The twilight of mid October, teased the noses of Gog and Magog as Anne Blythe glanced stack of letters from Redmond, unopened letter was a like a small promise, she had always thought so. The letters had brought solace in the Summerside days, and a bit of alluring romance, now evoked only mild uncertainty, for the war was everywhere.
Resolutely, Anne ripped open one thick envelope, and slowly handwritten papers unfolded, like September leaves, in the wind. The slips of paper were full of strong, clear writing, and carefully Anne put the full teacup in her other hand on the table, spoon tinkled, lightly, like a silver chord.
Rilla's light steps were heard on the stairs, and Susan was cooking dinner, and Gilbert's hurried steps, as he leaped over the threshold, some urgent consultation in the direction of Lowbridge. The drawing-room was bathed in the soft light of the driftwood, the fireplace giving, whimsical, enchanting, light. The homely atmosphere of Ingelside slowly faded from Anne's consciousness as she delved into Di's letter. Slowly Anne's large gray-green eyes widened, and a slight wrinkle appeared on her forehead.
Dear Mumsy!
The garden of Primrose Hollow is like some surreal drawing. Only sharp corners, and there is frevent hope that eventually snow will bring even a little light to this surrounding darkness, that is so, very hard to bear, as the state of the world still is all war-torn and tupsy-turvy, and I'll admit it to you openly my own mood for the last few weeks has reflected the completely black landscape that can be seen from my window, and at the moment, not even the stars can be seen. Only the pale yellowish light of the street lamp barely seeps through the honeysuckle branches of our garden.
You might have forbidden Rilla to wear a mourning dress, but now I inform you that here we, Alice and I, dyed our dresses as soon as we found out. Nan also wears dark shades when she goes on errands in Redmond. At this moment she is sitting here next to me, writing with devotion to Jerry and the tip of her ink pen moves softly and the pages fill up - Nan's handwriting is still like a dance, fluid and almost painfully beautiful, despite my efforts, I have not been able to get the same cursive for myself, as you remember. I'm more angular, in everything, in my opinions and in my being, but it no longer bothers me like it used to in my childhood, when Nan was veritable social butterfly and I was completely bewitched first by Jenny Penny and then a little later by Delilah Green. Oh, how far away those days seem, the golden, glowing years before Merediths came, when Persis Ford's summer visits to the Four Winds and Ingelside were one of the highlights of my summer. Those summers when Walter, Ken and Persis were roaming around the Glen while you and Aunt Leslie drank tea on the veranda, and I pestered Uncle Owen for stories, and he told most hair-raising ones, full of old ancestors and narrow staircases, and forbidden, tragic love, until Susan put stop to that.
Downstairs in our living room sits my colleague from the Perennial magazine, and Walter's friend, Dorian, who is probably related to the Gardiners you asked in your previous letter, as he truly has Aunts named Dorothy and Adeline. Dorian was the perfect friend to my brother. Sarcastic, but kind and dreamy, and at the same time a little naive. They shared a similar idealism in a way, they were both rainbow seekers. Tonight Dorian brought us all an invitation to his familys All Hallows evening at Gardiner Hall.
The house in question, and the vast grounds are an absolutely magical place. High ceilings, and graceful objects and light and space, lush persian carpets, a dreamy wonderful staircase, and a ballroom that is like something from a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm, right down to the honeysuckle walls! I have visited Hall several times, and though I do not know all its secrets, I can say that there are hardly past mistresses or wifes imprisoned in the attic. There are only paintings, and silence, and shrouded dress bags, trunks, and cobwebs, and mirrors with gilded frames.
As for my dear, late departed brother, Walter loved music, well we all knew that. His letters are full of it, and not even I truly did not know the depth of his love,for pastoralness of Mozart, Brahms, Schubert, and Schumann, and the mystical enchantment of Elgar's tunes. That sparkling and pure universe where light chords and love songs, describe only a pure and sublime feeling, with all its variations, and with its hidden inner pain, like that one Brhams piece, Von ewiger liebe – a romantic evening forest walk, and promises - that is pure Walter in some of his moods.
Lately Alice has been rehearsing that piece and I've been accompanying her, it is so difficult, but so, rewarding! Yesterday I wrote the chord pattern from that piece in my literature essay, as my thoughts wandered, but luckily Brahms fits the poetics of Thomas Hardy's novels perfectly and I happen to know that Professor Milne loves Brhams, so I´ll be guaranteed to get top grade, for my paper.
Alice has been letting me read some of her correspondence for the last few weeks and I have noticed something interesting. My brother was much more practical than we imagined. He wrote to Alice, in his lofty, glittering style, but sensibly. Although, it could also have been the influence of dear, darling Alice, because despite her golden appearance, she is sensible and has little patience for unnecessary swagger or melodrama.
Alice handled my brother masterfully, you know how difficult it was sometimes to cheer Walter up when he was down. Well, I saw for myself several times that Alice didn't even have to try! They understood each other even with half a glance, and often went somewhere for hours, together, and every time when they came back, Walter was calm again, little morose, that were true, but smiling in his gentle way, and often Dorian would made some fleeting ironical observation, and all of us, Alice, Walter and I would laugh until our sides ached.
