The Good Servant

by Adrien Leduc

  Oliver never came to assist with the search - much to Ernest's delight. The groundskeeper was usually in his cabin by six o'clock and didn't stir until the morning. He had no inkling of the uproar taking place inside the house - and Ernest hoped it would stay that way. His absence would surely seem suspicious to Lord and Lady Hutchinson. When it came time to search his cabin, and the pistol was discovered, there'd be no sympathy for the wretched man.

  The search of the Hutchinson family home lasted an hour, and Ernest feigned surprise when they failed to find the missing pistol.

  "Where in the name of all that is holy could that bloody thing be hiding?" Lady Hutchinson grumbled as she passed Ernest in the corridor.

  "I haven't the faintest idea, Madam," the butler answered with all the sincerity he could muster.

  "Well, where ever it is, I don't see any hope of finding it."

  Ernest watched her go then made his way into the parlour where Lord Hutchinson sat in his chair, smoking his pipe.

  He looked up as the butler entered.

  "Sir, I..."

  "It's alright, Ernest. It's gone. I knew this would happen. Laura warned me to keep it under lock and key. I always opposed that option though. What good is having a family heirloom of that stature and hiding it away in a drawer somewheres? Bah."

  "Yes, I would have to agree."

  "The problem, Ernest, is that it was evidently someone under this roof that took it."

  The parliamentarian stared at Ernest as he puffed away on his pipe.

  "Of course, there's no way of ever finding out."

  "I'm sorry, Sir. Do you suspect me?"

  Lord Hutchinson laughed. "Heavens no, Ernest. You're far too loyal. No, it was likely that kitchen boy...Piers or Patrick or whatever."

  "Peter."

  "Yes, Peter."

  "Why do you suspect him? Sir."

  Lord Hutchinson's expression was shrewd and calculating. "He needs money obviously. He's got a family back home, you know. His mother. Alone and without a husband to look after her. Several younger brothers and sisters running about. Probably not much food in the house."

  "Er...yes...I suppose they are rather poor."

  The butler turned and slid the parlour door shut. No sense in having Peter overhear their conversation. If only he could steer Lord Hutchinson's attention to Oliver...

  "If it wasn't him, well, bah, I can't see Helena doing such a thing. And Oliver - "

  He stopped himself and took a long drag from his pipe.

  "I suppose...perhaps..."

  Trying hard to suppress his excitement, Ernest concentrated on keeping his voice steady. "You suspect Oliver, Sir?"

  "Yes...yes..."

  He puffed away and stared into space. Ernest watched and waited.

  "The man is quite a loathsome creature..."

  Ernest nodded, but said nothing.

  "Completely uninhabitable that cabin of his...and while he's never shown an interest in money, he is a collector. He likes to collect pelts and animal skulls and those types of things. Perhaps he's starting a new collection? Stolen items. God only knows..."

  Ernest wanted to jump out of his shoes, but he maintained his self-control.

  "While I think it prudent to avoid hasty conclusions, I must confess, if I were a betting man, I would put my money on Oliver."

  Lord Hutchinson looked at him, nodded, and resumed puffing.

  He'd done it. He'd managed to steer him towards Oliver. More importantly, he'd managed to do it without giving the impression that he was doing it. Lord Hutchinson was not a man to take instructions - but any man could be manipulated - and Ernest had managed to do just that.

  Overjoyed that his plan was now in full swing, he asked Lord Hutchinson if he could get him anything else, and when the greying parliamentarian answered no, he politely excused himself and headed to his bedroom to revel in his victory.

  "OUT YOU GO! THAT'S IT! Officer Bates!"

  "Yes, Sir!"

  "Take him to the wagon."

  "Of course, Sir."

  "What's going on?"

  Ernest, back from shopping with Lady Hutchinson, had just arrived at the scene unfolding outside Oliver's cabin.

  "We found my grandfather's pisol," Lord Hutchinson answered grimly. "Behind the headboard of Oliver's bed."

  Ernest feigned a look of surprise. "No..."

  "I'm afraid so," said the pudgy police captain with the large walrus moustache standing beside Lord Hutchinson.

  "YOU!"

  Ernest looked up to see Oliver, hands cuffed behind his back and being led away by Officer Bates, glaring at him.

