To Lina, she directed a venomous snarl. “And where, pray tell, have you two been gallivanting about?”
“A visitor has come!” Anna exclaimed breathlessly, unperturbed by her sister’s demeanor as always. Anna wrenched free of Evangeline’s limp grip and scurried to her wardrobe, tugging at her dress as she did. “He, or she, or they, have arrived in a grand shiny carriage with a driver with a red velvet cape. Oh, whatcouldthey have come for?” Her cheerfulness soured for a moment and her face fell. “You don’t believe that it is bad tidings, do you Lina?”
“Caroline,” Evangeline hissed at Anna, and it was difficult to discern whether the utterance was a correction meant for Anna, or the beginning of a lengthy admonishment directed at Lina. The Harlowes generally frowned upon the use of Carolina’s nickname, and furthermore, of her French name, and Evangeline was only too pleased to comply with the Anglicization. Evangeline was also only too eager to direct a tirade at Lina whenever possible, all the better still if it was deserved.
“Has he arrived?” Lina asked, ignoring Evangeline either way. She opened her own wardrobe, which was tucked away behind the door, smaller and much more meagerly stocked. Lina cast an eye at Evangeline, who was, as always, clothed in a richly textured dress as opposed to a frock, and without a hair out of place. Evangeline dressed each day and then seated herself to embroider or engage in otherwise approved activities for proper ladies, and would reach the end of each day unblemished.
When she was a child, Evangeline had been very, very pretty. Her hair was black and her eyes were blue, and her complexion was like milk. But upon reaching seventeen years of age, Evangeline’s appearance had drastically declined: she had become stout, her skin had grown patchy and red, and her nose, once a finely sculpted aquiline feature, had inexplicably continued to grow into more of a beak. None of this was helped by the permanent downturn of her mouth, which, now that she was nineteen, had etched fine lines into her cheeks. Her glorious, shiny black hair was all that remained of her former beauty, but propriety dictated that this, too, be pinned up in such a way that it was diminished.
Lina, who was only one month older than Evangeline, had been, in the words of Mrs. Gray, a “fearsomely plain” child until only recently, when, for whatever reason, she had blossomed like a flower into a great beauty. The Harlowe household had been so accustomed to her plainness and she had transformed so slowly, that it was only very recently that any of them had realized fully that Lina was no longer plain at all, but strikingly beautiful. With chestnut hair that picked up fragments of red, a pink, teacup-lipped mouth, and bright blue eyes, she was physically the definition of an English Rose, a fact which had sunk in with Evangeline in recent months and more deeply infused her expressions with great sourness.
“And how is it that you are aware of this visitor’s arrival, and furthermore that he is a man, when I have only just been informed of this myself?” Evangeline said archly. She turned abruptly away as Lina, who was in possession of very little modesty around her sisters, tore her wet and stained frock over her head, shift and all.
Lina gave a careless laugh. “Of course, you know how I have come upon this information, Evangeline. But I do not know who he is, or why he has come.” Lina changed her clothing quickly, with skill: she was accustomed to such activities, and unlike Anna or Evangeline, she had few dresses to choose from. She selected the finest one, which was a very plain dinner dress of light blue, with an empire waist trimmed by a violet ribbon, and a low neckline that showcased her petite breasts, smooth chest, and swanlike neck. Evangeline’s dress was a masterpiece of deep red with tiny, embroidered flowers, but Evangeline lent it—as she lent all things—a dour and drab appearance.
Lina crossed the room to Evangeline, whom she felt pity for more often than exasperation. The expression on Evangeline’s face when she saw how the plain dress was transformed by Lina’s beauty was such a pity-inspiring event. She took Evangeline by the arm and smiled, attempting to infect her with excitement. “Come, Evangeline, tell us what you know of this visitor and why he is here.”
Evangeline loved, more than anything, to be in the possession of secrets and information, and to disseminate it as she saw fit. Truly, it was the only currency she possessed because her personality was as sour and dull as her appearance.
Lina pushed past her to sit in the dressing table chair and repair her hair, but not without casting an excited and interested look at Evangeline, who was, she could see, already warming to the idea of divulging her secrets.
“I’ll do your hair right after mine, Anna,” Lina said, before looking at Evangeline expectantly in the mirror. “Do tell, Evangeline. Tell us everything you know.”
