Chapter Eight
Dances and laughter
Secrets kept inside
Away from one who wants nothing
But the will to at last decide…
Not far away stood two children, both of them bleary-eyed and dripping wet. One shivered with crossed arms, her upper-lip tinted with a chilly bluish hue and her dark eyes burning with anger. Beside her stood the other child, his clothes darkened by the frigid water that had soaked him, and his brown hair was matted to his forehead, covering his eyes from their interrogator.
"Explain yourselves," demanded the questioner, the words forced through a taut mouth. The examiner tapped her foot impatiently on the ground, and the fan in her hand was consistently being opened and then snapped shut with every silent second that passed by.
"Sisterrr…" she growled; the fan smacked to a close as her fingers circled around it in a choking grasp.
The little girl blinked repeatedly at the inquisitor, trying her best not to cry in front of "the Queen," but her royal highness was far from being persuaded.
"Peter pushed me into a puddle," said the little girl quietly.
"You pushed me back!" yelled the boy in reply.
"You pushed me first!"
"Silence!" shrilled the Queen. "You ignorant little children. Firstly, I told you both not to leave the house. Secondly, I told you no horseplay either. You've broken both of the rules, and mother will be home in an hour! And thirdly, Harriet, this boy is your guest!"
Harriet snorted at the scolds. It wasn't her fault. Peter pushed her into the puddle. She said she'd jump in for fun, but then she cowered and Peter, according to him, "accidentally" pushed her on impulse. But Harriet would have never accepted such lies. She knew Peter shoved her into the puddle because of her cowardice, which she believed he should have understood and respected, but no. Peter had to be inconsiderate and make Harriet do what she didn't want to do in the first place. But, she did say she would jump into the puddle. She just didn't want to jump in that way.
"You should have kept a better eye on us then, your Highness," retorted Harriet with a face to go with it. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue before stomping off, leaving a trail of muddy footprints down the hallway.
"The Queen" was furious.
"You come back here you little wretch! Or I swear, by God, I'll have your maid scrub you so hard during your bath that your skin will fall off!"
The boy watched older sister chase after younger, and the anger he once felt gradually flowed away. He might have been cold, wet and half-covered in mud because of accidentally pushing Hattie into the puddle bymistake, but the trouble his dear friend had carelessly put herself into at times was too entertaining to pass without a smile.
Harriet watched in wonder at the couple sitting in the corner of the living room. In the woman's arms was a round little bundle, which giggled and blabbered every now and then. Both the woman and her accompanying man would coo and laugh in reply, and Harriet was finding it hard to accept that that woman was her sister, the infamous "Queen."
True, she had not seen her sister in a few years, and yet here Mrs. Bridget Claribel Drake sat with her husband, cradling a healthy baby girl in her arms. And more so, acting civilly to a child. It almost seemed like yesterday that "the Queen" was chasing her around the house for going outside in the rain with Peter and splashing in muddy puddles while their parents were away.
Finishing school did indeed finish stubborn girls into the most tame of creatures.
"What is her name, sister?" asked Harriet, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
"Abigail," praised Bridget, looking up and smiling broadly. Harriet took notice of her sister's rosier and rounder face, which then in turn gave "the Queen" the gentler appearance to go with her kinder persona. It was a large contrast to her own bony, thin grayish countenance, and she wondered if she too would become calmer and more cheerful as soon as she married Red. She doubted it, but then again, she never thought that "the Queen" would ever look at her with anything but a glare.
"Is Nicholas still in school?" said Harriet, looking down at her lap and staring at the unfinished embroidery piece currently being ignored due to her boredom with it.
"Yes. Mother says he is studying very hard to be a physician. You are welcome to visit him at Oxford."
"I wouldn't want to get in the way of his studies at school. I'd just ask silly questions." She paused and honestly couldn't find anything to say anymore. It was as if she didn't know who her sister was. The two had never shared a very close connection and now she regretted it, for now Bridget was the only person she could get news from. Only, she didn't know how to talk to her own sibling. "You said Mother and Father are away, sister?"
