Repercussions Pt. 01

Derbyshire, England, Spring 1854

Chloe

She never would have dreamt that she would miss her time at finishing school.

One week returned home from Haversham Academy, Chloe stood upon a rocky outcropping gazing with a disquieted feeling down over her family's estate. Nigh a mile distant she saw Greystoke Hall favorably situated upon a gentle rise in the landscape, the stone façade a golden hue in the late afternoon sun. From this vantage point, the Elizabethan architect's vision of a grand central hall with two flanking wings was discernable --- a vision lost at close range in the elaborate turrets and additions.

Sculpted gardens extended from the rear aspect of the manor, enclosed by vine covered stone walls, beyond which lay the working gardens and outbuildings. Further afield, the estate encompassed acres upon acres of wooded hills, meadows, and moorland --- scattered with several small lakes. The meadow to the north gradually gave way to a rocky hill that was crowned by a massive stone. 'Twas against this stone that Chloe currently leant, her chest and belly pressed to the smooth side, her elbows upon the flat, table-like top.

Her eyes returned to the sketch book upon the stone before her. Again, she focused upon the gentian violet growing in a crevice in the rock, reapplying herself to her drawing. She leant closer, studying the tiny purple flowers, her hand moving automatically --- the soft, repetitive scratching of the pencil strokes gradually lulling her into a drowsy state. The stone felt warm from the day of sun...her skirts brushed against her legs in the intermittent breeze.

Her eyes opened at a sudden buzzing sound. A small bee alighted upon a violet in front of her, crawling over the trembling petals. The first bee of the year...how fast the time was passing! Her encroaching future again loomed before her.

Over the Christmas holiday her stepmother Eveline had taken her to the couturiers in Paris to outfit her for her debutante season. Her eighteenth birthday recently celebrated, her presentation at court was fixed for a date three weeks hence. The gowns had been delivered to the house in London and were awaiting a final fitting. Journeying thence had been Eveline's plan following Chloe's graduation from school, but upon her arrival at Greystoke Hall, Chloe had discovered the London trip momentarily postponed. Her stepmother had gone into Kent to attend her own ailing mother.

Apart from playing hostess two nights ago when Father's associates from Parliament had come up from London upon the train for a day of hunting, Chloe found herself happily granted a week's reprieve --- relatively unsupervised. She endeavored to make the most of it, indulging in simple pleasures that she long since had been obliged to relinquish: roaming, running, even climbing (God forbid!) in the untamed beauty of the countryside, riding her horse astride like a lad, working alongside the gardener Mr. O'Malley.

Indeed, if the court at St. James should see her at this moment, she smiled wryly, the honor of being presented to her Majesty would most assuredly be withdrawn. Here she was unattended in the wild, her undressed hair hanging in loose plaits down her back, wearing naught but a chemise and cotton frock over her pantalettes --- gloriously free of corset and crinolines. In truth, she more closely resembled a farmer's daughter than she did Lady Chloe Elizabeth Trimingham.

Yet, despite such freedoms, there was ever present the sense of fate narrowing her pathway. Presentation at court...receptions and galas and balls...then perhaps in a few short months...marriage. At school, yes there were the silly strictures of behaving like an elegant young lady, but it was a charade that she had easily mastered, a charade that demanded little of her intellect, little of her attention. There at least she still had possessed herself...inwardly she was still the Chloe fashioned by the happy childhood before Mama died. With the impending societal dictates inherent in the next chapter of her life, she feared losing her inner refuge...feared the capitulation of her heretofore resisting spirit.

Her French mother had cared naught for London society, nor concerned herself with proprieties for little girls. To Chloe she had imparted her unpretentious philosophy of joy and sensibility, indulging her daughter's curiosity and energies. Chloe's hours confined to the nursery with her governess had been few indeed.

Most of her childhood memories were of playing with her brother Edwin and Grady Woodbyrne, the son of her father's estate steward. Edwin and Grady were the same age --- four years older than she. Musing now with the advantage of hindsight, she recognized that she likely had been simply a nuisance to the two boys as she struggled to keep pace with them...running, climbing, swimming, sword fighting. Edwin had in fact called her such upon repeated occasions. Grady had been more patient; she remembered how he had oft assisted her into trees, across streams, and the like. This very stone upon which she now leant had been a favorite haunt of theirs --- Cedric's Castle they had christened it, and many was the game of knights or pirates that had unfolded there.

