A Ring of Truth Page 11

  “This simply must end, Henrietta; do you understand? You cannot continue to cavort with your inferiors!”

  “My inferiors?” Henrietta asked, forgetting Helen for the moment and suddenly feeling an angry flush travel up her neck. She longed to untie the silky bow at her throat, despite it being all the rage right now. “They’re not my inferiors!”

  “Perhaps not as people, not as Christians,” Mrs. Howard explained matter-of-factly, “but in station, in employment, then yes. They are. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

  Henrietta sputtered for a retort but was so incensed she was at a loss for words.

  “My dear,” Mrs. Howard went on as if she was not aware of Henrietta’s obvious indignation, “you must consider. Someday, probably very soon, you will be their employer, the head of this house. Surely you can see that that is a precarious position. You must have their respect and their fear for them to obey you. Can you imagine Kitty, for example, taking orders from you to dust the library after you’ve spent months playing rummy and drinking cocoa with the staff below stairs?”

  Henrietta drew in a sharp breath. So she did know.

  “It is much more difficult to hire and retain good staff than you might imagine. Compensation and fairness, even kindness at times, are important, of course, but so is a strong hand. Why, not more than a month or so ago, we had to let Fritz, the old chauffer, go for theft. Terrible business it was. We were lucky to get Fletcher at such short notice.” Mrs. Howard sighed. “I know it must be difficult for you, my dear, but you really must try. For Clive,” she added suggestively.

  There was a knock, then, on the door, and Billings silently stepped in. “There is a telephone call, Madam. It is Mister Clive.”

  At this announcement, Henrietta felt her heart quicken, especially in light of this irritating conversation in which she currently found herself, if it could even be called that, as it really more resembled a monologue on Mrs. Howard’s part. In the nearly two weeks that she had been at Highbury now, she had not spoken to Clive once on the telephone, nor had she received any letter or note from him, which she had convinced herself was because he was terribly busy on his case and which she had tried very hard not to take personally. Happily, now, she made a move toward the far desk belonging to Mr. Howard, upon which the telephone sat, when Billings interrupted. “He wishes to speak to you, Madam,” he said, bowing his head deferentially, but not without first shooting Henrietta the briefest look of triumph.

  “Thank you, Billings,” Mrs. Howard said, pretending she hadn’t caught the slight, as she stood up elegantly and walked slowly to the telephone while Henrietta endeavored to recover from the sting.

  “Hello? Clive? Is that you?” Mrs. Howard said, speaking more loudly than was necessary. “Oh, yes, hello, darling!”

  Henrietta remained where she was, anxiously waiting to hear what his news might be and hoping she might be allowed a chance to talk to him, too.

  “Why, everything’s going splendidly,” Mrs. Howard said, glancing over at Henrietta and smiling falsely. “Of course we’re getting along, darling. You needn’t even ask that. Yes? Oh, no! Why that’s terrible news, darling; we were so hoping we would see you tonight.”

  Henrietta felt her hopes wither, guessing the purpose of the call now. Involuntarily, she took a step toward the phone, hoping for a moment to talk to him.

  “Wretched business, that. Yes, I understand. Tomorrow, then. Yes, I’ll tell Henrietta. Yes, of course. Goodbye, darling,” she said and briskly placed the receiver back in its cradle.

  Henrietta expected her to share the news with her immediately, but instead Mrs. Howard turned directly to Billings, who was still hovering near. “There’s been a change of plans, Billings,” Mrs. Howard said without emotion. “Mr. Clive has been unavoidably detained in the city tonight and won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. Would you inform Mary?”

  “Very good, Madam,” Billings said with a bow and exited a trifle faster than was usual for him.

  Only then did Mrs. Howard turn her attention toward Henrietta.

  “It seems he’s caught up in some sort of problem with his case,” she said languidly. “Something about a stakeout, or some such thing.”

  “But . . . didn’t he want to talk to me?” Henrietta said, slightly stunned.

  “Yes, of course he did, dear,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “He wanted you to come on the line, but then something happened on his end and he had to go. He asked me to give you his love and said that he’ll try to call in a bit to speak to you.”

