Summerset Abbey

by Brown, T. J.

  Rowena stood at the window at the top of the hall, watching Elaine and Victoria walk arm in arm through the formal rose gardens. Rowena had expected Victoria to be more distraught and volatile as the holidays approached, but watching her now, giggling with her cousin, Rowena saw that even if Victoria didn’t know it herself, she had stepped into life here at Summerset as easily as if she had been born to it.

  As had she, Rowena realized in surprise. The kind of life Rowena and Victoria lived here, though very different from their city lifestyle, was almost as comfortable as slipping into an old dressing gown. But how long would the feeling last? How long before she and her sister would begin to chafe under such restrictions? The lounging around all day was abominable, as was the inexplicably strict division between the Buxtons and those who actually ran the household—the servants. But still . . . the history, the stories, the grandeur, and the elegance were intoxicating. And while she knew, as did her father and his contemporaries, that this way of life was dying out, must die out, she had to admit that she was suddenly saddened by the thought of its passing now that she’d had the opportunity to fully experience it.

  As she stepped back from the hall window, her eyes caught those of her banished grandfather. Like Victoria, she barely remembered the old man who spent most of his time upstairs in the grandest stateroom. Just those rare occasions when the children would march, led by Colin, followed by her and Elaine, with baby Victoria carried by the nanny in the background, to give old Grandpapa a kiss good night. She wondered why they bothered at all, considering the mixed feelings she sensed in the adults during those moments.

  The old earl had ruled the house with his mighty temper and the iron grip he had of everything that happened at Summerset. It must have been difficult, she thought, to watch old age encroach in such a way that left his physical abilities impaired but his mental acuity intact. To watch his control slip away and placed into the hands of someone he would always think of as inferior.

  Then she heard a noise that drove all other thoughts out of her head. The sound of an engine, coming not from the road below but from somewhere out in the gray skies. She unlatched the window and pushed the leaded glass open, allowing a blast of wintry air to sweep the hallway clean of all mustiness. She poked her head out, craning her neck. There he was, coming up over the ridge. Jon didn’t come every night, just often enough to let her know he was thinking about her, and the sound of the engine never failed to make her smile.

  The plane soared closer and she clasped her hands to her chest as her heart soared with it. Below, the girls had stopped walking, and, shading their eyes against the thin, pale sunshine, they watched as the plane made a leisurely loop around the castle before making its way west once again.

  More than anything Rowena wished she were sitting with Jon, following the sun to wherever it should lead them. She watched the aeroplane until her eyes could track it no longer and then she turned away, closing the window behind her.

  Her thoughts suddenly shifted to Prudence. She still couldn’t think of how to tell her the London house had been sold and that she and Victoria would be remaining at Summerset until they made other arrangements. If they made other arrangements. A lump rose in her throat. She would completely understand if Prudence didn’t want to stay on, and perhaps they could look into other situations . . . just until she and Victoria made some kind of decision. She would tell her, of course, but maybe she would wait until all the festivities were over. Yuletide without their father was hard enough. She couldn’t imagine what Vic would do if Prudence decided to leave as well.

  * * *

  Victoria sat at the top of a ladder, watching the antics of the others with the sort of superiority that came from being four feet taller than the rest of them. The arrival of Yuletide brought with it an ever-revolving list of guests all bent on making Rowena and Victoria forget that this would be their first Christmas without their father. It was all incredibly draining, and Victoria believed she would be much better off if they had just left her alone to make merry in her own way. She’d never been to Summerset for Christmas and knew she would have a good time if everyone would just stop coddling her and treat her like a grown woman.

  Nanny Iris’s cottage had also undergone a wonderful transformation, though of course not on this scale. Victoria had visited several times in the past month, and even though she knew there would be no lack of family to help the old woman usher in Christmas morning, she truly wished she could be one of them.

  Right now, all Victoria wanted to do was sneak off to her secret room to study her office course and go through her Botanist Quarterly Review, which she discovered actually had advertisements for jobs and fellowships in the back matter. Some of them included opportunities to study certain types of flora and fauna in remote locations. She had typed up all sorts of pretend responses to these advertisements, wondering whether she ever would have the nerve to actually send one. Not that she had the qualifications anyway. She frowned and shoved that out of her mind. Where there was a will there was a way.

  The room itself had received a kind of restoration since that first night when she had slipped in with her typewriter. She had done more cleaning, of course, so the musty smell was almost gone. What remained was merely a reminder of the past and it pleased her. She had plundered the other rooms for pillows, throws, screens, and decorations so that bric-a-brac erupted from every possible flat surface in a kind of haphazard gaiety that made her smile. African masks now shared the mantel along with ornate Oriental fans and small silver picture frames filled with ancestors long dead.

  She wondered what Kit would think of it now.

  She hung another ornament on the sixteen-foot tree that stood at the end of the Great Hall. Pretending not to, she studied Kit, who was talking to Aunt Charlotte and Sebastian’s mother, the formidable Lady Billingsly. Kit was dressed formally in a dark, tailored waistcoat and jacket that fit his wide shoulders perfectly. He stood straight, a drink in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back in a perfect gentleman’s pose. Victoria knew it was all an act.

