by Laura Locke
She was not there to save Mrs. Rutherford, however. She continued to town and signaled the driver to turn when they came to the Wellchester’s drive. Her intent was to surprise her father so she asked the driver to go slowly. When they reached the house, Melody looked around. How small and shabby everything looked to her now, having been to the homes of London’s finest. She signaled the driver to tie up the horses and asked him to bring along her luggage and the gifts she had brought for her parents. Rounding the house to the back door she tapped and then opened it calling, “Mother? Father?” She was not prepared for what she saw.
Her mother came from their bedroom, her face heavy and sad. She wore not one of her tidy, fashionable gowns she had created herself, but are rather frumpy, cotton dress that needed laundering. Her hair hung down the sides of her face, having abandoned the otherwise neat bun she had always worn. The house smelled of illness and fear grew in Melody’s heart. She hugged her mother and without a word, gently set her aside and went to her parents’ bedroom door, tapping.
“Go on in, Melody,” her mother said. “He cannot respond to you and may not know that you were here.”
Swallowing heavily, Melody pushed open the door and had to stifle the gasp at the sight of her father. A tuft of gray hair was all that revealed is presence in the bed, for he had grown frail and thin since she had seen him last. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight, and now looked no larger than a big child. She walked to the side of the bed and gently set her hand upon his shoulder.
“Father, it’s Melody. I’ve come from London to see you.” Ira’s eyelids quivered as he recognized her voice but lacked the strength to open them. With a barely perceptible movement of his head, he acknowledged her presence and the frail hand slowly snaked out from beneath the cover, seeking her own. Melody felt her heart would break, but she knew she had to be strong on his behalf. She pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and spoke in a quiet tone, soothing him. She casually chatted, telling him how well he looked and that she had come to take him back to London, to prominent doctors who would most likely, be able to cure him. His head shook vaguely at this and she knew she made the speech for the sake of hope but could see that he was well beyond help. She referenced a bit about her life in London so he would be relieved to know that she was well and happy. She left out some of the more glamorous, risqué parts but told him that her business was flourishing, she had her own shop and that it was due to his teaching her the ways of business that it permitted her to take that move. He squeezed her hand oh so slightly to acknowledge the compliment.
“Melody,” whispered Sylvia from behind her. Melody turned and saw her mother gesturing to her to come out of the room. “He needs his rest,” she added and Melody did as asked. The two women went out the kitchen door into the garden where Sylvia had laid tea. They took seats at the small table Ira had built by hand, the enormity of the situation stifling Melody to the point where she felt hysterical.
“How long has he been like this, why did you not write me?” Melody pleaded with her mother.
“It was not an overnight thing, Melody. Even as he returned from taking you to London, the coughing had grown worse and it was not long thereafter when he began to refuse to eat. The doctor is grim when he visits and I have sent word to your brother and sister, should they wish to see him before he goes.”
Melody’s voice broke out in the saw. “No, Mother, he cannot be dying. It is my father.”
Sylvia reached across the small table and patted the back of Melody’s manicured hand. “There is a time for all things, sweetheart. Your father’s time has come. All we can do now is make him as comfortable as we may.”
“Mother, there are doctors in London, very good doctors. I know they could help him.”
Sylvia shook her head sadly. “We are beyond that, Melody. He chose to stay here in Tymington, that is, Rutherford,” her voice was bitter with those last words.
“Mother, what happened? Why did they change the name of the village?”
“Mrs. Rutherford is a woman who has little to stop her. One night there was a fire, and the building that housed the village government burned to the ground. Oddly enough, the buildings nearby were untouched. The village, having suffered such a population loss and lack of young males who could rebuild it, looked for alternative lodgings. Mrs. Rutherford was only too gracious to build a new one in its place, as long as the village agreed to honor her husband and to change the name to Rutherford. There was no one powerful enough to stop her and so she got her way. We have little to do with the village people any longer. Of course, your father can no longer work so we just stay here, at home, and with each other.”
Melody was listening, although tears were slowly filtering down her cheeks. She felt as though the world were coming to an end. “Have you had word? Is Richard or Johanna coming to see Father?”
“I have not heard from either one, although I hope that bodes well. Perhaps they are, themselves, traveling faster than their post could. Nevertheless, you are here now and he will not go alone.” With that her mother began to softly cry, her thin shoulders shaking beneath the homespun gown. Melody felt that such a loss. Not having lost anyone close to her, she felt that mixture of sorrow and helplessness. All the money that she had earned, not to mention that which her father had inherited, could make the situation right. She called to her driver who brought the gifts she had brought for her mother. He set them on the table and retreated once again, seeing to the carriage horses.
“Mother, I have brought you some gifts, but I will understand if now is not the time. There are things there for Father, too, including a pipe I had custom made for him in a tobacco shop where it is said that the King orders his.”
“Melody, you have always been such a thoughtful girl. I wish your father could use the pipe, if but once more that I might chide him for the smoke the way I always use to.” With that she totally broke down, sobbing in heaving rounds. Melody stood up and put her arm around her mother, pulling her to her feet and leading her into the sewing studio where a velvet covered settees hug one wall. She urged her to lie down and rest. She then rolled up her sleeves to enter the kitchen and prepare something for them to eat.