"Yes, in Bristol, visiting some old friends of theirs. They should be back in a few weeks. If you came but three days ago, you would have caught them. My husband and I are to mind the house while they are gone."
Inside, Harriet's heart sank and it showed with her slouching position in the armchair she sat in. She would not even have her mother or father to speak to. Just Bridget. Just "the Queen," and her "King" and their little "princess." For a quick instant, she thought about returning to the Calamy residence but she refused the option as soon as it arrived. She'd be able to survive with her sister's family for a few weeks.
A few weeks… Not hours. Not days. But weeks. Weeks…she repeated in her head, and she moaned internally. A fortnight wait before her parents returned and three weeks before she saw Red again, and she did not even attempt to wonder when she would see Peter again. She was better off without him plaguing her thoughts.
For as much as Harriet had professed to loathe the weeks with her sister's family, she had survived two weeks so far, usually by just staying out of her sister's way. She let the married couple take care of their child, and she contented herself by spending nearly half her day outside, walking around and talking to the autumn air. The bitter atmosphere eventually did her well, and the slightest hint of pink was beginning to become more apparent on her grey countenance.
On one surprisingly mild fall day, she sat by her revived rose garden in the backyard of the house, her fingers weaving through the grass around her. The sky was shockingly blue and free of any cloud, thus leaving the bright sunlight to fall directly to any grinning face, and Harriet relished the warmth of the golden rays, for the air still remained a bit cool, though not too chillingly cold to ruin a beautiful day.
Beside her lay a rose just newly plucked from the neighboring bushes, and she picked it up and dangled it over the beaming little baby lying in her lap. Abigail's chubby little arms reached out to grab the bright crimson flower, and Harriet let the soft petals tickle the child's round nose. The babe only paused and sneezed, and Harriet giggled, setting the rose back on the ground and wiping the baby's face with a handkerchief.
"Perhaps roses are not your flowers," she commented, carefully lifting the baby into her arms. "Your mother is a rose… or at least, she was a rose." The baby's large blue eyes stared back at her in utter confusion, and Harriet related the eyes to those of Peter's—wide, understanding, puzzled and… innocent.
At the connection, Harriet's sun-covered face turned somber, and she veered her head away from the streaks of the sun and to her shadow lying on the grass. She had expected Peter to come after a few days to check on her, but two weeks away and he still had not come. Perhaps he had finally let go of her, or perhaps he was caught up in his duty as a navy man again, which she thought typical of him; to put duty before family and friends, and that observation removed her anguish and she returned to the sun and to the awed gaze of Abigail Drake.
"Shall we go in and get you fed, eh, Abby?" said Harriet, getting up on her feet and transferring the child to her hip, bouncing her a bit as the child began to suck on her little, fat thumb. "Your mother and father will be home soon. They went to escort your grandmother and grandfather home."
The only reply Abigail gave her was the soft slurping noise coming from sucking her thumb. That, and a rub of her head on Harriet's shoulder as she tried to get comfortable in the young woman's unfamiliar arms. Harriet smiled at the action and understood very well the joys of being a mother. Motherhood made her think of her fiancé, and she was delighted all the more with the fact that Red would come back to her in a week's time.
The anticipation excited her all the more and she took one last look at the child and laughed before sprinting the rest of the way to the house, leaving a bouncing baby ecstatic from the thrill.
It was the sound of carriage wheels that lured Hattie to take a peep through the window curtains and away from a napping Abigail on the couch in the den. Pulling back the drapes, she scanned the front lawn for any visitor, glancing at the driveway for any approaching coach. She found none, but the sound remained, and she found it her duty to attend to the occasion of the arrival of guests.
After calling for a maid to mind the baby in the den, she scurried to the front doors and opened them.
