All That Glisters

Five

"And you are to do as Mr Hackerton tells you, Laura," Uncle Campbell said. "You are not to dance unless he says you might. Do not drink the punch, for I do not trust those Freemasons not to put ruinous liquor into it. And you are not to dance with Thomas O'Bryan, do you hear me?"

With her uncle's admonitions ringing in her ears, Rose set off to the dance. Walking on a gentleman's arm was strange. Mr Hackerton was much shorter than Thomas, barely an inch taller than she, and the strange pull she felt when with Thomas simply wasn't there, the one that urged her to tuck herself up against his side. She kept a decorous distance between them.

Conversing with Mr Hackerton was easy enough. She had only to nod, smile, and make meaningless comments at appropriate intervals. "Oh, really?" "Well, I never." "Indeed." "How nice." After a while, she began trotting them out in order, without regard to Mr Hackerton's conversation. He did not notice, continuing to regale her with story after story of his victories over customers, suppliers, employees, and household.

She could not marry this man. She could not. He was no less a bully than Uncle Campbell, and she shuddered to think of putting herself under his thumb. Whatever the marriage bed involved, she was sure she would rather clean floors in a boarding house than submit to such intimacies with Mr Hackerton.

The new Murphy's Assembly Room, on Rattray Street, was transformed with flowers and lights and great, hanging swaths of white and gold fabric. Mr Hackerton showed their tickets at the door, and attempted to hurry her through to the main hall, but Rose hung back. "I need to tidy my hair, Sir," she told him. "I will come to join you directly."

She waited her turn at the small mirror, smoothed the hair that had been disarranged by her bonnet, and spent a few more minutes tidying and arranging her clothes, reluctant to re-join her escort.

But he was not in the entrance foyer when she emerged from the ladies' retiring room. Such a small man; perhaps she was missing him in the crowd? She began to weave between the groups of people who had stopped to greet one another, or who were lined at the door of the main room, waiting to enter. No. No Mr Hackerton.

"Are you on your own, Miss?" A strange man rested a hand on her arm, and she flinched. "Thank you, no," she stammered, backing away. He persisted, following her. "Would you care for a dance, Miss?"

Her backward progress was arrested as she came up against a solid body, and her momentary panic turned to relief at Mr O'Bryan's warm tones. "There you are, Miss Campbell. So easy to get lost when there are so many people." She looked up at him with a warm smile, and the man who had addressed her melted into the crowd.

"Have you become separated from your escort?" Mr O'Bryan asked. "May I find him for you?"

"I thought he was waiting here for me, Mr O'Bryan, but he must have gone on inside. I don't suppose that man meant any harm."

"Probably not," Mr O'Bryan agreed. But his eyes remained wary as he offered her his arm.

How different it was making her way through the shifting masses shielded by Mr O'Bryan's protective arm and cheerful quips. Once they were through the door and in the main room, the crowd opened out enough for her to see Mr Hackerton talking to several other people from the church, and she directed Mr O'Bryan in that direction.

Hackerton saw them coming and abandoned his conversation to bustle in their direction, glowering. "Miss Campbell, what are you about?"

"Mr Hackerton, may I make known to you Mr O'Bryan, the nephew of my Aunt Agnes? Mr O'Bryan was kind enough to escort me through all the people."

"O'Bryan." Mr Hackerton gave a short nod, his frown not a whit abated.

"We have met," Mr O'Bryan told Rose, returning the nod with no more affability than Mr Hackerton. "I commend Miss Campbell to your care, Hackerton. The crowd presses more roughly than a lady likes."