Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote

by Prairie Christmas Collection

  A hedge of tall yew, pruned to unnatural perfection, screened the lower windows of the house. At the back, the lane widened into a cobblestone yard that separated the kitchen wing from the carriage house and stables. David stopped at the kitchen door. Lucinda held still as he swung his leg over Kambur’s neck and landed on the ground at her feet. He offered up his hand. She took it, and their gazes locked for a moment. Quickly, she came to her senses and concentrated on getting off the horse with some degree of grace.

  David carried her satchel and ushered her up the steps. “With the dinner hour drawing near, there’s such chaos in the kitchen that a cannon blast would go unnoticed. They’ll never hear you knock.” Handing her the carpetbag, he pounded on the door with no success. He shrugged and said, “Just go on in.”

  He looked intently into her eyes. “I hate to leave you like this, but three days ago, the good Andy Henderson, head groomsman, and his wife left in the middle of the night. I’m sure the stables are in a muddle since most of the guests are already here. I owe it to the judge to set things straight.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze and, with easy grace, swung onto Kambur.

  “Thank you,” she called and waved. David returned her wave before he rode on to the stables.

  He didn’t really squeeze my hand, did he? You’re imagining things. A combination of emotions raced inside—unexpected attraction to Mr. Morgan and pure terror of facing an unfamiliar kitchen from the servant’s side of the fanning doors.

  Cautiously, Lucinda tried the latch. It lifted, and the heavy door swung open on silent hinges. A rush of hot air filled with a mix of savory aromas swept over her as she stepped inside.

  Chapter 4

  How she wished for Mr. Morgan’s comforting presence as she stepped into an unfamiliar kitchen for a job she had never done. She stared in disbelief at the sea of humanity running in all directions. To keep from getting trampled, she huddled in the corner and surveyed the kitchen. At the far end of the room and up seven stone steps were the fanning doors that separated the main house from the kitchen and service pantry. Serving maids wearing toadstool-shaped hats bustled in and out through the doors, carrying linens, trays of flatware, and condiments.

  They would be bringing in empty plates and carrying out the next course if the meal had begun. Relief surged through her; she had made it in time. Very soon she would be one of those servants, indistinguishable from the others unless someone looked closely. No one probably would unless she did something inappropriate.

  Lucinda had never studied formal dinner preparations in the detail she did now, but she knew these girls would keep their harried pace until long after the dinner hour. Guilt sprang up when she remembered her uncaring attitude in the past toward those who served her. Especially Pearl. I was so ungrateful. I took her for granted. Now she’s gone, and I have to fend for myself. I deserve this fate. I truly do.

  The kitchen was almost as large as the one in her English manor house, and the floor and the walls were tiled bright red. Against the outside wall stood a copper sink with water piped directly into it. The Tillotsons must truly be rich to afford such a luxury. Young servant girls stood on stools before the sink, elbow-deep in dishwater, scrubbing endless stacks of pots and pans. From the wood range, Lucinda caught the aromas of burning fruitwood and tantalizing spices. It had been many hours since she had eaten, and her mouth watered.

  The kitchen was sweltering. The large cook, autocratic ruler of her domain, mopped the sweat from her face with a Turkish towel round her neck. She was in the process of hoisting a huge baron of beef from the oven onto the chopping block in the middle of the room.

  She looked up from testing the roast and spotted Lucinda. She pointed at one of the maids. “You, Molly! Come.” Molly came running down the stairs. “See who’s hiding in the shadows by the door. If it’s a dirty tramp begging food, lay this frying pan across his back.” She grabbed up a heavy black skillet and thrust it into Molly’s small hands.

  Lucinda hadn’t thought of herself as looking like a tramp, and she wasn’t going to cower in the corner. She moved out of the shadows and watched Molly cross the kitchen.

  At a safe distance, she stopped. “Mrs. Kidd, do I …”

  “Get on with it, girl.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kidd.” Molly straightened to her full five feet and raised the pan over her head. “Get out, you ruffian! Get out afore I split yer skull.” Her voice squeaked like an adolescent boy’s and made a mockery of the threat.

