The Seventh Miss Hatfield

by Anna Caltabiano

  ‘What is it, Miss Margaret? I can tell you’re worried about something,’ she said softly.

  I squeezed the hand she gently laid upon my shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, Nellie, really. Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll be fine, honestly. Thank you for being so considerate.’ I smiled to reassure her, but her eyes told me she didn’t believe my cheeriness.

  I headed downstairs, lost in my thoughts, but was stopped in my tracks about midway down.

  ‘What in tarnation is going on around here?’ Mr Beauford’s voice bellowed up at me. ‘And who in God’s name are you, young woman?’ He was staring at me angrily; his face was so red, I feared he’d have a heart attack and die right there at the foot of the stairs.

  I rushed down to him, for he looked about to lose his balance. ‘Mr Beauford, sir, please, let me help you sit down.’ I guided him over to the nearest chair in the parlour. He allowed me to take his arm and walk him there, but then he jerked away from me and peered out from under his enormous bushy brows.

  ‘No, I will not sit! Thank you, whoever you are, but let me be. All I want from you is an explanation.’ He shook a letter in my general direction. Correspondence appeared to be a source of irritation for the men in this house, I noticed. ‘This letter came yesterday but I only had a chance to open it this morning. It tells me my niece is still too ill to join us this summer, and apologizes for any inconvenience this may cause.’ He stared at me. ‘So what I need to know from you is, who are you, and what are you doing here? What are you playing at, young woman?’

  I gulped, fearing that I was most assuredly about to be tossed out of the house into the deserted countryside – and that was the best-case scenario. Henley walked quickly around the corner to stand at his father’s side. I thought he would surely betray everything he’d learned about me the day before, and I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. I steeled myself for the worst, trying to think what to do.

  ‘Now, Father, you must calm yourself. You know what your physician said about getting too excited.’ He turned and shouted down the hall, ‘Wilchester! Please bring my father a glass of water.’ Henley went to a cabinet along the parlour wall and took a small paper packet out of a box on the shelf. Wilchester hurried in with the water, which he handed to Mr Beauford, and Henley took a small pill from the packet. ‘Here you are, sir. Take your nitroglycerine tablet like a good chap, please.’ He encouraged his father as though their roles had been temporarily reversed, and I felt my fondness for Henley rising again. He really was such a kind person at heart. I felt bad for confusing him, and waited patiently to see what he’d do next. He wouldn’t look at me, so I was sure the axe was about to fall.

  ‘Better now?’ Henley asked his father, patting him gently on the shoulder. Mr Beauford nodded, but then turned to look at me with a mixture of disgust and suspicion.

  ‘I’m fine, Henley. But this woman—’

  Henley cut him off midstream. ‘Yes, Father, I know all about this woman. This has all been a case of mistaken identity. There’s nothing to be so suspicious about, really, Father. She showed up that day in the city and wanted to interview you. She’s a journalist, you see, for one of the New York newspapers, and she hoped to write a story about the great Mr Beauford and his steel corporation. But you mistakenly decided she was your niece and accepted her as such immediately. Being a clever reporter, she saw an opportunity to learn about you from an insider’s point of view and simply played along. She confided her secret in me immediately, so you see, in truth, we’ve both been deceiving you. I’m equally guilty. But I hope you can chalk it up to a proud son wanting the best story possible about his father to be written and published. Isn’t that right?’ He finally raised his eyes and met mine.

  All of the anger and accusation I’d seen the day before had vanished, and I had the distinct feeling he actually relished concocting this fantastic story for his father’s benefit. And his delivery was so good, I found myself almost believing him. I had no choice but to play along at this point, and nodded.

  ‘And this young lady’s name?’ Mr Beauford asked Henley, as he gripped his water with a still-shaking hand.

  ‘Miss Rebecca—’ There was a glint of uncertainty and fear in Henley’s eyes.

  ‘Hatfield,’ I finished for him. ‘Miss Rebecca Hatfield.’

  Henley had obviously read enough of the letter from Miss Hatfield to have gleaned my first name, at the very least.

