by Jeanne Dams
“Mr. Riggs,” she said with a smile and her most appealing manner, “I am in a dilemma and need, please, to speak to Mrs. Malloy, if she is at home. You remember me, perhaps? Hilda Johansson?”
She knew perfectly well that he remembered her, and that he also knew she was about to become a member of the family. That was undoubtedly why his expression was frozen, instead of openly disapproving.
“Yes, Miss Johansson. I will tell Mrs. Malloy that you are here.” His glance fell to her muddy rubbers.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling again. “If you do not mind, I will wait here in the hall. And is there perhaps a cloth I might use to clean my shoes after I take off my rubbers? It is very muddy on the streets.”
That earned her a silent bow, but he fetched a rag from a closet and gave it to her before he went to his mistress. Her manners, his demeanor indicated, had improved, but she was still a servant and he was not about to clean her footwear.
Hilda sat on a chair and took a deep breath. There were still many troubles ahead, but this house, solid and comfortable, was a refuge. She very much hoped Mrs. Malloy would allow her to stay. She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back, plain and grimy as they were. Would she, in fact, be welcome in a lady’s fine house?
She had time to work up a fine case of nerves before Mrs. Malloy came into the hall, black silk skirts rustling, and held out both hands.
“My dear! It is so good to see you. I had not looked for this pleasure until Sunday. Now, come into the parlor and warm yourself. This hall is freezing.”
“I am wet, Mrs. Malloy, and my skirts are muddy. I did not want to soil your furniture.”
“Pooh! Furniture will clean. I don’t want you catching your death of cold, child. And you must call me Aunt Molly. Now come along.”
So, wet and bedraggled as she was, she followed the tiny woman into her exquisite parlor, where a fire roared and the draperies were tightly closed against the gloom and the weather.
Mrs. Malloy pulled a bell rope before she sat down, and when Riggs responded, she said, “Tea, please, Riggs. And would you ask Mrs. Hall for some of those delightful little cakes we had yesterday, if there are any left, and a few sandwiches, please.”
Riggs bowed and departed, and Mrs. Malloy, seated on a thronelike chair with a needlepoint stool at her feet, said, “Now, child, tell me what your trouble is and how I may help you.”
“I am ashamed to ask, Mrs.—Aunt Molly, but you have been very kind to me and my family, and I cannot think of any other place to go.”
“Is it money you need? You’re more than welcome—”
“No, no, please. I am sorry to interrupt, but I would not ask you for money. I know I look—well, I am not properly dressed, but that is because I have been out walking nearly all day, and I had no time to change my clothes. I do not have troubles about money. What I need is a place to stay for—I do not know how long. A few days, perhaps a little longer. You see, I do not dare to go back to Tippecanoe Place.”
“And why might that be?” asked Mrs. Malloy in some astonishment.
“There is someone there who wishes to do me harm, and I do not know how bad it might be.”
“Tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Malloy crisply.
So Hilda launched into her tale, stopping abruptly when Riggs brought in the tea. When he had left, Mrs. Malloy got up and checked to make sure the door was firmly latched, and then sat down again. “Now, Hilda—for you won’t mind me being as informal as I’ve asked you to be—you must be half-starved. Drink your tea and get some of that food into you, and then tell me the rest.”
Hilda did as she was bidden. With all the details, it took her through three cups of tea and nearly all of the food in front of her.
“Well, child, you do get into some predicaments, don’t you? You bought yourself a load of trouble when you went for the police!”
“Yes, but what else could I do? There was no man in the house at the time, not even Anton. And I could not use the telephone, and I could not just let him steal whatever he wanted!”
“Actually that might have been best. Then he would not have been put on the alert, and you could have told Colonel Studebaker when he came home. But that’s hindsight, and hindsight is always perfect. The question is what to do now. Because if the man did get into the safe, he’ll probably have had the sense by now to put back anything he took. That leaves Colonel Studebaker in a dilemma, too.”
“I know.” Hilda was disconsolate. “He will not know whether to believe me or the butler.”
