To Dance at the Palais Royale, page 9
Aggie almost panicked. Rodney came to the rescue. “I’m afraid my aunt and uncle went away with my parents this weekend. My parents planned the trip a long time ago—it’s their wedding anniversary. Agnes was too tired to make the extra journey and decided to remain here. They’ll only be back briefly before the train leaves for Regina. I am sorry. Now, the traffic will be terrible when the dance is over. Let’s get away.”
Bobby hesitated. “Perhaps, Agnes, you and Rodney would join Rose and me for tea tomorrow afternoon. We could take the ferry to the island. There’s quite a view of the city from there.”
Rodney started to speak, but Aggie was quicker. “That would be lovely,” she said. “What time?”
When they dropped Rose and Bobby off, the night had finally cooled. A light breeze whispered through the trees as they drove home. The streets were empty.
“So, our little sparrow turns into a goldfinch,” Rodney teased her. “I wonder, though, is it wise to see Bobby again?”
“Oh, Rodney, none of this is wise. It’s just . . . well, I’ve one good dress, an afternoon dress, that I could wear to a fancy tea. And I’m tired of spending my Sunday afternoons at the domestics’ church service. I couldn’a resist. And Bobby seems to need someone to talk to. He told me all about his family,” she said. “He made it sound very dull.”
Rodney nodded. “I think Bobby is lonely. And you’re right. Their life is dull. Especially for Rose. That’s why she spends so much time at our house. What Bobby probably didn’t tell you is that their father restricts Rose terribly. He trusts me, because he’s known me all my life. But he rarely lets Rose out with anyone else. It’s a very artificial situation. And it works to keep Rose a child. No wonder she reads all those romance novels. I can’t imagine how she’s supposed to meet a husband. I suppose he really doesn’t want her to.”
Aggie sat for a minute in stunned silence. At any other time she would not have been so bold, but tonight everything was different. “You mean . . . but I thought . . .” she faltered.
“. . . that I was courting Rose?” Rodney finished the sentence for her. He sighed. “I suppose that’s what everyone thinks. Rose knows we’re only friends, of course. My parents hope I’ll settle down soon. But I have ambitions, Agnes. Not like everyone else. I don’t want to make a killing on the stock market or run a bank. The past is the only thing I’ve ever taken seriously. I want to do advanced degrees in history. That’s why people like Bobby Chandler think I’m a fool. There’s no money in it.
“I know what I want, but I also know I’ll be poor for a long time to come. Maybe forever. It would be wrong to marry until I know I can earn a living. Still, someone with my background looks pretty appealing to the young debutantes of this city—and their mothers. I used to have a hard time keeping out of their way. I didn’t start spending time with Rose to stop that, of course. I’m fond of her and she needs a friend. But I’ve discovered that Rose does an excellent job of keeping other young ladies away. And I make sure Rose gets out. It’s not a perfect arrangement, but it suits us.”
They pulled into the Stockwood driveway. Rodney put his finger to his lips.
“Mrs. B. must be sound asleep by now, but I’ll go in the back way just to make sure the coast is clear,” he whispered. “I’ll wave a dishtowel out the back door when I’m sure it’s safe. Watch for me.” Aggie sat alone in the car, looking down at the shimmering dress Bobby had given his sister Rose. Just a few hours ago, Aggie would willingly have traded places with Rose, the princess with the perfect wardrobe, the perfect beau, the perfect life. Now, it felt good to be Aggie, waiting for the dishtowel signal that would let her back into her mousey life.
Mousey until tomorrow, she thought as the dishtowel appeared.
8
Japanese Lanterns
Sunday afternoon was bright and sunny. Aggie had no trouble pretending she was going to the domestics’ church service. She didn’t even have to worry about Emma, because Emma had a boyfriend now and almost always spent Sunday afternoons with him. Aggie was glad of that for another reason: she couldn’t imagine what Emma would say if she knew Aggie was going to dances and teas with her employers’ son.
