Shades of Milk and Honey Read online

  “Oh look! Miss FitzCameron has fainted. I told your father she would. Didn’t I tell him?” Mrs. Ellsworth scurried forward, adding to the press of people surrounding the poor girl, no doubt anxious to see how much the glamour had been masking. Jane stayed where she was, unwilling to participate in the shew of vulgarity in which her neighbours indulged by acting as if Miss FitzCameron were a curiosity on display. Jane could hardly believe that Lady FitzCameron would tolerate such a thing, knowing the toll that extended glamour use must surely take on her daughter’s health.

  Though she did not intend to watch, Jane could hardly fail to notice the effect of Miss FitzCameron’s faint. Lady FitzCameron rushed forward, crying, “Livia!” and then directed the two closest gentlemen to help carry her ailing daughter to the side of the floor. By coincidence, Miss FitzCameron had been overcome when the figures of the dance carried her between Captain Livingston and Mr. Dunkirk, surely two of the most eligible bachelors in the room.

  So neatly did she remove these gentlemen from the ladies on which they were attendant that Jane began to wonder if, in fact, it were not deliberate. Had anyone save her noticed, or was it a mere accident of timing? Miss Dunkirk looked lost on the dance floor without a partner, so Jane slipped through the crowd to her father, and suggested that he escort the young woman.

  He happily acquiesced, leaving Jane with Melody.

  “Did you see him, Jane?”

  “Who?” Jane said, as she drew Melody to the side of the floor, though she knew well who Melody meant.

  “Captain Livingston! If there is a more handsome, graceful man, I know not where to find him. He is all that is courtesy. And wit! La! Such wit he has, and his tales of his work with the navy are fascinating. He has made a fortune for himself with his captures, and at so young an age.”

  “I am certain you did not think so highly of him when he left a frog in your sewing kit.”

  Melody laughed. “Indeed. He reminded me of that as we were dancing. So droll. He said that had he known what a beauty I would become, he would have left roses for me instead.”

  “I am certain he would have still left frogs. Boys of that age do not think of girls and roses in the same thought.”

  “You are cruel, Jane. He is so noble and gracious.”

  “Were he truly gracious, he would not keep your hand through three sets of dance. Truly Melody, I thought you knew better.”

  Melody stopped and tossed her head, eyes sparkling. “And I thought better of you. Jealousy is unbecoming on you, dear sister. It is not my fault he finds me beautiful.”

  Even in the crush of the ball, with the noise of the people and the singing of the instruments, Melody’s words were a thunderclap to Jane’s ears. Never had her sister attacked her in this manner. Never had she thrown her appearance out like a badge of honour. Jane opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and she turned, deciding to leave rather than say something she would regret later.

  But she found her path blocked by the very Captain Livingston of whom her sister thought so highly. He smiled and sketched her a very pretty bow.

  “Miss Ellsworth! I had hoped to see you this evening. Your sister has spoken so highly of you, and I have such fond memories of you from my time here in our youth.”

  Jane arched an eyebrow, unable to resist needling Melody. “Fond memories, Captain Livingston? Would those be the memories of the frogs or of the snails?”

  He threw his head back and laughed so heartily that Jane could not keep her hard feelings, for he clearly appreciated a joke upon him. “By my word, Miss Ellsworth. Your wit is as quick as I remember.” He offered his arm, eyes twinkling. “Would you give me the honour of this dance?”

  With a bare glance at Melody as she accepted his proffered arm, Jane said, “Thank you, yes.” She glided onto the floor, leaving Melody standing on the side.

  Her minor victory soon soured, as it became clear that Captain Livingston danced with her only to find out more about Melody. His every question was about her taste and character. What amused her; what did she find of interest? The musicians seemed to slow their tempo, stretching the half hour of the dance out into an eternity. As they danced, the small grace which had slowly come to her movements while dancing with Mr. Dunkirk vanished, leaving her with all the elegance of an animated stick figure. When Melody passed them, already partnered with another gentleman, Jane saw how every man turned to watch her sister dance, how she moved as if the music were part of her.