Here's just a small glimpse of my brother's time in Redmond, for there are things that just don't come out in correspondence, and even the most elaborate letter doesn't always paint all the shades. I have often thought of his last weeks here, among us, in the radiant glowing spring of Redmond, the silence of the libraries and the heat of the ballrooms, and I realize now that he may have known he would not return. His name will live on in Redmond history, you can be sure of that, because a scholarship has been established in his honor, which will surely bring comfort to you, as well as to all of us.
I don't know for sure whose idea it was, but if I had to guess I might point in Dorian's direction, because he has networks all over the place, either personal or related to his family. Sometimes I think his aunts know most of the Bluenoses in Kingsport, and they use their influence covertly without crossing certain lines.
I can point out with relative certainty that despite everything my grades are going up, and my French is almost impeccable now, or so I heard someone say, but as mid terms are looming there is still much work to do.
Now I have to go downstairs, for I must make sure that Alice has not inadvertently thrust cake fork into Dorian's arm, out of sheer frustration, not that she would. Unfortunately dear Dorian has a bad habit of waxing lyrical, and vague, especially when our day has been so long already, full of Red Cross politics, and fresh casualty lists. "
With all my love
Di.
Ps.
I'm attaching Alice's pumpkin pie recipe here, for Susan or Spider, or if there are unexpected guests in Ingelside, for example Aunt Diana and her family, and you need to quickly come up with something to offer for tea.
Sound of clattering broken china echoed in the living room, and Susan peeked into living room from the kitchen. The sight that met her was quite remarkable. Mrs. Doctor Dear had broken her favorite teacup, which she had received from venerable Mrs. Cuthbert. Rosebud cup was lying in pieces on the carpet, and there was a black stain on the carpet.
Anne Blythe looked into the fire with a silent, pale face. Alarmed, Susan remarked, "Please God, has there been any more telegrams?" Anne shook her head and said calmly, in a slightly trembling voice, "Susan, Susan. You're lovely, an utter brick, as always. I just read a letter with too much interest and made a mess, just like when I came to Green Gables my first summer, and washed the dishes too quickly." In a jiffy Susan had cleaned up the shards and brought a steaming mug of tea, which she placed as far away from Gog and Magog as possible.
And at this moment a soft voice came from the doorway, "Greetings from Lowbridge. I ran into Gilbert, Dick Parker needed a little help, and Gilbert should be here in about an hour."
Anne smiled at Gertrude Olivier, and said briskly,"Well, maybe he will get to have at least one dinner with his family this month, without staying late at night with different patients. Gertrude I happened to read Di's letter, from Redmond, and it mentions a piece by Brahams. Do you happen to know it, and do we have the sheet music for it? I am extremely proud that Di's French studies are going quite well. "
Gertrude, looked inquisitively at Anne, and then with a light wince she said " Brahms composed a lot of beautiful pieces. As for Di´s french, well, at least in the summer she was very enthusiastic, she was reading certain kind of poetry that was very continental, and in places exotic, but I hope the selections of the Redmond Libraries do not encourage production of that quality."
Anne said emphatically, "Gertrude, you are a teacher, but remember that whatever my children will read in their spare time is their own business, unless, of course, material is morally questionable in some way." Anne's voice broke off, and Gertrude glanced anxiously in Anne's direction, and she said in a conciliatory tone, "I'll try to find that Brhams, was it, Von ewiger Liebe?"
Anne glanced quickly at Di's letter and nodded. And attentively Anne noticed how thoughtful Gertrude seemed as she flipped through the stacks of sheet music with light touches.
When Gilbert arrived in Ingelside there was powerful, emotional music, it flooded from living room. Anne's eyes were like twinkling stars, for the first time since the arrival of the telegram. And quietly Gilbert crept up to Anne and embraced her, and Anne turned and whispered, "This piece took me right back to our betrothal-moment as we walked away from Hester Grey's garden, in the light twilight of the evening." And then, they danced, Anne and Gilbert, a soft quiet swaying waltz, Brahms turns into Chopin's Nocturne as Gertrude palyed onwards, with a fleeting grace.
Gertrude stalks upstairs with almost silent steps. Rilla is looking dreamily out of the window. Jims is resting peacefully in his trundle, and a streak of light embroiders his cheeks with gold. In her own room, Gertrude walks around, and the hours pass slowly, and she tries to shake the suspicion from her mind, but it doesn't loosen its grip. The light interruption in Anne's voice, Di's letter, and mentions of the fluency of studying French, and Di's glowing, radiant youth, and those exotically glowing Alexandrine lines. Resolutely, Gertrude shook her head and began to write a long and loving letter to her own Bobbie. Rilla's quiet humming could be heard from the corridor, strains of some waltz-melody or another.
Later warily, Gilbert watches Anne's shadowy image in mirror, her abudant red hair is shimmering in the warm light, silver brush gliding through curls. Anne's expression is distant, even though she is so present and warm. Gilbert reaches over and blows out the candle. And in the dark room, Anne rests with her eyes open, listening to Gilbert's breathing, and she is haunted by certain fragments of Di's letter.
