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DESPITE WHAT VERONICA said about flying being a common occurrence, flying felt anything but natural. The aircraft flitted by tangerine-tinged clouds. The propellers roared in Cora’s ears, and the plane jostled as it pushed through more clouds.
She was going to England.
It was really happening.
Modern buildings stretched majestically toward the sky, and slate blue waters glittered below.
Veronica leaned over Cora and pointed. “That’s our ship!”
It was the largest one in the water, though it looked worryingly small beside the skyscrapers.
The plane rattled, and Cora tightened her grip on her armrests.
Veronica downed the vodka drink the stewardess had given her and pulled out a silver cigarette case. Her crimson fingernails flashed as she inserted a cigarette into a jade holder and lit up. The ashy smoke wasn’t able to hamper the view as the plane descended from the clouds. Pursing her ruby red painted lips around the holder, Veronica inhaled deeply, and gray cinders toppled onto Cora’s lap.
Before Cora could react, Veronica brushed the ash away. “Sorry.” Her voice seemed tighter, more constrained than normal, and Cora jerked her head toward her friend. Perhaps Veronica was nervous about flying after all.
The plane glided to the ground and came to a halt, and Cora followed Veronica down the metal steps. Cora got a fleeting glimpse of a two-story brick building with a windowed tower set in the front center, before they were ushered into a taxi that sped them toward lower Manhattan.
The clouds shifted, and the sun splashed bright light over the buildings. Glass windows sparkled. Steam rose from the gutters, but the burst of fog seemed to only imbue the atmosphere with added intensity.
This did not resemble California.
The palm trees were missing. They’d been replaced with trees that had thicker trunks and possessed a multitude of branches, but none of them managed to retain many leaves. Any that remained were orange or brown, wrinkled or dead. The palm trees in California faced no such difficulty, even in winter, and Cora felt a pang for their slender forms and the graceful arch of their leaves.
Cora shifted in her seat, unnerved by the height of the buildings. They couldn’t possibly stand hundreds of stories effortlessly.
Tall buildings existed in both Vegas and Los Angeles, but not at this height, and the open expanse of land in those places had never made the buildings seem claustrophobic. These buildings were huddled together as though seeking strength from one another.
The taxi wove quickly through the streets, lurching from corner to corner, as if each opening of space between the cars and carriages was a lifeline.
“It’s so different,” Cora exclaimed.
Veronica smirked. “Wait until we reach England.”
Cora nodded, but a prickle of nervousness coursed through her.
Perhaps her great aunt lived in England, but Cora had never met her, and she certainly didn’t know anything about the country except that the colonials had found the English sufficiently unappealing that they’d waged a revolution to free themselves. It seemed foolish for an American to venture there. Californians weren’t even supposed to feel at home on the East Coast.
As the taxi continued its rush through the city traffic, street children stepped out of the way. Dirt stained their clothes and tangled hair.
“How horrible,” Cora said.
“They’ll be fine.” Veronica averted her gaze abruptly. “It will be awfully grand to be on the ship. So much velvet, honey. The crimson kind.”
“Just like the theater.”
“Yes,” Veronica purred. “Oh, you do understand. Though I’ve never been quite partial to red velvet attire. Blues and greens are so much more mysterious. And one must be mysterious.”
Veronica continued to chatter merrily over the merits of various hues and tints, not returning her gaze to the window until they reached Central Park, and the urchins had been replaced with strolling ladies in fur coats and embroidered hats.
Cora frowned. She knew so little about Veronica’s childhood. The mothers of the other child stars had practically resided on set, but not Veronica’s.
Cora turned her gaze to the window.
Men marched on the streets in long woolen coats. Shoes with spats peeked from their business suits. Beside them women strode purposefully, swathed in fur-collared tweed and swinging glossy alligator handbags.
These men and women were not going to work under the bright lights or in the dimmer environs of the backstage. It seemed strange to see a city so large not reliant on the entertainment industries.
For a moment, jealousy rushed through Cora. What would it be like to be one of those women? Or even to work for one of them?
The idea seemed almost appealing. She wouldn’t worry then about photographers following her, and she wouldn’t need to recite romantic lines before a large crew to an actor she’d just met.
But then Cora remembered the crash. Wall Street and New York City had played a role in ushering in the Great Depression. It was better to be wary of the place, with its narrow gaps between its buildings, and the seeming never-ending bustle of people.
The taxi turned toward the river. Boats and ships dotted the almost gray water. Cora missed California’s turquoise waves, studded with foamy white spray.
The taxi finally stopped. “We’re here,” announced the driver.
