The Moon by Night

by Lynn Morris

  “How do you?” Jauncy asked intently as they finished up the master bedroom and went down the stairs to the parlor floor.

  His question was of paramount importance to live-in servants; they must make their own lives inside those of their employers. Jauncy had to know as soon as possible if this was going to be difficult or easy. With his former employer it had been impossible. Thomas Rawlings IV had no interest in, or consideration for, any servant. Phinehas Jauncy was not an idiot. He knew he deserved punishment for the reprehensible incident. But his punishment had been much too severe for a longtime family retainer, and it was because his gentleman was not a gentleman at all, in any sense of the word. Jauncy had no recourse when Rawlings chose to throw him out onto the street without a thought as to what would happen to him. Jauncy didn’t think that Shiloh was that type of man, but he desperately needed to be certain of it. Asking the other servants was a surefire way to find out the whole truth, good and bad, about their employers.

  Sketes was taking her time considering, and before she answered she said rather absently with a wave of her hand, “So here’s their private drawing room and library, as you can see, Mr. Jauncy, and here’s the study. I did these rooms yesterday, and Mr. Shiloh and Dr. Cheney haven’t even touched them. They’re always so busy and on the run that these rooms hardly get used. Let’s go on down to the kitchen, for now you’ve seen it all, save that, Mr. Jauncy.”

  They continued down the stairs and finally Sketes answered his question thoughtfully, “I didn’t mean to, at first. You know, be a full-time live-in. I just took a job cooking for them on their honeymoon when they sailed on Mr. Shiloh’s ship to the West Indies. I already had a nice living and a full life, working my way on different ships, cooking.

  “But we went through so much together, and I came to admire and respect both of them so much that when they came back here and set up house, we all of us—Fiona too—just sort of knew that we were part of their lives. It’s not as if we’re their family—that’s always different—but I guess you might say that Dr. Cheney and Mr. Shiloh have made us part of their home. Why, we even have fun and laugh together. Don’t mistake me—they’re not panderers like some people who are uncomfortable with their servants. Neither are they too strict. They’re just good people. Honest, Christian, charitable, good people, Mr. Jauncy, and I decided I’d find no better place in my life.”

  Jauncy swallowed hard and said in a low voice, “That sounds almost impossibly wonderful, Sketes. Do you—do you suppose…” His voice faded away.

  Sketes looked at his face, and for the first time truly saw how young—and frightened—Phinehas Jauncy was. He had told her that he was twenty years old, and Sketes had been shocked. But now he didn’t look so much like a starving, wizened elderly man, since she had been spooning gruel with sherry and beef tea with oatmeal into him every two hours since he’d been carried in and tossed on the parlor floor.

  In a carelessly cheery tone that hit just the right note for a stiff-upper-lipped British gentleman’s gentleman, she said, “I’d bet Mr. Shiloh is glad you showed up just as you did, even on such a difficult night. The house is sadly lacking in servants. They’ve always told us they planned to add a valet, a parlor maid, and a kitchen maid to the staff. Dr. Cheney’s lately been after him to find him a valet, but as I say, they don’t just go out and hire the first person who agrees to the wage, because their servants are always a part of their home. And Dr. Cheney will be glad of you because he’s glad of you. She loves him that much, though it can’t be said that Mr. Shiloh doesn’t practically worship her.” Sketes kept chattering on in this mindless way until she could tell by Jauncy’s face that his high emotional state was receding into calm.

  They finally made it all the way down the stairs into the big kitchen. Sketes insisted that Jauncy sit on one of the high stools at the enormous oak worktable while she prepared them some tea and warmed some blueberry muffins. “Now, take today. Today is my day off, but Mr. Shiloh asked me to stay here this morning and get you settled in, like. Now anyone else who asked something extra like that, would they make it up to you?”

  “They most certainly would not,” Jauncy said vehemently.

  “My Mr. Shiloh and Dr. Cheney, they do,” Sketes declared. “Mr. Shiloh told me as soon as I feel you’re on your feet, like, I can leave; and tomorrow, instead of a half day I can take the whole day. He also asked me to go buy you some things—a couple of ready-made shirts, some small clothes, and a pair of socks,” she said matter-of-factly as she prepared a tray with butter, jam, sugar, honey, and two large mugs for their tea. “And he gave me some extra spending money for myself—he knows I do love to walk up and down the Ladies’ Mile, and now I might have enough to buy the new hat, with cherries, that I’ve had my eye on for forever now.”

