The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster

by Cathy Spencer

  “Right away, ma’am,” the maid said, scurrying away.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Slater. I’ve got quite an appetite this morning."

  Harriet was still trying to calm down after her spat with Aunt Edna. “Are you looking forward to our tour, sir?” she asked.

  “Most definitely, Miss Walters. That, and to getting some exercise. I'm a bit stiff from the drive here.”

  “Perfect. We shall leave right after breakfast.”

  They left the house an hour later. Harriet took the colonel to the lending library and to the village stores, where the gentleman bought some sweets for his hostesses. They left the main street to stroll through the park, emerging beside St. Michael’s. Rounding the corner and walking another three blocks, they arrived at Mrs. Evans’ house.

  “What a handsome building,” the gentleman said, looking through the iron fence at the three-storey house.

  “Yes. It looks rather grand from the street, but inside you’ll find it’s very comfortable and homey. Shall we go in?”

  Rogers opened the front door for them. “I received your note informing us of your return, Miss Walters. We are glad that you are back from London. I trust that you will find everything just as it was, as you instructed.”

  “Thank you for taking care of the house, Rogers. It can’t have been very lively for you and the other servants these past few months. I promise that I will make a decision about the house before the end of summer.”

  “Very good, miss,” the butler said with a bow.

  “I’ll show the colonel around the house myself.”

  “As you wish, Miss Walters,” the butler said, “although I am not certain that you have seen the entire house for yourself yet. If you require any assistance, please ring and I should be happy to be of assistance.” He nodded and departed, leaving Harriet and Colonel York to wander about the first floor. They admired the morning room and the dining room, but it was the sitting room that caught the colonel’s fancy.

  “Isn’t this just like Mabel,” he said, looking around the sunny room with its over-stuffed furniture and cheery colours.

  “Yes. I almost expected to see her reading the papers on the sofa when we came in.” Harriet pointed out some of the objects that Mrs. Evans had acquired on her travels, and then they climbed the staircase to the second floor. Harriet had seen Mrs. Evans’ room, but the others were unfamiliar to her. One of the bedrooms had definitely belonged to a gentleman; the wallpaper was a masculine tan and cream stripe, and the furniture was constructed from a rich mahogany wood. A green-shaded lamp sat on a table beside a leather armchair in convenient proximity to a bookcase. Colonel York chose a leather-bound book from one of the shelves.

  “This was definitely Richard’s room,” he said, flipping through the pages. “He loved poetry. Not what you would expect from a banker, but he was a man of many dimensions.” The colonel replaced the volume on the shelf.

  “I wish I had known him.”

  “Yes, you would have liked each other.”

  They left the room and went next door to Mrs. Evans’ chamber. The colonel poked his head through the door while Harriet went inside.

  “I always thought that this was the prettiest room in the house,” she said. She picked up a pillow from the bed. “All of the embroidery in the house is Mrs. Evans’ work.” Her gaze wandered to the portrait of Mrs. Evans and Diane over the mantle. “Come in and have a look at this picture, Colonel,” she invited.

  They stood together before the picture. “That’s an excellent likeness of Mabel as a young woman,” he said. “She was a real beauty. It wasn’t just beauty that attracted people to her, though. You could see the kindness inside her, too.”

  Harriet looked from the mother to the little girl. “Diane looks so angelic there."

  The gentleman snorted. “I didn’t know her when she was that age. She and Mabel spent a lot of time here in those days. Mabel and Richard thought it was healthier than raising a child in London. They were so worried about Diane’s health in the early years.” He sighed. “Maybe they spoiled her too much?”

  Harriet turned to look at him. “Who can say, Colonel? It’s hard to believe that someone as generous and honest as Mrs. Evans could have raised a daughter like Diane. Mrs. Evans loved her, though.”

  “Yes, but she left you this house and half her bank shares, Miss Walters. Mabel might have loved Diane, but she was no fool.” Harriet nodded. After a moment, she said, “Shall we go?”

