To Dance at the Palais Royale, page 7
“Well, curiosity mainly,” Rodney said. “We’ll have lunch together some time this week. You can meet after.”
Aggie remembered what Emma had said about young men in groups. “I dinna think that would be proper.”
Rodney dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, proper . . . don’t let that bother you. I insist.”
As far as Rodney was concerned, the subject was closed. Aggie didn’t see how she could possibly say more without embarrassing them both, so she finished her tea.
She would have waited to wash Rodney’s dishes, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“I’m certainly capable of washing a few dishes on a Sunday evening. Off you go,” he said. Kind though he was, Aggie noticed he was certainly accustomed to getting his own way.
That night, Aggie dreamed she was in a motorcar with two young men. She had no idea where they were going but she was filled with dread. One of the young men said, “You haven’t got a thing to worry about. Don’t give it another thought,” as the car hurtled on into the night. It was Rodney’s voice, and it did not reassure her. Aggie woke up in the morning determined to spend no time with Rodney’s friends.
Aggie spent most of Tuesday morning in the big, walk-in linen closet on the second floor. The winter blankets and bedding had been sent out to a laundry during spring cleaning. Now she packed them in mothballs for the summer. In that airless space she lost track of time, and Mrs. Bradley had to come and get her well after lunch. Aggie noticed that the sandwich Mrs. Bradley had made for her was more generous than usual. Meals had improved since their conversation in Aggie’s bedroom.
“After you’ve eaten, you can take a tea tray into the sunroom. Rodney’s friend would like to meet you.”
Aggie’s stomach lurched. “Mrs. Bradley, does this not seem a bit . . . improper to you?” she asked.
“There’s plenty improper about Rodney’s friends, I’ll tell you. But I don’t imagine a few minutes will harm you. Rodney has his heart set on it,” Mrs. Bradley added.
When Aggie finished her lunch, she took the tray to the bright glassed-in sunroom just off the sitting room. This room was too cold to be used in winter, but during spring cleaning Aggie had washed all the windows and carried in every plant in the house. It was lovely and, in spite of her apprehension, it pleased Aggie to be there. In any case, she was sure these young men would quickly tire of her company.
Rodney’s friend was sitting in a big, wing-back chair facing away from Aggie. She put the tea tray down on the table before glancing quickly in that direction: What she saw surprised her so much she was glad she’d already put the tray down. There sat a girl about her own age. She was small, almost as small as Aggie herself, but softly plump. Her thick, chestnut-brown hair was short and curly. She had rosy cheeks, a small, upturned nose, and lively brown eyes.
“Agnes,” Rodney said, “I would like you to meet my friend, Rose Chandler. Rose, this is Agnes Maxwell, of whom you have heard.”
The girl named Rose smiled and pointed to a chair near her. “Oh, please sit down. It’ll be okay. Mrs. Stockwood’s out and Rodney’s good at getting what he wants from Mrs. Bradley.” She laughed. Even though she was teasing Rodney, Aggie noticed there was no malice in her laughter.
Aggie glanced at Rodney, who nodded, so she sat down.
Rose had been curled up in the big chair, but she unfolded now to pour tea. She was wearing a lovely, light blue frock and silk stockings. A rope of blue glass beads tinkled musically when she moved. She poured the tea with the careless grace of someone who had never once hurried to a command. She turned to Aggie as if she were a guest in the Stockwood house.
“Milk and sugar?” she asked.
Aggie glanced at Rodney again. Surely she could be let go for this.
Rodney seemed to read her mind. “Don’t worry,” he said, “Rose is right. Mrs. B. never gets angry with me.”
“Neither does anyone else, Roddy,” laughed Rose. “That’s half the trouble.” She handed Aggie a tea cup and turned to face her. “Rodney told me you came all the way from Scotland by yourself. Gee, that was brave. Was it exciting?”
Aggie remembered lying on the bunk in the cabin, sick for days. “Not really, miss.”
“Oh, can’t you call me ‘Rose’?” she asked. She made it sound as if Aggie would be doing her a favour. When Aggie hesitated, she said, “How old are you?”
“Seventeen, miss.”
“Well, so am I. I don’t like being called ‘Miss Rose’ by someone my own age.”
