Her crestfallen face revealed her dismay. “It is not good enough?”
“It is better than good enough. It is superbly sewn. I am just not certain I should accept.”
“Of course you should accept. Why, I shall be most grieved if you do not.” She nodded her head once, showing him she meant her threat.
Unwilling to cause strife with his future sister-in-law over a token gift, Tedric argued no more. He folded the handkerchief in a haphazard fashion and stuffed it in his pocket, along with the scented soap. “Thank you. Night is about to fall. We must be returning to the house.” He swept his hand toward the door, motioning for her to walk first.
“Oh.” Her voice reminded him of the squeak of a mouse. “Yes, I suppose we should be returning.”
The rest of the short distance to the house they spent in silence. Never had there been a more agonizing walk.
Twelve
By rote, Abigail managed to display impeccable manners throughout the rest of the evening. As soon as she could make excuses to retire, she took leave of Tedric and exited the study. Once she cleared the door, she tried not to run full speed to her bedchamber. Never could she let on how disappointed she had been by his tepid reaction to her gift.
Almost as soon as the door of the bedchamber shut behind Abigail with a resounding thud, she heard a knock.
“I am indisposed,” she told her unwanted visitor.
“It’s me, M’lady.”
Abigail was in no mood to see Missy, but she didn’t have the heart to keep her faithful maid at bay. “Very well, then. Come in.”
Missy entered and curtsied. “What vexes ye, M’lady? I heard yer door shut all the way down the hall to my room.”
“I did not wake you, did I?”
“Oh, no, Miss. I wasn’t asleep.”
Abigail composed herself and took her seat at the vanity table. She handed her hairbrush to Missy as though this night were just another ordinary time. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Missy answered, although Abigail could discern from her tone of voice that her maid was not being completely truthful. “Mebbe it’s that ye don’t slam yer door in such a fashion when ye’re in a good humor, eh?” The maid brushed Abigail’s hair with far more concentration than necessary.
“I suppose I have given myself away.” Abigail sighed. “You do not believe anyone else heard the door slam, do you?”
“Oh, no, M’lady!” Missy shook her head too rapidly for Abigail to be convinced.
“Whether they did or not, it is too late to remedy the situation now.”
“What situation?” Missy’s voice held an edge that Abigail didn’t like. “Didn’t he appreciate the gifts?”
She thought for a moment. She supposed Tedric did appreciate the usefulness of the handkerchief and soap. He certainly hadn’t said he didn’t like them.
“Yes.” Abigail knew her lackluster tone and unsmiling expression revealed her doubt.
“Oh. All is well, then. Things are not as bad as they said.” Missy clapped her hand over her lips as though she hoped the action would take back her words.
“Who said what?” Abigail became conscious of her heart beating with the type of fear she hadn’t felt since Henry left her standing alone in a frigid drizzle in the dead of night. “Tell me.”
“Oh, I don’t know, M’lady. Idle gossip never did nobody no good.” Missy shook her head back and forth in quick motions.
“What idle gossip? What are they saying in the servants’ quarters? Tell me. I want to know.” Abigail’s voice grew higher in pitch as her demands escalated.
“Oh, M’lady. Ye need pay no never mind to what those old hens say.”
“I shall decide the extent of my concern. Tell me. I demand to know.” Abigail injected enough authority in her voice to show her serious intent.
“They—Mrs. Farnsworth—well,” Missy stopped herself.
“What did Mrs. Farnsworth say? If the housekeeper is gossiping about me right under my own nose, I have a right to know what she is saying.”
“I don’t know much. Just what I overheard. She was sayin’ to the chambermaid that, well. . .” Missy tapped Abigail’s brush in her open hand.
“Go on.”
“That ye had no business actin’ the way ye did. Runnin’ after a man like a common, like a common—oh, I can’t say it, M’lady. Please don’t make me say it.” Missy collapsed on the floor in a heap and began to cry.