  They finished touring the house, discovering a nursery, a sewing room, and a classroom on the third floor. Returning downstairs, Colonel York paused for a final look by the front door before they left.

  “Mabel made a big house feel really homey and welcoming, Miss Walters. I think that you would be happy living here, should you decide to stay in Rexton.”

  “I don’t know where else I would call home,” she said. They investigated the spacious stable and garden before heading home.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Even though Harriet rose at dawn the next day, Mrs. Higgins had already prepared the pastry for the meat pie by the time that Harriet arrived. “I’ve got a pot of tea brewing, Miss Walters,” the widow said, laying out a wedge of cheese and some bread for Harriet’s breakfast.

  Harriet poured herself a cup and sat down at the table where Mrs. Higgins was rolling out the pastry. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get here sooner, Mrs. Higgins. You must have been up with the larks this morning."

  “I’ve been making pastry for so long that I can practically whip up a batch in my sleep, my love. Now, we’ll just move this out of the way and get you started with grinding the meat.” Harriet nodded, chewing as quickly as she could and gulping down her tea.

  Harriet was wearing one of her old Willoway dresses, a light, plain dress with short sleeves that bared her arms for work. Her hair was pinned into a loose knot on the top of her head, as much to keep it out of the way as to cool her neck. She tied a towel around her waist and was ready to help. Harriet soon mastered the workings of the grinder and minced up all of the meat. When that was done, she peeled and chopped onions and potatoes.

  “I like to add a little apple to the filling for a touch of sweetness,” Mrs. Higgins said, slicing the fruit finely and adding it to the other ingredients. She added herbs, salt and pepper, and mixed everything together with her hands. Pouring the filling onto a pastry circle, she capped it with another, pinched the pastry seams together, and tied it all into a clean cloth.

  “Now, Miss Walters, if you would fill my big soup pot half full of water, the pie needs to simmer for three hours.”

  “Right away,” Harriet said, fetching the pot and taking it to the pump in the yard. She primed the pump half a dozen times before the water began to flow. The pot was a third full when she heard a voice behind her say, “Miss Walters, what are you doing here?”

  Harriet’s heart raced; she knew whose voice it was. She looked up and saw Mr. Ash staring at her in amazement. Her aunt had been right; his skin was tanned a light brown and there were golden streaks in his hair. He was dressed for manual labour in a pair of boots, pants, and a rough, collarless shirt. Harriet straightened, her face flushed and her damp hair hanging in tendrils.

  “I’m so glad to see you again,” she said, wiping a damp hand on her towel and extending it to him. Ash took her hand and shook it, his face breaking into a wide smile. Harriet could feel the calluses on his fingers. “I came to help Mrs. Higgins make your dinner."

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When I visited Mrs. Higgins yesterday, she told me that she wanted to make something special for your dinner when you came back today, but she didn’t feel up to doing it alone. I volunteered to help.”

  “That was extremely kind of you. But when did you get back from London?”

  “Just the day before yesterday. Actually, I wasn’t in London at the end. I was staying at the Fitzwilliams’ country estate in Hampshire. A friend of mine, Colonel York, brought me home in
his carriage. He’s visiting with us at Aunt Edna’s house.”

  The smile vanished from Ash’s face, and he released Harriet’s hand. “I see. This Colonel York was another house guest of the Fitzwilliams?”

  “Yes. He was a good friend of Mrs. Evans, too, and has taken a fatherly interest in me.” Harriet expected Ash to look happier after this clarification, but he remained aloof.

  “I see,” he said again.

  “Mrs. Higgins told me of your kindness in helping her.”

  “Yes – well – my plans didn’t work out this summer. I was visiting my family in Bristol when Mrs. Higgins had her accident. When I came to see how she was doing on my return, I noticed that she could use a little help tidying up the grounds around her house.”

  “I noticed the improvements right away, sir. I had no idea that a history master could be so handy.”

  “It’s true. I’ve been picking up new skills from the school’s groundskeeper, Mr. Buxton,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Mr. Harris was kind enough to give me my board for the summer in exchange for helping out around the grounds. Buxton is in his seventies, and some of the heavier work is getting beyond him.”