“Oh, I expect he’ll believe you. You’ve worked there for years, after all, and he knows you’re trustworthy. But he’s a just man, and he may not want to dismiss a servant on the basis of an unproven story.”
“If he does dismiss him, I think I am in danger. Mr. Barnes knows I saw him. He will know it is I who told Colonel Studebaker, and he might…” Hilda didn’t want to think about what Barnes might do. “But even if Mr. Barnes is allowed to stay on, he will be angry with me because I spoiled his robbery attempt.”
“Well, it’s an unpleasant situation, but you’re quite safe here, my dear. When Mr. Malloy comes home, we’ll put our heads together and see if we can figure out something you can do for the long term. You don’t want to be a prisoner in this house for the rest of your life.”
Hilda looked around her and smiled a little. “It is a very fine prison, but no, I do not want to be a burden to you.”
“Now that’s enough of that kind of talk! And how would you be a burden? You’re to stay here as long as you like, but the trouble is, you won’t be able to go out alone. And you’ll not like that, I’m thinking.”
“No, I have much to do, and I must be free to go out.”
“Yes, well, we’ll work on that later, with Mr. Malloy. Now, child, we need to get you out of those wet, filthy clothes and into a hot bath. And then you’ll come down and we’ll talk of other things.”
She rang a bell and when the butler answered said, “Riggs, please have Agnes show Miss Johansson to the rose bedroom. She will be staying with us for a few days. And tell Mrs. Hall the cakes and sandwiches were delicious.”
“Yes, madam. Thank you, madam.” Disapproval written in every line of his face, every movement, he went away to do his mistress’s bidding.
When Hilda had finished her luxurious bath she slipped into the robe that Agnes had hung on a hook in the bathroom. It was of heavy silk in a beautiful floral print, and was made in a loose, flowing style that Hilda was later to hear called a kimono. Now she knew only that she had never worn a garment that was at once so beautiful and so comfortable. It was also at least six inches too short for her. Mrs. Malloy was a very small woman.
Some clothes had been laid out for her on the bed. Hilda examined them, wondering whose they were. Not Mrs. Malloy’s, for they were big enough for Hilda. Nor could they be Agnes’s. They were simple, a blue skirt trimmed only with braid, and a white waist with tucks and a single row of lace, but the skirt was perfectly cut from a soft lightweight wool, and the waist was of fine silk. Hilda looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair and did up her coronet braids. She would, she decided, have to find a more fashionable hair style soon. The neat golden braids, traditional to her Swedish heritage, looked fine with a maid’s uniform, but with the modish clothes of a well-to-do lady she needed a more American look.
She had not put on a corset that morning and she feared the clothes would be tight around the waist, but they fit quite well. Once she had put them on, she felt she looked very nice, hairdo notwithstanding. She went down to meet Mrs. Malloy—no, Aunt Molly, she had to remember—well pleased with herself.
The lady was waiting for her in the front parlor. “Charming, my dear. They fit well enough?”
“Very well, thank you, Mrs.—Aunt Molly. But they are not yours, and I wondered—”
“They belong to one of my nieces. She and her parents, my sister and her husband, live in Ohio, but she visited here last summer and left some
things behind. They’re not suitable for winter, really, and she’s coming back in June, so I kept them here for her. Are you sure you find them warm enough?”
“Yes, thank you.”
An awkward little silence fell, broken when both women started to speak at once.
“Aunt Molly, you—”
“Hilda, my dear—”
They broke off. Hilda said, “I am sorry. Please go ahead.”
“No, I interrupted you.”
“It is just that I want to tell you—want to thank you for all you are doing for me—for us. You take me in and are kind to me, you give me clothing to wear and treat me like one of the family, you give me tea as if I were a lady. Patrick says Mr. Malloy will give us a house for a wedding present. A house! Never have I imagined owing a house of my own, and now…”
She paused and then went on, slowly. “It is hard for me to—to adjust to this. I am a maid, but you treat me like a daughter. Patrick is your nephew, but he is now almost like your son. I— I do not know quite how to act, how to behave. The rules I have known are changing. If I say something stupid or do something wrong, I hope you will forgive me. You have been so kind.”