Abigail rose from her seat and knelt beside Missy. She placed a consoling hand on her maid’s shaking shoulder. “That is quite all right, Missy. You have no control over what the housekeeper says. And in any event, I am dragging it out of you.”
“I told her ye’re betrothed, but she said that just makes the way ye’re behavin’ all the worse.” Missy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
A sense of puzzlement caused Abigail’s brain to feel as though it were moving about in circles. “I do not understand. Am I not permitted to present my betrothed with a small token of my affection?”
“I don’t see nothin’ wrong with it meself, but mebbe she has her own ideas about how a lady’s supposed to behave. Or mebbe she just misunderstood what I was tryin’ to say.”
“Maybe so.”
Missy’s doe eyes became pleading. “I beg of ye, don’t tell nobody I told ye. I don’t want Mrs. Farnsworth to know. If she is fired from her position, the rest of the staff will be blamin’ me. I’d be an outcast in me own quarters.”
“I would not dream of betraying your confidence. You have been loyal to me from the first day we met. Even when I was unspeakably rude, you showed me nothing but kindness.”
“Ye weren’t yerself, M’lady. Who can be, what with such a cough as you had? Why, ye almost caught yer death.” Missy’s attempts to console Abigail seemed to give her new resolve. She stood upright. “I wouldn’t be payin’ no mind to what the housekeeper says. You know Mrs. Farnsworth. She’s enough to try the patience of the saints, she is.”
“Never you mind, Missy. We shall not have to worry about Mrs. Farnsworth much longer.”
“Ye’ll be firin’ her?” Missy’s voice rose with anticipation.
“No. At least, not yet. Do you not remember? We are due at my father’s estate tomorrow. My stepmother needs my help.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.” Missy nodded with little enthusiasm. She looked around the bedchamber. “I shall miss bein’ here. It’s the only home I’ve known for the past several years.”
“I shall miss it too,” Abigail admitted. “We shall return before you know it.”
“Yer right, M’lady.” Missy pasted a grin on her face. “I’d best be packin’ yer trunk, eh?”
“Yes. That would be a good idea.” Following Missy’s earlier example, Abigail scanned the room. Her quarters at home were less spacious and not nearly as well appointed. But those qualities weren’t what she would miss. She would miss, well, she would miss everything.
If only she could believe her own consoling words to her maid. Time would pass, but not soon enough.
❧
The next morning, Abigail’s father sent a coach for her. She had not seen her childhood home in months. Emotions roiled in the pit of her belly. Only when the house was in sight did she realize how much she missed her father. Would he forgive her? Ever since she awoke to find herself at the Sutton estate, she had been praying that he could.
She sighed. Her stepmother was another matter. Would she be as disagreeable as always, or would the happy anticipation of a new baby’s birth leave her in a better humor?
Abigail’s devotional time with the Lord had led her to commit Proverbs 18:24 to memory: “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”
Abigail wasn’t sure she could ever be a friend to her stepmother, but for the sake of the family and for her expected brother or sister, she knew she had to try.
She turned her head
to look back with longing in the direction of the Sutton estate, even though the home of the man she loved was long out of her field of vision. She had been away from Tedric less than an hour, and despite her disappointment in his earlier behavior, she wished she could return to him.
If only he loved her in the way she had grown to love him! With reluctance she recalled their good-byes. His terse farewell and unwillingness even to touch her hand left her saddened.
Heavenly Father, she prayed, please be with me. I want to honor You as I come for a short time to live once again with my father and stepmother. Help me to keep a sweet temper, no matter what I might be feeling inside.
“My what a grand house!” Missy observed.
Abigail turned to see her maid standing behind her, awe-struck by the Pettigrew home. She tried to see the gray stone house through Missy’s eyes.
“Really?” she answered. “I cannot imagine why you are so taken by the house. Certainly it is no grander than the Sutton estate.”
