by Lisa Prysock
Suddenly, Lord Edwards was before her, bowing. She was so shocked she froze with her mouth open as he firmly pulled her from her seat, insisting she dance the reel with him. She had little choice when he took her punch glass and handed it to Lady Stapleton. “Dance with me Miss Lyndon! You are the most beautiful lady in the room and I shall have you as my partner.”
Catherine turned beet red and looked helplessly from him to Lady Stapleton. Lady Stapleton looked amused as she accepted Winnie’s glass of punch, set it on a side table, and snapped open a fan. Catherine found herself being pulled to the reel, his grip on her gloved hand insistent. He was a large and sturdy man, with a handsome face in the sense that his Roman nose and strong cheekbones gave him a commanding character. He dressed impeccably and carried his slightly extra weight well beneath the folds and pleats of his extravagant dinner jacket. He danced very well except that he seemed to brush shoulders with her accidentally on purpose and lingered quite close for longer than he should have on several steps. As he was married, she found the situation most embarrassing, even deplorable. If she denied him a dance, she would not be permitted to dance for the rest of the evening. There was little she could do. She desperately wished he would pay attention to the Countess. Dear Lord of Heaven and Earth, please help me… she silently prayed, her eyes wide open, being careful not to miss any dance steps.
When she reached the point in the dance where she had to turn away from the Earl, as she spun around back in his direction, she looked up, surprised to find herself dancing with Kingston. He had evidently cut in.
“Kingston!” she breathed, flashing him a look that spoke volumes. She caught a glimpse of Lord Edwards bowing out and stepping away towards Crane to cut in and retrieve his Countess for the remainder of the reel. Her eyes flashed back toward Kingston with relief as they continued the dance.
“You do seem to excel at requiring rescue,” he said as they danced into the first position as the leading couple of the reel. Suddenly, she felt safe again. She could only flash him another thankful smile, unable to put into words how Lord Edwards had forced her to be his partner as they returned to the other end of the reel where she came close enough to Kingston to hear him say: “Lady Stapleton said a tall, odious man dragged you forcibly to the reel.”
“’Tis every word true!” She replied, laughing as they danced forward to the next place in the reel.
Kingston studied her eyes as they danced, looking for traces of injury to her emotional status beyond the broad smile on her face from the joy of the dance. She wanted to assure him she was fine now, but it was her laughter as they danced that assured him the most. When they turned again and joined their place in line at the end of the reel he came close enough to her to say, “I intend to make you my Duchess, Miss Lyndon.” She blushed, wondering if anyone had overheard him and kept dancing until the music stopped. He ushered her to her seat and drew an empty chair close to sit beside her.
When she had recovered her breathing she asked, “Is everything well, my Lord?”
Kingston paused and stared at Catherine. It was another of the few times he could recall her addressing him formally. Something had changed again in her demeanor toward him, but what, he could not determine. “Yes, merely a travel weary mother from Bath waiting in my mother’s parlor… and a secondary matter of evidence of a poacher on the grounds-- according to Andrews.”
“A travel weary mother… from Bath. ‘Twould that be the mother of Lady Agnes? As I recall, Aggie said she was from Bath.” Catherine tilted her head trying to remember.
“You are correct. I invited Lady Burke to the festivities of course, but she is tired from the journey and insists I send Aggie to her side at once. She is installed in Aggie’s room and resting. Beatrice is taking a tea tray up.”
“Lady Agnes will be devastated to leave the dancing. She seems to enjoy Sir Edward’s company so much. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her since my arrival.”
The Duke considered what Catherine had observed. “Something doesn’t seem quite right, but I don’t know what exactly. Will you do me the favor of… I mean, will you… uh…?”
“You would like me to escort Lady Agnes to her mother?” Remembering her punch glass she sipped from the cup and held it, waiting to see if she had interpreted his request correctly.
“Yes,” he replied with relief, fidgeting with his fob and clicking open the face of his pocket watch to reveal the time.
