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Chapter Twenty-Two
Helen couldn’t claim to have perfected a regal glide, but her entrance into the Lilac Room of Miss Smith’s Tearoom had become less noteworthy in her months of visiting. Rather than the purposeful and efficient stride she employed elsewhere, her approach to the table was tempered with poise and ease. With each visit, the experience became more natural.
Today’s wasn’t an ordinary visit, however; it stemmed from what Pen had described asutterly exigent circumstances.
After Pen and Helen settled into their respective places at the table, Pen sent a half-veiled look of longing toward the approaching tea cart, her behavior muted in deference to the setting.
“While I cannot guarantee the teacakes will improve my performance on my mathematics presentation, they certainly will make for a lovely distraction! How daunting it’s been preparing for today.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Owing to the difficulty of the subject? Or because you wish to make a favorable impression on your tutor?”
“Both!”
Helen giggled along with her friend. “Oh, Pen. When it comes to Mr. Macalester, you need no assistance from me. And as to your presentation—I doubt I’ll understand a word of it!”
“No matter. The reason I wish to rehearse particular portions is to effect the greatestdelivery. I’ve practiced different ways, and I need you to tell me which is the most appealing.”
They agreed to fortify first with some tea and a selection of cakes, but as the tea cart nosed into position next to their table, it was a brunette patroness across the room who captured Helen’s attention.
“Pen, isn’t that Lady Clara?”
“Where?” Discreetly following Helen’s gaze, the younger woman blinked and cocked her head. When she saw the blonde woman next to Clara, she blinked “Itis! Heavens, look at that perfect creature she’s with! Hmm. I don’t recognize her.”
“Shall we go over and say hello?”
Pen’s mouth formed a delicate moue. “We mustn’t, no. Befitting her status as a lady, it is she who must first signal when an approach is acceptable. I’ll see if I might subtly catch her eye.”
“You do excel in the art of being subtle.”
Pen lifted a shoulder. “Quite.”
They laughed, then it was time to make their requests from the cart. A glossy loaf studded with dried citrus peel and fruit intrigued Helen. It differed from the Irish soda bread filled with raisins and caraway she grew up eating every Christmas, yet the first taste of sweet, velvety raisin transported her back across the years.
“You have the most wistful expression, Helen! Are you quite taken by that bread?”
Nodding, she sipped her tea before she spoke, explaining the family tradition. “After my mother passed away, Father O’Connor’s housekeeper, Bridget, always brought over a loaf on Christmas Eve. That breadmeantChristmas.” Dropping her gaze to the rest of the slice on her plate, a realization gripped her. “I’m going to celebrate Christmas again one day.”
Her quiet, determined statement confused Pen. “Pardon?”
“The Grays did not celebrate Christmas. It wasn’t permitted.”
“Why ever not?”
“In America, it’s become more common to observe the holiday in recent years, but when I was a child, most families didn’t. We only did so because of our Irish side. The Puritan tradition doesn’t support it. In fact, Christmas used to be outlawed in the colonies.” She smiled. “Like the theater was. The Grays would favor a return to those days. The holiday isn’t in Scripture, they say.”
Unusually quiet, Pen observed her. “Could you have had a small celebration with your husband? Or was he very religious as well?”
It was the first personal question Pen had ever posed about Robbie; of course, Helen had rarely opened the door to it.
“He was not religious, no. I doubt it ever occurred to him to consider my family traditions, though. Quiet or not, word would have made it to his parents, and it wouldn’t have been worth the consequences. To him, at least.”
“How would they have known? Did you live with them?”
Helen shook her head, her eyes conveying what she thought of that arrangement. “We lived nearby, but his parents owned the house. The servants, they…reported to Mrs. Gray.”
“Reported…you mean they spied on you for her?”
Busying herself with another bite of the flavorful bread, she delayed in answering. Denying the characterization didn’t seem honest, yet to admit such a thing—it sounded so extreme. So shameful.