Chloe held up her drawing and assessed it; the bee had been added to the flowers with success. Closing the sketch book, she checked her pocket watch --- her brother Edwin was expected home from Cambridge tonight, and she needed time to dress for dinner. It had been several months since she had last seen him, and his arrival was eagerly anticipated. Her book and pencils stowed in her satchel, she headed down the steep hillside, carefully weaving back and forth among the rocks and yellow blooming gorse as she descended. The footing could be quite treacherous; she kept to the sequence of stepping stones that she now knew well.

.

Seven-year-old Chloe had recently proved to Edwin that she could make the ascent to Cedric's Castle unaided. After an afternoon of castle storming, they were heading down the hill to return to the house. Edwin, furthest down the hill, called out, "Last one home will be consigned to the dungeon!" Immediately he began to run. Grady, close behind him, leapt after him. "Wait for me!" Chloe cried out, trying to jump from rock to rock. She screamed as her foot slipped sideways off the surface and into a crevice between two rocks. Grady stopped short and turned. "Are you hurt Chloe?" He climbed back up to where she sat upon the stone. "Are you play-acting to make me wait?" She tried to stifle a sob as she drew her foot free. Not wanting Grady to think her a baby, she said, "I'm f-fine."

"Stand up." He took hold of her arms and pulled her to her feet. She could not suppress her yelp and jerked her hurt foot off the ground. "You're injured." He disregarded her head shake and presented his back to her. "Climb upon my back."

He carried her all the way to Greystoke Hall upon his back --- her arms about his neck, his hands under her knees. His hair smelt nice of the bonfire the gardener Mr. O'Malley had built the previous night. "I'm sorry to make you last...to make you be signed to the dungeon," she said over his shoulder. "Well, since you are behind me, you'll still be last, Wood Sprite," he replied in a serious tone. "Grady!" She swung her feet in protest. He leant to one side, threatening to spill her to the ground until she clung tight around his neck and begged, "No! No! Please don't!" He straightened, laughing. "Rest assured, my lady, if you are thrown in the dungeon, I promise to go with you."

.

Grady! She hastened her pace as she reached the base of the hill. How she had admired him when she was a child! No matter what injuries she had felt in subsequent years, she retained a profound gratitude towards him for his kindness to her when, at age ten, her mother had died. Grady, whose own mother had died when he was five, had devoted considerable attention to lifting her spirits. He had read to her --- silly stories and adventures. He had performed magic shows for her. He had hung a swing for her from an oak tree at the back of the garden. 'Twas during those months too, she recalled, that he had helped her transport a litter of kittens from a horse stall to the safety of the stable loft.

A year later, her father had remarried to Lady Eveline Daventry, a widow with two daughters well married. Eveline was determined to accomplish the same success with her new wild child stepdaughter. She had dismissed Chloe's governess and engaged a new one, who, in conjunction with special masters, instituted a remedial programme of study: music, drawing, dancing, embroidery, comportment. In addition, Eveline had particularly admonished Chloe about her behavior. She mustn't run about with boys, she mustn't be too familiar with servants, she must sit with her knees together.

Shortly after Eveline's arrival, Edwin and Grady had gone away to school. Her father had generously borne the cost of Grady's tuition at the same academy as Edwin. In the ensuing years, between his time at boarding school and university and her two years at finishing school, she saw Grady only intermittently during school holidays. She would never forget her astonishment at age thirteen, when seventeen-year old Grady, back at Greystoke Hall for Christmas, had addressed her as "Lady Chloe". She had almost laughed aloud at the term of address --- absurd coming from Grady, but his expressionless countenance left her speechless. He had bowed perfunctorily, as any other servant would, and continued about his business.

She had felt the wound deeply and it was some time before she was able to reconcile herself to the truth of their circumstances. No longer were they playmates, no longer would he tease her or call her Chloe or Wood Sprite. She was Lady Chloe and he was Mr. Woodbyrne, son of her father's estate steward. Although now Grady had succeeded his father as estate steward, old Mr. Woodbyrne having passed a year ago.

The thought of Grady evoked anew the sensation of vague irritation.

