by Cindy Anstey
“Well, I could use a prayer right now,” Johnny said, coming up behind them and draping his arm across Matt’s shoulder—until a look from his friend suggested that he remove it. “Two days. They be here in two days an’ I have yet to find somethin’ for Camille’s sisters.”
“I thought I saw a peddler on the drive today. A substantial cart with a black-hoofed pony.” Kate frowned, recalling the sight when she had glanced out the window earlier.
“A tinker. An’ of great worth had I been lookin’ for pots or pans, perhaps a knife or two.”
Kate laughed, looking at the bottom of her wassail cup, disappointed to see that the hot cider was gone. “Worry not, a week is a week. There will be others looking to make a sale before Yuletide.” She was too busy enjoying the warmth of Matt’s gaze to be overly concerned about Johnny’s dilemma. It seemed a harmless enough quest.
chapter 6
In which Kate is burdened with being sensible
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1817
The next morning, after setting up Miss Emily and Miss Imogene with cups of steaming hot chocolate, plumped pillows, and a book for one, paper and graphite stick for the other, Kate stepped down the stairs into a beehive of activity. She was on her way to the housekeeper’s room to break her fast at the usual time, but there was not the usual amount of hustle and bustle—there was far more.
Pippa busily swept twigs and needles down the narrow hall toward the door while Livy scooted around her with a tray of toast and bacon—ignoring Pippa’s shout of indignation when her refuse pile was scattered by Livy’s skirts. Clearly, the evergreens had been delivered, and a quick peek into the servants’ hall as she passed proved her theory to be true. A good third of the large table was piled high with boughs and branches as well as ribbons and dried fruit; the crate of mistletoe sat on the floor beside them.
Cassie, one of the housemaids, jostled Kate in her rush through the doorway to join the other members of the lower staff, who were waiting impatiently. The aroma of their first meal of the day wafted from the sideboard, reminding Kate that her belly was empty. She nodded her acceptance of Cassie’s apology and then hurried to Mrs. Lundy’s private sitting room, where the rest of the upper servants gathered.
“Where is Norbert?” Mrs. Lundy asked, frustration evident in her tone. “Everything is topsy-turvy this morning.”
Kate smiled. “’Tis the season.”
“Exactly.” Mrs. Lundy batted at the air. “Never mind. Sit. We will start. Livy, pass the dishes.” And so saying, the girl did just that.
Soon a silence of busy minds and mouths permeated the room, disrupted only by the clinking of cutlery and, eventually, Mr. Norbert’s entrance.
“Pardon me, one and all. Glad you went ahead … Had a devil of a time rising this morning.”
Kate nodded in sympathy; the family had stayed up late—no doubt to celebrate and enjoy Mr. Ben’s arrival—but it meant that Norbert, Matt, Marie, and Kate had had to do so as well. Morning had, indeed, come too quickly.
Casting her eyes to the other end of the table, Kate found Matt staring back. They grinned at each other. Focusing again on her plate, Kate enjoyed the scrutiny, using her peripheral vision and that innate sense of being watched to verify that Matt was as aware of her presence as she was of his. She smiled at her fried tomatoes and spread a generous amount of Cook’s fine blackberry jam on her toast before lifting her eyes again. Purposely, she turned her head in the other direction first—practicing a little coquetry.
Mrs. Lundy was watching her. The housekeeper’s expression was neither tolerant nor relaxed; it could have been a reflection of the anticipated hectic day, or it could have been a reaction to Kate’s subtle flirting. Either way, it was a splash of icy water.
Kate spent the rest of the meal with her gaze firmly fixed on her plate. When the upper servants rose en masse to vacate, Mrs. Lundy put a hand on Kate’s arm as she stood to go.
“Might I speak with you, my dear?” Mrs. Lundy’s tone was puzzling.
Kate waited, doing her best not to look up at Matt as he passed through the door. Rather than delay Livy’s clearing, Mrs. Lundy motioned Kate to follow her into the stillroom next door. There the housekeeper closed the door and stood looking at Kate for several minutes before sighing.
She did not mince her words but went straight to the point. “Kate, dear, there is no doubt that Mr. Harlow is a handsome young man with charming manners, but…”
Kate waited; she knew what was coming. Mrs. Lundy had no authority over her anymore. Only Mrs. Beeswanger—and, of course, the young ladies—could call her to task now. Still, some habits die hard, and Kate was certain she was in for a terrible set-down. She clenched her jaw and readied for the onslaught.
