking so.”

  Again I smiled. She really was very refreshing, but I enjoyed her company for more than that. I was still basking in the knowledge that she had assumed I was a young woman of the same standing and was speaking to me as such.

  “You must be aware,” she went on, leaning closer, “that your cousin appears to have little interest in taking part in any of the more important social events around Liverpool. Although he’s certainly invited to a number of gatherings—his father was so well respected, after all, and the name Smallpiece is well received. And yet he doesn’t care to take advantage of the standing his father left for him. Certainly you must know what I mean about him.” She raised one eyebrow.

  “I suppose I do,” I said.

  “I’ve heard he’s very like his father before him, most charitable. Did you know your uncle well? It seemed that he was victim of unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Yes, he was,” I agreed again, having no idea what the unfortunate circumstances she spoke of were and praying she wouldn’t discuss it any further. Before I could change the subject Faith continued.

  “And of course you have just suffered a loss. My condolences.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “What was your late father’s profession, Miss Smallpiece?” she asked now.

  A second of silence lapsed. “Please, if I’m to call you Faith, would you be comfortable calling me Linny?” I said. I was stalling for time. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to create a professional life for my supposed late father, or that Shaker had never once mentioned what his uncle did. “He . . .” I thought of the businesses and shops we passed on our way to the library, of Seel Street, which I’d walked down only the day before, and the images of Rushworth’s and Draper and Seeger, both piano and organ manufacturers. “He owned his own business. Selling pianos,” I said.

  “Oh,” Faith said, opening her reticule. “That reminds me. My mother often has musical evenings. We would love for you to come to the next one. It’s a week from Thursday,” she went on, handing me a calling card. “It must be difficult for you to meet people, spending all day closed up with books and then living way out in Everton, with Mr. Smallpiece obviously not trying to introduce you to society. I can’t understand why he doesn’t bring his mother and move closer to where everything goes on.”

  I tried to keep my face composed, smiling and taking the calling card.

  “So. A week from Thursday,” she repeated. “And of course your guardian will accompany you. It will be a surprise for Celina when she sees Mr. Smallpiece. I can’t wait to see her face.”

  I murmured something, feeling suddenly weary. Although I was pleased at Faith’s artless acceptance of me, it was hard work to try to keep up with her, needing to weigh everything I said so as not to appear a fool. Or the liar that I was.

  “What did you think of Mr. Prinsep’s lecture?” she asked then.

  My shoulders relaxed. I had spent some time with a book on varieties of butterflies before this evening, in order to prepare myself. Now I felt on safe territory. “Some of his illustrations were beautiful, weren’t they? I’ve never thought much about butterflies.” At last. Speaking the truth. “And he made the country itself sound exotic and wonderful,” I said. “I’ve never thought much about India, either, I realize. Quite grand, from what Mr. Prinsep recounted.”

  “He only told us the pretty bits. He’s an artist, after all, and doesn’t see the world as realists do. There are awfully wicked things in India as well as the beauty.” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “They worship idols, and apparently there are friezes in the temples depicting . . . well, I can’t speak of it. I’ve heard that some women swoon if they accidentally view some of the statues; they’re that shocking. My brother’s good friend is a lawyer in Bombay. He came home for a visit last year, and I listened in when he and my brother were speaking in private. Of course, he only told my mother and me charming stories, but I know better.”

  “Really,” I said, pressing my lips together, trying to hold back a wide smile. Faith was perfectly delightful. In some tiny, ridiculous way she reminded me of my friends on Paradise—not that she was crude in any way at all; it was her forthright manner that was so refreshing. Or maybe I felt so pleased because Faith accepted me. She wasn’t judging me or looking at me with any suspicion. She made me feel that I belonged here, that I had every right. And for this alone my gratitude was such that if I were Linny Gow, and not Linny Smallpiece, I might have hugged her.

  “I sometimes think about going there!” she added breezily. “Don’t you think it would be absolutely the most wonderful adventure?”

