Intermezzo (4 page)

Becka seemed confused. “I don’t understand, Adela. When did you lose them?”

“My brother died about eight years ago and my mother—it has been fourteen years now, Becka.”

“Eight and fourteen years! Then you
cannot
be in mourning for so long.”

“My dear Rebecka, when you are my age you will come to realize that mourning has very little to do with a date on the calendar. Mourning is a state of one’s soul—it is timeless.”

Rebecka had screwed up her face in confusion and was shaking her head. “Grown people are forever telling me I do not understand. But you are quite out there, Adela. I
do
understand about
losing
people. And I think it is wrong—it is positively selfish and wicked—to mourn for so long. I lost my mother three years ago. My mother was everything a mother could ever be. I lost her. I lost my father as well. I scarcely credit that because
I
seldom saw him. He was not like Uncle Charles. He was, I think you would call it, a wild young man and he died in a hunting accident when I was four. You were quite
lucky,
Adela. You had your own mother for
twelve whole years
and you
had
a little brother. I am only nine now and
whom
do
I
have? I have Uncle Charles, who is a dear but rather stiff, and I have you, who are in mourning for always. I am certain my mother is in heaven with your mother and your brother and I have no doubt that they are enjoying themselves excessively with God and the angels. Do you think they would approve of your Friday faces and your gray dresses?”

For the moment Adela was completely nonplussed. And then she gathered the little weeping figure into her arms and waited for the tears to subside. Finally, taking a handkerchief and drying Rebecka’s eyes, Adela continued in a lighter vein, “Perhaps, Rebecka, I dress the way I do because I truly
enjoy
being a prune-faced spinster.”

“Yes, I think you do, Adela. But it is unfair to the rest of us. Did you never think of marriage?”

In an effort to keep the child’s attention from returning to her own losses, Adela began almost whimsically to answer her question, “Oh yes, when I was quite young and my brother was alive we would spin our dreams as all children do. When Jon was old enough, we were both going to go off to Oxford where Jon would study and I would marry a don. My brother was to be a vicar, you see, and we would each of us raise an enormous family of musicians and, together, we would have a small orchestra.”

“What is a don?”

“A professor at a university, Becka, a wise and learned man.”

“Well, if he is so wise and learned he is bound to have his head in the clouds and will never notice you dressed in gray with an ugly widow’s cap covering an even uglier chignon. You will simply have to do something ... Wait here just a moment.” Becka darted from the room to return shortly with a delicate paisley shawl in shades of blue, green, and violet silk.

“Will you wear it, Adela? It was my mother’s.”

The child looked up at her with her face eager and her eyes beginning to water over.

Adela knew she ought to refuse the gift, but a great deal more than a piece of silk was being offered and she could not bring herself to reject the offering.

“Are you quite certain you want me to wear this shawl, Becka?”

“Yes, Adela, I am quite certain.”

Later that same evening, when Rebecka had gone up to bed and Adela had retreated to the music room, Waterston and Lady Spencer were alone in the drawing room.

“Come, come, Charles, you are not precisely a
reclusive
gentleman, and one always assumes that work in the foreign office entails
some
entertainment of visiting dignitaries.”

“Oh, I am not objecting to Count Orlov, but to be obliged to give even a modest ball next month for the Austrian ambassador seems a bit excessive.”

“I understand that the Austrian ambassador himself is just a bit excessive.”

“Just so. And I shall need an
official
hostess. I am volunteering you, Sophia,” he said, just a hint of request in his voice.

“I would be delighted to help, Charles. I have always fancied myself a diplomat, you know. Oh no, don’t you go raising that eyebrow, Charles, and looking skeptical. I can assure you that, in my own way, I am a master diplomat.”

“Undoubtedly, Sophia. And, in any case, you would have no trouble managing a formal ball for a mere sixty or seventy people. His excellency, the ambassador, is a stickler for formality.”

“So I have been told.” Sophia smiled.

“Incidentally, my dearest aunt, I do not mean to
impose
on you in this matter. Soames and his wife are quite capable of arranging the logistics of the evening and Diana has volunteered to select the guests, the menu, and the decorations. She is, Lord knows, more than qualified to do so. No, Sophia, I ask you only to act as my official hostess.”

“It would of course be a bit premature to ask Lady Diana to do so, would it not, Charles?”

“A trifle premature yes ... It is settled then; you need only appear and grace the evening with your commanding presence.”

“Settled. I suppose I shall use the ball as an excuse to purchase an extravagant new ball gown.”

“You, my dear, are the only lady of my acquaintance who seems to require an excuse to buy a gown.”

“No, there you are quite out, Charles,” Sophia mused. “I have been looking to find a subtle way to improve Miss Trowle’s wardrobe, but she will, I suspect, have nothing to do with it. I think I must forceably purchase her some clothes.” Sophia hesitated, waiting for some response from Waterston.

“And you are asking my permission?”

“No, of course I am not asking your permission,
stoopid.
I am asking for your support. That girl is proud, stubborn, and absolutely determined to look her worst. You might help me to convince her to accept a gown or two from me.”

“Why, pray tell, might I do anything of the sort? It won’t wash, Sophia. What possible difference can it make to me what gown Miss Trowle chooses to wear?”

“Surely you have noticed how very poorly Miss Trowle is dressed.”

“Miss Trowle’s clothes, now that I think of it, are plain and so I might add is her person. There is no sense, Sophia, in attempting the impossible—you cannot make a sow’s ear into a silk purse. Miss Trowle has the face and figure of a little drab pinched bird. She would look ridiculous in fine feathers.”