  "Me?"

  "YOU DID THIS! I KNOW YOU DID! YOU!"

  Ernest felt a wave of anxiety rush over him, but reminded himself that nothing Oliver was saying made sense to anyone present.

  "Me? What ever do you mean, Oliver?"

  "YOU STOLE LORD HUTCHINSON'S PISTOL! YOU PLANTED IT IN MY ROOM! I KNOW YOU DID!"

  Ernest did his best to look dumbfounded.

  "I have no idea what he's talking about, Sir."

  Lord Hutchinson returned his gaze and nodded. "We know, Ernest. The raving accusations of a guilty man."

  "I see it everyday," agreed the pudgy police captain, shaking his head. "Shame, really. It's so much easier when they simply confess."

  "Ah, but then you'd be out of a job, Captain Iverson."

  The police captain chuckled at Lord Hutchinson's remark. "I supoose you're right."

  "THIS ISN'T OVER, ERNEST CALDWELL! I'LL BE BACK FOR YOU! YOU MARK MY WORDS! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!"

  "GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" Captain Iverson barked loudly.

  "YES, SIR!" Officer Bates yelled in response as he and another officer dragged the groundskeeper to the wagon waiting out front.

  "Heavens! James! What's happening?"

  It was Lady Hutchinson.

  "Everything's fine, my little hummingbird. Look. We found my grandfather's pistol," he said cheerfully, holding the arm up for her to see.

  "Where?" she said, looking anxiously from face to face.

  "In Oliver's cabin."

  "Oliver!? Goodness. I don't believe it."

  "Aye, Madam Hutchinson," Captain Iverson said. "What your husband says is true."

  "Well, I guess we'll be needing a new groundskeeper then," she said matter-of-factly.

  And with that Lady Hutchinson turned and went back into the house.

  The police captain chuckled. "Women, eh?"

  - 4 -

 

  The rest of January seemed to pass quickly. Caroline became quite adept at embroidery under Helena's tutelage. Peter crafted a few new stew recipes and took up soap making. And Philip Hutchinson, Lord and Lady Hutchison's twenty-six year old son, returned home from his two year sojourn in Toronto where he and several associates had been busy establishing a lumber mill.

  As for Oliver, he'd been sentenced to a year's stay at Kingston Penitentiary. Lord Hutchinson took pity on him however and had Judge Hamilton lessen the sentence to six months. While Ernest disproved of the more lenient sentence, he was happy that Oliver was at least being punished and that Helena would never again be his victim.

  The search for a new groundskeeper hadn't lasted long. As soon as Lord Hutchinson learned that Philip would be returning home, he canceled the advertisement he'd placed in the British Whig. Philip was somewhat handy, and in the words of Lord Hutchinson, "in need of honest, character-building work", and thus the task of maintaining the grounds and batiments of the Hutchinson estate fell to him.

  Ernest wasn't particularly fond of the eldest Hutchinson child. Master Philip was arrogant and often obnoxious - though that wasn't his greatest fault. The young man's greatest fault was his unhealthy fixation with the drink. In fact, his attachment to brandy, rum, and whisky was so severe that he had been arrested on several occasions for "public drunkenness". Philip Hutchinson's frequent visits to the county jail had been a source of embarassment for the Hutchinson family ever since they h
ad arrived in Kingston and as soon as Lord Hutchinson heard of his son's desire to travel to Toronto for business, he'd bought the carriage ticket.

  But according to the numerous letters he'd sent home over the course of the past twenty-four months, Philip Hutchinson was a changed man. He'd given up alcohol for good (Ernest doubted this given his previous penchant for anything in a bottle), had begun attending church, and hoped to find a wife and settle down.

  All this of course was hearsay - Ernest obtained this information second hand from Helena who read bits and pieces of Philip's letters while coiffing Lady Hutchinson's hair or setting out tea in the drawing room - and it remained to be seen whether the "new" Philip Hutchinson was indeed a changed man or whether he'd simply found a better mask to hide his bad habits. At any rate, he was once again a member of the Hutchinson household, so time would soon tell.

  "Father, are you still smoking?" he asked that evening as the family sat in the parlour, Ernest standing idle in the corner.