Evangeline would tilt her chin and draw the story out to such incredibly boring lengths, Lina knew, but she minded not, for Evangeline would be all the more reasonable for having done so.
“Well,” Evangeline said imperiously, as Lina began to twist and braid her hair with a frightening speed—practice at tidying herself up for presentableness having been honed to an art form by her feral nature.
There was a frantic rap at the door before Evangeline could say anything more. The door opened without a wait, and a flustered Mrs. Gray burst into the room.
Mrs. Gray was out of breath, a decidedly atypical state for the unflappable woman. She surveyed the scene before her, eyes stopping on Lina. The rotund woman pressed her hand to her chest and breathed heavily. “Oh. Goodness. I was certain you were to give me a fright, Miss Caroline.” Mrs. Gray was well aware of Lina’s comings and goings, and neither approved nor disapproved of them. In the way of every good English housekeeper, her life’s mission was to make all rooms and members of the household feel as though nothing was ever out of place, and to do so with the greatest efficiency possible. It was very inefficient, in Mrs. Gray’s estimation, to attempt to tame Lina or to console the Harlowes when she gallivanted about like a feral cat, or engaged in wanton reading in the attic. Her tactic, therefore, was to ensure that it appeared to all concerned that such goings-on did not take place.
“The good Lord has mercy upon me that you are here and in a presentable state, Miss Caroline,” she puffed. “A visitor has arrived. You are to put on your finest dress and take dinner in the formal dining room immediately.”
Mrs. Gray’s eyes scanned the two older girls quickly with a flicker of disapproval gathering in the corner of her mouth.
“This is my finest frock,” Lina sang cheerily, returning her gaze to the mirror to finish arranging her hair.
Mrs. Gray sighed heavily. “This will never do. This will not do.” She looked at Evangeline scathingly, up and down, then shook her head. “This is lovely, but much too large,” she said, approaching to pull out Evangeline’s skirts. With her eyes on the fabric accusingly, she muttered. “Have you got anything else, Evangeline, perhaps something that fits you a bit”—the housekeeper paused to search for a word and settled on—”more snugly?”
Evangeline puffed with pride, having evidently taken all of Mrs. Gray’s comments to be directed at her. “I have,” she said, rushing to her own, overstuffed wardrobe, while Lina met Anna’s eyes in the mirror and the two exchanged a smile.
Evangeline retrieved a glorious yellow dress, which indeed fit her snugly enough that she had squeezed from the top and strained the hems in such a way that, as only Mrs. Gray knew, the dress had been let out and then reinforced, and likely should never be worn by Evangeline again.
Mrs. Gray, curiously, looked at the dress, then at Lina, then back at the dress, with a shake of her head. “‘Tis still too large, I suspect,” she murmured. Pushing past a bewildered Evangeline, whose optimistic assessment of her own figure did not extend to the utterly ridiculous, Mrs. Gray began to rifle through the wardrobe.
“Ah,” she said, pulling a dress from the drawers, which had been tucked away in layers of tissue by Evangeline herself, who maintained the furtive hope that she would one day retrieve it to wear when her figure returned to its once glorious state by means of a miracle she expected with all of her heart. It was a Christmas dress, of shiny red damask with a dark green velvet overlay, and by far her finest garment.
“This will do quite nicely,” Mrs. Gray said, removing the dress and walking toward the door. “I will press it and return in no time.”
“But,” Evangeline objected weakly, sensing that something was going quite wrong, though what it might have been, she could not say. “That dress is much too small for me...”
Her voice trailed off, as a cloud of realization overtook the features of her face, even before Mrs. Gray spoke.
The housekeeper’s voice was kindly, which almost made her comment sting even more. “Darling Miss Evangeline,” she cooed. “I apologize. ‘Tis only Miss Caroline whose presence is requested at dinner. Now, I must be off. Caroline, make haste to disguise your wet hair, however it may be that you accomplish such a task, and be ready when I return to don this garment and be off.”
Lina’s hand dropped slowly to the dresser, and she watched Evangeline with a mixture of horror and pity, her mouth slightly slack.
Evangeline glared at Lina in the reflection. “Well,” she snapped. “Don’t sit there with your mouth open like the uneducated... well, I shan’t even say it.” Evangeline pursed her lips, folded her arms, spun about, and stomped from the room. “Clearly,” she hissed, “there has been a grave error.”
