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Thomas had never beheld the man before. With his black cravat and fine gloves, he looked quite out of place in the dank apartment. He held himself like a man of business, and yet he was unaffected by the meager living on display in Thomas’s house. He lounged at the table as if it was his own, with his legs crossed and his hat in state before him. It was laid on top of a heap of official-looking papers with seals and endorsements abound.
“Mr. White, I am sorry to disturb you, but there is some business to be taken care of.”
“Business?” Thomas inserted himself into the seat across from the mysterious person in his home with caution. He laced his fingers together, making a task of it to occupy himself.
“Yes. I am Daniel Peck, sir, a solicitor.”
Thomas balked, leaning back. “A solicitor? Please, sir, I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Mr. Peck compensated the distance between them, pivoting his torso forward in a calculated effort to appear amiable and unthreatening. “Did you know of a great uncle of yours, a Mr.…” he shuffled through some of the papers in front of him until he found the correct one. “…Marcus White?”
He was dumbfounded. “No, sir. I thought all my relatives besides my sister were dead already.”
Mr. Peck paused a moment in condolence. “How convenient for you.” He placed the papers before Thomas. “Marcus White has recently died and left his ‘closest living relative’--that’s you--his fortune.”
Any incoming money in Thomas’s life (and, consequently, his sister’s life) would be appreciated. They both held hard-laboring occupations, and yet they still struggled to keep their three-room home. He was sad to hear of any relative’s death, but he could not help feeling a prickling of relief that spread from his chest to his intertwined fingertips.
“Well, it is a sad thing that he is dead,” he commiserated with sincerity. His curiosity, though, got the better of him. “How large is his fortune?”
The man grinned at him. “A considerable amount, sir. Twenty-five thousand pounds, and a great property in the South.”
Thomas’s jaw lost all of its strength completely, and it lapsed in surrender and shock. “Twenty—twenty-five thousand pounds?”
“And a property, yes, sir.”
Thomas surveyed the dark and tiny room they inhabited as he tried to comprehend the change that was about to occur in his life. “Twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Her heavy bag struck her leg with each tread, a constant reminder of the work within it. It held all of her supplies that she used as an assistant at a seamstress’s shop, and all of the work she was assigned to complete before the next day. It dug into her shoulder and weighed her slight body down, just another burden among many in Holly’s life.
Her employer, Mrs. Grove, had been especially hard on her that day. She dreaded answering Thom’s questions about her goings-on, as she had nothing uplifting to bestow. When she refused to answer him, however, he would gaze at her knowingly and occupy himself elsewhere, always a bit more defeated than he had been before. Perhaps on her journey home she would invent something to say. Perhaps she had received a compliment from a customer, or sewed more seams that the usual amount.
“Holly!”
She was tempted to look up as she heard her name, but if the summons were not really for her she would be mortified at her blunder.
“Holly White!”
Now she had no choice, though the option that the call might still be for some other Holly White. Some more successful, richer Holly White, who wore beautiful skirts instead of hemming them.
She brought her head upward and was relieved when the caller was, indeed, referring to her, but the emotion was incredibly short-lived, however, as the owner of the voice was the very attractive and unattainable John Denley. His stunning grin and charmingly ordinary blue eyes were unmistakable and halted her journey as if he had physically stopped her with a hand or a blow.
He had been her brother Thomas’s friend since their infancy, and while the other boys had sneered at her and teased her mercilessly, John Denley had been relentlessly kind, defending her and encouraging her always. He was intimidating only in his charms and kindness, and she had never heard him speak ill of anyone or anything.
And she loved him. He was clueless of her affection, unlike anyone else who knew the pair. The hopelessness of the situation merely fueled her resolve in loving him, however unrequited her desire was.
“I say, Holly, did you not hear me?”
She shook her head quickly and dishonestly.
“Well, I saw you from across the street and since I was off to your home at any rate I thought I would escort you.”
“You don’t have to,” she replied in her small, breathless voice.
“I would like to.” He smiled dazzlingly and offered her his arm.
Her heart leaped about in her chest, expressing both joy at his company and dread lest she do anything unintelligent or disreputable, as she often did near him. His presence nudged her repeatedly off-balance, so much so that she always embarrassed herself around him in one way or another.