The days pass lightly, in Primrose Hollow.
Amid lectures and Red Cross duties Nan and Di have worked hard on their outfits for upcoming Gardiner soiree. One evening, Nan suggested in her light and clever manner, that probes deeply, but without harmful intent, "Alice, with your coloring you could very well be Catherine Linton-Heatcliff, for in the right light your eyes look dark enough, and you are fair, and serious, and have a wardrobe full of modest dark dresses."
Alice shook her head and laughed lightly, "Nan, Nan, your proposal is quite wonderful, but unfortunately I have to decline. Even if I spoil the literary theme you have planned."
A couple of hours later, Di watched as Alice systematically went through her entire wardrobe, dress, by dress. Finally, she remarked in a light tone, "Even though you rejected Nan's proposal. Does this satorial mess, mean you're coming with us to the Hall, or are you looking for new dresses to dye?" Alice didn't answer, as the piles of clothes only grew.
Suddenly Di noticed a flash of something, and she grabbed hold of the length of light pale blue-grey silk, it was soft, and extremely thin. Alice's voice penetrated Di's consciousness a bit scoldingly, but still warm with flash of humour. "There's no way I'll wear that in public. So don't even try Diana Blythe." Slowly the silk flowed from between Di's fingers down to the knitted bed cover, and there it shone softly, invitingly, as Di glanced it curious manner. So with a light sigh, and fond look towards Di, Alice folded it open, and Di's cheeks burned red, and without looking at Alice, Di quickly walked out of the room, her steps echoed in the stairwell.
Alice, glanced at her mirror, and resolutely, patiently combed her hair open, it took time to sort out the tangles. The light glimmered in the crystal perfume bottle, and Alice, feeling annoyed, carefully lifted the bottle into desk drawer. The click of the lock was surprisingly loud in the quiet room.
Cautiously Alice lifted one dress onto the hanger and looked at it critically, it flowed in loose folds almost to the ground. Finally Alice nodded, and smiled in fleeting manner, that glimmer of a smile brightened her strained face, for a moment. There was thin sigh of sussuration of silk on skin was heard. The candles burned lower and lower, and the bitter smell of the stearin combined the light and elusive scent of Di ´s Lily of the Valley scent, which still lingered in the room, like a soft whisper.
In the dark overcast gloom of the morning, Nan watches Alice as she spreads cherry jam on her toast and also mixes the jam into her tea. Di hums in the kitchen, something of a light rising seductive tone with dark edges, as she is preparing strong tea, for one of the four teapots. And Nan says, quietly almost whispering, "Alice, I hope Di hasn't been too demanding, she has that tendency sometimes, especially if she gets excited."
Alice's violet eyes widen, and a slight blush rises to her cheeks, and then a hacking cough fills the space, eventually Alice takes a small sip of water. Softly she mutters a reply to Nan, "Sorry, I got some breadcrumbs to my throat. Your sister is perfect just the way she is. I don't sleep much, and sometimes Di keeps me company, and we talk about your brother, among other things."
Nan glanced sharply at Alice. Her answer sounded perfectly true, and she had seen something similar herself, Walter's letters spread out like a whirlwind, but still, a slight suspicion fluttered in Nan's soul, for there was something almost too purposeful about it, the chaos too controlled, like a work of art, or a stage set. Di had been more withdrawn than usual and almost completely silent all autumn, and sometimes Nan had surprised her looking at one of Walter's letters, but it was still closed, unlike all the other letters in this cottage. Only in Alice's company Di seemed to glow almost exaggeratedly, there was something manic about it, in places.
Suddenly Nan remembered Mary Vance's gothic glowing account of a girl, Myrna of dark braids, and grey eyes, that she had known in the orphanage. Myrna had been separated from another girl to whom she had been so attached in an unhealthy way, or so the murmuring in the vast corridors of the Hopetown Asulym had declaired. Later Myrna had been found hanging in the laundry room from her own nightgown, which she had tied into a noose. Mary Vance had waved her braids and said, "So, I've really seen life, and experienced it too. People do all kinds of things, for all kinds of reasons, and bleak despair or money-troubles or drink, especially poor quality gin, can lower and break even the most strongest spirit. That said, I do think that Glen is a paradise for all the village politics, there's not the same vices here as elsewhere, that's for sure. If there would be, Reverend Meredith and the sewing club with wonderful Cornelia at the helm, would dig them out right away, like small nits." Distantly, Nan remembered that had been the last time Mary Vance had told them in Rainbow Valley about her experiences, Meredith's siblings not being there that time.
Di, now sat down next to Alice, and hands her another slice of cherry jamtoast, as she does so, she brushed Alice's thick braid carelessly out of the way, as she reached for the porridge pot. Nan observes this intimate by-play with wordless worry. Then the girls of Primrose Hollow, delve into the newspaper in silence, black ink stains their fingers, as pages upon pages rustles lightly.