  Clutching her satchel, Lucinda pushed back her cap and began walking toward Molly, never taking her eyes from the skillet. If I don’t assert myself right now, I’ll become the goat for the entire staff. She brushed by Molly and said in a firm voice, “I am the new maid Mr. Button engaged. Please let him know I have arrived.”

  Not used to such boldness, the other servants stopped in their tracks and gawked at Lucinda. Good. They shall not know how frightened I am. Let them think I’m a trusted colleague of the mighty Mr. Button. From managing her own house, she knew that the butler was the person to watch out for. He ran the staff upstairs and was absolute dictator below.

  Mrs. Kidd was first to recover her composure. “Well, goose, go fetch him,” she thundered.

  Still clutching the frying pan, Molly fled past Lucinda, up the stairs, and through one fanning door as Mr. Button entered the kitchen through the other. His cherubic face remained calm, but round eyes, partially obscured by bushy black brows, narrowed as he drew closer to Lucinda. “Ah, you are Mrs. Porter?” he asked in an adenoidal voice.

  The effect of the imperious Mr. Button bearing down on Lucinda caused her to stand tall and tip up her chin. Then she remembered her position and lowered her eyes as became a domestic servant.

  “So you have deigned to finally honor us with your presence. Early afternoon, as you promised, would have been much preferable. However, we’re a bit short of help, so I won’t throw you out with the chickens just yet.”

  They needed her, so she could afford to establish herself a bit higher in the pecking order. “Circumstances prevented an earlier arrival.” She spoke firmly.

  “I see,” said Mr. Button. “I understand your experience is limited.”

  “I have had no experience in this country. In England, however, I spent two years with the earl of Northland.” She stopped short of mentioning that she spent it as his wife. “I worked with the staff of a very large manor house. I am capable of serving in any area where I am required.”

  He cast a jaundiced eye over her from head to foot.

  Lucinda knew her worn coat and cap certainly did nothing to validate her claims. “All I had in this world was destroyed in the great Chicago fire last October. I have been forced to accept the generosity of others for my needs.”

  He sniffed and nodded. “Are you sensible and literate as your papers state?” His left nostril twitched in time to his words.

  “The papers are correct,” she said, giving an autocratic lift to her words. “I am both sensible and literate. Trained by the royals of England, I remain today on the most intimate terms with Lady North.”

  “Yes, yes, you come highly recommended. Have you brought sufficient aprons in good repair for housework? And suitable apparel for your afternoon off, if you are found worthy to be granted one?”

  “I did. However, my trunk was not put off the train.”

  “Late and no aprons. Not an auspicious beginning. What are you called?” he asked sharply.

  “My name is Lucinda. Lucinda Porter, sir,” she said over the steady chug of the water pump in the background. When she pulled off her cap, auburn curls tumbled over her shoulders. She lowered the collar away from her face and bobbed a curtsy.

  His eyes widened, and his left nostril twitched violently. “Yes, well …” He cleared his throat. “A bit pretentious, I’d say. Lucy seems more appropriate.”

  Lucinda debated with herself but a moment. “Perhaps Lucy is more appropriate for a serving girl, sir, but Lucinda is my name, and I
prefer it.”

  Mr. Button smiled. “A girl with spirit has a place. However, I hope, Lucy, you know the time and place.”

  He turned toward Mrs. Kidd. “Though the mistress has not yet arrived, Judge Tillotson says we are to serve dinner. And you, Lucy …”

  Lucinda winced at the name but held herself in the best servant stance. “Yes, sir?”

  “You will be assigned a post in the dining room. We shall assess the quality of your work while you serve dinner. Molly, take Lucy into the press for a fresh white apron and cap and show her how they are to be worn.”

