A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  Earnest sat up and whined. The owl fluttered inside her bamboo cage and hooted.

  “Sorry,” Belle said, knowing she caused their restlessness, and lay on her back.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. At least there had been one happy moment this evening. Before coming upstairs, she had managed to have a private word with Lord Terrance about their visit to the Parkers.

  The astonishment on his face was well worth her losses this day. Her triumph tasted sweeter than the gooseberry cream she had for dessert. She closed her eyes. Then her eyes snapped open. What if Mrs. Parker refused Belle’s plans for her dinner party?

  THREE HOURS before Lord Terrance was to join her, Belle and Mendal arrived at the Parkers’ farm. She had to ensure Mrs. Parker would not only acquiesce to the evening’s plans, but was well enough to do so.

  Four children who played in the snow ran to meet the one-horse cart on which she had driven over. Earnest jumped out to bark and run around the two boys and two girls. Mendal’s research had uncovered the children’s ages. They ranged from a nine-year-old boy to a little girl of three.

  “Good afternoon,” Belle said. “My name is Lady Belle Marchant, and this is my maid Mendal. I am staying at the manor.” She raised a hand when the eldest boy would have spoken. “Wait. Do not introduce yourselves. If I can guess one thing that each of you are thinking, I shall win your name and a kiss on the cheek.”

  The children laughed.

  “You will not win anything from me then,” the tallest boy said and confidently petted Earnest.

  Descending from the cart, Belle studied him. A tall lanky boy, he scrunched up his mouth, eyes, and nose, defying her to read his thoughts. She did not even try, for Mendal had learned the eldest Parker child greatly favored desserts. Already his nose twitched as he slit an eye open to follow the waft of apples, raisins, and lemon rising from the Christmas pudding.

  “Pudding,” she said.

  He stomped his foot, but being an honorable gentleman, he leaned over and pecked her cheek. “Steven, my lady.”

  Earnest jumped up and licked both their faces.

  “You were not part of the game,” Steven said to the dog. “You stole those kisses.”

  Belle moved on to the next eldest, a girl. By the time she won a wholehearted hug and a kiss from three-year-old Margaret, Mrs. Parker came out to greet them.

  She looked as if she had hastily dressed and appeared too thin in a brown dress that had seen many a good year’s wear. Her long face had dark circles beneath her sunken eyes, and her light brown hair hung limp about her shoulders. Belle suspected she was not yet completely recovered from her illness.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker.” Belle introduced Mendal.

  “Good afternoon, my lady. Mrs. Mendal.” Her hostess curtsied and wrapped her threadbare shawl tighter.

  Belle said that she had heard they were a family in need during this blessed holiday season, and she had wanted to do her Christian duty and bring them some food.

  “How very kind,” Mrs. Parker said.

  Belle recruited the two boys to carry the provisions. As the boys ran back and forth from the cart to the house, Earnest, ever helpful, followed them in and out.

  “But there’s so much,” Mrs. Parker said.

  “It is Lady Terrance who is generous with this gift,” Belle said. “When I advised her I planned to visit one of her tenants, she insisted I take as much as I could possibly carry.”

  Belle took out a picnic basket and flipped off the top. “She even had cook bake us a meat pie.”

  “We could not eat so much in one meal, my lady.” She glanced at Belle and Mendal, and after a moment of hesitation, said, “Would you care to join us for supper?”

  “We would love to.” One hurdle crossed. One to go.

  “Do not worry about the amount of food,” Mendal said. “In this cold weather, it should keep for as long as you need.”

  “I suppose.” Mrs. Parker snagged Steven as he ran by. “These ladies will stay for supper, Steven, so please untie their horse and give it some feed in the barn.”

  They walked toward the house, and Belle took the woman’s arm, ostensibly in a companionable hold, but in reality to ensure the frail woman did not trip on the icy pathway.

  “With Christmas less than a month away, will you decorate your house?” Belle asked.

