by Jocelyn Kirk
“Mr. Coakley, I am extremely glad to see you at this moment! It occurs to me I am now the mistress of a household, and I have never in my life been called upon to make decisions or supervise a household staff!”
“My dear, give yourself a bit of time to grieve before you worry over such things.”
“But I must…think…I have so much to do! Oh, I’m so very glad you came, Mr. Coakley! Very glad indeed!” A sudden onset of vertigo made her stumble, and she fell into Mr. Coakley’s arms, sobbing.
“There, there, my dear. Do not ruin your pretty face.”
Elena covered her face with a handkerchief and stepped away to recover herself. “Pray forgive me, sir. Please excuse me for a few minutes to freshen myself.”
But Mr. Coakley replaced his tall hat and prepared to leave. “I must return to the offices of Coakley and Smythe, Miss Bellwood. But I will call again in a few days, with your permission, and bring your mother’s will. We shall look it over together. We have much to discuss, and you are not in a fit state for such matters this morning.”
Elena curtsied, one quivering arm holding the back of an armchair. Mr. Coakley turned to go but paused.
“Tomorrow you will of course receive many friends who will come to pay their respects to dear Mrs. Bellwood…and the day after that will no doubt be the funeral…so let us say Thursday for the reading of the will. Does that suit you?”
“Yes…certainly. You will call during the morning?”
“Yes. Miss Bellwood, pray keep a maid near you. You must avoid the danger of a swoon.”
“I will,” she replied, trying to command her quavering voice.
He bowed and left the room. Elena stepped to her own room to change her frock and wash her face. When she returned downstairs, Catlett, the butler, informed her that her message to the duke had been delivered.
“His Grace,” said Catlett, “expressed his deep condolences and spoke a wish of being admitted within a week or two.”
Elena nodded. “Thank you, Catlett.”
“Forgive the liberty, miss,” said the soft-spoken Catlett, “but Bella and I…we are glad of the duke’s attentions to you. Soon you will have a wealthy husband, miss, and he will take care of you and help you through every difficulty.”
“I do hope you are correct, Catlett.” She sighed. “I feel so alone, as though I’ve been thrown into a cold, dark sea.”
The next two days were so busy that, had Elena been at leisure, she would have felt herself too grief-stricken to cope with the many matters thrust at her. But she was now the mistress, and every household decision must involve her, from the dishes to be served to the choice of her mother’s burial gown. The first day after her mother’s death was a haze of visitors, and she was grateful for the efforts of her mother’s well-trained servants in dealing with the constant flow of people.
Early in the day, Catlett admitted Miss Prudence Carville, Elena’s closest friend.
“Oh, Prudence!” Elena cried at sight of her friend. “Come into the parlor. Let us have a bit of chat before the doorbell rings again! I am so very pleased to see you.”
Prudence settled gracefully into a chair, smoothing the silk skirts of her rose-hued gown. She accepted tea from Willa and then turned to her friend.
“My dear Lanie, how glad I am that you are about to become engaged. You must be so frightened in these circumstances!”
Elena forced a smile. “I wish my affairs were as settled as yours. You are already engaged to Mr. Wendell Prudie, whereas I must wait for the duke to speak.”
Prudence nodded. “He will no doubt delay a few days out of sensibility toward your mother.”
“What if he decides not to marry me? What would I do? Imagine if your mother and father died and you had no Mr. Prudie in your future!”
“Well, at least,” replied Prudence lightly, “if such a thing happened, I would not be about to acquire the ridiculous name of Prudence Prudie.”
This made Elena smile, for the two girls had laughed over the name on many occasions.
“Mr. Prudie is an amiable man,” added Prudence, “and he has the one asset I was seeking—a great deal of money! But he is not the only man of my acquaintance who would make a suitable husband.”
“You have the beauty to command the affections of any man you choose,” said Elena with a touch of envy. “You are small and delicate, and your eyes are like a startled doe’s. Your complexion seems carved of white marble, and your hair is dark as night. You are the princess Snow White in the fairy tale.”