"Miss," began the doorman, trying to keep her from stepping outside, but it was far too late. Harriet was already running towards the driveway.
She stopped as a carriage rode in, hauled by four horses, and she could already guess who was riding inside the vehicle. A grateful smile stretched on her lips and her dark eyes shone in the bright sunlight as she waited beside the pathway for the passengers to exit.
As she heard the coach door open, she slipped her foot behind the other and bent her knee in a smooth, low curtsy, remaining in that position until she was spoken to.
Mr. and Mrs. Neville stepped out of the carriage and were greeted by the sight of their youngest and most unruly daughter, and such a surprise caused the missus to take a step back and lay a hand to her chest, happily awed by the action. Her husband, in turn, grinned broadly, pleased that Harriet had made great progress since he had last seen her.
"Rise, Daughter," he said, and Harriet obeyed instantly, rising until her back was perfectly straight and her face had assumed the passive appearance once again.
"Welcome, Mama, Papa," replied Harriet, coming forth to accept the usual greetings from her parents; a kiss on both sides of her face and perhaps a brief embrace. "How was your stay in Bristol? I hope the ride home did not trouble either of you much."
"Bristol was a breath of fresh air," remarked Mr. Neville, the corners of his eyes wrinkling from his gladness. "But to see you home is an even better." The girl smirked faintly at that, partly thinking that it was just spoken as a lie to flatter her, and partly believing that it was actually professed with an honest heart.
Surprisingly, her father never became too disappointed with her impropriety as a child, and often he had to calm her mother out of her frustration. However, he did not always let her get away with everything. If she was guilty of a worse crime, he'd sometimes have to arrange a meeting with the rod, which simply meant that he'd cob her about twice and then sigh and shake his head as she'd run up to her room and weep about the unfairness and cruelty of getting whipped.
Harriet noticed more strands of white and gray in her father's short hair and bushy sideburns, but his clear eyes remained young and spirited, a contrast to her mother's brown and seemingly mournful façade. And, judging from the additional creases etched onto his face, she understood that the past three years had aged him considerably, most likely because of her being away, her brother being off at school and "the Queen" getting married and starting her own family.
"Shall we go in?" asked Harriet, but as soon as she had asked the question, her mind was suddenly captured by a second carriage that pulled into the driveway, and her curiosity was sparked. "Who followed you, Father?" she inquired, her feet itching to abandon her post and see who it was for herself.
"I believe you know them quite well, already, Hattie," answered Mr. Neville, looking back at the newly arrived coach as well. Mrs. Neville though, found that there was no need for her or her husband to be present at the meeting between Harriet and the new guest and so took her husband's hand and gently pulled him towards the house.
"We shall leave the doors open, Daughter," she said as she walked away, but Harriet barely heard her words. The door to the coach had opened and out stepped the young man she had wondered about so greatly since she left Portsmouth.
"Red!" she screamed, flying forward and meeting him at such force that they fell onto the dirt roadway.
"Harriet," he chuckled, amused with her welcome. Taking her beaming face in his hands, he kissed her lightly before sitting up and helping the young woman to her feet.
"I thought we were supposed to meet at Salisbury in a week," said Harriet, looking up at him and then realizing the dust on his shoulders put there because of the fall.
"Well, so did I, but I've caught up with my studies and I didn't want to waste a week in Portsmouth by myself." Harriet giggled as she brushed the dirt off his shoulders.
"Then I am absolutely glad that you have come early," she replied, embracing him and releasing a sigh. "If it weren't for such lovely weather and my niece, I think I'd have gone mad with the boredom."
He laughed merrily and drew her close to him, taking her hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips. She met his gaze and admired the golden glint in his green eyes and the oddest, yet most intriguing, effect of pure sunlight on his dark red hair. It looked like fire to her and she reached up and ran a hand through his soft locks. Like fire, she thought, but not; burning and warm at sight, yet…She pulled his face towards hers as their lips met feverishly…cold at touch.