After lunch, Aggie slipped upstairs. The blue kid evening shoes Rose had picked for her yesterday would not do for afternoon. She quietly crept to Mrs. Stockwood’s closet and traded them, being careful to take an older-looking pair this time. Just yesterday, “borrowing” shoes from Mrs. Stockwood’s closet was unthinkable. She slipped the shoes to Rodney. He would hide them in the car so Aggie would be able to change out of her old shoes on the way to the ferry docks. Aggie dressed quickly. In the navy silk dress Mrs. MacDougall had given her, she could almost believe she was an heiress from Scotland. Rodney waited in the car by the little park around the corner, just as he had the night before.
Aggie had visited Toronto Island with Emma, who liked Hanlan’s Point with its amusement park and bandstand. Centre Island had summer hotels and picnic grounds. It was more sedate—not to Emma’s liking, so Aggie had only been there once.
“We’ll go to Centre Island,” Bobby said as they met at the foot of York Street. “Hanlan’s is so crass.” The island shimmered out on the lake as they boarded the Trillium.
Aggie liked the tubby ferries with their black wooden hulls and flower names: the Primrose, the Bluebell the Mayflower, and the Trillium. Out on the water, the sturdy John Hanlan came towards them, heading from the island to the city. The Hanlan was a smaller boat, sharp-prowed and graceless. Black smoke poured from her funnel. She made the bigger ferries seem like fat, contented swans.
“Oh, the Hanlan,” Rodney said. “They’re taking it out of service soon.”
Bobby looked at him with curiosity. “How on earth doyou know that?”
“I read it in the paper.”
“Roddy remembers everything,” Rose said.
“What will happen to that boat?” Aggie asked. She couldn’t say so now, of course, but the Hanlan was the first ferry she’d taken to the island. She was fond of the homely old boat.
No one had any idea. Everyone in Canada is in such a hurry to leave the past behind, thought Aggie as the Hanlan passed. No one wants the old things. And she silently wished the Hanlan goodbye.
When Aggie and Emma came to the island, they always brought their own lunch, usually a bunch of bananas purchased at a city fruit stand for a nickel, eaten on a park bench. Now, as the Trillium slipped back towards the city, Bobby led the way to Manitou Road on the far side of the island.
“I think we’ll go to Gin’s Casino,” he said.
Aggie stopped dead in confusion. Gin’s Casino sounded like a speakeasy, a place where people would gamble and drink hard liquor.
“I dinna think . . .” she began, her voice trailing off. Rose looked at her with concern for an instant and then laughed. “Oh, Agnes, Gin’s is just a restaurant with a dance floor. They don’t have a liquor licence or anything.”
“They do have the best ice cream on the island, though,” Bobby said. As Rose and Rodney went ahead he added, “I’m sorry Agnes. I wouldn’t have alarmed you for anything in the world.”
Manitou Road, the main street of Centre Island, was so busy it seemed like the heart of a small town. The restaurant overlooked the dance floor—empty of course. There was no dancing on Sundays.
Rose wore a pale blue linen suit, her rope of pearls, blue lace gloves, and a broad-brimmed straw hat that almost covered her face completely. Aggie had no summer gloves. The hat she wore to church was so shabby she’d left it in the car with her old shoes. Looking at Rose, she realized that her one good dress, even the borrowed shoes and stockings were not enough. Pretending to be something she wasn’t was hard, she realized, almost impossible. How could she keep up with Rose? I’m glad, Aggie thought, that this will be the last day of pretending—well, almost glad. It was hard to feel happy about the black uniform and mountains of laundry that were waiting for her tomorrow.
After tea, they walked back to view the city skyline.
Bobby took Aggie’s elbow as they walked across the grass, just as Davy used to in Scotland. The harbour shimmered blue and cool between the island and the hot city. Bobby pointed to the tallest building on the skyline, still no more than a tower of raw steel girders, half clad in stone.
“That new skyscraper is going to be the Royal York Hotel,” Bobby said. He sounded as if he owned it himself. Aggie remembered how the skeleton of the Royal York had greeted her when she stepped out of Union Station with Emma.
“You seem very proud of it,” she said.
Bobby nodded. “I’m proud of the whole country. Every bit of it. The Great War is behind us. We have nothing but peace and prosperity to look forward to. With hard work and ambition, any man can make his fortune in Canada.” He smiled at her. “Will you pass through Toronto again on your way home?”
Rodney, who was standing nearby, overheard and spoke up quickly. “I’m afraid Agnes will take the train straight through to Montreal on the return trip. Won’t you, Agnes?”
