The Good Servant

by Adrien Leduc

The Good Servant

  Adrien Leduc

  (Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication: For my great-grandfather, Ernest Attfield, a servant and a man who made a fair attempt at leading a "normal" life. And for Anne McGuire (nee Sullivan), a strong and optimistic woman who has led an exemplary life of hardwork and goodwill.

  Synopsis: Set in Kingston, Canada, in the year 1842, The Good Servant tells the tale of the Hutchinson's, a prominent English-emigrant family, and Ernest Caldwell, the man who serves them. The Hutchinson's spectacular fall from grace, coupled with the riveting and suspenseful drama of the daily goings-on of their househould make this historical thriller a fast-paced and exciting read that will keep you captivated until the very end.

  - 1 -

  "I haven't the faintest idea what you're trying to get at, Helena. You know very well that you can remain with us as long as you like."

  "I know. It's just...it's just..." the young maid replied slowly.

  "Well? Spit it out child! I don't have all night!"

  "Well...it's just...if my situation were to change, Madam..."

  Lady Laura Hutchinson gave a sigh of exasperation. "I still have no clue what you're talking about and frankly I'm through trying to understand! Now go and run Caroline's bath! It's getting late!"

  "Yes, Madam."

  Through the thin parlour door, Ernest Caldwell could hear everything Helena and Lady Hutchinson were saying and he wondered with intense curiosity what secret Helena was so unwilling to share.

  "Add some wood to the fire, would you, Ernest? There's a draft coming in and I can't afford to fall ill - not with the Assembly set to resume this week."

  "Yes, of course, Sir," Ernest answered, turning to face Lord James Hutchinson, his employer and patriarch of the Hutchinson family.

  "And make sure to use the old wood - those logs the Hayden boy brought us smoke too much," Lord Hutchinson added, giving his newspaper a shake so as to straighten the pages.

  "Yes, Sir."

  After selecting only the oldest of the logs stacked beside the hearth, Ernest dutifully added more wood to the fire, stoking it as needed. Within minutes, it was crackling peacefully once more.

  "Absolute lunacy..."

  Ernest looked up. "Something the matter, Sir?"

  "No...no...nothing that concerns you, anyways," he answered slowly, repositioning his feet so that they rested on the small, brown ottoman in front of him. Seated in his high-backed, leather lounge chair, the graying parliamentarian coughed and continued reading.

  "Well. Would it be alright if I turn in for the night then, Sir?" Ernest asked hopefully.

  The butler's motive for going to bed earlier than usual had nothing to do with his desire to sleep and everything to do with finding an opportunity to speak with Helena - though admittedly he would probably benefit more from the former than the latter. Lord Hutchinson had set him to work in the stables that morning, cleaning the carriage and laying new straw in the horse pens. It had been exhausting work and he wouldn't mind laying his head on his pillow right about now...but then again, Helena had tried to tell Lady Hutchinson something - something important - and he was determined to find out what it was in the event the young maid needed his help.

  "I see no reason why you shouldn't," Lord Hutchinson drawled, rousing Ernest from his thoughts.

  "Very well then, Sir. I shall retire for the evening. Thank you."

  Lord Hutchinson merely grunted and the butler left him alone in the parlour, being mindful to shut the door quietly as he exited. Once in the corridor, Ernest stopped and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Directly in front of him was the stairwell. To his left, the kitchen and beyond. To his right, the ante room and front door.

  Hearing the muffled sound of Helena's voice upstairs, the butler stepped forwards, quietly, listening intently. He couldn't very well go upstairs without first ensuring that Lady Hutchinson wasn't up there also. He tiptoed forwards and peered up the dimly lit stairwell.

  Where is that confounded mistress of mine...

  As his room was on the main floor, past the kitchen at the opposite end of the house, Ernest would have to think of an excuse for going upstairs. Just then however, a sudden clang from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

  Peter had evidently dropped a pot or something of the sort and the clang was proceeded by a barrage of shouts from Lady Hutchinson as she began to scold the young cook.

