Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  “Yes, Mr Leon.” The girl bobbed a belated curtsey to Grace before backing through the door to the tea room.

  “So that's her then?” Aoife said, making Grace jump for the second time in a minute.

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me. I didn’t hear you come in. Who are you talking about?”

  “Like you don’t know. Mrs Jardine and that blowsy woman who just arrived.”

  “I don't know why you sound so disgruntled. I told you Andr- Mr Jardine was married. It's not as if I had any expectations regarding him.” She busied herself arranging the rest of the cakes on stands, refusing to look at Aoife.

  “Course you didn't.” Aoife rolled her eyes at Leon, who turned away to hide a knowing smile.

  “Then you'll be going out there to talk to them?” Aoife asked. “Wouldn't be polite to ignore them, what with you coming over on the Cahill’s boat.”

  “Naturally I shall. I was just taking a breather.”

  “Go on then. I’ve put them at table three on the veranda.”

  “I suppose I could spare her a few minutes.” Grace hung around in the kitchen until Aoife’s hard sideways looks drove her out into the tea room. She played for time by pausing to exchange small talk with a few patrons before she plucked up courage to venture onto the veranda.

  Mary occupied a table beneath a flower covered archway, Isla sprawled on the grass at the bottom of the terrace steps, her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees. Emily was nowhere in sight.

  “Did you enjoy your tea?” Grace asked, eyeing the single used cup on the table in front of her.

  “Most refreshing, although there isn’t much one can say about tea is there? Isla and I loved the madeleines. Didn’t we, darling?”

  Isla looked up from the grass and nodded, shielding her eyes with one hand.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Some company would be nice.” Mary tapped the arm of the peacock backed chair opposite. “Emily saw someone she's keen to impress and has deserted me temporarily. Not that I mind being alone, but if you are here, I shan't be approached by a committee member asking me to count bandages for the hospital.”

  “All right, just for a little while.” Grace's nerves settled in the face of Mary's friendliness as she eased into the chair opposite. “I’m sure the kitchen can manage for a few minutes without me.”

  “This is such a beautiful setting and must be one of the prettiest gardens in Charlottetown.”

  “Thank you. I’m afraid all the flowers have been brought in, but hopefully I’ll have grown some of my own by next year.”

  “John Cahill told us all about the work you have done, but it was hard to imagine. I’m so glad I came to see it for myself.”

  “You make it sound as if that was in doubt.”

  “It was Emily’s idea. She insisted I accompany her, which came as a surprise as she usually ignores me.” She laughed, a demure, gentle laugh which was barely louder than her speaking voice. “She never invites me to anything, even her ‘at homes’, probably because she finds me uninteresting. Not that I mind, those women aren’t my sort. I’m a country girl at heart and I find them too superficial.”

  “You don’t appear to have any trouble talking to me.” Grace offered her one of Leon’s light and spongy madeleines on the plate before them.

  “That’s because I feel I know you. Andrew has spoken of you often.” She took the cake and bit into it, giving a tiny groan.

  “He has?” Grace willed her to finish her mouthful of cake, eager to hear more.

  “Oh yes. I heard all about how you pretended to faint, and he carried you off the ship to avoid that awful man your guardian sent to spirit you back to England. Such a romantic story.”

  “Not really.” Grace felt herself flushing. “He could see how distressed I was and was merely being gentlemanly.”

  “That’s Andrew all, over. The consummate gentleman.”

  Grace searched for sarcasm in her smile, but her expression was open and genuine.

  “I suspected as much. He-uh seems the type.”

  “He is. Duty and responsibility are his watchwords.” Mary sighed and stared off over the garden, treating Grace to a view of her delicate profile.

  “You mentioned you were a country girl,” Grace said, deflecting the conversation away from Andrew. She imagined hearing about him would fulfil a need but instead, his name on Mary’s lips was almost painful.

  “I was born and raised in Souris. That's on the eastern side of the island. It's pretty there and so quiet.”

  “You don't like Charlottetown?”