Gardiner Hall stands on a hill, as always it seems to dominate its surroundings. A flaering beacon of light and brick. A long winding line of cars bends towards the wide doors, which are open. Windows let in light, and piano music echoes in the still, cold evening, with the scent of musty, fallen leaves.
Curious, Nan looks around, as this is her first exposure to the splendor of Gardiner Hall. Di had naturally described the place, but Nan had imagined that her twin had exaggerated a bit, it turned out that Di had downplayed the magnificence of the place. Everywhere smelled of expensive varieties of flowers, and frens, in large vases, and the hall is elaborately decorated, with seasonal delicacies, marble surfaces of the staircase just glisten in the flickering light. The corridors are wide and airy, and the Art Noveau architecture was almost too light for such a massive space. The tones of honey and toffee climbed on the walls, and in precise, slightly decadent details are feast for all senses.
People with impeccable tailored clothes roam the vast entrance hall, and the sound of light, but serious chatter echoes everywhere. Warm electric light flows almost like a golden stream, as large double doors are open, - the ballroom is still empty for now. Nan is gliding on the shiny floor, with half-waltz steps. The leaded glass windows reflected the light, flickeringly, and Nan looked up. Directly above her was a crystal candelabra, its prisms projecting light, flickering rainbows onto the walls. Despite her neat and tidy rose-red taffeta dress, Nan felt like Cinderella. Nan turned and met Di's amused look, and with a slightly trembling voice, Nan said "Why haven't you told me that there is something like this here. Otherwise I would have come days ago, as one of the participants in Dorians Saturday picnics. It seems almost wrong that one family has all this. "
Di fingered her white lace collar, and stroked her dark blue satin hems, and said in a low voice, "You've always been more romantic than I am, and the setting has a stronger effect on you. I can certainly admit that the first time I was in this room was a night to remember, in many ways." Di held out her hand and, smiling at each other in almost complete agreement, the Ingelside twins went to find Dorian. Eventually, after more than a few false turns they find him in the living room, looking as usual very artfully bored.
The large, comfortable living room has a light grand piano and brightly colored divans, and large Jucca-palm-tree in a elaborate vase in one corner. Nan glanced curiously at the writing chest in the corner, its cover was extremely skillfully cut Jugendlily from various pieces of wood, into a mosaic-like pattern. Di laughs brightly at something Dorian whispers in her ear. Dorian is dressed extremely smartly and Nan smiles at him and says "Mr Dorian Gray I suppose where is your painting?"
Dorian grins, and beckons Thompson closer. Thompson is carrying a small painting done of Dorian, handful of years ago. In the painting, Dorian's hair is messy, with elaborate waves, and he is dressed in a tight blue jacket and shiny white pants, and dark boots, and there are no silver canes to be seen. He seems heartbreakingly young, and innocent, the kind of boy who believed in miracles and fairies, just like Walter.
There is silence.
Dorian chuckles a little wryly, and says quietly, "A week after that painting was finished, I had an accident that shattered everything, including my immune system, which has never been very strong, but enough of my old woes."
Suddenly Di whispered hoarsely, "Dorian who is that. It can't be Dorothy, can it?"
Dorian glanced where Di pointed, at the doorway there was a small crowd, slowly he squinted. It was Dorothy, but his aunt looked completely different than usual. Gone were the flaming orange silk dresses, and the silky multicolored scarves, and the large hats, and carefree curls that she usually wore. Now Dorothy was dressed in a soft dove gray suit with a double-breasted button-up jacket, and over-the-knee boots. On her head she wore a dove gray wide-brimmed hat with a lavender ribbon, a few dark curls spilling out from under the hat to frame her face.
Dorothy grinned mischievously at Dorian, and said in a slightly wistful tone, "Well at least you didn't have a hysterical fit. Adeline almost did when she met me earlier today in the eastern corridor, when I introduced Ernie, that is Ernestine, here to some of Hall's more special sights."
And suddenly a familiar voice said with compelling tone, "So this is your little Dorian, Dottie-dearie, the one who so rudely interrupted us the other day." The woman who stood confidently next to Aunt Dorothy was tall and dark-haired, and hazel-eyed, her face was lightly powdered, in a slightly exaggerated style, Dorian thought. She was dressed in a well-cut navy striped jacket and a narrow dark skirt. There was a light spicy scent around her that was somewhat reminiscent of a cigar, but wasn't quite. Her long fingers were enclosed in perfect red leather gloves. She looked like someone who couldn't stand stupid answers or stares, so Dorian stretched his politeness to the limit and said in a cool tone, "Welcome to the Hall and this Soiree, I hope you enjoy the evening."
Ernie, then extended her gloved hand to Dorothy, and said in offhand manner with slight drawling haughty tone "Is there any champagne available in this stone colossus, or not. I shudder to think of the expense of keeping this place up, and running, but the milieu is extremely promising, in many ways. I think tonight is going to be quite interesting."
Dorian was surprised to hear Dorothy's light laugh in response, as they slowly disappeared into another room that was already half full of Papas business acuaintances. Thompson had disappeared somewhere, and that painting had been carefully placed on top of a small bookshelf. He struggled vainly to collect his thoughts. He felt somehow betrayed, because for the first time ever, in their home, Dorothy hadn't embraced him. Dorian admitted to himself that he was a little shocked by Dorothy's indifference, as well as her outfit, which was quite impressive, but so queer in a way.
