The Honorable Clementine Twyford-Harris was, aside from being Hecate’s dearest friend, a rare and wonderful person, in that her presence in a room could not fail to brighten it, her attendance at a function would ensure its success, and her smile, when bestowed spontaneously, could thaw the iciest of hearts. It was not simply that she was beautiful, for many pretty girls of the town could be said to equal her in their decorative qualities. It was her sincere warmth coupled with her renowned determination to see the advantages to everything and play down the disadvantages that made her so well-loved. If a thunderstorm interrupted a picnic, Clemmie would be the one dancing in the rain. If the orchestra were prevented from attending a ball because of a snowstorm, she would have twenty volunteers singing waltzes while she accompanied them on the pianoforte. If a friend was disappointed in love, she would throw a party to celebrate their narrow escape from a boring match and line up five more suitors, each more thrilling and unsuitable than the last.
“There you are!” She arrived at Hecate’s side, her pale blond hair not in the slightest disturbed by the briskness of her pace. “I swear even when pushing that wretched bicycle you move like the wind. If you’d started pedalling I’d never have caught you up.”
The two young women embraced, Hecate enjoying the light but expensive scent her friend wore as it evoked old-fashioned roses and languid summer afternoons.
“You were lucky to find me at all,” she said. “I was on the point of leaving when Reverend Thomas asked me to see to it that all the glue brushes were taken to the vestry and washed.”
The two fell into step and continued their way down the cobbled street.
“I know you, given half the chance you will spend far too long in that gloomy place. I shall spring surprise visits often to make certain you come out with me and have some fun.”
“I enjoy my work.”
“That is precisely what causes me the most concern! Hemmed in by dusty books and ancient scribblings, surrounded by tombs, not to mention being prayed at all the time.”
Hecate laughed. “It really isn’t like that, you know.”
“Never fear, Clemmie is here! I have the perfect antidote to all that somber stuff.”
“Indeed? And what might that be?”
She slipped her arm through Hecate’s and grinned. “I’m about to show you. Come along, this way!” she said, leading her across East Street, apparently impervious to the admiring glances of the men who parted before them like the Red Sea. They emerged into the town square which they crossed quickly, weaving in and out of the late afternoon hawkers and carriages. Crossing Widemarsh Street, Clemmie steered her friend down a short alleyway at the end of which was a café with chairs and tables set up outside it.
“I haven’t tried this one before,” Hecate said. “Is their cake to be recommended?”
“Put cake from your mind,” she replied with an expressive wave of her hand. “This, Hecate Cavendish, is something new. We are not here for mere cake. This is an ice cream parlor!”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“Isn’t it thrilling? A whole establishment solely devoted to the selling of ice cream. More flavors than you ever knew existed. And look, we can sit out here and enjoy it, as if we were in Paris!”
“Eating in the street? I don’t know who would be the more furious, your mother or mine.”
“I know, that’s the best bit!”
A waiter came out and escorted them to one of the little wrought-iron tables. The young man took just a tiny bit longer over pulling out a chair for Clementine than he did for Hecate. He handed them menus and advised them regarding the various flavors and quantities on offer. After much deliberation, Hecate chose cherry and Clemmie selected candied orange. When the pink china dishes arrived they were piled high with the exotic desserts, topped with sugared almonds and tiny sticks of jewel green candied angelica. Both girls were delighted with their choices, savoring every spoonful.
“Heaven in a dish!” Clemmie declared, her eyes closed for a moment.
Hecate mumbled her agreement, enjoying the ice cream too much to speak. The last of the day’s sunshine fell helpfully into the small square where they and half a dozen other customers were sitting, so that they could indeed imagine themselves in some sunny corner of a continental city. Only when they had both scraped the last morsel from their bowls did they speak again.
“I had a very specific reason for coming to see you,” Clemmie said, dabbing at her mouth with the linen napkin provided.
“Aside from the ice cream? What could be more important?”
“It’s a close-run thing, I grant you, but, well, Mama is holding a ball.”
“Another one?”
“Another one. And you are to attend, I won’t let you wriggle out of it.”
“I never do!”
“You always try.”
“I’m simply not a … ball sort of person.”
“Nonsense. Everyone likes a ball if it’s done properly. You’ve just been dragged to one too many disappointing ones.”
“Often by you, I’d like to point out.”
“Oh, Hecate, don’t be such a grump. You can bring your whole family if it will make you happier. Charlie loves to get out of the house. You’re surely not going to deny him the opportunity for some fun, are you? No. Then it’s settled.”
Hecate felt her shoulders slump just the slightest. While she loved being in the company of her friend, the thought of a hot, crowded room, full of people she would, for the most part, rather have avoided, and hours of small talk, and being expected to dance with men she had no interest in … And yet, she was no more able to refuse Clementine than anyone else was.
Clemmie was talking about lending her a dress.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Hecate cut in, “Mother will find me something.”
“Which is exactly what I am concerned about. Really, Hecate, you are never going to find yourself a husband if you persist in letting your mother dress you. Unless you want to be the one to tell her frou-frou bodices have been de trop since the end of the Napoleonic Wars.”
“I have no wish to find a husband. How can I convince you?”
“Wishing has nothing to do with it. If you don’t find one for yourself, your mother will, eventually, foist one upon you. And if her taste in suitors is anything like her taste in ball gowns, you are in terrible trouble.”
“Just because your mother wants to see you well matched…”
“All mothers live to see their daughters married off as successfully as is humanly possible. In fact, I have the opposite problem to you.”
