Against The Odds

Chapter 6: Polite Society

Allegra

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I opened the door a fraction, bracing myself to face whatever was waiting for me on the other side. A pale, moon-like face turned towards me as the door creaked on its hinges. I stared at my mother for a few seconds, my eyes lingering on the shadows that hung under her glazed eyes and loitered shiftily in the hollows of her cheeks.

Those eyes held mine steadily and there was something undoubtedly precatory – almost pleading – in her gaze. I involuntarily shrank away from the blue-tinged pallor that bathed her skin.

The silence stretched between us, threatening to snap like weak thread at any moment. Mother looked at me for a few more seconds before turning away to start unsteadily down the corridor towards her bedroom and, no doubt, the little mahogany box in her armoire full of blue smoke.

She’s safe, thank you. Although she wasn’t, not really, and I knew that.

I must have slept again because I was woken up by Sarah trotting into the room to throw back the curtains on an unusually clear, bright day. The sun hung low in the sky as it so often did in the winter months and I shielded my eyes from the glare.

“Miss Allegra, another big day for you! Just imagine – the biggest ballroom in Central London…”

Her voice trailed off as a girlish smile lit up her face.

“Yes, Sarah, another room full of arrogant, stuck-up prigs who ask you to dance endless cotillions and polkas. What could be more fun?”

A short laugh escaped from my lips and settled in the air before me.

Sarah visibly started my reluctance to indulge in the whims and fancies of polite London society at their parties and balls. I realised that it was cruel of me to be so dismissive in front of her when she so evidently wanted to be able to take my place in those ridiculous dresses and dances. That morning, however, I wasn’t in the mood to be contrite.

Throughout the morning, I was bathed, cleansed, polished and perfumed until my skin felt as if it was going to peel off at the slightest touch. My hair was dressed with pearl barrettes that pierced my scalp.

I observed myself in the mirror. My gown, a pale pink silk confection of brocade and an obnoxious lace neckline, engulfed me and made my sliver of a face look even thinner. Mother and Father were waiting downstairs for me. My mother was dressed in gown of fuchsia taffeta that I knew had been commissioned to brighten her complexion away from her customary sallowness.

The carriage was waiting outside and James, who was already standing by the door in his freshly-starched livery. He smiled at me reassuringly as I passed.

“Good luck. Just try and endure it, will you? At least stay in the ballroom this time!”

At this point, my silk purse may have accidentally collided with his arm.

The ceiling soared above me, making me feel giddy as I craned my neck to look upwards at the chandeliers and arches that seemed to dance their own cotillion above our heads. A string quartet was already playing a waltz, to which several people were dancing on the polished parquet.

My habit of resembling a startled sea creature seemed to have reared its head again as it wasn’t long at all before Mother took my arm and walked me briskly over towards a cluster of older women who were standing around the edges of the hall in garishly loud dresses that matched their penetrating voices.

Their air-filled gossip was of no interest to me and, for once, I was almost relieved to be presented to a young man with fair hair and a broad, open face. No doubt another pretentious, ostentatious Lord, Baron or Duke.

“Gabriel Barrett, at your service. Miss Bennett, would you do me the honour of joining me for this dance?”

I offered an obligatory shallow curtsey and took his hand and shoulder and allowed him to lead me in sickening circles around the floor. I was grateful for his silence as we danced. I was hardly in the mood for polite conversation, or any conversation at all, for that matter.

The music ended and we parted. I sank back into the shadows of the edge of the room.

It was then that I noticed the absence of my mother.

Panic rose in my chest and I could feel the shadows closing in on me, the mass of music and people suddenly too much to bear. I pushed my way through the throng of silk-engulfed bodies towards the cloakroom. I sat down and let the silence wash over me as I attempted to collect my anarchic thoughts together into some sort of coherent consideration.

Once my heart rate had returned to normal, I started up the stairs towards the men’s smoking and billiards room, hitching my skirt up as I ran. I tripped several times on the hem and I winced as I heard the lace tear beneath my slippers. I stopped once I reached the corridor.

I could hear crying.

I tentatively pushed open the door of the ladies’ powder room and saw her. Her rouge was smudged from her tears and her arm was red where she had been scratching it. She lay on the floor shivering, even in the heat from the gas lamps on the walls.

I knelt beside my mother, but she didn’t know me. Her eyes, glazed with the insanity that plagued her when she couldn’t stifle or appease her cravings. She began scratching at her arm again and I propped her up against the wall and locked the door so we would not be disturbed. I wiped her face down with my handkerchief before rushing out into the corridor.

I opened the door of the billiards room which was smothered in the tendrils of smoke that curled upwards into the air from the tips of the men’s cigars. No one seemed to notice me standing in the doorway so I hesitantly stepped forward into the room. Some of the men hunched over their tables turned to look at me, giving me disapproving glares as I advanced towards where my father was sitting.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and all it took was one glance upwards at the expression on my face for him to realise what was wrong.