  She knew it because whenever she caught him glancing her way, he would give her an audacious wink that made her blush. They hadn’t spoken since the night when he had frightened her in her secret room, even though she’d gone there every night since he’d returned, half hoping he would show up.

  Across the room, Rowena stood gazing out the window, barely noticing the festivities around her. Victoria noted that Rowena had become more reserved than ever, but it was more as though she was waiting for something to happen. But that was a lot like Ro, always waiting for something to happen rather than making it happen. She wondered whether it had anything to do with that flyboy she’d gone to tea with. The whole house was buzzing with the strange aeroplanes that had visited several times in the past few days. Elaine had finally wormed part of the story from her and declared it a lovely tale, but warned that her parents wouldn’t feel the same way.

  Victoria thought about confronting Rowena, but since she had her own secrets, she left her sister alone. She wished her father were here. He’d know what to do.

  Hurt rose within her again and she fumbled with a glass figurine. It slipped from her fingers and went hurtling down, shattering on the marble floor.

  For a moment no one moved and then Aunt Charlotte spoke up. “I do hope that wasn’t one of the Waterford crystal ornaments, my dear.”

  Victoria smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, Aunt Charlotte.”

  Her aunt sighed. “Never mind. That’s what happens when you do the decorating yourself.”

  “It’s all a part of the experience, Lady Summerset,” Kit put in.

  In reality the servants had already done most of the decorating and guests were allowed to add the trimmings, if they so desired.

  A maid arrived in seconds to sweep up the mess. In moments she disappeared as noiselessly as she’d appeared. Victoria wondered what her name was. She sighed. It was strange to be living among an army of st
rangers.

  “Allow me to assist you me, Miss Buxton.” Kit climbed up the ladder Victoria was perched on and she nervously grabbed the seat to steady herself. She noticed his eyes glittering as he got nearer.

  He was ridiculously close to her and slipped one hand around her waist. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

  She swallowed. Kit had the athletic body of someone who played on the cricket fields all through school and now rode, hunted, and played golf with the best of them. He handed her another ornament from the box she had balanced on her lap. “Go ahead.”

  Swallowing again, she leaned out to hang the ornament on the tree and his arm tightened. She shivered and he grinned at her as if knowing exactly what she was feeling. She had a strong urge to rap him on top of the head with her knuckles.

  She heard the front door open and looked down the hall to see Cairns admitting more guests. The footmen were dispatched to take care of the newcomer’s luggage while the guests were announced to the room by Cairns.

  “Lady Summerset, may I present the Dowager Lucille, and her granddaughters, Lady Isabella and Lady Gertrude.”

  The new guests joined the party and there were curtsies, bows, and hand kissing. Elaine took the girls to one corner and persuaded a reluctant Rowena to join them. Victoria added another ornament to the tree. It was hard to breathe with Kit so close to her, and every time she looked down, his eyes were upon her.

  “I think we should move the ladder, don’t you? We’re getting quite a cluster in one spot.” His voice belied a trace of humor and Victoria saw he was right. She had about twenty ornaments in the same small area.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I don’t think anyone will notice. They are far too busy flattering one another. Look.”

  He indicated the corner where her aunt Charlotte held court, and she saw he was right. The women all clustered together, fawning over Aunt Charlotte and Lady Edith Billingsly and gossiping about those who had yet to join the party. He took the box with him and Victoria carefully turned around and climbed down, very conscious that he had a view of her backside the whole time.

  He pointed to the boxes still on the table. “Shall we continue our work? I think we make a good team.”

  She looked at him sharply. Was he making fun of her? It was so hard to tell. On the other hand, she did like spending time with him, more the fool she. “We may as well. The others certainly aren’t going to finish it.”

  They worked for another half hour or so, ignoring the bell’s continual ringing and the butler introductions. To Victoria, Summerset seemed more like an enchanted palace than a real stone-and-mortar home. Her father had always spurned Christmas at the abbey in order to spend the holiday in their London home, and though they always decorated and held parties, it was nothing on this scale.

  Evergreen boughs encircled the Great Hall from the front door to the drawing room on the end. Huge bows of red velvet with gold thread gathered the boughs every five feet or so. Tall white beeswax candles stood on every available surface and hundreds of tiny silver snowflakes were strung across every arch, reflecting the candlelight, causing twinkles all over the walls and even glancing off the frescoes lining the hallway. The tree was one of a hundred that were being groomed inch by inch for generations of Buxton Christmases. The house itself had ten decorated Christmas trees. The one in the Great Hall, the one in the drawing room, one for the servants in the servants’ hall, and one in each of the family’s private bedrooms. Victoria hadn’t even decorated hers yet, but she enjoyed the fresh citrusy scent that hung in the air.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Kit suddenly said close to her ear. “Can you get away in about twenty minutes?”

  Victoria looked around the hall. About a hundred people now milled about the room, drinking wassail, port, and mulled wine. Her sister was in the corner with Elaine, Sebastian, Colin, and a half dozen other young people about their age. Victoria wondered whether they were the Cunning Coterie. Prudence, of course, hadn’t been invited.

