by Adrien Leduc
"Stop fidgeting, Caroline," Lady Hutchinson whsipered hoarsely as Reverend Alston delved into a lesson on pride.
"But I'm bored, mother."
"Sit still."
"Here, mother. Let me take her," said Philip quietly.
Amazed, Ernest watched as the young man proceeded to hoist his younger sister onto his knee.
"There, now you can at least see properly, eh?"
The little girl smiled and Ernest had to admit to himself that Philip had definitely matured. Somewhat.
As the service dragged on, Ernest took a moment to check on Lady Beckerman. A devout Christian, she was always the first to kneel and the last to rise. Although as Ernest and Lady Hutchinson both agreed, it was more for show than personal conviction. Still, she seemed to inspire those around her - all except for her husband of course who seemed to be falling asleep - and Ernest felt obliged to kneel and rise as enthusiastically as the rest of them.
When it was time for the eucharist, and the pew in which he and the Hutchinson's were seated began to empty and head towards the deacon at the head of the balcony, Ernest pretended to drop something and stayed behind. Catching several curious glances, he made as though he was rummaging for something in his pockets. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pew in which Lady Beckerman and her husband were seated rose and filed into the aisle. With a boldness that belied his usual meekness, Ernest stepped directly in front of Lady Beckerman, nearly causing her to run into him.
Caught off guard, the woman emitted a small sound of surprise, but the line kept moving and her noise seemed to avoid attention.
"Lady Beckerman," Ernest whispered, as they made their way along the aisle towards the deacon and his assistant at the foot of the balcony.
There was no answer and Ernest, unable to turn and face her, whispered again.
"LADY BECKERMAN!"
"What? What do you want?"
"I'm Ernest. Ernest Caldwell. I'm in the employ of - "
"Lady Hutchinson, yes, yes, I know all that. What do you want? Can't you see we are about to consume the body and blood of our Lord? What business could you possibly have more pressing than that?"
"It's goodwill, Madam. For a friend."
He didn't want to give Helena's name just yet lest Lady Beckerman refused his request and babbled about Helena all over town.
"Goodwill?"
"Charity."
"Charity? Are you asking for money? How dare - "
"No, no," Ernest whispered hastily in response. "I only ask for sanctuary. A girl. She's in trouble. She's expecting. But it was not her choice to have a baby. She was taken against her will."
"I have heard about enough!" the woman hissed angrily as Ernest reached the deacon.
The butler opened his mouth to defend Helena, but the deacon, seeing Ernest's open mouth, pressed a fat, stubby finger against his lip and administered the bread. Unfortunately for Ernest, who had been just about to speak, he inhaled the crouton-sized crust and it promptly lodged itself in his throat. The shock of having a blocked airway sent him into a tizzy and Ernest grabbed the deacon's shoulders, gasping for air. The deacon, seeing the problem, quickly spun Ernest around and began to pound fiercely on his back. The crowd milling around them was driven into a furor and loud shouts and nervous chatter grew so loud that the entire congregation stopped to look at the event that was unfolding.
With the help of another man, the deacon forced Ernest to lean forwards and continued to thump on the butler's back with the flat of his hand. It worked, and the piece of bread was dislodged. The minute Ernest felt his airway open, he sucked in a huge breath of air. Next he removed the piece of bread from his mouth and placed it in his handkerchief. It would be sacrilege to discard it.
"Goodness, Ernest!"
It was Lady Hutchinson.
"I thought you would die! Are you alright?"
"Yes, Madam. Never better," he said with a small smile as a round of applause burst out amongst the congregation.
"He's a lucky man, Lady Hutchinson," said the deacon.
"Aye, that he is, Deacon Jenkins."
"How we can thank you, deacon?" asked Lord Hutchinson, stepping forwards and placing an arm around Ernest.
"However you like."
"Well," Lord Hutchinson said, removing his folio and taking out a bill. "Add this to the collection plate, will you?"
"You are most generous, Sir."
"Well, Deacon Jenkins, you saved our butler. Our man Ernest. There is no price that can be placed on that."