  “As my husband is away, we do not plan a celebration.”

  “It seems to me that is the perfect reason to have a celebration,” Belle said. “If he returns early, it would be to a cheerful home, and if he cannot make it back in time for the holiday, the decorations might raise our spirits.”

  “I suppose. We shall have to see.”

  Belle sensed a lack of enthusiasm. In her drained state, the poor thing probably worried as much about the work it would take to dismantle the decorations after Christmas, as it would be to put them up now.

  “They have not begun to decorate the manor either,” she said, hoping to give Mrs. Parker an easy way out. “Are such things not the custom in Cheshire?”

  “The villagers used to decorate the streets and homes and hold festivals,” Mrs. Parker said. “There used to be a Christmas dance at the manor. That was a long time ago, of course, when I was a youth. We do not bother with such entertainments these days.”

  Belle helped Mendal unpack the various hampers onto the large kitchen table.

  As Mendal had warned, the hearth was meagerly filled with coal. Belle had a large barrel of coal on her cart for just this need. She sent the boys to unload it. Once a hearty fire blazed, Steven hung a half-done roast there to finish cooking.

  Earnest sat before the fire, pretending to guard the roast. Belle suspected both the fire’s warmth and the succulent meat had drawn him to his position.

  Mrs. Parker wanted to help with preparations, but Belle insisted that she sit and watch, for this was meant as a treat for the mother, not her guests. After a halfhearted protest, her tired hostess complied.

  “Tell me about the Christmas celebrations in Terrance Village,” she said to bring Mrs. Parker into the conversation.

  “His late lordship was not much for socializing with villagers,” Mrs. Parker said. “Though his good wife, when they were first married, loved it. Lady Terrance was a great one to chat with all and sundry. Since her husband disapproved of her behavior, as the years passed, they socialized less with us.”

  “But Lady Terrance still visited the villagers?” Belle asked.

  “Oh yes. But she would wait until his lordship left for Parliament. However, since her husband died, she has stopped speaking with us altogether. At first, we thought she mourned, but she still does not come to visit.”

  Belle had her suspicions about the change in the countess’s behavior. The nightly visits by her dead husband might keep her housebound as surely as if he were alive and residing there.

  “Lady Terrance’s son is home now,” Mrs. Parker said, “but if you will pardon my bluntness, my lady, he has little time or patience for his tenants.”

  “Surely that cannot be,” Belle said. “I understood him to care deeply about his new responsibilities as earl, and those would certainly include all who work for him.”

  “Then why does he plan to discharge Mr. Nightingale?” Mrs. Parker asked. “His agent was loyal to the Terrances. Yet, he is to be let go with no more thought than his lordship would give to flicking dust off his fancy boots.”

  “I must admit I know little of that matter,” Belle said. “Has anyone asked Lord Terrance about Mr. Nightingale?”

  “Question Lord Terror?” The moment she spoke, Mrs. Parker went deathly pale.

  “Please, do not worry,” Belle said. “He will not hear from me that you called him that name.”

  “Thank you, Lady Belle,” Mrs.
Parker said with a relieved sigh. “It has been most harrowing of late. First, Mr. Darby’s death and then Mr. Brindle’s.”

  The latter name rang a warning bell. “Where did they die?”

  “Mr. Brindle passed in the village, just the other day,” Mrs. Parker said. “Mr. Darby died in London Town, about six months ago.”

  Belle frowned at the information. That time period was too coincidental.

  “We had problems with the farm about then,” Mrs. Parker said, “and all my attention was focused on helping my husband.” She gave Belle a side-glance filled with unease. “We suspect Lord Terrance plans to evict us, as his father did Mr. Brindle.”

  The lady’s shoulders drooped.

  Belle and Mendal exchanged a glance, Belle’s filled with worry and Mendal’s holding an “I told you this was a bad idea” gleam. Still, Belle was determined to cheer this household before she must confess that the man they held in such fear would shortly arrive for dinner.