  “That would explain my aunt’s impression that you had become a professional gardener,” Harriet said with an impish grin. Ash frowned.

  “Miss Walters, what’s become of you and my soup pot?” Mrs. Higgins called from the kitchen window.

  “Coming, Mrs. Higgins.”

  “Let me help you with that," Ash said, reaching for the pump handle.

  “No need, sir. It’s almost full enough.” Harriet bent back to the pump and soon had the water at the desired level. “There, all done,” she said, heaving up the pot and heading for the kitchen door before he could offer to help her again.

  Ash's expression was quizzical as he followed her to the door. “You’re joking about the gardening, aren’t you Miss Walters? Hello, Mrs. Higgins. How are you feeling today?”

  “Quite jolly with all this company, my love. Would you like a cup of tea? Have you had your breakfast?”

  “Yes, thank you. I wouldn’t mind a second cup, though.”

  “I’ll get it, Mrs. Higgins. You should rest,” Harriet said. Ash’s eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen.

  “Miss Walters has told me all about her trip to London. She had a wonderful time.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Harriet added. “I visited the British Museum, Hampton Court, Westminster Abbey – oh, so many places. I went to my first opera, and the theatre, too. It was all very grand and exciting.”

  “I’d be interested to hear the details, Miss Walters. Tell me, did you make any other new friends while you were there?”

  Harriet smiled to herself, glad to think that Mr. Ash might be feeling the pains of jealousy. “The Fitzwilliams introduced me to quite a few important gentlemen and their wives – just as you predicted, sir – although none became any more than acquaintances. And there was one particular friend of Diane’s who was interesting, Augustus Bell. Mr. Bell had some fascinating ideas about how modern society enslaves us with false standards of decorum. We had several conversations about that.”

  “Did you really?” Ash muttered. “And did he convince you of his doctrine?

  Harriet’s expression grew serious. “To some extent. Mr. Bell taught me the value of saying what I feel no matter what people’s expectations are of me. Because of him, I stopped worrying about appearing foolish or inadequate in public, and discovered the importance of making my own decisions. It was a very liberating experience.”

  Ash studied her. “It sounds as if he made quite an impression on you, Miss Walters.”

  Harriet smiled, the playfulness returning to her eyes. “He did, until I discovered what a scoundrel he was. But that story will have to wait until another time.”

  Mrs. Higgins sighed. “I wish that I were young again. London sounds like a magical place. I’ve never been more than fifteen miles from Rexton.”

  Harriet bent to hug her friend. “But London is also full of foolish ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Higgins, who care more about their appearance and their amusements than anything else. It’s very dirty, with smoky air and refuse in the streets and in the river, and very expensive. There are a few rich people who enjoy its advantages, but many more people who live in squalor. For all its attractions, I’m glad to come home to Rexton again.”

  “And we’re glad you’re back, aren’t we, Mr. Ash?” the widow said, returning Harriet’s embrace.

  “Of course,” Ash replied, watching them.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Harriet spent several hours with her friends that day. Ash carried an armchair outside into the shade so that Mrs. Higgins could join them in comfort. She laughed when she saw the awkward way the gentleman chopped wood, and called out suggestions to improve his technique. Ash grinned and promised to do better. Harriet raked up the mess of twigs from the felling and dismembering of the tree, and tied the sticks into bundles. She picked up the blocks of wood as Ash cut them, and stacked them neatly by the kitchen door. When the schoolmaster stopped to rest on the grass beside Mrs. Higgins, Harriet fetched glasses of cool buttermilk for everyone, and joined him on the grass. Ash caught her eye as he took the glass; she could see him remembering other occasions when she had offered him buttermilk.

  When the firewood was chopped and stacked, Mrs. Higgins hobbled back inside while Harriet and Ash spent another hour weeding the vegetable garden. They passed the time talking about Harriet’s trip, Ash listening quietly to everything she said. When the weeding was finished and Harriet had gathered fresh cucumbers and dill for a salad, they rejoined Mrs. Higgins in the kitchen. The meat pie was cooked and resting on a covered plate, the delicious scent making Harriet ravenous.