  Jane left the floor after the dance with Captain Livingston and retreated to the dining hall, where she would not have the danger of being asked to dance again. She spent the remainder of the ball there, trying to lose herself in admiration of Mr. Vincent’s glamural. Its creator remained elusive, and twice she thought

  she saw him but when she turned the corners were empty. Jane could not shake the feeling of being watched. Finally she realized that she was so hungry for companionship that she was inventing phantasms.

  The ball crept until the wee hours of the morning, when all the girls spilled out of Banbree Manor and into their waiting carriages, like flowers spilled from a bridal bouquet. Jane followed them, her dress gray as ashes, the roses on her habit a failed camouflage.

  Four

  Neighbours and Salts

  The morning after the ball, Jane sat in the drawing room, painting, while her mother and sister dissected the joys of the night before. Their pleasure in disparaging other young women’s gowns was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of horses in front of the house.

  Melody dashed to the window to peer out. “It is the Dunkirks!”

  Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed, “Melody! Do not gawk. What will Mr. Dunkirk think of you staring out the window like a girl not yet out of the schoolroom? Sit down at once.”

  “Will not my eagerness please him more, that I am so anxious to see him?”

  Any comment was forestalled when the maid knocked upon the door to announce Mr. Dunkirk and Miss Dunkirk.

  Miss Dunkirk hung behind her brother, much as she had at the shop, so that Jane could easily imagine that she had not been out in society much at all. The Ellsworths welcomed the Dunkirks warmly and began the conversation with such simple forms as the weather, both how it had been and how they thought it would be. Then they turned to discussing how it had been the year previous and comparing that to the current weather for Miss Dunkirk’s benefit so that she might understand what luck she had with the fairness of the weather for her visit.

  This led naturally to an inquiry as to how she found the country for riding.

  “I have not seen much yet, but what I have is very nice,” Miss Dunkirk said. “I adore riding. You cannot think how much I do.”

  “Indeed, Beth rides a fairer mare than any horse in my stables. I am hard pressed to keep up with her.”

  “Oh, Edmund, if you would rid yourself of that old gelding then we could go much farther afield.” She laughed at her brother, shewing the first real warmth Jane had yet seen in her, and turned back to the company. “I plan to have Edmund shew me everything there is to see in the neighbourhood.”

  Mr. Dunkirk laughed. “I shall hardly have time to attend to my business while you are here, I see. I will know the landscape better after your visit than I do now.”

  “You must ask Jane where to take your rambles. She is always going about out-of-doors with her paintings,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.

  “Do you paint, Miss Ellsworth? Edmund told me about your music and skill with glamour, but he did not tell me you painted as well.”

  “I did not know,” her brother said.

  Gesturing at the walls, which had several of Jane’s better pieces hanging upon them, Mrs. Ellsworth said, “All of these are her work.”

  Miss Dunkirk sprang from her seat and ran to the nearest; it was a small watercolour of Melody at Lyme Regis. The light on that day had been exactly suited to shewing off the coils of her golden hair. Picked out in the golds of late-afternoon l
ight, her hair seemed to dance on the breeze; an effect that Jane had enhanced with subtle glamour when Mr. Ellsworth had hung the picture in the drawing room. If the watercolour were ever moved, the glamour would remain tied to the spot, leaving a ghost of waves and golden hair drifting against the wall until the folds gradually frayed and unraveled back to the ether. Jane had seen such things in an aging cathedral her family had visited on holiday. For now, though, the painting and glamour intertwined to give the hint of life to the portrait.

  Miss Dunkirk clapped her hands together as she looked at it and then the next. “Oh! Dear, how beautiful these are! Do but look, Edmund, how sweet! I adore art, but I have not the slightest skill in it myself.”

  “That is because you do not apply yourself, Beth. It is but a matter of practice, truly.”

  An odd expression crossed Miss Dunkirk’s face and she lowered her head as though she had been reprimanded.

