Page 67 of Scales and Sensibility
Chapter 27
The day of Penelope’s début dawned gray, grim, and drizzling with fat and sulky rain drops. Elinor’s sister Rose might have taken it as an omen. Unfortunately, Elinor was far too busy with Penelope to think about anything else at all.
The final two young men of fortune that Sir John had invited from London had been expected to arrive that morning. Unfortunately, all that had arrived in their stead had been two beautifully-written letters full of apologies and excuses that rang false even to Elinor’s ears. They had been the final straw.
“Why can’t anything ever go right for me?” Penelope wailed, for at least the tenth time since breakfast. She and Elinor were overseeing the decorations of the ballroom together, and the room was full of footmen on ladders, hanging swags of flowers and billowing pink silk, while housemaids scrubbed the chandelier to sparkling perfection. Penelope flopped deeper into her chair, a vision of perfect misery. “Just you wait. By suppertime we’ll have thunderstorms, and then no one will come at all. No one! My début will becanceled.” Her face crumpled. “I can’t bear it!”
“No one expects any thunderstorms.” Elinor should have been paying more attention to the white roses she was arranging in a purple stand; as she spoke, a thorn pricked the flesh between her right thumb and forefinger, drawing blood. Hissing out a breath, she counted to ten, then continued, in a tone of deliberate calm, “Remember what Mr. Hitchens said when your father summoned him to ask his opinion, Penelope. The clouds should part by mid-afternoon.”
“Oh, well ifMr. Hitchenssays so—!” Penelope snorted. “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Hitchens is only a farmer on Papa’s estate. He’s not even a gentleman. Why should I trust his opinion on anything?”
“Well, when it comes to the weather…oh, never mind.” Elinor abandoned the argument in favor of a far more important point. “Have you decided yet whether your mother is to attend the ball tonight?”
Penelope scowled. “Papa says she must, or too many awkward questions would be asked in the neighborhood. I think it’s absurd. Why shouldn’t the guests believe she has a headache if we say so?”
“Perhaps because tonight is her only daughter’s début?” Elinor jabbed a sixth rose into the stand with more force than absolutely necessary. “What mother would miss it for a mere headache?”
“That’s what Papa said.” Penelope crossed her arms. “Isaid we could always claim that she had smallpox, but he said that no one would come to the house if that were true. So we have to pretend everything is normal and just pray she can be stopped from saying anything too dreadful before she’s taken away at the end of the night.”
Elinor squeezed her eyes so tightly shut, her forehead throbbed with pain. But when she opened her eyes again, Penelope was still there, looking sulky and disconsolate. This wasn’t just a bad dream, after all. So she would have to try another approach.
“I have another idea,” Elinor said brightly. “Why don’t you just tell all your guests that she’s gone mad? Itiswhat you and your father truly believe, after all...or so you say. So you shouldn’t be ashamed to admit to your neighbors exactly what the two of you are doing to her.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Penelope stared at her. “I’m not ashamed ofus. I’m ashamed of her! If we let the world know what she’s become, it will ruin my social chances before I’m even betrothed.”
“If you truly wanted to keep it a secret,” said Elinor, “then Mr. Armitage and his sister are the last people you should have confided in.”
“Mrs. De Lacey, I am deeply hurt.” Miss Armitage’s rich voice was laced with amusement as she spoke behind them. “Of course our dear Miss Hathergill knows that she can trust us.”
With her dragon posed like a statue on her shoulder, she sauntered forward, elegant as always in a deep burgundy morning gown. Society might dictate that unmarried maidens ought to wear only soft pastels, but even Elinor couldn’t fault her taste. The rich colours she favored suited her remarkably well.
“In fact, I’ve come to offer my support. With so many lovely flowers to arrange, you must need another friend to help. Mrs. De Lacey…” Miss Armitage smiled warmly and gestured to the empty flower stand at the far end of the room. “Won’t you show me the trick of doing them?”
Elinor raised her eyebrows and met the other woman’s eyes measuringly. They were as enigmatic as ever. At any other moment, she would have found an excuse to avoid a private conversation. But just now…
She slid a glance at Penelope, and sighed. Slippery and untrustworthy as Miss Armitage might be, at least a moment or two alone with her might save Elinor from murdering her cousin.
She scooped Sir Jessamyn up from the chair he’d sat on, five careful feet away from Penelope. He perched happily in her arms, twisting his head around to follow every bustling movement of the servants around them as she and Miss Armitage crossed the busy, crowded room. Ladders swung through the air, brooms and sponges were wielded with fervor, and Sir John bellowed over all of it as he stepped into the doorway:
“For God’s sake, is no one in this household available to bring me a cup of tea when I ring for it? Have I hired you all to donothing?”
Mrs. Braithewaite, the housekeeper, hurried across the room to soothe him, while another housemaid followed Elinor and Miss Armitage to carry the prickling mass of roses and greenery for them.
“Thank you,” Elinor said to the maid as they reached the stand. The maid only curtseyed in response, head lowered, but Elinor felt Sally’s accusing gaze on her back, and she drew a deep breath. The other girl stood only a few feet away, scrubbing the sideboard to a vicious gleam, and Elinor could feel her rage burning through the air. She had to force herself not to move away or hunch her shoulders in guilt.
No matter what Sally thought, Elinor wasn’t like Penelope. She did care about injustice, even if she hadn’t managed to prove it yet.
Lucinda hadn’t appeared at Hathergill Hall since Elinor’s first day, but as one of Penelope’s best friends, she had no choice but to attend the ball tonight. Penelope would accept no excuses. All that Elinor had to do was think of some clever way to unmask her there…before Sally could decide that she had waited long enough.
Miss Armitage knelt gracefully to choose among the pile of flowers, and her dragon balanced on her shoulder as beautifully as a dancer. “Youarekind to show me how to do this.”
“I doubt that you need any help,” said Elinor. She shifted Sir Jessamyn to her shoulder—there were no chairs for him here, and if she set him down on the clean sideboard, Sally really might lose all control. “What is it that you want from me, Miss Armitage?”
“My, such refreshing directness.” Miss Armitage smiled as she straightened, holding an armful of roses. “If only more people believed in honesty, how much easier all conversations would become.”
Elinor felt her cheeks heat, but she didn’t lower her gaze. She might not have any evidence to prove it, but she was absolutely certain that Miss Armitage was far more versed in deceit than herself. “What did you bring me here to tell me, then?” she said. “As we are being so honest with each other.”
Miss Armitage raised one perfect eyebrow as she set the first of her roses into the stand. “You,” she said, “are very much in the confidence of Miss Hathergill, despite your blatant disapproval of her actions.”