A deep silence prevailed in the living room. Nan and Di had vanished somewhere.
Then soft violin music began to echo, the notes crisply clear and soft, and after a moment Dorian recognized music, and it was the extremely apt, for the season, as it happened to be Dance Macabre by Saint-Saens.
Out of breath from running, Di touched her burning cheeks as she sank onto the silken sofa in the opal green room, that Alice had evasively told of existence of the room. It was bathed in a light shimmering light, and with confused emotions Di tried to analyze recent encounter, at the drawing room. Dorian's Aunt Dorothy' had been so eloquent, in her elegant outfit. It was at that moment that Di knew that if the opportunity ever came, she would like to dress with same style. Maybe when the war was over, maybe then, she could. Di smiled a little wryly, and took Walter's last letter from her pocket, and with the bubbling champagne dancing on her tongue, she quickly opened the rattling sealing wax.
September 1916
Dearest D.
You've always been like the personification of September to me, maybe it's because of the strong, autumnal color of your hair. Even here, in the midst of blood, mud and destruction, your colors glow, powerful. Primrose Hollow may smell of roasting chestnuts, and apple pie that you may have made with Marilla's recipe. Oh, Doss, in the morning light your braid still resembles a tiger lily, as it did on thousands of mornings of our shared golden childhood.
Lately I've been writing letters in all possible tones, encouraging, nostalgic, loving, faithfull, and earnest, with a hint of playfulness, and enthusiasm, but now I'll say it directly. I'm tired. Every morning my soul feels like salt has been poured into it, and it stings. And I'm afraid that soon all the colors will disappear from my world, and I won't be able to enjoy the colorful dance of nature and the seasons anymore, but if that happens, I'm prepared as best as I know how. By writing. I have claimed my small corner in the field of literature, and now it is up to you to do the rest. I know you can do it, because you know how to touch people's souls in a way that I have never been able to.
And if a sad message arrives, mourn me, and wear black if you want, but above all, write. I can almost see your bright and clear eyes before me tonight, and the questions I know you want to ask, but keep inside, and they will keep you awake until you are tired and cranky, or listless and pale, as a victorian maiden, in some cheap Penny Dreadful.
Di you are thoughtful and precise, you always have been, and you like to weigh and consider things, but now I will give you perhaps my last piece of advice. Love cannot be harnessed, love is a leap, a great and wonderfully charming fall into the unknown, almost like flying. Trust yourself and fly. There is so much to see and explore in the world. Remember Paris, there's Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, where you'll probably want to take a bouquet of violets. There are people, our shadow kindreds waiting for you to meet them. All large cities have their own secret world, and I think that before long you will find your way to Redmond's corners that I didn't have time or dare to explore.
If you go to Ingelside for Christmas, play piano and remember me. If you run out of notes, borrow them from Una.
And so, goodnight, with all my love
W.
The clinking of champagne glasses and sparkling social laughter echoed from the corridor, it shattered the spell of Walters final words. Di slowly, with numb legs and aching heart, got up from the silky divan and slipped into the shadowy hall.
Restless, she wandered the seemingly endless corridors. Doorknobs just glistened in the dim light, cigars and hair wax smelled, in the slightly musty air, one door was half open, and a dusty strip of light glowed invitingly.
Little hesitantly Di crept to the door and peeked.
The room was dominated by a large pool table, its green fabric looked velvety soft. The only pieces of furniture besides the table were luxurious armchairs and a large ornate oval-shaped mirror, in the far end of the wall, with silvery-wallpaper, that looked quite like snowflakes.
And suddenly the silence was broken by the billiard balls hitting each other with a light, sharp thump. Unknown voice asked as if beckoning, "Well Roy. I've been here for a few hours now, and there's nothing of interest here but the spectacle of your sister. However, her companion seems very commanding, in most flagrant, and almost sensual way. If I indulged in such a style which of course I don't, as you well know. Everyone almost swallowed their cigars when they walked into the room, which was certainly intended."
A light sigh came from the darkness, and Di heard Royal Gardiner say in a quiet voice with barely a hint of impatience. "Robert, this may be hard for you to understand, but I don't want to talk about my sister's predilections, especially not today." There was another light crunch, as if ice cubes had crunched against the rim of a glass, and then Robert's voice came out once more, and that voice had a light tone of judgment, "I've looked over the offerings here, very carefully, don't worry. Quite a market."
Royal Gardiner, cautiously raised his head, and raised his forefinger, as a shadow blue-shaded tones, flickered at the large oval mirror, for one moment, but nothing was heard. No screaming, or accusations, of double standards, no glass shattering, no high heels. Royal walked to the door, and peered down the hall. Everything was quiet, and completely deserted, only Adeline's piano playing echoed faintly from downstairs, as soft violins joined it, Dvorak's notes floated light and radiant. Just to be sure, Royal locked the door, tight, hinges creaked, once plaintively.
