Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  “I’m not certain this is actually a good plan now that it’s time to see you off,” Mr. Hatfield muttered.

  “I have a few doubts as well,” Isadora admitted. “Who knew it was so difficult to purchase a train ticket, or that the station clerk would get so surly simply because I accidently asked for a ticket to Cincinnati instead of Canonsburg? I’m still a little confused why I have to travel to Pittsburgh and change to a different train there.”

  “Because that’s how train lines work,” Mr. Hatfield said, his voice holding a touch of what could only be described as panic. “Perhaps we should consider trying to hide you with friends instead of sending you out of the state on your own.”

  For the merest of moments, Isadora considered that. When faced with the reality of taking off on her own, the unwelcome truth of how unsuited she truly was to living in the real world could no longer be denied. Before she could voice her misgivings, though, an image of the Duke of Montrose sprang to mind. That image had her straightening her spine.

  “It’s a brilliant plan, Mr. Hatfield, and one I should at least try.” She reached out and touched his arm. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not as if ladies don’t go off on their own all the time to seek out employment.”

  “True, but most of those ladies have not experienced life quite as you have.”

  “Which means I have something to prove—if only to myself.” She smiled. “I’ll send a telegram as soon as I’m able, so now all that’s left to do is say our good-byes.”

  After giving Mr. Hatfield a kiss on the cheek, one he’d certainly not been expecting, Isadora climbed the few steps leading into the train car, took a seat, and then watched steam roll past her window as the train began to move out of the depot. Opening the satchel Mr. Hatfield had given her, she pulled out the newspaper on the top of the pile. Circled in the very middle of the newsprint was the advertisement Mr. Hatfield felt was best suited for her.

  WANTED: HOUSEKEEPER

  INTERESTED APPLICANTS APPLY TO

  GLORY MANOR

  MAIN STREET SOUTH—PAST BLACK BROTHERS FARM

  1 GLORY LANE

  CANONSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

  Lifting her head, she felt a bit of her anxiety fade away. Canonsburg was surely the picture of rural America, filled with lazy summer nights and fields fragrant with wildflowers. And while the small town would afford her the perfect place to hide, it would also give her a wonderful opportunity to enjoy a bit of relaxation in the country on what she was certain, given the name Glory Manor, was a most lovely estate.

  Chapter 5

  CANONSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

  Mr. Ian MacKenzie was a gentleman who’d acquired the reputation of being a savvy man of business. That savviness had earned him the respect of industrialists throughout the region, as well as earned him a substantial fortune before he reached the age of thirty. His ability to negotiate the most difficult of contracts meant he was always in high demand within the iron and steel industries. And he was not a man accustomed to taking no for an answer or having to resort to pleading to secure his way in the end.

  However, the sight of Mrs. Gladstone, the housekeeper who’d only been employed at Glory Manor for a mere three weeks, standing in the entranceway to his aunt and uncle’s farmhouse with her packed bag by her feet, had him considering falling to his knees and begging the woman to reconsider her decision to abandon her position.

  “I’m certain my uncle didn’t mean to frighten you with that chicken,” he began, earning a huff of disbelief from Mrs. Gladstone in the process.

  “It wasn’t the chicken that frightened me, Mr. MacKenzie, although I wasn’t expecting your uncle to arrive in the kitchen with a chicken that was very much alive after I asked him to fetch me a chicken in the first place. I was expecting your uncle to fetch me a chicken from the ice shed, one that was not still breathing. But, being new to the ways of living on a farm, I assumed your uncle was looking for my approval as pertained to the chicken he’d fetched.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Imagine my horror when after saying that the chicken looked pleasantly plump and would make a lovely meal for supper, I then found myself the victim of uncalled-for accusations, your uncle calling me nothing less than a would-be chicken murderer.”

  Ian ignored the throbbing that was beginning to take up residence in his head. “I do believe I told you about my uncle’s fondness for his farm animals.”

