Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  With his hands on his knees Matthew stared up at his two little girls and began to wonder what was going on.

  “I shall die if he saw me. I shall whither and scream. Cousin Matthew stand up, so I can hide behind you.”

  “What are you both talking about? Who is Billy, and should I be worried? Amanda? Roberta? Hello?”

  “Nonsense, Birdy! I told you they wouldn’t be here this early in the morning.”

  “And of whom are we speaking, ladies?” Matthew’s paternal instincts were on full alert now.

  “Thank heavens my skirt didn’t fly over my head as it did last Friday – I would never be able to look Billy in the face. Oh, that sounded funny, didn’t it?”

  “Now you’re being silly. All they saw then was a bit of your ankle, and perhaps some underskirt – Birdy, stop squealing. He’s not here.”

  “Ladies!” demanded Matthew. “Who is Billy!”

  Amanda looked up at her father, surprised by his frustrated tone. “Why, Mr. Ayers, Papa.” She was helping to straighten Birdie’s bonnet.

  “Mr. Ayers? Mr. Ayers, your skating instructor? That Mr. Ayers? Since when do you refer to a teacher, a grown gentleman, by his Christian name?” Bloody hell!

  “We never do, of course – not to his face, at any rate. Only behind his back when we speak with the boys, because that is what they call him. Bill Ayers is the fastest skater in all England. Everyone knows that. There, Birdie, you look splendid once again. You have the most beautiful hair.”

  “Thank you.” Birdie took a deep breath. “I was so hoping we’d see them, but now I’m glad we’re too early. Just two days ago he was praising my improvement, remember? I would just hate to disappoint him.”

  “You could never disappoint him, Birdy. You know you’re his favorite.”

  “All right, that does it. Good heavens. I don’t believe this.”

  Amanda Rose brushed snow from Birdie’s bottom as her father’s grin turned into a chuckle. “Believe what, Papa?”

  Now he could really tease them. “This Mr. Ayers of yours – I suppose he’s very young and extremely handsome. Are my two little ones smitten?”

  Roberta wrinkled her nose. “With Mr. Ayers? Why would we be? Cousin Matthew, he’s very old. Nearly thirty.”

  “Just a minute! I am thirty-nine.”

  “Really, Papa?” Amanda patted his arm sympathetically. She looked concerned. “Do you need to sit? You look tired. Doesn’t he look tired, Birdy?”

  “Amanda Rose Fitzwilliam, I’m not that old… oh, never mind. Well, what is his great attraction for you then? I wondered at your sudden interest in skating lessons, since you never mentioned skating before this month.”

  “Well, Papa,” His daughter spoke to him slowly, and it seemed a bit louder than normal now. “For one thing, before this month it wasn’t cold enough to skate. It seemed to take forever to get cold this year, remember? We needed to wait for the lake to freeze.”

  “I have a vague comprehension of the effect of extremely cold weather on water, but thank you for your patience with me, Amanda. Now what is the real reason?”

  “Well.”

  “Well?”

  “Well… there are a few boys of our acquaintance who play for the St. James Bandy Club under Mr. Ayers’s supervision and training. He was a rather well-known player on the Bury Fen Bandy Club, or something like that, and the boys seem to think him rather amazing. They admire him a great deal.”

  “So, you’re taking these lessons because of boys.”

  Roberta sighed. Old people were so slow to grasp new ideas. “Of course we are. Lord Fletcher’s son, Bradley, belongs to St. James Club, and he’s lovely. Bradley, I mean – not Lord Fletcher. He looks like a radish.”

  “Bradley is quite taken with Birdy, Papa.”

  “And his friend, Jeffrey Higgins, is mad for Amanda!”

  “Oh, he is not, Birdy.”

  “He ate that awful dead bug on a dare just to impress you, don’t deny it.”

  Matthew stared at them in numbing horror – this could not be happening to his little girls. Was it possible they were old enough to notice boys when they were little more than babies themselves? Why this rush to grow up? There were so few years to the innocence of childhood, why not enjoy them?