  As the hour progressed, her heart hammered faster. Impending doom approached, and she did not know how to stop it.

  Unaware of their guests’ tension, as they prepared dinner, the children sang and shared jokes. Scents of a well-done roast, potatoes and sausage rolls, cheese biscuits, and mince tarts infused the home.

  Shelving her worries, Belle told the children a tale about Christmas pudding. She carefully laid out the thirteen ingredients, meant to represent Christ and His Disciples. Then every family member took turns stirring the pudding with a wooden spoon from east to west, in honor of the Three Kings.

  To the children’s delight, Belle reenacted the Medieval silver coin custom. She fetched the silver from her reticule, washed it, and with much ceremony, hand waving, and sound effects, plopped the coin into the pudding.

  The children cheered.

  As each child stirred the pudding, she told them how this age-old custom was said to bring wealth, health, and happiness to whoever found the coin. Even Mrs. Parker was invited to stir to add her good wishes to the family’s future.

  After clearing the table, Mendal spread a festive cloth overtop.

  “Where I live,” Belle said to the children, “our servants cover the whole house in greenery to remind us spring is near.”

  Mrs. Parker looked around her home and then caught the children’s hopeful gazes. Belle was pleased to see more color on the mother’s face. Either from the heat of cooking or their merriment of company, Mrs. Parker seemed to have improved in both spirit and body.

  “Well,” the mother said, “it might make the place lively.”

  The children gave her a warm hug and rushed out the door before their mother could change her mind.

  “We will not be long,” Belle said.

  “I will watch the buns in the range,” Mendal said.

  “I can do that,” Mrs. Parker said. “I have done so little.”

  “You have done the most marvelous thing of all.” Belle took the woman’s hands. “You have given me a wonderful chance to spend time with your children. I grew up as an only child, and being here has shown me I would love to have a family.”

  “No doubt you will soon,” Mrs. Parker said.

  Belle kept her thoughts on her self-imposed, lonely future private and gave her hostess a hug. “Thank you for inviting us into your home. I hope you never regret it.”

  “How could I?” Mrs. Parker spread her arms to indicate the room filled with scents of baking and counters and table overflowing with food. “We cannot eat half of what you have brought us today.”

  “Never fear, Mrs. Parker, I am sure we will find enough appetites to do justice to this food. Now, I had better be off before I lose sight of the children.”

  In the space of a half-hour, they returned to the cottage with their haul. The three eldest children carried armfuls of ivy and boughs of evergreens, while Belle carefully carted a sackcloth full of the prickly holly with its bright red berries. Three-year-old Margaret carried a shawl-wrapped bundle of mistletoe, which they had found growing on a willow.

  They set to trimming the cottage. The children enjoyed strewing the branches of holly and ivy about the room and over chairs and tables while Belle placed several atop pictures and on tall shelves. She saved the mistletoe for last and then stood on a stool by the doorway and asked Margaret to pass her the plant.

  “Do you know where the practice of hanging these over doorways came from, Margaret?”

  “No.” The child looked up at her with wide, curious eyes.

  “Do you know who the Druids are?”

  “My lady,” Mendal said, “I hardly think that is an appropriate story for children.”

  “I do not mind,” Mrs. Parker said. “They hear much worse in school. And now I am curious about the tale.”

  “Me too,” Margaret said.

  Belle hid her smile. “This practice stretches back to ancient Druids who believed these plants possessed mystical powers. The plants were said to bring good luck to the household and . . .” She paused to lean down from the stool and whisper, “Ward off evil spirits.”

  The older children had joined the youngest and now listened wide-eyed. Just then someone pounded on the front door, and they screamed. Earnest, brave dog that he was, scooted under the kitchen table. Belle exchanged a nervous and guilty look with Mendal.

  “I wonder who that could be?” Mrs. Parker stood and leaned on the table, as if unsteady.

  “Spirits from the manor house,” Steven said.

  Margaret screeched and ran to hide behind her mother.