  Mrs. Gladstone’s nostrils flared. “You neglected to tell me your uncle has an aversion to eating any of the animals on this farm, which, if you want my humble opinion, is beyond peculiar. I’ve never known farmers to be squeamish about such matters, although that does explain why Glory Manor receives a weekly delivery from Henderson’s Meat and Poultry Company.”

  Because he knew there was no logical explanation for his uncle’s unusual affection toward his animals, as it was simply a curious quirk the man had adopted years before, Ian settled for a shrug and a smile. “Uncle Amos has always been a man some might consider a bit eccentric. Still, it was not well done of him to rail at you. Do know that I intend to speak with him about the matter just as soon as you and I resolve the business of you vacating your position.”

  “There’s nothing left to resolve, Mr. MacKenzie, except for you to accept my tendered resignation and to pay me the wages I’m due. I’m only thankful you received the urgent telegram I sent you in Pittsburgh yesterday and realized matters had turned nasty on your uncle’s farm. Because you’re now here, I feel free to take my leave from a farm where lunacy seems to be the order of the day.”

  “Uncle Amos is not a lunatic. He simply suffers occasional memory lapses. Those lapses, I’m all but convinced, are responsible for his behaving in unexpected ways at times.”

  Mrs. Gladstone jabbed a finger toward a window that faced the front yard. “If it has escaped your notice, sir, your uncle is currently trying to walk a chicken he’s attached to some type of tether about the yard.”

  Leaning around Mrs. Gladstone, Ian caught sight of Uncle Amos holding fast to a piece of rope that did appear to be wrapped around a chicken, one that was squawking up a storm in protest. “That’s probably just another attempt on my uncle’s part to see how best to keep the chickens from escaping from the chicken coop.”

  “Did you notice your uncle seems to have lost his trousers and is outside in his drawers?”

  Ian returned his gaze to the window, squinting at his uncle, who’d now abandoned the piece of rope and was being chased across the yard by the chicken he’d tried to tether.

  “He’s not in his drawers. Those are pants cut off at the knee that my uncle wears to swim in, an activity he tries to do at least once a day.”

  “A man his age should not be wearing short pants, no matter if it’s for swimming or not,” Mrs. Gladstone said with a sniff. “And not that this is my business, but I’ve known people with memory lapses. The best treatment for those people is to have them committed to an asylum where they’re kept away from normal folk and can’t offend innocent bystanders by calling them chicken murderers.”

  Annoyance was swift.

  Uncle Amos, along with his wife, Bertha, although she only answered to the name Birdie, believing Bertha didn’t suit her in the least, had raised him from the age of seven, having plucked him out of his father’s house, where he’d suffered immeasurable abuse. They’d given him a home at Glory Manor, fed him whenever he was hungry, and enrolled him in the local school, providing him with the education that had allowed him to crawl his way out of abject poverty and amass a fortune that would ensure he never lacked for the creature comforts in life again.

  The gratitude and affection he held for them, even though they weren’t related to him by blood, meant he would do whatever was in his power to keep his uncle out of an asylum, even if his uncle did begin abandoning his trousers and took to roaming the hills and valleys of Glory Manor stark naked.

  “Suffering infrequent bouts of confusion does not warrant a stay in an asylum,” he said sh
ortly, earning a pursing of the lips from Mrs. Gladstone in response. “But because it can be a trial to deal with a person who embraces an eccentric attitude, and I understand how my uncle calling you a . . . ah . . . chicken murderer might have frightened you, allow me to present you with what I’m sure you’ll see as a lucrative offer. If you agree to continue as housekeeper at Glory Manor, I’ll agree to substantially increase your wages.”

  “How substantial?”

  “I’ll take your salary from twenty-five dollars a month to . . . shall we say . . . thirty dollars?”

  “I think not.”

  “Thirty-five?”

  She glanced out the window and smiled, the smile having Ian turning his attention to the scene in the front yard, a scene that came complete with his uncle galloping across the grass, apparently trying to herd what seemed like every chicken they owned back to the chicken coop.

