by Shirley Roe
“If I am responsible, I don't remember and I am definitely not going to marry her.”
“You will do what I tell you to do.” Ian started to shift from one foot to the other; this was not going well.
“But Uncle, I simply can't abide the woman. She has huge teeth and a pointy nose.”
“I thought you didn't remember her.” Ian looked away. “Don't worry Ian, I have taken care of Miss Wilson. She left this morning for Dublin, with some of your trust money firmly in her fist.” Ian was about to protest. “Don't say one word. You must learn to pay for your mistakes and this one just cost you plenty. Now, I have decided that it is time for you to find a wife.” Ian looked at his uncle in shock, then fell into the nearest chair. He needed a drink and fast.
Later that day he protested to his mother. “Mommy, I simply can not get married, I can't even think of anyone I could bear to be with for a week, never mind marry. You must do something.” Ruth sat beside her son and pulled his head onto her shoulder. She put her arm around him and rocked him like a child.
“Yes, my darling. I will talk to your uncle. I don't know what he is thinking.”
“I don't want to get married and I don't want to leave you, Mommy.”
“You will never leave me, my darling. Even if you do marry, you will live here with me.”
Charles, the butler, approached from the hallway. He watched the two aristocrats for a moment before speaking. “Mrs. Murphy, the cook needs to speak with you.”
“Tell the cook I am busy with my son, Charles.” Charles walked away, thinking that Ian Murphy was a pitiful excuse for a human being. Heaven help the woman that marries him.
Jenny was very busy at the office. She saw little of Mr. Murphy, which pleased her very much because she really could not abide the man. He was so full of himself. She sometimes regretted her agreement with him, but at least she was working and if the truth were known, she was running the office. It was Jenny that made all the decisions, did all the work and made sure things were done on time. Jenny decided to look at the situation positively. She had the job that she wanted even if no one knew it. She didn't have to see Mr. Murphy very often and Mr. Johnson had commented to her how efficiently the office was being run. She and Harry were getting along wonderfully. Yes, Jenny was happy in Edinburgh.
Until the morning, when the Lord Provost appeared at her office door unannounced.
“Lord Provost, Sir. I didn't expect you. Are you here to see Mr. Murphy?”
“No, my dear, Miss Barstow. It is you I have come to see.” Jenny was taken aback. What could he possible want with her?
“May I sit down?”
“Of course, please excuse my manners. It is just that I, I mean we, Mr. Murphy and I, don't get many visitors.” John paid close attention to the way Jenny handled herself, always sure to include his nephew. He was evaluating her, Very loyal as well as intelligent, a good combination.
“Will my nephew be back shortly?”
“No, I am afraid he is in meetings all day. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you. Will you sit with me? I would like to talk to you about something.”
Jenny moved to the sideboard to prepare the tea. She could not for the life of her think of what he would want with her. She carried the tray and set it between the two chairs. Jenny sat in the leather chair to his left and hands in her lap, waited for him to speak.
“Miss Barstow, I am going to be brutally frank, if I may. Mr. Johnson tells me that this office is run like a tight ship-efficient, timely and with very few mistakes.” Jenny beamed at the compliment. “Those three words do not describe my nephew. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that it is you and you alone that are at the helm.” Jenny's cheeks turned crimson, she looked shyly at the floor.
“I don't know what to say, your honor, Lord Provost.”
“Just accept the compliment and keep making my nephew look good. Now, if I may ask a favor?” He waited for Jenny to look at him. “Will you accompany my nephew to the Grand Gala on the 23rd of this month?” Jenny stared, open-mouthed. No words would escape her throat. “Miss Barstow?” John waited while she regained her composure. She was obviously taken aback at the suggestion.
“Me? You want me to go to the biggest event in this city with Mr. Murphy? I have to ask why.”
“Because, it is time my nephew started to act his age. He needs a strong, sensible woman by his side and I have decided you are that woman. You take very good care of the office, and I am sure you would make an excellent wife.” Jenny choked on her tea.
