by Cindy Anstey
Matt helped Kate aboard with a flourish more befitting a great lady. She settled her cloak and skirts out of Matt’s way and he jumped up, trying not to jostle her. Their feet swung with the cart’s motion, and they shared a smile whenever they bumped persons … which was not a rare occurrence. Kate might have exaggerated the motion a little, but she was fairly certain Matt did as well. Flirting was a most marvelous invention.
“I was rather surprised when Mrs. Lundy told me that you were coming ahead of the family,” Kate said, staring at the view behind the cart. It was a quiet stretch of the road with no farms or cottages for another quarter mile. The fields broke through the trees at irregular intervals, affording a pretty sight of the surrounding countryside.
“Mrs. Lundy?”
“Shackleford Park’s housekeeper. You would have met her in the summer.”
“Ah yes, I remember. Very short, rather stern-looking woman.”
Kate laughed at the erroneous description. “No, indeed, that would be Cook. I’m referring to a tall, affable woman who jangles as she walks.”
“Ah yes, I remember her well.”
“Clearly.” Kate shook her head with a giggle—a tiny one. “I would have thought that Mr. Ernest would have need of you … that you would have come later with the Steeples.”
“Ah yes, but Mr. Ben has need of me more, or so Mr. Ernest thought might be the case. Mr. Ben is arriving from Canterbury tomorrow. He wants to see Miss Imogene as much as possible before returning to his duties in the new year.”
Kate looked up to see Matt waggle his brows at her, and she laughed again.
“As to coming early, someone had to accompany Johnny to prevent him from gorging on these preserves.”
“I heard that!” Johnny called from the front of the cart.
“Mrs. Lundy will be happy for the goods and the extra hands,” Kate said, grinning. “She has been running around since Stir-up Day, making sure the puddings were made, the rooms spotlessly clean, and the decorations ready to go up. Now that there are only twelve days until Christmas Eve, she is in a tizzy.”
“Tizzy?”
“Yes, most definitely. This will be the first occasion with both families together—”
“Of many.”
“Yes, exactly. And Mrs. Lundy, being rather old-fashioned—of a superstitious bend, if you know what I mean—she feels this Yuletide season, more than any other, must flow smoothly. A good omen for the future.”
“Really?”
“Well, that is Mrs. Lundy’s belief.”
“And Cook’s,” Marie added from the front of the cart, half turned in her seat. “She wants everything done according to custom to ensure that 1818 is a prosperous year.” Her harrumph left Kate wondering if Marie had the same conviction.
“It seems we are here, my good fellows,” Johnny said.
Kate glanced over her shoulder and waved to the gardener as he pointed Johnny toward the service drive; the large manor was visible through the trees. Shackleford Park was not an ancient building. The original fifteenth-century house, a shoddy place with uneven floors and chimneys that smoked, had been torn down ten years earlier. A new, chateau-style manor with a mansard roof had been erected in its place.
Kate had no recollection of the old house. There had been no purpose to visit before, having been hired on as a scullery maid at the age of fourteen. When, at sixteen, she had taken on the duties of a housemaid, she had enjoyed the benefit of cleaning a house without the rot of age and layers of ash from years of fires. Positions at Shackleford Park were the envy of the neighborhood.
Upon arriving in the stable yard, Kate slid from her perch, dropping a full six inches to the cobbles. As she turned to untie the ropes, she was surprised to see Mrs. Lundy, wearing neither a cloak nor a shawl, rushing toward them from the service entrance of the manor. A boy of ten followed in her wake. The patched coat and dirty face identified him as a village child—Kate knew him as the boy hired for outside work at her mother’s cottage.
“There you are,” Mrs. Lundy said, looking at Kate. “Colby has just this minute arrived. Your mother has urgent need of you. You must away immediately.”
Kate, stunned and silent, blinked at Colby.
The towheaded boy blinked back. “There were an accident, miss.”
“Quickly, my girl, quickly.” Mrs. Lundy waved her hands as if to shoo her off.
Kate nodded, pivoted, and then glanced over her shoulder. “Might I cut through the deer park, Mrs. Lundy? It will save me a full ten minutes.”