  Forcing his attention back to Mrs. Gladstone, he found her watching him with one of her bushy brows arched, a far too telling look in her brown eyes.

  He had to force the next words out of his mouth. “Forty dollars.”

  Just as Mrs. Gladstone’s lips began to twitch into what might have been a smile of acceptance, a loud ruckus came from the vicinity of the kitchen. As what could only be numerous pans falling to the floor sounded around them, Mrs. Gladstone’s other bushy brow arched to join the first one even as her lips spread into a satisfied smile.

  Realizing he might be dealing with a woman who possessed a touch of talent for the art of negotiation as well but unwilling to allow her to completely best him in a business transaction, Ian abandoned all sense of pride and decided it was time to revert to charm.

  Summoning up the smile he’d been told by numerous ladies was worth its weight in gold, especially since it apparently showed his dimple to advantage, Ian turned to Mrs. Gladstone. Taking hold of a hand she immediately tried to tug away from him, he lowered his voice to what he considered his most soothing of tones, used to seal many a deal over the years.

  “Mrs. Gladstone, please, I’m begging you to accept my last offer of forty dollars a month. I’m in desperate need of retaining your services since I have numerous business meetings scheduled in Pittsburgh over the next month. I won’t be able to leave Glory Manor if you don’t stay since my aunt is still recovering from the accident she suffered last month. And while she’s adamant that she can look after matters here without much help, that simply isn’t the case.”

  Mrs. Gladstone pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Of course she can’t take care of matters without much help, not since those four children arrived here two days ago. Granted, Birdie does a wonderful job of looking after those children, odd as they are, but she’s not capable of doing all the laundry that comes with adding four members to a household.” She narrowed her eyes at Ian. “I did not sign up to tend house and four children.”

  “If you will recall, there weren’t any children at Glory Manor when you first came to work here, nor did I have the slightest inkling children coming to live here was a possibility. Their arrival two days ago was completely unexpected and only happened because there was nowhere else for the children to go. I fully intend to hire on someone to look after them, especially since my aunt informed me only an hour ago when I arrived from Pittsburgh that she believes we need to offer the children a permanent home at Glory Manor.”

  Mrs. Gladstone considered him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I might consider staying for fifty dollars a month and your word that you will hire on someone to look after the children as soon as possible.” Her gaze turned shrewd. “I’d also like your word that after you complete that fancy house I’ve heard you’re building outside Pittsburgh, you’ll transfer me there to take up the role of your housekeeper, since I’ve discovered after coming to Glory Manor that I’m not fond of country living.”

  Feeling as if the negotiation had gotten completely away from him, Ian shoved a hand through his hair, knowing Mrs. Gladstone had backed him straight into a corner.

  His demanding schedule required him to return to Pittsburgh within the next few days, but the very thought of giving in to the woman’s unreasonable conditions left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “I cannot promise you a position of housekeeper in Shadyside, Mrs. Gladstone, because I have no idea when I’ll find the time to set the house up with furnishings. As it stands now, my new house consists of numerous empty rooms, so I have no need of a housekeeper, since there’s currently nothing in my house to keep.” He summoned up a smile, hoping it might melt a bit of the frost that had entered Mrs. Gladstone’s eyes. “But I will increase your wage to fifty dollars a month and give you an extra day off a month if you’ll agree to remain in your position here.”

  For a second, he thought Mrs. Gladstone was going to refuse, but then she gave a quick bob of her head. “I suppose that is a fair offer, but I’ll need an extra day off every week, not simply one extra day a month.”

  “You already get Sundays off, and a half day off every week.”

  “True, but I believe I need that extra full day to help me keep a cheerful disposition.”