Cora waited for him to open the door and then stepped out.
The RMS Queen Mary seemed calm, a beacon of elegance and sumptuousness against the tightly crammed buildings. The scarlet smokestacks adorned it with the magnificence of a crown, and people thronged upon the decks.
“Why, it’s Veronica James!” someone shouted, and a crowd of journalists rushed toward them.
“How does it feel to be a countess?” one journalist asked.
“Glorious.” Veronica twirled around, and Cora wondered if Veronica’s sharply angled felt hat might fly off.
“Such a fairy tale,” another person exclaimed.
In her element, Veronica beamed.
It was a fairy tale.
Earls normally married English debutantes, when they bothered to marry at all. They weren’t supposed to marry Americans.
“How did you like your last time in Hollywood?” a third journalist shouted.
Veronica’s smile wobbled. “I’ll miss you, America.”
The others laughed. “Nah. No way.”
“I still have one more film to make,” she said quickly. “After Christmas.”
“You won’t come back,” a reporter declared. “Not when you’re reunited with your earl.”
“Who wants an autograph?” Veronica asked, and an excited murmur rippled through the crowd.
Cora frowned. Was Veronica truly happy she was giving up her career for marriage?
Unlike Cora, Veronica had chosen to leave. The decision was obvious to anyone. Why remain an actress when one could become a countess?
They ascended the gangway, and Veronica murmured that they were lucky they would be sailing so late in the year and the ship was not full. Most people didn’t want to submit themselves to the whims of the ocean, and Veronica had been able to procure one of the nicer cabins.
They strode over lush red carpets that covered the floors, as if the ship were attempting to mimic a grand hotel and was not the main method of transportation to the continent. Hopefully the long pile of the carpets had not been selected as necessary padding for a tumultuous crossing.
“Tell me more about the hosts,” Cora said. “I’ve never met a duke and duchess.”
“But you are on very intimate terms with a countess.” Veronica winked.
Cora smiled. She imagined the duke and duchess’s lives involved a great deal of jewels and permanently upturned noses.
Veronica released a sigh. “They are perhaps not the most pleasant of hosts.”
“Oh?”
“Well, hospitality is hardly an English trait. They see their role as more of reminding people of their importance. To think, one day Edmund will be a duke, and I will be his duchess.”
The magazines were already celebrating that fact.
“Do tell me more about Chalcroft Park,” Cora said.
Veronica shrugged. “It’s called a park darling, but I must admit, it looks more like a castle. Though technically it’s a manor house.”
“Smashing.” Cora tried to lean back casually and replicate some of Veronica’s nonchalance.
“It’s beautiful.” Veronica’s eyes sparkled, and her lips spread into a wide smile.
It was perhaps difficult, even for a Hollywood movie star, to act entirely nonchalant about the prospect of turrets and moats.
“Who will be there?” Cora asked.
“You’ll meet Edmund of course.” Veronica gave Cora a blissful smile that seemed incongruent with the man’s pompous name.
Cora had seen pictures of him in newspapers and magazines, and she was happy to be able to meet him in person. All the articles had lauded him, praising his attractiveness. His receding hairline and weak chin seemed unlikely attributes in a cover model, but Cora supposed aristocrats had different standards to meet. Simply being under forty seemed a cause for celebration.
“Does he have siblings?”
“An older half-brother. His father was a bit of a scoundrel in his past, and Rhys won’t be inheriting anything. And Edmund’s parents are—” Veronica paused, and for the second time Cora wondered if she was truly happy moving to England.
It had seemed odd she’d been so eager to bustle Cora off to join Veronica for Christmas.
“I mean...they’re fine,” Veronica said. “Naturally.”
Cora waited for her to continue.
“His father is quite old. I imagine he will likely pass away soon.”
“How unfortunate.”
Veronica blinked. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
“Though sometimes appearances can be deceiving,” Cora said, trying to be reassuring. “Perhaps he’ll reach a hundred. I imagine dukes have quite wonderful doctors.”
“Er—yes.” Veronica rang the bell for an attendant and seemed relieved when he arrived. “Please bring us drinks.”
“Something refreshing?”
“Something strong.” She gave the attendant a tip and turned back to Cora. “It won’t be just the family. Audrey will be there of course. Lady Audrey, I should say. They do so insist on using their titles.” Veronica gave a slight grimace, a gesture Cora thought she’d reserved purely for the most appalling news headlines. Veronica was careful to minimize the formation of future wrinkles.
“Who is Lady Audrey?” Cora asked.
