Summerset Abbey (27 page)

Then she went to the punch bowl, where a servant poured her a glass. She walked through the room, looking above the guests’ heads so they wouldn’t try to engage her in conversation. The women were lovely in their fine jewels and their gowns trimmed with feathers, fur, and crystals. Rowena wore a black lace dress with short sleeves made of cormorant feathers and had a matching black headdress sitting on her shining dark hair. A lump came to Victoria’s throat and with difficulty she turned her eyes away from her sister’s beauty.

The gentlemen, fine in their dark dress attire, were dressed to set off the gowns of their more extravagant, colorful wives. Her uncle stood on one side of the room, conversing with a group of distinguished-looking men. Occasionally, he and his wife would exchange strangely congratulatory glances, as if applauding each other on the success of the party. And so far the tree-trimming party was a success. After, there would be a twelve-course meal for the family and friends and then music in the music room.
Tomorrow the serious festivities would begin with Summerset’s renowned double ball. First, the Great Hall would be emptied of most of its furniture for the servants’ ball. When the family had done their duty by their servants, they would retire to the fabulously decorated ballroom for their own ball, while the servants were allowed one more hour of dancing in the Great Hall. Not a minute more nor a minute less. No one dared challenge Lady Summerset’s traditions. Many of the guests would leave the day after in order to be in their own homes for Christmas, but at least two dozen would be staying at Summerset until New Year’s Eve.

Without seeming to hurry, Victoria moved gracefully to the stairwell and handed her cup to a servant who had been hired from town to supplement Summerset’s own staff, many of whom were torn between readying themselves for the one night a year they were allowed to make merry and preparing for their own duties. Once she’d slipped out of the Great Hall without detection, she hurried through the darkened corridors to the library.

The library itself was a work of art, and few decorations were needed. Very little could improve upon the spectacular blue and white plasterwork of the walls and ceiling that was designed to frame a dozen classical Roman frescoes. The seating, tables, and cushions were all a neutral white, to emphasize the colors of the paintings. Victoria and Rowena spent little time here as children, even though they loved their own library at home. Though many of the books that lined the walls were quite good, they were mostly antique collectibles, not the sort that would fire the imagination of a child’s heart.

On a low table in front of the white marble fireplace, Victoria noticed two large, leather-bound volumes. One of them had
been left open, half on top of the other. She frowned and walked over to them. Things were not left out of place at Summerset. Once she saw what they were, however, she understood.

Like the others on the shelf, both oversized scrapbooks had the Summerset crest embossed on the dark, shining leather. They were separated by year and most were created one page at a time by loving mistresses, though many were created by servants when the lady of the house, such as Lady Summerset, had no taste for the task.

She’d seen books just like these on display downstairs, laid out so people could look at Christmases past, as it were. The scrapbooks went back almost four hundred years and were considered the finest record of their kind in the United Kingdom.

She frowned and peered more closely at the dates. Why were these left here and not on display with the rest of them? Both were consecutive years, 1890 and 1891. Perhaps they were not considered old enough for display. She knelt next to the books, wondering whether she had stumbled upon someone’s absentmindedness or someone’s secret. The most important thing she’d learned about secrets was that you never knew when one was staring you in the face.

Coincidence or secret? She pulled the open book closer to her. Here was a picture of the entire Summerset staff and family, posed in front of the manor. She smiled as she spotted Cairns, who’d actually had hair twenty-three years ago. Mrs. Harper hadn’t changed at all. She recognized many of the staff and wondered about people who would give their entire lives to serve another family instead of having one of their own. She read through the list of names written in minuscule letters to the right of the picture, along with their title. Many of the surnames were familiar
and she wondered how many families, like hers, had been here since the very beginning of Summerset.

Then she saw
Iris Combes
—
Nanny,
and she bent her head closer to the picture. Victoria spotted Nanny Iris just to the left of the family, her rich, dark hair shining in the sun. She was flanked on the right by Victoria’s grandmother, a small, quiet woman who had always reminded Victoria of a mother wren from her Beatrix Potter books. In the center of the photo, just to her grandmother’s right, was the old earl himself. It must have been before the slow degradation of his body began, because he showed no sign of weakness, just a predatory arrogance that made Victoria shiver. His sons stood behind him in his proverbial shadow. Uncle Conrad appeared alone and beaten, but her father, recently married to his small, fairylike bride, beamed next to him. From the plumpness of her mother’s face, she could tell that her mother was already pregnant with Ro. She ran her fingers along the side of the picture, wondering how different life might have been had her mother survived her birth. This wasn’t the first picture she had seen of her mother, of course, but every new picture was a gift, for her mother always looked happy. But then, everyone agreed her mother had possessed a gift for happiness.

Blinking back the tears, she looked away. The last thing she wanted was for Kit to find her crying in front of an old scrapbook. Keeping her eyes resolutely away from her parents, she turned instead to Nanny Iris, who had her hands on the shoulders of a young girl who looked to be about three. Victoria’s breath caught. Halpernia. The little girl whose passing the year Rowena was born crippled her father and forever changed her family. She had the Buxton hair, and no doubt her eyes were a
sparkling green under the thick fringe of curls on her forehead. It was odd to think that Rowena, Elaine, Colin, and she would have an aunt only a few years older than themselves, had she lived.

Moving closer to the picture, she frowned. Who was Halpernia clinging to? It wasn’t her mother, nor Nanny Iris, but a young woman who looked tantalizingly familiar. The answer came to her so swiftly, it caused a pain between her eyes. Prudence’s mother! Her fingers ran down the right side of the book until she found a name that had been crossed out in such a way that the letters were completely illegible, but Victoria didn’t need them. Prudence had several pictures of her mother displayed around the house in London, and Miss Tate had been an important part of Victoria’s life. This was definitely Alice Tate.