She felt self-conscious on his arm, and also much too conscious of him. She was of a much lower circumstance than he was (another reason for the unlikelihood of his ever harboring affection for her) and she felt as though being with him in public was dragging him lower in the social hierarchy of England. He was not likely to care about such things, but she knew that she needed to care for him. Even their clothes, in the staunch light of the afternoon, were so different in fashion and age that she felt criminal being in his company.
“Did you escape work later than your usual hour?” he inquired of her. “Normally when I call at this time you’re already home.”
“Yes, I did.” Mrs. Grove had though her stitching on the last hem was insufficient and she had ripped it out for Holly to fix before she left for the day.”
“You seem unwell, Holly. Are you all right?”
The question startled her, and her ever-downward gaze was distracted slightly in his direction. “I am fine, thank you.” She was comforted that he cared for her state of health, but she was also alarmed that perhaps if she appeared unwell that Thom would worry for her; he had too many things on his mind already.
They strolled the rest of the way in silence, two of her puny steps equaling one of his confident strides. Her mind was always racing in an attempt to think of something clever or some news that she might have heard to say, but she never could. Later that evening, she would most likely think of something she could have conveyed to him, but by the next day it would once again be forgotten.
They arrived at her small home, and he held the rickety old door open for her as she reddened at her life’s dilapidated state on display for him to see. She avoided his eyes (as she always did) as she crossed the threshold. The state of her home never ceased to humble her.
“Holly!”
There was a very well-dressed man at the table, smiling pensively at her as her brother stood, beaming. His enthusiasm, though, was not contagious as she grew slowly wary.
“This is Mr. Peck, Holly. He is a solicitor.”
She became frightened, and almost stepped back into John, just entering behind her.
“Thom?” John questioned, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as if he was calming a jittery horse.
She was less scared at his touch, yes, but the hand did nothing to assuage her fears as was intended; instead her nerves squirmed in her chest, wishing him to let go and never stop touching her all at once.
“John! I’m glad you’re present for the good news.”
“What news?” He let go of her and stepped forward.
Thomas’s giddiness was barely contained. “We’re to inherit twenty-five thousands pounds.”
She slumped helplessly into a chair as John laughed. “Really, Thom?”
“As well as a great amount of property in the south,” added Mr. Peck.
Thom skidded his way across the room to Holly, like an overexcited puppy greeting its master. “Did you hear, Holly? We’re wealthy people!”
She smiled uncertainly, her doubts overtaking her happiness and acceptance. “But, a property? Does that mean we must leave?” Her eyes darted inconspicuously to John.
Thomas turned to the solicitor. “Well, sir? Must we leave?”
Mr. Peck nodded soberly. “Due to entailment, sir, the property’s having to remain in one piece, you must live there and keep the estate intact in order to inherit.”
“But I don’t want to leave!” Her voice, thankfully and yet fearfully, was strong and audible in her vehemence.
“Holly…” Thom shook his head. “It is a great amount of money.”
Her fear was substantive. She stared at her brother eloquently, who in turn looked to Mr. Peck.
“Sir, might you…”
“Of course.” He stood, gathering his various articles as he spoke. “Come to my office sometime soon, sir, and you can sign the necessary papers.” As he let himself out, he donned his hat. “Congratulations on your good fortune, sir, miss.” And he was gone.
“My God, Thom, this is wonderful news!”
“I didn’t even know I had a great uncle.”
After her outburst at the news, Holly was loath to speak again, but her worries were genuine. She grabbed for words, but none came.
“Holly, we’re going to be rich! Why would you want to stay here?”
She stilled her eyes and planted them steadfastly on her tattered shoes. She did not answer.
“Look at this place!” Thomas continued. “We have dirt floors and a sooty fireplace that heats only a few feet before it and leaves the rest of the house freezing.” He gestured as he spoke. “Our walls are bare, our furniture is almost nonexistent, and still we cannot afford it.” He kneeled at her feet. “Can you not remember what it was like when Mother and Father were alive?”
She wished to relate with him, to be happy for his sake and accept his viewpoint as her own, but an impairment obstructed her vision. The obstruction was positioned just behind her brother, just as puzzled at her resistance.
“Holly, you won’t need to work for a living at all,” John voiced, assisting her brother. “Why don’t you want to leave?”
She hesitated, making every effort to stare only at the ground and not at the unfeasible object of her ardent affections. “How far away is this property?”
“I’m not sure of its exact location, but it can’t be more than fifty miles.”
