by Julia Byrd
I looked at him more closely. His face was puffy, and his neck was streaked with red. If there was a human blight in the area, it was him.
“Come to dinner tonight,” I said. From my jacket pocket, I removed a sealed invitation and held it up. “Sarah will be there, and others. Be a proper father and a proper man, and let’s see if we can sort this out.”
Greeley eyed me with suspicion. “Is the witch going to be there? By now she’s surely taught my Sarah to summon the unholy heat of hellfire for their bathwater. Won’t do at all for the dinner table.”
“Mrs. Stephens is my guest. If you cannot mind your manners around her, then you will not restore your relationship with Sarah.”
His jaw shifted as he considered. Then Greeley bowed mockingly and plucked away the invitation. “Of course, Master Hood. As you like it. I would be honored to accept your invitation.”
I spun on my heel and strode away. Greeley’s eyes on my back made my skin crawl. The seed was planted, and I could only wait to see what fruit it would bear.
* * *
Maida House was a flurry of activity that afternoon, with maids directed by Juno and a hired chef from London working under the watchful eye of my mother. I tried to help, but I was soon banished outdoors. Juno gave me a wink and instructions to set a line of tall torches along the boundaries of the forecourt.
Having finished the day’s work in the cemetery, Everett appeared as the sun was sinking towards the horizon. He watched me plunge a torch shaft into the grassy verge. I twisted the pole in a bit deeper because the recent rains had left the ground soft. The last thing I needed was a fiery brand wobbling about in the slightest breeze, and a sharp smell in the air hinted at changing weather. When it was secure, I moved along five or six feet and started on the next one. Everett said nothing.
“Do you plan to help?” I asked. “Or are you only here to evaluate?”
“You’re doing fine. Take care that you space them evenly.”
I grunted. “Thank you, yes.”
“This is my first dinner party.”
“Is it?” I paused and considered him. “Are you apprehensive? It’s only a country party, with country manners. No one will comment on the method you use to spoon up your soup.”
“I hope not. Are you nervous?”
“Absolutely. Utterly terrified. I’ve never hosted such a thing before. Mother has, thank God. But the worst that can happen is you, and I report back to work on Monday morning as usual.” I shrugged and bent to retrieve the next torch.
Everett’s eyes widened. “I wish I could enumerate all the ways you are wrong about that being the worst outcome.” He lifted a hand and ticked off his worries on his fingers. “To begin with, I could embarrass myself—or Lucy might do it for me. Sarah could despise me. That corner of the dining room ceiling could collapse and rain plaster down on all of us. If anyone insults my mother, I’ll be forced to challenge him to a duel, and I’m not a brilliant shot. If your land purchase offers fail and you are bankrupted, I could lose my position at the cemetery.” His hands drooped to his sides. “And that’s all before Greeley shows up. If Greeley shows up. Even if he doesn’t, all we’ve done is shoved that problem down the lane.”
“I know. I was trying to reassure you.”
“You did not succeed.”
“I can see. All the same, no matter what happens, we’ll both work in the cemetery on Monday morning. I promise. Agreed?”
“But what if the landowners…” Everett fell silent, turned his head, and squinted in the direction of the road. I followed his gaze. A man in a plain, dark suit carrying a valise was coming up the gravel drive. The man lifted a hand to acknowledge our watchful presence.
So many tradespeople and temporary staff had been coming and going over the past ten days, I had no idea who the man might be. “Hello,” I said when he was within earshot. His slight build and face were faintly familiar, although I could not place a connection or a name.
“Good afternoon.” He stopped a few yards away and gripped his valise handle with both hands. “I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Hood.”
“On what business?” I asked. I saw his flash of confusion at my stammer, but he recovered quickly.
“None of yours, fellow,” the man retorted. “I’m hired to be a footman for the evening. Please find someone to announce me to the master of the house.”
“You’ve done it yourself, friend. Benjamin Hood.” I dusted my right palm on the seat of my trousers and extended it for a handshake. “Your name?”
