The House of Happiness (7 page)

Eugenia hurried away to don her hat and coat.

Madame Lefain stocked a large range of materials in premises behind the Arcade. There was silk and silk mousseline and taffeta and crepe and muslin and satin and satin brocade, in a hundred colours. Eugenia's eyes opened in wonder at the choice. How could she possibly decide? She might have been there all afternoon had her gaze not alighted on a bolt of rose pink satin. This was the colour she had imagined when she had envisaged herself dancing with Gregor.

Madame Lefain thought the rose pink an excellent choice. She showed Eugenia a pattern that she thought would be most becoming and was absolutely ‘
of ze moment
'.

Mrs. Dovedale chose a deep purple indigo silk.

Shoes were produced that Madame Lefain assured them she could have been dyed to match the gowns.

Mrs. Dovedale declared herself most satisfied with the purchases. Eugenia tried to appear non-committal but inside she was excited beyond measure. Not since she was a child at ‘
Paragon
' had she been able to spend time and money on her appearance.

If she dazzled Gregor it would be more than worth it.

*

The day of the final fitting came. Madame Lefain fussed about Eugenia, straightening the hem here, shifting the shoulder there. Then at last she stepped back.

“Voila!”

Eugenia blinked at her image in the pier glass. Could that –
Princess
– really be her?

Mrs. Dovedale clapped her hands. “Splendid! You must go and show yourself to Great-Aunt Cloris.”

“Oh, yes!” agreed Eugenia. “Since it is all her doing!”

Mrs. Dovedale caught her daughter's arm.  “All her doing?”

“Did she not agree to pay for our gowns?”

Her mother hesitated. “Of course. But you must not mention it. She wishes it to be – an anonymous gift. So please do not take it upon yourself to thank her.”

Eugenia was surprised but nodded all the same. “All right. If that is her wish, I shall say nothing.”

It was a Saturday.  Mounting the stairs to her great-aunt's room Eugenia found herself grateful for the first time that Gregor would
not
be there. She did not want to spoil his first sight of her at Lady Bescombe's ball. 

Great-Aunt Cloris seemed moved when she saw how beautiful her great-niece looked. She moved stiffly to her dressing table and took out a row of pearls that had a pink lustre to them.

“You must wear these.  They will go very well with the dress.”

“Oh, thank you, Great-Aunt Cloris. They are perfect.”

The evening of the ball arrived at last. At seven o'clock a carriage bearing the Buckbury crest arrived at the door.  Great-Aunt Cloris and Bridget watched from the house as the footman opened the carriage door and ushered Eugenia and her mother inside. They waved and the carriage set off.

Mrs. Dovedale was barely settled into the plush velvet interior than she was at the window, opening it to see who might be watching their grand progress through the streets.

“Why, no one is out to notice us at all!” she moaned. She thought for a moment and then called to the coachman.

“Could you endeavour to drive by Cavendish Square, my man? And be sure and stop at Lady Granton's house at number 32.”

“What are you asking, Mama?” whispered Eugenia.

“Lady Granton is not attending the ball tonight,” her mother replied. She is somewhat unwell. I should like her to see us in our gowns.”

Eugenia shook her head and leaned back against the soft upholstery.

The coachman, in order to detour by Cavendish Square, was turning the carriage round at a crossroads. Mrs. Dovedale hung out at the window, calling out instructions.

“You need to turn that horse's head a little more firmly. And aim for that street on the left.”

There was a shout of warning. Horses reared whinnying in their shafts. Wheels grated against wheels. The Buckbury carriage shuddered on its axle.

Eugenia started up in horror as the door against which her mother was leaning swung wildly open and she was flung out, screaming, into the dark and misty night.

There was a thud and the screaming ceased.

Trembling, Eugenia leapt from the carriage.

“Mama! Mama!”

There was no reply.

Mrs. Dovedale lay silent, unmoving, her purple gown spread wide on the cobbles, her feet in their satin shoes protruding at an odd angle. Way above her head a jet flame fluttered in its bowl like a lone moth lost in the darkness.

“I knew no good would come of the ball,” muttered Great-Aunt Cloris.

Eugenia shuddered. Her eye strayed to the lamp on the table behind Great-Aunt Cloris. The wick was low, the flame flickering.

