by Adrien Leduc
"And James, you should have heard Mrs. Winthrop's compliments! The woman would not cease speaking. She absolutely adored Peter's chicken soup. I don't believe she's ever had chicken soup. You know? As Peter's recipe is nothing unique - not by any stretch of the imagination - I can't envision why she would compliment it so. Still, a compliment is a compliment."
"Hmmm, yes," was all Lord Hutchinson replied.
"Stop fidgeting, Caroline! Goodness!"
The young girl stopped what she was doing and looked wide-eyed at her mother.
"How ever are we going to prepare you for polite society?"
"Oh, Laura," interrupted Lord Hutchinson. "Give it a rest, would you? She's eight years old."
"And that's high time to start behaving like a lady. When I was her age, I had already been wholly trained in proper dining etiquette. Not to mention, singing, dancing, and sewing."
"Well, teach her then."
"I've tried teaching her. She refuses to heed my instruction!"
"Well, get Helena to help you. I thought she was going to start giving Caroline lessons of some sort anyways."
"She is. Helena will be giving her reading and embroidery lessons. However, as her mother, it is my duty to teach my daughter to behave in civilized society. That's my domain, James. And I hardly think our Helena could teach her as well as I."
"I'll take my coffee in the parlour, Ernest," said Lord Hutchinson, shaking his head at his wife's ramblings.
Ernest smiled just enough to be polite. "Certainly, Sir."
"James."
"Yes? What is it?"
"Are you listening to what I am saying?"
"Of course, my little hummingbird. You would like Caroline to behave like a proper lady."
"Yes!"
"Well, then, teach her."
"She doesn't let me!"
Lord Hutchinson shook his head once more, and rose from the table.
"Can I be excused now, mother?" asked Caroline.
"See what you've started now, James? She sees you get up and immediately wants to leave the table after you."
Lord Hutchinson shrugged. "I don't know what to say, darling."
"Just...oh never mind. You may be excused, Caroline," said Lady Hutchinson, turning towards her daughter. "But tomorrow you'll be spending an hour or more with me learning how to sit properly. Are we clear?"
"Yes, mother."
"Very well then. You may go."
Lady Hutchinson watched her daughter get up from the table and follow her father out of the dining room.
"What do you think, Ernest?"
Ernest, who had lingered behind to see if Lady Hutchinson wanted anything more from him, didn't know what to say.
"Er..."
"Do you think I'm being unfair? She is only eight after all..."
"I suppose it's all relative, Madam. These are different times."
The woman sighed and propped her chin on the heel of her hand. "I suppose...perhaps I am being a bit strict..."
She made a face and Ernest smiled. "You're simply trying to be the best mother that you can be to our Caroline."
"Awww. That's so sweet. Thank you, Ernest. You can be so wise at times."
The butler chuckled to lighten his discomfort. He wasn't accustomed to compliments from Lady Hutchinson.
"I try my best, Madam."
"Well, keep it up, Ernest. We love having you with us."
"Thank you, Madam. Your confidence in me is inspiring. Would you like some coffee as well? I've got to go and make some for Lord Hutchinson."
"No, thank you, Ernest. I rather find that it keeps me up at night. And after the busy day we've had, heaven knows I could do with an early night."
"As you like, Madam."
"Tomorrow evening, perhaps. Lady Armstrong said it helps with her digestion. And according to Doctor Avery, it has many benefits for the body. So tomorrow evening, I'll have you make me a cup."
"With pleasure, Madam. Now, I really must be going," said Ernest, juggling the stack of plates he had cradled in his arms. "Lord Hutchinson doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"No, that he doesn't. Off with you then. And I'll ring for you if I need something before bed."
"Of course, Madam. Never hesitate."
With that, Ernest left Lady Hutchinson at the dining room table and headed for the kitchen.
It was a short while later, returning to the kitchen after bringing Lord Hutchinson his coffee, that he finally got a chance to be alone with Helena.
"Goodness. Ernest. You gave me a scare."
