Girl in a Blue Dress Read online

  “Well, it stands to reason. Your pa won’t do anything to upset his little rosebud, will he? But he won’t see you married to a pauper neither. We reckon as he’ll give young Mr. Gibson a bit of rope and hope he’ll hang hisself. At least it’ll show whether he loves you proper or whether he’s only after your money.”

  “But I have no money, Nancy.”

  “You will have, when you marry. And I daresay the gentleman knows that well enough.”

  “He does not!” I returned indignantly. “He’s never even mentioned it. He’s quite indifferent to money!” But even as I said it, I recalled that, although he was always jovial and never downhearted, he did talk a great deal about his lack of funds, and how hard he had to work to make ends meet. I went hot and then cold. I saw him through Nancy’s eyes, through my parents’ eyes. It was indeed obvious what they would do: set impossible aims, place impassable obstacles in our way, thinking our love would break apart long before it came to marriage, that Alfred’s ambitions would turn else-where. I pulled my head away from Nancy’s hands. “And who is caring about my feelings?”

  “Oh, a young lady’s feelings don’t count in the big wide world. And anyway, you’ll get over it, miss. He’s only a man for all’s said and done. There’ll be plenty more where he came from.” Nancy pulled the strands of hair from the comb with a flourish.

  I turned around from the glass. “And that’s where you’re wrong, Nancy. There’s no one in the least like him. He’s the One and Only. And I won’t let him go.”

  She looked surprised at my spirited words. “Well, miss, time will tell. Cook and me give him three months.”

  I stared at her in the looking glass and wondered if she—or Cook—had ever known real love. She could not have known anyone resembling Alfred and still remained so prosy and practical.

  Alfred, true to form, turned up on the dot. When I saw him knocking at the front door, I was so overjoyed I thought I’d fall down in a faint. He was wearing a dark coat and a waistcoat of relatively somber hue, no doubt to impress upon Papa that he was a serious and respectable suitor, and he’d obviously tried to comb his hair on the same principle, but it was still escaping around the brim of his hat. I quietly tapped the windowpane and he immediately stepped back and lifted his eyes to the window, giving me that inimitable smile. Any doubts I had completely vanished with that smile, and I blew him a kiss of encouragement, at which he affected to be mortally love-struck, staggering around the pathway clutching his heart. Moments later I heard his cheerful voice raised in salutation as Nancy ushered him into the study. I crept down the stairs, hoping to hear something, ready to be summoned. A long engagement would not be so bad, I reasoned. Alfred and I could withstand that—as long as we could see each other, as long as there was hope.

  Within a quarter of an hour Papa was at the door announcing that if I’d like to come in, he and Mama had something to tell me. Alfred stood beaming by the fireplace and I was so overcome to be in the same room after all these months of letter writing that I could hardly breathe.

  “Well, Dodo, you have your way. At least you have some of it.” My father rubbed his hands. “Mr. Gibson explains to us that he is starting out in a new profession, which, if successful, will perhaps make his prospects more encouraging. He has brought letters, commissions, and so forth. There is much water to flow beneath the bridge, Dodo, but for the present, your mother and I are prepared to agree to an informal engagement for one year. If Mr. Gibson is then in a position to provide for you in a pecuniary and practical way, then we shall be happy to agree to a formal arrangement, and provide the necessary settlement. If not, you will go your separate ways.”

  I could not believe it. It seemed too easy. Alfred must have worked his magic on them, too. “Oh, Papa! I do love you so. And Mama!” I embraced them both.

  “I hope you love me a little too.” Alfred’s face looked positively luminous with joy. “Unless I have a kiss this instant, I am likely to combust upon the spot!”

  I felt suddenly shy. Our letters had been so passionate; we had imagined so much—but we had never exchanged a kiss. And now, my mother and father were looking on, albeit with approval. I moved haltingly towards him, but he was there first, sweeping me up in his arms, pressing his lips on mine. Warm, soft lips. Wonderful lips. My blush spread right down to my feet. He whispered in my ear: “It won’t be a year, Dodo. I can’t wait that long.”

  5

  O’ROURKE HAS GONE.