  There were times he wished he could return to his youth, when his father was untitled and his mother alive; they were poor and happy, all the cousins playing until they fell exhausted on the ground to watch the clouds and dream. He’d had no problems then, no responsibilities, no disappointments…

  The smack of heavy snowflakes on his face brought Matthew back to the present. The sky had turned ominously grey. “It looks as if we’re in for it, ladies. I’m afraid we’ll need to cut short our excursion.”

  “I wouldn’t throw a fuss if we did, Papa; I’m hungry.”

  “Ooh, yes!” Birdy nodded. “I am as well. Let’s hurry back to grandpa’s house for cake and hot chocolate, or perhaps those lovely little ham pastries with melted cheese.”

  “Now you’ve both gotten me hungry.” Matthew looked around for a place to sit. “Let’s see… ah, yes. There’s a bench where we can unstrap these blades – off you go. Perhaps we can return later in the week if my old bones permit.” The two girls scampered quickly up the bank to where Matthew had pointed and plopped down, happy, giggling and bright eyed. It was amazing – they were hardly out of breath and he was sore everywhere on his body.

  He really was old.

  “This will be a great surprise for grandmama – she wasn’t expecting us for another hour at least. The poor thing hates to be alone, but she hides it well claiming delight in finally having the time to sit in quiet solitude and read a book. Today Grandpa is out somewhere with Uncle Fitz, and Deborah and Steven will be napping. I try and follow her around the house all day, you know, to ease her nervousness over mummy. I’m certain she is miserable and lonely this very minute, missing us all horribly. Especially me.” Pulling off her mittens Roberta began rubbing her cold hands together. “I am so hungry. I hope cook has enough clotted cream and scones, and fresh bread tea sandwiches, and cakes, and biscuits, and fish with sauce, and pudding. She’s never run out before, but there’s always a first time. It sometimes worries me.”

  “Good heavens, all that? Haven’t you had breakfast?”

  “Ha! You’re so funny, Cousin Matthew. Miss breakfast; very good. Oh. You’re serious. Yes, of course I’ve had breakfast – actually two – but I’m cold! When I’m cold I become ravenous, and food fends off bone chill. That’s what Mama tells Papa. He says neither Mama nor I will ever freeze to death.” She turned to Amanda, “What would you like cook to prepare, Mandy?”

  “Oh, I suppose a little vegetable broth.”

  “Vegetable broth! You need heartier fare in your diet to survive the winter, missy – more bread, cake and beef – you really do. Especially cake. And ham pies. And puddings and cream.”

  “Mama doesn’t want me to gain more weight. See how full my cheeks are, Birdy.”

  “You’re eight years old. Aren’t everyone’s cheeks full at eight years old? I look like a squirrel.”

  “I suppose. But Mama considers eating sweets outside of a holiday to be un-Christian. Wish I could eat anything I like as you do.”

  “I do eat like a farm animal, don’t I?” Roberta sighed.

  “I never meant that! You only eat when you’re hungry.”

  “But I’m hungry all the time. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but Mama says eating whenever you’re hungry is improper behavior for a lady.”

  This talk of dieting infuriated Matthew. His Amanda was perfect, she was not to be starved simply because Clarissa obsessed over appearance. Improper behavior indeed – by God, that was an absurdity coming from her. Odd how thoughts of one’s own sins faded over time, how people would conveniently reimagine their past.

  “Amanda give me your foot and I’ll remove your skates myself. The way you two are jabbering away we’ll be here a
ll day.” He’d need to speak with his wife immediately, the prospect of which he never relished. They rarely spoke, and it was only about the child when they did.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  When he was finished undoing his daughter’s skates Birdy stuck her feet out as well. “Could you help me, Cousin Matthew? Please. I can’t seem to make out the laces.” Without her glasses Birdy was having a difficult time.

  He examined the convoluted ties. “That would probably be best, and quicker.”

  “Thank you.” She turned again to Amanda. “Did you know my Mama eats mountains of food and never gains an ounce? She takes after me. I remember before they left for Canada Papa said we may need to hire another cook just to keep up with her appetite. Or, she just may be with child again. Then he said if she was with child he’d probably walk into oncoming carriage traffic – are you all right, Cousin Matt?”