“You wish me to interrupt her dancing; to abruptly bring her happiness to an end? She will miss the final dances to tend her mother. This places squarely on my shoulder the burden of blame. Aggie will forever associate the end of her joy on my account.”
“Yes,” Kingston peered at the couples dancing on the floor. “You may discover more of what brings Lady Burke here from Bath than I will. None of the other mothers have arrived. Something is amiss.”
“I doubt Aggie will confide in me, but I might consider it if we wait at least a few more dances. I cannot possibly be the one to cause that smile to disappear from Sir Bouverie’s face… and look how happy his mother is to watch her son smile.”
“As you wish, Miss Lyndon,” the Duke acquiesced, bowing his head as a sign of yielding to her methods.
“I wondered why Mr. Andrews was absent this evening,” she remarked, changing the subject. “Poachers can mean very little to you, I suspect, in the grand scheme of things.”
He looked at her with a strong, silent stare before he responded. Winnie thought she noticed a flinch in his right cheek that said otherwise. “Depends on the poacher…”
Catherine chose not to challenge him on the subject and set her punch glass back on the table near their seats. Obviously he had strong feelings along those lines.
“Let’s dance, my lovely… you take my breath away.” The Duke lifted her gloved hand to his lips ever so briefly. “Have I told you how stunning you look this evening?”
She decided to allow him to lead her to the dancing where they danced with only each other for the remainder of the celebration, scandalizing the Dinner Party by breaking the rules of dance etiquette requiring ladies not to dance with the same partner more than twice. Neither had they the heart to escort Aggie to Lady Burke.
Genesis 12:3, KJV
And I will bless them that bless thee, and I will curse them that curseth thee: and in thee shall all families of the earth be blessed.
Chapter 8
The Shoemaker
“Pritchard!”
Marjorie stepped forward from her place in the line of servants waiting to be paid their well -earned wages when Mrs. Glenwood called her surname. She held out her hand while the housekeeper counted out two shillings of pay and marked the amount in the books.
“Sign right here that you have received your wages, please. Thank you for staying late to wash the dishes, Marjorie. Go directly home to your mum and be sure to take the basket home I left for you in the kitchen.”
“Aye ma’am,” Jorie bobbed respectfully as she stuffed the coins into her pockets. “Thank ye, ma’am.”
“If you come for the Annual Christmas Ball, I will have another meal and three shillings for you. It will be a long day… St. Thomas Day evening.”
“Yes ma’am, thank ye, ma’am,” Jorie replied.
If she hurried, she might make it home before two o’clock in the morning. The moon spread a silvery golden light over everything and her breath hung in the air, freezing as soon as she exhaled. She pulled the brown wrap closer as she headed northwest through the woods. Washing dishes had taken nearly four hours, but having had a hot meal to warm her insides with the other servants in the servant’s hall had at least curbed the hunger pangs that had become so familiar. They seldom bothered her anymore except when she had to exert a great deal of physical effort. Carrying home a basket of bread, pie, cheese, leftover turkey, and several jars of jam would place a huge smile on each member of her family. She could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces. If she squeezed her eyes
shut while she lugged the basket and trudged through the snow toward home, she could almost see her three year old brother Reese with jam smudged all around his smile.
She stopped to rest under the moonlight near a peaceful evergreen, peeking in the basket. There was only enough for a few meals if they were very careful, but it was something. It wouldn’t stretch far with seven siblings and her mother to feed. Mama did her best, but she could hardly manage with so many little ones under foot.
Jorie, the eldest at thirteen, continually tried to help Mama with the burden of supporting the family since Papa had succumbed to the dreaded pox disease. Victoria, eleven, was far too tender an age to do more than try to keep a watchful eye on the younger siblings and help with household chores. Mama sometimes took in sewing, but it was tedious work for low wages. Though her work was excellent, she could barely manage the cost to remain in the cottage with the thatched roof. Regina, Adelaide, and Amelia were next at ages nine, eight, and seven. Finally Mama had given them a brother, Christian, age five. Abby was next, age four, weak from being unable to bare weight on her right foot. She needed an operation the doctor said. Finally, pudgy Reese, a joy to the family with his contented ways in spite of the lack the family faced.