Mrs. Malloy looked down for a moment and then smiled gently. “That is a little of what I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to say, a moment ago, that I want you to know something. Patrick may have already told you, but if not, I must. When I first realized that you two cared for each other, two years ago during that dreadful trouble for Mr. Malloy, I was deeply distressed.”
Hilda’s face lost all its animation. “But I thought you liked me!”
“I do, Hilda. I am very fond of you indeed, and I was even then. I liked you for yourself, and of course this family owes you a debt we can never repay. You saved Mr. Malloy’s life and we will never forget that. No, my objections had nothing to do with you personally, but I saw many problems ahead for you and Patrick. You are of different nationalities, different classes, and most troubling of all, different religions. I knew that your family would not approve of your marriage to Patrick, and that most of Patrick’s family would not approve of his marriage to you. I spoke to Patrick about it.”
“He did not tell me!”
“No, I can see that he did not. Even at the time I didn’t think he would. Though I was as persuasive as I knew how to be, he didn’t listen to more than one word in ten. It was during the time that you were missing, and he was nearly demented with worry.
“Since then I have observed you, my dear. You may think me a prying old woman, but Patrick is very dear to me and Mr. Malloy, and it was clear that he was becoming more and more dear to you. So I watched and I listened, and I liked what I learned. You are brave and determined. You will need both qualities to survive the prejudice you will encounter as Patrick’s wife. You have considerable intelligence and a fierce loyalty. You are stubborn, of course, and sometimes foolhardy, but age will likely cure the latter, and surely life with Patrick will moderate the former.”
Hilda listened, her cheeks going alternately red and white.
“So, Hilda, now you know. I was once determined to stop this marriage. I am now equally determined to do all I can to make it a success. It won’t be easy, child. You’ve just said yourself, you have a great deal of adjusting to do. You’ll leave Tippecanoe Place a servant and walk into your own house a well-to-do young bride. Your life will change completely, and you won’t like all of it. But at least money won’t be a worry to you, and I’ll try to help you through the rest.”
“And there will be Patrick,” said Hilda, very quietly.
“What’s that, dear? I don’t hear as well as I used to.”
“I said, there will be Patrick to help me, also. He is the bridge between my old life and my new one. He has moved in your world for many years, as well as in his own and in mine. It will be strange sometimes, but I am not afraid. I will have him.”
“By the saints, girl, you’ll do!” Mrs. Malloy slapped the arm of her chair. “We’ll have a little something to celebrate your engagement. Just ring for Riggs, will you?”
And Hilda, for the first time in her life, pulled a bell rope and thought again about America, where a servant, one to be summoned at her master’s will, was now the summoner.
Riggs brought sherry at his mistress’s order. He set the tray, with a decanter and two glasses, on the table by Mrs. Malloy’s chair. He tried hard to keep his face under control, but he failed.
“Mr. Riggs does not like me,” said Hilda after he had left the room.
“Riggs, dear. He isn’t your superior. And he will get used to you. Riggs doesn’t like change, but you’re a member of the family now. Take no notice of him, if you can manage that. If you can’t, then let fly with that temper of yours. He respects authority. Now, will you take a glass of wine with me?”
That lawlessness has existed in South
Bend for a long time…that bawdy houses
are seldom molested…is of
common knowledge.
—South Bend Tribune
February 10, 1904
23
HILDA HAD NEVER tasted wine in her life, save for the tiny sip in church on Communion Sundays. She eyed the decanter dubiously. “I do not know, Mrs.—Aunt Molly. I think maybe I should not. It is not allowed at Tippecanoe Place, and our family has never had money to spend on drink. Also, our church does not approve of drinking.”
“Well, I don’t want you to violate your conscience, but if you’re marrying into an Irish family, girl, you need to learn to drink—in moderation, of course.”
Hilda thought about that. “I do not know that I mind,” she said slowly. “If we drink it in church, and the Herre Gud told us to, it cannot be wicked. I will try a little.”
