06|
Emily stood in the middle of her cousin's bedroom dressed only in her chemise, drawers, and corset... Oh, and there were stockings and slippers on her feet. Not that the latter made her feel any better! She felt uncomfortable and exposed. After all, it was broad daylight—and the room was crowded. Well, felt crowded.
Said crowd consisted of Cousin Edith, Vivienne (alternating between giggles and snide remarks), a maid (thankfully refraining from comment), and Edith's favourite seamstress, aptly named Mrs Cutter.
Getting her measurements taken for her travel wardrobe and for the clothes she would need for finishing school was what happened just then and, only half an hour into procedures, Emily was already thoroughly fed up. Like any girl she adored a new gown, but she hated what came before it, especially those fittings when others were talking right over her head, as if she were a mere dress form—blind, mute, and dumb.
Currently the seamstress held a length of muslin against Emily's waist, with parts of it bunched up at the back.
"Do you think the bustle is here to stay?" Edith asked her, all the while critically eying Emily's backside.
"It is all the rage in France, ma'am," the craftswoman replied. "And this means that at long last skirts are getting less wide again—which is a good thing, in my humble opinion."
"But a bustle comes with a train... She's too young for a train!—and it is ever so impractical, especially when travelling!" Edith exclaimed.
"Oh, I think we can safely ignore the train, and go for the advantages of the new style: narrower skirts and a pronounced bottom... Just look at her!—way too slender to be fashionable."
"She's a beanpole!" Vivienne piped. "I've never seen a girl this tall."
"Hush, Vivienne!" Edith rebuked her. "I think she's got a good bust for someone so young... So, no ruffles there. No need to draw undue attention to the fact—"
The day dresses were eventually agreed on; two light-coloured muslins suitable for a warmer climate, a dark blue travel costume—for once quite a good match for Emily's eyes—and several simple skirts and blouses... which left only the evening dress.
As the discussion between Edith and Mrs Cutter continued, with the occasional off-the-mark comment from Vivienne, Emily came to understand that evening wear was particularly laden with pitfalls. Colours were either considered too bold for someone her age or, as greens didn't suit her, they were light shades of blue—a colour Emily was dead set against. Fortunately, she had an unexpected ally in Mrs Cutter who pointed out that blue tended to look washed out in artificial lighting.
In the end, after Emily had mentioned that she had been given her mother's corals— earrings and strands of tiny pearls for her hair—for her last birthday, they decided on a peach watered silk that was to be draped high over an ivory underskirt. The décolleté proved the final battling ground; swathes of fabric were slung this way and that around her shoulders until a neckline was determined that was attractive yet within the boundaries of propriety.
Then it was done.
While Mrs Cutter collected the strewn-at-large lengths of fabric, trims, and other trappings of her trade, Emily dressed and quickly slipped away. She craved for some peace and quiet.
Upstairs in the nursery the two youngest Lennox children, Paul and Adele, were making a racket, causing Edith to roll her eyes and rush towards the noise. Vivienne had already been called away to the drawing room for her piano lessons, and the muted sounds of her playing floated up through the hall.
Fetching her book and diary from her bedroom—idling in the bedrooms during daytime was frowned upon by Cousin Edith—Emily went to the morning room. It was past lunchtime, and no-one came to the morning room this late in the day. As it was a warm day with no fires lit, she left the door open, but, huddled up in an armchair and with its backrest facing the door, she was quite invisible for any casual passers-by in the hall.
Some time elapsed. Emily was so deeply immersed in her reading—flicking to and fro, and comparing notes—that the ringing of the doorbell, announcing a visitor, hardly registered with her. She only realised that Henry Lennox, Edith's brother-in-law, had come to the house when her cousin greeted him in the adjacent entrance hall.
"Is he here?" Lennox asked, his voice tinged with hostility.
"Thornton, you mean?" Edith replied, sounding mystified. "No, why should he be? He accompanied Emily the other night, and he will return to take her back home next week, I presume. He's a busy man—"
"Oh, he certainly is! Thornton did well for himself, out of it all."
"Please, Henry. Not again!... and do keep your voice down. Emily is somewhere about."
"She could be my daughter if she hadn't fallen for the wiles of that... that mercenary!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Henry," Edith replied in a heated whisper. "Margaret would never have married you; the only man she ever cared for was John Thornton. If she couldn't have had him she would have stayed unwed... And they were very happy together!"
"For a short while, perhaps!—I presume he made a good show of it, in the beginning," Lennox sneered. "Remember that I saw Margaret before she left for the south of France. She was altered beyond recognition... No wonder she never came back—"
"Henry!" Edith interrupted him. "You're being obnoxious today."
"Can I see her? Emily?" he suddenly asked.
