Yesterday's Dead
Page 6
“That will have to do,” Mrs. Butters said at last. “The apron will hide the pins.”
Meredith hopped down from the chair and stretched.
“Mind you, those pins won’t hold if you jump about like that,” Mrs. Butters said. “Now you go and see Parker. He’ll have instructions for you.” She sank into the chair that Meredith had hopped off and wiped her forehead.
The bunched fabric at Meredith’s waist wasn’t at all comfortable, but the taffeta of the full skirt rustled deliciously when she moved. She gently lifted a lacy apron from the kitchen table and carefully tied the strings around her waist so they wouldn’t snag on the pins.
“This is like an angel’s wing,” Meredith fingered the delicate apron, “but it won’t do much to keep me clean.” She twirled, enjoying the swish of her swirling skirt. She was sure she’d look positively elegant when she pinned the lacy cap on her hair. If only Ellen could see her now!
Meredith caught sight of Mrs. Butters’ face and stopped twirling. The cook’s eyes were closed, and there was a sheen of sweat across her forehead. Her skin looked gray, as if every line in her face was etched in pencil.
“Mrs. Butters, are you all right?”
Mrs. Butters stirred, blinked, and then mopped at her face with her apron. “I felt a bit faint just now. It must be the heat. I’ll just sit for a minute and catch my breath.” She reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Meredith’s ear. “You go see what Parker needs.”
“I’ll make you some tea first,” Meredith said. She took the canister from the dresser and spooned tea into the teapot, then filled the teapot from the kettle simmering on the range. She fetched a scone from the breadbox and put it on one of the thick, white kitchen plates along with a knife and a small pot of strawberry jam. She set the plate on the table beside Mrs. Butters, who was fanning her face with her apron.
“You should eat something, too,” Meredith said. “You’ve been working hard, but everything’s ready so there’s nothing for you to do right this minute.” She poured tea into one of the cups with the yellow roses and carried it to the table.
“You’re a good girl, Meredith.” Mrs. Butters reached for the cup. “Take that tray in to Parker now, please. It’s nearly six.” She sipped the tea and Meredith was relieved to see she looked a little better.
Meredith pinned the wisp of a cap to her dark hair, then curtsied and pulled a silly face that made Mrs. Butters smile. She covered the tray of savories and sandwiches with a linen napkin, hoping there’d be some left at the end of the evening. She’d been chopping and peeling all afternoon while Mrs. Butters created her tiny masterpieces, and she hadn’t dared sneak a taste.
She carried the tray carefully across the front hall. With twenty-two guests expected any moment, she didn’t know what they’d do if Mrs. Butters took sick, especially as Parker still felt unwell.
She found Parker in one corner of the drawing room arranging bottles and glasses on a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She gently set the tray on a small, wooden table near the piano, careful to not disturb the napkin so the food would stay fresh.
Meredith loved the drawing room. It shone pale-blue and gold like a jewelry box. Graceful chairs in blue-and-cream-striped silk clustered together like ladies taking tea. Elaborate gold, velvet draperies swathed the large windows that lined two sides of the room. Tall mirrors in fanciful gilded frames reflected the early evening light from the windows.
She trailed her fingers across the striped satin of the sofa, thinking it would be wonderful to sit and read all day in this beautiful room. Someday she’d have her own little house, and she’d paint the parlor blue and gold just like this.
“There’s no time for daydreaming, girl.” Parker looked more severe than usual in his starched white shirt, striped vest, and trim black coat. He was clearly out of sorts.
“Are you feeling better?” Meredith asked. If she was nice and polite, maybe he wouldn’t be quite so prickly with her.
“Better enough, I suppose.” Parker pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Now listen carefully. When the doorbell rings, I shall open the door for our guests. You are to take their coats to the library while I show them to the drawing room. When all of the guests have arrived, you are to circulate among them and offer the tray. Can you manage that?” Parker’s eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t sure she could. Meredith nodded eagerly.