  There she is.

  Wanting to go into the kitchen and help soothe the situation, he realized that this temporary distraction was his chance and, seizing on his bit of good fortune, the butler made his way quickly up the stairs. Once upstairs, Ernest navigated his way through the corridor using the dim light emanating from the bathroom, and stopped once he reached the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar and he could hear the voices of Helena and Caroline inside. Helena was explaining to the young Hutchinson girl why she had to wash her hair.

  "But, it's so cold!"

  "Caroline, it's not cold. I heated this water not half an hour ago."

  "And that's why it's cold, Helena!"

  There was a rush of water and Ernest could hear Caroline start to whimper.

  "Hold still, Caroline."

  "But, it's cold."

  Evidently, they were going to be awhile. Stepping away from the bathroom door, he moved towards the stairwell and listened closely. He didn't want Lady Hutchinson coming upstairs and surprising him - not with him lurking outside the bathroom door like some peeping Tom. Or peeping Oliver. Leaning forwards, he looked out over the banister, eyes and ears straining for any sign of Lady Hutchinson.

  He needn't have tried so hard though as, a moment later, Lady Hutchinson's shrill, loud voice echoed down the corridor and carried up the stairs.

  Poor Peter, the butler thought to himself, shaking his head in dismay. They really don't appreciate the good work he does...

  Several seconds passed in which Ernest reflected on the Hutchinson's lack of gratitude towards the hardworking cook. But then, suddenly, there came the familiar creaking sound of the kitchen door being opened, followed by the unmistakeable sound of Lady Hutchinson's heels on the hardwood floor. She was in the corridor now and by the sounds of her brisk pace she would reach the stairs in an instant.

  Stepping quickly away from the stairwell, the butler pressed himself against the wall beside the bathroom door once again. It was quickly becoming apparent that he would be unable to speak with Helena tonight.

  It'll have to wait until tomorrow.

  With his mind now set on confronting the maid the following morning, Ernest turned, plucked the oil lamp from the table at the top of the stairwell, and made his way back downstairs just as Lady Hutchinson had begun to climb them.

  "Ernest?"

  "Oh, Madam, you gave me quite a fright," he lied, patting his chest dramatically.

  "What were you doing upstairs? I thought you were in the parlour with James."

  "I was, Madam. And then I had to fetch the lamp for Helena. It needs refilling."

  The tall, stern-looking woman nodded. "Right. Very well then."

  "And as soon as I'm finished with that, I'm headed to bed."

  "Oh? Are you quite tired?"

  "Yes, Madam. Lord Hutchinson worked me like a Negro today."

  The woman looked at him. "He had you in the stables, did he not?"
/>
  Ernest nodded and descended two more steps so that he was at eye level with his taller mistress.

  The woman paused and pursed her lips. "I meant to speak with him about that," she remarked after several seconds. "You're getting too old to be doing that sort of labour. Best we leave those types of tasks to Oliver or Peter from now on. I'll speak with James tomorrow and tell him that you're not to work in the stables any longer."

  "Thank you, Madam."

  "There's no need to thank me. You've been with our family for nearly six years now...and we need to keep you in good condition if you're to last another six," she finished, winking.

  Ernest smiled politely.

  "Now," she said, growing serious once more, "it's getting late and the ladies are coming for luncheon tomorrow. It will be a busy day. I want you fully rested and ready to go at seven o'clock. So off to bed with you."

  "Yes, of course, Madam."

  "Good night, Ernest."

  "Good night, Madam."

  Their conversation over, the butler continued down the stairs and then shuffled down the corridor. He passed the kitchen where he could hear Peter grumbling to himself, the storage closet that contained a bit of everything, and the guest room, before finally arriving at his bedroom door.

  Once inside, Ernest set the lamp down on his dresser, closed the door, and locked it. The oil didn't need refilling - he'd done it just yesterday. The lamp had only been a prop - an excuse to be upstairs. Unfortunately, he'd still not gotten an opportunity to speak with Helena. Still, there was always tomorrow.