"Do I smell drink, Henry?" she said, sounding suspicious. "Have you been to your club before you came here? If so, please don't hesitate to excuse yourself. You may return and see Emily when you find it in you to be amenable again..." Their voices were getting fainter as Edith ushered her brother-in-law out of the front door.
The door closed with a snap. Then Edith's quick steps could be heard crossing the hall as she muttered, "Oh Henry... You fool!"
Now, what was all this about? Emily wondered, staring blankly at her book.
Quiet reflection brought Emily no closer to solving the mystery, and so she itched for an opportunity to quiz her cousin Edith. But what to ask exactly?—without making known the fact that she had been eavesdropping?
An occasion arose during the following day when they were riding in the Lennoxes' landau across town to Edith's shoemaker whose workshop was in Fulham. Edith was very particular about her shoes and wouldn't entrust anyone else with her feet. They were driving down Brompton Road when Emily finally dropped a—as she hoped—harmless enough question. "I never asked, but... Did Mamma and Papa marry for love?"
Edith looked up in surprise. "They did indeed. Very much so." She smiled, albeit a little wistfully. "They had their fair share of misunderstandings before they made their feelings known to each other, but once they came to an understanding it was a whirlwind romance. It caused quite a stir!" She sighed. Cousin Edith was a true romantic at heart.
Adele, sitting next to Emily in the coach, and another candidate for new shoes, giggled. Her brother Paul, seated opposite, rolled his eyes and tried to kick her. A short fierce match of flying limbs and squeals ensued, until Edith put a firm stop to it. Emily grabbed Adele and deftly placed her on her other side, well out of Paul's reach.
"Why did it cause a stir at the time?" Emily asked once order was restored.
"Because their engagement was so very short—just four weeks... And then, many thought that your mother would marry beneath her station in life..." Edith stopped abruptly, biting her lips.
"But wasn't Grandfather Hale a dissenter?" Aunt Frances had supplied that particular morsel a few months before. "And Papa was an important Milton manufacturer even then!"
"Y-yes," Edith said. "But... Your mother had inherited a fortune from her godfather earlier that year, she had in fact become the landlord of Marlborough Mills!... while your papa—for no fault of his own, mind—was on the brink of bankruptcy."
"Oh—"
"Margaret Hale was a London society lady then, and her choice of husband was considered... well... eccentric."
Suddenly another of Aunt Frances's remarks, one that Emily had overheard a few years before, came to her mind: What a relief that our niece was born a respectable twelve months after the wedding!
"But they did marry for love?" Emily insisted.
"They did!—don't you worry. I must admit that I, just like everybody else, was a little sceptical at first. But once I saw them together, I had no doubt whatsoever. And I've never had reason to believe otherwise since then," Edith said with a reassuring smile at her young cousin.
They rode on quietly for a few minutes, with Emily deep in thought. Eventually she looked up. "May I ask you another question, Cousin Edith?"
"Of course, dear—"
"It may sound peculiar... but I think no-one ever told me... I don't want to ask Papa about it, and Grandmother has returned to Milton already, so I cannot ask her," Emily said hesitantly. "What did Mamma actually die of?"
"I believe I owe you a drink and a story," he said over the phone.
"I believe you do," she replied. "Just name a date for our date—"
"Does 'drinks' count as a date already?" She heard the smile in his voice. "Anyhow... there's plenty of reason to celebrate!"
"Wow! Congrats," Meret exclaimed excitedly. She felt that she was, perhaps, a little over-compensating for her blunder about mentioning a date. "So, how about tomorrow?—That new tapas bar at the waterfront?"
He was already there, waiting on the terrace that overlooked the river, when she arrived.
"I thought you might bring Pinks," Meret said. "They don't mind dogs in the outside seating area, that's why I suggested this place." She took a seat opposite him.
"And there's me thinking you came to see me!" Jareth grinned.
"Well, I was. I am... but I do like your dog." She added, "I wouldn't have thought you were a dog person, to be honest."
"What would you have thought me to be, then?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Urbane... streamlined... Not someone who keeps pets... Well, piranhas perhaps—"
He hooted with laughter. People were looking their way. Not that he cared.
"I'm an old-fashioned guy... I live in a Georgian listed building; it's totally impractical but it comes with a large garden. It used to belong first to my grandparents, then to my mother before she moved out to live with her partner a few years ago. So, what started as temporary house-sitting situation became permanent. It's as bourgeois as it gets—well, barring the carpet slippers." They both chuckled.
A waiter came to take their orders and was returning with their drinks only a few moments later.
"Here's to you winning the competition for the Marlborough Mills building project," Meret said, raising her glass. "When will you get started?"
"Cheers," he replied, taking a sip. "As for getting started... There will be a meeting with the investors next week—they let us know that they'd want to incorporate a couple of ideas from the runner-up. And after that it's probably back to the—metaphorical—drawing board for a while before we can apply for building permission."
"Sounds complicated—"
"—but all in a day's work. Let's see how the meeting next week goes." He shrugged, sipping at his glass.