“I believe the term they use in England is ‘bright young thing.’ Perfectly ghastly, if you ask me. As if the rest of us are not nearly as bright. She’ll be painting my portrait. In fact, she’s already working on one for the duchess.”
Cora doubted Audrey’s supposed intelligence was what was causing Veronica grief. Veronica used to tease the more studious of girls on the lot, and certainly seemed disinclined to emulate, much less be mistaken for them.
“How did you meet her?”
“Edmund knows her. She lived in a nearby manor house, and I gather they climbed apple trees together and watched frogs jump or some such idyllic nonsense. Now she lives in London, but she expressed nostalgia, and poor Edmund is such a sweet man—really, such a sweet, sweet man, that he invited her. To our first Christmas together.” Veronica put her arms on her hips and glared, as if she were auditioning for the role of head fury in some Grecian tragedy.
“I’m sorry.”
Veronica shrugged. “What you must think of me, honey. And she’s not so bad. You must spend time with her. Heaps of time.”
Cora nodded. She had the vague impression she’d been invited there to rectify a third wheel by becoming a fourth one. She could do fourth wheels though. It was two wheels that she had more trouble with. Her dates had been limited to publicity stunts, where she’d been chosen more for her reliability and disinclination to spread salacious gossip than for any compatibility.
“Who else is coming?” Cora asked.
“Rhys Ardingley and his wife Katherine. She’s in a wheelchair and terribly prone to petulance. It doesn’t help that they’re both impoverished. Rhys has never gotten over the fact that he’s the duke’s eldest son but isn’t actually allowed to inherit anything.” She shrugged. “At least the duke acknowledges him. And apparently, some Italian man is coming too, Edmund says. He has some sort of business dealings with the duke.”
“I see.”
“You’ll adore England,” Veronica said. “Not the people, naturally. Far too conceited.”
Cora hid her smile. Veronica seemed an unlikely person to be outraged by a well-developed superiority complex.
“The countryside is decent,” Veronica mused, and Cora followed Veronica’s gaze to the tiny porthole. Cora glanced around. She had to admit, despite the well-appointed comfort of the stateroom, it was a bit cramped for space.
Veronica jumped up. “Let’s explore the rest of the ship.”
Cora followed her out. People crowded around them as they entered the first-class lounge. Businessmen surged around them, and Cora was once again conscious she was traveling far away from her home.
“Aren’t you scared of overeager men?” Cora whispered.
“You are too uptight,” Veronica said. “It was fine when you were younger, but you’re becoming set in your ways. What you need is a nice man. Someone like Edmund.”
“I doubt I will find one with your new relatives.”
She laughed. “Edmund’s older half-brother is extremely dashing.” Her smile faded into a thoughtful pout. “Though quite married. Perhaps Edmund has a friend. Perhaps someone he plays squash with on a regular basis.” She gazed up at the sky, and her eyes glimmered, in a way that only experienced women were accustomed to doing.
Cora did not belong to that category.
“As for protection, the best defense is a good offense.” Veronica raised her skirt in a seductive manner, and wolf whistles sounded.
“Veronica,” Cora hissed, but Veronica only lifted the hem higher.
Cora rolled her eyes. A holster was strapped to Veronica’s thigh, and Veronica removed a mother-of-pearl hilted dagger.
Cora’s mouth dropped open.
Veronica laughed. “Honey, it’s important to take care of oneself. Much less complicated than a pistol, but equally effective. Just be sure to select a single-edged knife. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself. I must be sure you get one.”
“That’s not necessary,” Cora blurted. “Put that back. Let’s find some seats.”
They wove through the crowd of sumptuously attired people. Veronica seemed to be enjoying the enthusiastic whispers that happened when they approached the bar and finally stopped extolling the wonders of weaponry. The ship whisked them away to everything wonderful, and Cora tried to not concentrate on the fact that she also was leaving America and everything she knew.
*
THE SHIP HAD TOSSED and turned with predictable unpleasantness for the whole of the voyage, and they were now nearing Southampton.
Veronica had seemed happy to confine herself to the cabin, and even her always generous application of makeup hadn’t quite masked the unfashionable green pallor that could only have been generated from thousands of waves pressing against the ship in a multitude of fashions, all distasteful.
On occasion, Cora would hear Veronica’s gramophone stream in from the other side of the wooden walls. She was practicing for her last film, an adaption of a radio play that had become popular.
The film would be her last; countesses weren’t known for a propensity for performing in Hollywood, and Veronica would be no exception.
Cora sighed. Perhaps one of the other studios would offer her a contract. Most likely it wouldn’t be very impressive, not once news of her firing from Mr. Bellomo’s studio made the rounds. Still, any contract was better than no contract.