Abigail surveyed her childhood home yet again. Pettigrew Manor boasted the same number of wings—north, south, east, and west—as the Sutton estate. Missy was not yet able to see that each wing contained fewer rooms. However, Abigail realized the Pettigrews’ rooms were often larger and, as a result, Abigail supposed the house itself did appear larger than Sutton Manor.
The Pettigrews’ inner courtyard loomed larger, but it held only three modest birdbaths and a small fountain. In contrast, the Suttons had imported fine statuary from Italy. A large fountain attracted attention with its sculpted dolphins surrounding a girl and boy whose water pitchers spilled into the pool. She wondered if Missy’s opinion would change once she made the same comparison.
Abigail glanced at the grounds. The gardens and outbuildings were well tended, and the maze of hedges and flowers decorating the side yard was larger and more elaborate than the simple flower garden the Suttons enjoyed, but the outbuildings were smaller and, she knew for a fact, far less well stocked than the Suttons’. Naturally, the Suttons owned the grandest stables and largest pastures in the parish, since a portion of their income was derived from horse breeding.
“I should surmise this estate is quite less grand than the Suttons’,” Abigail concluded. An unwanted prick of conscience attacked as she realized she should not have been making comparisons between her home and the one she would soon occupy. Had she really once called the Sutton estate gloomy, eerie, and a monstrosity? How far she had come, to now consider her beloved childhood home a place to visit, and the strange house she once hated to be her home.
“But it is grand enough, M’lady. I shall be honored to work here as your maid.”
“Yes,” she agreed in an attempt to amend her previous observation, “this house is grand enough.”
They were just starting up the walk when Father bounded out of the front entrance and rushed to meet Abigail. He looked no different than he had on the night she had left to elope with Henry. The memory sent a shudder down her spine, causing her to refrain from rushing into his arms.
“Abigail! My little Abigail.” He held her close. “I have missed you.”
“And I have missed you, Father.” She broke the embrace and looked deep into his eyes. “So why did you not visit or at least write?”
He turned his face away from her and cast his gaze upon the ground. “Griselda thought it best to let you think about what you had done.”
Abigail cringed. Griselda’s punishment was harsh, much harsher than she would have given her own daughter. Father’s obvious distress willed her to ignore her argument with her stepmother.
“Oh, Father,” she said aloud. “I did little but think of how I nearly caused our whole family to be disgraced. I beg your forgiveness.”
Her reward was a loving light in Father’s eyes.
“I promise never to hurt you in such a manner again. Ever.” She curtsied.
“Your apology is accepted.” He took her hand in his. “Come in, my dearest. Welcome home.”
His words caused the anxiety she had felt about reuniting with her father to melt. Apparently, the passage of time had served to heal the wound her conduct had left. With an inaudible sigh, Abigail kept her hand in his as they entered the house.
Her happiness was short lived. All too soon he led her to the parlor, where Griselda awaited.
“Abigail, it is so good to have you here again.” The smile on Griselda’s face conveyed sincerity. Abigail wasn’t surprised to see her occupying Father’s chair, the most comfortable in the house. Positioned near the fire, she wore a blanket.
“It is good to be back.”
“Forgive me for not rising from my seat.”
“Certainly. I should not expect that of you.” Out of propriety, Abigail didn’t refer to her stepmother’s delicate condition.
“All of us have missed you beyond words,” Griselda said. “I want you to know I have eagerly awaited your return with all my heart.”
“You have?” Abigail knew her bulging eyes conveyed her astonishment.
“Yes, I have.”
Abigail observed her stepmother. Her extended belly indicated that she was well along toward the time when the birth was expected.
“Thank you.” For Father’s sake, Abigail tried not to grimace or otherwise let on that Griselda’s warm welcome shocked her to the core. The stepmother who in the past had delighted in making her miserable now seemed to be a different person.
“We truly have missed you,” Father assured. He put his arms around her. Abigail returned his embrace.
“Dinner will be served soon,” Griselda informed her.
Abigail noted the time on the mantle clock. “I am not hungry yet. Dinner is served at a later hour at the Sutton estate.”
