The Seventh Miss Hatfield (6 page)

I was thankful he talked so much that he didn’t let me answer his questions. I hadn’t expected to be caught, and I most certainly hadn’t expected this sort of greeting. I was in utter shock and didn’t know what to say or do.

‘Riding on the train alone must have been horrible for a young woman of your age. I do hope you’ll forgive your old uncle for that. I would’ve driven down with my new automobile if I hadn’t fallen ill. Eh, physician’s orders. What can I say?’ The man paused – barely – for breath, then went on babbling. ‘Why, it’s been so long since I saw you last, Margaret. Just look at you! You’re a young lady now, not the little girl I once knew. You were only knee-high the last time I saw you and you’ve only grown more beautiful,’ he gushed, making me feel more uncomfortable by the second.

I was thankful when he finally paused and looked back at his grim-looking companion, as if suddenly remembering he was there.

‘Margaret, this is Father Gabriel, the new local chaplain from the town near our country home. He’s doing us the honour of staying with us while we’re in the city. I almost forgot that you two haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.’

I looked at the man standing a step behind him. The black clothing he wore now made sense, though he looked young to be taken seriously as a chaplain. As I gazed into his hard eyes, I gauged that he couldn’t be more than thirty-five, yet the serious way he held himself suggested he was older.

‘Though Father Gabriel has only been with us a short time since Father Dominic’s passing, he’s made himself indispensable, and it feels like we’ve known him for ever. He appears to have that effect on people.’

‘A pleasure to meet you.’ I found the chaplain’s voice to be warmer than I’d expected. ‘But as I was telling Mr Beauford right before we found you, I’d best retire for the evening to be up for the early mass tomorrow. If you wish, you may join us.’

I thanked him, before he quickly turned on his heel and left. I was now alone with the old man.

Mr Beauford hesitated, as if just recalling something. ‘You haven’t seen Henley yet, have you?’

I shook my head, wondering who I’d be introduced to next. I only hoped whoever it was didn’t talk nearly as much as the man currently standing before me. ‘Henley! Boy!’ the man yelled to no one in particular. Muttering to himself, he rang a bell in the corner of the room. A scant minute later, the same servant who had escorted me to the parlour appeared.

‘Sir?’ She nodded towards the man and cast a confused – but polite – glance at me.

‘Bring Henley down to greet his cousin. This is my niece, Margaret, whom we’ve been expecting,’ he said. When he named me as his niece, the woman eyed me up and down, and I felt her cold judgement. Whether she reached a conclusion she liked or not, she quickly uttered, ‘Yes, sir,’ and promptly set out to find this Henley the man wanted me to greet.

The man, Margaret’s uncle – whoever she was – made small talk, trying to engage me in conversation at any cost, but my mind was elsewhere. I needed some way to escape, but I couldn’t leave without the painting. I knew I was being rude by not conversing with him, but he didn’t appear to mind.

‘There he is,’ the man said. The tone of his voice changed all of a sudden and made me look up from my thoughts.

The same servant was standing near the door, now ajar, but Mr Beauford’s gaze was on the younger man coming through it.

The young man looked nothing like the older, stooped-over man in front of me. His steps were filled with a lively spring, and there was something within him that made him glow like the embodiment of a happy and vigorous life. His face, however, conveyed a different message. His clear eyes had a strange sort of light in them, and his lips twitched as his hard eyes examined me. I suppressed a shiver, not wanting him to get the better of me.

‘Henley, say hello to your cousin,’ Mr Beauford said, still cheerful. He was oblivious of the tension that had passed between his son and me.

‘Hello, cousin.’ His voice sounded detached from the rest of him, but his father didn’t appear to notice. His lips flickered momentarily but, apparently deciding on a smile, he grinned. I drew a shaking breath, then replied with what I hoped was a polite but tart nod. Something about him made me uncertain – I just didn’t know what to make of this intense young man.

Mr Beaufort motioned with his cane to the servant, who was standing silently to one side, and said, ‘Please escort Miss Margaret to her room.’

‘Yes, sir.’ It appeared to be all she ever said. She mutely motioned for me to follow her. Having no notion how to extricate myself from this ever more complicated situation, I allowed her to lead me up the main staircase and along multiple hallways before she cracked open a random door.

‘I hope this room is to your liking, miss.’ She lit the candles in the wall fixtures one by one, and I watched the room come alive.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I said distractedly, hoping to dismiss her and finally have some time to myself. This was becoming complicated, and none of Miss Hatfield’s lessons had covered being mistaken for a member of the family.

