He tied his necktie and put on his cutaway coat. He’d get some stares walking down Great George Street wearing evening clothes in the afternoon, but what of it? He placed his wallet, the money pouch, and other sundries in his pockets. No mirror graced the room, so he ran a hand through his hair and pulled in a deep breath. Time to face his new life.
He gathered the coarse uniform he’d worn overnight and opened the door. A familiar figure stood by the sergeant’s desk. Peter walked out slowly and placed the prison clothing on the desk.
“Mr. Stark.” Milton, the footman, quickly covered a look of astonishment and bowed slightly. “The master asked me to bring your luggage over here to save you the trouble of going to Government House for it.”
Trouble, indeed, Peter thought. More like to save Dundas the embarrassment of having him show up at the mansion, seeking his belongings.
“Thank you, Milton.” Peter reached into his pocket and took out a coin. He passed it to the footman.
Milton frowned as he pocketed it. “I…trust all is well with you, sir?” He was staring at Peter’s face.
Peter touched his cheek with his fingertips. The bruising must be colorful by now. At least he could still see out of the injured eye. “Yes, thank you.”
“You’re free to go, Mr. Stark,” the sergeant said.
Peter nodded, picked up the valise at Milton’s feet, and headed for the door and fresh air.
“Sir?” Milton was on his heels as Peter hit the sidewalk outside.
“Yes, Milton?”
“Mr. Dundas asked me not to speak of your situation among the other servants.”
“That was good of him.”
“But I wondered—”
Peter stopped and turned to face the footman. “Yes?”
“We all thought you’d gone ahead of the prince this morning, but your clothes were still in your room. And now—well, sir, it’s just—I know you’re not a drinking man, sir.”
Peter smiled. “No, I’m not. Milton, you may as well stop calling me ‘sir.’ I’m as much a commoner as you are, perhaps more so. And I’ve decided to stay on your fair island.”
Milton nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “If there’s anything you need, Mr. Stark, I’d be honored to help you. My family lives on the north edge of town, and we’d welcome you any time.”
A surge of achiness swept over Peter. He wasn’t sure if it was from gratitude or mere fatigue. “You would trust me, Milton, after seeing me walk out of the local prison?”
“Yes, sir, as you’ve trusted me this week. I daresay if you wasn’t trustworthy, Mr. Dundas would have said so. But he didn’t. He only said to bring your things down here and not to revile you among the others, because you didn’t deserve what you’d got. Didn’t say what that was, but I took it he thought you’d got the short end of the stick somehow. So here I am, and I’ll let on to the other staff that you’ve gone away, if that’s what you want, sir. Or if you want to stay, I’ll trounce anyone who tries to blacken your name.”
The young man’s open friendship nearly overcame Peter. He extended his hand. “Thank you very much, Milton.”
They shook hands solemnly.
Milton looked up at him hesitantly. “If you need someplace to board, sir…well, I don’t want to insult you, but my mother rents rooms now and again. Mrs. Bracey, on Kent Street. I could take you there. She has a good, clean room to let just now.”
Peter smiled. “That is one of many things I’m in need of. How can I thank you, Milton?”
The young man rubbed his chin. “Well, sir, I’d be pleased if you’d speak to me when we meet in the street.”
“I’d be proud to.”
Molly worked all day, cleaning the bedchambers the royal guests had vacated. She expected to be questioned about the previous night’s events, but no one mentioned it to her. No lunch was served upstairs, as the Dundases had gone to the harbor to eat with Prince Albert Edward and his retinue on board the Hero. Cook had control of her kitchen back, and she outdid herself in preparation of the servants’ hall lunch.
After her brief encounter with the prince in the breakfast room, Molly didn’t see him again, and she was glad. She’d slipped away with an empty serving dish and left Milton to see to the royal diners’ needs.
In midafternoon, Molly and Rosaleen were stripping the linens off the guests’ beds when they heard the firing of the cannons at the forts.
