Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island

by Susan Page Davis

Molly chuckled. “That’s not how I’d describe the gentleman I saw a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  “He was quite handsome.”

  Allison’s eyes grew round. “Really? Is he old?”

  “Nay, I’d guess not more than five-and-twenty. Certainly no older than thirty.”

  “Oh my.”

  The two gazed at each other and laughed. “Aren’t we silly?” Molly asked.

  “I don’t know. Are we? I think it’s warranted, when we so seldom get to meet a handsome new man.”

  “Well, this one is beyond our reach, to be sure.”

  “What was he wearing?” Allison asked.

  “A frock coat and trousers, dark cloth—perhaps because of the damp—but I think they were deep gray.”

  “A waistcoat?” Allison paused her polishing and squinted into the distance as though picturing the man.

  “To be sure.” Molly had kept her eyes down during most of the encounter and found herself staring at the gentleman’s waistcoat, which she remembered well. “A pearl-gray figured silk. And…I believe a snow-white shirt.”

  “Ah. Mustaches?”

  “No. Nor a beard. He must have shaved this morning.”

  “If he arrived by ship, that must have been a trying exercise.”

  Molly laughed.

  “What are you two hens cackling about?” asked a strident voice.

  Molly jumped and looked up at the undercook. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”

  “We’re trying to prepare a company dinner. Is that silver ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Allison leaped up and knocked a knife off the table as she did so.

  Mrs. Randolph—called simply “Randolph” while at work—was nearly as somber as the housekeeper. Molly wondered if she aspired to take Mrs. Bolton’s place one day.

  The undercook sighed. “Wash that one.” She looked over her shoulder. “Here, Jane. Take the flatware to the dining room and set it up proper-like. And do put an extra spoon on for dessert. Cook’s made two puddings, besides the cake.”

  “Do you want me to stay and help?” Allison shot a longing glance at Molly as she spoke.

  “Nay,” said Randolph. “Just be back bright and early. There’ll be extra work in the morning too, with the gentleman here for breakfast. Like as not we’ll be making coffee and tea, though the governor doesn’t like coffee.”

  “The lieutenant governor just came in. He’s gone to freshen up.” Mrs. Dundas drew Peter into the morning room. “You’ll want to discuss the arrangements for the levee and ball with him, no doubt.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Ah, there he is now.” She stepped forward to meet the tall, handsome Scotsman in the doorway. Lieutenant Governor George Dundas, with his luxuriant side whiskers, looked to be an open and likable gentleman.

  “Mr. Stark, this is my husband,” Mrs. Dundas said with an expectant smile. “George, Mr. Stark is here in advance of the royal party. I’ve put him in the gold room upstairs, and he’ll stay with us for the next few days. He says we can expect the prince and his suite by Thursday.”

  “Wonderful,” Dundas said, shaking Peter’s hand with enthusiasm. “Has all gone well on the tour thus far?”

  “Marvelously, Your Honour. His Highness received a warm welcome in Newfoundland, and again at Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. I heard him remark that each of the colonies is different, but all are intriguing.”

  “I trust he’ll be intrigued by our island as well.”

  “My dear, I shall leave you now and go dress for dinner,” Mrs. Dundas said.

  “Oh, yes, indeed. Is it that late?” Dundas glanced at the tall clock in the corner. “I shan’t keep you long, Stark, but I would like to have a word with you.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  After his wife left, Dundas took a seat and gestured for Peter to sit down. “Now let me tell you what we have planned for Thursday and Friday. We have it all set up for a warning to be sent when the prince’s steamer is spotted. Guns from the battery will fire a salute as they enter the harbor. That will give us at least a half hour to assemble. A contingent of local dignitaries will meet him at the wharf. We’ll have a carriage, specially furbished and decorated, waiting to take His Highness from the ship to this house. Other carriages will be available for his suite. I assure you, every detail has been attended to.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been hard at work with your advisors to make certain of it,” Peter said. “Is there to be a levee, where the prince will receive the local gentlemen?”