"It was God's work, Lord Hutchinson."
"Yes, of course. But you were the vehicle through which it was orchestrated."
"Is everything alright up there, then?" Lady Windermere called from down below.
The deacon and the others assembled around Ernest turned and looked down at the rest of the congregation below.
"Yes, Madam. I think all is well. I shall finish administering communion to those who have yet to receive it, and then we'll be able to continue with today's service."
"Alright then, Deacon Jenkins."
The old woman on the organ struck up the melody for the Eucharist and the lines began to move again.
"Here, Ernest, take a seat."
"Thank you, Lady Hutchinson," the butler answered, giving one last nod to Deacon Jenkins before returning to the pew.
"Are you alright?"
Lady Beckerman and her husband stood beside Lady Hutchinson, looks of concern etched on their faces. Well, on Lady Beckerman's face. Lord Beckerman seemed merely to have woken up.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"I'm sorry, you were saying something about a friend of yours. She needs help, I take it?"
Lady Hutchinson looked curiously at Ernest and he quickly deflected the question.
"No, no. Well, yes. But, it's no matter. First off it's he," he lied. "I just thought perhaps - he needs a job - it's a man I've known for several years," he added, thinking quickly.
"What man? What's this about, Ernest?" Lady Hutchinson demanded.
"Er... it's nothing Madam...just a friend...he's looking for a job...my friend Lionel," he said, conjuring up the first name he could think of. "Lionel Percy. He works at the cobblers on Wharf Street."
"Oh?"
"And his employer is closing up shop and moving to Bytown - in a month's time - and he needs a new place to work. I was merely inquiring with Lady Beckerman here to see if she might have an opening. Lionel is quite an excellent cook."
Now it was Lady Beckerman's turn to think quickly. "Um...er...yes...I suppose...we don't have need of a cook at the moment, Agatha is doing a fine job, but perhaps in future?"
"Of course."
"I will let you know if we have need of your friend."
"Thank you, Madam."
Seeing that she was being, once again, excluded from the conversation, Lady Hutchinson interjected: "Good, well, that's settled then. Isn't it?"
She smiled sweetly at Lady Beckerman who took her words, and her smile, and as an indication that her presence was no longer welcome.
"Yes, that's settled. Marshall," said Lady Beckerman, glancing over her should at her husband who was standing dotefully behind her. "Are we ready to leave?"
Lord Beckerman coughed. "Ahem, yes, I suppose. Yes, good idea. Let's go home. We have lunch waiting, haven't we?"
Lady Beckerman nodded and turned back towards Ernest and Lady Hutchinson.
"Lady Hutchinson," she said with a small curtsy.
"Lady Beckerman," Lady Hutchinson replied, standing to curtsy.
Ernest watched the Beckerman's navigate their way through the throng of parishioners still assembled around the deacon.
"Ernest? Are you alright? You gave us quite a scare."
It was Philip now, standing beside him.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Master Hutchinson."
"That's quite the deacon," Lord Hutchinson mused as he and the man helping him to administer communion headed
back downstairs to the lower level.
"A fine man our Deacon Jenkins, isn't he?" asked Lady Hutchinson, rhetorically.
"Quite," Philip agreed, smoothing out his jacket and ushering to Caroline who was headed towards them. "You weren't old enough to receive communion last I saw you, sister."
The elder Hutchinson child reached out and helped his sister in the pew.
"Well, I'm old enough now," she said smartly, taking a seat beside him.
"I can see that."
The service formally ended five minutes later and Ernest and the Hutchinson's made their way downstairs and exited the church after a quick handshake and farewell with Reverend Alston.
"You wait there," said Philip as he placed his hat atop his head. "I'll fetch the carriage and bring it round."
"Why, thank you, son," said Lord Hutchinson who hadn't spoken for a time. "We'll be waiting."
Philip tipped his hat at his father and disappeared down the sidewalk.
"Well, that was an eventful Mass," Lady Hutchinson remarked as she smoothed Caroline's hair.
It was obvious to Ernest that she was referring to his choking on the host.
"Yes, Madam. I do apologize for interrupting the service."