  Lucinda followed Molly down a dim hallway and into the laundry press. Her back to the entrance, a lone woman stoked wood into the small, cast-iron range. Half a dozen irons of different sizes heated on the top of the stove, and a wrinkled sheet lay on the ironing board to press. Molly walked over and placed her arm around the woman’s shoulder. “I’ve brought the new girl in for an apron and hat.”

  The woman straightened and gave Molly a tired smile. “You know where they’re kept. Help yourself.” Molly scurried away. The frail woman wiped her hands on a towel and returned to the ironing board with a fresh iron.

  Lucinda studied the piles of laundry neatly arranged by color near the washtubs. I hope I never have to work here. This has to be the hottest, hardest work in any house. “Do you do all this work alone?” she asked.

  The woman looked up. Her face paled. “Oh, my,” she gasped and rushed to shut the door into the linen keep.

  “Pearl?” Lucinda cried out in disbelief, and they flew into each other’s arms. “Oh, Pearl, I can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing here? You told me you were going to live with your rich sister.”

  “Lucinda?” Pearl stepped back; her expression looked as though she would faint. “Is Molly getting the uniform for you?”

  Lucinda touched Pearl’s cheek. “Why are you here in the laundry press? Where is the rich sister who needed you to come be with her?”

  “I am living in my rich sister’s house. But no matter. I want to hear about you, my dearest child. Why are you here?” Pearl studied Lucinda. “You look …” Her eyes filled with tears. “What has happened to you?”

  All that Lucinda had bottled up came out in a tumble of words. “Wednesday last, Uncle announced it was his unpleasant duty to tell me that I was no longer wealthy. In fact, I was deeply in debt. Papa had unfortunate financial reverses, so he took on many loans. When Mama and Papa were killed, all that indebtedness fell on Uncle’s shoulders. He said he must repay these huge loans or the business was doomed. And there was no hope of rebuilding my home. Uncle assured me that my only option was to declare bankruptcy.”

  “But what happened to your settlement from Lord North’s estate?” Pearl asked. “That was substantial.”

  “It all went to pay off loans, according to Uncle.”

  Pearl’s brow creased. “But if it was your money that cleared the loans, shouldn’t you own the land?”

  “I did own it, but there’s no money to pay off the other loans. Uncle handed me sheaf after sheaf of papers. After I scanned them, I signed away everything.”

  Pearls eyes widened. “Not your necklace.” She spoke in a whisper.

  Lucinda shook her head and put hand over her heart. “Uncle finally let me keep it.” She glanced anxiously at the door into the linen keep, certain that Molly would be returning soon. “He said he had to sell his house and all he could scrape together to put against the debt or the business would fail. He had no money and suggested that I visit an intelligence service to find work as a domestic. So here I am.”

  Pearl wrapped Lucinda in her arms and crooned, “Your papa was a fine businessman, but I knew there had been financial reversals. I had no idea they were so severe. Only a few days before … the Fourth of July, I heard him tell your mama he had made an exceptional sale that would clear all their debt and permanently assure their financial future. Oh, my poor girl.” She released Lucinda. “Hurry, tell the rest.”

  “I must have looked stricken, because Uncle offered me money to tide me over until I could locate work. I thanked him and told him that I would get on just fine.”

  Pearl caressed Lucinda’s cheek. “So you went to the intelligence office and found work with the Tillotsons. But how did you get from the train station to here?”

  “Mr. David Morgan was kind enough to bring me.” The mere mention of his name made her glow inside.

  Pearl nodded. “A fine young man.” She held Lucinda at arm’s length. “Is the mistress home?”

  “I don’t think so. I overheard it said that we are to serve dinner without her.”

  “Then some quick words, my dear. Listen carefully. Stay out of sight as much as possible. Never turn your back on your betters, and never meet their eyes. Speak clearly but only as much as is necessary.”

  “Thank you, Pearl. I will be respectful in all ways, but I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life as a domestic—”

  Molly threw open the door and bustled into the press. “Land, Pearl, you had the aprons on the top shelf, and I liked never to have found one her size. Come, Lucy, take off that coat, and I’ll help you with the apron. Thank goodness you have a decent dress on.” Molly worked as fast as she talked, helping Lucinda don the apron and hat. “Now you look like a proper servant. Step lively, now. We’re to be in the serving pantry.”

