The House of Happiness

CHAPTER ONE - 1835-1

CHAPTER ONE

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1835Eugenia Dovedale mounted the stairs carefully, feeling for each step with her dainty foot. She was bringing tea to her great-aunt and she was terrified of dropping the large, mahogany tray.

Great-Aunt Cloris took a nap every afternoon. At four o’clock precisely she liked to be awakened by Eugenia. There was a maid, Bridget, who prepared the tray, placing on it the silver pot and jug and sugar bowl, but it was Eugenia who was expected to carry the tray all the way up from the basement to the second floor, where Great-Aunt Cloris slumbered in her large, rosewood bed.

Eugenia reached her great-aunt’s room. She pushed open the door with her elbow and stepped inside.

“Is that you, Eugeeenia?”

She had wanted her great-niece named after her. When this desire was not gratified, the old lady had for ever after affected to be unable to pronounce the ‘French sounding’ Eugenia.

“Yes, Great-Aunt Cloris, it is me.”

“Did you bring me the shortbread from Fortnum’s?”

“Yes, great-aunt.”

“Excellent. Would you pour my tea, please?”

Eugenia picked up the silver pot and poured.

“Yes. Is that all?”

Great-Aunt Cloris peered at her great-niece. “You are anxious to escape me?”

“Oh, no. It’s just that Mama requested that I join her for tea today.”

She looked disgruntled. “Oh, well, of course, you must take tea with your Mama.”

Eugenia turned to go.

“Eugeeeenia?”

“Yes, Great-Aunt?”

“You may take one piece of shortbread. To share with your Mama.”

Eugenia descended the stairs with the shortbread wrapped in a napkin.

Mrs. Dovedale was sitting before the fire in the little first floor parlour that she and Eugenia shared. She looked up as her daughter entered.

“What have you got there, Eugenia?”

“Shortbread. From Great-Aunt Cloris.”

“Just one piece between the two of us?”

“I don’t really want any, Mama.”

“I suppose it’s from Fortnum’s?”

“Yes, Mama. I bought it there yesterday.”

Mrs. Dovedale heaved a dramatic sigh. “That I should live to see my daughter treated as a servant!”

“But I am not, Mama. I enjoy going to Fortnum’s.”

“That is beside the point. You are run off your feet doing errands for that old lady.”

“But Mama, I am grateful to her. She gave us a home.”

“A home? You call this a home? When we are given a quota of coal a day, like scullery maids? When our meals are rationed and our sherry watered? When you cannot go out into Society because the old skinflint won’t open her purse to buy you so much as a pair of gloves?”

Eugenia said nothing. She picked up the poker and prodded the fire. A meagre flame spluttered in the grate.

“If it was not for my good friend, Lady Granton, you would hardly know what Society was!” lamented Mrs. Dovedale. “You would not know how to address an Earl, or wield a fan, or hold a fork in the correct manner.”

Eugenia suppressed a smile. Mrs. Dovedale seemed to forget that it was she herself, so full of ambition for her daughter, who had long ago taught Eugenia the appropriate social skills.

Great-Aunt Cloris was well-meaning, but hers was a notoriously frugal and austere household. Lady Granton often invited Eugenia and her mother to tea and it was at these sessions that Eugenia now and then met people of her own age.

“To think I once wore satin and took tea with a Marquis!” Mrs. Dovedale continued. “To think I was once Mistress of my own house, with my own maid and a set of copper pans!”

Eugenia shifted in her chair. She knew what was coming next. A descant on the privileged life that the Dovedale family once lived in Rutland, where Mr. Dovedale was Head Steward on the Marquis of Buckbury’s estate, Buckbury Abbey.

Buckbury was one of the grandest houses in Rutland. The first Marquis had been a General, a favourite of King Henry VIII and had been granted the vast lands in the North at the Dissolution of the Monasteries.

The present Marquis was as handsome as his father. It was a great shame that he no longer lived in England, but on his late mother’s estate near the Alps. Though why he should prefer a no doubt draughty chateau in the wilds of France to the delights of Buckbury was beyond Mrs. Dovedale.

“Such a life he led at Buckbury,” trilled Mrs. Dovedale. “The garden parties in the summer – the boats on the lake at dusk, their lanterns gleaming – the huge log fires in all the rooms in winter – the carriages rolling along the drive for the balls – the chandeliers sparkling. The Christmas parties to which the staff were always invited. Your father and I were accorded pride of place at the supper table. The Marquis was such a generous host. And the last party he held there, you were invited too. Do you remember?”

Eugenia was wriggling her toes before the fire. Her slippers were worn and did not keep out the cold.

“I remember, Mama.”

How could she forget? Even if her mother was not continually reminding her, the image of Buckbury Abbey that Christmas was engraved on her mind.

Ten years old, she had stood awe-struck at the sight of the tree in the hall. It seemed to go on forever – as high as the minstrel’s gallery. Candles flickered on every branch and the red baubles glowed in their light. Far, far away – right at the top – a silver star gleamed.

Eugenia had crept up to the minstrel’s gallery and leaned over the balustrade. The top of the tree was now on a level with her eyes. Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched out her hand, trying to reach the Christmas star.

“What are you doing, young lady?” a voice had gently asked.

Eugenia did not recognise the Marquis for a moment.

This tall gentleman in a gleaming, braided jacket and elegant white gloves took her breath away.

“I – wanted to touch the star,” she explained. “To see if it was icy. Because then I would know it was a real star.”

The Marquis looked amused. “Well, I am afraid to tell you that it is not a real star. Real stars are very hard to come by. You have to be lucky and find one where it falls. No, that is a star made of silver. And I should hate to see you fall trying to touch it.”

Eugenia detected the mild tone of reproof. “Oh, I shan’t trouble to try now I know,” she assured the Marquis.