She just needed the gossip to clear.
Once the other directors no longer read negative stories, then surely everything would be fine.
It has to be.
Cora pushed away the thought that perhaps acting wasn’t something she actually wanted to do. Some musings were irrelevant. She wasn’t suited to anything else except acting. She might have had a tutor on set, but she would hardly be seen as well-educated by others. Most people hadn’t been taught algebra in five-minute increments.
Finally, the ship’s horn sounded.
“We’re here,” Veronica exclaimed gaily.
Cora followed Veronica down the gangplank, this time to a whole new country, a whole new world.
“Unmoving ground,” Veronica declared. “My favorite thing.”
“It is an excellent quality,” Cora agreed, uncertain about what other qualities this place had.
“I’ll wire Edmund once we get the train schedule to let him know we’re arriving early. He’ll be so happy.”
The train ride to York was a blur, involving an overnight stop in London. Cora was vaguely aware of conductors in brightly colored uniforms and people clutching timetables. Clearly, they weren’t the only people traveling far for the Christmas holidays.
The train rushed over the countryside, unhampered now by having to stop in many towns; in fact, there didn’t seem to be any.
No snow was present, though some people spoke of an upcoming storm.
The trees were bare, and the sky gray. Brown leaves covered the ground, and the grass was a similar dull color. On occasion, tall trees arched gnarly branches toward the cloud-spattered heavens. They sat majestically, incognizant they hadn’t been replaced with a vegetable patch merely because of their location on the property’s border.
Stone manor houses seemed to crown each hill, overseeing the inconsistently sized fields and small cottages covered with soot.
“From the coal mines,” Veronica explained, evidently noticing Cora’s gaze. “It’s on everything. Edmund’s family owns a mine. It’s the largest in England.”
“How impressive.”
Veronica’s cheeks pinkened, and she dipped her head downward and fumbled in her bag.
“You seem so proud,” Cora teased.
“Nonsense.” Veronica removed her powder case and began retouching makeup that already looked immaculate. She glanced back at Cora. “You were supposed to stop smiling. It’s just, I might be famous—”
“Very famous.”
“But Edmund—he’s respectable. He comes from a good family. Perhaps it’s silly, but I quite like being associated with it. Imagine, we’re having Christmas in the same manor house that his family has been having Christmas in for generations.”
“And he’s an earl,” Cora added.
“And one day, he’ll be a duke,” Veronica said, her voice once again decidedly dreamy.
The train slowed.
“We’re here.” Veronica stood, and Cora followed her to the train’s exit.
The station was empty.
“I imagine Edmund is waiting in the car,” Veronica said. “The man despises crowds. How do I look?”
“Perfect.”
Veronica beamed. “This is a big moment. It’s been two months since I last saw him.”
Veronica practically skipped from the platform, and Cora picked up both of their bags. The air felt heavy and frigid, and she was glad when her traveling companion stopped beneath an awning to survey the station. Victorian swirls and floral shapes had been formed into the metal, and Cora glanced upward.
“If you think that’s impressive, honey,” Veronica drawled, “wait until you see the house.”
“Perhaps I should get the smelling salts out,” Cora said.
“Perhaps.”
A short man in a uniform and funny hat stepped onto the platform and swept into a deep bow. “Ah, Lady Holt.” He turned to Cora. “And Miss Clarke, is it?”
Cora nodded, as the man once again moved his torso toward the ground.
“What’s your name?”
The man laughed. “I am the local constable. I make this area safe. Constable Kirby, at your service.”
Cora glanced around, taking in the sharply sloped hills. Stone walls, which looked like they had been constructed centuries before, were the only structures. She’d never been to a more isolated area. “Surely it cannot be very dangerous here?”
“Don’t you worry.” The constable ran his fingers over the lapels of his coat, and his lips spread into a wide smile. “No murderer dares make trouble here. Now, Lady Holt, would you like me to drive you two to Chalcroft Park?
“How very kind of you,” Veronica murmured. “But I am certain that my husband is here.”
“Right. Naturally.” The man’s eyes glazed, as most men seemed to do in Veronica’s presence, as if they were in the midst of admiring the planes of her face and the wide placement of her large blue eyes, rather than devoting energy to listening to her.
“Would you like an autograph?” Veronica said benevolently.
Her question did not seem to have the desired effect.
The pace at which the constable’s face became red seemed too brisk. “It’s—er—possible I may not have actually seen you in the movies.”
“No?”