The footman eyed me and ignored my hand. “Don’t play me for a fool, gravedigger. I recognize you. You shoveled dirt onto my grandfather’s coffin not ten months ago.”
“If you say so, I’m sure I did,” I agreed and shoved both hands in my pockets. His words brought up a faint memory of the man holding a gray-haired woman by the elbow. “Very sorry for your loss. Still Benjamin Hood, all the same.”
“How do I know that? Why are you out here mucking with these firebrands?”
I exchanged glances with Everett, who shrugged. His slippery grin told me he’d be no help.
“Because a beautiful woman asked me to,” I said. “Still Benjamin Hood. You needn’t stay if you’re suspicious.”
“Is there a convenient painting or sculpture of your face that I might display as proof, Mr. Hood?” Everett piped in brightly. “Or shall I simply fetch your mother for her attestation?”
“So glad you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Toth.”
Everett turned his sharp attention on the newcomer. “What do you need that luggage for, if you’re hired for the dinner party?”
The man scowled, and a red flush crept up the sides of his neck. I understood at once that he had brought his possessions in hopes there would be a more permanent position.
“Come, enough of this. Everett, if you would, please take the man to Juno—Mrs. Stephens. Put his valise in one of the rooms on the fourth floor. Assuming everything goes well tonight, I’ll have need of at least two footmen going forward. Unless, of course,” I said solemnly, “I am a gravedigger who’s taken it upon himself to impersonate the master of Maida House.”
Some moments I wasn’t altogether sure of that point myself.
The man wavered, wringing the handle of his case. “Marcus Branch,” he said finally. Something I’d said, or perhaps the way I had said it, must have convinced him. He held his chin high and stuck out his right hand. “Apologies, sir.”
“Branch,” I repeated as I shook his hand. “Welcome.”
Another footman and two maids arrived shortly after Branch, and I delivered them to the kitchen. Soon, though, I had to escape upstairs to clean myself up and change for dinner.
The main bedchamber was still nearly empty of furniture, but some industrious soul had fitted the bed with clean linens during the week. My new suit lay waiting. I stripped out of my working clothes and tossed them aside. Mother had warned me that a gentleman needed a valet, but I would put off the expense—and the fuss—for as long as possible. I spent long minutes scrubbing my hands and fingernails to suitable cleanliness. No need to offer guests a visual reminder of my years spent laboring in the dirt.
Over a starched shirt, I layered a new waistcoat the color of fresh cream. Its pin-tucked edges and gold buttons were not to my taste, but it was mostly covered by a deep blue coat I liked very well. The front was cut away at my waist, and the coattails hung to my knees. The shoulders and sleeves were tailored to a snug fit. Although it limited my range of movement, I admitted the effect was striking. With buff wool trousers and a black cravat over a high collar, I felt the part of a gentleman. If only all my guests would behave as such, we might have a successful evening.
Chapter 25: Rite of the Host
I strode downstairs at the stroke of seven. The longcase clock in the entryway was ticking again. An abundance of candles made the old marble floor shine and directed the eye along the central hallway. Branch, the new footman, was stationed by the door. H
e blanched at the sight of me in my evening attire.
“Not one to easily fall for tricks, are you?” I asked with a wink.
“Sir,” he said weakly.
“Good man.” I stopped to check my reflection in the clock’s glass, then tugged at a tight fold in my neck cloth. “Keep any curious visitors away from the staircase, will you? The upper floors are not prepared to receive guests.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is anyone here yet?”
“Mrs. Stephens, sir, went through to the dining room. Mrs. Hood and Miss Greeley have not come down.”
“I meant guests.” What was Juno, then? Not a guest. Not to me, at least. Guests come and go.
“Not as of yet, sir.”
“Good. And Branch…if anyone tries to gain entry after dinner has begun, ask them to wait here and inform me directly.”
After nodding to the footman, I started along the hall. Although the plaster needed patching, the buffed floors shone under the wall-mounted candle sconces, and the air smelled of beeswax and lemon. Guests would first gather in the library. The fire in that room, as I passed, was merry, and the bookshelves were clean. A sideboard had been prepared with punch and brandy.
