moved away from the bed. Holding the gown close to her body, she began to dance around the room, whirling and twirling, humming to herself, imagining herself waltzing in a ballroom. The skirt of the gown flared out as she moved.
Cecily couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She was totally speechless, gaping at DeLacy as she continued to swirl and jump with the delicate ball gown in her arms. Cecily was in shock, unable to do anything. She was afraid to grab DeLacy in case the gown was damaged in the process, and so she just stood there cringing, worried about the lace and the tulle. It truly was a ball gown, full-skirted like a crinoline, and it would easily rip if it caught on the furniture.
Finding her voice at last, Cecily exclaimed, ‘Please stop, DeLacy! The fabric could get damaged. It’s so delicate. Please, please put the dress back on the bed!’
Now Cecily took a step forward, moving closer to her friend, who immediately danced away, putting herself out of reach. She continued to clutch the dress to her body. ‘I won’t hurt it, Ceci,’ DeLacy said, still whirling around the room. ‘I promise I won’t.’
‘Stop! You must stop!’ Cecily cried desperately, her voice rising. She was on the verge of tears.
DeLacy Ingham paid no attention to Cecily Swann.
She was enjoying herself too much, dancing around the bedroom, lost in a world of her own for a moment or two. And then it happened. The accident.
Cecily saw it start as if in slow motion, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
DeLacy’s foot got caught in the hemline of the gown. She wobbled. Then lost her balance. And reached out to steady herself. She grabbed the edge of the desk, still holding the gown. But as she did so, she knocked over the inkpot. It rolled across the desk towards her. She stepped back but she was not fast enough. The bright blue ink splashed onto the front of the skirt of the white lace ball gown.
Cecily gasped out loud, her eyes widening. Horrified at what had just happened, and frightened at the thought of the consequences, she was unable to move.
DeLacy looked down at the ink, her face stricken. When she glanced across at Cecily her eyes filled with tears.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ Cecily said, her voice trembling. ‘Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you pay attention?’
DeLacy had no answer for her. She stood there holding the dress, tears rolling down her face.
‘DeLacy! What on earth’s happened?’ Daphne exclaimed from the threshold of the room, and hurried forward, making straight for her sister.
DeLacy did not answer, quaking inside, knowing how upset Daphne would be when she saw the ruined ball gown. It had been chosen for her to wear at the summer ball their parents gave at Cavendon every year. Tears brimmed, and she swallowed hard, pushing back her fear. She knew she was in trouble. How stupid she had been to play around with this fragile gown.
‘Why are you clutching the ball gown like that? My goodness, is that ink? How did ink get on the lace?’ Daphne’s normally soft voice had risen an octave or two, and she was startled, her face suddenly turning pale.
When DeLacy remained silent, looking more frightened than ever, Daphne turned, her gaze resting on Cecily. ‘What on earth were you doing? How did this happen?’
Cecily, fiercely loyal to her best friend, cleared her throat nervously, not knowing how to answer Daphne without lying. That she could not do; nor did she wish to explain the series of events that had taken place.
Her mind raced as she wondered what to say. Unexpectedly, she did not have to do that, since her mother was now entering the room.
Cecily began to shake inside. She was well aware how angry her mother would be, and she would be blamed. She had been in charge.
Alice walked over to join Daphne and DeLacy. When she spotted the ball gown in DeLacy’s arms she came to an abrupt halt, a dismayed expression crossing her face. Nonetheless, Alice was self-contained, and she said in a steady voice, ‘That’s ruined! It’s of no use to anyone now.’ Glancing at her daughter, she raised a brow. ‘Well, what do you have to say? Can you please explain how this unique ball gown got so damaged?’
Unable to speak, her mouth dry, Cecily shook her head; she retreated, moving away, backing up against the window.
Alice was not to be deterred, and went on, ‘I gave you a task, Cecily. You were instructed to inspect the frocks and the ball gown, which had been taken out of the cedar closet in the attic. I asked you to look after them. They were in your care. However, it is obvious you didn’t look after this one, did you?’
Cecily blinked back the incipient tears. She shook her head, and in a whisper, she said, ‘It was an accident, Mam.’ She was still protecting DeLacy when she added, ‘I’m sorry I let you down.’
Alice simply nodded, holding her annoyance in check. She was usually polite, particularly when she was in the presence of the Inghams. Then it struck her that it was DeLacy who was responsible for this disaster. Before she could direct a question at her, DeLacy stepped forward, drew closer to Alice.
Taking a deep breath, she said in a quavering voice, ‘Don’t blame Ceci, Mrs Alice! Please don’t do that. She’s innocent. It’s my fault, I’m to blame. I picked up the dress, waltzed around the room with it. Then I tripped, lost my balance and knocked over the inkpot …’ She paused, shook her head, and began to weep, adding through her tears, ‘I was silly.’
Alice went over to her. ‘Thank you for telling me, Lady DeLacy, and please, let me take the gown from you. You’re crushing it. Please give it to me, m’lady.’
DeLacy did so, releasing it from her clutches at last. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Alice. Very sorry,’ she said again.
Alice carried the ball gown over to the bed and laid it down, examining the stains, fully aware how difficult it was to remove ink – virtually impossible, in fact.
At seventeen, Daphne Ingham was a rather unusual girl. She was not only staggeringly beautiful but a kind, thoughtful and compassionate young woman with a tender heart. She stepped over to her sister and put an arm around her. Gently, she said, ‘I understand what happened, Lacy darling, it was an accident, as Ceci said. Mama will understand. These things do happen sometimes, and we all know you didn’t intend to do any harm.’
On hearing these words, and aware of Daphne’s sweet nature, DeLacy clung to her and began to sob. Daphne held her closer, soothing her, not wishing her little sister to be so upset – and over a dress, of all things.
Surprisingly, Lady Daphne Ingham was not particularly vain. She only paid attention to clothes because it had been drilled into her to do so because of her station in life. Also, she knew that her father could easily afford to buy a new dress for her.
After a moment, Daphne drew away. ‘Come on, stop crying, DeLacy. Tears won’t do any good.’ Looking over at Alice, she then said, ‘Can the lace and the underskirts be cleaned, Mrs Swann?’
Alice shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t believe so, m’lady. Well, not successfully. I suppose I could try using lemon juice, salt, white vinegar …’ She broke off. ‘No, no, they won’t do any good. Ink is awful, you know, it’s like a dye. And talking of ink, it’s all over the desk, m’lady, and on the carpet. Shall I go and find Mrs Thwaites? Ask her to send up one of the maids?’
‘That’s all right. I’ll ring for Peggy, Mrs Swann. She’ll clean up the ink. None of us should go near it. We don’t want it on our hands, not when there are other frocks around.’
‘You’re right, Lady Daphne. I was—’
‘Mam,’ Cecily interrupted. ‘I can make the ball gown right. I can, Mam.’ Cecily turned around, stared