  “Oh, yes, that will take place here. Have you seen the drawing room?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “You must see it. It’s a lovely room, and quite large. Too big for a small gathering, which is why we use this parlor more. But I’m sure it will do for the levee. Now, the ball is another story.”

  “You are planning a ball as well?”

  “Yes, if you don’t think it will overtax the prince.” Dundas’s thick eyebrows drew together. “I understand his visit will be brief.”

  “Yes.” Peter thought the flurry of events might rather overtax the older gentlemen accompanying His Highness, but he would never say so, and neither would they—except to each other. Of course the provincial folk wanted to entertain their royal visitor and show him the best of their colony—in two short days. “The Prince of Wales loves to dance. I’m sure he’ll be enthralled.”

  “Good, good. The ball will be held over at the Colonial Building, in the legislative chamber. I was there this afternoon to speak to the assembly. We’ll move their furniture out, of course. It’s a well-proportioned room, with a gallery above where the musicians can sit.”

  “It sounds well suited to the event.”

  “Perhaps you and I can go over there tomorrow, when the decorations are being placed, and you can view the room.”

  “I should be happy to do that.”

  Dundas nodded his shaggy head. “Excellent. And the flower of the island’s young womanhood shall be on hand to keep His Highness in partners.”

  “He will be delighted, I’m sure.”

  “During the day, of course, we’ll provide a mount for the prince, if he wishes to ride. I only hope this dismal weather lifts by his arrival.”

  “His Highness is used to riding in inclement weather. Riding is one of his favorite diversions. I’m sure that if you provide horses for him and two or three of his companions, he’ll be very pleased.”

  “Good. We have some excellent horseflesh on loan in the stable. And the lanes and country roads about Charlottetown give one a pleasant ride, I must say. Our farmland is unmatched.”

  “I’m eager to see it myself, sir.”

  “Ah! Perhaps we can take a ride tomorrow morning, or Wednesday. I’d love to show you some of the best views of the island. The cliffs, the lighthouses, the waves on the red shore…it’s impressive, I must say.”

  Dundas soon excused himself to prepare for dinner, and Peter returned to his room. He had only two other coats besides the one he’d worn on shipboard. The most formal was the one he’d been wearing for state occasions during the tour. That would stay in the wardrobe until the Prince of Wales arrived. He took out his second-best and changed his cravat to a less casual one. He tied Lord Washburn’s for him on occasion, and though he did it backward, Peter fancied he did a fair job of it.

  Someone tapped on his door.

  “Yes?” Peter called, giving his reflection in the mirror a final check.

  The door opened, and Milton, the footman, bowed to him. “The governor and Mrs. Dundas are in the small drawing room, sir.”

  “Ah. Waiting for me?”

  Milton lifted his shoulders noncommittally.

  “I believe I’m ready,” Peter said a bit uncertainly. Should he ask Milton to look him over and see if he’d forgotten anything? He decided against that and strode past the footman, the way his master would have, wondering all the while at his own audacity.

  W
hen they reached the grand hall below, Peter stood back and let Milton precede him to the door of the room where he’d met with his hosts earlier.

  “Mr. Stark,” Milton said gravely.

  Peter nodded at him and walked into the room. Mrs. Dundas had donned a blue-and-silver dinner dress with a wide hoopskirt, while her husband was dressed in a short black dinner jacket, a snowy shirt and cravat, and black trousers.

  “Ah, Mr. Stark.” His hostess met him beneath the chandelier. “Would you like some wine before dinner?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Well, then, if you don’t mind, we’ll go right in to dine.”

  “Of course,” Peter said.

  Mrs. Dundas bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Cook says everything is ready, and we are a little later than usual.”

  “That’s entirely my fault,” her husband said. “I stayed overlong at the Colonial Building this afternoon to go over the arrangements for Thursday with the party leaders. Must have equal representation from all organizations when the prince arrives, you understand.”

  “Oh, I do, sir.” Peter well knew the rivalry of the locals for the prince’s attention. Deciding who got to stand closer to His Highness during the welcoming ceremonies would give any man a headache.