"Well, here's us, drink in hand. So, what's the story about your name?" Meret reminded him.
"Right. My mum's a huge David Bowie fan—always has been—and earlier in the year I was born he was in a film. His character was named Jareth."
"Do I know that film?" she wondered.
"Labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King?... Goth garb, long blond shaggy wig, and guy liner—I think you get the picture." He smirked.
"Gosh! How embarrassing. The eighties have quite a lot to answer for!... And your father? Was he okay with her choice?"
"He insisted on 'Anthony' as a first name. Anthony Jareth Paxton... But in the end it was 'Jareth' that won out."
"You said your mum moved in with her partner... Are your parents divorced?" she asked.
"My father died when I was still at uni studying architecture. Heart attack... He was the original half of Paxton Cunningham Architects..."
"I'm so sorry—"
"... It was an accident waiting to happen, to be honest. Father was obsessed with his work; he was working—or thinking about work—24/7. I rarely saw him as a child... After it happened I thought of pursuing a different career. But eventually I stuck by it because it is what I love doing. I simply decided to do smaller and fewer projects, and have a better work-life balance: Dog, friends, other interests besides the job, fairly regular working hours, the lot—"
"Sounds sensible," Meret admitted. "Even though initial impressions were very much to the contrary."
"You must have thought me a moron!... Just a point in case how much I detest last minute chaos and massive overtime due to bad planning... Anyway, enough of me. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm pretty boring—starting with the name 'Meret'. It's short for 'Merete' which in turn is an old Danish form of 'Margaret'." She went on to tell him about her time at the University of Oxford, about the research project she currently participated in, and what her job entailed. "Well, it's another two-and-a-half months, and then I'll be back in Copenhagen, starting on my thesis... I'll be back to living with my parents for the time being." She grimaced, then laughed. "They're actually quite laid-back. Mum's a doctor—allergology—and dad's a physiotherapist... Medical professions run in our family!"
"And how's your genealogy project been coming along in the meantime?"
"None too bad... I made some headway with the Marlborough Mills documents stored at Ashley library, though I'm nowhere near through as yet." She sipped at her drink, then continued, "It looks like this famed son of Milton, John Thornton, was actually bankrupt before he married his landlord in 1852—so much for bedding the boss." She coloured slightly. "Ups, I might better go easy on these cocktails... Anyway, I found that he had only the one daughter, and that he sold Marlborough Mills when he was in his mid-fifties. I couldn't find any particular reason for it, except that he'd been an MP for several years by then and that his mother Hannah Thornton had died earlier in the same year."
"Maybe he found that he couldn't continue to 'run with the hare and hunt with the hounds'—which, incidentally, is something I can relate to quite well. Running a mill the size of Marlborough Mills would have been a full-time occupation, and with no male heir to follow in his footsteps he might not have considered it worthwhile to hold down two jobs... Did you follow up on who had ownership afterwards?"
"No, not really... some other captain of industry, I suppose. But I didn't take much notice because it's really just the Thornton family history I'm interested in." She shrugged.
"Have you found out what happened to the money from the sale?" Jareth said. "That must have been a tidy fortune!"
"Sadly, no... But the Marlborough Mills papers wouldn't hold any clues regarding this, would they?"
"No, probably not... Shame, really; because your Emily Thornton may have been the sole beneficiary of that fortune eventually—Follow the money, as they say." He considered for a moment. "You might want to check if a biography on John Thornton exists."
"That's actually a splendid idea... Let's google," Meret exclaimed, pulling out her Smartphone. But a quick search left her disappointed. "Nothing on sale that fits the bill, and 'Internet Archive' doesn't come up with anything either... Last chance Ashley Library. Maybe they've got something in their inventory." She signed in and scrolled through the list. "Bingo" she exclaimed at last. "John Thornton, Manufacturer and Politician—A Milton Life. It's from 1957... Drat! It's a file copy, which means it's not on loan. Seems like I'll have to spend even more time in that ghastly library building."
"There's a great little place for Vietnamese food just around the corner from that library... Why won't I pick you up after hours and we'll have dinner there, to sweeten the task?"
"I'd love to! I'll let you know which days I'll be there next week—"
Well, the evening hadn't been an entire disaster, and they had agreed on a follow-up date—which did count for something!
Things had started out promising enough with a bit of flirtatious banter. But after that the mood had subtly changed and, though it had still been very nice and easy, what Meret had felt coming her way had been—basically—friendship vibes!
Nothing wrong with that per se. But. While she was not on the lookout for a permanent relationship, she wouldn't be averse to a bit of fun with no strings attached with that guy. He was gorgeous, he seemed to be single, and—for much of the evening—she had been fantasizing about hearing that sexy voice tease her in a soft murmur, in between some serious snogging... and that was only the start of it.