“In view of Alvean’s accident, you felt you should stay,” he murmured. “It is good of you to be so thoughtful.”
Conversation in the small dining room was animated. The three of us discussed the Christmas customs, and Connan told us stories of what had happened in previous years; how on one occasion the wassailers had arrived late, so that the family had gone to church and they had to wait outside and serenade them all the way home.
I imagined Alice with him then. I imagined her sitting in the chair I now occupied. I wondered what the conversation was like then. I wondered if now, seeing me there, he was thinking of Alice.
I kept reminding myself that it was merely because it was Christmas that I was sitting here. That after the festivities were over I should revert to my old place.
But I was not going to think of that now. Tonight I was going to the ball. Miraculously I had a dress worthy of the occasion. I had a comb of amber and a brooch of diamonds. I thought: Tonight I shall mingle with these people on my own terms. It will be quite unlike that occasion when I danced in the solarium.
I took Connan’s advice that afternoon and tried to rest so that I might stay fresh until the early morning. Much to my surprise I did manage to sleep. I must have slept lightly, for I dreamed, and as so often in this house, my dreams were of Alice. I thought that she came to the ball, a shadowy wraith of a figure whom no one but I could see, and she whispered to me as I danced with Connan: “This is what I want, Marty. I like to see this. I like to see you sitting in my chair at luncheon. I like to see your hand in that of Connan. You … Marty … you … not another …”
I awoke with reluctance. That was a pleasant dream. I tried to sleep again, tried to get back to that half-world where ghosts came back from the tomb and told you that they longed for you to have all that you most wanted in life.
Daisy brought me a cup of tea at five o’clock. On Mrs. Polgrey’s instructions, she told me.
“I’ve brought ‘ee a piece of Mrs. Polgrey’s fuggan to take with it,” she said, indicating a slice of raisin cake. “If there’s more you do want, ’tis only for you to say.”
I said: “This will be ample.”
“Then you’ll be wanting to get ready for the ball, will ’ee not, miss?”
“There’s plenty of time,” I told her.
“I’ll bring ‘ee hot water at six, miss. That’ll give ’ee plenty of time to dress. The master ‘ull be receiving the guests at eight. That’s how it always was. And don’t ’ee forget—’tis but buffet supper at nine, so there’s a long time to go afore you get more to eat. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something more than that there piece of fuggan?”
I was sure I was going to find it difficult to eat what she had brought, so I said: “This is quite enough, Daisy.”
“Well, ’tis for you to say, miss.”
She stood at the door a moment, her head on one side, watching me. Speculatively? Was she regarding me with a new interest?
I pictured them in the servants’ hall, Tapperty leading the conversation.
Were they always wondering what new relationship had begun—or was about to begin—between the master of the house and the governess?
I was at the ball in Phillida’s green dress with the tight, low-cut bodice and the billowing skirt. I had dressed my hair differently, piling it high on my head; it was necessary to do so in order to do justice to the comb. On my dress sparkled the diamond brooch.
I was happy. I could mingle with the guests as one of them. No one would know, unless told, that I was only the governess.
I had waited until the ballroom was full before I went down. Then I could best mingle with the guests. I had only been there a few minutes when Peter was at my elbow.
“You look dazzling,” he said.
“Thank you. I am glad to surprise you.”
“I’m not in the least surprised. I always knew how you could look, given the chance.”
“You always know how to pay the compliment.”
“To you I always say what I mean. One thing I have not yet said to you, and that is ‘A happy Christmas.’”
“Thank you. I wish you the same.”
“Let us make it so for each other. I have brought no gift for you.”
“But why should you?”
“Because it is Christmas, and a pleasant custom for friends to exchange gifts.”
“But not for—”
“Please … please … no reminders of governessing tonight. One day I am going to give you Jacinth, you know. She is meant for you. I see Connan is about to open the ball. Will you partner me?”
“Thank you, yes.”
“It’s the traditional dance, you know.”
“I don’t know it.”
“It’s easy. You only have to follow me.” He began humming the tune to me. “Haven’t you seen it done before?”
“Yes, through the peep in the solarium at the last ball.”
“Ah, that last ball! We danced together. But Connan cut in, didn’t he?”
“It was somewhat unconventional.”
“Very, for our governess. I’m really rather surprised at her.”
The music had begun, and Connan was walking into the center of the hall holding Celestine by the hand. To my horror I realized that Peter and I would have to join them and dance those first bars with them.
I tried to hold back, but Peter had me firmly by the hand. Celestine was surprised to see me there, but if Connan was, he gave no sign. I imagined that Celestine reasoned: It is all very well to ask the governess, since it is Christmas, but should she immediately thrust herself into such a prominent position?
However, I believed her to be of too sweet a nature to show her astonishment after that first start of surprise. She gave me a warm smile.
I said: “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t really know the dance. I didn’t realize—”
“Follow us,” said Connan.
“We’ll look after you,” echoed Peter.
And in a few seconds the others were falling in behind us.
Round the hall we went to the tune of the “Furry Dance.” “You’re doing excellently,” said Connan with a smile as our hands touched.