  ‘Mr Beauford, what your son’s telling you – as fantastical as it sounds – is absolutely true. I apologize for pretending to be your niece, but it was a rare opportunity to get to know the real you, so that I can tell our readers that such an important businessman as yourself is truly a good soul, a kind man, and not just a wealthy bureaucrat who cares nothing for anyone other than himself.’

  ‘Here, here,’ agreed Henley. ‘It’s to be a five-part instalment piece, isn’t that right, Miss Hatfield? To be published … When did you say? Starting next month?’

  I nodded. ‘Correct, Henley.’ I knelt down at Mr Beauford’s knee and looked up at him. ‘Can you ever forgive me, sir? I truly meant no harm or disrespect. It was simply the chance of a lifetime, and I jumped at it, I’m afraid. I’m one of the few women journalists around, and I felt strongly compelled to do this, to prove myself to my superiors.’

  Henley actually winked at me for that line, above his father’s head. He and I were both quite skilled at telling whoppers, apparently! He effortlessly picked up the ball again. ‘Yes, and I encouraged her the entire time, Father. She’s interviewed me about my childhood, and what sort of father you’ve been to me. And when I learned a little while ago that Cousin Margaret couldn’t make it this summer, well, why not continue with the charade? You appeared to be so happy to have this Cousin Margaret with us, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed. We were actually going to tell you the whole story this very evening at dinner, weren’t we, Miss Hatfield?’

  ‘Yes, just so,’ I said with a nod.

  ‘I see,’ mumbled Mr Beauford. He looked startled and disorientated, but what came out of his mouth next surprised me. ‘Well, given these extraordinary circumstances, I feel I owe you an apology, Miss Hatfield. And please, stay with us as long as it takes to complete your assignment. I’m flattered you chose me as a subject, and I hope this assignment helps you make your mark in the journalism world.’

  ‘Oh, you’re too kind, sir – it should be me thanking you. And you have nothing to apologize for – it’s the other way around.’ I glanced over towards where Henley had just been standing. He’d somehow slipped out of the room while I was discoursing with his father, clever boy. I looked back at Mr Beauford, whose colour had returned to normal, although he still sounded quite winded. ‘Sir, I believe it might be advisable for you to lie back down for a while this morning. I’m so sorry I caused such a shock to your system, Mr Beauford.’

  He nodded and struggled to stand. I helped him to his feet and walked him towards the hallway. ‘You’re as wise as you are pretty,’ he said quietly. ‘These old bones will feel much better after a brief nap. I’ll see you later on.’ He nodded and ambled slowly down the hall towards his quarters.

  Once I saw that his door had closed, I sat for a few moments, gathering my strength. The queasy feeling in my stomach had returned, and I couldn’t tell if it was due to the morning’s dramatic events or the time displacement Miss Hatfield had warned me about. After I’d recovered a little, I went to the kitchen with a dual purpose in mind. I sought out Nellie, who was happily slicing vegetables and laughing with the cook. It was the most animated I’d ever seen her. I was so glad that at least I’d been able to do something positive for her, if not for the Beaufords. ‘Oh, Nellie, may I see you for a moment?’ I called out.

  Her head bobbed up and she put down what she was doing and came right over. We stood to one side, but I could feel and see the other servants’ eyes watching us. I knew at least some of them must have heard Mr Beauford confront me earlier, but I really didn�
�t care.

  ‘Nellie, Mr Beauford isn’t feeling at all well this morning. Could you make sure that Wilchester keeps an eye on him, please? He’s retired to his room for the time being. If Wilchester could just check on him once in a while, make sure he’s all right and so forth, that would be excellent. I believe he’ll be most open to Wilchester looking in, rather than anyone else intruding upon his space.’

  She nodded several times. ‘Oh, yes, I’ll be glad to tell Mr Wilchester, Miss Mar—’ She looked down, and blushed.