  I have had lunch, and I now have the afternoon to fill. I finger the pile of letters on the table. One catches my eye: a coat of arms on the envelope. My heart jumps. I turn it over and over. It’s a good hand, free and flowing. Black ink, a very deep border. I set it aside, but my eyes keep wandering towards it, and I am conscious of the time that may have elapsed since it was sent. I open it. It is dated two days after he died. It is short:

  My dear Mrs. Gibson,

  Allow one poor widow to offer words of comfort to another. Not that there is any comfort to be had in the terrible dark days after one’s dearest helpmeet has been taken away. Much though one may try to console oneself that the loved companion is now in Eternal Bliss, one cannot help but selfishly wish he could be brought back, if only for a day—an hour even—to ease the suffering of the soul left behind. Mrs. Gibson, please believe the Queen when she says she understands your sorrow. She too was married to a brilliant Mind, to a wonderful Husband and Father. The Prince Consort had so much yet to give the world, as indeed did Mr. Gibson. When the Queen spoke to your husband not so long ago, he was telling her of his plans for the new novel. The Queen will be among the multitudes saddened by never being able to read it in full.

  The Queen will be pleased to see you at Buckingham Palace next Thursday at three o’clock, to offer you her condolences in person.

  Victoria R.

  THURSDAY IS ALMOST upon us. I cannot go. I must find an excuse. I must plead illness, incapacity. But I know that the invitation is in reality a command. O’Rourke said Alfred could hardly walk when he had his audience; he had to stand for half an hour, nevertheless, nearly fainting with pain. “She’s a stickler,” he said. I am sure I cannot stand for more than five minutes before my head swims and I grow faint. I would make a fool of myself. I wish O’Rourke were still here to advise me.

  There is a pounding on the front door. For one foolish moment I think it is the Queen, calling sternly in a coach-and-four to see why I have not replied to her letter. Then I hear voices and realize it’s Kitty.

  She shouts up the stairs: “Mama! Mama!” Her voice has that injured tone I recognize so well from when she would run to me as a child, almost incoherent with the unfairness of life.

  “What is it?” I ask, as she practically falls into the room. I look at her face and wonder what her father has done to her now. Can he be taunting her from the grave itself? Will their conflict never end?

  “It’s insupportable!” She is almost choking with anger.

  “Sit down and calm yourself. I’ll have Wilson bring a glass of water.” I reach for the bell.

  “Water? Have you nothing stronger, Mama?” She is trembling. I wonder why Augustus isn’t here to comfort her. No doubt he sloped off as soon as he could. As soon as he knew there would be nothing for him.

  “Only Dr. Phelps’s tonic wine. But you are welcome to it.” I go to the walnut medicine box and pour some into a glass. It smells not unlike brandy. I hand it to her.

  She downs it in one gulp, shudders. “This is very strong, Mama.”

  “Never mind that,” I say. “What’s the matter? Has he left you nothing at all?” I am sorry for her if this is the case. It would be unjust. And, no doubt, all my fault.

  “It’s not so simple!” She throws herself down on the chaise lounge with dramatic abandon. “After all the—oh, you know how he hated lawyers, Mama?”

  “Oh, indeed.” Who could forget Elijah Farbelow and Janus Grabbitt?

  “Well, he seems positively to embrace them now. His wil
l is a legal masterpiece. Everything tied up, every eventuality foreseen. No omissions.”

  No omissions. My heart beats a little quicker. “Begin at the beginning, dearest. Who was there?”

  As she speaks I imagine that grand house, that drawing room, those long windows, the sun filtering in, the will lying on the table. And I imagine each one of them sitting there as Kitty ticks them off on her fingers: “Aunt Sissy, of course, Alfie and Caroline (with the child, Mama, such a sturdy little thing), Lou, Eddie, Fanny, Uncle Muffin, Bessie, Miss Brougham, Mr. Marshall, and Mr. Hemmings. Me, of course, and Augustus”—she pauses, her voice a little lower—“and Miss Ricketts and her mother.”

  I want to die. “Miss Ricketts?” I can hardly say her name.

  “Yes, Mama! Can you imagine? Both of them as bold as brass.”

  I imagine them in brass, two vulgar little images, side by side. I want to strike them off their seats. I want to see them topple and fall. I want to see them lying on the floor with surprise on their faces.