There was a noise at the kitchen door and it burst open to reveal Johanna and her husband, William. Two sleepy young children were clutching his neck.
“Johanna!” Melody embraced her quietly, but with tearful relief. “I did not think you would be able to make the trip in time.” She turned and gave William a hug as well.
“In time? What do you mean, Melody?”
“Wait. Then you do not know about Father?”
Johanna’s eyes filled with fear. “He’s not…”
Melody shook her head. “No, but he is in a very bad way. I fear it is only a matter of time. Mother just laid down in her sewing room. She is exhausted.”
“Johanna!” came their mother’s voice from behind. She had heard the commotion and come to investigate. “I did not think you would be able to come in time!”
“Mother, I had no idea. I came with William and the children to surprise you with a visit. It sounds as though my timing could not have been better.”
Sylvia nodded, tears rolling down her haggard cheeks. “Go in and see him, but be quiet. And Johanna, prepare yourself. He is not the man you remember.”
Johanna looked at the both of them and then hurried into her parent’s bedroom. They could hear her softly sobbing and speaking in a gentle voice to him, but heard nothing from him in return.
William introduced the children, Able and Katie, who were both given glasses of warm milk and biscuits from the pan that Melody pulled from the oven. Johanna emerged from the bedroom, crying openly. “Mother, I do not think Father will last more than a few days. He barely responds. Is Richard coming?”
Sylvia shrugged. “I have sent word but perhaps it did not reach him, either. I will try again tomorrow.” The family sat down at the wood table Ira had built and quickly covered ground,
catching up. It was late, however, and there were children to be put to bed. “I will sleep in the sewing room and we can make a pallet on the floor for the children,” Sylvia said, taking charge. “Melody, you have your old room and Johanna, you and William will stay in yours. I pray that Richard comes in time.”
Throughout the night, the women took turns checking in on Ira and then soft weeping could be heard as they fitfully fell back to sleep. The dawn brought Richard and his wife, travel-worn.
“I only just got your message, Mother,” Richard told her, and the triplets hugged one another in sadness. Introductions were made and for the first time ever, all three siblings prepared a meal together. Afterwards, Richard and William went out to the barn to see to the livestock. Melody checked on her driver and asked him to stay, to which he agreed.
Ira Wellchester slid into his final sleep that afternoon, his family at his side. He was buried in the village churchyard and people from miles around came to pay their respects. The men sat down to take stock of Ira’s legacy and after a few days of clinging to one another, it was decided that William and Johanna, along with their children, would stay at the farm with Sylvia until further notice. Richard broke down the equipment in the barn and took it back with him as he was a farrier in his own right, although he seldom did it for income. He had become a successful farmer, having inherited his father-in-law’s lands.
Melody kissed her family good-bye and headed back to London. It was a solemn journey. She could not help but remember that it had been the last time she had spent time with Ira; when he had delivered her into Lily’s capable hands. Melody’s heart ached and although there was no logic for it, she missed Conner and wished he was at her side.
Chapter 19
Melody made her way back to London. As much as she hated to go and leave her mother and sister, there was a fledgling business needing her attention and she didn’t dare ignore it for long. Reputations were quickly erased and she needed to capitalize on her momentum while she could.
She arrived to find Lily in a state of utter confusion. “Oh, thank the lord you have come back. Listen, Melody, I am so sorry to hear of Ira’s passing. Sylvia was very lucky to have him—he was truly one of the good men.”
“Thank you, Lily. Yes, I think I was lucky to have him as my father. He truly was a good man. Mother is fine. Johanna is staying there for the time being.”
Melody motioned to the driver to set her things on the landing and she moved to the sitting room, drawing off her gloves and falling back against the sofa, although it was not a very ladylike posture. “I am exhausted. The strain at home and then a very rough trip took a lot out of me. Those roads are horrid after a heavy rain. I do not think we missed a single pothole along the entire route.” She waved to the driver as he approached the front door. He had, for the space of their trip, become a member of her family and she was indebted that he had stayed with her the entire time. “Good-bye, Mr. Pence. My regards to your wife and children. And thank you once again for your patience and loyalty. You will be well rewarded.”
The door shut behind him and Lily sat on the chair opposite Melody. “Well, that is that, then,” she said, although her tone of voice lent anything but a note of finality.
“What is it, Lily? Something has you in a tizzy.”
“This only just arrived,” Lily responded, leaning forward to hand Melody a printed invitation with Melody’s name written in script on the outside. “I am assuming yours is identical to the one I received.”
Melody took the envelope and sighed, realizing that a chapter of her life had ended and she was, more than likely, bound for a life in London from then on. She had not realized how hectic it was, compared to her small village. She was not sure she liked it very much. Nevertheless, it was her hand to be played and she may as well make the most of it.
The invitation was to a masquerade ball at the home of the Contessa. The date was two weeks hence and it was advised to come as costumed as possible; fun and frolic was promised.
