The Seventh Miss Hatfield

by Anna Caltabiano

  As we approached the stables, gently trotting down the path towards the house, my feelings were confirmed. There was a very early-model hearse parked out front, and as it drove off, I saw the coffin inside. Many of the servants were standing on the porch, watching as it disappeared. But Henley wasn’t there. I handed the reins to a servant and made my way into the house. The remaining servants filtered back inside, all except Nellie, who walked over to meet me.

  ‘Oh, Miss Rebecca,’ she said sadly. ‘I’m not sure what to think. Mr Beauford hadn’t been happy for many years, and I know he’ll be better off where he’s gone, but …’ She paused, as if not quite sure what to say next.

  I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. ‘But you’re wondering what will become of your job, as well as those of all the other servants?’ I offered.

  She nodded nervously. ‘I feel horrible, being so selfish at a time like this, worried about my own well-being …’ She began to cry, and I knew it was partly worry, but also because she’d been fond of Mr Beauford and would miss him. I gathered her to me and patted her gently on the back, letting her release some of that pent-up emotion. It felt like comforting a sister or a cousin, and came very naturally. I’d grown so fond of Nellie, and she’d certainly taken wonderful care of my needs ever since I’d met her. The least I could do was let her have a cry and support her for a few minutes.

  After a minute or so she stepped back, looking embarrassed. I pretended not to notice and simply offered her my handkerchief. ‘There you are, Nellie, you keep this, all right? Better now?’

  ‘Yes, miss. Thank you so much.’ She paused to blow her nose and to regain her composure before we walked up to the house.

  ‘You’re fine, Nellie,’ I whispered as I squeezed her arm, walking side by side with her. ‘Henley won’t throw anyone out in the cold, believe me. He has a heart of gold. If for some reason he sees fit to let anyone go, he’ll find them another station first, rest assured of that.’ I patted her arm again and then we walked up the front steps. She took her more familiar place a couple of steps behind me. The decorum that had been drilled into these servants from the time they could walk both fascinated and repelled me. Yet they weren’t slaves. They received a decent wage from the Beaufords and, in some ways, were treated almost like extended family. I sighed, knowing I couldn’t fix everything for everyone. As we walked through the doorway, I looked about, but Henley still wasn’t in evidence.

  I turned to my friend. ‘Nellie, have you seen Henley this morning?’

  Her face was almost back to its normal colour now and her eyes were brighter, having been washed with her tears. ‘No, miss. From what Eloise says, he was nowhere to be found in the house when the mortician arrived.’

  Curious, I thought. Henley was no coward, but he was obviously still very emotional from what he’d learned about his birth, and doubtless had a headache to boot. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted the staff to see him that way and had slipped out. I knew he’d resurface soon. ‘Thank you …’ I began to say to Nellie, but she’d already left me standing there, deep in my thoughts.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. I barricaded myself in my room and renewed my resolve to complete my task as soon as things settled down – destroy Mr Beauford’s collection of immortality artefacts, take the painting and go. The old man’s funeral was scheduled for the next morning, and it was dusk now. I’d seen neither hide nor hair of Henley, having decided to let him come to me when he needed to talk. I wasn’t hurt so much as surprised that he didn’t appear to feel any need to seek me out. I hoped he wasn’t on another bender somewhere, or in danger, but instead was finding some clarity – or at least some peace – about his upbringing.

  I heard a gentle rap at my door, and when I opened it I found Eliza and Hannah standing there. ‘Oh, do come in, both of you,’ I invited, opening the door wide. Eliza was holding on to young Hannah’s arm, and I smiled to myself, happy to see they’d befriended one another. That was good, for both their sakes. ‘Do sit down,’ I offered, silently gesturing Hannah towards the chair I felt Eliza would be most comfortable in. The girl nodded and led her charge to it, then turned to exit the room.

  ‘Thank you, Hannah, but you may stay if you wish,’ I told her.