The butler smiled apologetically, and shut the kitchen door behind him. Evidently he'd acquired the habit of frightening people.
"I thought you heard me come in," he said slowly.
"I suppose I should have. My thoughts were elsewhere. It's no matter. All's well."
She finished cramming a slice of ham into her mouth - leftover from the luncheon earlier that day - and picked the hot kettle off the stove that was to be used for Lady Hutchinson's washing up.
"Here, let me get that," said Ernest, moving quickly to help the young maid.
"No. It's fine. I've got it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Please. You do enough for me as it is."
Ernest looked at her. "Really? Sometimes I feel as though I'm not doing enough."
"Really, Ernest. You've already done more for me than either of my parents ever did."
Considering that he really hadn't done all that much for her in the two years she'd been employed by the Hutchinson family, Ernest could only wonder what sort of uncaring creatures her parents had been.
"So, er, how have you been these past few days? Is anything troubling you?"
He'd told himself that since he'd had such difficulty getting a chance to speak with her, in private, that the next chance he had, he would just come right out and ask. No beating around the hedges as his mother used to say.
Helena looked sideways at him. "What do you mean?"
"Well..." Ernest said, seizing up again.
He watched as the maid, a tea towel in each hand, leaned forwards and grasped the heavy kettle.
"Please. Helena. Give me a minute to ask you something."
The girl set the kettle back onto the burner and turned to face him. "Okay. What?"
She seemed suddenly hostile and Ernest wasn't quite sure how to proceed.
"Last night...while I was in the parlour with Lord Hutchinson...I heard you trying to tell something to Lady Hutchinson."
"Ernest," Helena said, somewhat incredulously, "that's really none of your business."
She turned and went to pick up the kettle once more.
"No! Please! Just wait. Give me a minute to explain myself properly."
"Argh. Ernest. Please. I have to get Lady Hutchinson her hot water."
"Helena. Just a minute. Please."
He was desperate now. Helena rested her hands on her hips and stared at him.
"If you're in trouble...I can help you....are you in some kind of...trouble?"
The fearsome look on the young maid's face softened. "I'm flattered, Ernest, that you would be willing to help me. But I really don't know that there is anything you can do."
"Well. What's the problem? Do you owe money to someone? Has someone threatened you?"
Ernest racked his brain for possibilities. "Are you with child?"
At this last one, the room seemed to freeze and the butler stopped himself.
"You're not with child...are you?"
But the look on her face was all the answer he needed. "You're with child? Goodness...Helena..."
The girl's previously stoic face melted and Ernest could see tears welling up in her soft, brown eyes.
"But who ever is the father? You hardly go out."
Helena bit her lip and looked away, leaning her head backwards so as to stem the flow of her tears.
"Peter? It's Peter, isn't it?"
Ernest was giddy with excitement now.
&n
bsp; "Helena. It's a miracle. Life. It's a miracle. Don't be sad about it."
He walked quickly over to where she was standing and opened his arms to embrace her. But all this seemed to do was bring on a flood of tears and the poor girl began to sob. She threw herself forwards, clutching at him and then crying on his shoulder as he hugged her gently.
"Dear Helena. What ever is the matter? I know it's a big change in your life - but it'll be alright. It'll work itself out."
"You don't understand, Ernest," she wailed.
"What? What don't I understand?"
"I don't want it! I didn't want it!"
"The baby? How can you say such a thing? Oh, Helena. A child is a blessing!"
"No, Ernest. Not this child."
"But, pray, tell me, what are you trying to say?"
"I was ravaged, Ernest! In the most vile way, by the most vile, disgusting man!"
Shocked, the butler pulled himself from her grip. His mouth gaping, his face ashen, he looked wide-eyed at the sobbing, red-faced young woman before him.
"But...who? How? When?"
His words came slowly, a pause between each one. Helena shook her head and wiped away her tears.
"I can't say anything, Ernest."
"But no! You must! You must, Helena! Don't you see? This man must be brought to justice!"
"Ernest, he said he'd do it again if I told! He said he might even hurt me worse next time!"