  “I see,” Henrietta said, feeling embarrassed and deeply disappointed. Suddenly she realized how much she missed him, how alone she really felt. She wished Ma had a telephone so that she might call and talk to all of them at home. “I think I’ll go up to my room now and lie down until dinner. Would you excuse me, Antonia?”

  “Of course, my dear. A very good idea,” she said sagaciously, sitting back down at her desk. “It will afford you an opportunity to think about what I have said,” she added, giving her another false smile and turning back to her correspondence.

  Henrietta merely nodded and absently stepped outside the study, utterly deflated, and was surprised to see Jack standing there. Despite herself, she smiled. “What are you doing in here?” she whispered, looking around.

  “I heard Mister Clive isn’t coming back tonight . . .”

  “How did you hear that?” she asked, mystified. “I’ve only just found out myself!”

  Jack grinned. “I have my ways,” he said mysteriously, but when she continued to look at him, puzzled, he dropped the pretense of mystery and said plainly, “I heard Billings tell Mary so she could adjust tonight’s dinner.”

  “Oh!” she said, “News travels fast, I see.”

  “So that means you can come!” he said excitedly.

  “Come where?”

  “To Edna’s party. It’s tonight, remember?”

  The conversation they had had in the kitchen a few days ago came back to her then. She hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t go; this would be a terrible example of fraternization, much worse than having a cup of cocoa in the kitchen with the maids, but she still burned with anger regarding Mrs. Howard’s horrible self-righteousness. Henrietta knew her judgment was skewed at the moment by her disappointment with Clive and her exasperation with Mrs. Howard and her silly lectures, but she didn’t care. How dare Mrs. Howard say they were inferior! It was as if she were calling her own family inferior. And, anyway, she longed to have some fun. Life at Highbury in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Howard, and especially without Clive, hadn’t been exactly exciting.

  “I’ll try,” she smiled at him. “If I can slip away.”

  They both jumped when they heard Billings coming down the hallway.

  “Best go,” Jack whispered. “Tonight, then. At the stables. Nine o’clock!” he said and ran the opposite way.

  “I’ll try!” she whispered and hurried up the stairs.

  Chapter 7

  All that evening, Henrietta moped around the study, hoping for Clive to call back as he said he might, but he did not. After dinner, the three of them accordingly went through to the drawing room, Mr. Howard taking his glass of port and joining them, as was his wont lately, seeing as they had not, in the whole time that Henrietta had been with them, had any male guests with whom he might indulge in cigars and perhaps a conversation of a more political nature than was appropriate with the ladies.

  As it was, the conversation consisted of Mrs. Howard again reviewing the proposed menu for the engagement party one last time. Henrietta had never heard of most of the items suggested by Mrs. Howard, and she therefore listlessly agreed to them, having lost interest in the party long ago. She had quickly realized that the whole thing was quite out of her control, and despite her early protests about a having such a large formal affair, especially since she would not be contributing many to the guest list, indeed probably a mere five if she didn’t include Ma,
Mrs. Howard was having none of it. Consequently, Henrietta had given up and had allowed Mrs. Howard her own way in everything. It might have been different if Clive had been there to support her, but she found she did not have the strength to battle Mrs. Howard alone, especially when it was over something as esoteric and unknown to her as to whether the shrimp should be potted or simply boiled.

  Henrietta glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner for what seemed the hundredth time, and, finally, at the first yawn from Mr. Howard, she fabricated a matching one and begged to be excused for the evening.

  “Are you quite well?” Mrs. Howard asked her, looking up at the clock herself. “It’s still quite early, you know! Perhaps Clive might yet telephone.”

  “I . . . I’m rather tired,” Henrietta tried to say in an exhausted tone of voice. “I’d like to be fresh for Clive tomorrow,” she fibbed. “If he does ring through, have Billings come for me,” she said, thinking that her superior tone regarding one of the servants would please Mrs. Howard.

  Mrs. Howard did indeed incline her head in approval. “Very well, my dear. We won’t keep you.”