Robert shrugged smugly and continued as if there had been no interruption. "And then a stunning honey-blond girl in bright red silk, but no one wearing that French perfume you located using your late wife's family perfume company contacts. Or maybe have you captured her to a room, with only a large bed and nothing else but champagne and bunches of roses?"
Royal glanced irritably at Robert and said with extremely dry manner, "Old chap, those girls you just criticized so highly are friends of my son Dorian's from Redmond. They are honored guests, so it would behove to give them some sort of gallant respect, at least. I believe that honey blonde is also, in some way, connected to Dorian, through my sister Adeline's antics, but how exactly, I haven't had time, or inclination to ask. So please stop drinking whiskey and at least try to behave, although it's a vain wish, probably."
Robert grinned, in his still boyish way, full of puckish charm, and bowed slightly, and with mild sweeping irony raised his glass in the air and declared, with careful intonation, "Cherchez la femme, pour Dieu!" Moving softly through the corridors of his home, Royal Gardiner led Robert to join the others, in the living room, and he gave a strict order to Thompson that for the rest of the evening, that Robert would only be served tonic water. The last thing tonight would be some kind of scandal, there had been enough of those before years, as Adeline always kept reminding.
In the ballroom, people danced, a slow lingering waltz that raised a fruity blush to even the palest of cheeks. In one corner Dorothy stood straight-backed in her well-cut suit, and her companion seemed to be conversing rather animatedly with Di Blythe, who looked pale, but then a hot flush rose over those features which so closely resembled his Titian Goddesses features, it was not identical likeness, but it was very close match, more of play of light and shade, and gracefulness of movement. He nodded neutrally to both twins in passing.
Then dark-haired Nan burst into speech breathlessly, from decorous distance. "Oh, Mr. Gardiner, what a fine house you have, and such a name! What a library, and greenhouses. What a view here, as the stars are twinking, amid our joyfull Revelry." Royal nodded, and bowed gracefully to Nan, as he disappeared into the crowd that began to swarm the dance floor, in earnest manner.
Royal cast a quick appraising glance in Dorian's direction, and then he flinched and froze, and with difficulty he continued to walk across the hall, towards Adeline, and the dark-haired, well-shaped woman. Her alabaster complexion had dimmed a little over the years, but her large dark blue eyes were just as commanding, and arrogant, as they had been years ago, in their Redmond years together. The woman reached into a satin glove covered with a diamond ring and stroked her sapphire blue velvet dress, the empire cut of which was almost too much.
Christine Stuart, now Dawson, said in her tragically quivering, dark, voice, "Dear Roy, judging by your expression, Adeline didn't tell me that she invited me here, to this sweet little event of yours, but I must say, the years have really treated you well, as you might expect. You were always successful, in your own way, and so was I."
At this juncture Thompson came with a chilled tray of champagne, and he handed one crystal glass to Christine, who took it, glancing half-smirkingly around. And suddenly Roy noticed that Christine's hand was trembling, and somewhat curiously, Roy looked where Christine was looking, and his heart almost skipped a beat, for Alice Parker had arrived at to the Soiree at last.
There she stood at the doorway of the ballroom, dressed in flowing, formfitting, bluish silk. Dress had a wide neckline with a fitted empire line, and dainty little sleeves, and she had her hair up in an intricate but definitely simple slightly Grecian bun. The hairstyle was held in place by a beautiful but modest hair comb with a floral theme. Standing next to Alice, her cheeks glowing, was Di Blythe. She cast a cool regal glance in Royal and Christine's direction, or maybe behind them. It didn't matter where she was, what mattered was that she, Alice was here, again.
Christine's voice broke the sudden silence, and Royal´s inner musings, and she said in her self-consciously cuttingly humorous style, "That red-haired girl in blue looked just like a younger version of Anne Shirley- Blythe´s daughter, I guess? Does she happen to be courting your son? If so, then fate really has a sense of humor, dearest Royal. "
Royal shook his head silently and Christine's eyes widened and then they narrowed and she said almost in a whisper, "Roy, is that really your sister dancing this intoxicatingly lovely Weiner Waltz, dressed like an 1890s masher? I've clearly been gone too long from dear, somewhat capricious Kingsport, for I don't remember these circles of ours being so interestingly ticklish in the last fifteen or twenty years. Of course the war has its effect, for nearly all the men are in the service, in one way or another."
Adeline's sharp, polished, crystalline formal accent slipped gracefully, as if designed, into the place of Christine's light respite, and she said "Dear Christine, welcome to Gardiner Hall. I wish to introduce to you and my brother to a certain person whose arrival our dear Dorian has also been waiting for, I do think! "
And raising his eyebrows inquiringly, Royal saw Dorian cautiously walk up to Adeline, as Thompson placed a chair behind him. Then a sonorous honeyed voice said, almost too effusively, "Mr. Gardiner, and , I am Irene Howard, and I am exceedingly glad to be here again, in your captivating home. Thank you for the invitation dearest Adeline, and warmest greetings from my aunt."