“You are not to chat with the guests,” he said. “Just a simple ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ will suffice when you offer the tray.” Parker took a small gold watch from the front pocket of his vest. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t drop anything.” His eyes bored into Meredith. “I am not sure you are quite ready for this.”
Meredith sighed. If only he’d stop picking on her! She’d been serious and responsible ever since she’d arrived. She vowed that tonight, she’d be the very best maid he’d ever seen.
Dr. Waterton entered the drawing room, holding Harry by the hand. Harry was pulling at the stiff collar of his white shirt, his wet hair still showing the marks where a comb had slicked it back. When Meredith had been sent to help Harry get ready earlier, he’d complained about the scratchy collar and refused outright to get changed at all. She’d been forced to leave him wearing his play clothes. Meredith wondered what the doctor had said to persuade Harry to wear the hated shirt.
Jack and Maggie followed, arguing hotly. Jack looked suddenly grown up in evening dress, although his bowtie sat slightly askew and his knobby wrists dangled comically from the sleeves of the smart black jacket. Maggie’s dress was the cheerful blue of forget-me-nots, covered with all the frills and flounces Ellen pined for. Beside Maggie’s splendor, Meredith’s black taffeta uniform seemed cheap and shabby.
Meredith was glad to see Jack arguing with his sister. He’d stayed away from her since the evening on the steps, but she was worried that if he decided to tease her here in front of everyone, she’d be in for another lecture from Parker. “There’s no place in service for someone who doesn’t know her place,” Parker had scolded her after he’d seen her talking to Jack on the back step. He hadn’t understood she didn’t want Jack’s attention.
“Father said you’re to keep an eye on Harry.” Jack scowled at Maggie.
“But it’s always me! I don’t see why you can’t take a turn!”
“It’s not always you!” Jack protested. “And it’s my party, for heaven’s sake!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Dr. Waterton let go of Harry’s hand. “Maggie, you’re to keep an eye on Harry, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“Oh, all right,” Maggie muttered. She threw a sour glance at her little brother as he edged away.
Dr. Waterton sighed. “What time is it, Parker, please?”
“Six-o-clock, sir,” Parker said. “May I offer you some sherry?”
“Yes, thank you,” the doctor replied.
“Many happy returns, young sir,” Parker went on, with a small bow to Jack, who shrugged.
Parker’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. Jack’s rudeness hadn’t improved Parker’s mood, which was already well past sour. Meredith knew she’d need to be extra careful not to do anything that might set Parker off.
“Don’t stand about gawking,” Parker whispered to her, as if he’d heard precisely what she’d been thinking. “Set out more napkins, and keep Mr. Harry away from the food.”
“Sixteen years old and already taller than me.” Dr. Waterton draped an arm across Jack’s shoulders. “You’ll make a fine doctor in a few years, son.”
Jack moved out from under his father’s arm. “I’m going to be a pilot.” Meredith remembered how certain he’d sounded on the back step when he talked about flying.
“It seems glamorous just now because of the war, but flying’s a hobby, not a career,” the doctor said. “There’s no future in it.”
Dr. Waterton sighed. “I only want the best for you, Jack, and I know your mother would, too, if she were here.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it! Mama wouldn’t have minded what I want to do—” Jack began hotly.
“But I’ll leave it alone, for now,” Dr. Waterton said, talking over him, “since you’re not inclined to listen to anything I say.”
He turned to Maggie. “How very pretty you look tonight, Maggie.”
Maggie ignored the compliment, her face stormy. “It’s not fair. Why can’t I have a dinner party for my birthday?”
“When you’re sixteen,” Dr. Waterton said, sounding tired, “you may have a dinner party, too. In the meantime, you’ve a new dress—a very expensive one, I might add—for this one. And one for which you don’t seem the least bit grateful.”
The doctor turned to accept a glass of sherry from Parker, so he didn’t see Maggie screw up her face and stick out her tongue behind his back. But Maggie caught Meredith watching. For a moment, Meredith thought Maggie might say something to put her in her place, but the other girl turned away.