Now upon flatter ground, she picked up her skirts and began to run, dodging trees and jumping over stones, daffodils, and sprays of creamy primrose in her path. She kept running until, panting and laughing aloud, she reached the back of the high stone garden wall. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she smoothed her skirts and set her bonnet properly upon her head.

Passing through the wrought iron gate in the wall, she walked slowly up the central garden path, her boots crunching upon the white gravel. She breathed deeply as she walked under the canopy of cherry blossoms that had just burst forth this week...how lovely! She must capture this vision on paper if she could. At the center fountain she stopped and knelt upon the flat stone edge of the basin to wash the pencil lead from her fingers, contemplating how to best render the perspective of the tree lined path.

"Good day Lady Chloe."

She looked up to see Mr. O'Malley walking past, holding a spade and a stack of clay pots. He paused to bow. "Good day Mr. O'Malley." She smiled.

"The Lady Banks' rose is blooming in the conservatory, miss. Be sure to have a look."

"I shall, thank you." Shaking the water from her hands, she stood and headed for the house.

*****

"Which gown, my lady?"

Chloe, freshly bathed and standing in a chemise and pantalettes, returned from her distracted thoughts. Her maid Harriet, a few years older than herself, was holding up two evening gowns. It was little matter to her --- both were appropriate for dinner. She shrugged. "The green one will do."

After laying them upon the bed, Harriet crossed to the dressing table and picked up an ivory backed brush. By rote, Chloe took a seat upon the velvet stool before the looking glass. She began undoing one plait, while Harriet freed the other.

"Did the satchel suit your purposes, miss?" Harriet asked, brushing out Chloe's long dark hair.

"Quite well, in fact. But I think I shall add a pocket inside for my pencils." They shared a conspiratorial smile in the mirror. A few years prior, Chloe had begged Harriet's assistance in learning to sew --- sewing that could serve a more useful purpose than embroidering cushions. Secretly Chloe had been modifying her own garments to make them more suitable, more comfortable for her endeavors, such as shortening her pantalettes for ease while riding. This past week she had constructed a velvet reticule for Harriet, and the satchel for her sketch book, using fabric from old silk brocade drapes.

Chloe closed her eyes, relaxing under the gentle tugging sensations over her scalp as Harriet proceeded to coil and pin up her hair. The crimson brocade drapes, with their pattern of dragons and fleurs-de-lis, conjured up a very particular memory. They had hung in a guest bedchamber in the west wing but had been replaced when Eveline had redecorated most of the rooms upon that floor.

.

Oh pray, where should she hide? The dozen children at Edwin's thirteenth birthday party scampered towards the disused west wing as Edwin counted to one hundred in the great hall. Chloe ran up the stairs to the second floor and past several opulent guest bedchambers; she dashed into the fourth one. Behind the drapes! She was trying to still the swishing of the heavy fabric when she heard a low urgent voice.

"Not there! I can see your shoes." Chloe swirled the drapery aside and beheld Grady darting from the door and ducking down next to the huge canopied bed. "Under the bed!"

She lifted the brocade bed valence on the opposite side and scooted under. "All the way to middle," Grady whispered. "Less chance of being seen." In the dark she could see nothing. She felt the wood bed frame close above her and Grady's shoulder press against hers. Then she heard running footsteps. They both held their breaths as the hall door creaked open. The footsteps went to the window, then they crossed the room; the sound of the wardrobe door opening was heard.

The dust under the bed was tickling her nose --- Chloe struggled to contain a sneeze.

Now there was a soft thud of a knee next to the bed --- across Grady's chest she saw a dim patch of light appear as the bed valence was raised. She went rigid. But the fabric dropped back, and the steps quickly returned to the hall. Edwin hadn't seen them in the dark so far from the edge of the bed! As Grady's fingers relaxed, Chloe realized that they had been gripping each other's hands.

"Let's wait a minute longer, then we'll make a run for the hall," he whispered. For a few moments more they lay still in the darkness. All at once Chloe felt Grady's breath against her face, then his lips pressed softly to her cheek. She remained motionless with her cheek yet grazed by his lips for several seconds. Then his breath retreated, and he whispered, "Now."

They emerged from under the sides of the bed...and 'twas as if nothing had happened. They slipped into the hall and silently made a beeline for the front hall.

