Giving one another a quick squeeze of the hand, Ruby and Fina slinked into the din of the drawing room.
“There you are!” Charlotte purred as they entered, lifting her glass in salute. She was resplendent in an emerald green silk Schiaparelli with a long V-neck in the back – quite a daring departure from her signature style. Despite Charlotte’s warm welcome, Fina winced at the grip of her hand on her upper arm as she piloted the two friends around the room for introductions.
The drawing room, like all of the rooms Fina had seen at Pauncefort Hall thus far, was decorated meticulously from top to bottom. It was aglow with candles, placed far away from the luscious green trimmings of holly and juniper boughs. Clearly, not far enough, thought Fina. She spied a glass set precariously close to one of the candles. The candle tipped and caused a minor conflagration. Charlotte rushed to douse the flame with her glass of water.
Gliding back toward them – deftly avoiding her already slightly swaying guests – Charlotte resumed her mission.
“Uncle Roger insists on these dreadful lighted candles everywhere at Christmastime. Such a hazard,” she said, smiling and shaking her head as if he were a cute but bothersome child.
Taking a quick glance at her silver watch, she said under her breath, “We’re running a bit behind schedule. Would you mind terribly if I pointed people out to you? Then you’ll know who everyone is in case we get interrupted in the middle of in-person introductions.”
“Of course,” said Fina readily, wincing as she remembered her earlier ‘in-person’ introduction to Leslie Dashwood.
“Splendid,” said Charlotte. “Let’s start in the corner, with the Oxford contingent. That rather sulky young man with the sandy hair, drab colours and slightly too-tight collar is my brother, Edgar. You may have seen him before – he’s at Balliol. That man he’s speaking to, with the high forehead, glasses, moustache and rather sharp suit by Frederick Scholte, is Cyril Lighton, a don at his college. I suspect you may know of him already.”
Grimston appeared from the ether to speak to Charlotte in a whisper.
Fina used this momentary diversion to eye the don. Cyril Lighton clasped his hands tightly behind his back, bobbing and weaving slightly as a response to his companion’s conversation. His tooth-combed moustache gleamed in a startling fashion, drawing attention away from an almost-absent chin. Having had many recent experiences watching dons closely during a lecture of one sort or another, this one ran to type. And yet. There was something that set him apart.
She felt a nudge at her shoulder. Without speaking, Ruby motioned with her eyes toward the floor. Fina looked down. That was it. Cyril was leaning against a bookcase, causing his trouser legs to ride up a little. Peeking out rather cheekily from under the trouser legs was one white sock and one red sock. Quelle horreur! She snorted a bit, trying to suppress a giggle. Ruby held a hand up to her scarlet lips, only letting out what sounded like a hiccough.
As Charlotte was still engaged, Fina turned to consider Edgar. The clothes confirmed that the room she had searched earlier had belonged to him and she thought it possible that he was the child in the photograph. She would know if he grinned, but that seemed like an unlikely possibility at this point.
Near his feet, flecks of white, mirroring the snow outside, drifted to the floor. Fina attributed this to Edgar’s habit of picking at the skin around his thumbs. His fingers moved with an urgent, incessant grating behaviour, as if he had been stung by a nettle.
Half fascinated, half disgusted by Edgar’s proclivities, Fina pulled her attention back to Charlotte who had turned away from the ethereal Grimston and drifted toward the fireplace, clearly expecting her to follow. “Come, you simply must meet Uncle Roger. He minds the shop here at Pauncefort while my father is engaged on business in the Caribbean, as he generally is nine months out of the twelve. Don’t be fooled by that rather old-fashioned monocle; it makes Uncle Roger look rather a stuffed shirt, but he’s a darling really.” That last was spoken in a whisper as the Earl of Snittlegarth turned to greet them.
“Enchanted, Miss Aubrey-Havelock,” he boomed, taking Fina’s hand and executing a courtly half-bow over it. “It’s an uncommon pleasure to have so many fresh faces here at Pauncefort for Christmas. Yes, yes, quite uncommon.” His eyes crinkled up almost to the point of disappearing as he beamed at Fina.