  “I’m sure it would be stunning on you, Sketes. Cherries would suit your complexion admirably,” Jauncy said automatically. “But are you saying that Mr. Irons advanced my wages so that I might have these items which, I am obliged to admit, I so desperately need? That I actually tried to rob—I mean, after the other difficult night—”

  “That’s Mr. Shiloh for you,” Sketes said. “And I wouldn’t wonder if you didn’t see it come out of your wages for a long time to come. Anyhow, you look to me like you’re doing very well, so after I finish this nice cup of tea, I’ll be going on. You’ll just have to let me know some sizes and your likes and dislikes, Mr. Jauncy.”

  “But,” he said again, his wide brow wrinkling, “you mean you’re going to leave me? Alone? In the house?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she answered, pouring his tea. “Why? Are you afraid of being alone?” Her blue eyes twinkled.

  Seeing her expression, he offered her the muffin tray with an elaborate flourish. “Not at all, Sketes. It’s just that I shall be désolé, trés désolé, sans votre compagnie.”

  “Fancy that,” she said admiringly. “Such a well-spoken gent in Latin too.”

  Part II

  The Work of Our Hands

  And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us:

  and establish thou the work of our hands….

  Psalm 90:17

  Six

  In the Light of the Full Moon

  In a wild flurry Cheney rode Eugènie Le Fain into the barn of Roe’s Livery and Stables. Jumping down without waiting for help, she cried, “James! John! Hurry, unsaddle her and get her out in the paddock!”

  The two young Roe brothers jumped up and ran as if they’d been hit by lightning. “What is it, Dr. Cheney? Is Herself shot or something?” None of the Roes could pronounce Eugènie—when trying, they said something very close to Jenny, and Eugènie Le Fain was most definitely nothing like a female donkey—so they just called the fiery little thoroughbred “Herself.” At this moment she was prancing, snorting, rearing, her eyes rolling with tremendous excitement.

  Cheney, who was also breathing hard, gasped, “No, no, she’s fine. Just hurry before Shiloh gets here on his stuffy old donkey! Hurry!” Smoothing her skirt, she ran to the door of the stables and assumed a careless pose, leaning against one side of the opened double doors, her arms crossed, one booted foot cockily crossed over the other.

  Mr. Thaddeus Roe, the patriarch of Roe’s Livery and Stables, and Mr. Jack Gaines, the Duvalls’ longtime retainer, who everyone called Mr. Jack, were sitting at the far end of the stables close to an ancient potbellied stove. Their conversation had been interrupted when Cheney and Eugènie had made their entrance, and both men had half risen when they thought that something terrible was amiss. But now the two old gentlemen exchanged meaningful glances, settled back down in their comfortable cane-bottomed chairs, and picked up their coffee mugs from the floor. An old blue-spattered coffeepot was on the stove, and the delicious heavy smell of strong coffee wafted from it.

  “Yep,” Mr. Jack said with a long-suffering sigh, “Miss Dr. Cheney Duvall Irons-Winslow has done made her reg’lar entrance.”

  “Yep,” Mr. Roe agreed. The two had
been friends ever since Cheney and Dev had opened their offices just around the corner from Roe’s. “I must say, Mr. Jack, that for a young lady who rides like she’s not got her fair share of common sense, she does have good horse sense. That is one fine filly, is Herself.”

  Thaddeus’s grandsons, catching Cheney’s intent and grinning like two mischievous monkeys, hurried frantically to get Eugènie unsaddled and out the door to the riding paddock. Mr. Roe and Mr. Jack watched, nodding like two solemn old owls. “That she is,” Mr. Jack finally agreed, “for a furrin horse. Miss Victoria, Mr. Devlin’s lady, bought her for Miss Cheney’s birthday present off in that Californy, you know.” He pronounced the name of the state in a half whisper, as if it were vulgar.

  Mr. Roe, his eyes still eagerly watching Cheney and the open stable doors, murmured, “I did hear that, I surely did, Mr. Jack, but I could hardly credit it. Surely Miss Cheney didn’t ride that poor little princess all the way from the other side of the world, as it were?”