‘Would you like me to help with undressing?’

I told her I would see to it myself and excused her, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. I sighed, realizing it was the first time I’d been alone for a while. I was stuck. I had no one I could talk to, no direction to go in and no one I could trust. Just myself.

I was still confused, only barely starting to comprehend the recent events that had occurred. But I knew I could never return to the way things had been – the only way to endure it was to continue and move forward, trying to survive.

I closed my eyes, letting my emotions run untempered through me. For the first time, I simply let go. Sadness. Uncertainty. Despair. Shock. They rushed at me as soon as my defences fell and I found myself surrendering to them. For the first time I let myself feel it all, including one emotion I felt above all else – terror.

My back fell heavily against the door, making no sound except a rustle of fabric as my dress slid down the wood and I collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor.

I woke to a knock at the door and stumbled out of bed to answer it. I wondered vaguely how I’d managed to drag myself to bed the previous night, but I felt more rested than I had in days.

‘Yes?’ I said as I opened the door.

‘Sorry to wake you, miss.’ It was the servant I’d met yesterday. ‘But Mr Beauford asked for your presence at breakfast in an hour and sent me to assist in dressing you.’

I fumbled for words, and once I’d found some, managed to croak out a single phrase: ‘How kind of him.’

The servant slipped into the room before I could stop her and audibly gasped at what I was wearing. I must have taken off Miss Hatfield’s dress and corset before I fell asleep, being careful not to crease it, and now I was wearing only the undergarments Miss Hatfield had lent me.

They’d been quite comfortable to sleep in. But it was obvious that the woman in front of me didn’t think they were fit to be used as sleepwear.

Nellie, as I learned was her name, took every care to dress me properly and in a manner ‘befitting of my station’. She found the dress I’d worn yesterday and smoothed it out before dressing me in it once again. She took pains to put my hair up exactly as it had been the night before, and once again I became the very picture of a well-bred gentlewoman.

I thanked Nellie and was making my way downstairs when a small laugh erupted from my lips. If only my mother could see me. What would she think of her little daughter dismissing servants and dressing like a Gibson Girl, as Miss Hatfield had described me? I wondered if she’d even recognize me.

As I rounded the curve of the staircase, I almost crashed head first into someone coming up.

‘Pardon me,’ I started to say as I was regaining my balance, but the words dried up in my mouth as soon as I saw who it was. Henley. Without so much as an apology or anything more polite than a low chuckle, he turned and left, continuing up the stairs.

I stood dumbfounded, trying to work out what had just occurred, before deciding to follow him. What was the matter with him, anyway? I hadn’t given him any reason to act as rudely to me as he just had, and as he had the night before.

I kept to the shadows in case he looked back and held up my skirts to make as little sound as possible. My footsteps were light summer rain compared to his, which echoed down the hallway. I had no idea what I was going to say when I confronted him, but I knew it was necessary.

I paused in the hallway as a door swung shut behind him. I heard his footsteps pacing the floor on the other side and swallowed a lump of fear as I wondered what he must be thinking about. Perhaps he suspected the truth – that I wasn’t Margaret but rather some impostor.

I cracked open the door without thinking about it any longer. I was worried I’d become petrified by my thoughts, and it was obvious to me that I had to confront him now. It was the right thing to do, and if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t be safe any longer.

I waited in the doorway until he noticed me. He stopped pacing and his body froze as if I’d cast a spell on him. ‘Shut the door behind you,’ he commanded, and I complied without thinking. He took a first step towards me, but appeared to think better of his plans and instead walked to a window at the far side of the room. I was standing in a bedroom with a large bed in the centre, as mine had. Its sheets and bedspread were pristine and immaculately made up. I immediately knew this room wasn’t his.

‘You knew I was coming?’ I asked him, when I realized he’d been waiting for me.

Henley remained mute, his back turned towards me. The morning light refracted through the window and bathed his figure in an unearthly glow. Early sunlight ran its fingers through his dark hair and made the distance between us miles and years, not just feet. I stood transfixed, staring at Henley. I wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he was actually there. He was so still – inhumanly so. I was struck by a surge of emotions I didn’t understand.

I turned around to leave quietly. It had been a mistake to follow him. I had nothing to say to him. I couldn’t tell him the truth, so what difference did it make if I hid behind a lie? He didn’t know who I was. He would never know.

‘Wait,’ he said, catching me off guard. ‘Please.’ It was the hint of desperation in his voice that ultimately made me decide to stay. I could tell he was as confused and unsure as I was, despite his confident demeanour.

