Creatures of Will and Temper Page 3

  It was long past the hour when the family assembled for tea. What was Dorina doing out here? And who was she with?

  Quietly, Evadne made her way up the folly’s spiral staircase, her hand on the ornate wrought iron banister. Taking every care, she poked her nose around the corner, and gasped.

  Looking as comfortable as a sultan on his throne atop a pile of pillows lay Dorina, languidly smoking a cigarette as another girl—Juliana Lennox—alternated between kissing her sister’s lips and neck.

  Evadne had always suspected her sister preferred the company of women. While that might have bothered some, what actually annoyed Evadne in that moment, as she looked upon the couple, was how happy they seemed.

  Dorina had all the luck. A happy surprise, conceived long after the Grays had given up on a son following their daughter’s birth, Dorina had been coddled by their parents, cherished by their nursemaid, treated like some rare hothouse flower.

  Evadne, on the other hand, was as common as a yew tree, and just as self-sufficient. No one had ever doted on her. Dorina had been a lady from the day she was born; Evadne, a sow’s ear not even Rumpelstiltskin could spin into a silk purse. The irony was that Dorina’s easy manners were mere illusion. Her sister’s beautiful smile, her winning laugh, the sincerity she could evoke whenever she needed to apologize, managed to hide her stubborn, secretive, and willful nature. And while Evadne was perpetually disappointed, Dorina had always gotten everything she wanted.

  “Dorina Gray!” cried Evadne as she emerged from the stairwell. The two girls shrieked and fell apart. Juliana Lennox looked genuinely terrified; Dorina, after seeing it was Evadne who had rumbled her orgy, looked merely amused as her elder sister strode toward them to loom over them and deliver her scolding. Evadne so rarely felt tall—especially next to her longer-limbed sibling—but now she had the high ground.

  “What do you think you’re doing here!”

  “Don’t you know?” Dorina leered back at her. “Don’t tell me you really were fencing with Freddie all morning?”

  “Dorina!” Juliana at least seemed to understand the seriousness of their situation.

  “You think it’s funny?” Evadne snarled as she snatched the cigarette from her sister’s fingers. How she hated being laughed at! And Dorina was always doing so—poking fun at her lack of grace, her fencing, her piousness. She could not bear it, not today!

  “So you were fencing with Freddie?” Dorina smirked at her, and Evadne felt her face go red. “Too bad.”

  Her sister could not have known it was exactly the wrong thing to say. In that moment Evadne resolved that if she could not be happy, neither would Dorina. “Too bad for you,” said Evadne. “I’m going to tell Mother exactly what I found her daughter doing when she ought to be drinking tea with her family. I think she’ll be interested to hear you have no sense of responsibility—no judgment—none of the consideration for others a young woman should exhibit, especially given her ill-advised decision to send you off to London on your own. I wonder if she’ll ever let you out of her sight again!”

  “No!” Dorina’s nonchalance turned to panic. She obviously hadn’t anticipated this. “Don’t—”

  “Be quiet! It’s my duty to tell them.” Evadne was already descending the spiral stair.

  “Let’s talk about this!” cried Dorina as Evadne reached the bottom of the stairs and took off running for the house. But in running, Evadne had the advantage, in spite of being a decade older—her years of training had strengthened her legs and chest, and she quickly outpaced her younger sister.

  “Oh, we’ll talk about it,” she shouted over her shoulder. “With our mother!”

  “You wouldn’t!” cried Dorina, already falling behind. “Evadne!”

  Evadne quickened her pace. As it turned out, there were certain advantages to not being a picture of feminine grace.

  2

  The natural diabolist is he who feels keenly the pleasure of a double life.

  —On the Summoning of Demons

  “Will she really tell your parents?” Juliana sounded as if she might burst into tears.

  “Probably,” said Dorina—the wrong answer, even if it was the truthful one. Juliana’s fragile control broke, and she collapsed onto the grass in hysterics, clutching at Dorina’s skirts. Though Dorina knew they must look beautiful to the observer, like some opulent Pre-Raphaelite painting, she stepped back from her companion’s display.