  “I like the town well enough. The society, however, is not to my taste. I'm no good with these charity women with their never-ending committees and lobbying. I find them too - strident.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. I enjoy my work here at the hotel, but I savour my quiet times when I can arrange them.”

  “How nice to meet someone like me. I too prefer to stay at home with a book or piece of embroidery. Andrew loves Charlottetown. When he goes away on business he pines and wants to return. I doubt I'll ever prise him away. Then there's Isla’s schooling. I wanted to hire a governess for her, but Andrew felt she would benefit from school. Andrew says a one-room country schoolhouse won't prepare her for the wider world.”

  “She’s a lovely child.” Grace looked to where Isla sat stringing daisies together from a tub of marguerites with fierce concentration.

  “Like me she’s quite shy but is blossoming slowly,” Mary added. “To be honest, the only person’s company she prefers to mine is Andrew's. He’s wonderful with her.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Grace suppressed a pang and looked away in time to see Emily mount their steps, a look of panic on her face on seeing them together.

  “What have you two been talking about?” It was almost a demand as she split a speculative look between them.

  “Mary was telling me about her home in Souris,” Grace replied, defensive of Emily’s unapologetic intrusion.

  “That place?” Emily's upper lip curled in obvious contempt. “Mary, we ought to be going.”

  “Really?” Mary blinked, placed her plate on the table and rose. “What a shame. Just when I was enjoying myself too. And Emily, you haven't had any tea. You must try one of these excellent cakes.”

  “Is there something wrong, Emily?” Grace asked, taking in her quick, nervous movements and darting eyes.

  “Er-no, but I’ve remembered something I need to do. I’ll come for tea another time. Mrs Henderson is having her carriage brought round. She agreed to take us home since Andrew is using your vehicle this afternoon and John is away.”

  “We could take a hackney, which is how we got here,” Mary persisted. “Mrs Henderson told me she planned to stay for the afternoon.” She nodded to where a plump middle-aged lady appeared to be taking her farewells of a group of ladies gathered beneath one of the larger gazebos.

  “She might have been then, but now she's happy to leave,” Emily enunciated each word as if explaining to a child.” Come along Isla,” she called over the grass. “We're going now.”

  Isla clambered to her feet, a string of daisies trailing from one hand.

  “Must we, Aunt Emily? I like it here.” Her feet dragged on each step as she joined them,

  “Yes we must, and don't call me aunt.”

  “Aren't you going to say goodbye to Miss Grace?” Isla asked, tugging at her arm as Grace accompanied them through the main tea room.

  Why had Emily gone to all the trouble to bring Mary and Isla to the opening, only to drag them away at the first opportunity?

  “What? Oh yes, of course.” Emily halted and turned back briefly. “Good afternoon, Grace dear. Lovely place you have.”

  “Goodbye, Emily,” Grace said. “And to you, Isla, I hope you'll come back and see me sometime.”

  “May I have some of that strawberry cake next time I come?” Isla stared up at Grace through eyes s
o like Andrew’s she was momentarily speechless.

  “I-I don’t see why not. Let me know when to expect you and I’ll ask my chef to make some for you.”

  “Thank you.” Isla bobbed a charming, if wobbly curtsey before Emily ushered her into the street.

  “I'm so pleased to have met you at last.” Mary held back, a hand on Grace's arm. “Andrew was so right about you. I do hope we'll be friends.”

  “Thank you. I hope so too.” A cold hand gripped Grace's heart and squeezed.

  * * *

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, with new visitors rapidly taking the place of departing ones. The tea room was a great success, with most attention on the garden, which was admired by everyone. Most patrons sought out Grace before they left to assure her they would come back often.

  “It's so nice to have a place to bring one's friends,” a matron expressed the sentiment Grace heard repeated all afternoon.

  She escaped to the kitchen for a well-earned cup of tea and by the time she returned, there were only five or so tables occupied in both areas.

  The tea room bell jangled, bringing a sigh from Aoife on her way past with a loaded tray. “I was hoping there wouldn't be any more customers.”