  Mr. Howard stood as she made her way across the room to him and kissed him politely on the cheek. “We make a poor substitute for a fiancé, don’t we, my dear? Heh, heh. Well, soon enough, soon enough. Good night, then.”

  Henrietta, her heart racing, tried hard not to hurry up the stairs. After all, she would still have to wait a bit until the Howards went to bed themselves. Perhaps she should have stayed down there longer and forced a game of cards. Perhaps that would have tired them out sooner! She chastised herself for her lack of foresight as she shut her bedroom door behind her, leaning against it. Ah, well, it couldn’t be helped now. She would simply have to wait and decided to focus on her clothes to pass the time. She unbuttoned the long rose evening dress she was wearing and carefully hung it up, still amazed that something so exquisite belonged to her. She felt almost as if she were merely borrowing these lovely items. She knew that hanging her clothes was most definitely Edna’s job, but Henrietta refused to leave them draped at the end of the bed for the poor girl to tidy in the morning when she could so easily do it herself.

  Carefully she looked in the armoire, wondering which of her new outfits would be most appropriate for a servants’ party above a stables-turned-auto-garage. She wished she could find her old clothes, but Mrs. Howard had ordered them to be washed and mended, and they had as yet to be returned to her. She had probably had them burned, Henrietta thought wryly. Besides her simple house dresses that she had worn at home, all of her other dresses, bought on the sly with Polly in her taxi dancer days, were quite revealing, as these, Polly had intimated at the time, would surely bring in bigger tips.

  She finally decided upon a long tweed skirt and a plain white blouse and black cardigan. Though nothing Mrs. Howard had bought her could remotely be considered racy, this outfit was particularly unassuming. She had no desire to look extravagant tonight amongst the servants, wanting to blend in as much as possible. Her hair had been done up for dinner, as it was every day now by Mrs. Howard’s own maid, Andrews, and after observing it at her dressing table mirror, Henrietta decided to leave it that way. Carefully, however, she replaced the mother-of-pearl pins in the shape of lilies of the valley that Mrs. Howard had bought her just yesterday with plain ones. Satisfied that she looked modest enough, she went to the door and opened it slightly, listening, and shut it again quickly when she heard the Howards on the stairs. She would still have to wait a bit.

  She went to the window, but the stables were on the other side of the house from where her bedroom was, so when she peered out through the leaded glass, there was nothing to see but the dark lawns and formal gardens lit by moonlight. Listlessly, she sat down in a chair to wait, thinking about the party and wondering what Clive would make of it when she told him. Suddenly it came to her that she did not have a gift for Edna.

  Her eyes traveled around the room searching for something she could use for a gift, but she couldn’t see anything that would do. For one thing, nothing her eyes alighted on really seemed like hers. She still felt as though she were borrowing everything. And even if she did have her own old things about her, there would have been nothing suitable to give from amongst that meager collection, either. A scuffed handbag? An old hankie? Her eyes rested on the dressing table, then, and the hairpins. She got up and held one in her hand, deliberating. It would be inappropriate to give a servant any of the jewelry Mrs. Howard had given her, some of which had come from Mrs. Howard’s own collection (with a suggestion of more to come), but she wondered if she could possibly give her one of these little pins, as these had been bought specifically for her. She knew they had been expensive, and yet there was a simple innocence to them, which is probably why Mrs. Howard had selected them in the first place. Surely it would be okay to give Edna one of them, wouldn’t it?

  Yes, Henrietta decided, she would and felt excited at the prospect of giving it to her, happy to be able to share the wealth she so recently found herself enjoying. She would have loved to lavish her new good fortune on Ma and the kids, but this, so far, was the next best thing. Edna was probably about the same age as Elsie, she mused. Carefully she wrapped the pin up in a hanky and found a ribbon to tie it with and slipped it into her skirt pocket.