  “We’ll be ruined!” the girl sobbed.

  “We will not,” snapped Dorina. Juliana might be beautiful and fun, but she wasn’t especially bright. “We shall be inconvenienced.”

  Juliana stared up at Dorina with wide eyes as full of hope as tears. “What do you mean?”

  “Neither of our families are stupid enough to let a single word of this get out. The worst that might happen would be them separating us.” And that wouldn’t be too terrible—it would save Dorina the trouble of breaking things off with Juliana, who, truth be told, had already begun to bore her. Most of Dorina’s other conquests had understood that a dalliance was by nature casual, but Juliana would go on about finding a way to stay together forever.

  “But what, what if they stick us in a”—fat tears began to roll down Juliana’s plump cheeks—“a convent?”

  What, Dorina wondered, had she ever seen in Juliana? Her eyes strayed to Juliana’s ample lace-covered chest, now spattered with damp tear marks, and answered her own question.

  “You think they’re stupid enough to send us to live with a bunch of women?” said Dorina, exasperated.

  “What if they call a priest?”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “To exorcise us!”

  Dorina actually laughed.

  “My c-cousin was exorcised,” sniffled the girl.

  “Really?”

  “She was twitching and screaming and cursing . . . They said it must be a demon.”

  “Was this cousin from the fourteenth century? I never heard of anything so barbaric. Who believes in demons anymore?” Dorina shook her head. “Was she cured?”

  “No,” admitted Juliana. “It was some sort of bad mushroom she’d eaten.”

  “See? Likely our families will attribute our activities to bad habits we learned at school, and we’ll be sent to stay a few months to live with some ghastly maiden aunt or other who won’t have novels in her house.” Dorina sighed. “And I won’t be allowed to go to London.”

  Juliana’s mood shifted immediately. “Oh yes . . . Evadne said. You’re going to London? You never told me . . .”

  Dorina winced. It was true, she hadn’t told Juliana of her imminent departure; neither had she told Juliana of her aspiration to pen a monograph on her uncle and burst onto the scene as a young, brilliant lady art critic. Juliana had no comparable aspirations, and was possessed of a jealous disposition, so it had been easier just not to mention any of it.

  Really, how could Dorina be expected to explain her desires to someone who cared nothing for art? Though an avid reader, Juliana considered pictures “childish” and saw nothing of note in the natural world beyond it being “pretty.” Dorina, on the other hand, had studied prints of landscapes, but all she had to compare them to was Swadlincote. She was ready, so ready, to see more of the world. She longed to observe the city scenes that inspired Toulouse-Lautrec, Renoir, Morisot; to see for herself the paintings of Redon and Matisse; to stand before a real Rodin, Canova, or Van der Stappen. She was tired of living vicariously through journals; she wanted to be at the heart of the London art scene, visiting galleries and exhibitions on opening night, not reading about them after they’d long since closed. No periodical would accept a piece on an exhibition that everyone had already seen and experienced and remarked upon—she knew, for she’d submitted and had rejected those sorts of essays. It was essential to be there for the event itself, and this monograph on her uncle’s work would be the stepping-stone from which she would launch a tremendous career.

  “I’m just go
ing to visit my uncle,” she said. “At least, I was.”

  Juliana wasn’t falling for it. She’d gained her feet, and had her fists pressed to her hips. “When?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Dorina grabbed one of Juliana’s hands and kissed the knuckles. “Anyway, let’s go in. No use dreading what’s to come when we can go and find out easily enough.”

  “Should we tidy the folly?”

  “The servants will get it all.” It didn’t matter now if they found her carefully hoarded tobacco and papers. Dorina could scarcely believe Evadne would omit that particular detail.

  As they walked back to the Grays’ house Dorina wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged Evadne. Would she really rat her out? They’d never gotten along, that was true, but Evadne must know that to follow through on her threat, actually tattling on Dorina to their mother, was a gross breach of sisterly comradeship.

  Then again, of the two of them, Dorina had always been the more concerned with things like “sisterly comradeship.”