  Mrs. Dundas waited expectantly. Since he was the only guest, it was up to Peter to escort her to the dining room. He’d never done such a thing, but he stepped up and tried his best to emulate Washburn’s manner when offering a lady his arm.

  “If you are ready, then, madam?”

  “Yes, thank you very much.” She slid her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled again. She was quite pretty, and Peter could see the appreciation in her husband’s eyes. From the limited accounts Peter had heard, she was an accomplished hostess and well liked by the islanders. He only hoped he could succeed at this masquerade and hold up his end of the dinner conversation.

  Chapter Five

  Tuesday, August 7

  “You will work in the guest apartments this morning.” Roberts, the first parlor maid, gave assignments each morning to the four maids working under her. She nodded severely at Molly and the three others who stood before her in the servants’ hall. “Remember, the royal party’s representative is staying in the house already, so mind you’re discreet when you go through the passageways. Make yourselves scarce if you see the gentleman. We do our cleaning while the guests are not about.”

  Molly nodded, wondering how difficult it would be to tidy up the guests’ rooms when the entire royal entourage was in the house.

  “With that said, let us prepare all the rooms for the guests today, on the chance that they arrive earlier than expected. I’m told the carpentry work and repainting is finished. We have to go over the sitting room, bedchamber, and dressing room for His Royal Highness; a bedchamber and sitting room for the Duke of Newcastle in the north wing; and bedchambers for General Bruce, the Earl of St. Germains, and the Earl of Washburn. The other distinguished visitors will stay at the city’s best hotel.”

  Deborah, who stood beside Molly, stirred.

  “You have a question?” Roberts asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s been said downstairs that some of the prince’s people will stay in the servants’ quarters.”

  “I believe we will house two valets, but I shall ask Mrs. Bolton to check with Mr. Stark about that. Mr. Stark, I assume, will stay in his present quarters through the end of the prince’s visit, unless His Highness sends him on ahead to the next venue—but for now we’ll plan on maintaining the gold room for him as well as those others I mentioned. All clear?”

  Molly nodded with the others.

  “Fine, then. This morning, fill the wood boxes in case it is cold during the visit and our guests want a fire. Then do a thorough job of dusting and sweeping the apartments. The builders who modified the prince’s rooms left some sawdust behind. You’ll also need to clean all windows, mirrors, and woodwork. When everything is spotless, you may make up the beds and put fresh sachets in the wardrobes. On Thursday morning we will place fresh flowers and water in each room.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Molly and the others murmured.

  “Dismissed to your duties.”

  As they hurried to the laundry to retrieve their cleaning supplies, Deborah said, “Two valets. British too. This week will be interesting in more ways than one.”

  “Here, now,” said Rosaleen, who was the wife of a farmer and had worked at Government House for several months. “You young things had better watch your step and concentrate on your work, not the visiting gentlemen and their servants.”

  “Surely we’ll have to mix with the gentlemen’s gentlemen.” Deborah giggled. “I wouldn’t mind marrying an Englishman.”

  Rosaleen clucked in disapproval. “All I know is, if you disgrace yourself with Mrs. Bolton, you’ll be out of here in an instant.”

  Molly opened the cupboard that held the mops, broom, and cleaning buckets and forced a smile. “Well then, shall we begin, ladies?” Deborah’s wistful words drew her memory to the handsome young gentleman she’d encountered yesterday. This Peter Stark—where did he fall on the scale of aristocracy and domestic help? She’d had the impression he was a gentleman, perhaps with a title, but Roberts and Mrs. Bolton had referred to him as “Mr. Stark,” so he couldn’t be a lord. If he were a lower servant, they wouldn’t call him “Mr.” He carried himself with a confidence and ease that most servants would not exhibit. She found it very confusing.

  Of course, her parents—and especially Grandpa Anson—had taught her that she was as good as anyone on the island. But by taking the job at Government House, she’d relegated herself to a lower class. If not for this job, she would have been able to go with her family and neighbors to watch the procession when the prince arrived. Instead, she had to remember to which of the Dundases’ domestic staff she was expected to curtsy and which ones she could smile at and greet as an equal.