Flickering. Fluttering. Like the gas jets of the street lamps when her mother lay injured on the cobbles below.

Eugenia covered her face with her hands.

It was all her fault!

If she had not wanted to dance with Gregor – if she had remained true to her original resolution not to attend the ball – she and her mother would never have been riding in that carriage. Her mother would be safe and sound, instead of lying unconscious in her bed upstairs.

People had flocked to help after the accident. The footman, the coachman and another gentleman had carried Mrs. Dovedale back into the carriage. The carriage was not too badly damaged and was able to convey the injured woman and her daughter home to Craven Hill. The coachman had then driven on to inform the Marquis that his guests would not be arriving after all.

Bridget had been sent to fetch the doctor.

Doctor Parfitt had been with Mrs. Dovedale for over half an hour.  His footsteps were audible as he moved about the room upstairs.

Great-Aunt Cloris raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“That doctor has a heavy tread,” she grumbled. “A heavy fee, too, I shouldn't wonder.” 

Eugenia lowered her head.

There was silence for a while, broken only by the snap of a log in the fireplace or the step of the doctor in the room above. Outside in the street came the sound of a carriage drawing up but neither Eugenia nor Great-Aunt Cloris stirred. Only when the door bell rang did they look up.

“A visitor at this hour?” Great-Aunt Cloris frowned.

Bridget's light footsteps sounded in the hallway. They heard the opening of the street door, muffled voices and then steps approaching the drawing room door.

“The Marquis of Buckbury,” Bridget announced grandly.

Eugenia rose in confusion as the Marquis strode forward, pulling off his long gloves.  Raindrops glistened in his hair and the collar of his dark cape was damp.

“You – you have left the ball before it was hardly begun, my Lord?” Eugenia murmured.

“Did you really think I could simply dance the night away after hearing the terrible news?” The Marquis shook his head wonderingly before turning to address Great-Aunt Cloris. “I have taken the liberty, ma'am, of ordering straw to be laid outside your house that the invalid might not be disturbed by the sound of traffic.”

“How kind of you to think of such a thing, my Lord.” She signalled to Bridget, who stood gaping at the door. “Bridget, take our visitor's cape to dry.  Then be so good as to bring us some tea.”

Eugenia meanwhile bestirred herself to bring a chair to the fire for the Marquis.

“The doctor is with Mrs. Dovedale now?” he enquired.

“This last half hour,” replied Great-Aunt Cloris.  “We await his prognosis – with great trepidation, as you might imagine. My niece was as cold as a waxwork when they brought her home. She has not opened her eyes nor uttered a word since.”

The Marquis listened with concern. He then turned to Eugenia.

“You were not in any way – injured yourself, Miss Dovedale?”

“Not at all.” Eugenia's voice trembled.  “But Mama – poor Mama!

She turned away to stifle a sob. Only Great-Aunt Cloris registered the look of relief that crossed the Marquis's features at this admission that Eugenia was unharmed. He stood for a moment regarding her bowed head and then placed his hand gently on her arm.

“Everything that can possibly be done for your mother will be done, Miss Dovedale,” he assured her.

Great-Aunt Cloris looked alarmed. “We have to hope that Mrs. Dovedale's injuries are not grave.  She might be my own flesh and blood, but
I
cannot afford to pay in perpetuity for the services of a doctor.  My husband's money was in Indian cotton, my Lord, and the market is not as healthy as it once was.”

“Great-Aunt Cloris – please do not fret yourself,” said Eugenia in a low voice. “I will pay for the doctor if – if Mama – is badly injured. I will find work somewhere.”

She snorted. “What work could a young girl like you possibly do?”

Eugenia reddened, conscious of the presence of the Marquis.

“I could be a seamstress. Or governess.”

Great-Aunt Cloris threw up her hands. “A seamstress! A governess!  There has never been such employ in the history of the Dewitt family!”

Eugenia's lip trembled.  “Begging your pardon, great-aunt, but I am not a Dewitt. I am a Dovedale.”

The Marquis noted this display of spirit with interest.