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ I found myself telling him.

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

His answer surprised me. I’d guessed he would question me until he found out what he was looking for, such as where I came from, why I was here, who I was.

‘But I have something to say to you.’

I was hesitant at first, but he gestured to an empty seat next to where he was standing at the window, and so I sat down.

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he began, ‘but I know you’re not Margaret. You’re not my cousin.’ I immediately opened my mouth to object, but I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to say. I had no proof that I was her, because we both knew I wasn’t.

‘A letter came in the post the day you arrived. It was from her, apologizing that she wouldn’t be able to spend the summer with us as she’d just fallen ill and was in bed with a fever. She wrote that she hopes to come later in the summer, but not until at least a month has passed, as her physician warned her against travelling in her condition. You’re not her,’ he stated again. ‘So who are you?’

I looked down, suddenly knowing what I had to say. ‘I can’t tell you, but it’s important that I be here. I don’t mean any harm to you or your father, or to anyone else in this house, but I have to be here.’ It was painful not to tell him the truth, I admit, but lying was the right thing to do. I couldn’t drag him into this, and I didn’t know him well enough to judge whether I could trust him with something that was beyond unbelievable. The story of the Miss Hatfield who had been put in an asylum was still bright in my mind.

‘I believe you, I think. But what should I call you now?’

I thought in silence for a minute and suddenly looked up into the clearest blue eyes I had ever seen. ‘Margaret,’ I said. ‘For now, call me Margaret.’

He nodded. ‘Then, Miss Margaret, I don’t know why you’re doing this, and I don’t know why I’m agreeing to play along, but I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep your secret. You can trust me.’

I wondered if I really could. Henley only knew a small portion of the truth, but it was far beyond what anyone else knew, with the obvious exception of Miss Hatfield. I was trusting him with a part of me.

‘Margaret, please pass the marmalade,’ the old man said.

I’d learned from Henley that his father’s full name was Mr Charles F. Beauford. I had rushed down to breakfast after my confrontation with Henley, only to be the earliest to arrive at the table. At first, seeing the deserted seats, I thought I’d missed the meal entirely, but then Nellie walked in with pastries and other breakfast treats and apologized, saying that Mr Beauford was almost always late to meals, especially breakfast due to attending morning mass. She added that Mr Beauford expected me to start early and not wait for him or Henley. When I asked about Father Gabriel, I was told that he always preferred to take his meals alone in his room, and consequently would not be coming to breakfast. However, Miss Hatfield had instructed me that it was rude for guests and hosts alike to start eating when not all the seats were filled, so I decided to wait until Mr Beauford arrived regardless. Henley had some matters to attend to before he joined us for breakfast, and had asked me to tell his father that he’d be late as well.

‘Would you like some jam, too?’ I asked, smiling at the heap of food already on Mr Beauford’s plate.

‘Yes, please. It’s as if you just read my mind.’ He let out a deep, throaty laugh. ‘So, have you packed yet?’ he asked. Seeing my puzzled face, he added, ‘For the country, I mean. Or have you already prepared from home?’

‘The country?’

‘Haven’t you heard?’ I turned around at the sound of Henley’s voice. For a split second I wondered if he’d dare reveal my secret. ‘They lost her luggage at the station.’

‘Ah, yes. Someone must have mentioned something to me,’ Mr Beauford said.

I felt slightly sorry for him as everyone around him was lying and he was oblivious to it, but then I remembered he was the only person in the room who wasn’t aware of this … abnormality in his life, and perhaps it was a blessing. That’s what I’d taken to calling myself – an abnormality in life. After all, that was what I was. I wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It would have been better if Henley still thought I was his cousin, but I had no control over what he’d worked out for himself. Besides, he only knew a very small part of the whole truth.

‘Then you must take Margaret shopping, Henley,’ Mr Beauford said. Henley agreed, while I tried to decline. ‘No, I insist,’ Mr Beauford declared. ‘I’ll be occupied this afternoon, unfortunately, but Henley can take you out. Surely there must be some place in this city that will make fine dresses to your liking.’

Henley nodded, his eyes never leaving mine, and I found myself agreeing before too long. Our plans were set, and Henley and I would leave immediately after breakfast.

On my way out of the house, I found myself drawn towards the parlour. My feet stopped in front of the painting and I had no choice but to look into the woman’s eyes. How could I have forgotten about it so quickly? The portrait was the reason I was here. All I had to do was take it and leave. I couldn’t get tangled up in this world. All I had to do was grab the painting and leave.

‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ I spun around as I heard a soft laugh from behind me. ‘It’s just me,’ Henley said, holding his hands up. ‘No need to be scared.’

I didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t him that scared me. It was the thought that someone had guessed my intention to steal the painting.

‘But enough admiring that dusty old thing. We’ve got a life to live, places to go, and the servants have to take that thing down anyway.’

‘They have to take it down? Why?’

‘My father wants to have it moved to our house in the country. God only knows where he’ll put it. It’s already stuffed with cobwebbed paintings and various antiques he can’t bear to part with once he buys them.’

‘So it’s coming with us?’

‘Well, not at the same time, naturally. It should arrive before us with our other things.’

I exhaled, thankful I didn’t have to come up with an excuse to stay behind, but concerned that I was being railroaded into travelling with these people.

‘We’ve got to get going,’ he said. ‘The carriage is already out front waiting.’

I huffed, trying to show him I wasn’t happy with this, but he just laughed and led me outside. ‘I don’t know why you’re agreeing to this,’ I said, scrunching up my dress while climbing into the back of the carriage. I didn’t know how ladies of this time put up with their skirts. I wondered why they didn’t have more cars either – Henley’s father said he owned one – but of course I kept my questions to myself.

‘What if I said that I’d like to see you in something pretty?’ His eyes twinkled as he settled into a seat directly in front of mine.

‘Then I’d ask you why you don’t think my current dress is pretty enough.’

He laughed. ‘But you can’t go on wearing the same dress for months, or however long it is you intend to stay with us.’

‘What makes you think I’m planning to stay a while?’

‘A stranger comes into your home one night and impersonates your cousin. Why would you think she’ll leave anytime soon?’ He had a point, based on what he knew of me, but I didn’t want to think about spending months with these people.

‘Well, I wish as much as you do that I could go home.’

‘I don’t wish you to go away,’ he said slowly. ‘I just want to know more about you.’ He tapped the outside of the carriage twice and it started moving.

‘And that’s the one thing I can’t tell you anything about. I can only tell you who I’m not.’

‘Then why this house? Why us?’

‘Would you be disappointed to know that it has nothing to do with you or your father? It has nothing to do with your family or your house.’ That wasn’t true, of course, but I didn’t want him to work out the real reason for my arrival.

‘Then what made you come here?’ he asked, sounding as if he really wanted to know; as if he cared.

‘I can’t tell you,’ I said. ‘It’s too close to the truth.’

‘The truth?’ he asked, as if he already knew the answer.

‘Yes, my truth.’

‘Then I’m free to analyse who you’re not,’ he decided.

I nodded, fearing what he might say and, simultaneously, what he might not.

‘You aren’t from around here.’

‘Why do you suppose that?’ I asked him.

‘You looked afraid when the carriage started moving and then quickly concealed your fright, as if you were trying to hide it from me.’ He was more observant than I’d thought. I’d have to be more careful around him. ‘You look as if you’ve never seen New York before.’ If only he knew how close he was to the truth. ‘Consequently, you must not be from the city.’

‘I guess I’m not.’ I smiled at him. Try as he might, he’d never figure me out. He would never guess my real story.

‘Here we are,’ Henley said as the carriage pulled to a stop. ‘I think you’ll like Mrs Wetherby’s designs. Even my mother, who I’m told was at times the most impossible woman to satisfy, loved Mrs Wetherby, and claimed she’s the best seamstress in the entire state.’

Henley exited the carriage on his side, then came around and helped me out. He led me into a quaint shop where we were greeted at once by two ladies. Their dresses were plain compared to the multitude of elaborate fabrics in the shop. A full-length mirror in one corner of the room made the store appear bigger than it was. It mirrored the neat baskets and bundles of fabric, making them look never-ending.

‘Hello, Mr Beauford,’ the shorter woman said, already eyeing the dress I was wearing. She was stouter than the younger girl who stood meekly behind her, an arm’s distance from the woman. She had a pleasant, ruddy glow to her face. The older woman continued, ‘I hope we may be of service, whatever you’re looking for. Is it a new morning dress for your lady friend here? We just received a shipment of French fabric, and I dare say the lilac silk would be quite becoming on her, especially layered over a light blue … Don’t you agree, Kitty?’ The girl behind her quickly nodded in agreement.

‘Well, not exactly, Mrs Wetherby,’ Henley said. ‘We were hoping for something a bit more … extensive than that.’

Mrs Wetherby frowned at his words, trying to understand what he meant.