"No! I won't allow it! Whoever hurt you...Helena...you must tell me! Is it someone I know? Is it someone in this house?"
He was almost tormenting her now. Pushing her. Begging her to tell him.
"OLIVER! IT WAS OLIVER! OKAY!?"
Shocked, Ernest stepped backwards, releasing her arms as he did so.
"Oliver? Our Oliver?"
"Yes. Our Oliver. Oliver the groundskeeper."
- 3 -
Ernest was perplexed by Helena's startling revelation. No one at the Hutchinson household had ever really liked Oliver. He was loud, uncouth, slovenly. His breath always stunk. His encounter with the swarthy groundskeeper the day of Lady Hutchinson's luncheon had been particularly unpleasant...
But never would Ernest have thought the man capable of something so vile. Rape. Rape was something that happened in London. Maybe in Toronto even. But Kingston? At the Hutchinson's own residence?
Helena had refused to answer where the attack had occured, but Ernest figured that the boot he'd found in the hedges might have something to do with the story.
Shaking his head in sadness and disgust, the butler climbed slowly out of bed and massaged his temples.
What to do...what to do...
Accusing Oliver of something so heinous would require proof; Lord Hutchinson, of all people, respected the rule of law. Lady Hutchinson would likely believe Helena's story, but she had neither the authority nor the willingness to have Oliver arrested. The shame of such a thing would surely harm her credibility among Kingston's social elite.
More importantly, Helena had implored him to stay silent about the matter, to not discuss it with anyone, fearing she would lose her job if Lord Hutchinson or Lady Hutchinson were to learn that she was with child.
What to do, therefore? Tell Lord Hutchinson that Helena had been viciously assaulted by Oliver - even though Helena had specifically told him not to breathe a word? Remain silent and let Oliver's crime go unpunished? What to do, indeed...
Setting aside the matter for a moment, Ernest changed out of his pyjamas and into his uniform. Perhaps after breakfast, once he'd had some more time to think, he'd have a solution.
As it turned out, Ernest was no closer to a solution after breakfast than he had been before breakfast. Nibbling slowly on his slice of bread and boiled egg, he'd had ample time to ponder the matter. He'd run through a dozen different scenarios in his mind, but all of them ended in Helena being made to leave because of her condition. He knew as well as she that there was no hope of Lady Hutchinson allowing her to stay if she was with child.
Of course, they wouldn't have to divulge that Helena was with child. They could leave that bit of information out and simply state Oliver's crime. However, Lady Hutchinson being the inquisitive and diligent woman that she was, would no doubt insist that Doctor Avery examine her. And that would be the end of that little ruse.
Thus, they had to somehow charge Oliver with the crime without implicating Helena. Surely not impossible. Yet nonetheless, difficult. What to do...
A solution came to him that evening as he was rekindling the fire in the parlour for Lord Hutchinson. On the mantle, directly above him, displayed with regal prominence, was the pistol of Lord Hutchinson's grandfather, Captain James Hutchinson. According to Lord Hutchinson, his namesake had been a member of the Royal Artillery regiment and had fought in the Battle of the Plains of Abraham in seventeen hundred and fifty-nine. The pistol was a treasured family heriloom, left to Lord Hutchinson by his father Amos, and Lord Hutchinson never failed to bring guests into his parlour so that he could tell them about it. Surely, if it were to go missing, it would be noticed immediately. And its importance to Lord Hutchinson would almost guarantee that if a person were to steal it, he or she would be severely reprimanded.
All he had to do therefore, thought Ernest as he poked the new logs into position, was steal the pistol and hide it in Oliver's cabin. Oliver was not well liked at the Hutchinson household. Nor was he liked in town. If Lord Hutchinson's pistol were to go missing and turn up in Oliver's cabin, few, if anyone, would raise an eyebrow.
Ernest couldn't help but smile and silently congratulate himself as he stood there poking at the fire and reflecting further on his idea. It was simple and effective. Oliver would be gone from the Hutchinson household. And Helena would have some time before having to tell Lady Hutchinson of her predicament. Well, three months or so. Then she would begin to show and there'd be no hiding the fact.