“He’s gone, then,” Rosaleen said.
“Aye.” Molly glanced toward the window.
“What was it like, dancing with him?”
“The prince?” Molly sighed. Three other maids had asked her the same question.
“No, not him. Mr. Stark. You did dance with Mr. Stark, didn’t you?”
“Oh. Yes. He’s…a very good dancer. Far better than I am.”
Rosaleen laughed. “That’s the first smile I’ve seen from you all day, dearie. You’ll miss him, won’t you?”
Tears threatened, and Molly blinked hard to keep them back. “Yes, I expect I will.”
“Did he give you any indication that he’d write to you?”
“No.”
Rosaleen picked up a pillow and shook off the case. “Ah, men. I’m sorry about that. He seemed such a nice young man. Perhaps he knew there was no future for the two of you, so he didn’t dare presume. Probably best that way.”
“Yes.” The tears were thick in Molly’s throat now, and she gave a little cough.
“I heard the prince was quite rambunctious during the latter part of the ball.” Rosaleen unfolded a clean pillowcase. “Miss Thompson said he danced his heart out. Impressed everyone, I guess. Cutting in on couples too. She said Major Teesdale even cut in on His Royal Highness once. Did you see it?”
“No. I—I left early.”
“Oh?” Rosaleen peered keenly at her.
“After I’d danced with him and—and with Peter, there seemed to be no point in staying longer.”
“Oh, and did Mr. Stark see you home?”
Molly’s face flamed. “No indeed. My brother Nathan was waiting for me outside, and he walked me home.”
“I see.”
They continued to work in silence for a while. When that room was finished, Molly scooped up the dirty linens and Rosaleen picked up the broom, dustpan, bucket, and cleaning rags.
“You’re taking this quite hard,” Rosaleen noted. “I’m sorry, Molly. Is Peter Stark the first young man you’ve lost your heart to?”
Molly thought it best to dodge the question. “It’s not so much that. I’m worried about him.”
“While he’s traveling with the prince? Surely he’ll be all right.”
“I…hope so.” Almost Molly poured out her heart to Rose, but she thought better of it. The fewer people who knew, the better. She wished she’d seen Lord Washburn again so she’d know whether or not his intercession for Peter had succeeded.
She managed to get through the rest of the day without engaging in another conversation about the ball and the gentlemen involved in last night’s fracas. When Roberts finally released her from her duties, she told her to go to Mrs. Bolton’s room. By now Molly had heard from several others of the domestic staff what this was about, so she didn’t fret and stew as she climbed the stairs.
“Good afternoon, Molly.” Mrs. Bolton seemed almost cheerful now that the gentlemen had left the house. “As you probably know, the temporary staff’s service is now at an end.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m thankful I was able to work here this summer.”
The housekeeper nodded. “You acquitted yourself well. You may come in Monday morning to pick up your wages. And you can keep the clothing issued for your uniform.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I heard that the gown you wore to the ball suited you admirably.”
Molly found it difficult to respond. She could hardly believe that Thompson had spoken well of her to the housekeeper. The lady’s maid had ignored her once they’d entered the ballroom. The las
t time Molly had seen her, Thompson was dancing a waltz with Emmet Price. But perhaps Mrs. Dundas had mentioned the festivities to Mrs. Bolton.
“Th–thank you.”
“You’re dismissed.”
A vague sadness enveloped Molly as she climbed to the servants’ quarters, retrieved the white gown from Deborah’s room, and carried it to Thompson’s chamber. She knocked on the door, and Thompson bid her to enter. The lady’s maid sat near her window mending a chemise.
“I’m returning the gown you loaned me. I’ll go back for the crinoline and other things.” Molly laid the gown on the bed. “I do need to show you the hem. I soiled it last night, I’m afraid. My mother worked on it this morning, and I believe she got most of it out.”
Thompson came over to the bed and lifted the edge of the skirt.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said. Would Thompson want her to pay for the gown? It really didn’t look bad, now that Mum’s laundry job had dried and been pressed.
