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You are the cruel’st she alive
(Twelfth Night I.v.240)
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AT LAST EDWARD AND Lynnie were seated across from Frederick and Gwen Lancaster at one of the long tables in the supper room. Frederick and Edward both removed their masks in order to eat, but the ladies retained theirs, for they were both more complicated to remove and replace, and did not interfere with their meal. “What are your impressions of London, then?” Edward asked at last, eager to hear Lynnie’s observations.
“I find that there is so much to do here, Edward, I cannot understand how people complain of boredom, even in the depths of winter. I have heard tell of exhibits and concerts and plays, and the parks and the Gardens in the warmer months... I have seen some of the sights, but I think I shall never have time to see everything!”
“For how long have you been in Town?” he asked, keen to learn more of this young woman.
“Some few weeks, but I have been engaged with other matters and have not had as much time to discover the city as I might wish.”
“Then you are not staying with your friend?” Edward was curious. Frederick had mentioned that Miss Lancaster had only arrived recently, but Lynnie had just admitted being in the city for several weeks.
“No, indeed, and to my regret, for it is a delight to be in Gwen’s company. Instead, I am staying with... other acquaintances—very kind people, and more generous than I could hope to expect—but there I am unable to be out much, neither may I accept guests.”
“That is rather cruel of them,” Frederick interrupted.
“No, not cruel, Mr. Dyson. They are very good to me. If only they knew...” She let the sentence linger. Then, more cheerfully she added, “But rather, it is the particular circumstance of my visit, and their position, which prevents my further explorations of London.”
Edward was about to inquire as to those peculiar circumstances, but Gwen interrupted his thoughts.
“Through our correspondence, Lynnie learned that Mama and I were coming to Town,” Miss Lancaster explained, “and we are so very pleased that she is able to spend some time with us. It was only this morning when we were visiting with Fr... Mr. Dyson’s mother, that Mama mentioned to Mrs. Dyson that I had a dear friend now in Town, and she so gracefully extended the invitation.” She looked at Frederick with adoration in her eyes. “Your mother is a fine lady indeed.” Frederick’s smile did the impossible and grew wider.
Edward spoke again. “But now I confess to some confusion, Lynnie. If the invitation came only this morning, and for a costumed ball, however did you arrange for such a marvelous outfit as what you are wearing?”
“I have a confession to make, Edward.” Lynnie blushed, the pink of her cheeks disappearing beneath her mask. “When Gwen wrote to me of the ball, I hoped very much to be included in the invitation, and took steps to procure a suitable costume. I hope you will not think that very forward of me. Or, rather,” blushing even further, “it was very forward, but I hope you will forgive me, nonetheless.”
Edward now felt himself more confused than ever. He had found what he was hoping to find, a lovely, flesh and blood distraction from the mysterious Miss Grant, but rather than rejoicing in his success, he felt more distracted than ever. Lynnie was delightful. She was intelligent and witty, with keen and cutting observations, but not cruel or petty. She gave every indication of being well educated from her instant recognition of his costume, and she spoke elegantly but without reserve. And still, every moment that he spent enjoying Lynnie’s charming conversation seemed a betrayal of Miss Grant. It took but a moment’s reflection for Edward to discern that the cause of this was because Lynnie reminded him so much of that lady. He longed to find Miss Grant, whom he had never met, and had no expectation of ever meeting, but whose words had moved something within him. Lynnie was here, before him, and very real, whilst Miss Grant was nothing more than a fantasy he had concocted from the exchange of some few letters. Rather than distracting him from his correspondent, this lovely shimmering woman in silks only reminded him further of the mysterious lady. He felt quite torn in two, drawn to two women, one so elusive, and one so real.
He was lost in these thoughts and did not immediately respond to Lynnie’s latest request for forgiveness. She spoke again. “You do forgive me my forwardness, Mr. Dyson? Edward?”
Frederick agreed immediately, stating that anything to increase Miss Lancaster’s happiness could only increase his own. Edward blinked and nodded appropriately. Lynnie seemed to realize something was bothering her escort, and turned to him, speaking in a low voice that only he could hear.
“I see that something has unsettled you, sir. I wish... I wish to speak to you, and make a further confession, embarrassing as it may be. But please, is there any place where we may converse in private? I know that propriety dictates otherwise, but we have broken convention so many times already this evening, I feel it disingenuous to insist upon it now.”
Edward nodded and replied in an equally low voice. “There are gardens behind the ballroom. It will be cold, but we may speak alone there without doing damage to your reputation. Shall I find you a warm wrap?”
