Chapter 7: Alors on Danse

Even Edith, a limited woman of few means and even fewer scruples, owned a medicine chest. Her poor father could not afford a toilet solely for make-up, which she had accepted without anguish as a young teenager at Silsden.

It cost precisely three pounds. Three pounds of her father's personal money that he had saved up specifically to buy it for her. At the time, it meant the world because they often did not have the means of procuring ingredients for home remedies when they were ill. Giving her a chest of her own was his final gift to her before she went to boarding school alone.

She touched the ornate wood carefully, cherishing the memory. Hidden amongst the tonics and balms were her cosmetics, all sorted into prized jars regardless of their cheapness of make. She treated each with loving care knowing how difficult it had been for Samuel to acquire them for her.

For tonight, she worked with only the best. A light coating of fine rice powder was applied to pale her further, and she layered a faint sheen of pink rogue over her cheeks and eyelids to give them some color. With her little finger, she painted a bit of clear pomade on her lips, making them glow in light. Too much and she would appear a common prostitute rather than a lady of breeding, too little and the effect would be inconsequential.

The ribbon she bought was braided through her flaxen lengths of hair and wrapped neatly around her head. Instead of weaving the tresses at the front and tying under her ears as she typically did, she coiffed them suitably, matching the formality required of the lavender gown that adorned her slight frame. It was simple but elegant. Its ruffled sleeves cut halfway down her upper arm, sparsely fluffed to keep her shoulders slim. The neckline sloped in diagonal lines down to the tops of her breasts, and though she thought it was rather daring (by her standards), she admitted that they accentuated her collarbones attractively. It worked well by drawing attention away from the undecorated bodice and plaits of her skirt.

Every woman was vain to some extent, and Edith knew she would be a fool for believing she was any different. She was not so far removed from societal norm that she was completely apathetic to her appearance. For a moment, she admired her reflection, pleased with the finished result. It was rare that she ever required the aid of beautifying products, but when she did, it was quite refreshing. She was reminded of the fact that she was a living, breathing human with needs and wants and desires just like everyone else. Surely the Lord would allow her this indulgence?

A more rational approach was simply that it was occasions like these that carelessness could affect others' impressions of her, so she needed to be presentable to prevent embarrassment from falling on Theophilus or his peers. It was completely emotionless; a pure failsafe for unholy whims that satisfied the part of her that had next to no concern for such weak ties as the loveliness of her flesh.

She pondered this on her way to Theophilus' room. After a light tap, he received her, thoroughly surprised that she had finished before him. He had barely done his hair and put on his dinner jacket just as she arrived.

"I thought I would be the one escorting you, chérie, not the other way around."

"Oh, stop it," she giggled, "Let us go."

They were swept away by one of Harvey's private carriages. He had been kind enough to send one to take them to his estate on the outskirts of the city.

Upon arriving, a servant helped them out of their transport, lining them neatly at the door and announcing their names as they entered. Theophilus had to usher her forward, trapped in awe as she was at the sight of Harvey's lavish home. In reality, it was more of a countryside manor than an urban dwelling—the structure was reminiscent of neo-Roman architecture and draped in antiques from the last century. Harvey had somehow managed to make outdated styles fashionable in his house.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Theophilus murmured, "His parents bought this place for him after graduation since he was staying on as a fellow."

"It's absolutely breathtaking," she said.

Because she and Theophilus were considered close acquaintances of the host (and St. John to an extent), they had come a bit early. A few of St. John's other friends were similarly present: a Frederick Thomas Wharton, William Howard, and Robert Prynne, all of whom were ministers and had come specifically to say goodbye to their old schoolmate. Prynne had brought his wife, Bess, who had been overjoyed to see more female company in Edith and another young lady on Pitt's arm.

Edith curtseyed gracefully to both, and the girl introduced herself as Clara, Pitt's younger sister. She was about Mary's age and the owner of the most luscious red locks Edith had ever seen. In addition to this, she also matched her brother in coloring and temperament, making a spectacularly handsome addition to the soiree. This was not lost on a few male members of the party, which Edith noticed with delight, included Theophilus. He had never been more charmed, and his gaze hovered over her like a moth to flame.