  “I suspect it is only Mr. Bedlow come to check on us,” her mother said. “The vicar is a kind man,” she said to Belle. “He has looked in on us most every week since my husband left.”

  Earnest ventured out from under the table to pad over to the doorway and sniff. Though his tail wagged, he gave a whine.

  Belle descended from the stool. Like Earnest, she had her suspicions about which spirit demanded entry.

  “I shall see who it is.” She shifted the stool aside and opened the door.

  “Good evening, Lady Belle.” Lord Terrance tipped his hat. He had dressed formally, no doubt hoping to make her realize the folly of her suggestion that he dine with his tenants.

  Two could play this game. She gave him a deep curtsy.

  “It is Lord Terror,” Steven said in a loud whisper.

  On rising, Belle cringed. If she had heard that proclamation, so must have Lord Terrance. She stepped aside and waited for Mrs. Parker to come to the door. This was, after all, her home. She would not invite in the woman’s enemy.

  “How may I help you, my lord?” Mrs. Parker appeared paler than she had when Belle first arrived.

  Belle put her arm around the woman’s shaking shoulders, and Rufus’s eyebrow shot up at that show of allegiance.

  Did he realize yet that she had lied when she said she had garnered him an invitation here? In fact, in the course of preparing dinner, she had changed her mind about having him visit, but it was too late to stop this carriage wreck.

  “Lady Belle.” Lord Terrance pinned her with a narrow, assessing gaze. “When my mother informed me that you had come to visit one of our tenants, and that it was with Mrs. Parker and her lovely family, I simply had to come to see for myself.”

  Clever man!

  “Your home smells heavenly, Mrs. Parker.” He then smiled so wide that he took Belle’s breath away.

  He seemed to have a similar effect on Mrs. Parker, for she stood speechless.

  Lord Terrance shifted on his feet, and though he easily topped everyone in the room, he made a show of craning his neck to see into the house. His body’s movement plainly suggested that he wished to enter.

  Mrs. Parker’s shoulders sagged beneath Belle’s arm, and her recently revived spirit evaporated
like steam from a pie.

  “Come in, my lord,” Mrs. Parker said, sounding as if she were inviting the devil inside.

  RUFUS HANDED the eldest lad his hat and coat and took time to study the room. The hearth had holly strewn over the mantle. Their red berries and deep green, angular leaves gave a bright festive air to the place. Greenery adorned walls, hung off curtains, pictures, on the back of chairs and an old sofa.

  To the left was the kitchen and dining area. A floral cloth covered the large kitchen table, and spread out over it, inside bowls and plates made of wood or tin, was every imaginable Christmas treat from his younger days. A center porcelain platter, worn and chipped, contained a well-done roast. The air hung steamy and warm from hours of cooking, and a scent of mouth-watering white fish lingered.

  All four children crowded in front of their mother, as though to guard her. Belle stood by the partially open front door with her overprotective maid and his disloyal dog beside her, as if all three considered making a run for it.

  Catching his challenging look, Belle’s chin rose, and she shut the door and used her foot to ostensibly push the dog away. As if that gesture could fool him into believing that she had not stolen his dog’s loyalty. The dog put lie to action by leaning against her legs the minute she released him.

  He could not remember Earnest ever acting this attached to anyone in his family, certainly never to him. Not that he blamed the hound. Everyone at Clearview, except his aunt, responded to Belle’s irresistible pull, most of all himself. He had profound sympathy with the dog’s plight.

  As he regarded her, he could not understand how she could look so charming while wearing a plain brown dress done up to her neck, with the sleeves sporting no more than the merest ruffle. For all that she was covered from neck to toe, Rufus was as enchanted by her appearance as if she wore the most revealing of gowns, regally embroidered. With effort, he shifted his focus to his hostess.

  “I see I arrived in time to interrupt your meal, Mrs. Parker. You have set a most inviting table.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Lady Belle has been generous to us.”