“It doesn’t matter, Oroville. It’s not important,” offered Marvella, waving her hand. “Eat your breakfast. I never saw anyone take longer to tell a story in my life. And not a very interesting story at that. Why should we all sit here and listen to you tell of your visit to the Harrods perfume counter as if it were an exciting retelling of the battle of Waterloo or Moby Dick?”
“Well, I can tell you that Eau du Coq smelled like a dead whale.”
“I thought you said it smelled like—” Harvey inquired.
“Harvey, not at the table,” Jon interjected.
“Mr. Uxley, that’s it! Now who was he?” Oroville’s lit-up face was quickly replaced with confusion.
“Well, let’s see,” considered Jane. “You spoke at length to the hotel clerk, the carriage driver, the policeman on the sidewalk, the doorman at Harrods, the ladies’ lingerie salesclerk—it wasn’t her—but she was almost as nervous as Mr. Cadbury, the proprietor of the chocolate shop—divine!—all of whom you invited to the wedding, the—”
“Excuse me?” Val asked, appearing to choke on his buttered scone. “You invited…all of…whom?”
“All those what we met, of course,” replied Uncle Oroville. “I don’ wanna’ go through life bein’ no Billy no-mates.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Captain Ravensdale,” Jane reassured him. No more than half of the people Oroville invites ever show up.”
“Half?” Valerius repeated.
“Oh, I remember!” Oroville continued. “That jars me memory, love! Mr. Nugent was the doorman at Harrods. Nice fellow. He has a son what is wanting to be a seafarin’ man. Hope he breeds, we need more thinkin’ people in the world. And so’s I told ’im. Yessir, I made me fortune on the seas, startin’ as an under-seaman until I ran me own ship.”
“How did you make your fortune, Uncle Oroville? Killing pirates?” asked the ever-eager Harvey even as Val drank an entire glass of water and motioned for another.
“Well, I did that fer sure, but there ain’t much money in it. You have to be able to sort the good from the bad to make any money in this world, son. Isn’t that right? You ask the nob, ’an he’ll tell ye. Military man, too, he’s seen it all.”
Oroville clearly did not intend to continue the conversation, or to allow anyone else to, until receiving Val’s dazed nod and murmured response, which was barely forthcoming. “I thought I had. Seen it all, that is.”
“Yessir’ Harvey, the money wuz in findin’ stuff people don’t need in other parts of the world and bringin’ it back to England. So’s I shouldn’t a’ had to buy that men’s perfume at Harrods, but I made a few new friends, and you can’t have too many in this life. Are you good at cipherin’, son?”
“Sigh fer…what?” asked Harvey.
“Mathematics,” explained Lady Elaina.
“I sure am!” replied Harvey proudly.
“You gets that from me.” Uncle Oroville winked at him. “Be good at cipherin’ and knows people and you’ll go far in this life, young Harvey. Ye don’t get ’oowt fer nowt.”
“And Mr. Palmer showed you another selection of cologne?” asked Alita.
“God save us,” Marvella muttered, placing her the back of her hand on her forehead. “Are we back onto that subject?”
“Hmm? Yes, he did. Didn’t like it either.”
“What was it called, Uncle Oroville?” asked Harvey, his countenance hopeful.
“Oh, I don’t speak French that good. I can talk on and on in English, so it’s kinda funny how no other language comes easy to me. What was it, love?”
“Mouchoir de Monsieur,” Jane replied with a sniff. “By Guerlain, very exclusive and expensive.”
“Handkerchief of Monsieur?” Julianne asked, perplexed, buttering her cranberry-orange scone.
“Yep, that was it. Glad to see at least one of the girls is getting’ some book learnin’. Mister’s Handkerchief. Anyone who has seen my handkerchief—Well, that’s the last thing me or anyone else would want to smell like, and so I told them two and that lady in the purple ostrich hat who wuz almost as pretty as my Jane.”
