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Chapter 10
All Wrong
Silverware clinked against bone china, and glasses were nervously emptied before being filled again. The hum of polite conversation was muffled by the oppressive sounds of anxious chewing.
I wonder how many hours of my life I have spent waiting awkwardly upon the Fitzroys in this dismal room? Who could have guessed all along how much more dreadful it was for their guests all along? Clara snorted at the thought, then flushed with embarrassment as this gesture earned her a scalding glance from Mrs Fitzroy.
“For myself, I couldn’t imagine being seen in such a place,” said Eleanor Fitzroy through her upturned nose.
One of the Fitzroys’ guests, a gouty old woman whose name Clara could never remember, nodded her assent between sips of wine. “Oh, indeed, most inappropriate. And for a married man, no less.”
“Scandalous!” chorused some obscure Fitzroy cousin called Thomas, a thin middle-aged man who smelled terribly of tobacco.
“Oh, Mother, it isn’t as bad as all that, surely,” said Sophia from her position next to Clara’s left. “Burlettas are no more scandalous than any other comic opera.”
“Don’t contradict, Sophia,” snapped Mr Fitzroy before he returned to slurping his soup. Sophia wrinkled her nose at this chastisement but returned to merely listening to the dialogue before her with a bored expression.
For her part, Clara was half-sure she was filling herself too much. The other half of her, meanwhile, was resolute in its decision to eat the Fitzroys out of house and home. These two halves were in rather poor communication with one another: during some quiet moments Clara swore off the food, afraid of being seen as greedy or ill-mannered, but every time she caught the eye of Mrs Fitzroy or one of her guests, she felt compelled to put food into her mouth as a cover for evading their glare.
“I trust the food isn’t too rich for you, Clara?”
Clara looked up, aghast, to see Mrs Fitzroy staring at her with eyes full of judgment. “Sorry, Miss Clara, I meant.” She gave a humourless laugh and a smile that did not reach her eyes. “What a silly mistake, I can’t imagine how I could have forgotten your new social status just because it happened so very unexpectedly.”
“No, er…it’s lovely, Mrs Fitzroy. Thank you,” Clara replied.
“I should think so. You certainly are eating enough of it,” grumbled her husband into his soup.
“Sorry,” Clara heard a soft voice murmur in her left ear. Trying not to call any further attention upon herself, she paused a moment before subtly turning in her chair to see her old friend Glenys. Clara broke into a wide smile at the sight and opened her mouth to greet her warmly. But as she took in Glenys’ furtive shake of her head, the pewter water pitcher in her hand, and the same maid’s uniform she herself had worn for all those years, Clara closed her mouth once more, giving Glenys a sad smile instead.
“Later,” she mouthed, and Glenys nodded happily before dashing off with the pitcher.
Quite an advancement in the world, isn’t it? Clara thought bitterly, catching a few judgmental looks from across the table. I still must be treated like vermin by the Fitzroys, only now I lack the few friendships I had while in their employ. Or the freedom to invent an excuse to leave the room when necessary.
“Don’t you think so, Your Grace?” Cousin Thomas asked. Clara sat straighter and looked down to the head of the table, where Christopher and his guardian had been seated.
Christopher seemed as taken by surprise by the question as she was, and could only stammer, “I-I’m sorry, Mr Fitzroy, what was the question?”
With a sickeningly ingratiating smile to the Duke, Eleanor Fitzroy reached a hand out to interrupt. “Our apologies, Your Grace. My cousin was simply curious about your opinion about the most recent production of King Lear. My husband and I had the good fortune to see it at Drury Lane last week—”
“Bad fortune, more like,” grumbled Mr Fitzroy.
“And we were most desirous to hear Your Grace’s thoughts on the matter,” she finished.
Christopher shot a look to Edward, who gave him a gentle nod of encouragement. “I’m afraid I…well, I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it. Not yet, anyway.”
“Har! In that case, perhaps we can save Your Grace a bit of money and tell you not to waste your time,” said Mr Fitzroy.
“Why? Was something the matter with the performance?” Edward asked.
“‘The matter’!” chuckled Cousin Thomas. “They only changed the bloody ending, that was the matter!”
“No!” Clara gasped.
The conversation stopped as each of the diners turned their gazes to Clara. She shrank away under the heat of this examination, looking down at her lap and taking a long sip of her wine.
Not too much, stupid girl, she chided herself, setting her glass down and covering her mouth with her napkin. Do you want to drink so much wine that you lose what little good sense you have to begin with?
“You were saying, Mr Fitzroy?” asked the gouty old woman.