She took a deep breath, settled. She had feared much more than that. “That is not so far,” she murmured, letting the idea of actual fulfillment of this idea perforate her mind.
Thomas smiled at her with relief and jubilation. “No, it is not.”
She matched his expression as she looked to John and back. “Then…we will no longer be destitute?”
“No.”
“When do we leave?”
He had agreed to accompany his friends, the Whites, as they transferred from London to their newly gained home. Thom, from Mr. Peck’s description, was to understand that it was quite a fine place, with extensive grounds and a number of tenants on the outskirts of the property. John’s only hope was that the expense his friend faced in its upkeep would not entirely engulf his new inheritance. With taxes on almost everything nowadays (windows, coal, soap, sugar, the list goes on) keeping any fine estate was difficult, but Thom had no established method of making a living besides hard labor, which would now do him no service.
If circumstance had been kinder to the Whites, their lives would have been much easier. He pitied them in that they had done nothing to merit such hardship, but that it had fallen into their laps in the least happy of methods.
Their parents had died when they were very young, and while Thomas had inherited his father’s fortune of five thousand pounds, soon it had run out (with their being unable to work at such a tender age), and they abandoned their family home in lieu of a smaller, less expensive home in a less expensive section of town. When that too had become too costly for them, they had removed further into an apartment in a lower class section of London.
All of their former acquaintances had excommunicated them for their sad situation. That is, all but John. He simply could not see the difference between the kind people who had attended balls and wore fine clothes and the kind people who labored greatly for their meals and lived in a total of three rooms.
Thom, as always, was cheerful and eager as he awaited their arrival, but Holly was terrified. Well, perhaps he should ratify that statement, also, to include “as always.”
Holly, to him, was very much like a bird: slight and easily frightened. She even seemed to have a fear of John himself, though he couldn’t understand why. He had always tried to be friendly with her, but perhaps the world had simply been much too cruel for her to ever expect true kindness from anyone.
Even when God smiled on her, as he did now, she could not believe it. Her hands were clasped too tightly in her lap and her eyes were downcast as they ever were, troubled and unsettled even when things in her life were becoming better off. He could not blame her, though, for her nature.
The group reached their destination at last, and, peering out of the coach windows, they surveyed the White’s new residence with keen interest.
It was a very large house in comparison with even the wealthiest houses they saw in London, but then again, this was the country. Its face was very handsome, with grey-brown stone constituting its makeup and a great many tall windows speckled its outer shell. It had three floors including the ground floor, and a great amount of chimneys that spouted into the sky like turrets on a castle.
They dismounted, John stopping to help Holly as Thom went to greet Mr. Peck, who was just exiting the home.
“I’m glad you’ve arrived. Now, the staff, with the exception of a butler who decreed he was too old to remain employed, has agreed to stay on for you as long as you like, though I see no reason to discharge them. The rooms are now prepared for your stay, as a great many of them were closed up for disuse.”
“Thank you for arranging everything, sir,” said Thomas.
“Just doing my duty, sir.” Mr. Peck glanced at his pocket watch fleetingly. “And, with no offence mean to you all, I’m quite pleased that it is over. I must be off. You’re free to see your home.”
Both Thomas and John shook Mr. Peck’s hand and thanked him again before letting the man go.
Thom went to his sister and put her arm through his. “Come, let’s go inside.”
Holly smiled with trepidation, whispering something to her brother that was inaudible from John’s distance. He preceded them up the stairs and held the door open for them as they forded their new threshold.
The older woman nodded with great regality, her posture rigid and her nose pointed north. Her clothes and demeanor advertised great wealth, with her silk, fur, and crisp consonants.
“How far from here do you reside?” asked Thomas in another attempt to start a continuing conversation.
“I live about a mile West from here, Mr. White.” She emphasized the “Mr.,” as if to remind those she was with that she had a title while they did not.
“That is not very far,” observed Thomas with unyielding optimism. “Perhaps we may call on each other often in the time to come.”
The woman’s expression did not sour, but somehow she gave the impression of revulsion all the same. If that had not done, however, her words would have.
“I will make something very clear to you, sir. I have made this call as a duty to welcome a new inhabitant of my neighborhood. Merely because you and your sister have experienced great luck in your finances does not signify that I will lower myself to socializing with a family such as yours. Your lineage is certainly a mystery as much as mine is known throughout England to be extremely honorable.”