“I am glad to hear it.”

Eugenia regarded the Marquis with her head on one side. “You look like a Prince in that costume,” she said.

“And you, mademoiselle, look like a Princess,” laughed the Marquis.

It was true, Eugenia did look enchanting. Her hair fell to her waist like a red-gold mantle and her eyes resembled large, blue water lilies. She was dressed in blue muslin and on her feet she wore a pair of blue satin slippers.

“Thank you. This dress looks very nice if I twirl. Shall I twirl for you?”

“Please do,” answered the Marquis.

“Eugenia, what are you doing?” Mrs. Dovedale, puffing up the gallery stairs, had stopped in astonishment at the sight of her daughter’s pirouette.

“Nothing, Mama.”

“You were twirling. That is not very lady-like. Please apologise to the Marquis.”

“But I did ask him first,” protested Eugenia.

“I can assure you, Mrs. Dovedale, she did,” confirmed the Marquis, a twinkle in his eye.

Mrs. Dovedale took Eugenia’s hand and began to lead her away. But Eugenia tugged her hand free and ran back to the Marquis.

“Mr. Marquis,” she said, “one day I will marry you and no one else in the world!”

“Eugenia!” exclaimed Mrs. Dovedale.

The Marquis, meanwhile, regarded the little girl before him with a sober air.

“In that case,” he replied, “I shall be sure to wait for you to grow up.”

The snap of a log in the fire brought Eugenia back from her reverie.

Uncomplaining as she was, she could not but be aware of the difference between the remembered scene at warm, glowing Buckbury and this little parlour in London, with its shabby armchairs and patched curtains at the windows.

Mrs. Dovedale, as if she had been privy to her daughter’s thoughts, was chiming out the very words that had just rung in Eugenia’s head.

“In that case, I shall be sure to wait for you to grow up”. That is what the Marquis said. He didn’t, of course. Wait, I mean. What can one expect?” Mrs. Dovedale sniffed. “That Countess was determined to have him.”

The Countess had been very beautiful. A younger friend of the Marquis’s late mother, she had arrived at Buckbury a month after the Christmas Ball.

When she returned to France a fortnight later, the Marquis had followed.

He had informed his Head Steward that there were family problems to deal with in France and he would be away for some time. Mrs. Dovedale, however, was convinced that the Marquis was in hot pursuit of the Countess.

Whatever the true reasons for the Marquis’s departure, Buckbury Abbey was to all intents and purposes closed. There were no more garden parties, no more balls.

“What a paradise we lost!” mourned Mrs. Dovedale. “What a world we are reduced to now!”

Listening to her mother, Eugenia could not help but marvel that her mother appeared to have forgotten her own part in the dissolution of her former life.

The truth was, with Buckbury shut and life a good deal duller, Mrs. Dovedale had begun to chafe at her lot.

As the months dragged by and there was no sign of the Marquis, she became fractious. She began to chivvy her long-suffering husband. Had he no ambition other than Head Steward of a silent house and ghostly estate? Finally she convinced him that he was destined for greater things. All he needed was money to establish himself in some business enterprise or other.

He resigned his Head Stewardship and sailed for the gold-panning fields of Alaska.

His wife and daughter were sent to lodge with his widowed Aunt Cloris in London.

In less than six months, word reached them that Mr. Dovedale was dead of a fever. Mrs. Dovedale and Eugenia never returned to Buckbury Abbey.

“Never to return home,” Mrs. Dovedale was still rambling, moved to tears now by her own reminiscing, “never to see our ‘Paragon’ again – so aptly named, such a haven was it from the rush of the world.”

Eugenia, elbow on the arm of her chair, leaned her chin in her hand and stared into the fire.

It was ‘Paragon’ that she missed most whenever she thought of her past.

Nestling deep in the woods at Buckbury, ‘Paragon’ was the lovely rambling cottage where the Head Steward and his family lived. Climbing roses covered its walls, doves circled its eaves. Deer nibbled at the long grass beyond its white fence.

Eugenia had owned a cat called Sugar and a little pony called Bud.

She had been so happy at ‘Paragon’ with her dear Papa, so happy that she tried not to think about it.

If only her mother would not so constantly remind her!

For Mrs. Dovedale, the only route out of her straightened circumstances was Eugenia. The girl was so beautiful, everybody said so. She could ensnare the Prince of Wales himself if she wished!

Mrs. Dovedale plotted and planned for Eugenia to be noticed. Not a man with half a name for himself passed within the mother’s orbit, but he was extolling the virtues of her daughter. Not one name of an eligible bachelor could drop from Lady Granton’s lips but that Mrs. Dovedale was trying to effect an introduction.

Mrs. Dovedale would accompany Eugenia on errands to Fortnum’s for the sole purpose of pointing out Lord this or Earl that to her daughter. During walks in Kensington Gardens she would nudge Eugenia’s elbow at every haughty Viscount or Duke who rode by.

“Throw him a glance, my dear. Turn your profile to him. Step into his path.”

Her mother’s machinations made Eugenia miserable. She began to form an instinctive resistance to any romantic suggestion that her mother made.

Leaning her forehead on the windowpane, Eugenia murmured to herself the familiar words that worked upon her resolve like a daily mantra.

“I will never, never marry anyone of whom my mother approves!”

*

Seated at breakfast, reading the newspaper through her lorgnette, Mrs. Dovedale gave a sudden squawk of excitement.

“Mama?”

Mrs. Dovedale waved her hand before her face, as if whatever she had read had brought on a sudden heat. “Oh, my goodness, oh, my goodness, we are saved!”

Eugenia stared. “How exactly are we saved, Mama?”

She threw down the paper and pointed. “There. There. Do you see? The Marquis of Buckbury has returned to England and is at this very moment in London!”