  “Your efforts are well worth the time which you have spent upon them.” Mr. Dunkirk strolled across the room, studying each painting with an attention that surprized Jane. “These accomplishments are what make a home comfortable.”

  Melody said, “I thought that a home was made comfortable by those who live in it and their regard for one another.”

  “This is true, Miss Melody, but if one presumes the affection which should be in all homes, then those homes which are most comfortable are also those which possess an understanding and appreciation for the arts.”

  Melody flushed as though she had received a rebuke. Mr. Dunkirk was still studying a painting and did not see the red spots appear on Melody’s cheeks, though if he had, he would undoubtedly have thought her all the more beautiful. Jane kept silent, not wanting to add to her sister’s discomfort, but neither did she want to end it. Though she knew it was unjust, Jane could not help resenting her sister for her very presence.

  Their mother had no such compunctions about holding her tongue. “Jane’s painting is nothing compared to her glamour. She is so terribly clever at weaving music and glamour together. Why don’t you play something for us, Jane?”

  Horrified at her mother’s proposal, Jane demurred. “I’m certain that Mr. Dunkirk and his sister do not want to spend their leisure time listening to me.”

  “Oh, but I do, Miss Ellsworth.” Miss Dunkirk spun. “Truly I do. Edmund has said so much about your skills, and I very much want to experience them for myself. Just the small hint I see from your efforts here has made me hungry for more.”

  Jane attempted to demur again, though her attention was caught by the fact that Miss Dunkirk had said that Mr. Dunkirk had spoken of her. But surely it was not unusual for a brother to give an accounting of his neighbours. And as glamour could be said to be the only distinction which Jane possessed, of course it is what he would have mentioned to his sister.

  Such was Miss Dunkirk’s insistence, soon joined by her brother’s, that Jane found herself seated at the pianoforte. Jane began to play a simple gavotte. As the music poured from the pianoforte, she stroked folds of glamour into being, suggesting a forest clearing with a faun gamboling in the afternoon sun. It was no large matter to add a few birds flitting over his head with the high notes of the tune.

  When that song ended, Miss Dunkirk burst into rapturous applause, begging for another. So great was the girl’s approbation that Jane began a rondo and suggested figures of nymphs dancing around them in time with the music. These were not as fully rendered as the glamour that adorned their walls, since it required much effort to produce a moving image extemporaneously while she played, but the effect was nonetheless pleasing.

  At the song’s end, Jane could not help but notice Mr. Dunkirk’s steady gaze. He stood behind his sister’s chair and seemed still lost in the spell of the music. A greater compliment was not possible.

  The room spun somewhat, and Jane decided that the wisest course would be to refuse another song, or at least an embellished one, lest she faint at its conclusion. But when Miss Dunkirk asked Jane to explain how she caused the nymphs to surround them, a particularly tricky piece of glamour, Jane could not resist re-creating it, which in turn led to another piece of glamour. Jane found herself shewing the girl how to create folds until they were both breathless and overwarm with their efforts.

  Perceiving the strain on Miss Dunkirk’s delicate frame, but glad that some of the melancholy had left her features, Jane said, “You are welcome to return at any time, my dear, and I would be happy to shew you what little I know.”

  “We should take our leave, Beth,” Mr. Dunkirk said, “and let the Misses Ellsworths return to their afternoon’s engagement.” He stopped and turned. “But where is Miss Melody?”

  Jane suddenly realized that Melody had slipped out of the room without any of them noticing. She sprang to her feet, forgetting the effort she had just expended on glamour. The room spun around her, darkened, and she tumbled to the floor.

  A sharp burning odor penetrated Jane’s nostrils, making her sneeze. She opened her eyes. Miss Dunkirk sat on the sofa next to her, passing a small glass vial of smelling salts under her nose. Nancy, the housekeeper, stood behind her, twisting her hands together and bobbing convulsively in a series of curtsies. Across the room, Mr. Dunkirk attended to Jane’s mother, who had collapsed in her chair, as though she had been the one to overextend herself.

  Miss Dunkirk said, “She is awake!”

