Chapter One
London, 1843
"Please, Mrs. MacLean, won't ye tell us about yer wedding?"
Her mouth full of cake, Enid stared around at the circle of
feminine faces in Lady Halifax's parlor, all bright with
happiness, and at the blond, round-cheeked girl in whose
honor they were gathered. The girl who had asked the
question. The girl who, in less than a fortnight, would
become the blushing bride to Lady Halifax's underbutler.
Swallowing, Enid took a breath. "My wedding? Oh, you don't
want to know about my wedding."
"We do!"
An eager chorus answered her, a chorus from Lady Halifax's
upstairs maids, her downstairs maids, and her scullery
maids, all girls with their heads stuffed with puff pastry
dreams of love.
Enid, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, was at least five
years everyone's senior in age and five hundred years their
senior in cynicism.
"Was yer wedding as wonderful as mine is going t' be?" Kay
clasped her hands at her bosom. The girl was resplendent
with flowers and ribbons in her hair, Surrounded by gifts
given by her friends, and glowing with the light of love.
So Enid tried desperately to divert the
conversation. "Nothing could be as wonderful as your
wedding is going to be. That lace Lady Halifax asked me to
bring as your wedding gift will make a lovely collar for
your wedding gown."
"Aye, it will."Kay patted the fancy, machine-sewn lace Enid
had delivered. "Lady Halifax is a grand mistress, an' ye
must convey me thanks t'er. Mrs. MacLean,did ye have lace
on yer gown?"
The problem, as Enid saw it, was that she was a woman of
mystery.
Oh, not really. For three years she had lived in the London
town house as Lady Halifax's nurse-companion. At first she
had done little more than pass Lady Halifax her cane and
make sure she had a clean handkerchief. But as time had
gone on and the wasting disease had weakened Lady Halifax,
Enid had become her mouth and ears in the household. She
had reported the household activities to Lady Halifax and
given Lady Halifax's instructions to the servants. But
never, ever, had she confided her past to anyone.
She knew speculation had run rampant. Because of Enid's
upper-class accent, her education and manners, the maids
thought that she was a lady who had fallen on misfortune
and had turned to labor to support herself. She had done
nothing to dissuade them of that notion.
Now they had her trapped with their offer of tea and cake,
their high hopes and fabulous imaginings.
"Please, Mrs. MacLean?" Sarah, the upstairs parlor maid,
begged.
"Please?" Shirley, fifteen years old and fresh from the
country, clapped her hands and tipped her cake plate off
her lap and onto the carpet.
Everyone jumped to their feet, but Enid hushed the
horrified exclamations and helped clean up the mess. "It's
all right, dear. See? There's no harm done." Trying to
distract the tearful Shirley, she said, "Stop crying so you
can hear the details of my wedding."
Shirley snuffled into her handkerchief. "Aye."
"Tell us," Kay urged.
Enid could never confess the truth -- so, she would have to
tell them a lie.
"Did ye get married in a big church?" Ardelia, plain, plump
and brown, dabbed up the last crumbs of cake with her
thumb.
Putting down her fork, Enid put the plate on the end table
beside her and made the decision that, if she was going to
tell a lie, she might as well tell a colossus. "I was
married in a cathedral by a bishop."
"A cathedral?" Sarah's brown eyes grew huge.
"I was wed on a beautiful, sunny morning in June, with wild
pink roses in my arms and all my friends in attendance."
"Did ye wear white like Queen Victoria?" Ardelia quivered
with excitement.
"No, not white."
The maids groaned with disappointment.
"Her Majesty hadn't married yet, and it wasn't the style.
But I did wear a blue dimity, very fine" -- turned only
twice -- "with a splendid full skirt and black lace
gloves" -- loaned by the vicar' s wife -- "and a blue
velvet hat with a black veil" -- given by Stephen and
acquired heaven knew where and hopefully by legal means.
Carried away with her enthusiasm, Enid added, "And my black
boots were polished so brightly, I could see my face in
them."
"Wi' yer blue eyes an' yer black 'air, ye must have looked
splendid, Mrs. MacLean." Gloria, a rather nondescript girl
who extravagantly admired Enid, flattered her now. "'Ow did
ye dress yer 'air?"
Enid touched the loose knot gathered in a black net snood
at the base of her neck. "It's so flyaway, I can never do
much more with it than this."
Wide-eyed with innocence, Ardelia asked, "Why didn't
ye 'ave yer maid dress yer 'air?"
Bent on making the tale the best, most dramatic story
they'd ever heard, Enid told them, "I didn't have a maid."
The girls exchanged sympathetic looks.
"My family had had setbacks..." Enid dabbed at her
perfectly dry eyes. Dear, dear, these girls would believe
anything!
"Oo." Sarah loved a good theatrical better than anyone, and
she knew how this story should end. "Yer family 'ad lost
their money, then yer Stephen rescued ye."
Love never rescued anyone. If Enid were kind, she would
have told the truth and disillusioned these girls. But she
knew they wouldn't believe her. Young people never did. She
hadn't.
"Yer 'air's pretty that way, Mrs. MacLean," Shirley said.
"Thank you, Shirley."
Ardelia leaned forward, eyes shining. "Did yer Da give ye
away?"
"No, my father was dead." Good riddance. "But I needed only
Stephen."
"Was yer 'usband a tall and 'andsome gennaman?" Dena's
ample bosom heaved at the thought.
"He boasted a head full of golden hair, so bright..."
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