.

She opened her eyes as she felt the heat of the curling tongs near her face. Harriet had left locks hanging free on either side of her head and was curling them into ringlets. Chloe's thoughts altered course as she contemplated the events of a mere hour prior.

She and Lord Trimingham had been standing upon the front steps when the carriage drew up. Edwin alighted and bounded up the steps where he wrapped Chloe in his arms, lifting her off her feet. "Sissy!" He bounced her up and down for a moment before setting her back to the ground. "How well you look!" Next, he turned to their father and shook his hand. "Sir."

Upon entering the great hall, they were greeted by all the house servants standing in a half circle, their hands clasped before them. Mr. and Mrs. Scofield, the butler and housekeeper, stepped forward and spoke in unison, "Welcome home, Lord Edwin." All the female servants curtsied, and all the males bowed. Grady, at the end of the row, was the only one not in uniform. Instead he was dressed as a gentleman would be, although his garments were simpler in fashion than those of Edwin and Lord Trimingham.

Edwin inclined his head in general acknowledgment of the welcome, but when he spotted Grady, he strode forward with his hand extended. "Grady, you old scoundrel!" The young men shook hands, grinning. Edwin pulled him into an embrace, slapping him upon the back. "Quite the master of the keep now, aren't you?" "Aye, you'd better stay in my good graces or I'll cut your monthly allowance."

Chloe silently observed the exchange...observed Grady's ease of manner with her brother...and felt the pricking of envy of their continued friendship. One week ago, a similar scene had taken place when she had returned home from Haversham Academy. Then, Grady had merely bowed.

She had been disconcerted anew by the curious juxtaposition of the oh-so-familiar features of Grady with those of this strange young man. His blue eyes were the same but were no longer animated by the mischievous expression of old...at least not when addressing her. The dark blond hair was the same --- but now neatly trimmed side whiskers extended to his jaw. He had grown even taller than his father, but without his lankiness. As she passed near him, she realized that her head reached only to his shirt front above his waistcoat. He stepped aside to allow her passage, murmuring, "Lady Chloe."

In truth, ever since that first time he had addressed her as "Lady Chloe," he had been unfailingly deferential and impassive. His conduct had indeed been above reproach...and yet her vanity could not help but find cause for reproach. How well she recalled her wounded pride two years ago --- when Grady and Edwin had both been attending Cambridge --- overhearing Edwin tell Father that Grady had a "fancy woman" in London.

What, pray, was a fancy woman? She tilted her head as Harriet switched sides with the tongs. Pondering the question again still yielded no enlightenment, even with two more years of experience in the world. Owing to Eveline's efforts, Chloe owned innumerable fine gowns, bonnets, and slippers. Although she found no particular diversion in the pastime of adorning herself, she could, if put to it, match the sartorial accomplishments of any peer's daughter. Did wearing fine garments make her a fancy woman? Or was it an appellation reserved for those ladies who devoted a higher level of attention to the artistry of clothing oneself?

Perhaps Grady did not think her attractive. She studied her reflection in the glass. Many was the time that she had been told how much she resembled her mother. From her own childhood recollections, and the portrait hanging in the long gallery, Chloe thought her mother was beautiful. Like Mama she had hazel eyes and thick, chestnut colored hair. Her brows and lashes were similarly thick and lush. She smoothed her brows up with her fingertips.

What the devil did it matter what Grady thought of her?! What concern was it of hers whom Grady courted? Why, she had already attracted the notice of several titled gentlemen, and she had not even come out yet! The peevish thought only briefly consoled her, for unlike her father and Eveline, she took little pleasure in this fact.

"Corset or no corset, miss?"

Chloe sighed. Although her waist fit most of her gowns without the corset, she appreciated the subtle difference in elegance and carriage...and fanciness...afforded by the corset. She rolled her eyes. "Corset, Harriet."

*****

They sat at the end of the long table in the smaller family dining room: Lord Trimingham at the head, Edwin on his right, Chloe on his left, with two serving maids waiting upon them. Edwin regaled them with tales of the pranks he and Lord Dalton had got up to in school --- which eventually succeeded in convincing their professors that the old library was haunted. Chloe couldn't help giggling along with him as he laughed at his own cleverness.