“Stay away from that tray, Harry!” Maggie said sharply as Harry sidled past the piano. “That food’s not for you.”
Harry darted a glance at Meredith. She hoped he wasn’t going to cause a fuss, not with Parker already in a foul mood. But then the doorbell sounded, Parker beckoned to her, and she hurried after him excitedly. The party was beginning at last.
The whoosh of cold air when Parker opened the big front door made Meredith thankful for the fire warming the entrance hall. A stout, red-faced man handed Meredith his hat and coat. Parker helped a faded-looking woman out of a brown cloth coat that sported a fox collar. At least, Meredith thought it was fox, but the glassy eyes and dangling paws gave her a creepy feeling, so she folded the coat with the creature inside to keep the collar from staring at her.
Meredith carried the coats and the man’s hat to the library across the hall. Whenever she had a reason to be in the library, she wanted to read her way up and down the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves from one side of the doorway all the way around the room to the other side. She ran her finger along a row of rich leather bindings. Great Expectations. Oliver Twist. She was wondering, not for the first time, if she could ask permission to take a book up to her room, when the sound of the doorbell reminded her she’d better keep her mind on her work.
A flurry of arrivals kept Meredith busy scurrying between the front door and the library. The adults nodded to her politely, but Jack’s friends mostly shoved their coats at her and rushed off noisily. When she returned to the drawing room at last, Jack was laughing with his cronies and didn’t notice when she slipped past him to get the tray of sandwiches beside the piano. When she removed the linen napkin, she discovered that an entire row of sandwiches had disappeared.
“Oh, Harry!” Maggie crowed from where she stood at the edge of the jostling group surrounding Jack. “You’re in trouble now!”
“Mr. Harry! Those were for the guests!” Meredith scolded.
Harry scooted out from behind the piano, furiously chewing. Dr. Waterton made a grab for him as the doorbell sounded again.
“Any more of that, young man, and you’ll be sent upstairs,” he said. Harry hung his head.
Dr. Waterton turned to Meredith. “Please have Mrs. Butters replenish the tray,” he said. “Jack, you go and greet your guests and help Parker with the coats. Maggie, you are to keep tight hold of Harry’s hand. ”
Meredith quickly carried the half-empty tray to the kitchen. “Mrs. Butters,” she called as she pushed the door open, “we need more sandwiches.”
The pan of consommé simmered on the range, but the sharp odor of vinegar cut through the rich beef-and-wine aroma and undercut the smell of roasting turkey. A huge pot of potatoes—forty-two potatoes, who would believe it?—was bubbling merrily beside the soup. Other pots sat on the counter, filled with the vegetables Meredith had prepared earlier. Silver baskets were lined up on the counter like beds in a dormitory, white linen napkins tucked tidily around the rolls to keep them fresh. Two enormous glass bowls of lettuce and cucumber waited for Mrs. Butters’ special vinaigrette, but there was no sign of her.
A faint noise came from the pantry. Meredith set the tray down and hurried to investigate.
Mrs. Butters lay like a jumble of laundry on the stone floor of the pantry. Shards of crockery explained the acrid smell and the dark wetness spreading across the floor.
“Mrs. Butters! What happened?” Meredith held her skirt up to keep it out of the vinegar and knelt beside her. She reached a tentative hand toward the cook’s shoulder. “Mrs. Butters? What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Butters moaned. She was shivering.
“I’ll fetch the doctor.” Meredith straightened.
“No!” Mrs. Butters’ voice was faint, but clear. “Help me up.”
Meredith hesitated. “You need a doctor.”
Mrs. Butters shook her head.
“All right, then.” Meredith positioned herself behind Mrs. Butters, then slipped her arms under the cook’s shoulders and pulled. Mrs. Butters moaned and her weight shifted slightly, but Meredith wasn’t strong enough to pull her to her feet.
