CHAPTER FIVE
A house in mourning was more dismal than the cemetery where the dearly departed rested. Lenore hung her wet cloak and bonnet on the rack near the front door and paused to listen. Except for the steady click of the pendulum in the grandfather clock occupying one corner of the foyer, the house was quiet, shuttered in a pall of gloom.
The soft glow of the low-burning gasolier allowed just enough light to prevent a person from tripping on the rug or the nearby stairwell in the dark. When her father was alive, it had blazed like a star caught in chains. Arthur’s death wrought many changes in the Kenward household, none of them welcome.
The flicker of firelight danced across the surface of the parlor’s partially open door. Lenore stepped inside and spotted her mother in her usual place—one of three chairs furthest from the fireplace to prevent any stray coal dust from falling on her hem. A nearby lamp provided illumination for the stitchery on which Jane industriously plied her needle. She glanced briefly at her daughter, features pinched, before turning her attention back to her needlework.
Lenore sighed inwardly. Tonight would be as the many nights before it—awkward conversation saturated in resentment that slowly built to a hot argument. “Hello, Mama.” She swept across the room and sat down opposite her mother.
Jane didn’t look up or return Lenore’s greeting. “You almost missed supper.”
“Then Constance is serving earlier than usual. It’s not yet half past five.” She reached out and pressed her fingertips to the teapot. Cold.
The needle whipped ever faster through the cloth, a sure sign of Jane’s agitation. “Your aunt inquired after you. You were missed.”
Lenore poured herself a cup of the tepid tea, foregoing the milk and sugar. “Mama, Aunt Adelaide does not like me. I very much doubt I was missed.”
Adelaide Evenstowe, a galleon of a woman, didn’t like children in general but reserved most of her contempt for her niece, whom she deemed headstrong and inappropriate. She’d done more than her fair share in convincing Jane to send Lenore off to boarding school, an interference for which Lenore had never forgiven her.
She sipped and made a face. The tea had grown bitter as well as cold. She set it aside. “Did you enjoy your visit?”
Jane’s mouth compressed into a scowl as bitter as the tea. “Yes.”
The heavy silence between the two women grew, and Lenore waited for her mother to fire the inevitable first volley. The housekeeper’s appearance offered a temporary reprieve.
“Miss, I didn’t hear you return.” She gathered up the cups and set them on the tray along with the teapot and accompaniments. “A fresh pot for you? It’s miserable outside.”
Lenore nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Harp. That would be lovely.”
Once the housekeeper left, Jane spoke. “Even Constance disapproves of you gadding about this late in this weather.”
Lenore picked up her own sewing, a handkerchief with a complicated embroidered border whose completion had so far eluded her. Maybe because she found it duller than watching grass grow. “Mama, I don’t think Constance’s remark on the weather bore any connection to whether or not she approves of me being out and about.”
Jane’s needle flashed and flew, the taut fabric popping with each jab of the pointed tip. “It’s both improper and dangerous for you to be on London streets alone.”
“I brought flowers for Papa’s grave.” She remained silent regarding her conversation with the Guardian.
The whip stitching slowed for a moment before picking up speed once more. “And visited that airship harlot in Maldon.” Jane finally looked up at her daughter, her eyes, as dark as Lenore’s, reflecting the flames from the fireplace. “Your duty is to your family, Lenore, not her.”
Lenore groaned. “Mama, what duty is there in sitting for hours listening to Aunt Adelaide abuse our poor pianoforte and complain that the tea is cold or the fire too hot or the room too drafty? And Nettie is a respected captain, not a harlot.”
Jane hissed at the sudden snarl in her thread. “I’ve never understood why your father tolerated that woman.” Her eyes narrowed. “You realize she’s no longer welcome here?”
“So I assumed. Why do you think I went to Maldon instead of inviting her here?”
“Why do you even associate with her at all?”
This had ever been a point of contention, not just between Jane and Lenore but between Jane and Arthur. Lenore had once thought her mother feared the association between her husband and the airship captain was one of a more conjugal nature. As she grew older and observed the repartee between Arthur and Nettie, she abandoned the idea.
While their friendship was unusual and likely perceived as something else, the inventor and the captain were nothing more than professional colleagues of like minds. Had Nettie been a man, Lenore still didn’t think Jane would have approved of the friendship. The class divide was too wide and too deep, and one Jane believed never should be crossed.
Much to Jane’s disgust, Lenore didn’t agree and embraced her father’s more egalitarian views. “I associate with her because she is my friend as much as she was Papa’s.”
Simmering silence fell between them again and lasted through supper. Lenore wished with all her heart that she and Jane might one day reach past the endless squabbles and arguments and meet on common ground. With no other siblings and Arthur gone, they only had each other, and Lenore stared into the heart of that fact, both sad and frightened.
Jane finished her last course and excused herself from the table, the heavy slide of her skirts audible in the dining room as she ascended the stairs to her bed chamber. Lenore pushed aside the remains of her pudding and drained her wine glass, happier with the solitude than with her mother’s disapproving presence across from her.
Mrs. Harp entered to clear away the supper remains, and Lenore rose to help her. Constance Harp had been in service with the Kenward family since Lenore was still on lead strings, and more than a few times it was Constance she was tethered to in those early childhood years. Her grief over Arthur’s death was as profound as that of his wife and child.