  “I really wouldn’t know,” I said, anxious to keep listening to her, but Celina returned with the older woman and interrupted our conversation. The talk was steered into idle gossip, which held no interest for me, and I was aware of my discomfort returning now that Faith and I were no longer alone. I bade them farewell as soon as it was proper, and the doorman helped me into the hired carriage waiting to take me back to Whitefield Lane.

  On the short journey my head swirled from the pretense of belonging and from the excitement of trying to keep up with Faith’s questions and comments.

  That night, after I blew out the candle by my bed and stared into the darkness, I made out the shape of the crude painting over the oak dresser, and realized I’d seen a much more professional rendition among Mr. Prinsep’s paintings. I smiled wryly to myself. The Taj Mahal at Agra. How much I didn’t know.

  SHAKER AND I went to the musical evening at the Vesprys’ the next week. He took little persuading; gallantly, he invited his mother, but she declined, as I’d hoped she would. He looked very smart, wearing a well-cut suit of brown silk he obviously kept for such occasions.

  The evening was pleasant. Shaker and I sat at the back of the Vesprys’ drawing room, listening to the piano and harp recital. Later we were served small plates of pastries and glasses of sweet sherry. We shared the pastries, which were more delectable than any cakes I had ever tasted. I saw that in spite of Shaker’s trembling he managed to eat and drink with only slight difficulty; I realized he had, in the past, been more nervous when alone with me than he was in mixed company. Later I brushed the crumbs from his lapels and his shirt front with its delicate ivory buttons, and we mingled with the crowd. I saw Celina watching Shaker, her face quite rosy, which improved her looks. Talking to Shaker so that he followed, I moved closer to her, until finally it appeared that she and I bumped into each other, although I had been fully aware that she, too, was moving toward us. The three of us spoke in a slightly stilted manner at first, but before long Celina and Shaker were involved in a conversation about the choices of the pianist. I left them and made a pretense of studying the family portraits in oil that were arranged along one wall of the drawing room, glancing back at the couple occasionally. From across the room I realized that Shaker was almost handsome, dressed so smartly, his long hair thick and shining.

  Faith found me and introduced me to a man—Mr. Gerrard Beck—whom I assumed to be her suitor by the way she held his arm and smiled daintily at him, so that her gums remained hidden by her top lip. She introduced me to a number of other people whose names I promptly forgot.

  Shaker spoke quite animatedly all the way home—of the music, the food, the company. He didn’t mention Celina Brunswick specifically, but I felt a sense of pleasure in knowing that he had enjoyed himself.


  I SAW FAITH a few days later, chancing upon her and Mr. Beck as they stood outside a shop on Bold Street, but both looked flushed and ill-tempered, as if they had been arguing, so I simply greeted them and then went on my way.

  Another invitation arrived at the house on Whitefield Lane, this one for Mrs. Smallpiece and Shaker and I to attend a dinner party at the Vesprys’. This time, surprising me, Mrs. Smallpiece agreed. I sent back a reply in my best hand, stating that Mrs. Lucinda Smallpiece, Mr. Geoffrey Smallpiece, and Miss Linny Smallpiece would be pleased to attend.

  There were sixteen people in attendance, including the Brunswicks. Faith seated me at her right. Shaker sat across from me with Celina on his left. Mrs. Smallpiece was farther down; beside her was a plain young woman who appeared to be a missionary, judging by her dress and her pious expression. I knew that Faith must have designed the seating.

  The meal boasted a puréed soup, a saddle of mutton, and turkey in celery sauce. There were sweetbreads larded in a white sauce, as well as potatoes and kale. Dessert was an elaborate soufflé. I worried for Shaker about being faced with this meal in public but when I glanced at him, as we were being led to the table, he blinked his eye at me in what I realized was a wink. Was it an assurance that he was, after all, fine in these situations, or was it quite the opposite—him letting me know that he had complete trust in me to handle myself with the necessary decorum?

  Faith and I spent much of the meal talking, although twice her mother glared at Faith, making it clear that she was to converse with others at the table. I saw that Shaker and Celina were also caught up in conversation. Shaker ate little, but it didn’t appear that anyone else noticed. At one point I heard him laugh quite openly at something Mr. Vespry said, and was shocked, realizing I had never before heard this sound. It made me smile.