“She was much prettier, Oroville.” Jane blushed. “Even in my youth, I could not have competed. I was never known for my beauty.” As a young woman Jane had been too thin, which had served her well as she aged. Like her sister, Jane’s hair was blonde-white, and her eyes were sky blue and open to the world. But where Marvella’s expression was determined and regal, Jane’s was joyful and warm. Jane was not in possession of Marvella’s classic beauty, but she had a warmth and exuberance, which bestowed upon her an approachable and magnetic persona.
“Style. You always had style in spades, Jane. And class. Can’t be taught. Everyone is drawn to you.” Oroville smiled at her, warmth etched in his sun-lined face. “Well the lady in purple were some competition, I grant ye. She were a right-fit bird. But, no, she weren’t as pretty. Even so, a sin to hide all that loveliness under such a big hat. A broad-brimmed hat like you wouldn’t believe. Almost like she didn’t want to be seen. A raven-haired beauty she were, and so I told her. Mrs. Stone, I believe it were. Invited her to the weddin’.”
“Mrs. Gladstone,” Jane corrected.
“Ohhhhhh!” moaned Marvella. “Please, dear Lord, not Gladstone as in the Prime Minister?”
“There, there, Velly. I know politics is not a respectable profession for a decent man what wants a day’s wages for a hard day’s work, but Mr. Gladstone is not as dodgy as most.”
“Did Mrs. Gladstone accept?” asked Marvella, her eyes glued to Oroville.
“She didn’t say yea or nay,” answered Oroville with a shrug.
“Indeed,” repeated Jane. “But Mrs. Gladstone is acquainted with Elaina.”
The duchess covered her face with her hands. “You made the connection known…”
“If I’m not ashamed of the connection, why should you be? Now that we know her, we have to claim him—he’s her other half—even you can see that, Velly. Anyhoo, he’s done a decent job fer a fellow who don’t do no real work. The People’s William they call him, and so they should. ’An I agree with him, leave the Irish to rule themselves. Leave ’em alone! Do unto others as ye would have them do unto you. There’s the answer to almost every question. And so I told her, but there’s a few more things he needs to know, so I invited them to the weddin’.” Oroville chewed his food dramatically, his moustache bobbing. “I’ll tell him there.”
“Not the connection to him, you imbecile! The connection to us!” Marvella barely sputtered, furious.
“We ain’t ashamed o’ you, Velly, so never think it! I married Janie, and you came with the beautiful package, like a sticky piece o’ glued string what holds the bow and the gold wrapping together. You might act all hoighty-toighty, but you’re a woman what makes things happen, always has been, and you stand by yer family no matter what,” Oroville reassured her, reaching over to pat her hand, which now resembled a claw. He turned to Alita and added with a smile, “Janie’s father was a vicar, a man of God. But Velly aims higher than God. Always has.”
“And I presume this is when the second manager came to assist?” Lady Elaina smiled to herself.
“It was. Mr. Uxley! How did you know?” asked Oroville, stabbing some omelet with his fork.
“Whom you also invited to our wedding, I presume?” asked Val.
“I did. Can’t leave him out when I invited everyone else. Mr. Uxley is skinny. I don’t think he’ll eat much, so don’t order no more food.” He placed the omelette in his mouth with obvious pleasure, waving his fork about. “But sometimes the thin ones will surprise ye.”
“And did this second manager assist you?” asked Lady Elaina.
“He tried,” replied Oroville, studying his coffee cup as if it had a foreign substance in it. Taking out his whiskey bottle, he added flavoring.
“He tried and failed,” remarked Marvella, rolling her eyes. “As we all do.”
“In the end, the missus picked the perfume. No one has better tast
e than my Janie. Though they’re all welcome at the wedding, I ain’t going to let no stranger decide how I’m going to smell!”
Harvey nodded in agreement, this apparently making a world of sense to him.
“Not the wedding, our wedding,” corrected Val, a half smile now forming on his lips as he rested his gaze on Alita. “Miss Alita’s and mine.”
“Not so, young man!” argued Oroville. “You’ve already chosen each other, anyone can see that, you’re arse over teakettle fer little Lita. The weddin’ is fer the family.”
“And all of London, it seems,” Val added, smiling at his bride.