Bridget and her husband arrived shortly after Red did, as they had escorted Mr. and Mrs. Neville back home, and "the Queen" was elated to be reunited with her baby. Grandmother and grandfather were overjoyed to see their first grandchild and happily greeted the babe with numerous kisses and embellished compliments.
"She looks just like your sister," commented Red as the couple sauntered through the gardens in a frigid night environment. Supper had just been eaten and Harriet and her fiancé had taken up the habit of walking outside together for a short time after the last meal of the day. Neither of them understood why the practice had become routine, but they did treasure the time they spent alone together, free to talk about whatever they wished.
Harriet inhaled a large breath as she clung tighter to his arm. "I suppose she does," she replied, casting her eyes up at the clear, black sky. The silver stars were heavily apparent in the vast, dark mantle, but for all their abundance, the light they emitted was weak.
"I fancy that you had a good time taking care of her then," said Red, bending his head to the side to meet the awed gaze of Harriet as she faced the distant heavens.
"I adored every minute of it," she smiled, looking back at him. "Surprises me how much of a blessing children are."
"Surprised? You would make a fine mother, Harriet," praised Red, grinning at her with utmost hope. The smile resulted in Harriet gaping openly at her fiancé, only to burst into a lighthearted laugh.
"Now, don't you get any ideas, Mr. O'Cleirigh," she playfully chided. "Need I remind you that I am still in school?" At that, the young man chuckled willingly, looking down at the ground with a smirk still fixed to his lips and with a faint shade of pink across his cheeks.
He honestly loved that side of her, the side that displayed her blithe spirit that always seemed so restrained in a cheerless body. Her witty teases grew rare as she aged, and he constantly recollected her dynamic self five years ago, as she was so merry back then. Every day she smiled. And now, he would consider himself lucky if he had succeeded in making her laugh.
It was her scowl that moved him out of his thoughts and back to the silver night. "Oh, it seems to be getting colder," moaned Harriet. "I'd like to go back inside, my dear."
"Let us go then. I would not want you to catch cold," he replied, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her smooth, icy cheek.
"Indeed."
She leaned against him as they walked back to the house, closing her eyes in the process. She had been shivering from the cold for a great length of time, but she did not want it to be known to him, for she knew how much he enjoyed taking the walks outside. And so she kept as close to him as possible, absorbing any warmth off him that would keep her from turning blue.
But her refusal to be honest with her fiancé, to tell him that she felt ill and frozen from the chill of colorful autumn, was something she could not help doing. She did not want to reveal any weakness to Red, for she would be his future wife. What man would want a spiritless, witless, and powerless girl? None. And so she had to prove to him now that she would be willing to do anything for him.
And yet, the following morning, Red was alarmed to find Harriet ill, as was her family. Only Harriet understood that she would be ill that morning. And she wanted it to stay that way.
Fall turned to winter, and winter to spring, all of which were seasons that Harriet spent at Godolphin, continuing her lessons as she prepared for her presentation to the Court, which seemed awfully soon, although the ceremony would take place in late June, after her eighteenth birthday.
However, it never went unnoticed to her that Peter had not visited once. Had the boy finally gotten sense into his head and realized that she no longer wished to be acquainted with him? Or was he just mimicking her own aloof actions during their five years apart? Either could have been acceptable, Harriet judged, but she did begin to wonder where he had gone off to. And due to her own timidity, she had written many a letter to her parents to write to the Calamys and see what Peter had been up to.
But she always got the same response. That of which being thus:
Peter Miles Calamy was perfectly well and happy.
Red had come by to visit her often, as often as he could. Though, once again, he was straying from his neglected studies, and Harriet's parents had only consented to their unison if young Mr. O'Cleirigh became a lawyer in time for Harriet's presentation. Surprisingly, neither Harriet nor Red spoke of the upcoming events often. She never urged him to tend to his studies and he never suggested she go and practice her manners. They never even spoke of their wedding, though any bride-to-be would have been stressing over her wedding with the day but months away.