  “Oh no. She does have better horse sense than that,” Mr. Jack said with clear reluctance. “No, she and Mr. Shiloh sent their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Blue, all the way out to Californy on that new railroad to fetch Herself and that wicked old Balaam. You just watch, he’ll be a- limpin’ and a-groanin’ fit to break your heart when Mr. Shiloh rides him in.”

  “And then that old joker will be lame on t’other leg when we get him out to walk it off,” Mr. Roe said knowingly. “I’ve never seen a horse that could act as good as that Balaam. He should be on the stage, I’m of the firm belief. He can make you believe more nonsense than most of them hoity-toity players ever did, such as that murderin’ John Wilkes Booth, and you can’t tell me his brother is any better, for all his Shakespeare. Now, let me see, Mr. and Mrs. Blue…Blue, oh yes, I remember now. Mrs. Blue, that sweet-faced lady and Captain Blue from the orphanage. They’ve got that poor little tyke what’s not right, don’t they? Little angel she was, that day they came to the hospital grand opening, in her little blue coat with the white fur.”

  “That’s them,” Mr. Jack agreed. “When Mr. Shiloh and Miss Cheney got back from their honeymoon, they had to have their new house worked on, like, and they had no horses of their own here in New York, havin’ been fol-der-rollin’ all over the country and leaving horses here and there like they was dropped hankies or summat. And Miss Cheney’s two tantes in New Orleans wouldn’t send back their two horses because Miss Tante Elyse was so foolish over them. So Miss Cheney and Mr. Shiloh decided to give poor Captain and Mrs. Blue a vacation and sent them out there to the back side of the badlands to bring back these two horses. And they stayed at the orphanage and took care of that little Laura Blue while Captain and Mrs. Blue took their holiday, the first they’d ever had, either of ’em.”

  Mr. Roe nodded, now with approval, and started to respond, but Shiloh came thundering in on Balaam. Balaam reared up and pawed the air, grunting and growling around his bit as if he were in close battle.

  “There you are, finally,” Cheney said merrily from her languid stance by the door. “Eugènie and I took a little turn around the block before we even came in.”

  “Did you hear that, you old grump,” Shiloh muttered as he dismounted. Balaam immediately calmed down and shifted hard on his feet, as if one hoof had gone lame. “I’d be ashamed, you big lazy heifer, letting that fancy-pants Eugènie beat you. Huh? Oh no, no, mister, I know better. You just stand up straight, and James or John will be in here to fetch you in a minute, and I don’t want you to give them any nonsense about a stone bruise either. They know your little game as good as I do, you old swindler.” Shiloh slapped him affectionately as James, grinning, came in and grabbed Balaam’s bridle. Balaam mouthed it noisily with much slobber and followed him outside with a pronounced limp.

  “You didn’t either circle the block. You’re as big a sharp as Balaam is,” Shiloh said accusingly, grabbing Cheney around the waist. Neither of them had noticed the two men down at the far end of the stables.

  “I couldn’t be half the ham he is,” Cheney scoffed.

  Shiloh, with his hands resting on her waist, leaned back for a moment and looked her up and down. She looked stunning. She was wearing a black velvet riding habit with a black satin top hat and swirling black veil draped jauntily over one shoulder. Her cheeks were glowing coral from the icy air, her green eyes positively sparked, her wide mouth was winter-colored a rich red. Shiloh’s fingers almost touched around her slim waist. “You are the most beautiful woman who ever walked, and you look nothing like any ham I ever saw,” he murmured as he bent to her. She giggled a little but lifted her face for his kiss, throwing her arms around his neck.

  At the far end of the stable Mr. Roe and Mr. Jack hastily looked away and up and out and around until John came running back in from the paddock. “Mr. Shiloh—oh, ’scuse me. I was just…just—”

  “Caught us fair and square,” Shiloh said, releasing Cheney and grinning at the boy’s confusion. “Anything wrong, John?”

  “No, sir. I was just wondering if you were going to be here long enough to—er—show me another punch. Like you used in your fights,” he said, cutting his eyes toward Cheney guiltily. Shiloh Irons, the Iron Man, had gained some fame with his two fights in ’66 with Mike McCool and James Elliott.

  Cheney stuck her fists on her waist and said with mock anger, “So you’ve been out here fighting with the stable boys, you great bully?”