“You will soon be a Cornishwoman,” added Celestine.
“And why not?” demanded Peter. “Are we not the salt of the earth?”
“I am not sure that Miss Leigh thinks so,” replied Connan.
“I am becoming very interested in all the customs of the country,” I added.
“And in the inhabitants, I hope,” whispered Peter.
We danced on. It was simple enough to learn, and when it was over I knew all the movements.
As the last bars were played I heard someone say: “Who is the striking-looking young woman who danced with Peter Nansellock?”
I waited for the answer to be: “Oh, that’s the governess.”
But it was different: “I’ve no idea. She certainly is … unusual.”
I was exultant. I doubt that I had ever been so happy in my life.
I knew that in the time to come I should treasure every minute of that wonderful evening, for I was not only at the ball, I was a success at the ball.
I did not lack partners; and even when I was forced to admit that I was the governess, I continued to receive the homage due to an attractive woman. What had happened to change me? I wondered. Why couldn’t I have been like this at Aunt Adelaide’s parties? But if I had, I should never have come to Mount Mellyn.
Then I knew why I had not been like this. It was not only the green dress, the amber comb, and the diamond brooch; I was in love, and love was the greatest beautifier of all.
Never mind if I was ridiculously, hopelessly in love. I was like Cinderella at the ball, determined to enjoy myself until the stroke of twelve.
A strange thing happened while I was dancing. I was with Sir Thomas Treslyn, who turned out to be a courteous old gentleman, a little wheezy during the dance, so I suggested that he might prefer to sit
out the rest of it. He was very grateful to me and I felt quite fond of him. I was ready to be fond of everyone that night.
He said: “I’m getting a little too old for the dance, Miss … er …”
“Leigh,” I said. “Miss Leigh. I’m the governess here, Sir Thomas.”
“Oh indeed,” he said. “I was going to say, Miss Leigh, it is extremely kind of you to think of my comfort when you must be longing to dance.”
“I’m quite happy to sit for a while.”
“I see that you are kind as well as very attractive.”
I remembered Phillida’s instructions and accepted the compliments nonchalantly as though I had been accustomed to them all my life.
He was relaxed and confidential. “It’s my wife who likes to come to these affairs. She has so much vitality.”
“Ah yes,” I said, “she is very beautiful.”
I had noticed her, of course, the very moment I entered the ballroom; she was in pale mauve chiffon over an underskirt of green; she evidently had a passion for chiffon and such clinging materials, and it was understandable considering her figure; she wore many diamonds. The mauve toning down the green was exquisite and I wondered whether my own vivid emerald was not a little blatant compared with hers. She looked outstandingly beautiful, as she would in any assembly.
He nodded, a little sadly I thought.
And as I sat talking, my eyes, wandering round the hall, went suddenly to the peep high in the wall, that star-shaped opening which merged so perfectly into the murals that none would have guessed it was there.
Someone was watching the ball through the peep, but it was impossible to see who it was.
I thought: Of course it is Alvean. Did she not always watch the ball through the peep? Then I was suddenly startled for, as I was sitting there, watching the dancers, I saw Alvean. I had forgotten that this was a special occasion—Christmas Day—and just as, on such a day, the governess might come to the ball, so might Alvean.
She was dressed in a white muslin dress with a wide blue sash and I saw that she wore the silver whip pinned to the bodice of her dress. All these things I noticed with half my attention. I looked swiftly up to the peep. The face, unrecognizable, indefinable, was still there.
Supper was served in the dining room and the punch room. There was a buffet in both rooms and guests helped themselves, for according to custom the servants on this day of days were having their own ball in their own hall.
I saw that these people who so rarely waited on themselves now found it quite good fun to do so. Dishes piled on dishes were the results of all that kitchen activity: small pies of various kinds, called here pasties—not the enormous ones which were eaten frequently in the kitchen, but dainty ones. There were slices of beef, and chicken and fish of various descriptions. There was a great bowl of hot punch; another of mulled wine; there were mead, whisky, and sloe gin.
Peter Nansellock, with whom I had had the supper dance, led me into the punch room. Sir Thomas Treslyn was already there with Celestine, and Peter led me to the table at which they were sitting.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll feed you all.”
I said: “Allow me to help you.”
“Nonsense,” he replied. “You remain with Celeste.” He whispered banteringly: “You’re not the governess tonight, Miss Leigh; you’re a lady like the rest of them. Don’t forget it; then no one else will.”
But I was determined that I would not be waited on and I insisted on going to the buffet with him.
“Pride,” he murmured, slipping his hand through my arm. “Wasn’t that the sin by which fell the angels?”
“It may have been ambition; I am not sure.”
“Well, I’ll warrant you’re not without a dash of that either. Never mind. What will you eat? Perhaps it is as well you came. Our Cornish food often seems odd to you foreigners from the other side of the Tamar.”
He began loading one of the trays which had been put there in readiness.
“Which sort of pie will you have? Giblet, squab, nattling, or muggety? Ha, here’s taddage too. I can recommend the squab: layers of apple and bacon, onions and mutton and young pigeon. The most delicious Cornish fare.”