“Of course, of course. Mr. Beeswanger will not mind. You must see to your mother.”
Kate nodded again and without another word lifted her skirts and raced back down the drive.
chapter 2
In which a porker, an ewer, and a dirt floor suffer the ravages of a helpful neighbor
Kate was across the road and into the Shackleford deer park within minutes. But there she paused, waiting for Colby Jordan.
“Colby! Please hurry, or I will have to leave you behind.” The boy wasn’t dawdling but neither was he rushing.
Though spurred by her words, Colby shouted for her to go ahead. “Don’t worry about me, miss!”
“All right. I’ll run ahead…” Kate’s frown deepened. “What happened, Colby?”
“A fire, miss,” the boy said, panting with the effort of his newfound haste. He must have seen Kate’s start, for he quickly added, “Out, it’s out. Not too much damage, but Dame Darby were burnt.”
With those ominous words, Kate whirled around and raced down the path that led deep into the woods. She had no cause to worry about mantraps, as all knew of Mr. Beeswanger’s abhorrence of the contraptions, but there were plenty of other obstacles to avoid. Fallen branches, mud holes, icy puddles, and even a few snowy patches forced Kate to dodge and watch her footing.
Within ten or so minutes skirting the south side of the park, the blue skies were once again visible through the trees as they thinned out. Soon the hedge-groves that lined the Vyse-on-Hill fields were visible and the path widened to the south lane. Kate grabbed the marker post for a moment to catch her breath, ignoring the stitch in her side as best she could. Colby was far enough behind that she could no longer see him.
With a great gulp of air, Kate set off again. The way was clearer from here on, as the lane ran up the hill between the hedges. At the crest, she could see her mother’s cottage nestled below among the yews, looking unscathed and quite normal. It was a great relief.
The ivy-covered stone wall that edged the yard was too high to vault, but the white gate was near enough and led directly to the kitchen from the garden. Stooping to avoid knocking her head on the low entrance, Kate rushed in. “Mam,” she called before coming to a halt just inside the door.
It wasn’t a large room, but it was comfortable and held the necessities. With a low-beamed ceiling, the old wooden table took up much of one end and the huge fireplace dominated the other. Wooden chairs and a bench sat on the near side of the fire and a door to the sleeping chamber on the other.
A short, plump woman standing next to a cast-iron pot in the fire smiled. Her graying hair spilled out from under her cap in a haphazard cascade, and she squealed with delight. “Katey!”
Panting and frowning, Kate held her hands pressed into her sides. “Mam. Colby. Said. You. Were. Hurt. An. Emergency.”
“So glad he found ya, Katey-bird. I be in great need of your help.”
Glancing around, Kate noted a pile of mending on the table, new blackened soot on the wall behind the chair, a puddle on the stone below it, and a collection of broken pottery piled next to the door. All seemed to be under control. And then her mother reached over to stir the boiling pot with a wooden spoon, exposing a coiled bandage that covered her arm from her wrist to her elbow.
Kate threw her mitts on the table and rushed over. “Mam, what have you done?”
“This? Oh, this is nothin’.” She waved her daughter away. “Bit of a burn, nothin’ to
be concerned about.”
Taking the spoon, Kate shuffled her mother away from the fire. Then, holding back the flaps of her cloak with one hand, she stirred the pot with the other. Her mother shifted to the nearest chair, groaning as she did so.
“Why didn’t you ask Colby to send his mother over?” Kate asked. “I’m sure Mrs. Jordan wouldn’t have minded helping you.”
Mam clucked and then sighed. “She was here.” She shook her head and gave Kate a significant look. “Not in Tobarton anymore.”
Kate turned her frown back to the pot. She knew the direction of the conversation; it was a well-worn path. Her mother was not happy in Vyse-on-Hill.
“Agnes came over as soon as she saw the smoke—the porker was fattier than I thought an’ it spilled out somethin’ fierce. Splashed across the wall an’ caught. It were a mess, but I was handlin’ it just fine when she storms in here. Knocks over me clay ewer that were sittin’ on the table, an’ throws water against the wall. Bossy woman, made me sit and wrapped up me arm so tight I can hardly move me wrist. How’m I to sew without me wrist?