  At this, Mrs. Ellsworth roused from her swoon. “Oh, Mr. Dunkirk. What should we have done? What should we have done if you had not been here?”

  Jane flushed with sudden understanding. It seemed that Mr. Dunkirk had lifted her to the sofa. She eased herself into a sitting position, careful lest she faint again. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dunkirk. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

  “Not at all, Miss Ellsworth. It is I who should apologize. I fear we took unpardonable advantage of your hospitality.”

  Miss Dunkirk’s eyes were wide with upset. “Yes, please forgive us, Miss Ellsworth. I oughtn’t have asked you to play another song, but your playing was so very pretty.”

  “No need for forgiveness. I had worked a number of other bits of glamour this morning and quite forgot the amount of strain I had undergone. I should know better than to spring up after a song, so I am far more vexed at myself than at anyone else.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed, pressing Mr. Dunkirk’s hand. “The fault is entirely Jane’s. You mustn’t give it a moment’s more thought. Truly, you mustn’t.”

  Mr. Dunkirk compressed his lips and looked to Jane, his gaze seeming to carry a suppressed laugh. “Well, Mrs. Ellsworth, regardless of where the fault lies, I believe it is clear that Beth and I should end our call.”

  Miss Dunkirk rose reluctantly from the sofa. “You will be all right?”

  Jane smiled. “Of course. Have you never fainted from too much glamour?”

  “Oh, I do not know how to work glamour.” The girl shook her head, and some of the darkness of her mood came back to her features.

  “What?” Mrs. Ellsworth cried. “But how could your mother allow it? What were your governesses doing to earn their keep if not teaching you such necessaries?”

  Jane interjected, “Mama, you might as well ask why everyone does not play the piano. Glamour is no more a necessary than that. I am certain that Miss Dunkirk is accomplished in other regards.”

  Despite Jane’s efforts at glossing over her mother’s callous remarks, Miss Dunkirk retreated into her shy silence once again. Mr. Dunkirk placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her out, and Jane was reminded of the girl’s youth.

  They parted, with Jane promising to return their call on the morrow. Only when they had departed did Jane realize that in the flurry over her swoon, all had forgotten Melody. She almost went upstairs to check on her sister, and then, upon reflection, decided that Melody needed to learn to govern her passions.

  She would have to do that without Jane.

  Five

  Art and Glamour

  T
apping her fingers on the brim of her straw bonnet, Jane tried to evaluate the effect of the Venetian glass cherries against a green silk ribbon. She had hoped that the ribbon would serve as leaves, but it was too pallid. She switched to a velvet ribbon in a deeper Pomona green, pinned the cherries in place over it, and nodded in satisfaction. Though it was silly to take so much care with her appearance, she had never before called at Robinsford Abbey by herself. If not for the excuse of returning Miss Dunkirk’s call, she would not have dared to go now, but there was no harm in looking her best in case she happened to see Mr. Dunkirk.

  “That looks very nice.” Melody stood in the door of the drawing room.

  “Thank you.” Jane considered the drape of the ribbon, pretending that it held all her attention. Melody had not spoken to her beyond the barest monosyllable since the Dunkirks’ visit the day prior. Desire to mend the breach between them warred in Jane’s breast with simple pride. She had done nothing wrong to make Melody deal her such petty slights, but she knew it would be fruitless to wait for Melody to apologize. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You were cross yesterday, so I thought you must be unwell.”

  “Oh.” Melody twisted her fingers together. “Yes. I had a headache.”

  Jane took up her needle and thread. “I see. It was a pity you had to leave without saying good-bye. Mr. Dunkirk remarked on your absence.”

  “Did he?” Melody crossed the room to sit next to Jane. “I only left because I had nothing to add. No wit or art, which seem to be the only things anyone appreciates. I am just a pretty face.” As she said this, her voice went beyond self-pity and into genuine despair.

  Jane bit the inside of her cheek. She truly had monopolized the Dunkirks’ visit. “You are more than that. You are charming and good-hearted.”