  Pearl glanced toward Molly. “I need a moment with Lucin … Lucy. She’ll be right out.”

  Molly shrugged a shoulder and hurried down the hall.

  Pearl tucked a copper curl inside Lucinda’s mushroom-shaped hat. “For your own sake, keep your head down, your hair covered, and remain in the background. If the mistress arrives, stay as far from her as you decently can. Now hurry off. You’ll do just fine.”

  Reluctantly, Lucinda left the comfort of Pearl’s company. Fighting back tears, she walked slowly down the hallway, mindful of each step that took her farther from her predictable past into an unpredictable future.

  “Lucinda? We seem to have a tendency to run into each other,” a deep velvet voice said.

  She turned quickly, her gloom lifting. “Mr. Morgan? Whatever are you doing in the servants’ wing?”

  “I needed to see if you were all right. I dumped you off like a sack of potatoes and left you to fend for yourself. I’ve felt guilty ever since. The least I can do is apologize for not seeing you safely inside.”

  With a faint smile, she asked, “What exactly is your position here, Mr. Morgan?”

  He laughed. “You’re a courageous one, aren’t you?”

  “Are you avoiding my question?”

  “On the contrary, I was buying time while I tried to determine what exactly my position is. First of all, please call me David. I am uncomfortable with being Mr. Morgan to you.”

  That wouldn’t be difficult since she had been thinking of him as David all evening. “David it is. And I’m Lucinda, even though Mr. Button has christened me Lucy. He feels Lucinda is an uppity name.”

  David laughed again. “Yes, Button, as he is called on this side of the fanning doors, would consider that a threat to his dominion.”

  “Your position, David?” she reminded. She was desperate to know more about him. Even in the short time she had known him, she had become acutely aware that he was a mighty man. It showed in the way he moved, quick and powerful as the horse he rode. It showed in his eyes, bright and respectful—a rich navy blue she could see now in the light of the corridor. He seemed to know what she was thinking even when she did not speak her thoughts. It showed in his voice, deep, full, to match his speech. He was not given to needless words or courtly phrases but came to the point of things. Yes, she very much wanted to know more about this man.

  “Well,” he began with some hesitation, “during the past five years I’ve been a law clerk in Judge Tillotson’s office, read for the law with him, escorted Mistress Tillotson to various social events when requested to do so, and shoveled out the stables when the need
arose.” He pursed his lips. “That pretty much sums up my position.”

  “You will be a lawyer one day?”

  “I think that day may be upon me very soon.”

  Lucinda’s heart sank. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”

  He studied her as though reading her story. “Yes, right away. But now it won’t be by choice, and I shall regret having to go.”

  “You will?”

  “I will. Very much.”

  Molly’s worried face appeared behind David. “Lucy, please come. You’re going to be in terrible trouble if Mr. Button comes back and you’re not in the serving pantry.”

  David took her hand. “I know this is unacceptably sudden, but I can’t bear to think of leaving you just when I’ve found you. Perhaps later this evening when you have finished your duties …” He paused and looked deep into her eyes. “Could we talk? I feel I must know more about you.”

  “Lucy! Come!” Molly was running toward them.

  “Yes, David. You will find me?”

  “I will find you.”

  Molly grabbed Lucinda’s arm and guided her away. She looked back before she was propelled through the fanning doors. David stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes focused on her.

  Chapter 5

  David arrived outside the drawing room as Button was ushering the men from the library into the Tillotsons’ elegantly appointed drawing room. The ladies, resplendent in low-cut evening dresses, greeted them. David slipped inside and mingled with the assemblage. The men brought with them the fragrance of bay rum and the pungent scent of smoke from the thick cigars and cheroots that most in the library had smoked. Mixed with the women’s heady perfumes from Paris, the aroma was unusual but pleasant.