"Oh please," said the woman with a wave of her hand. "Such a thing couldn't be avoided."
The way she said the word "avoided" made Ernest feel as though she thought it could have been.
Well, perhaps it could have been. Had he not been talking to Lady Beckerman.
Drat. That didn't work out at all.
"Ernest?"
The butler and the Hutchinson's whirled around to face the woman who had just spoken.
"Miss Foster."
"Lady Hutchinson."
"Miss Foster."
"Lord Hutchinson."
"Miss Foster."
"Ernest."
"How have you been? Have you been keeping well?" Lady Hutchinson asked, lines of concern etched on her face.
Clarissa Foster's brother, Arthur, had died in January - of what malady, Doctor Avery had not been sure - but nonetheless, the loss had been a painful one for the young heiress.
"I'm keeping well, thank you. Some days are more difficult than others, of course."
Lady Hutchinson inhaled sharply, apologetically. "Yes, I can imagine."
Miss Foster nodded keenly, clearly appreciative of Lady Hutchinson's sympathy, before turning and looking at Ernest. The butler, however, had politely stepped aside, removing himself from what he'd felt had been a private conversation.
"Ernest?"
He turned to look at the pretty woman. Her smooth, doll-white face. Her piercing brown eyes. Her vivacious smile.
"Miss Foster. How do you do?"
"Very well, thank you. But I meant more to inquire as to your health, Ernest Caldwell. I've only just learned from Deacon Jenkins that it was you who had the choking fit during Mass."
Ernest offered up an uneasy smile. "Yes...and I apologize for the interruption. This is why I don't come to church often, you see, Caroline," he added, looking down at the young girl who had remained silently at her mother's side for the past several minutes.
"Oh, come now, Ernest. Don't be so hard on yourself. You interrupted nothing. Your health comes first."
Lady Hutchinson coughed politely to remind Miss Foster that she was still there and that she too, would like to partake in the conversation.
"Our Ernest is too modest at times. To think we might have lost him."
"Yes," Miss Foster nodded, agreeing, yet wondering whether Lady Hutchinson's remark was intended more for Ernest's benefit or for hers.
She set her gaze on Ernest. "That would have been very tragic."
The butler noticed her brown eyes, usually so warm and intelligent, had taken on a sudden sadness. No doubt she was reflecting on her dearly departed brother.
"Mother! Father! Caroline!"
The group assembled on the church steps turned to face the owner of the voice coming from the street. It was Philip. He had brought the carriage around and was seated in the driver's seat, waving his hat at them.
"We're coming, dear!" Lady Hutchinson called back.
Impressed with her son's newfound maturity, she had taken to calling Philip "dear" and "charming boy". It rather sickened Ernest, especially since he was doubtful Philip had changed much.
"Well, Miss Foster. It's been a pleasure speaking with you," said Lady Hutchinson, draping an arm around Caroline's shoulders. "But we must be getting home now. Peter is no doubt expecting us for lunch."
"Of course, Lady Hutchinson."
"Will we see you at the Easter Ball?" Lord Hutchinson asked as he straightened his jacket and took up his walking stick.
"Yes, I hope to go."
"Well then. That's not too long from now, is it?"
"No. Eight weeks."
"And time flies, doesn't it?"
Miss Foster nodded. "It does indeed, Lord Hutchinson."
"Oh, James, don't get so philosophical on us," Lady Hutchinson clucked, smiling graciously. "We've just come from church. Let's get you home and get you your lunch."
Ernest was surprised when Lord Hutchinson didn't object.
"That's a fine idea, Laura. Shall we?" he asked, extending a bent arm for his wife to take hold of.
"Oh," she cooed, taking hold of his arm with her free one, and guiding Caroline forwards with the other.
"Good day, Miss Foster!"
"Good day!"
The Hutchinson's seemed to forget Ernest as they made their way down the stairs and to the boardwalk. The butler, however, was not put out by this, but rather, he was pleased to have a moment alone with the young heiress.
"Well, Ernest - "
"Er, Miss Foster," Ernest said, interrupting her mid-sentence.