“Silly words,” replied Prudence, “coming from a golden-haired goddess such as yourself. The Duke of Simsbury was immune to the efforts of every other deb and her mama. Only you, my darling, could spark his interest.”
The word “mama” caused Elena to apply her handkerchief to her eyes.
“My dear, I am sorry!” cried Prudence, moving to the settee and taking Elena’s hand. “Your loss has been great, but I am certain that the duke will arrive soon and answer every wish of your heart.”
The doorbell rang. Elena straightened her dress and wiped her eyes. “Stay with me, Prudence, please, just for today.”
“Of course I will stay with you. Come, I will greet each visitor with you.”
Elena was greatly cheered by having Prudence with her through the difficult day. Many visitors, especially Mrs. Bellwood’s own personal friends, wished to view the body. Upon this request, Catlett would conduct them with solemn dignity to the unheated chamber where Mrs. Bellwood lay. Elena could not bring herself to go in. She had said her last goodbyes to her mother the night before, and her wish now was for the funeral to take place and her mother to be laid peacefully away from prying eyes.
Prudence left her just before dinner, after all the other visitors had departed. Their final embraces brought on more tears, and Elena went to her room, unable to eat and suffering a painful headache. Sleep did not come easily, but finally, after tossing about for several hours, she slept deeply and awakened to morning sunshine.
Consciousness brought a return of grief, but she had no time to indulge it. Willa knocked on her chamber door shortly after she awakened, bringing warm wash water, towels, and a freshly ironed dark-blue frock. Elena took care with her preparations, for she felt certain she would see the duke at the funeral service. He had not called yesterday, but that had no doubt been out of concern for her newly acquired orphan state—not a fit time for furthering a courtship, was likely his reasoning.
A few hours later, the funeral party had gathered in the street for the procession to the graveyard. Elena scanned the carriages lined up to follow the bier. Horses stamped and shifted and breathed steam into the cold air, while drivers called out to them to whoa or stood at their heads to calm them. Men in black and women in dark bonnets peered from the isinglass windows of the closed carriages, while others wrapped fur robes about themselves in open curricles and gigs. The dark, bare branches of the overhanging elms gave a skeletal look to the somber scene, and Elena wept quietly in the funeral carriage as the coffin containing her mother’s remains was carried from the house.
By the time the procession had left Hegler Avenue, the sun had been obscured by dark clouds and snow flurries were hurrying on the wind. The coachman urged the horses to a trot, but still it seemed to Elena that centuries passed before they had all finally driven through the iron gates into the cemetery grounds and were assembled for the short service.
The Reverend Parsley had brought his boys’ choir with him, and the children sang hymns as the coffin was carried inside the Bellwood vault. Once the vault door had been closed and locked, Reverend Parsley spoke a few words about Mrs. Bellwood’s being happily seated at the side of God, but he kept it short, for the snow was thickening and everyone was cold. The little boys were blowing on their hands while he spoke, but they dutifully resumed their singing at his signal. Their sweet, high voices floated through the wind-driven clouds of snow and over the dark gray statues and stones that each marked the re
sting place of a person who was gone forever. Elena, as she was helped into the carriage and driven away, felt that the sad notes would stay in her heart for the rest of her life.
Whether the duke had attended the funeral, Elena could not determine. She had not seen him, but a great many people were in attendance and her veil partially blocked her vision. He had not come to the house to pay his respects afterward, as many others had, but this was perhaps not surprising because of the snow. The weather was useful in driving visitors away quickly, and for this Elena was grateful. She had a desperate need to be alone. When everyone was gone and the house quiet and empty, she told the servants to take the afternoon and evening off. They quietly repaired to their own areas of the house, and she was then free to wander about the empty rooms and think her own thoughts without interruption. She made herself a small dinner of bread and butter and watered wine, and the simple repast comforted her. Tomorrow, she must face new duties and challenges, but today she could rest.
