Dance

Southampton
“One, two, three. One, two, three,” Mildred Westmoreland counted as she traced Meg’s steps around the room. “Good, now remember to hold your arm up. It must be stiff. That’s it.”
The sound of cheerfulness in her mother’s voice was not only surprising but refreshing. Ever since her mother had decided that she would teach Meg to dance herself a few months ago, they’d spent quite a bit of time together each afternoon. Though Ms. Strickland had insisted that she knew all of the dances Meg was sure to encounter once she began attending balls on a regular basis, Mrs. Westmoreland had been appalled at the poor quality of her instruction and had taken over the duty almost immediately. She had explained to her daughter that very afternoon, “As a young lady, I was renowned for my dancing skills. No daughter of mine will embarrass herself at a ball.”
While it had been odd at first—after all, Meg hadn’t spent more than ten minutes outside of a meal time with her mother for as long as she could remember—she had soon learned to enjoy the time spent in her mother’s company. Clearly, she was quite the dancer, agile and graceful, and while Meg had never fancied herself being much of a debutante herself, the idea that she could find something in common with her mother was intriguing.
“There, that’s it!” Mildred exclaimed as Meg showed off the newest steps she’d learned, this time to the Viennese Waltz. “Splendid! By the time you start attending, you’ll be so polished, all of the young men will want to dance with you!”
“Do you really think so, Mother?” Meg asked, coming to a stop in front of Mildred. The smile on her face was so rare, Meg couldn’t help but think she actually looked pretty. She couldn’t remember the last time she thought her mother anything but stern and stark.
“Oh, yes, most definitely,” her mother nodded. “I should hope that Ms. Strickland is better at teaching proper etiquette than she is correct dance steps.”
Meg shrugged, not sure how to answer that question. Of course, they’d been practicing etiquette for years, and whenever she accompanied her mother at an event, she always tried to manage to be civil and act like the other girls. But the idea of how one was to conduct oneself at a ball was another thought entirely, and she really wasn’t sure how Ms. Strickland would know how to act since clearly she did not attend them herself.
“I will take that improper shrug of your shoulders as a no,” Mildred replied, a bit of the stern look back about her face as she clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. “I’ve been thinking, Mary Margaret, perhaps it is time we found you a new governess. Ms. Strickland has grown a bit… tedious.”
Meg’s eyes lit up. The thought of being unbound from the wretched Ms. Strickland after all of these years was too good to be true. Perhaps things were finally starting to turn around for her. “Yes, Mother,” she said, trying not to show her pleasure too much for fear it might ruin any chance at fruition.
“Do you remember the Tango?” she asked, her eyes twinkling a bit.
She had explained to her daughter that the Tango was a sensuous dance, not one that she would likely be asked to do at any ball in all of England, and yet she had taught her anyway simply because it was the most fun. Mildred explained to her daughter that she and her father had fallen in love thanks to that dance, and when Meg had pressed for more information, her mother had simply giggled and changed the subject. “Yes, Mother,” Meg replied. She’d learned it the day before, but she’d been mentally practicing it ever since.
“Good, go through the steps on your own, and perhaps when your uncle returns home he can practice with you. It simply can’t be done correctly independent of a partner.”
Meg froze. The idea of dancing with her uncle at all, particularly a dance as seductive as the Tango caused her to freeze. “Mother, I’d rather not,” she stammered.
Her mother wasn’t listening, however. She had already begun to count, doing the steps herself, so Meg went ahead and showed her mother what she remembered, gladly accepting the praise when it was offered. When she had finished, her mother exclaimed, “Yes! Very good! Though it’s a pity no one will ever see how well you dance those steps, Mary Margaret.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Meg replied, wondering why it was so important that she learn them then.
“As soon as Uncle Bertram comes home from the factory, I’ll ask him to dance with you. He’s not as talented as your father, but he can go through the steps.”
Meg swallowed hard. “Must I, Mother?” she asked, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes locked on the floor.
Mildred was giving her daughter her full attention for the first time in her twelve years, and she seemed quite surprised at the question. “Whatever do you mean, Mary Margaret? Yes, of course. What in the world is wrong with you?”
For five years, Mary Margaret had kept her secret. Now, here she was carrying on with her mother as if they were friends, as if she hadn’t been discarded and forgotten by the one who should love her most. Perhaps now was her opportunity. She knew her mother was close to her uncle and often wondered at the true nature of their relationship, but surely her mother would listen to her now. Surely, she would understand how it would make her so very uncomfortable to be forced to dance with the man who had misused her so frequently for half a decade.
“Mary Margaret, what is the matter with you?” her mother asked, taking her by the shoulders more gently than she had ever put her hands on her daughter in as long as she could remember.
Meg looked up. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, she said, “Mother, it’s just… sometimes at night, Uncle Bertram comes into my room….”
Mildred’s face changed almost as quickly as the sudden onset of happiness had overtaken her the first time she’d given her daughter a dance lesson. “Mary Margaret,” she said, the stern tone resounding in her voice more apparently than ever before. “You shut your mouth right this moment.”
Meg’s eyes widened. “Mother, it’s true. He comes into my room….”
“Shut your mouth!”
Compelled now at putting voice to the secret she’d harbored for so long, Meg’s fear morphed into indignation. Now, it wasn’t a question of should she dare to be heard but an insistence that she would be. “He does things to me… things that aren’t right!”
Before she could comprehend what had even happened, Meg found herself laid out on the floor, her head ringing, the left side of her jaw swelling so rapidly she couldn’t even catch her breath. Not only had her mother slapped her so hard she wasn’t sure if her mandible was still intact, she had also hit her head on the cherry parquet floor.
“You shut your mouth, Mary Margaret Westmoreland!” Mildred screamed. “How dare you say such evil things about your own uncle. He’s raised you! Taken care of you since you were a small child! You horrible, insolent child!”
Mildred stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her, leaving her daughter lying on the parlor floor near where her father’s chair used to sit. After a moment, Meg collected herself enough to pull herself up to sitting, her hand clenched against her throbbing jaw. She felt tears stinging the back of her eyes, but they hadn’t rolled out yet—not yet. She intended to attempt to make it to her bedroom before she let them fall so that there was less of a chance of anyone seeing them, but she wasn’t quite sure she would make it.
Beyond the pain of the blow, the continued betrayal of her own mother, there was the thought that she truly was alone in all of this. Was there no one in the world who could save her? No one who would take her side? She hadn’t prayed in years, but since she was already on her knees, she offered up one last attempted plea for mercy. “Please, God. If you exist. If you can hear me. Send me someone—anyone—who will take my side. Even if I am an insolent child. Even though I’ve done mean and terrible things. Please, send me a friend!”
As she stumbled to her feet, and grabbed onto the furniture to make her way toward the stairs, she put on her brave face again, the one that said nothing they did could hurt her. Beneath that, however, she knew the truth. She was beginning to crumble inside, and if something didn’t change for the better soon, she would have to take her chances with the seamen.