"Yes?"
"I wonder if I might ask you a favour?"
"A favour?"
"Er...yes. For a friend."
"Ernest..."
"No, no," he said hastily, "it's nothing like that. It's a woman - and she's in trouble. Well, I don't read minds - but I'm assuming you're thinking that I want to arrange relations between you and my friend. That's simply not that case."
"Oh?"
"Besides, what few friends I have are much too old for a twenty - how old are you again?"
"I'll be twenty-eight in March."
"Right. What few friends I have are much too old for a twenty-eight year old."
"Ernest? Are you coming?"
It was Lady Hutchinson.
The butler turned and looked in her direction. "Yes, Madam. Coming straight away! Shan't be long!"
He turned back towards Miss Foster and looked her squarely in the eye.
"It's Helena. You know? The servant girl that lives with us. She's with child and Lord and Lady Hutchinson want to send her to a home for girls in Toronto."
"Oh dear."
"Yes, it's been troubling me for quite some time. Do you think you might be able to help her? Perhaps give her room and board?"
"Well, I..."
"You don't have to answer just yet. Please, think it over...and get back to me. We'll be at the market this coming Wednesday. Sometime around noon. We can meet there."
Miss Foster nodded, her face taking on a serious expression. "Okay. I promise to think it over...and I'll let you know either way...at the market, on Wednesday."
"Yes. Thank you. I owe you."
"You owe me nothing. You're simply looking out for a friend."
Ernest smiled and tipped his hat. "Thank you for understanding."
- 6 -
The following Wednesday, as the bell tower atop City Hall sounded twelve bells for noon, Philip dropped Ernest, Peter and Lady Hutchinson at Market Square for some shopping. It was unusually warm for a February afternoon and the trio taunted the weather gods with their thin, fall jackets - much more comfortable, and much more fashionable than their usual goose down winter coats.
Re-construction of the buildings surro
unding Market Square seemed to be progressing quickly - a fact that Peter was keen to point out - and Ernest surmised that by the Spring, visitors to the city would never know that just two years before a terrible fire had gutted them all.
"Well, yes, it is a marked improvement, isn't it?" Lady Hutchinson asked rhetorically as she waved goodbye to Philip. "Perhaps they'll add in a few new buildings now. If we're lucky they'll leave out Stages."
Ernest went along with her, though he really didn't care either way whether the notorious, local watering hole that was practically synonymous with words like "wench" and "scoundrel" was re-built. "Yes, Madam. It would be nice if they'd leave Market Square for more civil folk."
The woman clicked her tongue and then proceeded towards a vendor selling a variety of canned vegetables.
"How much for the carrots?"
"A half shilling a jar, Madam."
"I'll take one."
"Right. Choose whichever you like."
Ernest and Peter stood at her side, watching as she hummed and hawed over the jars that all seemed to look the same. When she had finally settled on one, Peter paid the man and they continued along, examining the goods and wares being hawked at the numerous stalls.
As they made their way through the throngs of people, Ernest kept an eye out for Miss Clarissa Foster. Several times he thought he'd seen her, but then it turned out to be another woman, stranger or acquaintance, but none of them were her.
It was as the minute hand neared the six on the clock tower overlooking the market, that he finally saw her. In fact, she was looking at him when his eyes found her, and she gave him a small smile.
Surely, that's a good sign, he thought as she slowly meandered towards them.
"Lady Hutchinson?"
"Yes? Oh, Miss Foster! What a pleasant surprise! First at church, now at the market. Goodness," she laughed, "are you coming for dinner too?"
The young woman laughed, flashing a mouth full of pearly white teeth. "No, no. I promise, I'm not stalking you. I guess we've got similar schedules this week."
"Yes, of course. I'm only joking," said Lady Hutchinson, stepping aside as an officer moved through the crowd on his horse. "Mind you, I don't see why you shouldn't come to ours for dinner. Are you free this coming Friday?"
Ernest watched as Peter's eyes lit up. The thought of the beautiful Clarissa Foster, dining at the Hutchinson's table and eating his food was clearly something the cook had dreamed of.