Aggie realized that Rodney had decided the game had gone far enough. “Oh, aye, we’ve some friends in Montreal who’d like to see us before we sail,” she improvised.
“But surely you could stop over in Toronto just for a day or two,” Bobby said. His distress was obvious.
“The tickets are purchased,” Rodney said, “and we must avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.” He looked pointedly at Aggie.
“That’s true,” Aggie agreed. “If I were to change my plans now, feelings would certainly be hurt.”
Bobby didn’t try to hide his disappointment. Aggie realized that Rose was not simply imagining things. Bobby did care for her, or at least for the wealthy young visitor from Scotland that she seemed to be. As they went towards the ferry dock to go home, Bobby slipped a small card to Aggie.
“My address,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll write to me.”
Aggie stared at the card, not knowing what to say. She was as fond of Bobby Chandler as she’d ever been of any young man. But how could she agree to write from a place she wouldn’t be? She looked up at Bobby. He blushed.
“Yes, well,” he said, “I understand how busy your life must be.” He turned away quickly. Aggie realized that Rodney might be too late in his bid to prevent hurt feelings.
Later, as they were stepping off the ferry in the city, Aggie caught the heel of Mrs. Stockwood’s shoe in a space between the boat and the ramp. She pitched forward, almost falling, and the heel broke off.
“Oh no,” cried Aggie, horrified. She could lose her job for this.
Bobby look puzzled. “It’s only a shoe,” he said, then added, “Oh, I see, you’re worried about leaving tomorrow. Well, there’s a shoemaker in Union Station. I’m sure he’d be able to take care of it for you before you board your train.”
Rodney picked up the heel and pocketed it. “Don’t worry Agnes, I’ll see that it’s fixed before it’s needed again.” And he helped Aggie limp to the car.
Aggie looked back over her shoulder at Bobby and Rose. In her panic, she hadn’t said a proper goodbye. Bobby met her eyes briefly with his direct, open gaze. Then he looked away without attempting a polite smile. He took Rose by the arm and they turned towards their car. Just before they did, Rose winked at Aggie, but suddenly none of it seemed like a joke any more. The afternoon sun was oppressively hot. The shoe that had not broken had given Aggie a blister and worn a hole in one of the lovely silk stockings.
The shoes were still missing on Monday afternoon when Mrs. Stockwood burst in through the front door.
“Home again. Oh, isn’t it lovely to be back?” she cried.
Aggie came into the hall, willing herself to think of anything but shoes.
Rodney followed his mother with the suitcases. His father had taken a taxi directly to his office. “Really, Mother, anyone would think you’d been gone for weeks,” Rodney joked.
“Well, it felt like weeks. Please take the bags upstairs, Rodney. I’m so hot and tired. What I need is a nice bath. Agnes, please unpack for me.”
Aggie followed Rodney and his mother up the lovely staircase. She was wearing her drab black uniform again. To Aggie as well it seemed impossible that only three days had passed since the Stockwoods left. The shimmering evening dress was packed in Rose’s canvas bag again, waiting for the moment when Aggie could slip it back to her. The enchanted weekend was over. Once again, Aggie was working hard to make other peoples’ lives easier.
As Aggie unpacked Mrs. Stockwood’s clothes, she tried to avoid looking at the closet floor, where dozens of shoes were lined up neatly. She felt a bit like a murderer at the scene of the crime. Rodney had taken the shoe to be repaired early that morning, as soon as he could. He was certain he would be able slip the pair into the closet before his mother noticed. Aggie was not so sure. Every time she thought about it, her heart pounded. This will be my punishment, she thought, for leading Bobby Chandler on.
Downstairs, the front doorbell rang. Before she could leave the bedroom, she heard Rodney say, “I’ll get it.” When Aggie reached the top of the stairs, she saw Rodney holding a large paper cone that looked like flowers. He quickly reached inside, found a small card, glanced at it and tucked it into his pocket.
“Was someone at the door?” Mrs. Stockwood came out of the bathroom in her pink silk robe and padded over beside Aggie.
“Yes, Mother. Florist,” Rodney said. Aggie noticed he had turned bright pink.