However, in the meantime Helena would still have a job and Oliver would be but an unfortunate memory. Determined to carry out his plan the following day, Ernest replaced the log poker and rose to his feet. Lord Hutchinson was just as he had been five minutes before - seated in his chair with his nose buried deep in the weekend edition of the British Whig.
"Shall I bring you another coffee, sir? Or perhaps some tea?"
Lord Hutchinson coughed. "No, Ernest. But thank you. You've rekindled the fire?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I have no further need of you and you're free to do what you like for the rest of the evening."
"Thank you, Sir. I am much obliged."
This was good. Very good. He needed time to devise a plan.
When Lord Hutchinson said nothing more, Ernest excused himself, exited the parlour, and closed the door quietly behind him. At this late hour, his bedroom would give him the peace and quiet he needed to figure out the best way to frame Oliver with the theft of Lord Hutchinson's beloved heirloom.
There was nothing inviting about Oliver's cabin and the building was as openly hostile as its owner. With the groundskeeper gone into town to run errands for Lady Hutchinson however, he wouldn't be interfering with what Ernest was about to do.
As the butler eased the door open, it creaked loudly, causing the small hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He wished Helena or Peter were with him. He'd promised himself last night, after much deliberation, that only he could know about his plan. To share it with Helena or Peter was to invite trouble and he wanted to be the only one involved.
Still, the eerie stillness of the dark and dreary cabin interior reminded him why he'd thought to include Helena and Peter in his plans in the first place; he certainly wouldn't object to having either of them by his side right now.
Ernest stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar so that someone might hear his shouts should Oliver arrive home early and intervene. He crossed the floor quickly, sidestepping buckets of blood and the sundry dead animals hanging from the rafters and stopped
beside Oliver's bed. Evidently the place hadn't changed much since he'd last been inside.
Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew the pistol and placed it behind the headboard. That would hide it from Oliver, but yet, it was also a place one would look if searching for it. All he had to do now was wait for Lord Hutchinson to ask where the pistol had disappeared to and answer that he'd seen Oliver earlier in the day, coming from the parlour, acting in a suspicious manner. With any luck, the groundskeeper would be gone by bedtime.
Giddy with excitement about the events that were about to unfold, Ernest hurried back across the room and left the cabin. In three hours Lord Hutchinson would be home. He would have his supper. After, he would have Ernest bring him his coffee while he relaxed in the parlour. He'd see the pistol conspicuously absent from the mantle, and the inquest would begin. Justice was sweet...
It didn't take long for Lord Hutchinson to notice that his beloved pistol was missing. He'd come home shortly after five o'clock in the company of Lord Baldwin, a charismatic and energetic man who was as wide as he was tall. They'd supped on Peter's meal of pheasant and sweet potatoes, and afterwards, had retired to the parlour to smoke their pipes and discuss the business conducted in the Legislative Assembly earlier that day. But they were hardly in there five minutes, when Ernest had heard Lord Hutchinson shout.
"MY GRANDFATHER'S PISTOL! WHERE IS IT?"
Ernest of course, knowing full well where the pistol was, had calmly continued to clear the supper table. Lady Hutchinson on the other hand went to see her husband immediately.
"James? Why are you shouting? What's all this about your grandfather's pistol?"
Within minutes the entire house was being turned upside down as Lord Hutchinson commenced the search for his precious heirloom. Lord Baldwin offered to stay and help, but Lady Hutchinson sent him home. She did not want him to witness any longer, her husband's crazed behaviour. After all, if word got out that Lord James Hutchinson threw a tantrum when he couldn't find something...
After setting Caroline up in the drawing room with her embroidery patterns, she joined Helena in searching the upstairs for the missing pistol. Peter and Ernest were assigned the main floor while Lord Hutchinson seemed to be everywhere, opening drawers at random and peering into cabinets that held little more than extra bedding.