  ‘Oh, no, miss, I must go and help in the kitchen. They’re preparing things for Mr Beauford’s wake tomorrow, following the funeral.’ She glanced up at me, for she’d been looking down at her feet while speaking, as most of the servants did. I wanted to change that if I could, before I left, so that all of them felt comfortable looking anyone in the eye, anytime, anyplace. I knew that would have been impossible in most households, or at least risky if they wanted to keep their jobs, but in Henley’s house I believed it would be accepted. ‘Will you be attending the funeral, Miss Rebecca?’ she asked quietly. ‘Eloise wanted me to ask you, as Wilchester’s arranging carriages to take people to the church, and then the cemetery.’

  ‘Why, yes, of course I’ll go, out of respect for Mr Beauford,’ I replied. ‘And please thank everyone for all they’re doing to keep things flowing smoothly here.’

  Hannah nodded and quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. I turned back to see a beatific look on Eliza’s face.

  ‘He’s with the angels now,’ she said, and I heard a slight tinge of envy in her voice. ‘Dear Mr Beauford … I look forward to joining you there before too many more years go by.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s free from his suffering now,’ I said, feeling a bit awkward in the presence of this somewhat saintly girl who had become my friend, but was still something of an enigma to me. ‘Did you wish to speak to me about anything in particular, Eliza?’

  She started, as if I’d shaken her from a dream. ‘What? Oh, I just wanted to ask if it would be all right if I rode in the same carriage as you to the service tomorrow. Henley and Christine—’

  ‘Will be riding together, I’m sure,’ I interjected. ‘Of course – I shall be honoured to be your companion, Eliza.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely,’ she responded, ‘but what I was going to say was, Henley and Christine haven’t really made any plans yet about when or how they’ll get there. He’s been in absentia quite a lot these past couple of days.’ She turned her sightless gaze in my direction. ‘As have you, my friend. Every time I’ve asked about you at the dining table, they’ve told me you’ve been holed up here in your room.’ She paused, her expression one of sympathy. ‘You’d grown quite close to Mr Beauford, had you not? I’m sure you miss him, as I do.’

  I blushed, and was glad she couldn’t see me doing so. I decided to be as forthright with her as I dared, as I had learned from our talks that she was quite intuitive. ‘Well, I enjoyed interviewing Mr Beauford, and hope I can write something that will do him justice. However, it’s Henley I’m closest to, and I felt he needed some space to work through his grief over the loss of his father.’ I wasn’t quite sure how much anyone else knew, if anything, about Mr Beauford’s final disclosure to Henley regarding the truth of his parentage, so I left it at that.

  Eliza nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, well, hopefully the poor boy will pull through. Christine’s been incredibly frustrated that he won’t really talk to her.’ She’d lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and I caught a trace of mischievousness in it; I knew she’d never approved of her sister marrying Henley to combine their family fortunes, and I suspected that Eliza was secretly hoping their marriage would never take place. I felt the same way, of course – for Henley’s sake, not for mine. I wasn’t a player in this … at least not for much longer. I stood up.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Eliza, but I’m quite tired, and want to be refreshed for the service tomorrow. Shall I come to your room at the appointed time, so we can go downstairs together to board our carriage?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she replied. ‘I need to rest, too, so you’re anything but rude in taking care of your needs, Rebecca. If you could come by my room around nine, I’ve been told the carriages will be l
eaving promptly at nine-thirty. That’ll give us time to get organized and so forth. Is that all right?’ She stood up and I took her arm, as she hadn’t brought her walking stick along.

  ‘Yes, perfectly all right, dear friend.’ I escorted her to the door, and then along the hallway to her room. ‘Would you like me to send Hannah or Nellie up to help you get ready for bed?’ I queried.

  ‘No, no, I rather like doing my evening routine on my own, Rebecca.’ She turned and gave my hand a quick squeeze. ‘Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, you do the same,’ I replied. It always took me by surprise that she still said ‘see you’ when she was completely blind, but I supposed that phrase made the most sense. I had such admiration for Eliza’s tenacity, and although I didn’t understand her ardent faith in a God who had allowed her sight to vanish, I admired that, too.

  I resolved to get up with the sun, to go for an early morning ride and gather some wild flowers from a nearby meadow to take to the funeral. I hoped I’d be able to complete my real mission sometime within the next few days, and I felt a bit overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. I’d enjoyed my time here, and I didn’t want to leave Henley or the other friends I’d made, but I was growing increasingly uncomfortable and knew that Miss Hatfield would surely come for me soon. Anticipation and sadness rose up within me at that thought as I laid down my head to sleep.