“A Dovedale, ay, more's the pity!” asserted Great-Aunt Cloris sourly.  “My niece Florence
could
have married a Dewitt cousin. She would not have found herself in such penury if she had. The Dewitts knew about money. 
Earn it, save it
. That was their motto and it served them well.”

The Marquis gave a cough. “If your niece
had
married her cousin, madam,” he smiled, “the union might not have resulted in such a such a beautiful and devoted young lady as Miss Dovedale.”

Great-Aunt Cloris shrugged. Then, though she struggled against it, the glare in her eye softened.

“I daresay.  Yes.  Eugenia is a good girl and a pretty girl. A ray of sunshine in my old age.”

The following moment of delicate silence was punctured only by the arrival of Bridget. She plunged breathlessly through the door without a tray of tea.

“The doctor – is on his way, ma'am,” she stuttered.

The doctor was still rolling his sleeves down as he entered the room.

Great-Aunt Cloris stood and steadied herself on the arm of her chair.

“Well?” she asked.

Doctor Parfitt tightened the button on his left cuff.

“She is conscious, madam.”

“Thank God! And is she –
compos mentis
? She fell headfirst into the roadway, you know!  I had feared a broken skull.”

“There is no sign of serious head injury.  However, she is in shock and some degree of pain. She has sustained a broken leg and a fractured wrist.”

Eugenia's hands flew to her mouth.  “Oh! Poor Mama! Can I see her?”

The doctor considered and then gave a nod. “I am sure it will hearten her to see you. But I must insist on accompanying you. She is still very weak.”

“I must come too!” insisted Great-Aunt Cloris.

The doctor turned to stay her – unwilling as he was to see his patient crowded, but Great-Aunt Cloris brushed him imperiously aside.

“Marquis! You should come too,” she called over her shoulder.

The Marquis drew back. “I hardly think – ” he began, but Great-Aunt Cloris cut him short.

“Mrs. Dovedale will be delighted to know that you have taken an interest in her recovery.  She will wish to thank you herself.”

Thus it was that the Marquis followed Great-Aunt Cloris, the doctor and Eugenia up the stairs to see Mrs. Dovedale.

Mrs. Dovedale lay propped up on pillows. Eugenia almost wept to see how pale and weak she looked.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Is that you, daughter?”

“Yes, Mama.  Great-Aunt Cloris is here too. And – and the Marquis.”

“The Marquis!” Mrs. Dovedale's other hand flew to her face. “But my hair is loose and – the powder is gone from my cheeks.”

Great-Aunt Cloris peered round the curtains. “I am glad to see that you are in one piece, Florence. You will be up and about in no time.”

Mrs. Dovedale's eyelids fluttered in distress.  “Up and about!” she moaned. “I can barely move. I haven't an ounce of strength in my bones.”

“Dear, dear,” said Great-Aunt Cloris, looking most perturbed. “How long do you expect to remain – prone?”

The doctor stepped forward. “Mrs. Dovedale is going to need some time to recuperate.”

“Time?” echoed Great-Aunt Cloris weakly.

“One cannot be exact,” the doctor began, but she cut him short.

“Who is to nurse her?” she wailed. “I cannot pay for a nurse, you know.”

“Why, I shall nurse my mother,” offered Eugenia quickly.

“Bless you, dear,” murmured Mrs. Dovedale.

“But who then will look after
me
?” cried Great-Aunt Cloris, her face growing very red and strained. “Who will act as housekeeper? I cannot afford to hire a temporary house-keeper
and
provide for the upkeep of an invalid. This was not – in the scheme of things. What am I to do?”

Doctor Parfitt was regarding her closely and frowned.

“Mrs. Dewitt, you must calm yourself. Remember your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure – yes – there is a kind of mist before my eyes. I need to sit down. If you would be so kind as to escort me downstairs, doctor. I seem to remember Bridget brought in some tea. May I take your arm?”

“By all means.”

The door had barely closed behind them when Eugenia, still kneeling at the bedside, burst into tears.

“Oh, Mama! How could Great-Aunt Cloris be so – so mean spirited!”

Mrs. Dovedale raised a shaking hand to stroke Eugenia's head.  “There, there,” she coaxed in a feeble voice. “Don't mind your great-aunt.  It's her age.”

Eugenia buried her head in her arms.

“Miss Dovedale.”