“Wife? Dear Lord, I don't want to go to the Gala with him, never mind marry that arrogant, self righteous drunken scoundrel!” Jenny bit her lip. She should not have voiced such disrespect for her superior. She was talking to the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, what had she done? She put her hand to her mouth and ran from the room. John watched her go, picked up his tea and settled in to wait for her.
When Jenny returned, John Murphy was still seated in the leather chair. She approached him humbly. “Lord Provost, my most humble apologies for my outburst. I had no right.”
“Miss Barstow, please sit down. I am not offended and I have to admit your description was most accurate.” They both laughed, John much louder than the embarrassed Jenny, but she did join him. “I am sure you are taken aback with my suggestion that you should marry my nephew, but I really do think you would be the perfect wife for Ian.”
“Lord Provost, I must tell you that I am currently courting with Mr. Harold Mitchell, Doctor Mitchell. I am not interested in Mr. Murphy. I am happy to run the office, but you must find another woman who is better suited to be his wife.”
“Miss Barstow, I won't take no for an answer. Will you at least agree to go to the Gala with him? I understand your hesitation and I am sure your friend, Mr. Mitchell will understand if you have to accompany your superior to a social function.” John looked at Jenny, pleading with his eyes. She felt very strange. “Will you also please call me Mr. Murphy and not Lord Provost, we're friends, are we not?” Now she was friends with the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, what else could happen to her today? This entire scenario was unbelievable.
“Lord….Mr. Murphy, sir, I really would not have the proper attire to go to the Gala and I am just a small town girl from Watsworth. I would be most uncomfortable. My friend, Mr. Mitchell might not be happy that I was going with Mr. Murphy and I would not want to upset him.” Jenny was trying to think of every possible excuse, but John didn't look convinced.
“I will speak with Mr. Mitchell myself and explain the situation to him if you will. I am sure he will see things my way. I can be very convincing, Miss Barstow. If you go the Miss Hartford's dress shop on the High street, she will fit you out with a gown that most women would love to own. I will take care of the cost. Please, Miss Barstow, just go to the Gala. That is all I ask.”
“Could I think about it?” She needed time to think. She needed time to speak to Harry.
“Of course, I will call in on Friday for your answer. Please keep this conversation to yourself my dear. I will be most disappointed if you turn me down. Thank you for the tea.”
Lord Provost John Murphy smiled at Jenny, picked up his coat and left her alone. She didn't know what to think. Did this really happen? The Lord Provost of Edinburgh wants me to marry his nephew? What in God’s name is happening to me?
Harry was furious. Jenny had never seen him this angry. In all the time they had been seeing each other, he was never anything, but calm and patient. Harry paced back and forth in the tiny parlor, while Abigail and Zachariah stood at the kitchen door eavesdropping.
“Of all the gall! Who does he think he is, ordering you to go to the Gala with Murphy, of all people? I have a good mind to go down to his office and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Please, Harry calm down. It is just a Gala. I wouldn't really be with him, it would just be business.” Jenny watched Harry getting angrier by the minute. She had not mentioned the marriage,
only the Gala invitation. She didn't really understand why he was so upset, but he seemed to be taking this very personally.
“Jenny, I forbid it! Do you hear me? I forbid it! Good Night.” Harry snatched his coat from the chair and stomped out, slamming the door as he left.
Jenny fell into the chair, head in hands. Old Tom leaped onto her lap. It seemed the cat was trying to comfort her, but she was too distraught. Abigail appeared with her magic tea tray. “Come on lass, don't cry.”
“Yes my dear. Mitchell will calm down, and he will be here tomorrow to apologize for his actions. Have a nice cup of tea.” Zachariah poured the tea, while Abigail put her arms around Jenny. Old Tom leapt to the floor, leaving Abigail to soothe Jenny's nerves.
“I don't know what to do. I could lose my job if I don't do what the Lord Provost asks. I could lose Harry if I go to the Gala against his wishes. I could lose everything no matter which way I turn. I don't want to go with that horrid Mr. Murphy, but what other choice do I have?” She sobbed uncontrollably. She thought about mentioning the marriage to Zachariah, but thought better of it.