Royal turned half a step, and looked at abundant honey-blond girl, dressed in red silk. Soon Dorian began to converse in a low voice with, oh, so charming Irene. Royal heard Irene Howard's honeyed voice laughing softly at some compliment or other. On the small stage, violinists began to play Lehar's romantic tunes, and Christine reached out to Royal and nodded toward the dance floor.
Alice felt herself shiver as Di gently took her hand and nodded to Thompson, who opened a small, almost imperceptible side door that gave quicker access to the upstairs wing. Just a couple of turns down the deserted corridors. Then Di and Alice were once again, sitting in the neoclassical luxury of the Pink Suite again, but unlike last time, the party was still in full swing, and there was light laughter from the courtyard, and the sound of new cars arriving as the cream of Kingsport came to the Gardiners' annual party.
Alice lit the many-branched candelabra, and the scented beeswax candles cast their soft scented light in the almost dim room, which was like a great transparent pink shell. Alice leaned back on the soft divan, and watched gravely the play of shadows on Di's pale, grave, and excited face. As the silence lengthened, Alice said in a soft tone, but somewhat playfully, "Di, almost as soon as I got here you dragged me away from the ballroom. I barely nodded to Nan, but I didn't even see Dorothy anywhere, and she's usually in the middle of it all in her orange silk, subtle, dragging social threads to the right positions, or Dorian at all. What is happening here tonight?"
Di clasped her cold hands together, and said in a low voice,"Dorothy has been a total sensation today, maybe on purpose. And from that encounter I finally had the courage to read my brother's last letter, and it was quite an experience. He is now truly gone, then. Irene is here too. I saw her only moments before you arrived. So naturally I had to get you out that ballroom and to prepare you. I think she's on a possible warpath, especially if she has set her cap on Dorian. She's always loathed us both, albeit in different ways. Somehow men or boys never notice Irene's toxicity. They only see her fair, rich, beauty, politeness and meringue-like smoothness."
Di took a breath, as she glanced at Alice out of the corner of her eye. Alice turned gracefully, and the light silk of her dress rustled most pleasantly, in Di's ears. Di noticed that Alice took a small key, from a blue box, and opened one of the boxes, and brought out a velvet box, and the lock clicked, open, and curiously, Di crept closer and Alice as said, "Can you put them around my neck, I can't get the lock on myself it's a bit of a complicated case." Soon twinkling multi-layered baroque pearls rested on Alice's neck, bringing a final touch of supreme elegance to her outfit.
Di chuckled and said, mischievously, "Now, I see why you wanted to come here and not that divinely beautiful opal green room. I never thought to ask what you did with that necklace, last time you used it."
Irene Howard was feeling extremely pleased. Evening had gone like a dance, so far. Dorian's sly and sharp jabs about all well-connected people around them were quite amusing, and the champagne was really excellent. And then Adeline Gardiner came up to the little dais and said, in her bright way, "Dear, dear friends. Now is the time for solo performances, if anyone wants to come and perform, they can, the space is free."
Curiously, Irene watched as the handsome dark-haired Mrs. Dawson dressed in sapphire blue velvet, entered the stage. Soon the room was filled with a lingering romantic piano melody, with something strangely familiar, but Irene couldn't quite figure out what it could be. The applause was loud, but polite, and a little cool. Irene was just debating whether or not she should go and perform herself when Dorian's warm voice interrupted her thoughts as he said "Aunt Dorothy, you haven't met Irene Howard yet, have you?"
Irene looked into Dorothy Gardiner's dark eyes. Dorian´s Aunts clothing were quite outre, but perhaps she always had that kind of style. Irene smiled sweetly, and nodded, in a way that always worked for aunties, like a magic trick. Not this time.
Dorothy Gardiner turned, and said "It was nice to meet you. I'd say it would be a pleasure, but my social quota of meaningless frivolities has been full for hours now." Irene nodded graciously at Dorian's aunt, who seemed to be talking to some lonely lady-like woman in red gloves.
Dorian handed her some small marzipan roses and said, "These are great, take one." Irene glanced at the selection but declined with a smile, saying "Sure they're absolutely delicious, but a girl's got to watch her lines, you know." And then a familiar, annoyingly proud, silvery voice said from close by, "And we all know how precise you are with your lines, dear Irene. How surprising to see you, so far from home?"
Irene looked to her side, Di Blythe and Alice Parker stood, side by side, like a united front, just a few steps away.
Internally Irene gritted her teeth and said in her honeyed way, "Dear old friends! How sweet that we meet, here in such a beautiful setting. I was invited, so naturally I had to come. Isn't this evening downright charming so far? Alice, I think the silk isn't your material. Those pearls are quite impressive. And Di that shade of blue makes your hair look a little redder than before, but your skin is like cream, and what a peculiar cut your dress is, so home-made, but all in all quite fresh whole." Irene watched for the slightest signs of uncertainty on the girls', her rivals faces, but there were none.
Alice nodded gracefully, and said in her serious way, "Irene, you're the same as always. So thoughtful, and helpful when it comes to fashion advice." And then, as if from somewhere far away, Irene heard Dorothy's voice say in a warm tone of approval, "Those baroque pearls really suit you, dearest. I could almost say that, if Valentine herself were here, she would have given them to you today, don't you think, so Dorian?"