Aggie wondered how she could make herself understood to this girl, who thought it would be exciting to come to Canada as a domestic.
“If I call you ‘Rose’ now, no one would mind. But if I forget, and call you ‘Rose,’ or call Mr. Rodney by his name in front of his parents, I might be in for trouble. Do you see?”
Rose laughed. “Oh, we’d never let that happen, Agnes.” Aggie saw she could not make Rose understand. But it was so nice to be sitting in the sunroom instead of cleaning it. So pleasant to be holding one of Mrs. Stockwood’s best cups filled with hot tea instead of warm dishwater. She silently forgave Rose and Rodney for the things they didn’t know and could not even imagine about her life.
“Now, tell me about the watch,” Rose said.
Aggie told the story, knowing that Rose had already heard it from Rodney. Nevertheless, Rose listened on the edge of her chair, giving Aggie her full and rapt attention.
“Just like something in a novel,” she said when Aggie finished. “What a close call! I’d be furious if anything like that happened to me. Weren’t you angry?”
Aggie shook her head. “I might have been if I’d been sent away, but it happened so fast. After, I was only relieved.”
“Well, that’s because you’re so sweet,” Rose said. “Rodney told me you were.”
Rose seemed to want to know everything about her.
Aggie found herself speaking more freely even than she had with Emma’s friends. She told Rose the story of Jen and Callum and the collection plate (leaving out the children’s punishment, of course). Rose laughed and laughed, delighted as a child.
“It must be swell to have so many younger brothers and sisters,” she said with a sigh. “I only have one older brother and he’s as dull as dishwater.”
“Your brother’s going to be a very successful lawyer,” Rodney said gently.
“See?” Rose said to Aggie. “What could be duller than that?”
When Aggie finally left the sunroom, she felt as if she had been on a holiday.
That evening, as Aggie was clearing away the supper dishes, she heard Mrs. Stockwood say to Rodney, “Was Rose Chandler over this afternoon?”
“Yes, Mother,” Rodney replied.
“Back from her aunt’s in Buffalo, is she?”
“Oh, so that’s where Rose was,” Mr. Stockwood said, “I wondered why we hadn’t seen her before. She usually shows up a few minutes after Rodney arrives.”
“Now, Father,” Rodney said.
“Poor Rose,” Mrs. Stockwood said. “You can’t blame her for wanting to get away from her own house. When was the last time old Nate Chandler had a party? And that Bobby Chandler—I never met a duller young man.”
“Nothing dull about Bobby,” Mr. Stockwood said. “The boy’s as sharp as a tack.”
“Perhaps in the boardroom, dear,” Mrs. Stockwood replied, “but not in the ballroom.”
Aggie took the dishes into the kitchen, wondering how anyone could possibly feel sorry for Rose.
Now the house took on new life. Rose came almost every day. She listened to music on the Victrola with Rodney and they played croquet on the lawn, or sat reading books together. Rose devoured romance novels like candy. One day, while Aggie was dusting, she heard Rodney tease her about them.
“I could lend you a nice George Eliot, Rose. You don’t have to read such trash. The slang you pick up from those romances makes you sound like a waitress sometimes.” He tipped the book forward and read the title. “Destiny’s Desire. It doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does too, Roddy. The main character is a girl named Destiny. I like romances. You always know there’s going to be a happy ending, no matter how hard things seem. What’s wrong with that?” Rose pushed her lower lip out like a child. Suddenly, she looked much younger than seventeen.
Rodney wasn’t really capable of being angry. “Nothing at all, I suppose,” he said, and they went back to their books.
Rose seemed to take a special interest in Aggie. She always made a point of finding Aggie and talking to her for a few minutes. Unlike Emma’s friends, she never tried to prove she knew more than Aggie did. Aggie began to look forward to seeing her.
Then, one Saturday morning, just as the weather turned hot, Rose came to play croquet. The big lawn at the back of the house was neatly mowed now by a gardener who came every week. Wire croquet hoops had been set out in a pattern under the trees, and Rodney and Rose spent hours knocking coloured wooden balls around with coloured wooden mallets. It seemed like a silly pastime to Aggie but they certainly enjoyed themselves. Their laughter often drifted in through the open windows.