Here was a man who clearly enjoyed his wine and his food. The Earl’s pink complexion was heightened by reddish broken capillaries along his bulbous nose and the buttons strained to be free from the tyranny of his waistcoat. His rather unfashionable grey mutton chops added definition to his jowls. Fina instinctively recoiled from his touch, repelled by the weight of all the Earl represented, his centuries-old heritage of privilege and dominion – and yet, she found him to be a quite likable looking character. “So kind of you to have us down,” she murmured.
“Miss Dove, a joy, an absolute joy, to welcome you to Pauncefort,” the Earl carried on, giving Ruby the same treatment he’d given Fina. “And Charlotte tells me the two of you are some of London’s finest… er… frock-makers, is it?”
“Dress designers, sir,” replied Ruby firmly.
The word must have caught the ear of the woman the Earl had been talking to, because at that point she turned and gracefully inserted herself into the conversation, tilting her head curiously at Ruby and Fina.
“Sajida Badarur,” announced Charlotte, “a princess from Tezpur. She is visiting her sister, Gayatri, whom you can just about see over there by the rather garish mirror, in the taupe crêpe de Chine.”
It was hardly surprising that any mention of dress had attracted the princess’ attention, thought Fina. Sajida’s Chanel gown was the very height of elegance; it must have come from last season’s collection, and it fitted her slim form perfectly.
“A pleasure,” murmured Sajida.
“Gayatri is reading medicine at Somerville College, Oxford,” Charlotte went on, “and I believe that when Edgar heard that she and her sister had never experienced a traditional English Christmas, he felt he simply had to invite them to share ours.”
“Dashed shame to miss the Yuletide, hey?” said the Earl. “Jolliest time of the year – bar the Glorious Twelfth, that is, ho ho!”
Ruby chucked dutifully, but her eyes narrowed as they met Fina’s. Charlotte, conscious that a chill had descended, took their arms and hastened them away.
“Oh dear, I was so focused on introductions that I failed to be a good host! Where is your liquid tonic?” said Charlotte, looking in Grimston’s direction. Grimston materialized with a tray of champagne and luridly colourful cocktails. Fina selected a glass of champagne, her favourite, but also a drink whose effects could be measured more easily than a cocktail. Ruby, somewhat out of character – though she could afford it since she could hold her liquor better than Fina – selected what appeared to be a martini from the drinks tray.
Now that Charlotte’s champagne had been topped up, she continued on her merry round of introductions. “We’re nearly there! The man in the opposite corner by the window – my, the snow is coming down – sorry, the man with the close-cropped hair, striped cravat and impeccable shoes, is Ian Clavering, the theatre producer, you know. He lives half the year in London during theatre season and then goes home for the other half to the Bahamas to be with family. Have you seen any of his shows? Of course, I don’t suppose you get down to the West End much, from Oxford,” said Charlotte vaguely.
“Not as much as I’d like,” admitted Ruby. “I’ve seen Mr Clavering here and there, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Taking the hint, Charlotte began leading them to the window-seat, then drew up short and stopped. Ian Clavering’s lanky figure was leaning closely in toward a woman with a brown helmet-like bob and close-set eyes. Fina’s stomach flipped with jealousy at the height of her cheekbones. They were deep in conversation, oblivious to the laughter and chat of the other guests. Ian’s eyebrows wriggled with what appeared to be disbelief – either that or intense consternation. His square jaw worked itself in a haphazard motion, slipping occasionally as his eyebrows lifted.
“Perhaps the introduction can wait,” said Ruby, sensing Charlotte’s reluctance to interrupt the pair. “He and Julia must be dishing the dirt on some scandal at the Criterion.”
With an air of relief, Charlotte said, “Of course, you know my dear friend Julia, don’t you – you’re arranging her wardrobe for this new film. Some sort of… thriller, I believe.” She said the word as if it were the name of a disease. Fina doubted Charlotte had ever seen a film in her life. For herself, though, it was quite exciting to see Julia Aston – the Julia Aston – only several feet away. “Her red suit from Gilbert Adrian is marvellous, isn’t it?” said Charlotte, back on safe ground. “I must say I am pleased with the sartorial quality of our guests this weekend,” she added with a satisfied sigh.
