Emmeline stood in the middle of the room before a full-length mirror dragged in from one of the bedrooms. Against her middle she hugged a dress that I had not yet seen: pink taffeta with ruffles along the hemline. Another of Grandmamma’s gifts, I guessed, purchased with dour conviction that the current shortage of marriageable men would render all but the most attractive prospects superfluous.
The final shimmer of wintry sun reached through the French window and hovered winsomely before turning Emmeline’s long ringlets to gold, and landing, exhausted, in a series of pale squares at her feet. Emmeline, on whom such subtleties were wasted, swayed back and forth, pink taffeta rustling, as she hummed along with the record in a pretty voice coloured by its owner’s longing for romance. When the final note dissolved with the sun’s last light, the record continued to spin and bump beneath its needle. Emmeline tossed the dress onto the empty armchair and twirled across the floor. She drew back the needle arm and set about realigning it on the record’s rim.
Hannah looked up from her book. Her long hair had disappeared in London-along with any lingering trace of childhood-now brushing her shoulderblades in soft, golden waves. ‘Not again, Emmeline,’ she said, frowning. ‘Play something else.
‘But it’s my favourite.’
‘This week,’ Hannah said.
Emmeline pouted theatrically. ‘How do you think poor Stephen would feel if he knew you wouldn’t listen to his record? It was a gift. The least you could do is enjoy it.’
‘We’ve enjoyed it quite enough,’ Hannah said. She noticed me then. ‘Don’t you agree, Grace?’
I curtseyed and felt my face flush, unsure how to answer. I avoided having to by lighting the gas lamp.
‘If I had an admirer like Stephen Hardcastle,’ Emmeline said dreamily, ‘I should listen to his record a hundred times each day.’
‘Stephen Hardcastle is not an admirer,’ Hannah said, the very suggestion seeming to appal her. ‘We’ve known him forever. He’s a pal. He’s Lady Clem’s godson.’
‘Godson or not, I don’t think he called at Kensington Place every day when he was on leave out of ghoulish desire to hear of Lady Clem’s latest ailment. Do you?’
Hannah bristled slightly. ‘How should I know? They’re very close.’
‘Oh Hannah,’ Emmeline said. ‘For all your reading you can be so dense. Even
Hannah folded down the corner of her current page then unfolded it again, running her finger along the crease.
‘You know,’ Emmeline said eagerly. ‘A promise of marriage.’
I held my breath; it was the first I’d learned of Hannah receiving a proposal.
‘I’m not an idiot,’ Hannah said, eyes still on the triangular ear beneath her finger. ‘I know what he wanted.’
‘Then why didn’t you-?’
‘I wasn’t going to make a promise I couldn’t keep,’ Hannah said quickly.
‘You can be such a stick-in-the-mud. What harm would there have been in laughing at his jokes, letting him whisper silly sweet things in your ear? You were the one always droning on about helping the war effort. If you weren’t so mulish you could have given him a lovely memory to take with him to the front.’
Hannah draped a fabric bookmark across the page of her book, and placed it beside her on the chaise. ‘And what would I have done when he returned? Told him I didn’t really mean it?’
Emmeline’s conviction slipped momentarily then resurrected itself. ‘But that’s the point,’ she said. ‘Stephen Hardcastle hasn’t returned.’
‘He still might.’
It was Emmeline’s turn to shrug. ‘Anything’s possible, I suppose. But if he does I imagine he’ll be too busy counting his lucky stars to worry about you.’
A stubborn silence settled between them. The room itself seemed to take sides: the walls and curtains retreating into Hannah’s corner, the gramophone offering obsequious support to Emmeline.
Emmeline pulled her long ringleted ponytail over one shoulder and fingered the ends. She picked up her hairbrush from the floor beneath the mirror and dragged it through in long, even strokes. The bristles whooshed conspicuously. She was observed for a moment by Hannah, whose face clouded with an expression I couldn’t read-exasperation perhaps, or incredulity-before returning its attention to Joyce.
I picked up the pink taffeta dress from the chair. ‘Is this the one you’ll be wearing tonight, miss?’ I said softly.
Emmeline jumped. ‘Oh! You mustn’t sneak up like that. You frightened me half to death.’
‘Sorry, miss.’ I could feel my cheeks growing hot and tingly. I shot a glance at Hannah who appeared not to have heard. ‘Is this the dress you’d like, miss?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’ Emmeline chewed gently on her bottom lip. ‘At least, I think so.’ She pondered the dress, reached out and flicked the ruffled trim. ‘Hannah, which do you think? Blue or pink?’
‘Blue.’
‘Really?’ Emmeline turned to Hannah, surprised. ‘I thought pink.’
‘Pink then.’
‘You’re not even looking.’
Hannah looked up reluctantly. ‘Either. Neither.’ A frustrated sigh. ‘They’re both fine.’
Emmeline sighed peevishly. ‘You’d better fetch the blue dress. I’ll need to have another look.’
I curtseyed and disappeared around the corner into the bedroom. As I reached the wardrobe, I heard Emmeline say, ‘It’s important, Hannah. Tonight is my first proper dinner party and I want to look sophisticated. You should too. The Luxtons are American.’
‘So?’
‘You don’t want them thinking us unrefined.’
‘I don’t much care what they think.’
‘You should. They’re very important to Pa’s business.’ Emmeline lowered her voice and I had to stand very still, cheek pressed close against the dresses, to make out what she was saying. ‘I overheard Pa talking with Grandmamma-’
‘Eavesdropped, more like,’ Hannah said. ‘And Grandmamma thinks I’m the wicked one!’
‘Fine then,’ said Emmeline, and in her voice I heard the careless shrug of her shoulders. ‘I’ll keep it to myself.’
‘You couldn’t if you tried. I can see it in your face, you’re bursting to tell me what you heard.’
Emmeline paused a moment to savour her ill-gotten gains. ‘Oh… all right,’ she said eagerly, ‘I’ll tell you if you insist.’ She cleared her throat importantly. ‘It all started because