“Good God, Charles, the gowns I propose are not of primrose and scarlet silk. I suggest a few new things—simple and modest. She need not look like an undernourished sparrow if, with a little help, we can convert her into a plump robin. How can you who are so fastidious accept her as she is? I realize that Miss Trowle is not beautiful, but there is no need for her to appear as ugly as is humanly possible.”

“Did I say that Miss Trowle is not beautiful? Miss Trowle’s appearance is not beautiful but she herself has a beauty most profound. Her beauty flows through her fingertips and creates music. Her appearance before the world is a redundancy—her clothing is irrelevant.”

Sophia paused in her thought for fully a minute and then decided a change in subject matter was in order.

“Well then, Charles, now that we have disposed of the Austrian ambassador with a mere ball what are your plans for Count Orlov?”

“I had intended to discuss the count with you, Sophia. The Russian cooperation is very important to the government and Orlov’s advice to the Czar is therefore quite critical. I have been in meetings with the man all week and I have come to respect his judgment.”

“And you intend to host a ball for
that
one as well?”

“Of course not. Now it is you, my dearest aunt, who are being ‘stoopid.’ Orlov could never tolerate what passes as a pleasant evening in the ton. He is too serious and, like you, unalterably opposed to the ‘dissipations of the idle rich.’ You would like him I think. In fact, he has heard of your work and has asked to meet you.”

“I know of
his
work as well and I have been scheming all week to arrange just such a meeting.”

“What is your suggestion then?” Waterston asked.

‘‘Perhaps a very small dinner party, Charles.”

“The count, myself, my colleague, young Thomas Worthing, and you my dear aunt?”

“Not quite
that
small, Charles. Even at my age, I object to being the only woman. We should, I think, invite Nancy Owens, who is a particular friend of Mr. Worthing’s, and since Worthing is Lady Diana’s cousin, I think it would be entirely appropriate to invite your Lady Diana as well. Then we will have evened out the numbers, you see.”

Waterston hesitated. “My apologies, Sophia, you really are a diplomat. Have you elected yourself Thomas Worthing’s fairy godmother? I can assure you that young man will have no difficulty arranging his own life. He is quite devoted to Miss Owens, and as she is an intelligent and sensible sort of creature, she is quite equally devoted to him. I fail to see how you hope to improve on the situation.”

“Pooh, Charles. All you say is very true. But there is a great deal of opposition because of her origins in trade.”

“I beg your pardon, Sophia?”

“You can be so dense, Charles.
His
family does not approve the match. I daresay he is reluctant to confide in you about his own family, but the two young people have been reduced to desperate stratagems to have even a simple conversation together.”

“And you think Count Orlov’s dinner an appropriate occasion for a tête-à-tête?”

“Not precisely, Charles, but Nancy Owens
is
the sort of young person the count is anxious to learn about. It will go very well, that is, if your Diana approves.”

“Diana is, of course, very conscious of her birth and position, but she is not an antiquarian about such matters. Moreover, she will, of course, follow my judgment in the matter. Have no fears on that matter, Sophia.”

“Excellent, Charles. Then I will make the arrangements with your staff.”

Waterston seemed deep in thought for a moment before he spoke, “Do you think it entirely appropriate to exclude Miss Trowle?”

Lady Spencer responded almost a shade too casually, “Miss Trowle has nothing appropriate to wear. She will look like an impoverished governess.”

“
She
would pay that no mind, Sophia.”

“True, but I would mind it dreadfully, Charles, and besides, with Miss Trowle we would be forced to invite another young man.”

“True and the party expands beyond what Orlov would find comfortable.”

Several days later, after a short chat in the library with his lordship, Lady Spencer came into the music room, waved her reticule, and announced that she and Rebecka were about to set out on a tour of the modistes in order to acquire a new spring wardrobe. Adela attempted to excuse herself but was interrupted.

“We”—Aunt Sophia was using the royal We—“require your company, Adela. I am as much opposed to the general state of frippery among the women of the higher classes as you are, my dear, but a certain minimum of respect is due to one’s appearances. We cannot allow Rebecka to adopt the behavior of a dowd. The child respects your judgment and so you
must
come. Besides, my dear, tomorrow evening Charles is having the Count Orlov to dinner with two other friends and quite suddenly I have discovered we will be short a lady. Surely you will attend.”

“Sophia, I
couldn’t.
I would be very uncomfortable at a tonnish dinner party.”

“So would Count Orlov, my dear. He is a very serious reforming sort of gentleman and doesn’t hold with trivial females.”

“Ah then, you have been fairly caught, Aunt Sophia. My pearl gray will suffice.”

“We will discuss that matter in the shops. No time to be lost now. No time at all.”

They were to begin at Helene’s, a shop favored by Sophia because, although it was both excessively expensive and fashionable, the proprietress was a no-nonsense business woman who did not fawn on her clients. Except when her advice was specifically requested, Madame Helene preferred to leave her customers to their own devices.

While Rebecka was being fitted in an exquisite little froth of a pink muslin gown with white eyelet pinafore, Sophia and Adela continued to thumb through the bolts of fabric and the pattern magazines.

Lady Spencer held a swatch of fabric out for Adela’s inspection. “Do you think this emerald green suits me, Adela? I think it
may
do for spring.”

“It is very flattering, Aunt Sophia.”

“Gammon, as if anything given my ample age and more than ample proportions could be flattering. But it will do. And what of you, Adela. That taupe silk you are holding seems to be just a bit grim.”

Adela dropped her swatch and turned to her aunt, smiling and shaking her head. “I beg of you, Aunt Sophia, not to persist. I want nothing, I need nothing, and moreover, I do not choose to squander my income, such as it is, on clothes. Considering my appearance, my station in life, and my aspirations, high fashion is a total waste of my resources.” Before Sophia could respond, they were interrupted. “Lady Spencer, I have been looking to find you everywhere. I must thank you.”