Chapter 30
“Turn your head a little to the right, Ambrosia,” Mr. Bailey instructed.
Without Gervaise around he had soon fallen back on the familiarity.
Caroline turned her head but kept her attention on the tiny gown she was fashioning to fit onto a wooden peg Gracie had been kind enough to spare her.
The old charwoman had been vastly diverted to hear Caroline would be using it for a mannequin.
“And do not frown like that,” the artist begged. “You are supposed to look abandoned.”
“Sorry, I am in the middle of something tricky,” Caroline explained.
The idea of a gift to send to Teddy Vance had occurred to her that very morning and she had been filled with enthusiasm for the task.
She would have to send it anonymously, of course.
The thought caused her a momentary pang, for she would have loved to include a note to her little benefactor.
But no, she would have to confine herself to writing A wedding gown for Miss Pomfrey ordered from London and leave it at that.
The dear child could hardly be expected to engage in a correspondence with a fallen woman like herself.
Instead, she would have to sign the note a well wisher.
Or perhaps something whimsical like As ordered by Captain Gerrard.
She debated the matter as she pinned another flounce of pink ribbon to form the voluminous skirt. Fortunately, the many parcels and gift boxes from Regent Street had arrived dressed in expensive ribbons and trim which she could repurpose to make a fabulous bridal gown for Teddy’s little doll.
She did not know why precisely, but it was suddenly imperative to her that Miss Pomfrey had the most splendid bridal gown in all of creation.
Perhaps to make up for the fact she had unfairly sullied the character’s name with her own shenanigans.
Or maybe it was to distract herself from the strange dreams she had woken from that morning.
She frowned again. Doubtless that had been the fault of all that champagne she had consumed but her dreams really had been disturbing.
There had been something about an envelope.
An envelope placed next to a slice of toast. Then a hand had whisked it away.
The sight of that white hand in her dream had been enough to fill her with a dreadful, unspoken fear.
Whose hand had it been? And why did it frighten her so?
For a minute, she struggled to remember.
Of course, it had been Sophy’s hand. The maid had put the letter next to her plate that particular morning.
When had it been? Three weeks ago, maybe, at breakfast. And then she had taken it back again because it wasn’t for her.
But no…that wasn’t right. Sophy had placed the letter before her and then Mama had snatched it away. Mama had been furious and had turned on poor Sophy, who had been alarmed by her mistress’s unaccustomed anger.
“Ambrosia…” Mr. Bailey repeated in a warning voice.
“Sorry!” Caroline repeated hurriedly, relaxing her tight brow. “I have a slight headache this morning.”
“Hmmm,” the artist rumbled in his deep rich voice. “Don’t we all. I have to finish this painting for the opening next week,” he grumbled.
“Art,” he proclaimed grandly, “should not be rushed. It should be nurtured like a tender seedling poking through the cold hard ground.”
The cold hard ground. For some reason, those words echoed in her head with an ominous ring to them.
She suddenly remembered a limp body lying slumped on the ground in her green woolen shawl.
It had been cold that day. An unhospitable day in March, yet Caroline had seen her disturbing vision and then gone and lay down on the cold hard ground herself, beneath a tree and slept. She shivered.
“Now you look more like Cassandra receiving a vision of the fall of Troy,” Mr. Bailey groaned.
A vision. Why did he have to say that? It seemed to make things ten times worse. She had seen a vision, hadn’t she? A vision of herself lying dead beneath the pergola. The image seemed to grow even more vivid in her mind. Something was wrong though. What was it?
Deliberately, she made herself bring the horrible image to mind. She had been wearing her old bonnet, the one she had donated. That wasn’t right. She hadn’t worn that bonnet in months. Was that what was striking the false note? She couldn’t see her face because the brim of the bonnet obscured it.
No, that wasn’t it, she decided. Something else was wrong. “I give up!” Mr. Bailey announced, flinging his brush down in a pet. “We will adjourn for twenty minutes while you nurse your sore head.” He flung off roaring for Effie. Well, the name he yelled was Gloriana, but he meant Effie, she knew.
Suddenly, Caroline realized what was wrong with the picture in her head.
The skirts spread out beneath the stricken figure were a blue-gray color.
She had never owned a gown in that shade of blue.
No, the gown was the precise color of the maidservant’s gowns at Benham Hall.
Caroline gasped. She stood up, dropping the wooden peg and its miniature dress through her suddenly nerveless fingers.
The vision was not her lying dead on the ground, but Sophy.
“Caroline?” Gervaise’s voice broke through her frightened thoughts and she whipped around. “What is it? What is wrong?” he asked sharply, coming to her side. “Did Bailey say something? Do something?”