“Why don’t you just keep this dress?” Thompson said.
“I—I beg your pardon?”
“It never fit me right anyway. If you think you can wear it again, take it.”
“Why…” Molly inhaled sharply. “Thank you. That’s most generous of you.”
“Think nothing of it. But I want to know…” She squinted a bit as she appraised Molly. “What happened last evening? You stepped outside with His Royal Highness, and a quarter of an hour later, he came back alone. Mrs. Dundas said Washburn made your excuses to her. What happened out there?”
Molly sucked in a breath. Was the gift of the gown contingent on revealing the prince’s indiscretion?
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. My brother was waiting for me outside, and when I met up with him, I decided to go home early.”
“You left the Prince of Wales in favor of your brother?”
Molly started to protest but decided she was better off to let Thompson think what she may. Anything discussed now would surely be passed on to Mrs. Dundas later, and so far as Molly knew, the mistress had no idea that her most illustrious guest had insulted one of her employees. Yes, best all around to keep silent.
“I believe His Royal Highness returned to the ball and enjoyed the rest of the evening very…energetically.”
Thompson smiled. “You might say that. I danced a polka with him myself.” She laughed. “Yes, he’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?” She picked up the billowing gown. “Here. Keep it. Perhaps someday you’ll have another ball to wear it to. Or you can sell it, if you prefer.”
Molly knew she would never sell the beautiful white dress. Though it held a mixture of memories for her, when she looked at it she would always remember Peter and how he’d smiled down at her as he held her in his arms.
“Thank you so much. It’s a wonderful gift.” She scooped it up and hurried away with it before Thompson could have second thoughts. How she would get it home was a quandary she could deal with.
Peter reached the farm lane just before five o’clock. He’d settled with Milton Bracey’s mother for the rent of a cozy back bedroom and declined tea with her and the family. A walk into the countryside had beckoned him.
In the distance he could see Nathan and his younger brother guiding the cows toward the byre. Their grandfather waited by the gate.
For a moment, Peter stood gazing at the scene. This was the best of the island life. It epitomized his dreams. Did the Orlands realize how fortunate they’d been? He picked his way down the lane, dodging the few remaining puddles. The rain had ended, and the sun would soon dry them up. Milton’s mother had assured him that as they headed into autumn, they’d have some balmy days for harvest.
When he reached the byre, the Orland men were beginning to milk the cows. Nathan and his grandfather had already set to work, and David had leaned his crutches against the wall and was settling onto a stool near another cow. Joe was inside a pen with several calves, picking out forkfuls of manure.
David looked up as Peter stood in the doorway. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Mr. Orland.”
Anson turned to stare at Peter in the dimness of the barn, but Nathan appeared not to have heard the exchange and went on with his milking. Anson rose and ambled toward Peter with a bemused expression on his face.
“We thought we’d seen the back of you, lad.” Anson stuck out his gnarled hand and Peter clasped it.
“Only if you wish it, sir. I’ve a mind to stay on the island.”
“You’re most welcome here.” Anson squinted at his face. “You took some hard blows last night.”
“I’m all right.”
“Good. Our Molly was concerned about you.”
David swiveled around on the stool and held out his hand. “Pardon me for not getting up. It’s not worth the trouble in my present state.”
“Think nothing of it, sir.” Peter took his hand. “May I help with the chores? I’m a better hand at milking than I am at dancing the quadrille.”
Nathan turned his head and spotted him. “Peter!” He smiled and shoved his milking stool back and strode to where they stood. “You’re free.”
“Yes, thanks to my uncle and your sister.” He shook Nathan’s hand heartily.
Nathan winced as he eyed Peter’s swollen face. “You didn’t have that black eye when they hauled you off.”
Peter shrugged. “A delayed consequence.”
“We’re all most appreciative of what you did,” Anson said.
Joe scrambled over the low wall enclosing the calves and came to stare at him, wide-eyed.