  She gave him a quick nod. It was madness, of course, but no one would miss her, and after he’d practically ignored her for the past two days, she was curious as to what his surprise could be. Instinctively, she felt she shouldn’t trust this strange young man, but when she remembered their hushed conversation in their secret room, she couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  “Meet me in the library,” he murmured, and then sauntered away. Having signaled for one of the footmen standing at attention nearby to take away the ladder, she finished by hanging a few more ornaments near the bottom of the tree.

  Then she went to the punch bowl, where a servant poured her a glass. She walked through the room, looking above the guests’ heads so they wouldn’t try to engage her in conversation. The women were lovely in their fine jewels and their gowns trimmed with feathers, fur, and crystals. Rowena wore a black lace dress with short sleeves made of cormorant feathers and had a matching black headdress sitting on her shining dark hair. A lump came to Victoria’s throat and with difficulty she turned her eyes away from her sister’s beauty.

  The gentlemen, fine in their dark dress attire, were dressed to set off the gowns of their more extravagant, colorful wives. Her uncle stood on one side of the room, conversing with a group of distinguished-looking men. Occasionally, he and his wife would exchange strangely congratulatory glances, as if applauding each other on the success of the party. And so far the tree-trimming party was a success. After, there would be a twelve-course meal for the family and friends and then music in the music room. Tomorrow the serious festivities would begin with Summerset’s renowned double ball. First, the Great Hall would be emptied of most of its furniture for the servants’ ball. When the family had done their duty by their servants, they would retire to the fabulously decorated ballroom for their own ball, while the servants were allowed one more hour of dancing in the Great Hall. Not a minute more nor a minute less. No one dared challenge Lady Summerset’s traditions. Many of the guests would leave the day after in order to be in their own homes for Christmas, but at least two dozen would be staying at Summerset until New Year’s Eve.

  Without seeming to hurry, Victoria moved gracefully to the stairwell and handed her cup to a servant who had been hired from town to supplement Summerset’s own staff, many of whom were torn between readying themselves for the one night a year they were allowed to make merry and preparing for their own duties. Once she’d slipped out of the Great Hall without detection, she hurried through the darkened corridors to the library.

  The library itself was a work of art, and few decorations were needed. Very little could improve upon the spectacular blue and white plasterwork of the walls and ceiling that was designed to frame a dozen classical Roman frescoes. The seating, tables, and cushions were all a neutral white, to emphasize the colors of the paintings. Victoria and Rowena spent little time here as children, even though they loved their own library at home. Though many of the books that lined the walls were quite good, they were mostly antique collectibles, not the sort that would fire the imagination of a child’s heart.

  On a low table in front of the white marble fireplace, Victoria noticed two large, leather-bound volumes. One of them had been left open, half on top of the other. She frowned and walked over to them. Things were not left out of place at Summerset. Once she saw what they were, however, she understood.

  Like the others on the shelf, both oversized scrapbooks had the Summerset crest embossed on the dark, shining leather. They were separated by year and most were created one page at a time by loving mistresses, though many were created by servants when the lady of the house, such as Lady Summerset, had no taste for the task.

  She’d seen books just like these on display downstairs, laid out so people could look at Christmases past, as it were. The scrapbooks went back almost four hundred years and were considered the finest record of their kind in the United Kingdom.

  She frowned and peered more closely at the dates. Why were these left her
e and not on display with the rest of them? Both were consecutive years, 1890 and 1891. Perhaps they were not considered old enough for display. She knelt next to the books, wondering whether she had stumbled upon someone’s absentmindedness or someone’s secret. The most important thing she’d learned about secrets was that you never knew when one was staring you in the face.

  Coincidence or secret? She pulled the open book closer to her. Here was a picture of the entire Summerset staff and family, posed in front of the manor. She smiled as she spotted Cairns, who’d actually had hair twenty-three years ago. Mrs. Harper hadn’t changed at all. She recognized many of the staff and wondered about people who would give their entire lives to serve another family instead of having one of their own. She read through the list of names written in minuscule letters to the right of the picture, along with their title. Many of the surnames were familiar and she wondered how many families, like hers, had been here since the very beginning of Summerset.

  Then she saw Iris Combes—Nanny, and she bent her head closer to the picture. Victoria spotted Nanny Iris just to the left of the family, her rich, dark hair shining in the sun. She was flanked on the right by Victoria’s grandmother, a small, quiet woman who had always reminded Victoria of a mother wren from her Beatrix Potter books. In the center of the photo, just to her grandmother’s right, was the old earl himself. It must have been before the slow degradation of his body began, because he showed no sign of weakness, just a predatory arrogance that made Victoria shiver. His sons stood behind him in his proverbial shadow. Uncle Conrad appeared alone and beaten, but her father, recently married to his small, fairylike bride, beamed next to him. From the plumpness of her mother’s face, she could tell that her mother was already pregnant with Ro. She ran her fingers along the side of the picture, wondering how different life might have been had her mother survived her birth. This wasn’t the first picture she had seen of her mother, of course, but every new picture was a gift, for her mother always looked happy. But then, everyone agreed her mother had possessed a gift for happiness.