  “And Mr. Golding was so attentive to them. ‘Please sit here, Miss Ricketts. Or perhaps the armchair? Or by the window?’ I made sure I was standing well away from them both.”

  “Is she very pretty?” The words burst from me unexpectedly. I am surprised at myself. What does it matter now, after all?

  Kitty shrugs. “I refused to look at her, although I knew the mother was trying to catch my eye. She kept calling me ‘Miss Kitty.’” She hesitates a little, then adds in a casual way, “She looked well enough, I suppose. In very light mourning. Gray, edged with black. And a black velvet hat with the very smallest veil.”

  I can see her. Young, with the sheen of a pearl. Slender-waisted. Elegant. Turning the head of old Mr. Golding. Jealousy snakes upwards from my belly. Then it is replaced by horror: “He didn’t leave all his money to her …”

  “Oh no, Mama. That would have made a scandal. That would have upset his precious Public.”

  “So tell me what it was, dear child. This is not a serial story.”

  “He left me his books. He always promised me that. I don’t know where I’ll put them, though. Augustus says we’ve too many already. Dead stuff, he says.”

  “And?” She can hold suspense as well as he did.

  “Five thousand pounds. Each of us children gets five thousand pounds. And Aunt Sissy the same.”

  “Sissy the same?”

  “Yes. To my very dearest sister-in-law, without whom I could not have managed these long years. She looked extremely satisfied, I must say.”

  I imagine the satisfaction on Sissy’s neat, attentive face, and want to scream aloud—but I try to look happy for Kitty’s sake. “Well, that’s so much more than you thought. Why are you so angry?”

  “Because he has made her the co-trustee. We have to ask her for every shilling!” She takes out her handkerchief, and I note that she has dispensed with the black lace and has a good honest cotton one. “And the way he’s dealt with you—oh, Mama!” She shakes her head bitterly.

  “I am mentioned?” My heart lightens, in spite of her tone. “He’s remembered me?”

  Kitty looks down at her handkerchief. “You are in a list, Mama. A list of all those to whom the annuities will be paid. You’re there with Uncle Muffin, Bessie, Wilson, the Foundling Hospital, the Authors’ Benevolent Fund—and Mrs. Ricketts.”

  I begin to tremble. Mrs. Ricketts means, of course, Miss Ricketts—Wilhelmina Ricketts. In his Last Will and Testament, I, his wife, the mother of his children, am partnered in a list with Wilhelmina Ricketts. This time I let go. This time I can’t help it. I throw myself into Kitty’s lap and start to sob.

  “You see, Mama.” Kitty cradles my head against her bony black bosom. “You see why I am so incensed. He takes care of the wife. Enough to avoid scandal. But not a whit—not an ounce—more. He is a beast!”

  Yes! Yes! He was a beast to do that, to prefer her over me so blatantly. I sob fit to burst. Kitty rocks me, soothes me until I gradually subside. Then she helps me to my bedroom, makes a cold compress from a piece of flannel, presses it to my eyes. She is surprisingly gentle. I glance up at my looking glass. Not only fatter than ever, but red faced, ugly. He’d hate to see me now. He’d joke and pass it off with a laugh, but he’d hate it. I hate it myself. I’m not surprised he loved Miss Ricketts better. Why should he not love beauty? That was why he first loved me, after all. You are so beautiful, Dodo. I’m the luckiest man in the world!

  He truly made me believe that, in those early days. During our engagement there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. He made me laugh when I was with him, and when we were apart, his letters made me cry with pleasure. Sometimes I’d read passages to Alice and Sissy, although there were other passages I kept to myself—passages that made me blush, that made me long for the day when we’d be married.

  “Would you believe I am earning almost fifteen shillings a week?” he said one December day as we walked arm-in-arm by the river at Richmond, watching the wind sending shoals of dimples across the surface. “Let us imagine we were married, Dodo. How should you propose to spend the princely sum?”

  I had no idea. My head was completely empty of thoughts. I’d never had any reason to make proposals about money, and I could not imagine how to do it. A panic seized me. “I don’t know.” I looked around in desperation. “A new pair of boots for you?” I hazarded. “A waistcoat?”