“I’m ready to try it,” I said.
“Miss Leigh,” he went on, “Martha … has anyone ever told you that your eyes are like amber?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?”
“No.”
“Then that oversight should be and is rectified immediately.”
I laughed and at that moment Connan came into the room with Lady Treslyn.
She sat down with Celestine, and Connan came over to the buffet.
“I am enlightening Miss Leigh about our Cornish food. She doesn’t know what a ‘fair maid’ is. Is that not odd, Con, seeing that she is one herself?”
Connan looked excited; his eyes smiling into mine were warm. He said: “Fair maids, Miss Leigh, is another name for pilchards served like this with oil and lemon.” He took a fork and put some on two plates. “It is a contraction of the old Spanish Fumado, and we always say here that it is food fit for a Spanish Don.”
“A relic, Miss Leigh,” interrupted Peter, “of those days when the Spaniards raided our shores and took too great an interest in another kind of fair maid.”
Alvean had come in and was standing beside me. I thought she looked tired.
“You should be in bed,” I said.
“I’m hungry,” she told me.
“After supper we’ll go up.”
She nodded and with sleepy pleasure she piled food on a plate.
We sat round the table, Alvean, Peter, Celestine, Sir Thomas, Connan, and Lady Treslyn.
It seemed like a dream that I should be there with them. Alice’s brooch glittered on my dress, and I thought: Thus, two years ago, she would have sat … as I am sitting now. Alvean would not have been here then; she would have been too young to have been allowed to come, but apart from that and the fact that I was in Alice’s place, it must have been very like other occasions. I wondered if any of the others thought this.
I remembered the face I had seen at the peep, and what Alvean had said on the night of that other ball. I could not remember the exact words but I knew that it had been something about her mother’s love of dancing and how, if she came back, she would come to a ball. Then Alvean had half hoped to see her among the dancers … . What if she watched from another place? I thought of that ghostly solarium in moonlight and I said to myself: Whose face did I see at the peep?
Then I thought: Gilly! What if it were Gilly? It must have been Gilly. Who else could it have been?
My attention was brought back to the group at the table when Connan said: “I’ll get you some more whisky, Tom.” He rose and went to the buffet. Lady Treslyn got up quickly and went to him. I found it difficult to take my eyes from them. I thought how distinguished they looked—she in green shaded mauve draperies, the most beautiful woman at the ball, and he, surely the most distinguished of the men.
“I’ll help you, Connan,” she said and I heard them laughing together.
“Look out,” said Connan, “we’re spilling it.”
They had their backs to us, and as I watched them I thought that with the slightest provocation I could have burst into tears because now I clearly saw the ridiculousness of my hopes.
She had slipped her arm through his as they came back to the table. The intimate gesture wounded me deeply. I suppose I had drunk too much of the mead, or metheglin as they called it. Mead. It was such a soft and gentle name. But the mead which was made at Mount Mellyn was very potent.
I said to myself coldly: It is time you retired.
As he gave the glass to Sir Thomas—who emptied it with a speed which surprised me—I noticed that there were smudges of shadow under Alvean’s eyes, and I said: “Alvean, you look tired. You should be in bed.”
“Poor child!” cried Celestine at once. “And s
he only just recovering …”
I rose. “I will take Alvean to bed now,” I said. “Come along, Alvean.”
She was half-asleep already and made no protest but rose meekly to her feet.
“I will say good night to you all,” I said.
Peter rose to his feet. “We’ll see you later,” he said.
I did not answer. I was desperately trying not to look at Connan, for I felt he was not aware of me; that he would never be aware of anyone when Lady Treslyn was near.
“Au revoir,” said Peter, and as the others echoed the words absentmindedly I went out of the punch room, holding Alvean by the hand.
I felt as Cindrella must have felt with the striking of the midnight hour.
My brief glory was over. Lady Treslyn had made me realize how foolish I had been to dream.
Alvean was asleep before I left her room. I tried not to think of Connan and Lady Treslyn while I went to my room and lighted the candles on my dressing table. I looked attractive; there was no doubt of it. Then I said to myself: Anyone looks attractive by candlelight.
The diamonds winked back at me, and I was immediately reminded of the face I had seen at the peep.
I thought afterward that I must have drunk too freely of the metheglin, because on impulse I went down to the landing below my own. I could hear the shouts coming from the servants’ hall. So they were still merrymaking down there. The door to Gilly’s room was ajar, and I went in. There was enough moonlight for me to see that the child was in her bed, but sitting up, awake.
“Gilly,” I said.
“Madam!” she cried and her voice was joyful. “I knew you’d come tonight.”
“Gilly, you know who this is.” What had made me say such a foolish thing?
She nodded.
“I’m going to light your candle,” I said, and I did so.
Her eyes regarded my face with that blank blue stare, and came to rest on the brooch. I sat on the edge of the bed. I knew that when I had first come in she had thought I was someone else.
She was contented though, which showed the confidence she was beginning to feel in me.
I touched the brooch and said: “Once it was Mrs. TreMellyn’s.”