  Ash hurried back outside to wash at the pump while Harriet laid the table. She glanced out the window while fetching cutlery from beside the sink, and saw him drying himself with a towel. Harriet could not help but notice that, while Ash was longer and leaner than Augustus, his physique showed evidence of hard physical labour.

  Mrs. Higgins came to stand beside her. “He doesn’t have an ounce to spare on him, but what he’s got is put together right,” she said, patting Harriet upon the shoulder. “We talked about you while you were gone, you know. He asked if I had heard from you.”

  “There isn’t someone else in his life, is there?” Harriet asked. That would account for his restraint.

  Mrs. Higgins turned in surprise. “Another woman? Of course not. I can tell that young man is sweet on you, my love.” She turned back toward the window and called, “Are you going to be much longer, Mr. Ash? We don’t want the meat pie getting cold.”

  “Coming, Mrs. Higgins,” he shouted, looking up to see the two women watching from the window. Ash pulled a clean shirt over his head and smoothed his hair with his fingers.

  Mrs. Higgins carried the cucumber salad to the table while Harriet brought a plate of pickles and a bowl of rhubarb chutney. Ash strode through the kitchen door, his cheeks slightly flushed, and took a seat beside Mrs. Higgins. The table looked very festive with Mrs. Higgins’ wedding china and a bouquet of flowers Harriet had picked from the garden. Harriet carried over the meat pie and placed it ceremoniously before their hostess.

  “There – doesn’t that look good?” Mrs. Higgins asked as Ash lowered his face to inhale the meaty fragrance. She sliced into the rich pastry, steam rising from the slit, and dished generous helpings onto the plates. They passed serving dishes back and forth for a few minutes before pausing to say grace.

  “Thank you, dear Lord, for the food which you provide, and for the friendship and help of these good young people,” Mrs. Higgins said. “May they reap the true happiness they deserve for their kindness.”

  “Amen,” Harriet and Ash replied. They fell onto the food, and Ash moaned in pleasure at his first bite.

  “Mrs. Higgins,” he said, “I will chop firewood for you every day for the rest of my life
if you will cook for me.”

  “Thank you, my love. It’s a real pleasure to cook for people who enjoy their food. But now that Miss Walters knows the recipe, you can chop wood for her.” Mrs. Higgins winked at him.

  “Mmm hmm,” he responded, glancing at Harriet before looking away.

  When the meal was finished, Ash settled Mrs. Higgins in the parlour while Harriet cleaned up the kitchen. She joined them in the parlour and sat down with them on the sofa. Ash rose and said that it was time for him to be getting back to the school.

  “Will Mrs. Slater’s carriage be coming for you today, Miss Walters?” he asked.

  “No, sir. It’s a beautiful day, so I walked.” When the young man said nothing, she added, “It’s not very far.”

  Mrs. Higgins looked at the gentleman and frowned. “I’m sure that Miss Walters hasn’t had nearly enough time to tell you about her trip, Mr. Ash,” she said. “She could tell you the rest on the walk home.”

  The school master looked at Harriet and blinked. Harriet sputtered, “That’s not necessary, sir. You must be tired, and I would not want to take you out of your way.”

  “Goodness, it’s not much more than a stretch of the legs for a strong young man like you,” the widow said.

  “Of course, Mrs. Higgins,” he replied. Turning to Harriet, Ash said, “Miss Walters, you promised to tell me what it was about your Mr. Bell that made him a scoundrel. Will you indulge me with the story on the way home?”

  “Perhaps I shall tell you part of it,” she replied with a smile. They spent a few more minutes ensuring that Mrs. Higgins had everything that she required before gathering their things together. Harriet bent to kiss the widow’s cheek and Mrs. Higgins whispered, “He’s just shy, my love. Try to be more encouraging.” Harriet nodded and bade her goodbye.

  “I’ll look in on you again in a few days, Mrs. Higgins,” Ash said while Harriet waited in the hallway.