Today Aggie sat at the dining room table, polishing the silver. Mrs. Stockwood had an endless store of silver and Aggie spent most of every Saturday morning polishing it. She liked a job that let her sit down, but the blackened silver polish was messy. Today, the massive double doors between the dining room and the sitting room were open to let the air circulate. Mr. and Mrs. Stockwood sat in the sitting room, looking at magazines and newspapers, sometimes reading interesting bits aloud to one another. Aggie listened to them while she worked.
Suddenly, the swinging door to the kitchen burst open and there was Rose, breathless and laughing.
“Teddy Caldwell just came to play croquet, Mrs. Stockwood,” she called into the sitting room, standing by Aggie. “No one else showed up. It’ll be more fun if we play in pairs. Couldn’t Agnes play, please?”
Aggie saw the look that Mr. and Mrs. Stockwood exchanged. This was an outrageous request.
“Oh, miss, that’s not possible,” Aggie said. She knew this was the right thing to say, but as she spoke she realized how much she longed to join the fun. She was sure there wasn’t a hope, though.
Mr. Stockwood spoke. “Rose, I hardly know what to say . . .”
“Then just say yes, dear,” Mrs. Stockwood said. “If it will make you happy, Rose.”
Rose didn’t give them a chance to change their minds.
She snatched the polishing cloth from Aggie’s hand and helped her to her feet.
“Come on, Agnes,” she said, “that old silver will have to wait.” And Rose hustled her into the kitchen.
“Wash those hands and get that apron off,” Rose bossed Aggie as if she were talking to a child. This thought must have showed on Aggie’s face. “I mean ‘please,” Rose added hastily. “Oh, this is great! I’ve been trying to think of a way to get you out with us for weeks. This is swell!”
Aggie washed her hands, took off her headband, and smoothed her hair. As she stepped out on the lawn, under the high green canopy of maples, she wished, just for a moment, that she could be wearing a pretty linen dress like Rose’s instead of her drab, black uniform. But a fresh breeze took the heat from the air, and Aggie felt almost perfectly happy.
“Me and Teddy against you and Agnes,” Rose said to Rodney.
“Do you know how to play?” Rodney asked.
Aggie shook her head. “You’re not likely to win, playing with me,” she said.
“Rose has won already, as far as she’s concerned,” Rodney said. “Getting you out here was the object of her game. I didn’t think she could. Now here’s your mallet. Let me show you how to play.”
Teddy Caldwell was a handsome boy, but painfully shy.
He said practically nothing. In contrast, Rose and Rodney were like a couple of butterflies. They were everywhere. They knew the layout of the hoops (or wickets as Rodney called them) extremely well, and played hard. Aggie played badly at first, but halfway through the game she began to catch on. When she caught up with Rose, Rodney showed Aggie how to put her foot on the ball and hit it with her mallet, blasting Rose’s ball under some shrubs and out of the game. Aggie was afraid Rose might be angry, but she just laughed. In the end, Aggie and Rodney won by a healthy margin.
“Your punishment,” Rodney joked, “for recruiting Agnes away from the silver.”
“Not on your life,” Rose replied. “We haven’t had this much fun all week.”
Aggie glanced towards the house and saw Mrs. Bradley’s face in the kitchen window. “I really must get back to work now,” she said. “It’s almost time for lunch and the table’s still covered in silver.” She turned to Rodney. “Thank you,” she said.
“Rosie engineered this, not me,” Rodney said. “But I’m glad she did.” And Aggie ran back to the house.
Mrs. Bradley looked so grim, Aggie was reminded of her first weeks in the Stockwood house. “You’d better bring the silver in here” she said. Aggie obeyed. She settled down to work, rubbing harder than usual to make up for the time she’d missed. Mrs. Bradley’s disapproval was palpable. Aggie waited for the lecture.
“It may be all right for Rodney and Rose, taking you away from your work, making you feel as if you’re someone you can’t be. But folks like us have got to know our place. Try to be someone you’re not and no good will come of it,” Mrs. Bradley said. To Aggie’s surprise, there was no anger in her voice, just resignation, perhaps even concern.
“Now I’ll set the table for lunch,” Mrs. Bradley said, “seeing as how you’re so far behind here.” Setting the table was Aggie’s job.