Lynnie laughed, catching Edward by surprise. “If only you knew about my reputation, you should not be so worried. Never fear, I have done nothing to invite scandal, other than to live too freely from the dictates of society. I fear more your disapprobation after I have confessed my sins to you. I shall await you by the balcony doors.”
Edward hurried off to find a suitably warm wrap for Lynnie and a coat for himself. He returned a few minutes later to discover the lady waiting patiently for him. He carefully placed the woolen cloak he had borrowed around her silk-clad shoulders and when assured that she would be comfortable in the winter air, proceeded to don his own greatcoat, before opening the door and quickly ushering her out.
They stood on the low balcony for a few moments. The air was cool, but not unduly cold for January, and the trace of light around the new moon allowed the stars to shine all the more brightly. Candles from behind every window in the house reflected softly off the snow-covered ground below them and light from the ballroom behind them illuminated the marble balustrade, causing their own shadows to sink that small portion of the railing into inky blackness. Stairs led from the low balcony to the grounds below, and a small path had been cleared of snow. Edward gestured towards the stairs.
“Shall we walk below, or would you prefer to remain here? There is a bench, but I imagine the marble will be too cold to be comfortable.”
“Let us walk. We will be warmer if we are moving a bit.”
He offered his arm and led her to the stairs, where they descended in silence. As they walked along the short pathway, a few steps in each direction before turning and reversing their course, Lynnie began to speak.
“You will think me horrible, Edward, when I tell you what I must say.”
“Horrible? I find you anything but horrible, Lynnie. And really, I hardly know you. I cannot imagine what you might have done to incur any wrath on my part.”
“But... Here’s the rub, Edward. You do not know me, but I know you.” She ignored Edward’s confused frown and continued. “I imposed myself upon my dear friend Gwen. I knew she was coming to London to be with her mother, and she told me about the ball. Mrs. Dyson had been so engaged with the preparations that she could not help but talk with her friend, who in turn told her daughter all she knew. And Gwen, sweet thing that she is, and knowing that I was in London already, told me. I asked her—no, begged her—to try to get me an invitation. I am a rude, rude creature.”
“But that is not so horrible. Fred’s mother does put on a marvelous ball, and why should you not wish to participate? There is always room for one more delightful guest.”
“Edward, you are too good. That is not why I am horrible. Before, whilst we ate, you were distracted.” She looked at him, inquisitively.
“I... Yes, I admit, I was.”
“Will you tell me the cause of your distraction?”
His eyes opened in horror. “No! I cannot! That is, I dare not. It would be... It would be inexcusable behaviour, insulting to both you and to another.”
Now Lynnie shocked Edward further by placing her free hand on his arm, causing him to stop walking and turn to stare at her. “I know of the other, Edward. When you hear the truth, you will be shocked and angry with me, but I cannot keep this from you. The other is Miss Grant, is she not?” Edward’s feet stopped moving and he gaped at his companion, feeling the blood rush from his head. Lynnie spoke again, quietly and gently. “Do not be angry with yourself, Edward. I know Miss Grant. I know her well. She... she had hoped to engage at least some part of your affections, even if only in friendship. She has enjoyed corresponding with you very much, and wished greatly to make your acquaintance in person. I am, in a way, her envoy.”
Her envoy! Now Edward was mortified. He had thought that the lovely Lynnie was directing her charms and graces at him for the sake of her own enjoyment, because she took pleasure in his company. How mistaken he was. She was only gracing him with her conversation as a favour to another, to learn about him to give information to a friend. He was angry and embarrassed, and also deeply ashamed, for he himself was finding his affections pulled in two directions. He disengaged her arm from his and walked some steps away, breathing deeply of the cold night air to gather his senses. When he turned, Lynnie was looking at him, her mouth set in a grim line.
“I had thought, Madam, that perhaps you wished my company for your own sake,” he intoned, his voice as icy as the night air. “I did not realize that you were merely taking stock for another. I shall now let you rejoin your friend to enjoy the remainder of the ball.” He turned towards the stairs.
“Edward, no, please listen to me.” He stopped moving, but did not turn around. “I said I knew you. You did not ask how.”
“Why, through means of Miss Grant, of course.” His eyes were narrow slits.
“Yes, through Miss Grant. But not indirectly. Edward.... Mr. Gardiner...” Despite his mortification and anger, he turned around, hearing his name pronounced so formally, and forced himself to be calm. “Mr. Gardiner, allow me to introduce myself properly.” She waited for his gaze before continuing.