“Don’t worry. I’ll try from the front.” Meredith picked her way through the mess on the floor, and then decided she should clear away the broken crockery first. She was hastily gathering the jagged pieces, her eyes searching the floor for slivers, when she realized that the broom might be faster. She skirted the wet patch to fetch it.
Spying the half-empty tray on the kitchen table, she realized with horror that she should have returned to the drawing room by now. Parker would be furious with her. But if she went back now, she’d have to stay and serve the guests, and she couldn’t leave Mrs. Butters lying here on the floor.
Meredith was standing in the kitchen with the broom in her hand, her thoughts spinning, when the door from the hall swung open and banged hard against the kitchen wall.
“Papa says, ‘Hurry up.’” Maggie stood inspecting the kitchen, her hands on her hips. She wrinkled her nose. “It stinks in here.”
“Mrs. Butters is sick. A crock broke in the pantry. I’m cleaning it up.” The words tumbled out in Meredith’s haste to explain. “I need your help.”
“Help with what?” Maggie frowned. “I’m not going to clean anything up, if that’s what you mean.”
“With Mrs. Butters,” Meredith explained. “She’s on the floor in the pantry.”
“Really?” Maggie crossed the kitchen and peered into the pantry. She turned to face Meredith. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Help me lift her so we can get her out of there.”
“Lift her? She’s much too heavy for that. Besides, her skirt is soaked. I don’t want my dress covered in whatever that is.” Maggie made her way to the kitchen table and helped herself to a sandwich from the tray. “Get Forrest.”
How could Maggie Waterton stand there calmly eating a sandwich, as if it were perfectly normal to see kind Mrs. Butters lying sick on the floor? “Forrest’s not here,” Meredith said. “Please, can’t you help? Or get Parker, at least?”
Maggie backed away. “Why should I help you?”
“It’s not for me; it’s for Mrs. Butters.”
Mrs. Butters moaned again.
“Please,” Meredith begged, “she’s so sick.”
Maggie let out a tortured sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll see if Parker can come.” She popped the last of the tiny sandwich into her mouth and headed for the passageway.
“You’ll be all right, Mrs. Butters,” Meredith said, stroking the cook’s arm gently. “Miss Ma
ggie’s gone to get help.”
Chapter 11
“Hallo!” A cold draft from the back door flooded in a few minutes later. “Where is everyone?”
Relief flooded Meredith. It seemed as if she’d been waiting for hours. “In the pantry!” she called to Forrest. “Hurry!”
“What a smell! What have you done now, young Meredith?” Forrest halted in the doorway. “Hey now, what’s all this?” He squatted beside Meredith who was cradling Mrs. Butters’ head in her lap.
“She isn’t feeling well, she felt faint before, and Dr. Waterton sent me to refill the tray, and I found her like this, and I couldn’t move her, and I’m…” Meredith’s voice faltered, a hot prickle behind her eyes.
“First things first,” said Forrest. “Let’s sit her up.”
He slid his arms under the cook’s shoulders and eased her to a sitting position. He peered into her face. “What’s wrong, Elvie?”
Mrs. Butters sagged against him like a scarecrow Meredith had seen from the train, its limbs and head at impossible angles after a summer’s worth of wind and rain.
Forrest laid his hand on Mrs. Butters’ forehead. “She’s burning up.”
The cook’s face looked dragged down. Her eyelids fluttered, and then her eyes rolled back and her mouth fell open. Meredith couldn’t bear to look.
“This is a right mess,” Forrest said. “I don’t like the looks of her. Does the doctor know?”
Meredith shook her head. “She wouldn’t let me fetch him, but Miss Maggie’s getting Parker.”
“Maggie?” His eyebrows shot up. “How did you manage that?”
“Dr. Waterton sent her to the kitchen to see why it was taking so long to fill the tray. She wouldn’t help me lift Mrs. Butters, but she said she’d tell Parker.”