  Lord Hutchinson nodded. "Aye, son. It clears the mind."

  "I can't imagine mother approves," said Philip scornfully, casting a sideways glance at Lady Hutchinson who pretended as though she wasn't listening.

  "Sorry? What was that?"

  "I said, I can't imagine you approve of father smoking, mother."

  "No, I can't say that I do," the woman sighed, before recommencing her knitting.

  "And how about you, Ernest? Do you smoke?"

  The butler feigned a laugh. "No. No tobacco for this old boy. Doctor Avery says it's not wise at my age."

  "Well father's practically your age."

  Ernest managed a soft chuckle. "Well he sure doesn't look it."

  "No, he does look rather young for a man of his age, doesn't he? Doesn't he mother?"

  "Sorry, what did you ask me?"

  "I asked whether or not you think father looks young for his age."

  "Well, gosh, I...of course. Philip, please do change the topic. That is not polite conversation. You set the example for your sister, you know."

  "It's okay, mother," said Caroline sweetly, looking up from her drawing book. "I know never to mention the age of an older person."

  "Very good, darling."

  "See mother, she knows," said Philip irritably, waving his hand dismissively.

  Bored, he climbed out of his chair by the fire and set about inspecting the various artifacts Lord Hutchinson had displayed around the parlour. He stopped beside the mantle and glanced at a photograph hanging from the wall.

  "Father, isn't this that man who used to tailor your suits in London?" asked the young man, pointing at a photograph. "Andrews or something, wasn't it?"

  "Aye. William Andrews. A good man. Passed away last year."

  Ernest watched as Philip put a hand to his mouth. "No."

  "Aye. Married forty-three years. Fathered four children. Now he's gone."

  "Well, I imagine his wife was well looked after."

  "Yes, I believe William left her a fair sum of money."

  "Wonder if the old bird's spent it, by now."

  "Sorry, what was that?"

  "I said, I hope she's well."

  Lord Hutchinson cleared his throat and gave a nod before taking another long puff from his pipe. "Aye."

  "And what of Lord Turner?" asked Philip, moving on to another photograph. "Have you kept up a correspondance?"

  "Aye. Received a letter from him at Christmas, in fact. Reported that the family is doing well. His wife, I'm not sure you remember her - "

  "The one who always wore those ridiculous mantelets?"

  Lady Hutchinson gave a "tut-tut" (although Ernest noticed a small smile played across her lips) and Caroline giggled.

  Lord Hutchinson exhaled a stream of smoke and looked up at the ceiling.

  "I'm sorry, father. I can tell that my comments are perturbing you."

  Ernest watched, transfixed, as the greying parliamentarian lowered his eyes and let them settle on his son.

  "And what of you, eh? After all of your pomp and circumstance and fashion critiques?" he asked, his voice taking on a steely tone. "How is your business coming along in Toronto? Toronto, what kind of name is that for a city, anyways?"

  "Father, it's quite a bustling and busy city. I must say, it's not unlike London. You know, even Mister Dickens himself is planning a visit this coming spring?"

  "Charles Dickens?" Lady Hutchinson interrupted.

  "Yes, mother. The one and only."

  Lady Hutchinson looked at her husband. "What do you think of that, James?"

  Ernest watched as Lord Hutchinson exhaled another lungful of smoke. "I confess that I do not think much of it, Laura dear. He's an author. A romantic. His writings are fantastical - too imaginative - and describe nothing of the real world. Did you know the man had a pet raven? And that when the dirty bird died he had it stuffed and kept it as a souvenir?"

  Lady Hutchinson laughed. "Oh heavens, James. Lighten up a little, would you? The man is celebrated all throughout the Empire. Of all people, you, at least, should promote his genius."

  "Genius? The man writes of politics as though he works in it. Politics is not the childish game he professes it to be. It's serious business and he makes a mockery of it."

  "I see I've touched a nerve, father," said Philip, re-entering the conversation. "That wasn't my intention. Let us speak of other things. Your work, for instance. How - "

  Lady Hutchinson looked at her son and shook her head silently, sternly.

  " I see..." said Philip slowly, looking away from his mother. "Ernest, my good man. How about you regale us with an interesting story? I'm sure you have a good one to entertain us with."