But it never came.
Instead, Mrs. Lundy started to smile. It was a sad sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Nothing like a charmer to turn a girl’s head,” she said.
“I have said as much to Miss Imogene.” Kate flashed a grin and then set her mouth back to its serious expression.
“Yes, I imagine you have.” Mrs. Lundy sighed again. “Well, I have something to say as well, my dear, and I hope you will listen. I know it’s not for me to ask anything of you, but you have been under my care for several years, and I am quite fond of you … and I wish only the best for you.”
Kate had never seen Mrs. Lundy look so uncomfortable. “Are you going to suggest that I keep my distance from Mr. Harlow?” she asked, unnerved by the housekeeper’s hesitance.
With a slight chuckle, Mrs. Lundy shook her head. “No, indeed not. If you were Pippa or Gwen, I would rail for several minutes about bad behavior and address the dangers of a dalliance, but you, my dear, have a good—if somewhat rash—head on your shoulders. No, but I would recommend caution. I can see that Mr. Harlow and you are interested in each other, and as heady and marvelous as that feels right now, I might remind you of a few things.
“You know nothing of Mr. Harlow or his people—truly, your acquaintance is of a very short duration. While I would say that his interest is sincere, we … you do not know that as a certainty. And you would not be the first girl to be deceived. But even if his interest is genuine, how far does that go? You cannot ascertain his purpose in the time that he will be here. When the Steeples leave in the new year, he will be going with them. Back to the coast—back to his people, hours away. He has an excellent position, as do you, but those positions will keep you from seeing each other except for occasional family gatherings. I know not his plans—but you have dreams. You have a future in mind that does not involve a young man visiting from the coast.”
“Mrs. Lundy, you are so very kind, and I appreciate your concern, but you need not worry. I am well aware of my responsibilities.” Kate gulped, disheartened by reality. “Perhaps I should tell him outright that nothing can come of this flirtation.”
Mrs. Lundy smiled her strange, sad smile again. She lifted her hand and patted Kate’s shoulder. “No, my dear, don’t do that. Just be careful. Don’t let it go too far. And keep what I have said in the back of your mind. Enjoy your flirtation, but don’t give away your heart. It will only lead to sorrow.” Her voice was that of experience.
With a nod and her chin in the air, Kate strode down the hallway, adopting a casual manner. Cassie, spreading out the evergreens on the now unpeopled table, looked out as Kate passed the servants’ hall, but Kate continued toward the back stairs without a word. It was just as well that duty called; it was a distraction. For Mrs. Lundy’s words had had a great affect on Kate’s perspective … and not likely the one the housekeeper had intended.
Kate was now burdened. Yes, burdened with Mrs. Lundy’s trust and faith. Had the housekeeper suggested that Kate avoid Matt or accused him of misdeeds, Kate would have been indignant and waved it off. She knew better of herself and of Matt … but no, Mrs. Lundy had simply asked her to be prudent. The good woman couldn’t have devised a better way to nip her euphoria in the bud.
Kate wou
ld have to be sensible. It was a terrible burden.
* * *
LATER THAT DAY, as Matt was fine-tuning his boot polish in the stillroom, he heard a commotion in the corridor.
“Lovely,” Pippa muttered as she rushed past the open door, and then stopped. She leaned back, looking into the stillroom. “Hello,” she said in a studied casual manner. “I know you was hoping that a tinker-of-all-trades would come by. There’s one pullin’ into the service yard this minute. Teddy saw him from the kitchen window.”
“Indeed. Excellent news.” Matt smiled, trying to remember where Johnny could be found at this time of day. Had they been at Musson, he would have known in a trice … but this wasn’t Musson House and—
“We can walk out together, if ya want ta.” Pippa stepped backward so that her entire person blocked his path.
“Hmmm?” Matt said absentmindedly. He turned back to his jar of polish, gave it an extra stir, and then reaffixed the lid. He screwed it tight to ensure that none would escape. When he looked up at the door again, Pippa was still there—quietly, patiently waiting. “Hmmm?” he said again and then frowned, hearing her question. “Oh … oh no. No need, thank you kindly. I must take this upstairs first.” He lifted the precious elixir, holding it aloft for the young maid to admire. Not all valets were adept at the art of making polish, especially at the beginning of their careers. It usually took years of practice—although Mowat, Sir Andrew’s man of many, many years, was still complaining that his polish was lumpy.