“Then she tells me to not worry about the soup, that she’ll bring over supper. But the woman cuts her carrots sideways. How’s a person to eat a carrot cut up all wrong? An’ she doesn’t use enough potatoes. She brought over a rabbit stew last week that was all turnip and onion. I ask you, what is that?”
“Kindness?”
“Kindness! No siree. Agnes is puttin’ on airs. Like I’m a charity case now that me sons want no part o’ me.”
Kate banged the spoon on the side of the pot, then set the utensil on the shelf above the mantel and placed a lid over the bubbling concoction. She turned and squatted in front of her mother, who glanced at the floor rather than meet Kate’s gaze.
Taking her mother’s undamaged hand in her own, Kate waited until she looked up. “The boys care a great deal about you, as you know very well. Are they not paying for this fine establishment? Do they not drop by to see you two or three times a week? You know they would have had you in the village if there had been a cottage to rent there. It is not their fault that this was the only place available on Lady Day. Perhaps next March there will be something closer—but Tobarton is only a twenty-minute walk.”
“Not goin’ ta move around like a vagabond. I shoulda been able ta stay in my cottage where I raised up my babies. That were my place—not Peggy’s. Moved in there when your pap and I married—kept it after he passed away. Always made rent. There was no need for me ta go.”
“We have been through this before, Mam. It was the only cottage big enough for Henry and his family, what with three little ones and another on the way. It made the most sense.”
“I coulda slept by the fire.”
“No, you could not have, Mam. You know that.” Kate did not have to say anything about Peggy, her oldest brother’s wife. They did not get along at all. It was Peggy more than the overcrowding that had the Darby boys looking for a place for their mother. The bickering had been getting to everyone. Her two other brothers, Merle and Ross, often took the children to their place next door to get away from the constant battle of wills.
The Vyse-on-Hill cottage had seemed like an excellent solution—quite roomy for one. But her mother was lonely no matter how often the boys and Kate visited. She said it wasn’t the same.
“You know this is only temporary. We’ll be out of here soon enough. Into Tishdale.”
“Not soon enough for me,” her mother grumbled, looking both angry and hurt at the same time. “Ten years don’t be very temporary. You’ll work at the big house while I twiddle me thumbs waiting to open our dressmaking shop. An’ I know one day you’ll decide to stay on at Shackleford, leaving me high and dry. I’ll ’ave waited for nothin’. Ten years is a long wait for nothin’.”
“It might be sooner, Mam,” Kate said, ignoring her mother’s pessimism. Kate had no intention of working for others all her life; she looked forward to her own place in town with great eagerness. Something her mother had yet to understand. “It all depends on how much I can save…” Kate glanced out the window to see the shadow of the leafless apple tree stretching across the yard. Sundown came early at this time of year. “And I have to keep my job in order to save. I have to be getting back. The misses will be needing me to get ready for dinner. What can I help you with before I go? Why did you send Colby after me?”
“That.” Mam pointed at the table.
“Your mending?”
“Told Mrs. Lundy that I would have the linens ready by Monday. Not going to make it now. I needs you ta help.”
Kate stood for a moment, fighting the sharp retort that wanted to launch from her tongue. This was not the first time that her mother had claimed an emergency that had sent her on a panicked rush to the cottage for nothing.
“You know I cannot sit here and do your mending, Mam. I have to be at the Park, should the girls need me.”
“But it won’t get done for Christmas day, Katey-bird, if you don’t help me. What with so much company comin’—Mrs. Lundy needs her linens.”
“That’s true, Mam. But I have to get back. I’ll ask Mrs. Jordan if she might help, and tell Mrs. Lundy that they will be a little late. Will that work?” They would have to be laundered as well—the whole room reeked of smoke. The linen would have sopped up the odor.
“It will have ta, won’t it? If that’s the best ya can do.” She did not look mollified.
With a quick peck on her mother’s cheek, Kate grabbed up her mitts and opened the door. “I’ll see you next week? At the big house?”
“Thought that they was holdin’ the open house in the barn this year. Too many workers ta feed in the servants’ hall now.”