Yet Harriet had other things on her mind. Her friends, for one, were extremely excited for her. And two, she was itching to talk to Peter. Though, she often argued with herself that such a desire was nonsensical and a waste of time, but she could not help but wonder.
"Harriet, darling, what are you looking at?" asked a voice, and still Harriet paid no attention to it. Her embroidery circle sat useless in her lap and her eyes were focused on a window, but more importantly, the figures, outside the window. "Harriet?" repeated the person, and at last, the girl's reverie was broken, and she turned to the speaker, dazed.
"What, Olivia?" she answered.
"What are you looking at? Is your handsome beau coming to visit you again?" she teased. Harriet laughed cheaply, setting her embroidery aside and getting up and walking towards the window.
"You really are very inquisitive, Ollie," she remarked, her eyes following the figures to the main entrance of the school building.
"Well, I must be. Otherwise, you will not tell me anything," said Olivia, joining Harriet at the window. And at the sight she saw outside, her red lips took on a mischievous grin of pure delight. "No wonder you were distracted, my dear! Look at them!"
"I prefer not to look at them like that," replied Harriet, taking note of Olivia's awed countenance. "Oh, please do not give them that expression, Ollie. They are just officers."
"Just officers, Hattie?" she challenged. "My God, I have never seen such amiable and handsome men in my whole life. And here at Godolphin too!"
Harriet giggled with a shake of her head while Olivia continued to stare admiringly out the translucent piece of glass.
"What are you two looking at?" questioned a new voice, and only Harriet spun around to see who it could be.
"Nothing, Beattie," she said simply.
"What do you mean nothing?" squawked Olivia, her eyes still fixed on those coming to Godolphin. "Beattie, officers are coming and they are all quite a handsome lot."
Beatrice calmly approached the window Harriet and Olivia had positioned themselves at and tiptoed to see above her friends' shoulders. Her dark blue eyes saw exactly what Olivia had described and she smiled to herself silently.
When the long awaited knock on the main entrance arrived, Olivia was the first to whisk her blond head over to the foyer, and the first to actually desert the company of her friends in the drawing room for the main entrance, where many an other girl were congregated.
"Good Lord," sighed Harriet. Beatrice glanced at Harriet and chuckled.
"I suppose it must be a bore to you, Hattie, as you are already engaged to the most handsome man in this area, but let Olivia have her fun," said Beattie.
"As should you," Harriet replied, nudging her friend forward.
Giggling, the two girls joined the others at the foyer, where Mistress Hopkins interrogated the visiting officers. Apparently, one was there to visit a sister and decided to bring some of his friends along.
But as they observed the faces of the young men, Harriet was stricken dumb to find the face of Peter, and although daunted, she did not show it. They merely exchanged glances and spoke not a word.
"Curtsy, girls," ordered Mistress Hopkins, and as if on a cue, all girls present in the foyer took their skirts in their hands and welcomed the officers with the smoothest of greetings, bowing their heads and then rising again in unison.
All these months and he decides to see me in this way, thought Harriet while she stood mute and respectable in the proper Godolphin manner. The girls will surely tease me of this. As the officers were escorted to a separate room to speak more in depth with the displeased Mistress Hopkins of their coming, the schoolgirls were fortunate to be greeted personally by a few of them.
There was many a, "Miss Neville," to Harriet, for a future lady of the Court was rarely ever excluded from the gossip of society. But there were many other "Misses" greeted as well. But when Peter came up to her, his face expressionless but his eyes once again portraying his happy feelings, Harriet was obliged to do more than curtsy and nod at him. Without even knowing it, she smiled.
"Miss Neville," he said, bowing to her.
"Lieutenant Calamy," said she, responding accordingly. "Welcome to Godolphin."