  “Don't worry, I'll see to them,” Grace said. “Just make sure the urn has been replenished with hot water.” She waved her away and turned to greet the new arrival only to come face to face with Andrew Jardine.

  “Good afternoon.” She swallowed, aware her breathing had quickened, but hoped he hadn't noticed. “Um-have you come to collect Mary and Isla? If so, I'm afraid they left a while ago.”

  He removed his hat, regarding her steadily. “Mary mentioned at breakfast she was to attend your opening, but I'm not here for them. I came to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I felt our last meeting ended on a sour note. For a reason I cannot fathom, I appear to have intruded where I wasn’t welcome.”

  “It’s not important, really. I’ve forgotten all about it. There's no need to apologize.” She held both hands up in surrender. “I would invite you to stay for some refreshment, but I’m horribly embarrassed to say the cake has all gone.”

  “Which is excellent news for your first day. I hoped to get here earlier but some business delayed me.” He gave the room a slow appraising glance, then indicated the open doors onto the veranda. “May I?”

  “Oh, of course.” She stepped aside to allow him to walk through.

  He strolled to the edge of the veranda from where he surveyed the garden. He rested one hand on the balustrade, the other he tucked into a pocket of his charcoal grey trousers, revealing a sapphire blue waistcoat the exact shade of the sash on Isla’s dress.

  Grace looked away quickly and swallowed.

  “You have a good eye, Mrs MacKinnon.” He turned his devastating smile on her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The way the hedges are placed to give privacy to the arrangements of tables and chairs is charming. Far enough away to discourage flying creatures but intimate enough for conversation. The gazebos are especially attractive. Allow me to congratulate you. I'm sure you are set for continued success.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so.” She kept her voice calm, but her heart felt as if it might leap out of her chest. “I could still offer you tea. If you have time.”

  “No, thank you. I need to get home, but I didn't want to let your first day go by without offering my good wishes.”

  “I appreciate that, thank you. Mary is a lovely woman,” Grace blurted. “And what a delightful child Isla is.”

  “Thank you. I adore them both.” He twisted his upper body towards her, his shoulder against a wooden upright. “Mary finds town too busy, but it’s the best place for Isla. She’s enrolled into Edgehill School for Girls in Windsor for when she’s older.”

  “I assume that isn’t the Windsor I’m familiar with?”

  “Ah, no. It’s in Nova Scotia.” His spine-tingling laugh drifted out across the garden, knotting Grace's insides.

  She wished he would leave and put a halt to the torture of his presence, but at the same time dreaded his going.

  “Do I see a familiar face?” His gaze slid past her to where Aoife issued change to a departing customer. “Surely that's the young lady you sailed over with. The Irish girl with the quick tongue?”

  Grace smiled. “Aoife Doyle, yes that’s her. Things didn’t quite work out for her in New Brunswick.”

  Aoife caught them looking at her and wandered over. “It’s Mr Jardine isn’t it?” she said with her usual unguarded friendliness. “Nice to see you again, sir.”

  “And you, Miss Doyle.”

  “Aww, no one calls me that. Aoife's what I answer to. I hope you’ll be a regular here, sir. Miss Grace was saying the other day-”

  “Aoife,” Grace interrupted. “I think those people by the door wish to pay their bill.” She gave her a discreet but firm shove.

  “I'm going,” Aoife muttered, both hands held palms outwards as she backed away.

  “She hasn't changed.” Jardine smiled at her retreating back. “If I recall, she travelled on an assisted passage. Would you let her know for me that if she has any unfinished business with the Salvation Army with regards to reimbursements, complaints for misrepresentation and so on, I would be happy to assist where I can?”

  “That's very kind of you to offer. I'll pass that on.” Grace searched for something interesting to say, but in truth she was quite happy to stand and look at him. “What happened to the SS Parisian? I know she didn't sink, but were you able to salvage her?”

  “We did indeed. I've spent some time recently going back and forth to Halifax to deal with the investigators. Unfortunately, the dispute will take at least a year to get settled.”