The dining room, however, was empty. All the chairs and even the huge table had been removed. A faint outline on the parquet floor demarked the missing rug.
I smothered a smile and strode across the room. The connecting door to the hot house was closed, and a thin white curtain had been draped on the other side of the glass. I turned the knob and eased open the partition. Warm, fragrant air washed over me, and my eyes were dazzled by a hundred tiny points of candle flame.
Two long tables had been placed in the two aisles between the planter boxes. Juno’s plants all thrived in their new earthen beds. Tall, waving grasses in pots screened the dark corners of the space. Each table had trestle benches for seating instead of formal chairs and centerpieces of deep purple and green cabbage flowers. Lanterns filled with trios of candles hung from the ceiling, suspended on fine wires from the metal brackets that supported the glass. The last glimmers of the fading sunset warmed the western valley. A dry wind had risen as the temperature dropped, and occasional gusts rattled the multitude of panes.
Juno was there, waiting just around the doorway. I turned to face her and could no longer restrain my smile.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “You are beautiful.”
Her gown was made of a simple but lustrous bronze-colored silk. It was a brilliant contrast for the jewel-toned décor and the pale ivory of her skin. The bodice was gathered in endless tiny pleats, and the neckline curved from shoulder to shoulder. I raised one finger helplessly to trace along its edge. Juno shivered.
“You’re not surprised?” she asked. She looked up into my face and frowned, her delicate eyebrows drawing together. “I thought I would certainly shock you when you glimpsed the barren dining room.”
I reached for her hand, then pulled her to me. “I have been paying attention. I saw the work happening in here all week, so I guessed the hot house would play some role in the dinner party.”
“Hmm, yes. Good for you.” Juno pursed her lips. “I’ve been telling you to pay attention, and now I find myself vexed that I cannot fool you.”
“Do you want me to exit and reenter with more exclamation of shock?” I laughed at her piqued expression. “But this is such a wonderful idea. The room looks like a fairy king’s hall.”
“Or a witch queen’s. Maida House is cleaner than it was a fortnight ago, but many repairs are needed. I judged it unready for a formal affair. I thought we might use the hot house to our advantage and strive for a certain rustic appeal.”
“I could not agree more. Clever girl. People will be talking about our party for years to come. Next year, we shall be inundated with tedious invitations to faux arboreal luncheons and moss-draped balls.”
Juno stepped back and turned her head, hiding her face from my view. “How readily you speak of the future,” she said softly. “I am not so confident.”
“Juno, I—”
We both startled when Sarah burst into the room. Her color was high, especially against her pale pink gown, and she wrung her hands together. “Cook is complaining about the maid who’s tasked with carrying water—” Then she noticed me. “Oh, hello.”
“Miss Greeley.” I gave her a little bow. We were both awkward in our formal clothes. I recalled carrying her senseless form away from the gates at Maida Green. Juno had alerted Sarah that her father had accepted an invitation, and the knowledge must have contributed to her nerves.
Branch arrived next. “Sir, your first guests have been shown into the library.”
“Thank you.” I turned to Juno. She flashed a wry smile. Our brief interlude of quiet was over, but I hadn’t said nearly enough. “Sarah, would you excuse us, please?”
Sarah shot a pleading glance at Juno but departed.
“I must go and check on the meal,” Juno murmured.
“I know.” I set a hand on her waist, and she raised her gaze. “Whatever happens, thank you for tonight. Give me your patience for another day.”
She lifted her proud chin, unwilling to concede too easily. “I intend to extract repayment for my patience in the form of future torments, Benjamin.”
Her possessive glance was a dark promise. “I hope for nothing less,” I said.
Juno brushed past me, delivering a pinch to my flank, and turned towards the kitchen.
I was smiling as I entered the library to greet my first two guests. Abraham Wright was a man of my father’s generation and the magistrate for our area. He also owned one hundred and sixty-five acres of land that had once been part of Maida Estate. His wife was an acquaintance of Mother’s. I shook his hand and complimented Mrs. Wright on a well-deserved award in the recent parish pie-baking contest. If they remarked upon my stutter, they were too polite to show any sign of disdain.