She turned back to the photo. Alice wore a maid’s uniform, but there was no doubt about the little girl’s feelings for her. Why was this maid allowed to hold the hand of the proverbial princess of the house? Why was she standing so close to the family instead of back near the line of maids?

Victoria looked at the door, wondering where Kit was. Perhaps he had been detained? She needed to get back before she was missed, but before she left, she checked the other two books. After flipping through pages of christenings and births, she found the yearly staff and family picture and it was exactly what she suspected. Though there was a short, three-sentence entry concerning Halpernia’s death, Alice Tate no longer appeared in the annual photograph.

She was putting the books away when a newspaper clipping fluttered out of the back of one of the books. Her heart raced as she realized what it was . . . an article on Halpernia’s death. She
looked in the back of both books, but it was the only one. She carefully folded the clipping again and stuck it down inside the top of her corset.

If Halpernia and Prudence’s mother were somehow related, then Victoria was going to find out how. Prudence deserved some answers.

“
T
his would go a great deal faster if you would sit still,” Prudence said the next afternoon. She kept the hairpins clenched between her teeth, which was a good thing because she was sorely tempted to stick one into Rowena’s scalp. Rowena fidgeted, wiggled, and otherwise squirmed in her chair like a naughty child. Prudence had already helped her into a dark maroon lace gown with the black silk insets. Though the other women would be decked in their most brilliant dresses, the Buxton girls continued to honor their father by wearing only dark colors. Of course, everything looked lovely against Rowena’s porcelain complexion and dark hair. Prudence tugged on a rebellious curl just enough to cause a sharp tinge of pain and Rowena glared at her in the mirror. “I just can’t believe I have to change again. What would happen if I wore my tea gown to tea and to dinner? Would the meal be ruined? And how many parties do we have to have, anyway? It seems to take an infernal number of parties to celebrate one holiday.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood and pray remember, it wasn’t my idea to come here.” Prudence punctuated her words by jabbing a pin into the coiffure she was constructing.

Rowena lowered her eyes. “You would make a horrible lady’s maid, Pru, you know that?”

Prudence snorted. Again, this wasn’t her idea, but she didn’t say it aloud. There were so many things she didn’t say aloud to Rowena any longer. Prudence had vacillated for weeks between being furious with her friend and concerned for her, but now she was just furious. And resentful.

“Oh, would you two stop it?”

Victoria, whose hair was already finished, sat on the edge of Rowena’s bed, careful not to wrinkle her black silk gown with its customary Poiret Oriental lines. Black didn’t become Victoria the way it did Rowena. It made her pale skin almost translucent, and her eyes even larger in her thin face. Even with carmine-colored lip rouge on her lips, Victoria still looked like a child playing dress-up.

Prudence looked at her and frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked bluntly. She was tired of playing the lady’s maid while her friends got to dress up in fine clothes and eat delicacies that the entire kitchen had slaved over for the past week. Tonight was the first night she would get to dress nicely and here she was, making sure they were ready first. She wanted someone to fuss over her for a change.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Victoria snapped. “I’m just tired of listening to the two of you argue all the time. You sound like fishwives. I understand this situation is intolerable, but we need to make the best of it until Easter, when we can all go home. Right, Ro?”

Rowena paused a moment too long before saying, “Right.”

“You’re all done.” Prudence dropped the combs and brushes carelessly on the dressing table. “Now I need to go get ready.”

Victoria stood up. “Not so fast. How can you get ready without your dress?”

Prudence frowned, not quite understanding. “My dress?”

Rowena gave her a tentative smile and turned toward Victoria, who had sprung off the bed and scurried to the closet. “Victoria has a surprise for you.”

“It’s your turn to get ready. You have a dance tonight, too, you know.” Victoria’s voice, which just a few moments before had been petulant, now held a note of anticipation. She came back out of the closet holding a ball gown of a deep emerald-green silk. The lines of the dress were clearly Oriental inspired, with short kimono-style sleeves ending in gold tassels.

Prudence gasped. “Where did you get that? I would have remembered had we packed it.”

Rowena smiled; it was a sad smile, but at least it was a smile. “I had it made up a couple of years ago in Paris but it was sent here by mistake.” Rowena slid her fingers down the silk luxuriously. “I’ve never had a chance to wear it.”

Prudence bit her lip. Would it be right to wear it with Sir Philip so recently . . .

“Don’t even think of Papa!” Victoria said, so fiercely that Prudence jumped. “Papa would want you to be happy and look nice and go dancing. So stop it.”

Rowena nodded, tears caught in her green eyes. “It’s true, Prudence. Just wear the dress and be happy for a bit. Lord knows you deserve it.”

Rowena’s voice sounded weary and Prudence finally nodded.

Victoria clapped her hands and soon had Prudence standing at attention while she dressed her from head to toe.

Prudence could hardly believe it when she looked in the mirror. The green of the dress deepened the green of her own eyes, and the tight waist made her as slender as a reed. The girls had piled her hair into a mass of curls on top of her head and secured it with a peacock-green silk scarf tied like a tiara around her head.
The ends of the scarf trailed down her back, which the cut of her dress left daringly bare to just under her shoulder blades. “What is the servants’ ball like, do you know?” Prudence finally asked.

“I can tell you,” Elaine said from the doorway. “I was wondering what was taking you both so long, now I know!”