“Edward, I am Lynnie Grant.” She dropped her eyes and looked away from him, turning so that the candle light from behind the windows caught her masked profile and illuminated it with golden glow.
Without realizing his movements, he was standing at her side. “Lynnie... Miss Grant?” His brow was furrowed, his eyes confused and pained.
“Edward, I am sorry. When I first wrote to you, through Matthew, I wished to know more of you, for Matthew’s sake. Then I found your letters appealing. More than appealing. You were funny and warm and interested, and you sought my opinions as if they really mattered to you. Your letters showed me a person I wished to know better. But as much as a written correspondence can let people learn something of each other, it does not satisfy as much as meeting, face to face, and speaking together, as we are now.”
“Why did you not tell me before? You might have introduced yourself properly when we first met this evening.”
“I might have. I should have, perhaps. And there are further matters that must remain concealed. But I wanted to talk to you as yourself, and not as the writer of witty letters. I wanted you to discover whether you liked me, as myself, without the opportunity to hide behind carefully chosen words.”
Edward did not reply but cast his baleful gaze upon her masked form.
“You are hurt and angry.”
“Yes, a bit.”
“Edward, I’m sorry. But can you understand?”
“Lynnie... Miss Grant...”
“Edward, please listen. I find you as pleasant in person as you are in your letters, and although, in a sense we have only just met, we have also known each other for a while. I wished to tell you my secret now. I dislike lying to my friends. I am still your Miss Grant, only now we know each other as real people.”
“My Miss Grant?”
“Would you like it to be so?” She looked away demurely, then took a deep breath and returned her gaze to meet his eyes.
“Aye, Lynnie. May I still call you Lynnie?” She nodded her acquiescence. “I would be most pleased. Where do you stay? I would like so much to call on you, if you will permit me.”
Her eyes cast down once more, she spoke quietly. “Alas, that cannot be. I told you of matters that must remain secret. I cannot meet with you again, not for a while. My whereabouts cannot be made known. There are people I fear. As much as I would enjoy more time in your company, I am unable to accept visitors, and I know not how long I may remain in London. Will you accept a continuation of our correspondence? For a time, at least? I do wish to keep you for my friend.”
Edward suspected he might have wished for more, but could not speak these sentiments. He had so much to think on. His idealized Miss Grant, whom he knew could never be real, was here standing before him. He had hoped to forget his fascination with her in the company of a room full of beautiful young women, and indeed, he had met one whose presence had sparked that interest in him. But even as he bathed in her witty conversation, he felt an unknown guilt, as if he were betraying the writer of those wonderful letters. This strange sense of disquiet, born of his feelings of playing lover to two women, was now magnified so greatly with this revelation. This young woman whom he hoped would distract him from his dreams, and whose company, after even so short an acquaintance, he had begun to enjoy very much, was not the antidote to his troubles, but rather had become a greater cause of them. Miss Grant—Lynnie—in person. She was real. She existed. She sparkled. She had sought him out and he found he liked her very much, as much in person as in her letters. This was almost too much information to take in.
But no sooner had he begun to assess that his dreams might become reality, they were taken away from him once more. Lynnie, the dancing vision in coloured silks, was no more real than the image he had created of Miss Grant. She might exist in flesh and blood, but like all dreams, she would vanish with the coming of the dawn, to be remembered but experienced no more. She would not, could not, let him call. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but that could not be. He must release her once more to the realms of his imaginations. This was worse than before, because now he had met her, and had known her, and had to let her go.
Dimly, Edward was aware that she had spoken. He searched his mind for some recollection of what she might have said. Words echoed in his mind, asking if he would remain her friend, through their letters. The momentary hope that had warmed his blood disappeared in a moment, leaving him shivering in the winter air. Feeling nothing but emptiness, he schooled his features before looking up at her masked face. He blinked, hoping to dispel the fog that was enveloping his senses, and replied, “Yes, Lynnie, I would like very much to remain your friend. Forgive me. I need to think.”
He led her up the stairs once more with feet that dragged as much from confusion and looming melancholy as from cold, and into the warmth of the ballroom. The thousand candles no longer seemed bright and cheerful, but were now garish and crass. The music, which earlier had sounded elegant and charming, was too loud and abrasive on the ears. The thrill of the crush had become the agony of excess. He needed to leave, to return to his home where he might sulk in peace. Finding a smile somewhere in the recesses of his good breeding, he attached it to his face. He bowed politely, led her back to the table where her friends sat, and bid all a good evening, whereupon he sought his parents to inform them of his early departure.