Mother swept in moments later and saved me from running out of light talk to fill the air. She wore a high-necked gown with a cameo brooch at her throat, and she gave me a quick, conspiratorial glance. The effort of putting together the party had reenergized her, and our return to Maida House had made us feel like a family again.
As soon as the two ladies engaged in conversation, I drew Wright to one side. “I’m glad you were able to honor us with your presence this evening, sir.”
“Not at all,” said Wright in his bluff manner. His spotted waistcoat stretched over a broad chest and belly, and rather exuberant eyebrows gave him a grandfatherly charm. “Wouldn’t miss it. Haven’t been here since…Well. Since Edward’s—your father’s funeral luncheon.”
“Ah.” We stared into the fire for a moment. I swirled the brandy in my glass. “Much has changed since then.”
“True, true. Cannot say otherwise. But I think Edward would have appreciated the work you’ve done.”
I held myself very still. Part of me was offended that anyone should presume to guess what my father would have thought. But more than that, like any damaged son, I wanted to imagine he would have been proud. “There’s still much more to be done around here. The house hasn’t had major repairs—”
“No, no. Damn the house. It’ll bleed you dry, I should know. Got one of my own. I meant the burial ground. Maida Green. A nice spot, if one has the misfortune to turn up one’s toes, and you did the work for it. I told my Eleanor she can plant me there one day. Very fine place.”
I brushed a hand over my mouth to hide a smile. That was quite an endorsement of Maida Green. “Thank you, sir.” Then I reached into my coat for the envelopes stuffed in the inner pocket and pulled out the one with Wright’s name on the outside. It contained my offer to repurchase his portion of our former land, based on a review of Father’s old account books and the price Joe had received. I held the envelope between two fingers and showed it to Wright. “Take this, if you would, and consider it later.”
He took it and slid it into his own pocket. “Wh
at is it?”
“A proposition. I believe it’s fair.”
I did not mention I didn’t possess the funds to support the offer at the moment. I needed Juno for that, but we still had the unasked question hanging between us. She would have to wait just a little longer.
More guests arrived then, and I left Wright to circulate among them. There were four other landowners, three of their wives, Mrs. Toth with Everett and Lucy, and a friend of Juno’s, the tight-lipped Mrs. Hargreaves. Juno and Sarah slipped into the crowd without fanfare. The library was soon crowded. I detected no undercurrent of hostility towards the Toths or Juno.
Two new arrivals caught my eye, and I quickly excused myself from a conversation with one of the landowners. “Mrs. Roberts,” I said, and she turned her cool gaze on me. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Mr. Hood. I hope you’ll forgive my husband’s absence. I thought it for the best.”
I inclined my head in tacit agreement, remembering the sight of Everett caught in the man’s grip. The Horvaths had declined the invitation, but Mrs. Roberts was essential for demonstrating that she entertained no suspicion towards the Toths or Juno regarding the loss of her child.
I watched the interactions of Everett and his mother with the others. Were any of the people in the room biased against them, or did they give credit to the rumors about the infant deaths? Probably at least some of my guests had repeated the gossip. I stood ready to interrupt any unpleasant lines of inquiry, but Mrs. Toth was warm and engaging. How could anyone suspect that she was afflicted with some malevolent curse?
It was difficult for me to pretend Juno was just another woman in the room. She was magnetic. At one point we found ourselves standing back to back while she spoke with Mrs. Toth and another woman as I stood near a few men. I dropped my hand to my side, then reached back and brushed her fingers. Overhearing her genteel conversation with her skin secreted against mine prompted an illicit rush of warmth. Nobody really knew her but me. Only I knew how she looked cold and wet, angered, thrilled, or nervous. Even with all those shared experiences, I didn’t know her well enough. I wanted to know her bored on a January evening and sated in bed on a summer’s day and impatient for cake on her birthday. I wanted to learn the topography of her moods as well as her curves, and I wanted to eject everyone from the house so we could be alone.