  ‘Oh, Nellie, it’s all right. It was bound to get out eventually. You may call me Rebecca, and you needn’t say “Miss” Rebecca … I’m a newspaper woman, and I was only posing as Miss Margaret to gain more detailed insight into Mr Beauford for the piece I’m writing about him. Did you hear all of that, or just that I had a different name?’ I smiled to let her know I wasn’t angry, and wasn’t going to treat her any differently.

  She looked up, flushed. ‘Oh, Miss … ah, Miss Rebecca – I don’t think I could call you by your name without saying “miss”, miss,’ she stuttered, and we both laughed, relieved that we were still friends.

  ‘Whatever suits you, Nellie, is fine with me. Thank you for conveying the message to Wilchester – he probably already knows, but just in case. The second thing –’ and at this point I raised my voice, addressing the whole staff ‘– has anyone seen Mr Henley lately? I must talk with him at once.’

  Most of the servants shrugged or ignored my request, but the kindly old cook, Eloise, spoke up. ‘Yes, mum, he’d be in his room, he would.’ I detected an English accent, and then it dawned on me that this must be the same Eloise who had been like a nanny to Henley when he was a little boy, following his mother’s death.

  His words floated through my memory: ‘She’s a sweet old English gal, very kind. Took care of me when I was sick and Father had no clue what to do, played nurse when I scraped my leg. I think the world of Eloise.’ Henley had told me about her when we sat under his thinking tree, and I’d made a mental note to thank her for her kindness if the moment ever arrived.

  I smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Eloise, ever so much.’ I cleared my throat and addressed the entire staff again. I realized the cover story Henley had so cleverly cooked up would actually serve me well for the remainder of my stay at the estate, and that was a great relief. ‘May I have your attention, please? I know you’re all very aware of most things that go on around here, and I don’t want any of you to feel awkward around me. My true name is Rebecca Hatfield, and I’m here writing a newspaper article – well, a series of articles, actually – about Mr Beauford and his business.’

  Some of the servants nodded sagely, so I knew the gossip had already begun to spread. A few, however, looked up at me with renewed interest and curiosity. ‘I’m telling you this so there’ll be no confusion about what to call me, and so you don’t have to wonder what I’m still doing here. Perhaps it was wrong of me to pose as Mr Beaufort’s niece, but Mr Henley and I decided that subterfuge was permissible, given Mr Beauford’s age and health. It’s helped him to trust me more easily, and to open up more. In short, it’ll help me write the best possible story about him. We should have told him the truth earlier, but I believe events happened as they were meant to. Everything’s fine now, and I’ll be staying on just a short while longer. I appreciate everything all of you have done for me during my visit, and just wanted to thank you. And there you have it.’ I nodded at them ever so slightly and left, hearing the whispers beginning to buzz as I headed down the hallway and up the stairs to Henley’s room.

  Once there, I knocked lightly. ‘Henley?’ Dead silence. I knocked again, more forcefully. ‘Oh, Henley, I know you’re in there. Eloise has ratted you out, I’m afraid, but only because I pressed her. Please, won’t you talk to me? I owe you my thanks—’ At that, the door swung open slowly; I paused for a moment at the threshold to regain my poise.

  When I entered Henley’s room, I saw him sitting in a large brown leather armchair facing another chair and the window. His feet were propped up on an ottoman that matched the armchair. He silently indicated that I should take the seat opposite him, but to close the door behind me first.

  I closed the door and made my way to the chair he’d offered me. ‘I can’t begin to thank you enough for—’

  ‘For lying for you? For telling my poor old father perhaps the biggest whale of a tale I’ve ever made up?’ His eyes narrowed, and then opened back up and twinkled. There was the Henley I’d grown so fond of. ‘Actually, it was rather fun. You see, I’d been privately working on that story for a while, as I felt it was only a matter of time before we had to tell Father something.’ He looked down and pretended to pick a piece of lint from his trousers, but I knew he was only buying time. He’d just revealed another wonderful trait of his – extreme loyalty in dire circumstances.