  The night passed quickly; it was one of those occasions when I’d no sooner closed my eyes than they flew open again, and I couldn’t have fallen back asleep even if I’d wanted to. ‘No matter,’ I said to myself as I glanced at the clock – five-fifteen. That was fine. The sun would be up in a few minutes and I’d be on my way to the meadow before anyone else was stirring.

  Quickly I laid out an appropriately sombre dark grey dress to wear to the funeral, as Henley hadn’t allowed me to purchase anything black on our shopping spree so many weeks ago. I’d wanted a black dress, but he simply wrinkled his nose and said, ‘Too drab and dreary – next!’ I smiled at that memory, and hoped my dear Henley would someday soon recover his humour and usually happy outlook.

  In my riding togs, with my boots in my hand so as not to make too much noise, I crept down the stairs and slipped out of the front door. Sitting down upon the steps, I pulled on my boots, then headed to the stables. I decided to ride dear old Bessie this morning. Though I always talked to her when I went to the stables and gave her a treat of some sort, I seldom rode her any more. It felt fitting to take her out this morning, as I had plenty of time to pick the flowers, return, dress for the funeral and then further refine the details of my mission.

  She nickered softly as I entered the stables, as though she knew I was there to take her out. ‘Hello, old girl,’ I greeted her softly. ‘Yes, it’s your turn again at last.’ I got her saddled up and we slowly made our way down the lane and out onto the bridle path. Something about the fresh air made the feeling that I’d spent too long in this time fade away a little. It was a lovely morning; I’d seen the flowers about three days previously, so I knew they’d still be in beautiful bloom. Sure enough, as we approached the meadow the sun had completely risen and its light made the beautiful colours of the wild flowers stand out like some celebrated landscape painting. ‘Painting,’ I muttered to myself as I picked myself a bunch. ‘Yes, Miss Hatfield, I’m going to bring you the painting.’ It was as if I could hear her in my head as soon as I’d had the thought about the flowers resembling a painting. I could have sworn I heard her say, ‘Paintings are beautiful, but the one you need to focus on is still in the study.’ I wouldn’t blame her if she thought I’d forgotten – I’d tarried much longer than I’d ever thought possible, and she must have known from personal experience how bad the uneasiness in my stomach was becoming by now.

  After giving Bessie a quick rub-down and a gentle thank-you pat on her soft nose, I headed to the house with my posy of flowers. I went to the kitchen, as I could hear servants moving about and talking in respectfully hushed tones. As I pushed open the door, I saw Eloise’s kind face.

  ‘Good morning, miss,’ she said with a nod, raising her eyebrows at the flowers. ‘How lovely those are. Will you be taking them to Mr Beauford’s service?’

  ‘Yes, exactly, Eloise,’ I answered. ‘Would you know where I might find some wrapping paper to protect them during the carriage ride into town?’

  She nodded and went into the pantry, returning with a large piece of butcher’s paper. Not fancy, but it would do the trick. She took them from me, and I could see she’d done a bit of flower arranging in her day. Her deft fingers arranged them into a more balanced spray than I ever could have managed. She pulled from her apron pocket a pretty bit of blue ribbon, which she tied around the stems, then wrapped them with the paper. She smiled and handed them back to me. It had taken her less than five minutes to turn my humble offering into a thing of true beauty. I was impressed, and told her so.

  ‘Aw, go on with ye, Miss Rebecca,’ she mumbled, but I could tell she was pleased. ‘Me mum an’ her sister had a little flower shop when I was a girl, and they taught me a thing or two, that’s all.’ She turned back to her food preparation, embarrassed, it appeared, to have disclosed something personal about herself to someone who was ‘above her station’.

  ‘Well, they taught you well, and you’ve retained the knowledge beautifully,’ I complimented her. ‘Thank you again, Eloise. I know Mr Beauford will see these from heaven,’ I added quickly. I remembered Eliza telling me that she and Eloise had often fervently discussed the Divine and heaven.