  “From where I stood on the deck it was obvious who was at fault. That German boat made no attempt to slow down and we were stationary.”

  “Where money is concerned, nothing is obvious.” They fell into a companionable silence, both contemplating the garden, now almost cleared of patrons. Grace sneaked covert looks at his profile, unable to work out exactly why he had come.

  “I hope you'll allow me to call again,” he said finally. “Perhaps I'll come earlier next time when you have made more cake.”

  “Of course. After all it’s a public tea room. I look forward to seeing Mary again too, she’s such a sweet woman.”

  “I didn’t mean - uh, never mind. I'll convey your sentiments to her when I get home.” He bowed and replaced his hat. “If you find yourself in need of help, I hope you won’t hesitate to call on myself or John Cahill.”

  “I've already asked Mr Cahill's advice.” Grace frowned, sensing there was something he wished to say but couldn't bring himself to do so. “What sort of help do you feel I need?”

  “Advice then. Remember we will always be here, and that you should not trust every offer you receive.”

  Grace was about to ask him what he meant, when he added, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs MacKinnon, Grace.” He nodded at Aoife who hovered at the far end of the veranda. “And you, Aoife.”

  “What was all that about?” Aoife drifted back to her side once he moved away.

  “I've no idea.” Grace watched Jardine as he made his way through the tea room and out to his waiting carriage.

  “You could have been a bit nicer, Grace,” Aoife said. “You hardly said a word to him.”

  “I don't think that's true.” Though on reflection, she was probably brusque without meaning to. Perhaps he already regretted his visit?

  Grace remained at the door, seeing out the last of the customers who issued thanks and congratulations. Grace locked the door behind the last of them, and turned the sign to read ‘closed’. Through the glazed door she noticed a man on the corner who appeared to be studying the tea room. He wore a baggy brown suit, his face, apart from a heavy moustache, barely visible beneath a pulled down homburg hat.

  She beckoned Aoife closer. “Do you see that man? Was
he one of our customers?”

  “I don't recognize him.” Aoife studied the distant figure. “I think I remember him though, he was standing right there when I opened the tea room. He hasn’t moved.”

  “Perhaps he’s waiting for someone?”

  Dismissing him, Grace pulled down the blind and followed Aoife into the kitchen where Leon and Tilly stood among piles of freshly washed crockery set out in neat piles ready to be put away.

  “He's a fine-looking man, that Mr Jardine,” Aoife said, heading for the china storeroom with a tray loaded with cups.

  “Who's Mr Jardine?” Tilly asked, her face bright with expectation as she balanced several plates.

  “No one,” Grace snapped. “Tilly, be careful, that pile is too high, you'll drop them.”

  Chastened, Tilly reduced the pile and set off after Aoife.

  “I still think you were a bit short with him,” Aoife whispered, returning for another pile of crockery.

  “I’m no marriage wrecker, Aoife,” she whispered back.

  “If you say so, though to my mind, if a man likes you as much as that, he deserves some encouragement.”

  “It cannot be, and that’s an end to it.” Grace straightened her shoulders and began sifting through a stack of receipts but didn't take in any of them.

  Her memories of Andrew Jardine were bitter-sweet, what with Emily Cahill's obvious ploy to goad her by parading Mary and Isla in front of her. What made matters worse, Grace genuinely liked Mary. The last thing she would ever do was hurt her, or Isla. Then there was Keogh’s remark that any interest Jardine showed in her would be of a particular kind; and it wasn’t marriage.

  She slapped the pile of receipts back in the cash box and slammed the lid, annoyed with herself.

  It was her own fault she misunderstood Jardine's intentions, which were no more than those of a generous friend. A friendship she would be churlish to reject. If only she didn't like him so much, but how did one stop hankering over someone they could not have?

  Chapter 19

  “We might need more staff soon,” Grace observed, running a finger down the ledger she studied at the kitchen table. “We’ve more bookings over the next few weeks, and we’ll be full for all of July.”