  Matthew nodded. At first the sounds he was making sounded like laughter but then had quickly turned into a cough. “Yes, Roberta, I am perfectly fine.”

  The girls resumed their conversation. “Well, my Mama never eats breakfast nor has tea but she still gains weight – although, truth be told, I never can tell. It must be true though because she’s always needing new gowns. Did your Mama receive The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine this month?”

  “Yes. Evidently, bosoms are big this year, very ‘in fashion’.”

  Matthew stopped struggling with the knots on Roberta’s skate. What an odd statement. Were bosoms ever out of fashion? Not to any man he knew. Besides, this discussion of bosoms was startling. Only moments before he’d learned they were stalking little boys and now they were discussing high fashion magazines, sounding like married women. They were still babies, weren’t they? It would be years until either was old enough to be presented at court, let alone worry about merits of a big bosom – and, then didn’t a father’s real worries begin! Both were fair and blue eyed, both promising the sort of physical beauty women pray for and men desire, and… damn! That thought was unacceptable. He didn’t like that idea, not one bit!

  “Amanda, did you bring Mrs. Finnywigg with you today? I’m so glad. We can have a tea party up in the nursery. My Lady Enfield doll is one-year old today.”

  “What fun. I brought both Finny and my Mary Queen of Scots, and new ribbons for their hair.”

  Yes, thank heavens, they were still his babies – for a little while longer at least. “Roberta, just how many knots did you tie in this?”

  “I was trying to recreate a fir tree.”

  “If all else fails perhaps we can cut off your foot.” He’d been a young suitor long ago, stealing kisses from girls, brushing his hands across bottoms and bosoms – accidently, of course, if he could pull it off convincingly. More than once his face had been slapped; but, not often enough to discourage him. Hell and damnation. He suddenly felt very anxious that Amanda would be snatched up her first season, married within the next few years, then motherhood; he’d be a grandfather before long. Finally releasing the blade and hooking Roberta’s shoe up tight, he finished with a grunt and a pat. Enough of this – the snowfall was quickly becoming a blizzard.

  “Ladies! Up here – eyes to me. Are you two magpies finished selecting your wedding trousseaus? Excellent. Then I say we should be getting you home to your grandparents, Roberta, before the snow covers us and we disappear on this bench. Please button up your coats, both of you. Amanda, where is your muff?”

  “What muff?”

  “The one you were wearing five seconds ago.”

  “I was? Oh. Here it is, Papa.”

  “Hand me your gloves, please. That’s my girl.”

  His daughter cheerfully stood as her father slipped mittens onto her hands, tied her scarf tight. “I say, Birdie, wasn’t it rather nice to have the pond all to ourselves today? I confess that when there are crowds of people I worry about the ice breaking. Some of the skaters are very big. In fact, most of them are huge…”

  “Where are your skates?”

  She looked around.

  Dumbfounded for a moment he stared at his daughter. “Your skates, dearest. The ones I just removed from your feet and handed to you.”

  “I don’t know – wait a moment! There they are, behind the bench. How silly of me.” Amanda handed them back to her father to carry. “Mama was right, you know. She doubted there would be many people skating today. Remember when she said that, Birdy?”

  “She said most people would consider it improper during this time of ‘loss, grief and heavy sorrow’ to gad about on skates.” Roberta sighed, her gay mood momentarily gone she began to chew on her thumbnail. “We are bad, aren’t we? We asked if we shouldn’t go, but then she said perhaps propriety could make an exception this one time; and, you know, we were already dressed for it. It really is awful about our Prince Albert passing; I cried for an entire hour I was so sad. We didn’t mean to be disrespectful to his memory, Cousin Matthew, we really didn’t. Oh, I do wish he hadn’t died so near my birthday,”

  “But, he didn’t, Birdy. He died three whole days ago. Didn’t he, Papa? So, you see, it wasn’t really near your birthday all.”

  “That’s true. Oh, thank goodness! Well, I really don’t mean thank goodness that he died…”

  “Not to worry.” Matthew patted her cheek. “We all love you and know you mean nothing but good, Roberta.” The child and her two siblings had spent weeks fearing for their parent’s safety, missing them, missing home. Uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents were making a special effort to bring comfort and joy to these waiting, worrying children.