Irene quickly glanced towards, so suave figure of Dorian Gardiner, by her side, in padded chair. Suddenly she bit her lip with impotent rage, as she straightened her posture, for very thinly disguised masculine admiration that fell on Alice's pale and shimmering silken figure was unberable, it was direct insult to her! A slurring conversation seemed to flow around her, all full of small anecdotes of Lowbridge and Glen years. Dorian's sincere, polite voice, ringing in her ears, like fractured note.
Softly Irene got up and said, smiling her second best salon smile, with an effort that was considerable. Irene, then turned, and nodded to those present, as she left the ballroom with graceful steps, to get some air, it was way too stuffy here, one could hardly breathe.
Dorian shook his head as he said in his earnest way, " How marvelous it is that, as it now turns out that dear Alice and Di, you both happen to know delightful Irene."Over Dorian's head, Di's, Dorothy's and Alice's eyes met in unspoken agreement, and they all let out a light sigh.
The orchestra had returned to the small podium, and Saint-Saens was playing again. The violins rose, and the crystals twinkled, in the shimmering light, Dorothy glanced quickly in the direction of Alice and Di, on the edge of the dancefloor, as she danced again with Ernestine. And a soft whisper of Ernestine´s voice was in her ear, "I was right tonight was even more interesting than I thought. I think you Dottie might need to talk to that red haired girl, about the right kind of clothes, skirts work, but not for everyone as you know. And unfortunately your nephew is charming but extremely naive. How can he be so alien to the basic realities of life and the different forms of love?" Dorothy shook her head in silence, thinking of the weight of Gardiner's name, which was too heavy a burden even for her at times.
Hours had passed, fleetingly.
Pale moon shone through the multi-paned windows. Alice leaned back on the sofa in the library. In the living room, Di was talking to Dorothy about something, and Alice found that she just needed a little quiet time, because the Hall was buzzing like an anthill.
The odd notes of music faintly glowed, and Alice glanced out the window. The yard was like a bright stage, and a little further away the shadowy figure of the greenhouse glowed. A figure in red seemed to be talking excitedly with a man in a tailcoat, light flickered, and Alice recognized Irene's silhouette. Alice turned her back on the small scene. The colorful William Morris wallpapers were almost black in this light, and the library was full of deep shadows. And then the floor board creaked under and Alice turned. At the door stood Royal Gardiner. He took one sliding step forward as he said "You know, an acquaintance of mine made a very delicious suggestion earlier today. I've thought about it, but not as much as what that perfume might feel?"
Alice gave Gardiner a chilling glance as she said, "I haven't worn any perfume at all, tonight, so that would be utterly pointless. I don't really care what you or your acquaintances think."
Gardiner's eyes twinkled as he said in a low voice, "Interesting, could it be that you move in the same circles as my dear little sister? I seem to remember that in February servants reported that, Di Blythe slept not in her own bed but with yours, one could draw all sorts of conclusions from that. Or then, perhaps not, for there are many ways, and means. Moral standards are lax for those who can afford it, but it seems to be a little different in the village community? Respectability and purity of any kind is of primary importance, isn't it? Regardless of what you are or aren't, you're extremely alluring in that silk of yours, and I think I'm doing what I've been wanting to do for a while now."
Alice stood frozen in place as Royal Gardiner bowed, with the utmost grace, and said with a mocking little smile, "Marguarite, will you honor me with a dance, there's Strauss, last dance of this Soiree."
Christine Dawson was walking poshly towards the library, when she heard low intimate talk, and small commonition, there was a clink of breaking glass. Curious, Christine peeked through the door. A slender blond girl, in rustling blueish silk, flashed past her, and on a splendid couch sat Royal, a little flushed, wiping high-quality brandy from his face, little sticky drops had soiled his tailcoat. Christine entered, and said in her fatal way, "Chasing young girls, Royal? Apparently you got rejected, would you like another glass? It helps to ease the sting a bit."
Lingering notes of Strauss's waltz echoed in the ballroom, candles had almost burned out, and the ruddy dawn slowly began to rise into the gray sky.
Alice Parker, glanced into the dim room. Nan and Di Blythe were asleep, on the wide bed, and Dorian was dozing, in his chair, but Dorothy Gardiner seemed as energetic as a couple of hours ago. Vivid and fresh, she was reading the newspaper, and her fine grey coat was a little rumpled, next to her, dark eyed Ernestine looked at Alice a little appraisingly, and carefully evaluating way, and then she nodded, slowly only once.
Once again, annual Gardiners' All Hallows Soiree was at end. It was to be expected that even weeks from now, various Kingsport social circles would be buzzing with gossip about the evening's events, marvelous appearance of Christine Dawson, and all the glitter of various Bluenoses.
Even for all that, war had not been, forgotten, how could it, as the dead, and gallant soliders were, as ever engraved in every heart. A cold November wind caressed the wilted grass, and the Kingsport sky was a cold cool blue.
Maybe this month could bring a turn in the tide of war?