She continued on until far from the view of Hillbrook Hall. Then she broke into a run toward the wooded location of her hiding spot. The only thing she could hear was her own panting for breath and the sound of the crunching snow beneath her feet. Thankfully Mrs. Glenwood had packed the contents of the basket with a good deal of cloth for padding so nothing would jiggle inside or break. Breathless, the snow crunching under her feet, she continued on, the basket growing heavier the nearer she came to her hiding place as the woods began to thicken.
“Drat!” She stopped running when she reached the exact spot and looked back at the tracks her worn boots had made in the snow. She could only hope to find a way to lose the tracks in the thicker part of the woods. She would have to back track carefully over her steps to cover the tracks leading to the hiding spot by dragging a branch over much of the area.
She ducked down low to crawl under the large evergreen. It was almost like a little house under that tree… a little hiding place under those branches where no one else could see her. The sloping branches kept her hidden from the outside world as they reached down to sweep the ground. Jorie set the basket down and fell to her knees once she was safely under the branches. She pushed the snow and heavy rocks aside. Then she moved the branches, twigs, and boughs she had strewn over the rifle, munition, and the bag of clothing.
Jorie let the brown wool wrap drop to the ground and yanked off her mittens, then her lace trimmed cap, then her apron. Her long brown hair tumbled down about her shoulders. It was no trouble to tuck her thin dress into the worn black breeches made for a thin boy of about her height. She had worn her black stockings, made for winter. They blended well with the breeches. She pulled the dark burgundy shirt from the bag. She shoved her arms into the shirt and shaking from the cold, buttoned the shirt as fast as she could. Then she pulled out the black jacket with the two box pleats in the back and slipped it on. It was so cold from being outside that though it was thicker than her brown wrap, she closed her eyes until her body heat made it more tolerable. She rolled up the brown wrap and placed it in the bag with her lace cap and apron. Next she twisted and rolled her hair up, placing the black three-corner hat atop her head. The only embellishment to the hat was a bit of gold braiding along the edges.
Jorie buried the bag beneath the boughs, dragging the musket out with the munition. It was heavy and she could barely command it. There was very little light under the branches so she sat down in a location where a sliver of moonlight peeked through the branches. She opened the frizzen, and carefully poured a small amount of powder into the flash-pan, and closed the frizzen. Jorie pointed the musket up and poured powder down the barrel, just like Papa had taught her when his health had been better. She added a ball of lead shot and a scrap of paper. She reached for the ramrod and packed these down firmly, returning the ramrod to the loops after. Shaking, she sat there considering her plight, gathering strength.
“Oh Papa! Why? Why did you have to leave us?” Tears rolled down her face staining her cheeks. She swiped at the tears with the back of one hand, remembering his last words to her. “Help your mother. Be brave Jorie. Be brave.”
She thought about all of the grandeur she had witnessed at Hillbrook Hall that night when she hadn’t been scrubbing dishes in a wash pan or hauling buckets of ashes from the fireplaces. It hardly seemed fair. She swiped at another tear streaming down her face. Watching the elegant ladies in all of their finery had been more than her heart could handle. The extravagant dishes Polly Childers decorated with parsley leaves, orange peels, and sliced radish had made her eyes nearly pop out of her head. Where was God in all of this? Had He forsaken her?
When Mrs. Childers had sent her out to the terrace to feed the goose, she had burst into tears and marked that goose for an end. She would have to sit on the other side of the frozen pond, but draw that goose out she would. They intended the goose for Christmas Day Dinner, but Jorie could only think of the empty bellies her siblings would have if she didn’t find a way to help Mama. She was tired of hare and hadn’t seen a wild turkey in some time… and large animals were out of the question. She’d be unable to drag them home, let alone prepare them. She wouldn’t be able to shoot the goose close to Hillbrook Hall for fear of being caught, but she had a pocket full of feed from which to entice the goose away. Checking the traps for hare would have to wait. It was the goose she had her heart set on.