“Oh, so you already are accustomed to getting your own way at the Suttons’?” Griselda’s tone, which had been warm only moments before, now held an edge. “You may indispose yourself at dinner here if you choose, but the meal will not be served a second time.”
I should have known her conviviality wouldn’t last long.
Abigail pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth in a physical effort not to lash back. “I beg your pardon, Griselda—I mean, Mother.”
She nearly choked on the word. Since living at the Sutton estate, Abigail hadn’t thought of Griselda by the name her father preferred. She had forgotten how difficult calling her stepmother by the fond moniker had been. She swallowed before continuing. “I meant no disrespect. Of course, this is my father’s house, and while I remain here, I shall obey the schedule set forth.”
“Very well.” Griselda sniffed.
Abigail cut her gaze to Father. His approving look and slight nod were her reward.
“Abigail, would you fetch me a cup of tea before dinner?” Griselda asked. “I do believe my stomach feels a bit queer.”
Father rushed to her side and knelt by the chair. “Darling, are you quite certain you are well?”
“Oh, yes. Quite well.” She patted his hand that rested on the arm of the chair. “I just desire a bit of warm tea, that is all. Then my stomach will feel perfectly fine again.”
“If I might speak,” Missy intervened.
Abigail had been so absorbed in reuniting with her father and facing her stepmother that she had forgotten about poor little Missy. All this time, Missy had been standing in the background, well behind her mistress, blending in with the wallpaper as was expected of a ladies’ maid who had not yet been shown to her new quarters.
Abigail motioned for Missy to come forth. As the maid curtsied, Abigail introduced her.
“This is your ladies’ maid?” Griselda’s eyebrows shot up, bespeaking her doubt.
“Yes. Tedric gave her to me.”
“Tedric?” Griselda asked. “Is it not quite familiar of you to refer to him by his Christian name?”
“Griselda, Dear,” Father answered his wife, “perhaps we should be grateful that our daughter is getting along so well at the Sutton estate.”
“Perhaps.” Griselda sniffled into her lace kerchief. “Now about my tea. . .”
“M’lady,” Missy said to Griselda with a curtsy, “I should be most honored to fetch it fer ye.”
“I think not. I shall trust your mistress to bring me my tea.” Griselda turned her face back toward the fire and let out a huff.
Missy nodded and stepped back. Her head was bent downward to the extent that Abigail wondered if her neck would snap.
“You need not speak to my maid in that manner, Mother,” Abigail said. “If anyone is to reprimand her, I shall be that person.”
“Oh, indeed? I see you have acquired a quite superior attitude during your absence, Abigail.” Griselda looked Abigail straight in the eye. “Perhaps your manners shall improve upon your stay here with us. Now about my tea. . .”
Father rose from his knees. Standing beside Griselda’s chair, he intervened. “Griselda, Dear, why not allow Abigail’s maid to bring your tea? Then you could hear about Abigail’s stay at the Sutton estate. It has been so long since she was home. I should like to converse with her for a time.”
“I suppose I could ring for Mattie, but I know she is busy preparing pheasant and Swedish turnips for dinner,” Griselda objected.
“That is quite all right, Father,” Abigail answered. “It would pleasure me to bring my stepmother a cup of tea. Perhaps my maid can be shown to her quarters here.”
As Father nodded, she placed a hand on his shoulder, noticing that his features softened with gratitude for her gesture.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “Though I do want to hear about your stay at Sutton Manor.”
“We will have plenty of time for discourse over the evening meal. I shall eat very slowly. You know how I adore pheasant, especially the way Mattie prepares it.”
“How well we all know. Mattie wanted to prepare a special dish for you. Obviously, she has succeeded.” A smile filled Father’s face.
“Yes, we have made quite an effort for the prodigal daughter,” Griselda noted.
“I am not a prodigal. If you will remember, I was forbidden to come back home,” Abigail snapped in spite of her earlier resolution to be agreeable.
Light Among Shadows Page 10