  "Master Philip," Ernest said, smiling politely, "I lead a humble life. I really - "

  "It's alright, Ernest," said Lord Hutchinson sharply, rising from his chair. He turned to face his son. "I see you haven't changed a lick. Still the social lollygagger with all his bally hoo and foolish, school yard chit chat. When are you going to learn to speak like a man, eh? Of business, and war, and politics - "

  "I tried to ask you about your work, father - "

  "Enough! You know of my line of work! You know nothing of this history of this colony! You bide your time drinking and whoring and spilling every thought that enters that thin head of yours, all the while believing that you are actually performing some service in amusing us."

  "James - "

  "No, Laura. I have to accept the fact that my son is an incompetent buffoon who would rather drink and while his evenings away chatting about nonsensical school boy, bally hoo, when the rest of the men his age are working and establishing themselves as leaders."

  "But father! I've started a lumber yard! With Ethan and Joshua!"

  "Bah! I have friends in Toronto. They tell me your lumber yard is a joke. That you have six employees and that half of them are drunk Irishmen who don't know what end of the river to shit at."

  "James!"

  "Don't pester me, Laura. Ernest, go and make me a cup of tea and bring it to my room, please. As for you," said Lord Hutchinson, turning once again to face his son, "if you are to remain a member of this household, you will perform the work of groundskeeper. As well as any groundskeeper. As diligently as any groundskeeper. I am not to see you with a drop of liquor. And as for your other bad habits - many of which I no doubt have yet to see - leave them outside this house. And if you ruin my reputation in town, be prepared to be excluded from any inheritance you have coming your way."

  "James!"

  "Enough, Laura! The boy needs to be told. You've held his hand long enough."

  With that, the proud patriarch pushed past Ernest and stormed out of the parlour.

  "Heavens..." Laura muttered. "Are you alright, Philip?"

  Ernest waited to see the young man's reaction.

  But he said nothing. He swallowed, then, inhaling slowly, excused himself and left the room.

  "Madam, I..."

  "None of that was your fault,
Ernest. Now go and make my husband's tea. Perhaps it will settle his nerves."

  Philip Hutchinson's return was met with mixed reaction in Kingston. Some of those who had known him prior to his two year absence marveled at the young man's apparent transformation.

  Budding businessman?

  Devout Anglican?

  Family man?

  Still, others doubted his sincerity.

  "It's not possible that he's changed so much in so little time," Ernest overheard Mrs. Everton say the following Thursday as he, Peter, and Lady Hutchinson perused the stalls of the indoor market.

  The woman accompanying her voiced her own thoughts. "I heard he'd met a woman in Toronto and that they were engaged, but that her father forced them to annul it once he learned of Master Hutchinson's trouble with the drink."

  This of course, wasn't true. As Ernest had learned from Helena, Philip had indeed met a woman while he'd been in Toronto. He'd proposed to her, but she'd refused him because she had plans to return to England the following year. She'd been unhappy in Canada ever since her parents had decided to emigrate and her father had said that she could return the following year, once she'd finished her schooling.

  Her rejection had no doubt been injurious to Philip however - and perhaps even tarnished his reputation - but according to Lady Hutchinson, he'd gotten over it.

  "Ernest, what do you think of this for a new tea pot?"

  Shaking his thoughts away, the butler returned to the present and glanced at the tea pot Lady Hutchinson held up in front of him.

  "It looks splendid, Madam."

  Lady Hutchinson nodded smartly. "And you, Helena? Helena?"

  "Sorry. What is it, Madam?"

  "Are you alright, dear? You look a little pale."

  Ernest watched the young woman closely as she managed a smile.

  "Yes, Madam. I'm perfectly well. Thank you. It must be the lack of sun."

  "Yes, these Canadian winters are absolutely dreadful, aren't they?"

  It was a full week later, as Lady Hutchinson was assisting Caroline with her latest embroidery project, that the secret of Helena's pregnancy came out. Ernest had just delivered tea for Lady Hutchinson - Helena hadn't been feeling well all morning and had been told to stay in bed.

  Pouring cream into the tea cups, all three had heard Helena leave her bedroom and make a mad dash for the bathroom. Several seconds later they heard the awful sounds of her wretching.