“And lastly, we come to more of the Sykes-Duckworth brood,” Charlotte said, gesticulating with her glass toward the entrance to the room. A drop or two of the champagne escaped onto the floor. Fina was glad it was almost time for dinner. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and felt that the champagne was already going to her head – as it was apparently for Charlotte and the rest of the guests if the volume level of discussion in the drawing room were any indication.
“The rather pleasant looking woman in the rose-coloured frock – it suits her even though it is a bit out of fashion – is my dear auntie, the Countess of Snittlegarth.” Lady Snittlegarth’s voluminous sleeves rippled as she flapped her arms with abandon. She must be in the midst of an excellent story. Fina warmed to this aunt, with her crown of slate grey hair, coiled like a somewhat amateur Chelsea bun atop her oval-shaped head.
“I love both my aunt and uncle dearly,” Charlotte added in a confidential tone. Fina smiled, but wondered why she felt the need to make the declaration.
At that moment, the Earl of Snittlegarth, making a dramatic point with his hands by the fireplace, dislodged one of the candles from the mantelpiece. In what seemed like slow motion, Fina watched as the candle wobbled like a hard-boiled egg and then catapulted off the edge of the mantelpiece into oblivion. With surprisingly quick reflexes, the Earl caught the candle, but not before it splattered tallow on Gayatri’s cocoa-coloured dress. “Oh my dear, I am so dreadfully sorry,” he said with a quavering voice.
“Please do not trouble yourself,” replied Gayatri, whose words belied the look of frustration in her eyes. She peeled the wax off the crêpe, leaving a splotch behind. Her sister bent down to examine it more closely, nearly providing comic relief by bumping heads with Ruby, who had deftly sidled up to the Earl as soon as the candle had tumbled.
Ruby held out her hand to introduce herself to Gayatri, then Sajida, followed by the Earl. By this time, a crowd had gathered around the fireplace to see the drama unfold.
Ruby bent down and said, looking at the spot on the dress, “I have a spot remover for the clothes I design. Would you like me to fetch it from my room?”
Gayatri replied, shoulders relaxing, “You’re so kind. I’ll come with you to your room.”
“It’s highly toxic, so it is better if I apply it directly with gloves,” said Ruby. “I brewed a concentrated form in the lab in college. I wouldn’t want to leave it lying about or take a risk with it. I do need to apply it right away, so why don’t I go to my room to fetch it. Then I’ll meet you in your room to take the dress while you change?”
“Yes. Lovely. Thank you ever so much,” said Gayatri. With that, the two of them left and the party returned to its small oases of triplets scattered about the room.
Turning back to Fina and Sajida, the Earl said with the bluster of an angler casting about for a fish in the ocean, “Aubrey-Havelock. Tavistock… yes…”
Quickly cutting him off, Fina turned to Sajida and said, “I heard you’ve been visiting your sister at Oxford. Have you had much chance to see London?”
Sajida replied breathlessly, “Oh yes. I find Oxford a bore, so I try to travel down to London to the shops whenever possible. It’s not like shopping in Paris, of course, but I did find this divine number there,” she said, placing her hand on her hip.
Fina smiled and murmured her approval, not wanting to break Sajida’s flow of excitement.
“I have other relatives living in London as well, so I use the excuse of seeing them,” she tittered. “I hear you work with Ruby. Do you also study at Oxford? Your face looks familiar. Perhaps a party? That seems to be the only fun to be had at college.”
“Yes – I’m reading history at St Jude’s College, so it’s possible you’ve seen me. Ruby is reading chemistry, even though her heart is in fashion design. She’s spent time studying design in Paris and Port of Spain.”
After taking a deep puff on his cigar, the Earl cut in, clearly hoping to join the conversation. “How did you meet Miss Dove? At Oxford?”
“No. We – ah – met in the halls of justice, you might say,” said Fina, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.
Fortunately enough for her, the dinner gong came to her rescue.