She gave a start. “No, no, of course not. Y-you must not think…” She faltered inarticulately.
“My darling, what is it? What is wrong?” he asked, pulling her into his arms. To her own shock and embarrassment, she burst into violent tears.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” she sobbed. “I had a bad dream, and I cannot stop thinking about it this morning…”
He pressed the back of her head until she rested it on his chest and rocked her against him.
“Shush, do not upset yourself,” he murmured comfortingly.
“You have a bad head? You feel anxious, yes? It’s just the champagne.
It can affect you like that. In truth, you have been through something of an upheaval, and it was all bound to catch up with you sooner or later. ”
She sniffed. “Perhaps. I don’t know. I can’t seem to get it into proportion at all.”
He stood there with her for a while with his arms about her. “You do know I’m going to take good care of you,” he murmured, stroking her hair which was loose.
“Yes.”
“I mean always, Caroline. I’m always going to take care of you.”
She hesitated, lifting her head. “Gervaise…”
“Atherton?” It was Ralph’s voice carrying across the saloon. “Are you ready for the off?”
Gervaise swore beneath his breath. “Allow me two minutes!” he shouted back.
“You have business to see to this morning?” Caroline asked, attempting to disentangle herself. He resisted, keeping a firm hold of her.
“Of a sort,” he said, pulling a face. “Ralph and I are to do the rounds at the clubs.”
“To speak of the grand opening?”
“In a way, but not of the gin palace. Polite society would have no interest in that.” In answer to her look of query, he explained succinctly. “The gaming room upstairs.”
“Oh, I see.”
“We are counting on Ewell to drum up interest among his acquaintance for the bar and saloon. But what is this?” Gervaise said, finally letting go of her to reach down for the little wooden peg adorned with its frilly gown.
“Oh, it’s nothing. A mere trifle.” She tried to take it from him, but he eluded her, bringing it to his face for closer examination.
“You are making a doll?”
“No! It is… Well, if you must know I have decided to make a bridal gown for Miss Pomfrey. For Teddy’s version of Miss Pomfrey.
For the little doll his governess gave him.
You remember he showed it to you that time we were all at Vance Park?
” Why was she babbling so foolishly? Caroline wondered, feeling her cheeks turn red.
“I’m going to post it to Vance Park in a little box done up in tissue paper for a gift. ”
“A bridal gown for Miss Pomfrey,” Gervaise repeated thoughtfully. “I see.”
“It’s not— I don’t mean—”
“Should you like something like this? It’s quite an eye-catching confection,” he said, turning the peg doll to take in the rows of pleated pink ribbon that made up the stiff bell-shaped skirt.
“No, of course not!” she replied, stung. “It is quite ridiculous! I just thought that it might amuse the child, that was all.”
She could not quite meet Gervaise’s eye. “I rather like it myself,” he said surprisingly.
“You do?”
“Are you making her a veil and bouquet? I think she will need all the accoutrements.”
“I…yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “There was some gold gauze wrapped about one of the boxes. I thought I would use that for a veil.”
“A gold veil,” Gervaise mused. “Miss Pomfrey really does not do things by halves, does she?” Caroline was not sure if he was referring to her as a seamstress or to Teddy’s little doll by this point.
She turned, inexplicably tongue-tied, lowering her gaze.
“I want you to rest easy for the rest of the day,” he said firmly.
“If your sore head becomes a headache, you must dismiss Bailey. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she murmured. One long finger tipped up her chin.
“Promise me you will,” he insisted, “or I’ll send him away now.”
“No, Gervaise!” she objected with alarm. “Don’t do that!” Poor Mr. Bailey had to finish his painting in time for the opening. Knowing this would hold no sway with him, she added hurriedly, “I will sit quietly with my sewing. I promise if my head grows worse, I will send him away.”
“That’s better,” he said, dropping a kiss onto the tip of her nose. He frowned. “Your nose feels cold. Have you got a pair of my thick socks on?” She poked out one foot so he could see the woolen sock. Today’s were brown with orange flecks. “Good. Now where is your cashmere shawl?”
He refused to leave until Caroline was warmly bundled up and seated once more with her sewing box in her lap. “Whose is this?” he said gazing critically at the small, plain box.
“Mine,” she answered. “It’s the one I used to have at school. My other workbox was too large to bring with me.”
“Why did you not tell me you needed a new one?”
“I do not—” she began but Ralph was calling his name again, and Gervaise leaned down to brush yet another hurried kiss to her brow.
“I’ll order you a new one and have it sent around.”
She rather wondered that he did not buy her some warm socks instead. He must surely be getting tired of her pinching all of his.