Venia Biltmore waited patiently with her coat and muff in the foyer while her brother said good-bye privately to Lady Jane in the Drawing Room. Miss Cordelia Higgens conversed with Frank Billings in the hall as she waited for a footman to bring her pattens. Ridge sat on a satin cushioned bench in an alcove in the hallway with Lady Anne-Marie, while Viscount Kinsworth disappeared with Lady Amiée-Josephine for a bit of fresh air on the veranda beside the Ball Room. Kingston, surrounded by Maguire, the Duke of Northampton, the Mayor of Glad Crown (Mr. Victor Whitmore), Vicar Taylor, and the Mayor of Northampton (Mr. Samuel Hughes) as they made their departure, flashed a pleading look at Winnie in the direction of Lady Agnes. Winnie sighed and braced herself for the inevitable, stepping forward to meet Aggie after she had bade Sir Bouverie and his mother farewell at the main doors. The other ladies and gentlemen either conversed in the Drawing Room or the Ball Room as they meandered towards the foyer to make ready for departure.
“Lady Agnes,” Catherine said, picking up her ball gown and joining her side at the bottom of the staircase. “I wonder if I might have a brief word with you on behalf of Kingston.”
“Can he not tell me himself whatever it is?” she snapped back, earning a stare from nearby Mrs. Cora Miller as she inspected her flute before placing it in a box for the journey home. Aggie didn’t seem to care that anyone had overheard her sour retort and proceeded up the staircase.
Catherine, initially taken aback by the abrupt retort, sucked in a breath of air and determined to go forward, swiftly catching up on the steps with her. “No, he cannot, as you see he is making the proper farewells to our guests. However, he has asked me to speak with you.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the least, Miss Lyndon,” Lady Agnes smirked, her voice laced with sarcasm as she continued up the staircase without regard for the fact Kingston was keeping an ear on the situation from below.
“You’ve had a visitor during the dancing who has only just arrived from Bath,” Catherine said, struggling to keep the pace with Aggie.
Aggie came to a stop on the next step for a few seconds and reached for the railing to steady herself without looking at Catherine. “A v-visitor?”
“Your mother is waiting for you in your bedchamber,” Catherine warned now that she had Aggie’s attention. “She insisted Kingston send you to her side at the beginning of the evening’s dancing,
but I advised Kingston to wait until the end of the evening.”
“Th-thank you,” she replied, her tone softening just slightly.
“It was not for your sake. It was for the sake of Sir Bouverie and his mother who have needed a reprieve from their grief.” Catherine had done her best. She took one last look at Lady Agnes Burke of Bath. She had tolerated vicious hatred nearly from the onset of meeting her. She had done all she could do. Dear Lord, I cannot endure any further under this hostility. Whatever happens now is up to you. “Goodnight, Lady Agnes.”
Catherine picked her gown up higher, and lifting her chin, she continued up the staircase. Kingston would just have to understand. It had been a very long day and she realized she was absolutely drained.
“W-wait!” This time it was Aggie who made every effort to keep up with Miss Lyndon.
Catherine disregarded her and continued to the top of the staircase and turned left down the corridor to her room.
“Wait, Miss Lyndon! Please, wait!”
Catherine stopped halfway down the corridor and Aggie finally caught up with her. “What could you possibly need my help with? You seem quite capable of resolving your issues with your stubborn hatred.”
“I know I have behaved abominably toward you. I am truly sorry for that and I owe you an apology, but if I may just … I cannot face my mother yet. I need to gather my thoughts. I need someone to talk to, alone, before I face my mother.”
Catherine looked at her and decided the Lord had dealt with the attitude for the time being. She sighed. “All right, but not one more display of hostility or I promise, I will have Kingston send one of us packing.”