“Oh, how lovely!” Mrs. Stockwood hurried down the stairs. “Who could they be from? Find the card. There must be a card.”
Rodney helped his mother tear the paper away from the flowers-pink lilies and salmon-coloured gladioli. Of course there was no card.
“Isn’t that odd,” Mrs. Stockwood said when they’d finished searching. “Perhaps I should call the florist.”
“I’m sure they’re for your wedding anniversary,” Rodney said quickly.
“Oh, of course, they must. But who sent them? And why isn’t there a card?”
“Perhaps the card was lost in transit. Linda must have had them sent, don’t you think?”
Aggie knew Mrs. Stockwood could not imagine Rodney would ever mislead her.
“Yes,” she said, “you must be right. Now look at me, in my dressing gown in the middle of the day. I’d better get dressed.” And she padded back upstairs. “Just put those on the dining room table, would you, Rodney?”
“I’ve finished unpacking, Mrs. Stockwood,” Aggie said when Mrs. Stockwood reached the top of the stairs.
“Oh fine, dear. That will be all for now.”
As soon as his mother was out of sight, Rodney jerked his head towards the dining room, then disappeared with the flowers. Aggie followed.
“These,” he whispered, pointing towards the flowers now on the dining room table, “are actually for you.” He extracted a small card from his pocket. “Miss Agnes Maxwell” was inscribed on the envelope. Aggie opened it.
“‘Bon voyage,’” she read, “‘from your new Canadian friend, Bobby.’ Oh dear.”
“Oh dear, indeed. We let this go too far. If mother or Mrs. B. had opened that door, we’d both be in hot water and you might be out of a job.”
Aggie looked at the flowers. No one had ever sent her flowers, and these were the most beautiful ones she’d ever seen. “I feel terrible,” she said. “It was so thoughtful of Bobby.”
“You ought to be thinking of yourself, Agnes, not Bobby. We still have to get those shoes back into Mother’s closet. Bobby will survive. We had no way of knowing this would happen. We were just going to a dance. The main thing is to make sure he never finds out. I’m sure mother won’t suspect a thing if you just act normal.”
Aggie tried to follow Rodney’s advice, but she kept the card in her uniform pocket and went into the dining room whenever she could. Flowers for me, she chanted silently to herself as she worked, flowers for me.
Rodney told Rose, who had to see the flowers. Rodney and Aggie managed a moment when Mrs. Stockwood, still tired from the trip, was napping, and Mrs. Bradley was busy with the gardener outside.
“Oh, it’s so romantic!” Rose said, touching the petals of a lily. “I didn’t know Bobby had a romantic bone in his body. Roddy, why don’t we tell him?”
“What!” Rodney was so loud that Aggie was afraid his mother might hear.
“No, really. He’s obviously in love with Agnes. He’d come in here and sweep her off her feet. They’d get married and live happily ever after.”
Rodney looked more serious than Aggie had ever seen him. He ran a hand though his thinning blond hair. “Rose,” he said, “this is not a romance novel. This is Toronto. This is 1928. Bobby thought Agnes was a young woman of good family, of money. Young lawyers do not marry domestic servants. I’m sorry, it just isn’t done.”
Rose looked disappointed, but she didn’t argue. And although Aggie felt her cheeks burn, she knew Rodney was right.
In her room that night, Aggie held the two cards in her hands, the one Bobby had given her on the island, and the one that came with the flowers. The flowers themselves would be gone soon. Rodney was right, of course. Bobby Chandler would not fall in love with a domestic. But what if he had already fallen in love and then found out . . . She shook her head. I’ll soon be as daft as Rose, she thought.
The next morning, Rodney was off early for tennis, before the courts became unbearably hot. It was almost lunchtime when Mrs. Stockwood called Aggie to her bedroom.
“Agnes,” she said, “when you were unpacking did you see my navy shoes? The ones with the two thin straps and the little gold buckles?”
Aggie’s heart began to pound. “Not while I was unpacking, Mrs. Stockwood,” she said, truthfully. “Did you take them to Quebec?”
“No, I don’t believe I did. They ought to be here somewhere. Perhaps you could help me look.” Aggie did, feeling more guilty by the moment. She hadn’t seen Rodney before he left that morning to remind him to pick up the missing shoe. What if he forgot?
