Ivywood Manor

January 1885-1

That morning, the sun’s rays touched every spotless corner of my room. I could hear Jane, my lady’s maid, bustling around. Her feet shuffled across the floor, drawers opened and closed, and curtains slid across their rods. I turned over in hope of shading my eyes from the brightness.

“Miss Charlotte,” Jane called.

I opened my eyes a fraction and recognized Jane’s backside. “Is it terribly late, Jane?”

“Not terribly, no,” she replied. “But you ought to get up about now.”

I began to close my eyes again, but the urgency in Jane’s voice gave me pause.

“Miss Charlotte,” she repeated. “The young master is s’posed to arrive today, remember? He caught us all by surprise, arriving in the dead of night instead. And with a young lady, for goodness’ sake.”

At this reminder, I sat up.

Not long after arriving at Ivywood Manor, I’d resigned myself to the workings of the household. The texture of every square foot of the estate and the names of every portrait in the hall were etched in my brain, reminding me where I belonged. I learned early on that Victor would inherit the van Kirks’ fortune, and he never let me forget that I was lucky to be taken in at all. Often, he pointed to my last name—Herring—to establish the obvious differences between us, though it was unnecessary.

I saw our differences without the mention of any names. Victor had been granted a seat at the men’s table to play cards, while I’d sat on the couch pricking my finger in my pursuit of the art of needlework. When the men had grown bored of their game, I’d been urged to play the pianoforte for their entertainment. If I’d preferred to practice French, flower arranging, or reading, I’d been lectured about being a good host.

Although I’d willingly engaged in arguments with Victor on the subject of appropriate feminine behavior, the consequences hadn’t always been pleasant. I’d watched as Victor trailed after the men when they went shooting, and he’d reported me to Mrs. van Kirk whenever I so much as looked at a hunting rifle for too long. She’d threatened to lock me in my room without supper, and the smirk on his face when he’d heard of my punishment had enraged me.

Even after I’d passed marrying age at eighteen, Victor continued to claim that he was the restless one.

He’d often make long trips into town when he wasn’t obliged to study, preferring to be away from Ivywood Manor. When he was home, he’d kept to his room and emerged only to dine with the family. He’d been such poor company that Mr. van Kirk briefly considered sending him away to visit relatives and keep him occupied, but Mrs. van Kirk had protested vehemently against it.

Victor had detailed his intent to go abroad on a grand tour of Europe years ago. But rather than coming home with a fiancée, marrying, and inheriting the estate as was expected, he’d stayed away and wrote home sporadically.

I wondered whether he would look much the same upon his return. He was twenty-seven now, after all. Perhaps he’d found a new fashion of dress more to his liking or had picked up a bit of an accent. Mrs. van Kirk would very much dislike both.

Jane lightly tapped my arm. “Time to get dressed, miss.”

She laid out my garments: a robin-blue walking dress next to starched stays and stockings. She stretched her hand out to have me stand, and I took it. As she helped me dress, she murmured for me to lift my arm or straighten my back.

While she did so, I pictured Victor—the paleness of him, as if I spent twice the amount of time in the sun as he did. The frame of his body was much like Mr. van Kirk’s but thinner and lankier. He walked with exaggerated strides and angular, swinging arms that hinted at a discomfort with the length of his limbs.

“Miss?” Jane said, prompting me to step into my stockings.

I inquired, “Does Victor look much changed?”

“I have yet to see him. Shall we braid your hair before we fret about the young master?”

“Do you think he’ll be wed?” I wondered. “I would not mind it truthfully if he did. He mentioned a woman in one of his letters, did he not? Lucille was her name.”

Jane paid no mind to my questions about Victor or his potential bride. She was too busy twisting and turning the strands of my hair into an artfully created bird’s nest. I watched her in the mirror, imagining lovebirds making their home on my head, pecking at beads like birdseed carefully glued in straight lines on pins.

“You’re all set,” she declared.

I thanked Jane and started down the stairs. The smell of freshly baked bread floated in the air. I thought of seeds again and wondered whether lovebirds were anything like ravens. Would either species feed on the crumbs if I left a small pile outside of my window?

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by the appearance of Victor and a woman.

He was so clearly unchanged that I wondered why I’d ever thought he’d be otherwise. His coloring was as pale as ever, and though his body looked to have become almost lankier, his features were the same. To my surprise, he stared at me as if I were a stranger for a few prolonged seconds.

Then he came forward and pressed my hands between his. “Charlotte.”

“Victor, your travels have treated you well, I trust,” I said evenly. “We are all so glad that you have returned.”

“As am I,” he replied, stepping aside. “I would like to introduce you to Miss Lucille King. Father might have mentioned the King name. Her father is in Parliament.”

Lucille was a petite blonde with blue eyes reminiscent of a porcelain doll’s. She had a small nose and lips just thick enough to be satisfactory and not overly plump. She was draped in layers of frill so thick that the garment bulged outward, which she couldn’t possibly sit in comfortably.

I dipped into a curtsy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lucille said, repeating the gesture. “Victor has told me so much about you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I replied. “Will you be staying long?”

Victor offered his arm to Lucille, intent upon leading her to the dining room. “Yes, I think I must stay awhile. Lucille, as well. I would like to give her the grand tour of Ivywood Manor.”

I followed. “Was it a prosperous journey? Did you gain much from it? I am certain you must have.”

Victor waved his hand in dismissal. “We must discuss it later. It’s hardly anything for ladies’ ears. I’d much rather hear about the goings-on here. Has there been much excitement while I was away?”