Chapter Three
The Will
The next morning Elena slept late and then loitered in her chamber reading sad poems of love and loss. She had allowed Willa to leave a breakfast tray but ate little.
A great deal of snow had fallen during the night, and Elena felt certain that Mr. Coakley would defer his visit. However, at ten sharp the doorbell chimed, and Catlett’s footsteps sounded as he answered the door, followed by the unmistakable hearty tones of Phineas Coakley. She was dressed, but Willa was still doing her hair, and she was obliged to send her to beg Mr. Coakley to rest in the parlor and warm himself at the fire for a few minutes.
When Elena descended the staircase, however, she found Mr. Coakley in the kitchen with the servants. When she entered the room, he appeared to be in deep consultation with Bella and Catlett. Catlett stepped back on her entrance, and all three looked rather guilty, as if she had caught them talking about her. She waited for an explanation, but the servants slipped away to their duties. Coakley took her arm and led her to the parlor as if she were an invalid.
“Mr. Coakley,” Elena said, as she seated herself, “I did not expect you in this vile weather, and I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting.”
Coakley settled himself in a wing chair with his great portfolio spread across his ample lap. “It is of no account, my dear Miss Bellwood. Perhaps I should have deferred my visit…but…as things stand, I have some justification for haste.”
“What do you mean? Are you going on a journey?”
“No, no, my dear.” Coakley set his portfolio on the carved rosewood table next to his chair and faced her.
“Miss Bellwood, in my career as a solicitor, I have had to occasionally give good people very bad news, and it is a duty I despise. However, it is best to simply state the facts and have done. I have no way to alleviate the pain of what I am about to tell you…but tell you, I must.”
“Mr. Coakley, what on earth do you mean?”
“My dear…you are penniless. Your mother placed liens on everything in order to remain in this house until you were safely wed. You have no estate to inherit; creditors will take it all.”
Elena stared at him, feeling a tremor pass through her body. For a few moments, the shock of his words silenced her.
“But…my mother told me only part of the property was mortgaged and the rest was clear…and the furnishings and paintings have value also, do they not?”
“Yes, certainly they do, but I have learned in the last two days that she borrowed against them. She knew I would not have approved—nor did I approve of the mortgage—so she took out a private loan and used all her remaining property—even including most of her jewelry—as collateral.” He breathed deeply and continued. “I believe, Miss Bellwood, she thought you would marry very prosperously and she could then settle the debts by selling her property, on the assumption that you and your husband would provide her with a home.”
Elena sank back on the settee, looking so distraught that Coakley poured her a sherry and pressed it into her hand.
“I have…nothing? How will I pay the salaries of the servants? Where will I go, what shall I do?”
“I took the liberty of talking to Bella and Catlett. You must write them letters of reference immediately so they can obtain new positions. And you have a new maid—Willa, I believe is her name? If you are pleased with her, you must assist her in finding work. It will be difficult for her because being in a household for a very short time is a black mark on a young servant’s employment record.”
Elena had never thought of such matters before, but of course she must provide for the servants. However, she had other matters on her mind, and she sat up straight and smoothed the skirt of her dark purple day-dress. She turned slowly and faced Mr. Coakley.
“Mr. Coakley, how is it that you allowed my mother to take out the mortgage in the first place? You have been her advisor for many years. Could you not have stopped her?”
“Your question is a fair one,” he replied. “To answer it, I must go back ten years to the time of your father’s death. Shortly before his death, he had come to me to help him draw up his will. For years, he had kept the real state of his finances from your mother because he knew her whole heart was set on rearing you in New York, where you could come out properly and make a good match. He had used his savings and investments imprudently to support her dream. Do not mistake me, my dear; he was a very good man, but he made a very bad decision.”
He paused to clear his throat. Elena was silent, waiting impatiently for the rest of the story.