“Splendid. Just a bit at first, as you say, and sip it slowly.”
The wine was sweet and heady. Hilda downed her meager half glass in a few sips, feeling deliciously wicked. “I like it,” she said in surprise. “It is not so different from what we have in church.”
“Well, as to that, I can’t say, since only the priest drinks the wine in our church. But this is lovely stuff, in moderation, as I say. Drink too much and you’ll be wishing yourself dead in the morning.”
“The Irish do—I am sorry, Aunt Molly, but it is said that the Irish do drink too much.”
“Sure, and they do, some of them. It’s a tragic habit. See you never get into it yourself. But I’m pleased to say that Patrick is a temperate man. You’ll never need to worry about him, no more than I ever have about Mr. Malloy.”
She said nothing about her son, Clancy. Hilda knew that drink was one of Clancy’s many problems, but Clancy was never likely to come home from New York, so he would never become a problem for Hilda.
“Aunt Molly, I know much about the proper way to do things in a gentleman’s house. I have been helping to do them for many years. But Tippecanoe Place is teetotal, so I do not know anything about serving drink. Is it always served in these tiny glasses?”
“Gracious, no, child! Those are for sherry. Other kinds of wine are served in glasses something like these, with stems, but larger, because the wine is not so strong. Beer is served in mugs, and whiskey—”
“Oh, I would never drink whiskey!”
“Of course you won’t, because you are a lady, and ladies drink only wine. But your servants need to know how to serve whiskey to the gentlemen, and you must teach them.”
Mrs. Malloy was well launched on the beginning of Hilda’s social education when Mr. Malloy came home. An array of glasses was set out on the tea table, and Hilda was studying them intently.
“Is it an orgy we’re having, then, Mrs. Malloy?” he said as he walked into the room. “Good day to you, Miss Johansson.”
“It’s Hilda to us now, Mr. Malloy. She’s part of the family. Hilda, ring and ask Riggs to take the glasses away and bring Mr. Malloy some tea.”
Perhaps it was the sherry, though she had drunk it more than an hour before. Perhaps it
was Mrs. Malloy’s instruction. At any rate, when the butler came into the room, Hilda smiled at him pleasantly. “Please take these things away and bring a pot of tea for Mr. Malloy, Riggs. Thank you.”
He did as he was told, and Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. One hurdle crossed.
“Now, Mr. Malloy, Hilda has come to us with a very serious problem. We aren’t sure what we had best do, and we need your advice. Tell him, Hilda.”
So she related the whole story once more. “I was maybe a fool to do what I did, sir, but I could think of nothing else.”
“Couldn’t tackle the fellow, not without help. Might better have let it wait until later, but what’s done is done. The fellow’s on the alert now. You’re staying here with us, of course?”
“Yes, sir. Aunt—that is, Mrs. Malloy—”
“I’ve told her she’s to call us Aunt and Uncle, Mr. Malloy. And of course she’s staying here until it’s safe for her to return.”
“Hmph. Don’t see any need for her to go back there at all, unless Mrs. Studebaker is shorthanded. How’s that butler of yours doing, Hilda? Williams, I mean, not the sly fellow.”
“He is better. The doctors think he will recover, but it will take time. And if Colonel Studebaker lets Mr.—lets Barnes go, the household will be in trouble. I think I must go back to work when it is safe, but I do not know when that might be.”
“Don’t like the idea of my niece slaving in somebody else’s house. I’ll tell you what. After dinner I’ll go over there myself and see what’s what. The fellow ought to be in jail.”
“Oh, if you do that, sir, would you please have someone tell my sister where I am? She will be very worried. I told her I was coming back and she will not know what to think.”
“Right you are. Now, Mrs. Malloy, what’s for dinner? I could eat a horse.”
“Roast beef will have to do, I’m afraid, Mr. Malloy.”
Hilda watched them as they ate their meal, watched the looks they exchanged, listened to their gentle joking. Why, they are still in love, after all those years of marriage, and all their trouble with their children, she thought, and her heart warmed at the sight. Maybe Patrick and I, years from now… But the thought was too private even to think in company.