  They drew near the ivy-covered back wall of Swallowsroost, the white door peeking through the green expanse like an egg in a nest.

  “Should I go in with you?” asked Juliana.

  Dorina considered this. “If you leave, you’ll have no idea if there’s a problem before my family descends upon yours to cry havoc and let slip the dogs of righteous indignation.”

  “Maybe I’d better stay.”

  Dorina glanced at her companion. It was obvious Juliana wanted nothing more than to run off. Dorina couldn’t blame her. And really, if Evadne had indeed betrayed them, Juliana’s hysterics would make the whole scene incredibly ugly, loud, and—worst of all—boring.

  It would also be far easier to talk her way out of trouble if Juliana wasn’t there, weeping at every accusation.

  “On second thought, you should go.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me,” she said. “It’ll be better if I’m on my own.”

  “Well, if you think it’s best . . .” That gleam in Juliana’s eyes! The chit was thrilled to have Dorina throw herself on the sword while she ran away home to her bread and butter.

  “I really do. Now go on—I’ll send word if I’m able. All right?”

  Juliana turned back perhaps half a hundred times and blew twice that many kisses before she was out of sight. Such a mawkish display made it almost a relief for Dorina to finally duck inside.

  The house was quiet when she entered. Dorina ambled toward the drawing room, her shoes shuffling on the thick carpet of the hall as she listened for any hint of raised voices, but silence prevailed. Betsy, one of the maids, emerged from where her family usually gathered for tea, bearing an empty tray. Surprised, the girl almost dropped it when she saw Dorina; upon recovering, she stammered that Dorina’s mother and sister were expecting her upstairs. The way she said it, Dorina knew immediately that something was afoot, but she smiled and nodded—keeping up appearances and all that. She did remember to mention that a footman ought to be sent to the folly to collect her picnicking detritus. The maid curtsied in response before scurrying off.

  In spite of everything she’d said to Juliana, Dorina was still surprised to find that her sister had really and truly betrayed her. It hurt her feelings more than she cared to admit, but she would not show it—not to her sister, not to anyone. She pushed an errant lock of dark, wavy hair out of her eyes, shook out her skirts, and composed her face into a winning smile. She wished she had time for a strengthening cup of tea and maybe a strawberry tart, but as Betsy had said, she was expected.

  When Dorina opened the door, she found their mother seated, elegant in her lavender tea dress; the traitor Evadne was leaning against the wall, looking surly but also smug in her ridiculous fencing outfit. Dorina tried to read them like a painting—if an artist had arranged them, how should their positions be interpreted? What intrigues could be presumed, given their attitudes, their expressions? What was represented by the streak of afternoon sunlight spilling over the carpet, dividing her from them?

  Interpretation was inherently fascinating to Dorina, whether it was art or people. Just the same, she’d rather know the facts.

  “Mother, you’re looking lovely today, and Evadne, you’re looking particularly . . . healthy,” she said brightly, breaking the silence. “But I can’t help wondering why we’re assembling here, leaving poor Father to drink his tea all alone?”

  “Dorina,” said their mother. “You won’t talk your way out of this one.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Dorina would have dismissed the idea that she could not talk her way out of something. But their mother was already on her guard, which made things tricky—and even worse, Evadne was there. Dorina had never been able to effectively charm her sister.

  Just the same, she had her wits even if she didn’t have the element of surprise.

  “Talk my way out of what?” she asked, all innocence.

  “Do be serious!” Her mother indicated the chair across from her. “Sit. Now. I want to hear exactly what went on between you and Juliana this afternoon. I’ve heard Evadne’s side of things, and now I’d like to hear yours.”

  Dorina sat obediently. “May I hear Evadne’s side?”

  “You know very well what I saw,” said Evadne primly. For being the only woman in the room dressed in trousers, she was acting like England’s most proper young lady.

  “I recall you interrupting my picnic . . .”

  “Is that all I interrupted?”

  “Give Dorina a chance to speak,” said their mother.