Thomas’s eyebrows hovered at an elevation higher than their normal station, but otherwise he showed no reaction. He looked to his sister who sat beside him, soundless and hunched in an unsuccessful attempt to hide in plain sight. He sympathized; her already dim courage had been snuffed immediately with Lady Mitchell’s impudence.
He cleared his throat bravely. “Well, then, madam, we will not plague you with our belittling presence any more.” He stood. “You may leave.”
She knew that she was being banished, but it was evident that she did not care; her dignity was still intact. “I believe I will.” She remained for a moment, but as there were no pleasantries appropriate following such an interlude, her only available option was to turn and leave.
She halted before she could reach the door, however. “I suggest neither of you disturb our society here, or attempt to marry above your station, no matter how exalted it has become.”
As soon as the door was shut behind her, Thomas’s chair was vacant and he was crossing his arms in annoyance. “Marrying above our station, Holly! Can you think of such a thing? I cannot imagine marrying at all, especially to someone richer or nobler than myself.”
Holly’s voice was incredibly soft. “Being nobility does not make a person noble.”
He paused in astonishment before he laughed. “You are quite correct.” He bent to kiss her on the cheek. “You should really voice your opinion more often: you have such vibrant thoughts and yet no one had the opportunity to hear them!” He sat beside her again. “You left me alone to patronize Lady Mitchell, when I have no doubt that you have much more ability than I to put her in her place.”
Holly blushed, but around her brother conversing was always easier. “Her place is much too high for either of us to reach; even together I believe we would fall short.”
Even as Thomas laughed, she reddened further. Her smile was still in place, but an ashamed hand blanketed it. “That was unkind. Forgive me.”
“No, Holly, I believe that was much too kind, in Lady Mitchell’s case. We can only retain hope that others in the region are of a more benevolent stock.”
Even as her brother expressed his hope, Holly felt a deep sense of foreboding. Perhaps her hesitation in leaving London was not founded solely on silliness as she had been led to believe. She thought this first visit was an omen, alerting them to what their lives would continually hold in this region.
John entered, removing his hat and bringing her to attention in one swift motion. “I saw a fine carriage leaving as I returned. Did someone call?”
He had gone walking alone because no one had been willing to go with him: Thomas for lack of inclination and Holly for lack of nerve.
“Yes, we have received both a visit and a rebuttal from Lady Mitchell.”
John laid down his hat and sat across from them where the lady in question had previously been perched. “A rebuttal? Was she unkind?”
“Very. Was she not, Holly?” Thom asked, trying to include his sister.
Holly nodded jerkily, directly averting her eyes.
“This does not bode well for our future here. I hope no one else has her attitude towards us.”
John sighed. “It is always a wonder to me that people cannot look beyond wealth and genealogy.”
“Well, our genealogy was not so objectionable before the deaths of our parents; they were both of reasonable birth.”
The three of them sat in silence, each with their own individual worries to occupy themselves with.
She was wearing a new gown; it was grey and modest and it suited her. Though her appearance, to her, would never make much of a difference, she liked the knowledge that nothing she wore, now, bore patches or tears.
Her solitary fear, now (besides the obvious: people, insects, and death) was that John’s departure was imminent, and approaching rapidly. Thomas was wonderful company, but without John to admire and anticipate, what would occupy her thoughts?
She descended the large, ornamented staircase to begin her day, taking slow and tedious steps. She found that, without something to keep her mind busy, she was deflated somehow. A certain vibrancy in her that had existed before, no matter that it was out of necessity and poverty, had been exterminated in her new life of leisure. She had only been wealthy for a total of two and a half days now, and already she disliked it.
Every time she surveyed her expensive dwelling she found something new. As she ran her fingers over the balustrade, she located a new carving formerly concealed on its underside. It was useless; who would ever look beneath a balustrade to find decoration? Wealth was ridiculous.
For fear of being seen bent over the rail merely to bear witness to the carving’s beauty, she satisfied herself by stroking her fingertips over its intricacy, noting its detail in appreciation of the artist who had worked so hard to appease a master who needed detail in every aspect of his life. She detected there a face: there were eyes and a nose, and full Grecian lips.
“Holly!”
Her brother’s voice startled her, sending her into motion and the consequential abandon of her pursuit. She saw him emerge from the drawing room, and upon her arrival to him he brought her back inside, speaking all the way.