Aggie worked on the silver. The croquet game had been fun. Thursdays with Emma were not. When had Aggie last had fun? Maybe not since she’d come to Canada. What Mrs. Bradley said was true. Aggie worked hard, Rose never lifted a finger and that was that. No one would wave a magic wand and transform Aggie into a princess.
A burst of laughter carried in through the kitchen window. The blackened silver polish worked its way under Aggie’s nails.
“I wish,” she whispered under her breath, “that I could have some fun. I wish I was Rose.” It seemed to Aggie that this wish, once spoken, should make her resent or dislike Rose. It didn’t. Aggie knew that Rose would wish the same for her, if wishing helped. She sighed and gathered the silver for rinsing.
A few weeks later, Mrs. Bradley asked Aggie to get the suitcases out of Mr. and Mrs. Stockwoods’ bedroom closet. “Just the two smaller ones. This is a weekend trip. They’re going to Quebec City for their wedding anniversary.”
“Oh, I remember Quebec City from the train. Will they stay in that castle?”
Mrs. Bradley laughed. “If you mean the Chateau Frontenac, yes.”
For the next week, Mrs. Stockwood was rarely seen without a hatbox or a dress in her hand. New gloves and shoes were ordered and the closet was emptied as she decided what could be packed and what would need to be replaced. There was lots of extra ironing to do.
Aggie heard Rodney complain one afternoon as she brought a tray of lemonade into the garden.
“Thank heaven Mother almost never travels. If this is a weekend in Quebec City, can you imagine what Europe would involve?”
Rose sat with her feet up, fanning herself ineffectually with a badminton racquet. The last time the lawn was mowed, Rodney and Rose had switched from croquet to badminton, which was all the rage this summer.
“Oh, lemonade. Thanks a million, Agnes.” She took a frosted glass from Aggie’s tray. “I think it’s great that your mother’s getting away,” she said to Rodney. “Your father works too hard, just like my dad. They’re so dull.” Rose sighed. Then she sat up, suddenly alert. “How long will they be gone, Roddy?” she asked.
“Just Friday to Monday afternoon,” Rodney said. “Rose, I know that look and it means trouble.” He grinned. “I can almost hear the wheels going round. What’s up?”
Aggie realized she’d probably stayed as long as she could. She started to turn back to the house, but Rose said, “No, Agnes, wait. There’s a big dance at the Palais Royale Saturday night. Have you ever been there? Down at the Sunnyside Amusement Park?”
Aggie shook her head.
Rose leaned towards Rodney. Her eyes shone with excitement. She whispered loudly. “We have to take Agnes dancing Saturday night. We’ll never have another chance like this. Oh Roddy, please?”
Aggie expected Rodney to nip the idea in the bud.
Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. “Rose, what a wicked idea.”
To Aggie’s surprise, she found her voice. “But I canna go.”
“And why not?” There was a dare in Rose’s question. “Why shouldn’t you have some fun? You’re just as pretty and nice as any of the girls I know. But all you ever do is work. It’s not fair. Oh, let us take you dancing, Agnes. It’ll be so much fun.”
“But I’ve no evening dress . . . I’ve no fancy shoes. And Mrs. Bradley will never approve,” Aggie protested. But she wasn’t serious. She was sure anyone could hear how much she really wanted to go.
“Just leave it to us,” Rose said, dismissing Aggie with a wave of her hand. “Run along now before Mrs. B. wonders where you are.”
Aggie turned back to the house. Once again, even though they were the same age, Rose had treated her as if she were a child. But Aggie hardly noticed. She had butterflies in her stomach, but at the same time she couldn’t stop smiling. Rose was right. Why shouldn’t Aggie have a little fun?
Mrs. Bradley noticed the smile. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” she said as Aggie entered the kitchen. “What are those two up to out there?”
Aggie quickly tried to look more serious. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. Bradley, nothing at all.”
Now Mrs. Stockwood’s excitement over the trip was mingled with the conspiracy to take Aggie dancing. The house, which had seemed so staid and dull to Aggie during the winter, was filled with an undercurrent of anticipation. The air almost crackled as Aggie flew through her chores with unusual energy.