  As his feet were exceedingly sore, the butler took a seat on the edge of his small, sturdy bed and removed his shoes. It was January, the coldest month of the year in Kingston, and he pulled thick, woolen socks over top of the ones he already had on to keep his feet from freezing in the night.

  That done, he changed into his pyjamas - as quickly as he could to avoid the chill of the night air - turned down the lamp, and crawled under the covers. His bed was cold and it took a long while to warm up. Rubbing his hands and feet together, he was able to speed the process along and within minutes, he was warm and yawning fiercely. Not long after, Ernest felt his eyelids flutter, and he was soon fast asleep and snoring softly.

  - 2 -

  The following morning got off to a fast and tumultuous start. Lady Hutchinson was in a foul mood because Peter had found a mouse in the pantry. Enraged by this, she had Peter and Ernest check each and every item of food for mouse droppings and then had them place bits of lye soaked bread in every crack and crevice.

  Ernest had hoped that he would have a chance to speak with Helena, but with all the hubbub surrounding the discovery of the mouse and Lady Hutchinson's afternoon luncheon, no opportunity arose.

  It was only after morning tea, as Ernest was heading outside to speak with Oliver the groundskeeper about clearing the ice from the front step, that he finally found himself alone with Helena.

  "Helena."

  "Ernest."

  She seemed distracted. Distant.

  "Busy morning, isn't it?"

  "Indeed."

  "Well, after this upcoming week-end, we should get some respite. Master Hutchinson is back to the Assembly on Monday and so our work should be a little lighter."

  "For you, maybe," the young woman scoffed. "The Madam can't seem to leave me be. And what with Caroline's embroidery and reading lessons now - I'll hardly have a minute to myself."

  Ernest looked closely at the maid's face. Her golden blonde hair. A single lock protruding from her maid's cap. Her eyes, worried and concerned-looking. Her mouth, unsmiling.

  "I've been meaning to ask you, Helena - "

  "HELENA! WHERE ARE YOU?"

  "COMING, MADAM!"

  "Sorry, Ernest. I've got to get the plants in the drawing room watered, the table set, Caroline's hair needs doing..."

  "Right...er...well...we'll talk later in the day then, shall we?"

  She looked at him begrudgingly. "If I have time."

  "Of course. I wouldn't want to impose. You need time for yourself after all."

  "I'm glad you understand."

  "HELENA!"

  "I'M COMING!"

  Ernest watched as the young maid turned and disappeared upstairs.

  It's going to be a busy day.

  He continued down the corridor and made his way outside where the January air was as frigid as always. Shivering, he surveyed the sprawling, snow-covered yard, searching for the groundskeeper.

  "Oliver?"

  The butler made his way through the tall hedges that flanked the main yard and saw a plume of smoke coming from the chimney stack of Oliver's cabin at the bottom of the hill. Stepping carefully along the snow-covered pathway. He descended the hill and arrived at the sturdy, wooden door minute later.

  He rapped sharply.

  "Oliver?"

  There came the scraping of a chair, the sound of footsteps, and then the door opened.

  "What do you want, old man?"

  Ernest was taken aback by the unfriendly greeting. While Oliver had always been considered to be somewhat of a brute, he was not usually so crass.

  "Master Hutchinson has asked me to ask you to remove the ice from the front step. Madam is worried that one of the ladies may slip."

  "I haven't gotten to that yet," answered Oliver dryly, wiping his hands on his leather apron.

  Ernest looked at the brawny groundskeeper, ignoring the foul odour emanating from his person. "Any clue as to when you'll get to it?"

  "No. I'll get to it when I get to it."

  Ernest smiled to mask his disproval. Evidently the man was in another one of his "moods".

  "Right, well I'll tell Master Hutchinson that you'll get to it sometime today."

  "Tell him what you like, old man."

  The man's steel blue eyes - which Ernest thought contrasted oddly with his bright red hair - bored into his and he smiled once more, hoping to ease the tension. "Bit nippy out, eh?"