‘This is my cousin, Miss Margaret.’ He motioned to me.

‘How do you do,’ she said with a nod.

‘She’ll be staying with us in the country, but unfortunately her luggage was lost at the station, including all her dresses,’ Henley explained.

‘Why, that’s horrible, absolutely ghastly of them!’ Mrs Wetherby interjected. ‘That’s why I never trust those conductors with my luggage. You never know—’

‘Ah, yes,’ Henley interrupted her, trying to get her back on track. ‘As you can imagine, she’ll need an entirely new wardrobe of at least twelve dresses by the time we travel.’

‘And when would that be?’

‘We hope to be off early tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow morning? It would be impossible to have everything ready by then. Garments take time to make, you know. They don’t appear magically, ready to be worn—’

‘Yes, I do realize that, of course, which is why I hope you can ready at least one dress, one nightdress and … whatever else she would need.’

I saw a light blush colour his cheeks and didn’t understand why until I realized what they were discussing. For an accomplished young man who appeared to have everything he ever wanted or needed, I found it funny that Henley couldn’t say the word ‘underwear’ – or even ‘undergarments’ – without feeling embarrassed.

‘The rest can be sent to us in the country,’ he concluded, his cheeks still pink.

‘Then yes, we could have a few of the necessary garments ready by the morning, but you do understand that there will be an increased cost. We’ll be sewing all night.’

He nodded in an understanding manner. ‘Price will be no problem. Just enter it on our account. My father and I will only have the best for Miss Margaret while she’s in our care.’

Mrs Wetherby nodded and clicked her tongue as she started directing Kitty to gather fabric of all different colours and textures. As soon as her back was to us, I turned my attention towards Henley once more.

‘I really don’t need all that,’ I told him.

‘Of course you do. What will you do without a wardrobe? Live in that dress?’

‘Well, I don’t need twelve dresses!’ I hissed.

‘You’re trying to pass as my cousin, aren’t you? Margaret would never travel with only a handful of dresses, not even for a short trip.’

I studied him closely, but Henley’s face betrayed no emotion. His expression was calm and his eyes gazed past me, as if we were discussing the weather. ‘Think of it as a gift from me.’

Henley’s eyes were still looking anywhere but towards me when Mrs Wetherby called me over to take a look at the fabrics she and Kitty had laid out on the table. The different materials painted the table in an array of colours, each more beautiful and richly designed than the last.

‘They’re all so gorgeous,’ I breathed.

‘You look like you need help with choosing,’ Mrs Wetherby said.

I accepted her offer gratefully, and one by one she held up each swatch of fabric, only for me to tell her that it wasn’t quite right. ‘They’re all beautiful. They’re just too much,’ I said finally, utterly overwhelmed.

‘So you want something simpler.’ She pulled a few fabric swatches from the back of the store. ‘Here’s the lilac silk I mentioned earlier. It would look gorgeous with your hair colour.’

Indeed, the fabric was something to behold. It was the lightest purple I’d ever seen, almost translucent. Where the light laid its fingers, it shimmered like the surface of water before it let the light pass through.

‘We can stitch it over a light blue like this,’ she said, holding up a swatch of blue fabric underneath the translucent lilac. The pairing created a mirage that glistened in and out of focus like water in the desert, and I found myself saying yes to this choice, transfixed by the sight before me.

‘I knew you’d like it. Now, how about these?’ Happy with her success, Mrs Wetherby pulled down bundles with more vigour. My eyes swarmed with colour after colour, like a maddening kaleidoscope, ever changing. In the end, I picked the softest colours, a light cream, a light blue and a dusty rose among them.

‘We just need to measure you, and then you two can be on your way.’ Mrs Wetherby beckoned me in front of the full-length mirror. She bustled around me with a measuring tape while calling out numbers to Kitty, who stood close by, recording everything in a book.

‘Mrs Wetherby,’ a voice hesitantly called from the front of the store. I’d forgotten that Henley was there waiting for me. ‘Mrs Wetherby?’

‘Yes. What is it?’ She looked up from her work.

‘What do you think of this?’ Henley was holding something up, but with the glare coming through the glass behind him, whatever he was showing us was obscured by the light.

‘Bring it over here. My eyes are failing me.’

Henley walked towards her carrying a bundle of fabric in his arms. ‘What do you think of this?’ he repeated.

‘I’d forgotten about that one. No one asks for that colour any more, but it would make a beautiful evening dress,’ Mrs Wetherby said. ‘What do you think?’ she asked me.