On Renfrew Street, Day 14

Ellen and Lucas had chosen different paths, and it seemed far too unlikely that they would intersect

Tears stung Ellen’s eyes as she finished Lucas’s letter. She blinked them back, knowing that she had no cause to miss him the way he obviously missed her.

She had given him her answer months ago, when he had declared his love for her. She had told him she saw him as a brother rather than as anything more. She couldn’t change her mind now simply because she was feeling a little homesick and lost.

Sighing, Ellen stared out at the darkening sky, a few crimson and yellow leaves fluttering to the pavement below. For a moment she could imagine those trees were the stand of birches that separated the Lymans’ property from the McCaffertys’ on Amherst Island.

She could picture herself beneath them, a sketchbook open on her lap, and Lucas next to her, sprawled out lazily, talking about science and history and all of his wonderful ideas.

For a second she ached with homesickness, with the loss of knowing that that moment would never happen again. She and Lucas had chosen different paths, and it seemed far too unlikely that they would intersect.

Little success

On the night of the ball Ellen stood in front of the small, cloudy looking-glass and tried to do her hair in the loose pompadour style that Amy wore, with little success. She’d used more than a dozen pins and it seemed likely it would all fall into tangles as soon as she stepped into the wind.

It was a filthy night, raining steadily and gusting wind, and Ellen’s plan to walk to Dowanhill did not seem such a good one.

She almost wished she’d taken Henry up on his offer to collect her in his motor car, scandalous as that might have been.

Carefully she smoothed down the front of the emerald-green gown, still amazed she was wearing such a lovely thing.

A knock sounded on the door, and Ellen called for Norah to come in. Norah wore a shapeless dress of brown muslin with a velvet wrap over her shoulders, yet managed to look elegant and in command despite her unconventional dress.

Ellen had told Norah she was attending the ball several days ago, and her landlady hadn’t looked pleased. She hadn’t said anything, but had just pressed her lips together and given one swift nod.

Now she gazed at Ellen in all her finery. “You certainly look the part,” she said. “I’ve arranged for a hansom cab for you. You can hardly walk in this weather.”

“Thank you, Norah,” Ellen said, touched by the older woman’s thoughtfulness, especially considering her disapproval of Ellen’s attendance at the ball. “That’s very kind.”

“Simply practical,” Norah answered briskly. “I thought of sending for one of the new motorised taxi cabs, but they always seem to break down. People are forever standing by the roadside looking hopelessly annoyed while the driver turns the crank. A horsedrawn conveyance is more reliable, I think.”

“I’ve only been in a motor car once,” Ellen confessed, and then quickly looked away as she saw the understanding gleam in Norah’s shrewd eyes. It had, of course, been Henry’s motor car.

Distracted

“Well, I hope you enjoy yourself at such an occasion,” Norah said after a pause, “and that you’re not too distracted from the real reason you came to Glasgow.” She arched an eyebrow. “If studying art and honing your craft is the real reason.”

Ellen kept her eyes on the looking-glass, unwilling to meet Norah’s gaze. “It is the real reason,” she murmured, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Norah left with a swish of her skirts, and knowing she could delay the moment no longer, Ellen gave one last pat to her hair and reached for the silk wrap that went with the dress.

Forcing her shoulders back and her chin up, she stepped out into the night.

The driver leapt down from his perch to help her into the hansom cab, and Ellen settled against the seat as nervousness leaped and writhed in her belly like a landed fish.

It was a short drive to Dowanhill, and the McCallisters’ villa was lit up like a beacon against the night sky. Guests were mounting the steps: men in tall hats and tails, women in ball gowns and dripping with jewels and furs.

Despite Amy’s emerald gown and wrap, Ellen felt decidedly under-dressed. She wore no jewels or furs, and her slippers, thankfully hidden by her dress, were her own, worn and old, as Amy’s feet were far smaller than hers.

Murmuring her thanks to the driver, she alighted from the carriage and climbed the steps to the McCallisters’ villa.

The foyer of the house was huge, with a floor of black and white chequered marble and a chandelier above. Guests filled the space, and servants in elegant livery circulated with trays of champagne.

Ellen felt completely out of her depth.

Dismay

A servant stepped forward to take her wrap and another offered her champagne. She’d never tasted it before and she had to keep from making a face as the fizzy bubbles tickled her throat and nose. “Ellen!”

She didn’t know whether she felt relief or dismay at the sight of Henry coming towards her, dressed in a white tie and tails.

He looked dashing in his evening wear, with his hair slicked back with pomade, but his obvious ease in such fancy clothes made Ellen feel more like an impostor.

“I’m so pleased you’ve come,” he declared, taking her hand in his. Even through the gloves Amy had loaned her, Ellen could feel the warmth of his hand.

She could also feel the curious stares of the guests around her, no doubt wondering just who she was and why their hosts’ son was greeting her in such a familiar fashion.

“I’m pleased to be here,” she said, and slipped her hand from his. “Your house is lovely.”

Henry gave the impressive foyer an indifferent glance. “I suppose it is, although I prefer less ostentation. Come, let me introduce you to some friends.”

More on Monday. On Renfrew Street was previously a serial in The People’s Friend. For more great fiction, get The People’s Friend every week, £1.30 from newsagents and supermarkets.

Artwork: Dave Young