  Oliver grunted and shifted his gaze away. Evidently, he had no intention of inviting Ernest inside. Not that the butler was particularly keen to step inside the unkempt cabin. The few times he'd done so, there'd been game hanging from the rafters with the blood of the animals left to drip unhindered onto the floor below. Not exactly sanitary...

  Ernest rubbed his hands together, managing to warm them only slightly. "Right, well, I suppose I'll be going then."

  Oliver looked back at him, then shut the door. There was the sound of the lock being turned and then footsteps as the groundskeeper returned to whatever he'd been doing.

  Ernest shook his head disdainfully, unable to comprehend why Oliver was such a slovenly brute, and then turned and made his way back towards the house. As he passed once more through the hedges that flanked the main yard however, he stopped.

  There was something in the hedges. It was difficult to make out, but if he just got a little closer...a boot? There was a boot. Stuck firmly amongst the branches of the tallest hedge. It was Helena's boot.

  Trying to determine how Helena's boot might have come to arrive at such a place, Ernest bent down on hands and knees and managed to free it.

  Back inside, he headed to the kitchen and set the boot by the oven. Peter was busy skinning a chicken, skillfully separating the meat from the feathers without wasting a morsel.

  "I've left Helena's boot beside the stove, Peter. It needs thawing. I found it in the hedges outside. If you see her before I do, let her know that it's there, will you?"

  "I shall, Ernest," said the young cook without looking up from his work.

  "Thank you."

  Ernest made his way towards the door, but stopped himself before going through.

  "Say, Peter?"

  "Yes?"

  "Have you noticed anything different...or peculiar...about Helena lately?"

  "No, I can't say - well - hold on - now that you mention it," he said pensively, setting down his knife, "she was crying the other day. Out by the stab
les. It was fairly early in the morning - "

  "What day was this exactly?"

  "Well, today is Thursday, so let me see..."

  He muttered to himself as he counted backwards.

  "Monday. Monday morning. I was bringing in some lamb from the cellar. And I saw her. Standing there."

  "And you say she was crying?"

  "Yes."

  "Out by the stables?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I confess that I do not know, Ernest."

  The butler massaged the stubble on his chin as he deliberated. "Did you speak with her then?"

  Peter shook his head. "No. It seemed...private. I felt it best not to interfere."

  Ernest leaned back against the wall.

  Cheerful Helena? Crying? Whatever for?

  The door swung open then and Lady Hutchinson strode in with Caroline following closely behind her, chattering away.

  "Is Charlotte coming for luncheon then?"

  "No. Mrs. Winthrop said that she is sick with the flu."

  "No," the young girl whined, obviously disappointed that her playmate wouldn't be coming that afternoon.

  "Yes."

  Neither had noticed Ernest standing sentry-like behind them. Lady Hutchinson switched her attention to Peter.

  "So are we clear about the menu?"

  "Yes, Madam. One basket of croissants, a platter of cured ham, a dish of pickled cucumber, a dish of pickled beet, and a tureen of chicken soup. And of course, tea. Oh, and a small basket of biscuits for the soup."

  Lady Hutchinson smiled. "Good. And what time is luncheon to be brought out?"

  "At one o'clock, Madam."

  "Very good. I expect - Ernest?"

  "Madam."

  "I didn't see you there, Ernest. You startled me."

  "Oh...I apologize...er...I was just trying to remember what Master Hutchinson wanted me to do this afternoon. I sort of fell into a day dream."

  Caroline laughed.

  "This is no time for day dreaming, Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson tersely, casting her daughter a reproving stare. "The ladies will be here in two hours. Go and ask him what he wants from you and be quick about it. He's in the parlour."

  "Yes, Madam."

  "And tell him I'd like to speak with him."

  "I shall."

  "Thank you, Ernest."

  "You're welcome, Madam."

  Lady Hutchinson's luncheon came off without a hitch, much to everyone's surprise - Lady Hutchinson included - and after supper that evening, while Ernest cleared away the dishes, the happy hostess raved about the event.