  Again she opened the door to her room, and this time heard nothing below. She paused for a few minutes, waiting, and then, heart pounding, she slipped out. She didn’t dare go down the servants’ stairs, having no desire to run into Billings or Mrs. Caldwell or any of the senior staff, so she slipped down the main staircase as quietly as she could. The front doors were too heavy and loud to open, and she couldn’t go out the back kitchen door, as Mary and some of the kitchen staff were surely still in there. Her best bet seemed to be the East Doors, so she made her way toward them accordingly. The hallways were dark, and, luckily, she did not run into any servants. Once she thought she heard Billings and hurried into the study to avoid being seen, but it was only Andrews passing by with what looked like some freshly ironed blouses of Mrs. Howard’s. When she finally got to the East Doors, they were locked, of course, but Henrietta was able to unlatch them easily and, wincing as they creaked open, slipped out into the warm July air.

  She followed the gravel path around the back of the house until it connected with the main drive and wished that the moon were more full and bright, as it was quite dark here in the back of the property. She could see the old garage, however, part of which was lit up, a beacon in the vast darkness surrounding the estate.

  She was surprised, as she got closer, to hear music. She paused for a moment just outside the door, collecting herself, and took a deep breath. She was having second thoughts now, her earlier anger and disappointment giving way to reason and sound judgment. Mrs. Howard would be furious if she found out. But before she could completely change her mind, though, the door opened promptly, and Henrietta laughed to see Jack’s surprised face.

  “You came!”

  “Yes,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the house. “I hope I’m not too late . . .”

  “No, no! Come in,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Edna! Come see who’s here,” he called out as Henrietta stepped inside, an odd fusion of smells made up of motor oil, cigarette smoke, and a lingering remnant of old straw hitting her as she did so and reminding her, rather unexpectedly, of when she had sometimes gone to see her father at the Schwinn factory and how he had been elbow-deep in grease in the maintenance shed, giving her a little wave to shoo her home before anyone noticed her.

  Edna looked up expectantly and, seeing Henrietta, burst into a smile even as a blush crept up her face.

  “Oh, Miss!” she exclaimed. “You’re here, too?”

  “Yes,” Henrietta said, coming over to her. “I hope you’re not bothered. Jack invited me,” she said, looking back at Jack, who had followed her over. “Anyway, happy birthday!”

  “Of course I’m not bothered!
I’m flattered, Miss. We . . . we don’t have much to offer, I’m afraid,” she said, looking around with an air of distress.

  “Don’t think Mr. Billings would approve, though, do you? Or Mrs. Caldwell, for that matter,” came a nearby voice. Henrietta turned in the direction it was coming from and saw that it was Virgil. He had been standing behind Edna in the shadows.

  “Well, good thing they won’t find out now, isn’t it?” Jack said, giving him a meaningful look.

  Virgil merely shrugged.

  “Would you like a drop of cherry wine, Miss?” Edna asked. “Mary gave it to us. Said she had no more need of it in the kitchens, but I think she was fibbing. Mary’s awfully good, you know. I think she meant it as a present,” she said, holding up the bottle for Henrietta.

  It was clear to Henrietta that Edna had already more than sampled Mary’s wares, and she smiled, happy that Edna was having a chance to enjoy herself. “Of course, I’ll have some,” Henrietta said politely, and Jack obliged her by filling up a glass. As she took a sip, she looked around and was surprised that there were so many people here, most of them junior staff that she didn’t even recognize, surmising that they must be under Mr. McCreanney’s outdoor wing. Jack had pulled two of the cars out, the Daimler and the Bentley, so that they had room at least on one side of the garage. The Mercedes Benz Roadster and the real prize, the red-and-white Isotta Fraschini Tipo, were still locked up tight on the other side. Mr. Howard, it was said, had a penchant for collecting cars.

  Henrietta was glad there were a lot of people, hoping that her presence would be less a focus of attention this way. With Mrs. Howard’s words still buzzing annoyingly in her mind, she did not wish to socialize with the staff as a whole; she had really just come for Edna and Jack, she told herself. She hadn’t expected Virgil to be there, but of course that made sense. Why would he be excluded? She glanced over at him now, and though he looked a bit dirty and greasy and was staring at Edna, he seemed innocent enough. He was perhaps just one of those people unfortunate enough to be born with a permanent frown. Perhaps Helen was mistaken about him, after all.