“Frederick, darling – whatever’s the matter? You look as though you might have seen a ghost!”
Loretta gave a tinkling laugh, raising a thin, gloved hand to stroke the sapphires threaded around her throat.
Blinking away the remnants of his daydream, Frederick shook his head slightly, his previously misty eyes resting on the face of his betrothed. His vision was blurred, his brow moist with perspiration, and somewhere behind his eyes, a dull ache grinded away at his skull. Slowly, his vision came into focus; the faces of his peers, friends and relatives who sat around the table, staring at him, amused, scornful. Raising an unsteady hand to dab a handkerchief at his face, he knocked at the silver cutlery adorning the table, the loud clang reverberating around the room.
“I - I’m sorry, my dear ... What were you saying?”
Loretta’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes narrowing in disdain. “I was talking about the wedding, dear. What on earth’s gotten into you?”
Casting a furtive glance around the table, Frederick was all too aware of the wide, suspicious eyes that stared back. He stood suddenly, the force knocking over his chair. Ignoring the gasps and whispers, he leant in close to his fiancée, breathing heavily over her painted face.
“I’m not feeling all that well,” he said in a hurried whisper. “I think some air might do me good.”
“I’ll come with you,” Loretta replied, pointing her napkin into the corner of her lips.
“There’s no need,” Frederick replied, placing a clammy hand on her shoulder, partly as an act of authority, partly to steady himself. “I’ll be fine.”
Striding across the dining hall, Frederick swallowed down the bile in his throat, fumbling with his handkerchief, trying to ignore the muffled conversation still audible through the dining hall’s thick, ornate doors. Closing his eyes and resting his head against the flowery walls, Frederick did not see the young scullery maid approach, and was not aware of her presence until she touched his hand. His eyes flew open and he staggered backwards, colliding with a side table and struggling to right the vase he had knocked over. The maid leapt forward, scooping the flowers from the floor.
“Freddy, I’m sorry – I never meant to startle you,” she said, placing the flattened blossoms back into the vase.
Frederick shook his head. “No, it’s alright, Mary. I’m just ... on edge, tha’s all.”
Mary nodded. “I know. I saw yer in the dining hall. Not that I was prying, or nothing – I’m ‘sposed to be servin’ the drinks, an-”
“Mary, s’alright!” Frederick said, placing a hand on her cheek to calm her. “Don’t you be worrying yourself. It’s just ... every day the weddin’ draws closer, an’ ... I know I’m not doin’ right deceivin’ her like this, but ... well, we both know she wouldn’t look twice at me if she knew who I really am.”
Mary held his hand against her cheek and tilted her head. “I know, Freddy. I know. It’ll be alright though – once yer married, an’ all.”
“Frederick?”
He dropped his hand as though it had been burned, and stepped away from the maid, turning to face the doors through which he’d entered. Stood beneath the curved archway was Loretta, her eyes narrow and murderous, hands balled into tight fists. Without a moment’s hesitation, the young maid curtseyed and disappeared through a side door, her bowed head doing little to mask her flushed, red cheeks. Frederick watched her leave, avoiding Loretta’s gaze. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, her tone clipped.
“Who was that?”
Frederick sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. “It’s not what you think.”
Loretta laughed her tinkling laugh, though this time it was slightly too high to be natural. “Oh, really? And tell me, Frederick – what do I think?”
“Fer God’s sake, woman – she’s me sister!” Frederick yelled, all pretence of decorum forgotten. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he realised he’d let his accent slip. Loretta stared at him a moment, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
“What did you just say?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.
Frederick groaned, and made towards her, but she defensively took a step back.
“Alright – look,” he began, raising his palms in surrender, ignoring the small of crowd of diners who congregated behind Loretta. Abandoning any attempt to conceal his thick, northern accent, he took a breath and started to speak. “Me name’s Freddy Lambton, and I – I’m not really an investor. I’m not really anything, to be frank. Me family are farmers, I’m from a small village in Harrogate. That there were Mary, me sister. She’s been in your employment for near on three years, now. I ... I saw a picture of you in one of the papers, an’ ... well, I thought you was the loveliest creature I’d ever set eyes on, an’ I knew – I just knew you were the girl for me. Well, I also knew you’d never look twice at a penniless farmer’s son who can’t hardly string a sentence together, so I moved down here with the last of me savin’s, and I watched you. I learnt all about you, Loretta, the way you talk, the way you walk. I studied you, and other gentlemen about town, I learnt how to be one meself. An’ when the time was right, when I thought I’d learnt enough, I approached you – that day in March, you remember? At the tea room in town? I knew if you got to know me, you’d love me – as I love you. An’ you did. Loretta, you an’ I – we’re the same, really! What difference does it make where I come from, who me parents are? We love each other!”
Silence. And then,
“We are not the same. I could never love the son of a farmer. Collect your things and go.”
And with that, Loretta turned on her heel, leaving Freddy gaping after her.
No comments:
Post a Comment