Thirty-five minutes later she pulled her bedroom door closed and tried to step elegantly down the stairs, the train of her gown tripping her feet and nearly defeating her efforts. She had finally chosen an emerald-green-and-gold gown. It had been her mother’s, but it fitted her perfectly. After her parents’ disappearance, her uncle had kept her mother’s clothes at the Hall, much to Eleanor’s delight when she unexpectedly came across them after inheriting the estate.
Mrs Butters, Polly and Mrs Trotman, the cook, stood in line in the hallway.
‘Will I do, ladies, do you think?’
‘Oh, m’lady, you look a princess.’ Mrs Butters took Eleanor’s hands in hers and pulling her arms to the side, clucked as proudly as a mother hen.
‘The perfect choice, m’lady. You’ll be the star of the ball and no mistake.’ Mrs Trotman smiled.
Polly wiped tears from her cheeks as Mrs Butters reached round and pushed the maid’s gaping jaw up.
‘Thank you, ladies. I sincerely hope, however, that I won’t be the star at all. I intend to sneak in at the back and loiter in the shadows, hoping not to catch anyone’s eye and thus avoiding all the tedium of social niceties.’
‘Well, perhaps just one set of eyes would be fine,’ Mrs Trotman muttered.
‘Trotters!’ Mrs Butters said. ‘Decorum, please. Sorry, my lady, I’ll go boil her tongue so as it doesn’t happen again.’
They all chuckled, Polly jiggling excitedly on her long legs.
‘Right, wish me luck,’ Eleanor said. ‘Let’s hope this gown fools them and they don’t realise I’m as unladylike underneath as a frog in wellington boots.’
She stepped to the front door.
‘Enjoy yourself, my lady.’ Mrs Butters patted her arm as she held the door open. ‘You look absolutely exquisite, definitely the most beautiful frog I’ve ever seen.’
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor’s eyes twinkled with warmth for the kind-hearted housekeeper she wished had been there when she was a child.
Clifford had brought the Rolls Royce around and was waiting patiently. It was an early June evening, with a warm, damp breeze threatening rain. As she reached the gravel, Mrs Butters called out, ‘Gracious, your train, my lady!’
With a grateful nod, Eleanor swished up the tail of her gown and stepped to the driver’s door.
Clifford raised an eyebrow. ‘My lady?’
‘Now, none of that. I’ll drive, thank you, Clifford. I’m in need of some more practice.’
He looked her up and down. ‘In that gown? Are you sure that is wise?’
‘Of course, why ever not?’
‘I fear, my lady, you are sure to snap your heels off as you stamp on the brakes, and rip the train of your dress as you wrench the gear stick back and forth.’
She stared at him. ‘You are a terrible man, you do know that.’
‘Kind words, my lady. Shall we?’ He gestured round to the passenger side and led the way without waiting for her response. Sliding into the driving seat, he pointed to the glovebox. Inside was a mask that matched her dress perfectly.
Two
Clifford pulled round the grand horseshoe entrance of Langham Manor and stopped at the base of the sweeping stone staircase that led up to the colonnaded stately entrance. Lights shone from every window and lanterns burned brightly on each step, illuminating the lush garlands of roses twirled along every inch of the balustrades on either side up to the front door. Eleanor sighed at the fairy-tale atmosphere.
‘Here we are, my lady. The invitation said seven to half past, so quarter to eight is close enough.’
‘Wish me luck, Clifford,’ Eleanor said.
Clifford smiled. ‘You’ll be fine. Perhaps just steer clear of politics, religion and colonels.’ He nodded at a footman and her car door opened like magic.
Sandford, butler at the Manor, was waiting for her at the top of the steps.
‘Good evening, Sandford. How are you?’ Eleanor called as she tried to make sense of the yards of fabric that made up the train of her gown.
Clifford coughed from the driver’s seat. ‘And perhaps try to avoid fraternising with the staff. Think “lady”.’
Eleanor frowned as she finally managed to get out of the car. ‘You know, Sandford, I’m planning to send Clifford back to butler school to learn how one should address the lady of the house.’
Sandford’s eyes twinkled as he suppressed a laugh.
‘Please watch out for Lady Swift this evening, Mr Sandford,’ Clifford called to his friend. ‘If things get ugly you know where to find me. However, if she needs bail money, well, then I’ve moved and left no forwarding address.’
Sandford’s shoulders shook, but he quickly regained his composure. ‘Very good, Mr Clifford. Lady Swift will be in the best hands.’
Eleanor rolled her eyes as she started up the stairs. ‘Sandford, Clifford really is a monster. You don’t speak to Lady Langham in that way I’m sure?’ At his horror-struck expression, she nodded. ‘Just as I thought. Now, let’s get this thing underway. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish, that’s my motto.’
‘With respect, my lady, the ball is well underway. All the other guests arrived some time ago.’
‘Yes, well, you can blame Clifford for that too. He made such a fuss about which dress I should wear and then there was a row about me driving.’ About halfway up the staircase, Eleanor peered over her shoulder and groaned. ‘You couldn’t grab the back of this infernal frock, could you? It’s in such a tangle I can barely move my legs.’
Sandford disentangled the mass of fabric, spreading it out down the staircase. ‘Should be fine now, my lady.’
He escorted her into the hallway, which was adorned with huge bowls of white lilies and gardenias. As they walked past the sweeping double staircases, the sounds of a chamber orchestra wafted along the scented air.
Arriving at the ballroom, Eleanor gasped. The oval room rose to the height of two floors, the walls a rich cream. Gold plaster reliefs decorated each of the arched doorways before scrolling up to the ceiling. Between each of the doors a sculpture was displayed in a deep alcove outlined by more gold carving of swirling branches and leaves. Crystal chandeliers dotted the domed ceiling. On the floor, veiled ladies in a rainbow of colours chatted with masked gentlemen in black to the sounds of the orchestra. She went to step forward.
‘My lady, perhaps you will be good enough to permit me to announce you?’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Eleanor had been brought up abroad by bohemian parents and despite attending a strict girls’ boarding school after their disappearance, she had never mastered social etiquette.
Sandford gestured to the leader of the small orchestra who indicated to the musicians to play sotto voce. The room quietened as all heads turned her way.
‘Lady Eleanor Swift of Henley Hall.’ Sandford nodded to the leader and the music resumed full volume.
A tall lady in her fifties with tight, greying curls and deep-blue eyes glided across the marbled floor with arms outstretched. ‘My dear Eleanor, there you are, you poor lamb! Whatever happened?’
‘Good evening, Lady Fenwick-Langham,’ Eleanor said. ‘Um, nothing terrible happened that I’m aware of.’