“I wonder that you won’t allow Aunt Jane to dress you, Uncle Oroville, if you trust her sense of smell.” Alita giggled. “Surely you must trust her taste.”
“Oh, no,” he emphasized. “I ain’t daft! Not for ever-day wear. I’m a seafarin’ man, not a dandy. Never pretend to be someone ye ain’t. That’s a code to live by, Lita.”
“Indeed it is,” Alita murmured. “And what scent did you decide upon, Aunt Jane?” she asked, a course she clearly should have taken from the beginning.
“Vol de Nuit,” answered Jane.
“Night Flight!” exclaimed Julianne.
“Yup. Because I’m a fly-by-night affair. Fly by the seat of me pants, fer sure.”
Marvella glared at him as if she wished he would take flight.
“Vol de Nuit is a partially ambered chypre with leather overtones,” explained Jane. “One almost wishes to say green leather, if you can envision such a thing.”
“Easily,” murmured Marvella. “I feel quite green since Oroville’s arrival.”
“That means it smells like you is eatin’ an orange while wearin’ your leather chaps. After fallin’ off your horse into the grass on your—”
“It doesn’t sound like you, Uncle Orv,” Alita interrupted.
“Nope, but they didn’t have anythin’ what smelled like you had been thrown overboard, wrastled an octopus, and been in a bar brawl.”
“And what would you name it if they did, Uncle Oroville?” Julianne giggled.
“What would you name it, Jules? This is the smart branch of the family, whatever they might say.” Oroville studied his grandniece.
“Grandmamma, may I name it?” begged Julianne, looking at her grandmother, who was seated beside her, her aquamarine eyes pleading.
“If you must, Julianne—say it to family,” replied Marvella reluctantly. “That will save you from saying something inappropriate in public.”
“Hmmm…” considered Julianne.
“Now don’t fanny around. Give us a name.” Oroville smiled encouragingly.
“It is true that all of the children in my family line are far too intelligent. Especially the girls,” added Marvella as she dabbed her mouth with her handkerchief, at last finding something she and Oroville could agree upon. “It’s not surprising, I suppose.”
“I should name it,” contemplated Julianne, “L’eau avec le poulpe.”
Water with octopus. There was a general burst of laughter, even as Uncle Oroville grinned from ear to ear with pride. “She takes after me.”
“We all do, Uncle Oroville,” Alita agreed, standing to kiss him on the cheek.
“As long as we are giving credit where credit is due”—Lady Elaina patted Marvella’s hand and announced—“this beautiful match between these two young people so perfect for each other would not have been possible without Her Grace.”
“Most assuredly.” The duchess’ expression bore little humility, looking about as smug as a cat with a full bowl of cream. “Never have any doubt on that score.”
57
The Himalayas
“Goodness’ sakes!” Alita stared in dismay at her new baby, only just placed in her arms. Lady Nicolette Huntington was not born in a sterile London hospital as her Grandmother Elaina had wished. Instead, Lady Nicolette was born in Tibet with the aid of a Sherpa, screaming at the top of her lungs with a voice where shook the small hut where she found herself.
“Wha—” Val’s eyes were filled with alarm even as he placed his hands on his ears and looked in turn from his wife to his tiny newborn.
“Heavens! Did you ever hear such a set of lungs, Val?” Lady Ravensdale exclaimed in raised tones, over the fray, to the father of this monstrosity.
“Not blooming likely,” Val blasted in his military voice. “There are some now-scattering goats on neighboring mountain tops who have never heard the equal either.” Despite his consternation, Val’s eyes were filled with pride as he gazed at his beautiful baby daughter and then at his wife. A pride which competed with pain, as no reduction in the volume of his offspring’s vocal performance was forthcoming.
“When it comes to vocal ability, there is volume, and there is the ability to project, and Lady Nicolette has both to her credit,” Alita stated, but her words could not be heard by anyone but her Maker.
On April 5, 1884, some ten months after Alita Stanton became Lady Ravensdale, a baby daughter was born, christened Nicolette Genevieve Marvella Stanton Huntington. Nicolette claimed both her grandmother’s and her great-grandmother’s names, a lifelong reminder of the women whose love made her existence possible.