“As you said, Lass, you would only be pretending to be with that horrid creature. You can pretend for one night. Mr. Mitchell will have to accept the fact that your job depends on this Gala. He should know how you feel about him by now, so why is he so insecure?” Jenny was asking herself the same question. Why was Harry reacting so strongly to this?
Harry Mitchell went directly to his Gentleman's Club. He was furious. Ian Murphy was at the bar. Harry walked over to him, and without a word of explanation, Harry punched him in the face. Then he turned on his heel and left the club. Murphy, nose bleeding, stood dumbfounded. “What the bloody hell man, have you lost your mind?” he shouted after Mitchell. The members stared at Ian. Soon they went back to their conversations. Ian Murphy was obviously in trouble again and this was nothing new to them. No one offered him any assistance.
The next morning Harry was at the door before Jenny left for work. “Harry, this is a surprise.” Abigail let him in, called Jenny and went to the kitchen. Where she stationed herself behind the door so that she could hear every word. Jenny appeared at the top of the stairs. She descended slowly, not sure of what Harry was doing there.
“Jenny, my dearest, please accept my apologies. I was a brute.” Harry pulled Jenny into his arms and she melted into him. He was so comfortable, so secure. “Will you ever forgive me?”
“Don't be silly. Of course, I forgive you. I just don't understand why you were so upset. You know how I feel about you, Harry.”
“How do you feel about me, Jenny?” Jenny was surprised by this question. She thought her feelings were very transparent although she had not spoken them out loud.
“I.. I love you, Harold Mitchell,” she replied shyly. He beamed with joy.
“I love you, Jenny Barstow. Will you marry me?” Jenny pushed back holding him at arms length.
“What did you say?”
“I said I love you, Jenny Barstow, will you marry me?” Harry looked deep into her eyes.
“Say yes for heaven's sake!” shouted Abigail from the kitchen. The two lovers laughed at the humorous intrusion.
“Yes, I will marry you. Oh my love, I will marry you.” He kissed her and she knew he was the one for her. Abigail rushed in from the kitchen. She put her bulky arms around the couple and hugged them tightly. It was a glorious day.
Friday morning, Lord Provost John Murphy arrived in Jenny's office. She was not alone.
“Miss Barstow, how are you this morning?”
“Fine, Mr. Murphy. I would like you to meet my fiancé, Harold Mitchell.” John Murphy looked from Jenny to the tall man beside her. This he had not counted on.
“Mr. Mitchell, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He remembered Mitchell from somewhere, but he could not recollect where at the moment.
“I have made a decision, Mr. Murphy.” John was pleased that Jenny was addressing him as Mr. Murphy and not Lord Provost. “I will be happy to accompany Mr. Ian Murphy to the Gala, as his business assistant. My fiancé will also be in attendance.”
“Wonderful, Miss Barstow, I am very pleased. Go to Miss Hartford's this afternoon. She is expecting you. Nice to meet you, Mr. Mitchell, Good day.” John Murphy walked from the office feeling triumphant. You have agreed to step one, Miss Barstow. Soon you will agree to the rest of the plan.
“Oh, that went well.” Jenny felt relieved.
“Why was Miss Hartford expecting you, if you had not given him your answer? Rather presumptuous don't you think?” Harry was suspicious.
“I don't know, silly. Just be happy that it worked out for the best. I can keep my job because the Lord Provost is happy and he knows that I am the one keeping his good-for-nothing nephew's office running smoothly.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. “And he knows that you and I are going to be married, so any other silly notions he had are impossible.”
Harry looked at her strangely. Whatever did she mean? “I hope he knows.” Harry was not as convinced as Jenny was. He had seen how politics in Edinburgh worked on several occasions and this was not sitting right with him. That sinister old beggar is up to something. Harry would keep a very close eye on Jenny at the Gala.