“Yes, indeed. You’re right. Mr. Snowdon has the tables ready to set up, and Cook has picked out the geese and started the mincemeat tarts. It’ll be grand.”
“Will your brothers be there?”
Kate huffed—ever so quietly; her mother was trying to demonstrate how little she saw of her children, and therefore knew nothing of their plans. It was far from the truth.
“Of course. You know Merle would not miss roast goose!” Waving over her shoulder, Kate crossed the threshold and closed the door. She thought she heard a murmur as she did so … It sounded as if her mother had said I might see you sooner, but that didn’t make sense. If her mother thought she could entice Kate back to Vyse before the new year, she had another think coming.
Rather than turn back toward the deer park, Kate headed into the hamlet and crossed the road to the Jordan cottage, Mam’s closest neighbor. The good woman must have been watching for her, as Kate had barely stepped onto the walk when Mrs. Jordan came to the door—wiping her hands on a cloth. She was a thin, tired-looking woman with a sour expression when her face was at rest. However, whenever her eyes came in contact with any other human soul, Mrs. Jordan stood straighter and smiled; it changed her entire countenance.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Darby.” Mrs. Jordan addressed Kate as a lady’s maid of the great house, not as a neighbor’s daughter. “Had I known she sent Colby for ya, I woulda put a stop to it. I know yer busy what with the fine company comin’ for the season an’ all.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Jordan. But I must get back. Mam is concerned about the linens.”
“They’ll be done by Monday, miss. Already told ’er I would help.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jordan. You are very kind. I will let Mrs. Lundy know.” Kate returned to the road and waved her good-byes to both Mrs. Jordan and her mother, who was peeking out of the cottage window as Kate passed.
* * *
MATT FROWNED, staring after Kate as she rushed away. He felt ineffectual, wishing he could do something. Glancing up at the housekeeper, who was staring after Kate as well, he was bewildered by the woman’s expression; it was resigned rather than anxious.
“Would the cart be faster?” he asked, stepping toward the vehicle.
Mrs. Lundy turned toward him with a quizzical
expression. “Faster?”
“Than running across the park.”
“Oh. Oh no. Very kind of you to offer. No need. The roads being what they are at this time of year, walking—or rather running—is much quicker. Though I imagine it is a tempest in a teapot. Usually is … but one must act accordingly. Not assume. You know how it is. As soon as you assume…” She paused and then gave her head a slight shake. She must have seen the confusion on Matt’s face at her rather disjointed conversation. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up, Mr. Harlow. No need to stand in the cold.” And in so saying, Mrs. Lundy turned, taking herself out of the cold.
Matt looked up the drive again. Kate was now a mere speck; she would soon be lost behind the curve of the road. He stared for some minutes more and then straightened his shoulders and pivoted. Johnny had unfastened the ropes holding the canvas and was passing various foodstuffs to the Shackleford Park footmen.
Cook from Musson House had sent all of Sir Andrew’s favorites, not wanting the old gentleman to do without the special treats as she made them. Mincemeat, plum pudding, shortbread, and marzipan were all staples of the season, but Cook believed hers to be the best. After all, Sir Andrew had been saying so for years. Add to that a haunch of pork, a basket of sole, and an array of jams and preserves, and the Steeple contribution to the celebration of Yuletide was rather substantial.
Matt reached over the rail and retrieved his bags, nodding to Johnny as he did so. Then, rather than follow the food through the kitchen court, he made his way to the service entrance in Mrs. Lundy’s footsteps. Once inside the long narrow corridor, he headed to the far end, where he knew the servants’ hall to be. While he could easily find his way up to the guest wing without guidance, he knew better than to assume that Mr. Ernest and Mr. Ben would be in the same rooms as they had been in the summer.
The servants’ hall was well occupied. Two maids sat on a bench at the long table playing cards; one looked up at him with a huge smile and elbowed her seatmate as she did so. Another woman sat by the window mending, and a young, somewhat disheveled boy with dirty nails played jacks by the fire. Next to him, a man with his back turned to the door stared at an unlit candle on the mantel. Matt had arrived during that brief hour when duties were at a minimum—just before the staff entered the hectic confusion of dinner and then labored into the night.