In addition to a healthy set of vocal chords, Nicolette was also in possession of a full head of hair, as if she knew to prepare herself for the altitude. It was coal black, like her father’s, and her eyes were aquamarine like her grandmother’s. From the beginning, Nicolette had her own mind about everything.
“Pardon me?” Alita yelled, unable to hear Val’s request over the baby’s cry.
“I said,” Val put his lips very close to his wife’s ear, “can you not persuade her to stop?”
Suddenly Alita came out of her state of shock at the unexpected lung capacity of her baby daughter and realized what she was supposed to be doing with a newborn. “Oh yes, Of course.” She hurriedly proceeded to nurse her firstborn.
Worry dissolved as Alita beheld her precious baby daughter partaking her first meal in the world. Her eyes filled with tears of happiness, amazed this special being could be hers. Now that quiet reigned, Alita felt her spirit melding with that of her daughter’s.
Alita’s curiosity was almost unbearable. For one who was accustomed to exercising clairvoyance towards persons of far-less importance to her than this baby, she was unable to resist discovering that which was within her ability to ascertain.
“You are far too quiet, my love,” Val interjected suspiciously. “May I ask why?”
“Am I?” Alita asked, embarrassed. “I suppose I am quite tired.”
“Ah.” He nodded, his expression one of confident assessment. “Funny, you look quite intent for one so tired, dearheart. In fact, you look to be deep in thought.”
He knows. She couldn’t quite get used to someone knowing what she was doing.
It is an unfair turn of events.
“It is so amazing, Val, this new life in my arms,” she replied flippantly with a light laugh. “How can I not wonder?”
“Unless I miss my guess, Lady Ravensdale, you are doing far more than wondering.” Val’s hard expression softened a little, and his eyes alighted on his baby. “What do you see?” he asked tenderly.
“I see that she has a strength and independence to match her father’s.” Alita paused in amazement as she felt the intensity of it. “Most impressive. She will also have your discipline and determination…I see much of you in her, Val.”
“I would not wish that on her, love,” he mused, concern evident in his voice.
“Everyone has lessons to learn in this life, and one’s detriments are also one’s attributes,” Alita assured him.
“Ah, yes, the other side of the same coin.”
She did not add that she also saw an ego and confidence to surpass that of both of her parents. He would learn of it sooner than he wished.
“And what does she carry of her mother, Lady Ravensdale?” He ran his hand along her cheek. “I would much prefe
r she took after you.”
“Nicolette seeks her pleasure. She will not be shy to follow her dreams nor to give her opinion. But her heart is kind.”
“A kind heart can transform any problematic trait.”
“If one is willing.” Under her mother’s scrutiny, Lady Nicolette began to fuss, giving the impression that she felt all this attention was well-deserved and very nearly insufficient.
Val raised his eyebrows. “She is clearly demanding there be faster service in the future.”
Alita raised her eyebrows. “It seems we shall regret not having paid immediate heed to her kindly given instruction and condescension.”
Have I ever experienced a happier moment? His beloved wife had made it through childbirth and was in glowing health. She was the center of his world. If anything happened to her, his grief would be too much to bear.
And here was this amazing little person, his child. Since he married Alita, every day of his life was a heavenly dream, more fascinating than he had conceived in his wildest imaginings. The business of countries communicating with each other and establishing policy through single individuals was a heavy responsibility.
I have never felt more in my element. Rising to the level of his ability and performing within that context was far easier than attempting to do a job which called on a limited number of his skills.
His career wasn’t about pretending to be someone he was not. His job was about service to people, pure and simple. And if he didn’t know it, his wife did and reminded him.
Captain Lord Ravensdale was filled with joy to be a part of the circle of love dwelling in this cabin in the Himalayas. He preferred to leave philosophical considerations for another day.
58
A Welcome Visitor
“Your Holiness, you honor me and my family,” Lord Ravensdale bowed low.
Lady Nicolette Huntington was six months old when she received her first visit from the most notable of personages in Tibet, Thubten Gyatso, the thirteenth Dalai Lama.
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic (Daughters of the Empire Book 1) Page 43