  If Ian wasn’t of the belief Mrs. Gladstone did seem to think her disposition was cheerful, he would have laughed. But since he did have important matters waiting for him in Pittsburgh, and he couldn’t very well attend to those matters if she abandoned her post, he refrained from laughing and forced another smile.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want you to lose your sense of cheer, and because you did come with a most impressive letter of reference, I’ll agree to—”

  Before he could get any additional words out of his mouth, even if those words did seem to be sticking in his throat since Mrs. Gladstone’s terms for continued employment were nothing short of robbery, another ruckus sounded from the kitchen right before complete and utter disaster appeared in the form of a cow.

  It wasn’t just any cow, but Buttercup, his aunt’s favorite cow and one that, for some unknown reason, was meandering ever so slowly through the kitchen door, chewing something Ian was afraid might have been the pie Mrs. Gladstone had mentioned she’d baked for after supper. As Mrs. Gladstone began sputtering, Buttercup then began ambling down the hallway, swinging her large head back and forth until she spotted a vase of fresh flowers. Stopping at those flowers, she took a moment to sniff them right before she knocked the vase over, sending water splashing over a floor he knew Mrs. Gladstone had recently mopped.

  As he turned back to Mrs. Gladstone, apprehension stole through him when he found that lady shaking her head as she glared at Buttercup.

  “No, I’m sorry, Mr. MacKenzie, but even fifty dollars a month and an extra day off is not enough for me to participate in the madness that’s clearly descended on this place. In the interest of preserving my sanity, I believe it’ll be for the best if I search out employment where I won’t have to tolerate cows strolling through the house. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to see if one of the men in the barn will give me a ride into town.”

  Snatching up her bag, Mrs. Gladstone turned on a sensible heel and marched through the door, leaving Ian with a cow that was slowly munching on what had only recently been a charming display of wildflowers.

  Chapter 6

  Striding back into the farmhouse five hours later and feeling remarkably weary, although given the day he’d been having, that wasn’t unexpected, Ian stopped directly past the threshold when he noticed that Buttercup was once again standing in the hallway.

  “I hope you’re happy with yourself, Buttercup. Because of your antics, I was forced to drive Mrs. Gladstone into town since no one else was willing to take on that daunting task. And then, after I dropped her at the train station, I was forced to give noncommittal replies time after time to the local townsfolk who kept tossing names of potential housekeeping candidates at me after they realized my housekeeper had fled from Canonsburg.”

  Buttercup let out a moo around the mouthful of flowers she
was chewing, salvaged from under the table, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “What are you even doing in the house? Don’t you have a perfectly good barn to use?”

  “She’s been keeping me company, Ian, and good thing she has since I’m beginning to believe Mrs. Gladstone might have been responsible for discouraging all of my friends from coming to Glory Manor to visit. If you ask me, Buttercup did us a favor by ridding us of a most unpleasant woman.”

  Turning toward the voice, Ian found his Aunt Birdie wheeling herself down the narrow hallway in the wheeled chair he’d brought her from Pittsburgh. Her white hair was pulled into a stern bun without a strand out of place, but the housedress she was wearing hung on her frame, suggesting her appetite had yet to recover after she’d suffered an accident over a month before.

  Leaning down when she rolled to a stop beside him, Ian kissed the wrinkled cheek Aunt Birdie presented him.

  “Unpleasant or not,” Ian said as he straightened, “Mrs. Gladstone was an extra pair of hands around here. You’re still recovering after being tossed from that plow, and”—he continued when she opened her mouth, an argument evidently on the very tip of her tongue—“do not try to convince me you’re completely healed. You’re using your wheeled chair, something you only resort to when you’re overly tired.”

  Annoyance flickered through her eyes. “I’m only using the chair because I can move at a remarkably fast clip. It has nothing to do with how tired I may or may not be. I’m not ancient, you know, only seventy.”

  “You’re seventy-nine, almost eighty, and you suffered an accident that would have seen a woman half your age take to their bed for a month.”

  “I’m tougher than women half my age.”

  “Clearly, but I won’t have you running yourself ragged around the farmhouse. I intend to hire another housekeeper as soon as possible.”

  “We don’t need another housekeeper. I’m perfectly capable of managing matters on my own.”