“When he died, I explained carefully to your mother that she could live on the remainder of her husband’s estate if she removed to a country town where she could live with little expense. A cottage and one servant in the small village in Connecticut where she had been reared would have been affordable, if she carefully husbanded her resources.”
“And she refused?”
“Yes, she was adamant that she would stay in New York, in her house, and maintain the appearance of prosperity. She told me that, as you were turning into a beauty, she had no doubt you would be well married. When that event occurred, she would gladly sell her property to settle her debts.”
Elena sighed. She had been forced to refuse her first suitor…foolish, foolish.
“Mr. Coakley, if such were my mother’s feelings, why did she discourage me from marrying when I had the opportunity?”
“Your mother wanted English nobility for her daughter. I strongly urged her to close with Mr. Fortin’s proposals when you were seventeen. He was a man of extensive means and of good character. And you did not dislike him, I believe.”
“No, I liked him very much.”
“Your mother shook her head at me and said she would wait a few more years for a truly exceptional match for you. ‘When she is twenty, there will be time for the Fortins of this world,’ she told me.”
“Dear lord…” Elena sighed. “How blind I have been. I should have asked more questions; I should have insisted on knowing the facts of our situation.”
“Do not blame yourself, Miss Bellwood. When your mother had a notion, one could not dissuade her.”
Elena stood up, and the solicitor would have risen also, but she stopped him. “Pray remain seated, Mr. Coakley. I must walk about a bit and try to absorb…all this.”
Elena walked to the fireplace and poked at the coals. She straightened the porcelain pieces on the mantel and brushed a bit of dust away with her handkerchief.
When she turned back to face Mr. Coakley, she found him opening his portfolio. “Mr. Coakley, what is to become of me?”
“Pray, sit down, my dear. I have one bit of good news for you, and this news will serve to answer your question.”
Elena’s heart beat faster. Had the duke approached the solicitor with offers for herself? She prayed it would be so. She crossed the room to the settee and sat down.
“Miss Bellwood,” the solicitor began, “what I have to tell you will surprise you a great
deal…”
Elena felt a blush rising to her cheek. The duke!
Coakley continued, “My dear, I believe you are unaware…you have an aunt.”
Elena’s excitement died as quickly as it had arisen.
“An aunt? No, indeed, Mr. Coakley. She died five years ago; surely my mother must have told you.”
“I am not referring to your father’s sister, my dear. I am speaking of Rosalie Murdoch, your mother’s sister.”
Elena stared at him. “My mother’s sister…my mother has no sisters.”
“Indeed, Miss Bellwood, she does. She did not want you to know about Rosalie—some sort of disagreement took place between them—and your mother felt it best to keep you away from her sister. But Miss Rosalie Murdoch is your aunt, and you must now go to her and claim the relationship. I have already written to her.”
Elena could not speak. A constriction about her throat made her feel like a poor fish gasping in a boat. An aunt she had never known! It was preposterous! And now she was to throw herself on this woman’s mercy? Good God!
Coakley waited until she had calmed herself. He pulled forth a bundle of papers and laid them before her.
“This is your mother’s last will, my dear. It states that, in the event of her death occurring before you were wed, you should be sent to Miss Rosalie Murdoch in Mystic, Connecticut.”
“Mystic? My mother’s place of birth? She said it was a wild, undeveloped place with wolves and Indians and—”
“Miss Bellwood, do not give way to such ideas! It is very pretty country and only one hundred miles from New York. In a few years, the steam train will—”
“No! Mr. Coakley, I must stay in New York! I must have more time!”
“Miss Bellwood, calm yourself. You have only two weeks to vacate these premises and turn over all valuables to your mother’s creditors. Removing to your aunt’s residence is quite your only option.”
“Two weeks?”
“Indeed, and I had to bargain to achieve that much. You have no time to lose. You must quickly remove your personal property from the premises so your own jewelry and clothing will be safe. You must write letters for the older servants and assist the young one, Willa. You must make travel arrangements. At this time of year, you would do best to travel by water rather than overland.”