  ‘You have no idea how grateful I am for your cleverness, and your incredible defence of me. I’m quite stunned, I must say. I thought you’d begun to hate me and would surely help your father throw me to the wolves.’ It was true. I had believed I’d be going back to the real Miss Hatfield empty-handed, having failed miserably. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach had intensified during my confrontation with Mr Beauford, but it had dissipated as I listened to Henley spin his fantastic tale on my behalf. In fact, at this particular moment, I felt quite alive and present. My friend and I were talking again, and that made my heart rejoice.

  Henley cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking his feet off the ottoman and placing them flat on the ground. He leaned forwards, elbows resting upon his knees, and peered intently at me. ‘Yes, well, not even wolves are deserving of such a mysterious personage as yourself, Miss Rebecca Hatfield. Do you trust me enough, at long last, to tell me more about why you’re here, if not about yourself?’ He wouldn’t break his gaze, so I had to be the one to look away. I stood up and walked towards the window, speaking softly but at a volume I knew he would hear.

  ‘I do trust you, indeed, dear Henley. No one has ever been kinder to me, or more protective of me, that I can recall. And such goodwill from someone who really knows nothing about me. I—’

  He stopped me by touching my elbow, very gently. He’d followed me to the window so as not to miss anything I might at this point be willing to share with him. I still didn’t turn around; I didn’t trust myself to look at him just yet.

  Continuing to stare out of the window, I decided to throw caution to the wind and tell him almost everything, with the exception of the part about me being immortal and from another age. If I threw that into the mix, he’d probably take me for a raving lunatic. I could only hope that he’d accept the rest of my story. ‘The real reason I came to your house in the first place was to steal the painting – the painting that now hangs behind your father’s desk in his study … And, Henley, my mission hasn’t altered. I must still take the painting, but I need to accomplish even more now, I’m afraid.’

  Finally, I turned to face him, since he hadn’t interrupted me yet. I wasn’t sure what to expect – would he now throw me out, or …?

  ‘Can you tell me who has commissioned you to steal that pitiful old painting? It’s not as if you or they are likely to get much for it. It’s not even by a famous artist.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I surely owe you that much. The painting belongs to a close friend of mine. She needs it back. She tried to outbid your father for it at an auction earlier this year, but she didn’t have sufficient funds. It was taken away from her and mistakenly placed in that auction. That’s all I can tell you about it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Mmm. I see. More and more curious, Miss Hatfield. I—’

  ‘Henley?’ I interrupted. ‘Could you please call me Rebecca? “Miss Hatfield” makes me think you’re addressing … well, my mother.’ We both smiled at that, and I could feel our friendship slowly but surely rebuilding.

  ‘All right then, Rebecca, but only in private. God knows what my father and the servants mig
ht think if they were to overhear us calling each other by our first names.’ He took a second to wink at me, but soon his face turned grave again. ‘And what’s this other problem that’s now compounded the complexity of your mission?’

  I wasn’t quite sure where to begin with the next part. I was astonished he was even still listening to me! But I knew I had to try, so I launched forward. ‘You’re aware that your father has become obsessed with learning about things such as the Fountain of Youth, the possibility of … immortality.’

  His response confounded me further, for it was one of those rare, deep, genuine belly laughs of his. His eyes even teared up a bit, he laughed so hard; he had to wipe them before he could catch his breath and speak. ‘Aware of that old man’s fixation? Painfully aware, yes. He’s disturbed. Deranged, even. You remember that chase we had in the park? Poor Willie, running after all of us.’ He laughed more darkly then. ‘I’ve even discussed it with a psychiatric doctor in town, for I feared Father was going insane when I first learned about all this. But after he met with Father a few times, he assured me he was simply deluded; that this had become a hobby, as the old gentleman – my father! – was winding down his life. The psychiatrist said it gave him something to think about and, in a sense, to live for. So while I believe it’s utter nonsense and a complete waste of time, it gives Father something to look forward to. We simply have an agreement not to discuss it. I keep a close eye on him, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, or make sure the servants do when I’m unavailable.’ He paused for a moment as another thought crossed his countenance. ‘He’s growing weaker physically, though. That’s painfully apparent after his episode this morning.’