  Shiloh rolled his eyes at John. “Don’t let her fool you, John. This woman skewers me every Saturday with her fencing foil, so she can’t say much if us poor men try to figure how to defend ourselves.”

  John, a susceptible seventeen-year-old, visibly swelled with pride at Shiloh including him as another one of the poor men.

  “Pshaw. No one feels sorry for you, or that silly old Balaam either,” Cheney asserted saucily. Whirling toward the door, she finally caught sight of the two men down by the stove watching with amusement. “Oh, hello, Mr. Roe, Mr. Jack. Mother told us you were here visiting. No, no, please don’t get up,” she called, waving. “Mr. Jack, would you tell Mr. Roe about your special winter mash for Romulus and Remus? I think it would do Eugènie good. She’s as picky about her feed as they are. Thank you!” Over her shoulder as she left, she teased Shiloh, “Are you coming with me, sir, or are you and John going to stay out here in the barn and have a scuffle?”

  “I’m coming with you, ma’am. I have to watch you every minute,” Shiloh said gruffly. “We’re not staying long today, John, but I’ll catch you next week. Some night when I come to pick up the doc, I’ll come in a little early and show you my special duck-and-jab-and-duck. I’m better at the duckin’ part than the jabbin’ part….” His voice faded away as he hurried to catch up with Cheney.

  Thaddeus Roe Sr. had opened Roe’s Livery and Stables in 1752 on the corner of West Twenty-Fourth Street and Seventh Avenue. That far north in Manhattan had mostly still been forest, but on this same square of cleared land was the old van Dam place. At that stage of its metamorphosis it had been converted into assembly rooms, tavern, and gardens and dubbed Maidenfair Gardens. Down through the years, the old van Dam place had gone through several more transformations, but Roe’s Livery and Stables had remained the same. When Thaddeus Roe Sr. had retired, he left the stables to his son Thaddeus Roe Jr., who had retired three years previously and left the stables to his son Andrew. Some day Andrew would likely leave them to his eldest son, James.

  Now Roe’s served the bustling community of the Upper West Side, including, of course, St. Luke the Physician Hospital. The hospital had invested in Roe’s so that they could add the big oval paddock, special stables for the great Clydesdale horses that pulled the ambulances, and the ambulance barn. A flagstone path that led from the livery all the way to the rear emergency entrance of the hospital had been installed, and it was a well-worn path, for the Roes had become good friends with most members of the hospital staff. James and John took care of the hospital horses and even drove the ambulances i
n an emergency. Cheney and Cleve gave the entire family free medical care. Oddly, though Thaddeus had been best friends with Old Mr. Pettijohn, Dr. Marcus Pettijohn’s father, Marcus never visited with any of the Roes and never offered medical care to them.

  After his father died, Dr. Marcus Pettijohn never moved back upstairs in the small flat above the apothecary shop where he had grown up. When he had been given his post at the hospital, he had sold the shop to old Mr. Roe and his wife, Helen. The older couple lived right next to the livery now, and James and John stayed upstairs in the flat. It had worked well for everyone, since Andrew had four other children in a farmhouse up on Fortieth Street. But still, Dr. Pettijohn acted as if he had never known the Roes or even remembered the quaint little apothecary shop that he had been born in and grown up in and worked in.

  Shiloh was thinking of Dr. Marcus Pettijohn as they walked up the path toward the hospital. He looked back at the tidy little cottage, remembering Mr. Pettijohn, a kind, hardworking old man who had taken every opportunity to mention his son when he was attending medical school in Paris. The snow blanketed the cottage now and the herb garden that had supplied Mr. Pettijohn with so many of the ingredients of his very own prescriptives. Idly Shiloh wondered if any of those had been saved by Dr. Pettijohn. In particular Shiloh recalled a eucalyptus and menthol liniment that had proved to be very soothing on Shiloh’s hands, which often were sore because he continually trained in the pugilistic arts just to keep healthy and strong.

  “Is Dr. Pettijohn the doctor on call this weekend?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Cheney answered. “Why?”

  “I’ve never met him,” he said thoughtfully as she entwined her arm in his.

  “You haven’t?” she said with surprise. “I had no idea…but wait, you must have met him at the grand opening. Perhaps you’ve just forgotten.”