Midnight in Everwood(20)
One of the women cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, we shall inform you of our decision in due time,’ she said with no intonation, just as she had to the previous dancer.
Choking back the despair that threatened to suffocate her, Marietta inclined her head and exited the stage. She laced herself back into her velvet dress, topped it with her mulberry winter hat and matching coat and ventured back out into the bustling streets. Every second breath, she tossed a glance back over her shoulder, making certain that among the top-hatted gentlemen on the street, none were Drosselmeier. The gloaming was fast upon her and she had scarce enough time for her second matter of the day.
In her hurry, she almost collided with Victoria, strolling down the street in a claret tea gown and matching coat, arm in arm with Harriet, in cinnamon silk and a fur-trimmed cream coat.
‘Marietta?’ Victoria’s brow puckered. ‘Whatever were you doing in the theatre?’ With a quick dart of her eyes to either side of the street, she stepped closer and whispered, ‘Are you auditioning?’
Marietta inwardly sighed. The chances of colliding with anyone she knew were scarce, yet with a single comment she would be undone. ‘It was a passing whim. A mistake,’ she said, glancing at Harriet. ‘I would be grateful if you did not mention this to anyone.’
‘Oh, we would never,’ Victoria exclaimed. ‘Though I am sure it was not a mistake.’
Harriet said nothing yet her gaze was knowing.
Marietta wondered how things might have been different if the two women were confidantes. Perhaps their trust and kinship would have cushioned her life, their conversations brightened her days. She had a sudden pang for what could have been and never was.
‘Do enjoy your outing together. I’m afraid I must dash; Miss Worthers is awaiting me in the tearoom.’ Marietta smiled and made her exit.
Unlike other ladies of her class that had inhaled Edith Wharton’s novel as if it were a salubrious offering from the gossip columns, Marietta had regarded it as a cautionary tale. Torn between pity for the trapped Lily Bart and frustration at the woman’s conniving and self-sabotaging ways, she was resolved never to become such a dependent, grasping creature. Hence her current position, standing beneath a faded sign that read Pawnbrokers. She steeled herself against the mild humiliation sure to incur and strode in, her pocket heavy with shame and a Cartier diamond brooch. She was less na?ve than some might suspect and if she were to be independent and go against her parents’ wishes, she knew that would require more than simple determination; she needed funds. Though a small voice now whispered in her head that she’d never need to use them after how badly her audition had gone.
‘I’ll give you twenty pounds for it,’ the man at the counter said, laying down his magnifying glass. He might have been Theodore’s age but possessed such a weathered and ruddy face, Marietta couldn’t be sure. Life had not bestowed kindness upon him. The store was dark, lit with gas lamps that were in want of a good cleaning. A gin bottle rested on the counter. Blue Ruin. It flavoured the man’s sour breath.
‘I shall accept nothing less than fifty pounds,’ Marietta said.
The man grunted. ‘It’s not worth more than thirty and I’m sure to have problems selling it. None of my customers will want such fancy fripperies, I can tell you that.’
The shelves were filled with mere trinkets and the plainer accessories of life, it was true, but Marietta had already caught a glimpse of a gold pocket watch chain drooping out from a drawer the other side of the counter, and behind that, a padlocked back room. She arched an eyebrow at the man. ‘Forty-five before I take my custom elsewhere. Do not make the mistake of taking me for a fool.’
‘Forty.’
Marietta reached for the Cartier brooch. Set in platinum, two diamond-studded bows enwrapped a diamond flower of such delicacy it could have been crafted from Chantilly lace. It winked at her in the dim light and Marietta looked away. It had been gifted her by her father upon the event of her eighteenth birthday.
‘Forty-five pounds it is,’ the man said hurriedly. He scowled at her as she watched him count the notes out. She gave him her sweetest smile and hastened out the shop.
Marietta hurried inside Griffin and Spalding, marched past the glass bottles of perfume, through the copious displays of hats and gloves and up to the tearoom. Not a trace remained of Miss Worthers. She returned to the foyer. Through the glass doors, she spotted the black and white Stelle carriage. The town hall clock struck six, booming out across the square. When Marietta turned to peer back inside the department store, she spotted an irate Miss Worthers, puffing her way. ‘You have been gone for two hours, I have been beside myself with worry.’
‘I do apologise. I’m afraid I have no excuse for my untimely behaviour other than I became quite swept up with all the festive happenings and couldn’t help myself exploring just a moment longer. The time seemed to run away from me.’ She offered a diffident smile. ‘You do know best of all how I adore Christmas,’ she added, hoping her former governess would remember her childish excitement at the season with fondness. Also prepared for the other eventuality, Marietta pulled a velvet box from her bag, careful not to disturb the underlying pointe shoes. ‘When I realised my error in judgement, I purchased these for you as an apology.’ She handed over the box of violet creams.
Miss Worther’s expression softened like melted chocolate. ‘Well, I suppose there was no harm done. Come, Marietta, we had better return to the house so you may ready for dinner. I believe your mother has once again requested the pleasure of Dr Drosselmeier’s company for this evening.’