“No wonder you are excited. I suppose your wardrobe is lacking?”
“Not just mine, but your own I am sure, and every woman who has been beating down our door looking for you since these invitations went out. I would say, my gal, that you could name your price. These women are desperate to have the most captivating, salacious and risqué gowns possible.”
“Lily, I am back now and quite frankly, I could use the diversion, so this does not alarm me. We will plan your costume, my own and as many others and my ladies and I are capable of turning out in such short notice. Now, calm yourself and tell me what you have in mind.”
“I would like to be a fairy,” Lily said, her voice dreamy and her eyes glazed with a dreamy quality.
“Oh, that sounds fun!” Melody was cheerful for the first time in several weeks. “As for me, I believe I will choose to be a princess, perhaps from the Middle East. I can already imagine the silk veil and that I might use kohl to outline my eyes.
Lily exclaimed, “You see? I do not know why I was so worried. You are barely home an hour and already life has become exciting again!”
Melody nodded. “But first, I am going to my room and unpack, soak in a hot tub and have a nice, long nap. The world can wait a few minutes more.
The summer evening was perfect; no rain and a warm, balmy breeze fluttered the candles on the approach to the countess’ estate. A steady stream of glistening coaches with footmen ascended the slight incline, bank by the gurgling sounds of a brook that edged the north boundary of her grounds.
The veranda sparkled with candlelit fountains and excited voices could be heard over the ten-piece ensemble that played beautiful music. As their carriage approached, Melody and Lily alighted—Melody’s enchantment with the night had already begun.
They were announced by two, be-wigged butlers wearing black masks. Lily’s name suited her well as her costume made her look like a nymph of the woodlands. Flowers were woven into her hair and layers of sheer, almost see-through fabric were staggered so as to create a floating effect. She had opted to go bare-footed, much to everyone’s surprise. Her mask successfully hid who she was, but just in case, she and Melody entered separately. Lily was instantly surrounded by potential suitors, their imaginations set afire by the filmy costume.
Melody practically floated into the ballroom, her coppery hair piled in ringlets about her head and held in place by a beautiful crown of amethysts. Her gown was satin, shades of copper also layered over a filmy underskirt that pooled around her sandal-clad feet. It was low cut, revealing her womanly mounds between which dangled a massive topaz set in elaborate gold. Copper bangles encircled her delicate arms that disappeared into puffed sleeves banded in copper velvet.
There was an audible sigh of appreciation as Melody glided into the room. Almost instantly, her dance card was filled and in between glasses of champagne, she spun about the floor to the melodious waltzes. The laughter bubbled as much as her glass until she was so dizzy, she begged her newest partner to sit down. He was kind enough to accommodate her. “Would you get me some plain water?” she asked him, her mask making her request mysterious and yet charming.
“Why, of course. I will return promptly,” he promised and left.
No sooner had he left, but another gentleman sat down beside her. He was dressed as a mysterious pirate, a black cape covering wide shoulders and a shining sword peeked from its scabbard about his waist. He wore a full, black mask and a lock of his thick hair fell over it, making him appear quite debonair. “M’lady,” he greeted her and bowed at the waist while seated.
“Hello. Oh, I am sorry, but my card is quite full for the evening. I am afraid the champagne has gone to my head and my partner has gone to find me water. It is his chair in which you sit.”
“Do not concern yourself. He has been dispatched. Perhaps you would join me for a breath of fresh air outside in the garden?”
Melody looked around at the throngs of dancers and guests and felt safe enough. “You kno
w, I believe I would like to do just that,” she agreed and rose as he offered his arm. Melody had always been a sensitive girl and she felt very comfortable, almost familiar.
The pirate guided her through the doors onto the veranda and then into the soft, damp grasses behind. The cool grass felt wonderful on her sandaled feet. She felt refreshed and was very glad she had come outside with him.
“It is such a beautiful evening,” Melody commented, kicking her feet through the blades of grass with delight.
“I will agree, it is beautiful, but it is not just the night. It is the shimmering beauty you bring to it,” the pirate said. Melody drew in her breath slightly, unused to being so openly flattered. Her head was swimming from the spirits, so she decided to overlook his boldness for the moment.
“So, Mr. Pirate, sir. Have you stolen many ships and found many treasures?” she teased him.
“I have no stolen ships to my record, however I believe I have found at least one treasure.”
“Oh?”
“We shall see, as the night goes on,” he said in a scratchy voice. It was apparent he was attempting to disguise that as well and Melody wondered why. “If you’ve had enough air, I suggest we go in before you become chilled. I believe you have one dance left on your card,” he pointed out.
“Indeed, it would seem I do if the young man who signed for that slot is no longer interested.”
“He is not, I can assure you.”
Melody thought it strange that this man was so forward. She thought it all in good fun, however, and went back inside with him. They had no more than cleared the doorway when he swung her about and held her slightly closer than was the normal for the last dance of the evening. Once the final strains of the music had died away, there was a great commotion outside and everyone hurried to the veranda to watch as fireworks filled the sky. This was the signal to remove masks and reveal one’s identity.