The depression that followed in the days after the billiards incident lifted. The men shook hands easily, pleased with seeing more old faces that shared in their woe with acceptance. With the first few drinks, mouths lifted to grins and quiet reminiscences yielded to bouts of laughter. The time for mourning was over; this night would not see any more of the sadness they had long held in their hearts. St. John deserved a measure of joy for his final day in the sun.

When more guests began to arrive, Harvey and St. John were forced to separate from the group to greet them. The ladies took this opportunity to draw away to the punch table to chat among themselves for a bit, Edith finding the pair extremely amiable and well-met in conversing about literature and music, the most pleasing of all subjects.

"Shall we drink some punch, ladies? All this talking has gotten me thirsty!" Bess said.

"Careful. It won't be pleasant to get tipsy too early in the night," Clara said, "It could affect your dancing."

She spoke sensibly, but Edith did not miss how her attention flicked over to the men, her shoulders relaxing appreciatively upon sighting Wharton and Theophilus. The latter caught her line of vision and slowly disengaged himself from his conversation, making his way over to her.

Edith touched Bess' arm, leading her away from the table to give them some privacy.

"Oh dear, your cousin's is quite the early bird, isn't he?" she said, watching them with interest.

"Not unless the girl is uncommonly pretty. I think he's taken her first couple of dances."

"They should have an attachment by the end of the night by the looks of it!"

They laughed discreetly, shielding their mouths with gloved hands before walking off to mingle a bit more. Once they had made a full circle of the ballroom, the orchestra had finished setting up their instruments, prepared to play the first couples' song for the party.

Most of the guests took their time finding a partner as this particular affair was a bit different from the norm. Harvey and St. John had chosen not to throw a formal ball; instead, this soiree was designed to be more lax on ballroom etiquette as well as dancing. There was not as much pressure to take to the floor in favor of allowing more time for talk.

Rockwell came to her immediately, and she accepted, Bess falling into step beside them with her husband.

He took her hand in his own, settling the other over her waist as they waltzed.

"I take it you are enjoying yourself, Miss Richardson?" he asked.

"Oh, very much. The atmosphere is so lively tonight. I haven't danced for quite a while."

"I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure if we could pull off a dance without guidance, but I suppose we managed well enough."

"You are too modest, Mr. Rockwell. A matron could not have done better herself."

He laughed. "A matron would never admit to scraping together such a loose attempt at a ball."

"Perhaps not, but she might be pleased at the number of matches made despite the small size of such an assembly."

Theophilus spun by with Clara in his arms, grinning in exhilaration.

"It is not often I've seen Clayton so enthralled with a young lady. I'm happy for him."

"As am I. I fear he would die a confirmed bachelor should he wait any longer!"

"By that logic, so would Pitt and me. Not to mention Rivers and Harvey, our seniors."

"But you all have far more charms than poor Theo. He walks in your shadows," she teased.

"If only he could hear that from your lips. I wonder what he would say to you, his lovely cousin as dear as a sister, if he was within earshot."

"He would tell me that unkind sentiments are better left unsaid."

"I don't doubt it. Clayton is so good a man." He glanced at Clara's sweet countenance, as fresh as the first bud of spring and as innocent as she was beautiful. "He deserves someone of equal measure."

`They twirled to the last thrums of music, riding the beat until the very end where they bowed low to each other, eyes sparkling with the fire of youth. Dancing was excellent exercise, and Edith always looked forward to the socialization that accompanied it. It was good fun getting to know her partner, especially if they happened to be men of learning. She was much more likely to find good conversation among scholars than anyone else.

When the next set assembled, she took a turn with Pitt, then with her cousin, who had chosen to accompany Clara a second time. When they swapped back to their original pairs, Pitt shot suspicious glares at his tall frame, watching where he was putting his hands.

His antics were so adorable that Edith could not help but chuckle; they reminded her so much of how Theophilus would treat the men who danced with her. How ironic that he was finally the accosted rather than the accoster.