“Holly, I’m glad you’ve awakened. We have received our first invitation!”
This afforded her no pleasure. “An invitation?” She was guided onto a chair. “To what?”
It was then that she detected John’s presence across from where she was situated. He bestowed upon her an encouraging smile, and she collected herself to reply with a similar expression, though it reflected none of her inner feelings.
“To a party at Merton Castle, which is owned by the Carver family.”
“A castle?” she inquired, though no one heeded her.
“Well, there you are. Not all society in the country is disagreeable,” commented John.
At the silence that followed, Holly mustered up the nerve to divulge her thoughts. “An invitation means that they wish to examine us and see if we are acceptable. It does not necessarily signify that they want to be amicable with us.”
Her company laughed, which was not quite the effect she had wanted, but her eyes were already on the floor so she was saved any humiliation or confrontation. She was clueless as to whether the laughter was at her expense or a reward, and she had not the bravery to find out.
“Do you know anything of the Carvers?” came John’s voice.
“Nothing. How could we know?” replied Thom. “My knowledge begins and ends with their name and direction.”
“Well, when I am gone you must write to me and convey all your raptures or complaints accordingly.”
“We are, madam,” answered Thom to the woman who had approached them. He bowed over her hand before she and Holly exchanged curtsies.
The “party” that the invitation had spoken of was not quite what they had expected: there were about ten people present, and the room was filled with cautious whispers that echoed off of the barren stone walls. The atmosphere was somber and flat, and there was no laughter to speak of.
“My name, Mr. White, is Mrs. Blake.” She pointed to a group of conversing middle-aged men. “And there is my husband, Mr. Blake, in the black coat.”
Thomas peered at the coterie, but all of the men matched her description. “Which--”
“I wanted to be the first to offer you and your sister an invitation, sir, but my dear husband dislikes hosting parties most profusely, especially in this neighborhood. I hope you will be satisfied, therefore, with our meeting here.”
“What do you mean, in this neighborhood?” Thomas asked with curiosity.
Mrs. Blake’s lips pursed. “Well, I only meant…” She glanced about. “Who have you met?”
“You are our first acquaintance here. We have not even become known to our hosts.”
“Well, never mind the Carvers, sir. There is better company to be had.”
His eyes widened at her forwardness. “As it is their party, however—”
“Nobody likes to socialize with them,” blurted Mrs. Blake in a manner that suggested a breach in self-restraint had taken place. “Forgive me. It is simply that…” she raised a hand and shook her head. “Never mind. If you’ll excuse me.”
Thomas and Holly exchanged glances with mirrored expressions of suspicion and confusion.
“What can that have been about?” Thomas asked. Holly raised her eyebrows helplessly, and he laughed. “I believe that we will have to pass judgment ourselves.”
“Excuse me.”
They both turned to face the owner of the harsh, gravelly voice.
“You are the White family, are you not?”
The speaker was an extremely tall man made entirely of angles. His skin was taut on his body, signifying great strain and perhaps some malady, though in some indescribable manner he still displayed his age without the aid of wrinkles. He appeared to be just approaching his elderly years, but with enough stamina to survive for a long time yet.
It took Thom a long moment to compose himself enough to answer. Something about the man unsettled him. “Yes, sir, we are. And who do we have the pleasure of speaking with?”
The man attached his heels to one another and bowed. “Arnold Carver, sir.” He stepped aside, revealing a man behind him hitherto concealed. “And this is my son, Roger.”
The younger Mr. Carver looked little like his father, although he nearly matched the man in height. Everything about him seemed pallid: his hair was light, his eyes were pale blue and subdued behind thick spectacles, and his ghostly skin might have become nonexistent if he stood before a white background. His gaze did not make any effort to meet those of his new acquaintances.
Thomas bowed and let go of Holly that she might curtsy. “I am Thomas White, Mr. Carver, and this is my sister Holly.”
Mr. Carver the first took a few steps forward to kiss Holly’s hand, which Thom watched her react to with both humor and protectiveness. Her terrified reaction to something so normal and amiable was comical, and yet anything that caused her displeasure was disagreeable to him as well. He immediately reclaimed her arm.
“Your sister is very beautiful, sir.” The hungry expression in the man’s eyes disturbed Thom, but when he looked away he knew he had imagined it. “Is she not, Roger?”
His son took a moment to survey the object of his father’s approval before expressing his opinion. “Very beautiful.”