“You’ve met Joseph?” David asked.
“Only in passing, sir. I saw him when the prince came a-calling yesterday.”
“Ah. You shall get to know him better if you’re staying in these parts.” David looked at Nathan. “Find a barn frock for the lad. Can’t have him spoiling that elegant shirt.”
Peter smiled as Nathan grabbed a worn homespun jacket from a hook near the door and held it out to him. He pulled it on over his own clothing and turned back to Anson. “Put me to work, sir. I’m your man.”
“They kept you late.” Mum was taking a beef roast out of the oven when Molly got home, and Katie was laying the table.
“Yes. Today was our last day, and I’m to go in Monday for my final pay.” Molly summoned up a smile she didn’t feel. All day she’d had to hold back tears, and soon she would probably lose that battle.
“Ah, well.” Mum straightened and set the pan on top of the stove. “How did things go today?”
“Fine. No one seemed to know anything about it, which I found odd.”
“Perhaps the earl greased a few palms.”
“Yes, you may be right.”
“Nathan brought home the newspapers, and there was nary a word in them about what took place.”
“That’s good.” Molly went to help her sister. “Katie, you’ve put one too many plates out.”
“Go and call the men in, Kate,” Mum said.
As her little sister scooted out the back door, Molly picked up the extra ironstone plate.
“No, leave that,” her mother said. “We’ve a guest tonight.”
“Oh?” Molly eyed her suspiciously. “Not the minister, I hope. I’m exhausted, and he always stays late.”
“No. Could you fetch the butter, please?”
Molly frowned as she went to do as she was bid. Mum was certainly avoiding telling whom she expected to dine with them. She stopped for a moment as she considered the awful prospect that one of her eager dance partners from the ball had come calling already and secured an invitation to supper.
When she returned with the butter dish, she noticed that her mother had prepared enough food for a regiment. Besides the beef, she’d set out potatoes, gravy, biscuits, beans, carrots, and creamed onions, as well as jam and pickles.
“This looks like a feast.”
“Just a hearty supper for our men.”
Molly placed her hands on her hips. �
��All right, Mum, what’s going on? You may as well tell me.”
The back door burst open. Katie and Joe ran in.
“Slow down, you two,” Mum said.
“I want to sit beside Peter,” Joe said.
“No, me.” Katie elbowed him aside.
“Peter?” Molly’s heart lurched. She stared toward the door. Nathan came in next. He held the door while his grandfather shuffled in first, then his father with the peculiar swing-step gait his crutches gave him, and last of all Peter, dressed in clothing far too fine for a man with straw in his hair and traces of cow manure on his shoes.
She was staring. But then, so was he. A slow smile lit Peter’s face. She stepped toward him, her hands outstretched.
“You’re here.”
“Yes. They released me as soon as the Hero sailed past the fort.”
They stood for a moment gazing into each other’s eyes. Molly hitched in a breath and nodded slowly. She would get his story, one precious word at a time.
“Well then, are we going to have supper?” her grandfather asked.
“We are,” her father said. “And our new hired man will join us. We’ve much to be thankful for this day.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
April 1861
The rattling of wheels on the frozen lane and the clop of shod hooves alerted Molly that Peter had arrived. She whipped off her apron.
“Mum, they’re here!” She grabbed her shawl from its hook and hurried outside as the farm wagon came to a halt before the Orlands’ house.
As Peter wrapped the reins around the brake handle and climbed down, Molly surveyed his two passengers. The Earl of Washburn, bundled in a woolen overcoat and a beaver hat, well swathed with a muffler and gloves, climbed down precariously on the near side of the wagon. Meanwhile, Peter was helping a middle-aged woman emerge from the voluminous driving robe and ease her way to the ground on the other side.
“Lord Washburn.” Molly stepped forward, her hands extended. “We’re so glad you could come back. It’s a joy to see you. I know it’s eased Peter’s mind, having you with his mother on her journey.”
Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 24