The third round went to Theophilus and afterwards, she was forced to sit the fourth and fifth, winded from the constant motion of the last three-quarters of an hour. Bess flocked over with Prynne and Wharton with a short re-introduction, then promptly launched into a lighthearted discussion of the latest trend concerning high-heeled shoes, Edith listening along with the unwilling men. Her cup drained slowly over the course of the passing minutes, and she fiddled with it quite contentedly during the break.

It was then that St. John approached, presumably to check on their welfare, but as he grew closer, it became more obvious that his focus was centered only on her.

He stopped crisply before them, bowing to her.

"May I have the honor of dancing this set with you, Miss Richardson?"

"I would be pleased, Mr. Rivers."

It would be a while before it would start, however, so he stalked off, promising to return at the appointed time.

As St. John slid stiffly away, Bess scooped up Edith's hands, clasping them tightly in excitement.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me earlier, Miss Richardson?"

Edith raised her brows at her and at the men, who were both smiling gaily. "Tell you what, Mrs. Prynne?"

"That you and Mr. Rivers have an understanding!"

"Dear me, that's not it at all! Mr. Rivers is only doing his duty as host, is he not? He has seen me seated for two sets and has come to ensure I am not unattended."

Prynne shook his head dramatically, touching his wife's arm. They grinned at one another and at Wharton.

"Did you not see his stare? How intent it was upon you?"

"Yes, but I don't think that really constitutes—"

"And the way he bowed! From the waist—how gentle of him. He must hold you in quite high regard."

"I suppose we've shared each other's confidence on occasion."

"You have? Oh… Our Mr. Rivers will finally marry!"

Edith reigned as much of herself in as possible, stopping all of the muscles in her face so she would not gape. How had Bess jumped to such a hasty, undefined conclusion after a few words? It simply did not make sense—there were so many unknown variables clouding her relationship with St. John. It was irresponsible to simply assume they were potentially engaged because of the way he had asked her to dance. Emotion was quite unbecoming in such a discourse.

But when she looked between Wharton and Prynne, she saw the same simpering attitudes mirrored in their own actions. The way they stroked their beards as they tracked St. John around the room, then appraised her with approval… Were these men not trained in logical theory?

"Wh-what makes you say that, Mrs. Prynne?" she said, calming herself as best she could.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"On what terms? Intuition?" she murmured coolly.

For a moment, they seemed surprised at her reaction, maybe even put-off at her lack of playfulness, but Bess burst into a muffled fit of glee.

"Goodness gracious, you really are suited for him! How alike you are!"

Considering how unfamiliar they were with each other, Edith was beginning to lose patience with Bess' blatant disregard for decorum. The longer they spent on this topic, the more she wanted to get up and leave. It was unfortunate that a woman was not allowed to move about on her own—walking unattended was terribly impolite.

It was then that St. John melted into view, offering his arm, which she took with grateful relief. Let the consequences be damned; she cared little for the rumor mill in Cambridge.

"Not coming Prynne? Wharton?" he said.

"Our feet are already aching, and besides, you've already taken the most exquisite woman in the room, Rivers," Wharton returned. There was a satisfied smirk impressed deeply into his dimples.

The parson paid it no heed, nodding reservedly, and whisked her away in a flash of skirts.

"You seem eager for us to go, Mr. Rivers."

"I am not so unobservant as not to see that you are of a similar mind, Miss Richardson. I shall have to make amends for their behavior."

She raised her small digits to his upper arm quizzically. "What do you mean 'behavior'?"

"They have offended you."

It was quite shameful that he had caught on. "…Was it really that noticeable?"

"Not at all. I know how they are."

"And you know me well enough to see it?" she said quietly.

"If I may be so bold."

"It should be me saying that."

The corner of his mouth twitched at her.

St. John danced as fluidly as anyone else, which was rather impressive given that he had not been at a social function for perhaps a year or more. They took the exertion quietly, barely trading a few stray murmurs on idle things, things that had no place within the context of where they were or what they were doing.

When it was done, he led her to the outer hall away from the range of prying gossips.

Her hand had not left the crook of his elbow.

"Where are we going?"

"You shall soon find out."

At the top of the stairs laid a pair of French double doors draped in wine red. St. John pushed the lacquered wood, revealing a sky as mercurial as the sea—its darkest point was as fine as the richest ebony and its lightest the most pallid of purples. Magenta had been splashed across the wide circle of heaven, washing through the landscape like a flowing river. The milky starlight shined brightly, winking like lit candles floating through the bowels of eternity.