“Though I would have if I’d known you would become the new countess,” the man rushed to add. “The family is most important. Some people don’t like them, because of all the deaths they caused in the last century, but I think it’s splendid that we’ve got our own duke and duchess now. Makes this region seem right proper. Just like York. Even Harrogate doesn’t have its own duke.”
“Oh,” Veronica’s smile wobbled. “That’s nice.”
Cora frowned. “What deaths did the family cause?”
The constable opened his mouth, but Veronica grabbed Cora’s arm. “I think that’s my husband! Let’s go.”
A red candy-colored Rolls Royce sat outside the train station.
“Is that the car?”
“It must be new,” Veronica said. “Look how exquisite it is.”
The cream-colored wheels and silver grating contrasted beautifully with the car’s vibrant color.
“Edmund!” Veronica waved.
A head peeked from the window.
A head that seemed distinctly...unmasculine.
Veronica halted, and her face whitened. “Audrey. I mean—Lady Audrey.”
The woman waved. “Yes, my dear.”
Veronica smiled, but no matter how many acting accolades Veronica had received, this smile was too tight. A director would have scolded her for it, but this was real life, and Veronica continued toward Lady Audrey.
The woman was perhaps in her early thirties. Her hair was cut in an unfashionable, practical bob, as if she were still in the last decade and was not aware that everyone was growing out their hair into softer waves. Cora wondered if the short length was more to prohibit needing to style her hair than for a desire to be dramatic. Lady Audrey’s skin was tanned and freckled, and she wore a checked tweed jacket that looked like it had seen several seasons. Cora felt overdressed in her fur-collared coat, though she couldn’t afford the triple strand of pearls that dangled casually around Lady Audrey’s neck. Some paint was splattered on Lady Audrey’s gloves, and Cora remembered that she was an artist.
The woman rose languidly and waved an elegant hand vaguely in their direction. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Holt.”
“How nice to see you, Lady Audrey,” Veronica said.
Veronica might be a great actress, and she may even have been nominated for an Oscar once, but she wasn’t even attempting to curve her lips into a smile. They were pressed together in icy formality.
Lady Audrey moved her fingers through her hair, as if to smooth it, but she only managed to make her bob appear more misshapen. Cora couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“I do hope you have a good time, Miss Clarke.” Lady Audrey directed her attention away from Veronica. “Do ignore our stodgy habits.”
“I’m sure you don’t have any,” Cora said.
“Nonsense. I certainly couldn’t imagine being in Hollywood.”
“It does require an abundance of glamor,” Veronica mused, and Lady Audrey’s face blushed pink, despite her ample freckles.
“You must show me your painting sometime,” Cora said, changing the subject.
Most artists Cora knew were happy to show people their work, extrapolating over the wonders of their composition technique or color palette.
“Perhaps you can show us once we arrive?” Veronica said sweetly. “Goodness knows we can use some culture after our long period of travel.”
“Um—” If Lady Audrey normally displayed poise, she seemed to have a dearth of it now.
“Where is my husband?” Veronica asked.
“Edmund’s at Chalcroft Park. He would have loved to have fetched you, but the man is busy.”
“Naturally,” Veronica said tersely.
The car sped over narrow roads. At times steep hedges loomed on either side, obscuring the landscape, as if to ensure Lady Audrey would not decide to suddenly pull the vehicle into a vegetable patch.
The trees fared no better than those in New York. The few present seemed to consist entirely of dark brown trunks and branches. Their leaves, when they had any, were shriveled up and a dull orange, as if somebody had set fire to them, instead of them simply being battered by the obviously incessant blustery wind. A few pine trees stood in the distance, but their green needles, which pointed downward, hardly sufficed in bringing more color to the world.
“It’s good you came before the snow,” Lady Audrey said.
Cora glanced at the sky, trying to discern any snowflakes, but all she saw were thick clouds in varying degrees of gray.
Shortly after, though, snow began drifting down, smattering over every slope.
The car swept through valleys, avoiding the occasional steep hill, until finally it clambered upward.
Veronica pointed. “Chalcroft Park.”
Cora followed the direction of Veronica’s finger. The hill seemed empty, but a sliver of pale gray grew steadily larger.
Gray should have been a dull color, but the manor house looked more imposing than anything she’d ever seen.
“It’s beautiful,” Cora breathed, taking in turrets and gables. It even had a moat.
The landscape here seemed solemn, almost primeval.
Majestic trees jutted from the groomed lawn. Gold leaves shimmered under the setting sun, crowning the almost bare lofty branches in glory as snow fluttered down elegantly.
The wheels crunched on gravel, and Lady Audrey stopped the engine. They exited the car as servants rushed toward them.