  “We’ll probably be scrubbing the bath while the prince is making his address to the public,” Deborah said, as if echoing her thoughts.

  Molly handed her a feather duster. “Perhaps we’ll get a glimpse of him as he dines, or as he walks through the grand hall.”

  “Now there’s a thought.” Deborah beamed at her. “Maybe we could hide in the gallery when he comes and take a peek at him.”

  “We’re not supposed to be seen. You’re just asking to be sent home without pay.” Rosaleen snatched a bucket and a rag and strode back to the kitchen and the pitcher pump where they got the water for scrubbing.

  It wasn’t really important that she see Prince Albert Edward. As long as Grandpa Anson gets a chance to speak his piece to the Earl of Washburn, I won’t care if I never lay eyes on the prince, Molly thought. Well, not excessively.

  Peter and Governor Dundas stole an hour before breakfast to ride out into the countryside. They trotted out through the fields near the governor’s house and down a country lane. The bay gelding he rode stepped along smoothly. Peter reveled in the freedom he seldom found—and the privilege of riding a good horse. The island glistened in the heavy dew of a damp morning, but the moisture couldn’t disguise the rich farmland and rolling fields. It was land such as Peter often envisioned owning—but he had little chance of achieving that dream.

  The governor talked to him as he would any man—with his Scottish accent and a ready laugh. Peter found talking to Dundas easy, and his host soon launched a discussion of the various crops grown on the island.

  They swung onto a narrow trail where the horses had to go single file. Peter’s mind drifted back to the moment they’d left the stable yard. He’d caught a glimpse of two women in black approaching the rear entrance of the mansion. One of them had blond hair that gleamed in a ray of early sunlight. The girl he’d seen after his arrival?

  He wasn’t sure why, but the maid’s poignant face had stuck in his memory. Something about her demeanor as well—she’d reacted to their sudden meeting courteously, but he had a feeli
ng she hadn’t always been subservient. She belonged out here in the countryside, free and active, not cooped up in a rich man’s house doing menial labor. The sight of her arriving at the mansion shortly after daybreak suggested that she lived at home somewhere with her family, not in a cramped berth in the servants’ quarters. That thought heartened him.

  The governor called to him, and he urged his horse up next to Dundas’s as they came out on the road again. They trotted back into the stable yard just as rain began to fall in earnest, turning the earth in the yard to sticky red muck. The horses slogged through it, and Peter reluctantly handed his mount over to a groom. He ought to clean up the horse himself.

  “Thank you,” he told the groom. “I can tell you’ve been taking good care of him.” He ran a hand over the gelding’s warm flank and gave silent thanks for the morning’s entertainment.

  He and Dundas proceeded across the yard on foot, which resulted in Peter sinking to his ankles and having to draw his feet slowly from the mud or lose his boots.

  “Would you show me the back stairs, sir?” he asked his host as they neared the house and gained firmer ground. He held up one booted foot covered in mud. “I should hate to leave any of this good red dirt on the carpet.”

  Dundas gave a hearty chuckle. “I often take the rear stairs myself on such occasions. Come.”

  They slipped in through the kitchen. The cook and her helpers looked up and curtsied. Dundas nodded cheerfully at them and hurried around a wall that shielded the narrow staircase the servants often used.

  “Here we go, Stark. Wipe your feet again on this mat, and we’re up one flight.”

  Mr. Dundas appeared to find the entire morning’s activities a lark. He led the way up to the second-floor landing, where Peter again cringed at the thought of setting his boots on the plush rugs that lined the hallways.

  “I believe I’ll slip my boots off.” Peter sat down on a chair next to the stairway door.

  “Very conscientious. Leave them at your chamber door, and the footman will take them away to polish them for you.”

  Peter smiled. While he didn’t normally black boots anymore, he had done that chore at Washburn’s estate and would not disdain doing it again. He nodded at Dundas. “Thank you, sir.”