I bristled at his unwillingness to share, momentarily pausing in my steps. “Anticipating your homecoming, certainly.”

“Certainly,” he repeated.

Lucille’s eyes focused on Victor, then me. “I am certain Victor will regale you with all his stories soon.”

“Of course,” I agreed.

We arrived at the dining room, where freshly cooked pastries sprinkled with herbs awaited us. Mr. and Mrs. van Kirk occupied their usual seats at the table. Mr. van Kirk held the newspaper in his hands, while Mrs. van Kirk chattered at him. Upon spotting Victor, Mrs. van Kirk stopped speaking immediately. She rose to embrace him, murmuring his name; all the while, Lucille was forced to stand politely to the side.

“Welcome home, Victor,” Mr. van Kirk said by way of greeting. “Will you take a seat, Miss King?”

Mrs. van Kirk released Victor at the sound of Lucille’s name and ushered her toward the seat next to mine. Victor took his seat straight across from Lucille, and Lucille thanked both Mr. and Mrs. van Kirk for their hospitality.

“Your journey was not too taxing, I hope. We were not expecting you so late at night.” The tone of Mr. van Kirk’s voice was scolding.

“Not at all, Father,” Victor responded quickly. “We simply could not keep away any longer.”

“I am sure,” he said. “Your mother has been quite worried about you. You have ordered a great many things to be placed in this household. The prices appear to exceed your usual allowances.”

It was not the first occasion on which Mr. van Kirk had brought up Victor’s spending. A few days prior to Victor’s arrival, Mrs. van Kirk had inquired what Mr. van Kirk’s plans were for the day. He told her that Jones, his solicitor, had been in touch about the numerous furniture pieces and trinkets that Victor had ordered. Her response had been to sulk, stirring her cup of coffee furiously until drops spilled onto the tablecloth.

The stain was still there, and Mrs. van Kirk rubbed the spot with her napkin twice as if believing it would disappear with a little force. “Oh! We should not speak of money at the table.”

Victor’s lips pressed together into a tight line. “Everything is in order, Father.”

Mr. van Kirk scoffed.

I nearly asked what Victor meant by that when Mr. van Kirk caught my eye. He shook his head infinitesimally, and I closed my mouth again. He didn’t speak much after that, except to comment on the delightful nature of the breakfast spread Molly had prepared.

Mrs. van Kirk, on the other hand, pressed Victor about his travels. He replied in short, cross sentences that his travels had been perfectly satisfactory. Disappointed with his responses, Mrs. van Kirk moved on to politely inquiring after Lucille’s family and her own travels in Europe.

Lucille’s face took on a look of surprise whenever she was addressed. Her attention was focused on the sound of her fork scraping against the plate or daintily dabbing at the corners of her lips with a napkin. She answered Mrs. van Kirk’s questions eloquently but refused to elaborate.

The entire meal dragged on with the sound of utensils hitting the table, glasses being raised to lips, and Mrs. van Kirk’s interrogation. I stole furtive glances at Victor, who glared at Mr. van Kirk, though Mr. van Kirk paid Victor no attention. I was quite certain that he was upset at the lack of warm welcome he’d received from Mr. van Kirk, and he was as spoiled as ever to expect it. If it were not for Mrs. van Kirk’s chatter, breakfast would have been a decidedly silent affair.

Later that afternoon, Mrs. van Kirk, Lucille, and I were gathered in the informal drawing room. Lucille was seated on the settee across from Mrs. van Kirk and shrank away whenever Mrs. van Kirk reached over to grasp her hands. I thought Mrs. van Kirk was celebrating Victor’s wedded bliss rather prematurely, so I kept to myself near the window on the other side of the room.

“Lucille, Victor tells us that you have a talent for playing the pianoforte,” Mrs. van Kirk cooed.

Her latest pronouncement made Lucille blush. I noticed that she blushed with a startling frequency, as if it took great courage for her to acknowledge any words said to her. Was she eighteen or nineteen? She looked young.

Lucille was now patiently combatting Mrs. van Kirk’s requests for her to play the pianoforte, and I admired her resilience. I most certainly would have been worn down by now. Not that Mrs. van Kirk thought very highly of my piano-playing abilities.

“Oh! Why do you not sing?” Mrs. van Kirk suggested.

“I am certain that my voice is not all that great. There are plenty of other young ladies who possess a much more refined voice than mine,” Lucille said. “Perhaps Charlotte could play for us.”

Mrs. van Kirk looked so utterly offended at the suggestion that I had to restrain myself from laughing.

“I am afraid that I am much out of practice,” I said, “and there are many who play better than I.”

“I shall go without for today then,” Mrs. van Kirk sighed.

A look of utter relief spread across Lucille’s face. Her eyes softened, and the lines around her lips disappeared entirely. She began to peruse the drawing room.

But Mrs. van Kirk was not satisfied. “If there is to be no entertainment, what am I to do? Shall I rest?”

“Are you unwell?” I inquired, halfhearted. “The time you rest is entirely up to you, I assure you.”

Mrs. van Kirk scowled, turning resolutely toward the other end of the room. She concentrated particularly hard on penning a letter to one of her dearest friends, to whom, she said, she was indebted for all the entertainment the other lady’s daughters provided. But she never did leave.

Lucille wandered toward me, glancing out the window. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“Yet we are inside. Why is that?” I returned. “Do you play so well, Miss King?”