  ‘Thank you, miss,’ she said as she stirred whatever was in the pot on the stove. ‘He was a lovely old gentleman, in his own eccentric way,’ she added, more to herself than to me. As I turned to leave her to her cooking, I saw her quickly wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. My heart went out to her – she’d been with the family for a very long time.

  I carefully laid the bouquet of flowers on the marble table in the hallway, just outside the parlour. I fairly flew up the stairs to my room and quickly made myself ready for the funeral, hair pulled back neatly, dress smoothed so that not a wrinkle was in evidence. I’d been enjoying getting myself ready the past few days, and knew what Eliza meant when she said she liked doing things on her own. I knew that Nellie and Hannah often laid her clothes out for her, then told her exactly where she’d find them before she went to bed. ‘Shoes beside the chair at the window, Miss Eliza; petticoat and other undergarments on top of the dresser,’ I’d heard Nellie tell her one day, and then Eliza finished the litany.

  ‘And dress laid neatly on the trunk at the foot of my bed as usual, I assume?’ She’d sounded amused, but I could tell she’d grown fond of Nellie and Hannah both, just as I had.

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Nellie said with a curtsey. She always curt- sied to Eliza, out of habit, mostly, but also I think because she knew Eliza would hear the curtsey even if she couldn’t see it. Nellie did her best to treat everyone with the proper respect.

  I glanced at the mantle clock in my room. Ten minutes to nine – right on time. As I walked the short distance to Eliza’s door, I felt a strange sense of calm, almost as though Mr Beauford was there observing me somehow; the feeling was not so much happiness as peace. For his sake, I hoped he’d found his Ruth, waiting to welcome him into the ‘Great Beyond’, whatever that meant. I wished him no ill. He’d lived a long life deprived of the woman he adored, and I knew I would soon move on myself, leaving my own love behind for ever. Living a solitary existence without the partner you longed for creates a loneliness like no other, I heard his voice say in my head. It sounded much stronger than I’d ever heard it, and I felt he’d already become younger, somehow, in his new existence. I was glad for him, wherever he was.

  I tapped on Eliza’s door. ‘Eliza? I’m a bit early – are you ready?’ I slowly pushed the door open so as not to startle her, but she was already determinedly headed towards me, dressed flawlessly, her hair pinned up beautifully.

  �
�Do I look all right, Rebecca?’ she asked with concern. ‘Hannah did my hair for me, but I dressed myself.’

  ‘You look perfect,’ I assured her.

  ‘I really wish Mother and Father could have come for the funeral,’ she said. ‘But Father broke his leg in a hunting accident recently and Mother just couldn’t bear to leave him alone and travel without him.’

  ‘You and Christine are here, and that’s what counts,’ I said. ‘Let’s go downstairs, since you’re ready, and find our carriage.’ As an afterthought, I added, ‘Have you talked to Christine this morning?’

  She smiled the quirky smile that often appeared on her face when discussing her sister. ‘No, and that’s completely fine with me.’ She picked up her walking stick with one hand and squeezed my arm with her other, trusting me to guide her down the stairs. ‘I much prefer your company,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, somehow I’ve gathered that,’ I whispered back, and we exchanged a very quiet little giggle. I asked her to wait a moment while I collected my flowers and settled them in one crooked elbow, then took her arm once again.

  Once we were outside, Wilchester came up to me and gestured sombrely towards the second carriage in a line of four standing ready to take passengers to the local town. Christine was sitting alone in the front coach, looking beautiful despite her pouting expression. I nodded at her, but as I expected, she ignored me. She was in her own little world. Poor Henley, I thought to myself.

  We were seated in our carriage and waiting for our driver when Eliza echoed my last thought aloud. ‘Poor Henley,’ she said, and sighed. ‘All alone in the world now. That is—’ she leaned towards me ‘—except for good friends like you.’

  ‘And like you, too,’ I rejoined. I looked around, but there was still no sign of Henley.

  So this is what turn-of-the-century funeral processions were like, I found myself thinking. Very different from the few Cynthia had witnessed, where a motorcycle rider led the procession, blocking traffic as the line of cars drove along the street. At least Mr Beauford merited four carriages’ worth of people. Glancing around, I imagined most of them were business associates rather than close friends. The old fellow hadn’t been particularly sociable, from what I’d observed and Henley had told me.