  Mrs. Lorelai Gray had been a celebrated beauty in her youth; now in her middle years she was a lovely, elegant, charming woman. When asked what her secret was, she always replied it was marrying for love. Dorina had been told she favored her mother in looks, which was a fine compliment, but she had always been more pleased about inheriting her mother’s skill with people.

  Dorina decided to start with a bit of the truth. “Juliana and I were together, yes.”

  Their mother’s forehead dipped into her palm as she shook her head. “Oh, Dorina. I really don’t know what to say.”

  Dorina knew what she wanted her mother to say: she wanted to know what her punishment would be. But to ask would be cheeky.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for being caught,” muttered Evadne.

  It took every ounce of Dorina’s willpower not to roll her eyes. She’d never understood why exactly, but it had always been like this between the two of them. In spite of Evadne being the elder, she was—in Dorina’s opinion—profoundly less mature. Perhaps all the medical journals were right, and exercise did cause women’s wombs to wander about their bodies, confusing them and making them subject to queer moods and notions. Dorina looked at her mother, appealing to her with her eyes, but to no avail.

  “A whim.” It was time to spin a believable yarn. “Juliana’s school friend lent her a—I suppose you’d call it a risqué novel, and we were just so curious. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  It was a half-truth. Juliana had come by a sort of periodical called The Pearl, and some of the stories contained salacious descriptions of women doing interesting things with women. It had been an eye-opening read for Juliana, to be sure. Not so for Dorina, who had won the hearts of a baker’s dozen of Derbyshire’s more attractive and discreet young women, from a lowly if lovely milkmaid to Miss Lavinia Ferguson, whose beauty was rivaled only by her dowry. Even so, Dorina had pretended alarm and fascination when Juliana showed her the forbidden book. She had also said all sorts of rot to make Juliana amenable to her advances: “It might be fun to try—are you certain?” “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, if we kept it to ourselves.” “Will we still be virgins, afterward?”

  Dorina could be very persuasive, even when pretending to feel doubtful. That act had worked for her before, and likely it would work for her again. Yes, again—she had no intention of cutting romance out of her life, no matter what she might tell her
mother.

  Mrs. Gray sighed. “I’m disappointed and concerned,” said her mother as Dorina kept her eyes on the toes of her grass-stained boots, “but at the same time, I understand.”

  “What?” cried Evadne as Dorina looked up, feeling oddly hopeful. “Mother!”

  “There was a girl, at school . . .” Mrs. Gray smiled vaguely. “Long before I met your father, of course,” she explained, mostly to Evadne. “I never went so far as to . . . but if she had asked? Oh, who knows. It was only a phase, and in the end I grew out of it and turned out all right. At least, I like to think so.”

  Dorina kept her expression neutral. On one hand, she appreciated her mother’s candor, especially as it seemed as though she would likely not be punished too terribly; on the other, her mother’s equating of “all right” with “learning to like men” annoyed her deeply. This was no phase; Dorina could not think of a time when the male of the species had held any fascination for her whatsoever. Their arrogance did not attract her, the liberties they took did not astonish or titillate her, and their freedom to do what they liked did not impress her. Dorina discarded the lot of them—well, save for her father, and Uncle Basil. Even Freddie was rather limp; in spite of Evadne’s obvious enthusiasm for the young would-be vicar, Dorina thought him unkind for stringing her sister along for so many years.

  As far as Dorina could tell, that was the sort of thing boys did for fun.

  No, she would not grow out of preferring women to men. But it was certainly in her best interest to pretend she might.

  “Who cares if she gives up girls or not?” Evadne’s question surprised Dorina. “The issue is whether she can be trusted in London, after demonstrating so perfectly that she cannot be trusted to come to tea on time. This is a serious matter, Mother. There should be consequences. She will represent not only herself, but our family name, and if she should besmirch it through wildness and—”

  “Besmirch?”

  “Girls!” They fell silent as their mother gracefully rose and walked over to her mahogany desk. For the first time since Dorina had entered, the girls exchanged a look not full of rancor. What, they asked one another with their eyes, could their mother be doing?