  Everyone except his own wife, apparently. Did she truly consider a harmless day of skating inappropriate? Ridiculous woman. Again, he vowed to have a word with her straight away – if he could find her in that huge mausoleum of a house they shared. What unmitigated gall! What hypocrisy! Not so many years before Clarissa had been famously inappropriate herself, and on a much grander, much more lurid scale. She’d been London’s most notorious wild child, as promiscuous as she was lovely.

  However, with her bishop father’s passing she was now the embodiment of virtue, a pillar of the church, judge and jury for all things socially and morally acceptable. He couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore. They rarely argued because they never spoke.

  Any discussion between them now usually centered about the daughter they both loved – a love that was, notwithstanding, expressed in completely different ways. Clarissa’s parenting style was more traditional and formal, seldom visiting the child more than once daily – for tea – making Clarissa more the glamorous guest than parent.

  Not so with Matthew. He preferred his daughter’s company to anyone else in the world, doted on her, as his parents had doted on him. He could not remember a time when his mother hadn’t hugged him, or praised him, or scolded him, or told him how much he was loved. In fact, both his parents had been almost overwhelming with their attentions, discussing everything, endlessly. No topic was considered taboo, no question unanswered.

  It was a way of family life Clarissa just could not fathom, and so the antagonism between Matthew and Clarissa over their child’s upbringing was one more open sore. And, of course, bitterness lingered over affairs both had engaged in, especially Matthew’s indiscretion, years before…

  “All right, ladies, let’s get a move on here. Last one to Pemberley House must dance a jig.”

  Tears suddenly brightened Birdy’s eyes and she hugged Matthew tightly.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Everything. Only, thank you for surprising me this morning, making today special for me. I don’t know what I would have done if not for you and Amanda these past weeks.” It was at times like these, moments of gentle sweetness, that she reminded him so of her mother – a cousin more sister to him than not.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Roberta Wentworth Durand, leader of the family hooligans? Here, blow.” He held a handkerchief up to her nose.

  “
Thank you,” she blew into it then giggled. “Poor Cousin Matt. I am a trial, aren’t I? Ooh Mandy, I’ve just thought of something wildly important. Will you have plumes in your bonnet for the memorial service? If not, I have extra we can sew on. They’re pink. I do love pink against black – very wicked looking.”

  “Brilliant! We could have our bonnets match, and our dollies bonnets if we have enough feathers! Papa, will you be here for the service? You’re not going all the way to Windsor for the Prince’s funeral, are you?”

  “No, pet. That service will be very small and private as the Prince himself wished, with not much pomp nor ceremony. Not even the Queen shall be in attendance.”

  “What? Oh, the poor lady! Where will she be?”

  “From what I hear she’s already gone to Osborne, on the Isle of Wight. Now, now, no reason to look sad. Women are rarely in attendance at funerals, especially the fellow’s widow. You see, the common belief is that females are much too delicate, frail and weak for such an experience.” The girls’ look of disbelief was comical. “Yes, I know. Obviously, the women in our family are made of sterner stuff.”

  “What about the Princesses? Princess Alice and Princess Victoria and Princess Louise?” Roberta, like so many other young girls, adored the Royal Princesses, loved learning about their court balls, their fashions, their day to day lives.

  “They’ve all gone to Osborne as well I supppose. More likely than not only Prince Albert and Prince Arthur will be present.”

  “It is very sad.” Amanda Rose’s eyes grew moist. “I feel very badly for the princesses now I think on it.” She’d never really contemplated death before, of suddenly never seeing either of her parents ever again, especially her father. No, she could not imagine leaving her father’s side a moment longer than necessary, under any circumstances. Just let anyone try and make her.

  “Smile, both of you. In a few days it will be Christmas, and Boxing Day, and the Yule Log, and cookies, and presents; and, then … Roberta, where are your mittens?”

  “What mittens? Did I have mittens?”

  “Yes, of course you had mittens. Wait a moment. Ladies, where in heaven’s name are your bonnets? Weren’t you just wearing them…?”