That afternoon John Murphy visited the hospital where Harry worked. He told the head of the hospital that a large grant would be forthcoming from the city; however he wanted Harold Mitchell to be in charge of the details. The hospital chief found this very odd, since Harold Mitchell was only a first year resident, but he agreed immediately. The hospital was in great need of more capital, and if the Lord Provost wanted Harold Mitchell to head the committee, then that is what he would do.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenny knew she had to make time to go to Miss Hartford's dress shop, but she was nervous and didn't want to go alone. She begged Abigail to go with her, but Abigail refused. Finally, Jenny set off alone dressed in her best, starched white blouse and wool skirt.
She stood outside the shop for several minutes, trying to get up the courage to open the door. At long last, she stepped inside. The shop was a beehive of activity. Wealthy women, dressed in their finest were shopping for dresses, hats and accessories and the sales women were doing their best to placate their every need. Never before had she experienced a shop like this. The scene unfolding before her, mesmerized Jenny. She stood for several minutes before one of the shop assistants finally acknowledged her. “You are Mrs. Vandervelt's new maid, aren't you? She is in the dressing room.” Jenny was shocked at the woman's error in mistaking her for one of the maids. Embarrassed, she rushed from the shop. Fighting back the tears she rushed down the street. I don’t fit in. I am just a working girl from Watsworth. How will I ever be able to buy a dress from that shop? I don’t belong amongst the wealthy, even if the Lord Provost is paying for the gown. I will make a fool of myself at the Gala. Perhaps I am just fooling myself. I am not good enough for Harry. By the time Jenny arrived back at Abigail's she was in a terrible state. She rushed past Abigail and ran up to her room. Abigail called after her, but received no answer. Slowly she climbed the stairs to Jenny's room, where she found the young woman sobbing pitifully.
“Jenny, what is the matter?” Abigail sat on the bed beside Jenny.
“I don't belong here. I should just go back to Watsworth and stop pretending I am someone that I am not.”
“Tell me what happened. It was that snobbish dress shop wasn't it? That is why I wouldn't go with you. The women who shop there think they are better than the rest of us. Did one of them insult you?” Jenny stopped sobbing and rolled over to face Abigail.
“The shop assistant thought I was one of the maids!” Abigail just shook her head.
“Dear me, you poor girl. We will think of something.”
“No, we won't. I am not going to the Gala, and I am going to tell Harry that our engagement is off. I don't belong here.”
“Now, now. Don't start calling off your entire life because some upstar
t of a sales clerk mistook you for a maid. Take some deep breaths while I think.” Abigail rubbed Jenny's arm as she thought about what to do. “I know! The best solution is to ask Amy to go with you. Amy's family is very well respected in this town; her father is one of the wealthiest lawyers in Edinburgh. Amy will go with you and straighten this out.” At the mention of Amy, Jenny started to feel better. Why had she not asked Amy to go with her in the first place?
The next day, Amy and Jenny returned to the shop. Amy chatted all the way down the street, but Jenny was very quiet. Her nerves were getting the best of her. When they arrived, Jenny was hesitant to go in. “Come on, just follow my lead. I am going to take care of this.” Head down, Jenny followed her into the shop. This time, recognizing Amy, the same shop assistant rushed to be of service.
“Miss Mitchell, how lovely to see you. How can we be of assistance?”
“I am here to introduce my cousin Harold's fiancée, Miss Barstow. I have assured her that you will take very good care of her. We need a dress for the Gala.” This time the clerk fussed over Jenny. Jenny was sure she did not remember her from the day before.
“Miss Barstow, please come this way. It is my pleasure to serve you.” Jenny looked over the short clerk's head at Amy, who was laughing to herself. Jenny smiled and let the woman whisk her away to look at dresses. Amy chatted to some of the other ladies in the shop. She was sure to point Jenny out to them, introducing her as Harold's fiancée. Amy was annoyed at what had happened to Jenny in the shop the previous day. She was going to make sure these women gave Jenny the respect she deserved. Amy, who was becoming very fond of Jenny, had a protective streak a mile long.
The dresses were the most beautiful creations Jenny had ever seen. She was flabbergasted. How could she choose? Amy sat on the comfortable chair sipping a glass of champagne. They certainly know how to treat the ladies, thought Jenny. “You must be enjoying that champagne. It is the quietest you have been since I met you,” she teased. Amy just laughed.