She took to the sight at once, abandoning her place at his side to fly to the balcony railing, mapping the trails of ether in reverent solemnity.

"The Lord could not have created anything more perfect," she whispered.

The cover of dusk obscured them both. There was nothing but the sound of their breaths, the beating of their hearts.

He reveled in His art as much as she.

"Is this atonement enough for the crimes of my friends?"

"I had forgotten about that a long time ago, Mr. Rivers."

"Quite. It is not so important now…only faraway."

She nodded dreamily, still entranced with the image before her. "Do you think everyone in this world see the same sky?"

He strode to the railing beside her, laying a hand on the cool stone. "No, not all."

"But if they don't, who's to say it isn't equally wonderful as our own?"

His lips parted, the pearl white of his teeth bared innocently, neither timid nor aggressive. Just neutral, a display for no one but her.

"To the misguided, yes. To one of truth and understanding—if they were to stand beneath that same sky—no."

"And what of those who have not found it yet?"

He leveled her with a surveying gaze to which she answered with a smile.

"Then I shall be their counsel, their mentor, their apostle."

"A burden you cannot bear for long in England."

"I will carry it for as long as I am able. A determined soul will take any toil—and see it to completion. The seeker must also carry this wish, then God will grant it. Malleability comes to the fore. With this trait, He can shape a person into His own. "

"He has taken your flexibility, Mr. Rivers, but it is because you are already His, yes?" she said impishly.

"As are you, yet you are still soft, still pliable even though much of your character is as hard as mine."

"Women are soft creatures."

"The flesh means nothing. You doubt yourself."

"Surely everyone must feel mistrust for some part of themselves. Even you."

"Not at this stage in life—fate has aligned everything in my favor, and I have taken hold of it. You will too."

"I can only hope."

"No," he said, "Believe."

The conviction that tempered those short syllables warmed her. His fair brow did not seem so harsh anymore, merely as smooth and as sweet as his sentiments. He had put his full faith in her without demanding recompense.

For a moment, she basked in that light. In him. He seemed truly handsome in that brief second-the air around them debilitated between past and present, allowing her one little victorious pulse of pleasure from the praise. She could have kissed him for it, but she only treated him with another grin, and he offered his arm.

"We will be missed if we do not return," he said.

"Of course."

It was near midnight when they descended, passing increasingly drunken guests both male and female alike. Harvey shot out from the drawing room, slapping St. John on the back.

"It's time for the toast, old friend. By the way, Prynne's got his wife under control," he said, "She's been yapping on about how lovey-dovey you two have been for hours."

"Expectation is usually different from reality, Harvey. Allow me to escort Miss Richardson to her seat before we begin."

"Right-o, I've got everyone collected—everyone sober that is. You're both going to suffer from rumors these next few days."

"I will be gone. Besides, it will not matter soon."

Harvey's mouth split from ear to ear, and he clasped St. John's hand, pumping it rigorously up and down. Edith's puzzlement merely made him cuff the pastor again.

"Good luck. You're going to need it!" He scuttled away, a spring in his step.

"What ever did he mean, Mr. Rivers?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing you should concern yourself with at present."

...

Wine flowed like water in the aftermath of Harvey's little "goodbye" speech. Glasses had been raised all over the estate, toasting St. John for everything he would leave behind…and everything he would gain in India whilst spreading God's word.

There was such wonder in all of those strange, sovereign salutes. That final act of goodwill from many to one was something so unusual and disorienting that Edith felt as if she were at a battlefield, wishing her king fortitude in his last campaign—one he would fight alone. In it was that same ephemeral beauty she had seen days ago in Theophilus, when he had been so handsome in the faint candlelight glow.

She could not help but feel that St. John would never have this again. Indeed, he knew it too, for his pale eye perceived them, accepting their tribute without bias while failing to recognize any individuality. Lord Hades was his master, and he judged them all worthy of Elysium.

When threw back his golden chalice, his Adam's apple bobbed faintly beneath his cravat, welcoming the end and beginning of all things.