  He laughed. “What an excellent creature! The most unselfish girl in the world! But be practical!”

  Practical! My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I had always thought myself practical, someone with housewifely skills in darning and sewing and mending, in arranging flowers and decorating a screen. But I realized suddenly that I knew nothing of importance.

  “Well,” he said coaxingly, as to a child, “what would we eat, dearest?”

  I thought about the sort of things we had regularly delivered at the kitchen door: things wrapped in cloth or nestling in baskets. “A joint of beef?” I hazarded. “Some cabbages? A dozen eggs? A loaf of bread? Perhaps a quart or two of milk?”

  “I see. And to cook all this delicious fare?” He stood smiling at me.

  “A fire?”

  “Indeed! And to keep the fire going?”

  “Coals, I suppose. And firewood.”

  “Excellent. At the advanced age of twenty, Miss Dodo learns to keep house!” He kissed me on the nose. “And the rent? How much would that be, do you suppose?”

  “I don’t know, Alfred.”

  “Of course you don’t. Nor the cost of candles. Nor the laundry bill. Dodo, you are such a child. I shall need to take you seriously in hand or we shall end up in Queer Street.”

  “Yes, Alfred. I am so sorry to be so useless and ignorant. I cannot imagine what you love about me.”

  “Can’t you?” He stroked my face. “Dear Dodo, I love everything about you; I love your whole life: your house, your garden, your excellent parents, your little sisters. And most of all I love your dear Self, sitting in the middle of it all in a blue silk gown showing your very nice bosom—and stitching away with such an earnest look as if you have no idea of what you do to a man. It’s all quite perfect.” And he stretched out his arms and wrapped his coat around me, so that we were cocooned together and all the warmth of his body seemed to be seeping into mine. And I didn’t care that I couldn’t add up or answer questions about housekeeping. I could think of nothing but the time when we would be truly together.

  But of course it did matter that I knew so little and he so much, and that I was not as apt a pupil as he wished me to be. It mattered a great deal.

  “I suppose I mustn’t blame him.” I dab at my eyes with the flannel cloth.

  “Why ever not?” Kitty rounds on me. “I thought you were showing some proper feelings for once! He is to be blamed. I blame him, even if you don’t!”

  “Well, after all, I don’t need a great deal of money. Enough to live comfortably. And I have that already.”

  “In
that case, why does Sissy need so much more?”

  I try to find the reason. “Well, she is still caring for the others,” I say. “And she has the house and furnishings and servants to be responsible for. But it is wrong that he has given her such power over you all.” Indeed it is wrong. Unless she has changed, Sissy will exercise that to the last degree.

  “Augustus says the same. He is consulting his legal people. It’s monstrous that we should all have to go cap in hand to a mere housekeeper.”

  She knows perfectly well that Sissy was far more than that—and if she had not been, perhaps I would not be here, living in banishment, unable to say my proper farewells, to enjoy the comfort of all my children around me. “And the others?” I ask. “What do they think of Sissy’s legacy?”

  “Well, Lou thinks everything Papa did was marvelous, and Eddie simply smiles and whistles and shrugs his shoulders. And Alfie and Carrie bleat away saying it is only justice for all she has done. They’ve always been hand-in-glove with her, in my opinion. And now they have Lucy, Sissy thinks she can take over again, as she did with us. You should have seen her cooing and clucking.” She brightens. “Lucy’s an excellent child, though.”

  “Is she?” It pains me to think I have never set eyes on my only grandchild. “Perhaps I shall meet her one day.” I have pictured her, of course. I have pictured them all on the lawn at Park House, Alfie and Carrie laughing as they throw balls for the child to catch, Georgie in the hammock, Fanny playing croquet with Eddie, and Alfred sitting in the midst of them, his legs crossed, reading a book. And Sissy, of course, with Lou at her elbow, ready to dart off at her slightest request for more sandwiches or lemonade. “How is Lou?”

  “As cold as ever. Couldn’t crack her face into a smile, even.”

  “You two were always fire and ice.”

  “She stuck a knife in me once.”

  “Louisa did?” I am horrified. “Why didn’t I know?”

  Kitty shifts, guiltily. “You were ill; I didn’t bother you. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell him.”