Clearly not appreciating his talent, Pippa lifted one shoulder and curled up the corner of her mouth. “Suit yerself,” she said before flouncing away.
“Oh, Pippa,” Matt called, realizing he was losing a useful source of information. “Do you know where—” The outside door slammed shut, and Matt was left to find Johnny on his own.
It wasn’t as difficult a job as he had imagined, for Mrs. Lundy knew that Walker was overseeing the decorating of the grand hall entrance. Scaling a ladder would be most undignified for any butler, and yet, under Walker’s direction, a ladder had been carried through the corridor not thirty minutes prior. It could only be assumed that a footman or two would be assisting in the process.
And so it was that Matt found Johnny at the top of said ladder, affixing evergreen garlands over the arch to the west gallery. It appeared to be the last of the embellishments as the east arch was already so festooned, the mantel over the fireplace—where the Yule log waited to be lit—was decorated with colorful glass balls, and a string of dried berries had been threaded through the stair rungs all the way up to the first floor.
In the time it took for Matt to cross from the little hall to the two men, Walker, who was positioned near the entrance, had dictated that Johnny move one errant branch up, down, and then back to its original position. Matt could hear his friend’s huff of frustration … though Walker seemed deaf.
“Ah, capital. Truly impressive,” Matt complimented Walker for Johnny’s hard work. Then he looked purposefully at the near empty basket at the foot of the ladder. “Might not have enough apples, though, Johnny. This bough will be a tad sparse—have you enough ribbons to make up for it?”
“There be plenty. Never you mind,” Johnny said in a grumbling tone, not bothering to look down at Matt or the basket.
Ignoring the voice from overhead, Matt turned to Walker. “I believe Mrs. Lundy said that there should be enough, but…” Matt hesitated, giving the butler time to be affronted that the housekeeper would offer her opinion regarding the manor’s decorations, infringing upon his domain.
Umbrage stormed onto Walker’s face, and he stepped forward to offer the basket a deep scowl. “Not enough! Clearly, we will run short.” Walker straightened his shoulders. “Ruined. Ruined entirely. The galleries will be lopsided. Apples will have to be pulled down from the east arch and hung on the … Oh, this is quite disastrous.”
“Or Johnny could run out to the yard. A general goods peddler has just pulled up.”
“I has enough to do without runnin’ after more apples, thank you very little.” Johnny had finally turned toward Matt and was tendering his friend a significant glare.
“Are you certain? I believe the man has ribbons, as well.”
“I’m not goin’ trapsin’ after apples or ribbons…” Johnny blinked, stared at Matt with sudden comprehension, and then quickly slid to the floor. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lundy she be wrong while I’m there, shall I, Mr. Walker?” he said, ensuring that the man would not complain about the rush to the service yard.
They scurried—yes, there was no other manner in which their quick, mincing scuffle could be described; it lacked dignity of any kind whatsoever, but it did the trick. They were out of Walker’s sight within moments.
Johnny grinned, stepping ahead of Matt in the hallway, jostling him as he passed. “Much obliged,” he said over his shoulder.
Outside, the peddler had stopped his horses before the service entrance, where the huge creatures snorted puffs of warm breath into the crisp air, ignoring the gathering staff. It was a tall wagon, with drawers, cubbyholes, and baskets hanging off the sides. Brooms, rope, and kettles cluttered one side, fabric and ribbons the other, sacks of root vegetables and baskets of dried fruit on top. It was a wonder the whole wagon did not topple over.
Johnny scooted to the far side while Matt suggested to Mrs. Lundy, who was gesturing toward a teacup, that a few additional apples were needed for the great hall adornments.
A slight frown puckered her brow. “Thought that might be the case, Mr. Harlow. Didn’t believe there were quite enough, but Walker would not hear of it. Though I must say, I’m hard-pressed to understand why you might be delivering the message.”
Matt shrugged with feigned confusion, and hastened to the far side of the wagon, where Johnny had already set about implementing his grand scheme to woo Camille through her sisters. Staring, fascinated by a drawer full of colorful ribbons of various lengths and widths, he touched a blue one with lacey edges and glanced up at the peddler. “How much for this, then?”
The peddler, well versed in the game, named a most ludicrous amount. Johnny countered, as was expected, and the haggling began. By the time the dickering was complete, Johnny had bargained the man down by half and included a length of red ribbon, as well. Once the deal was struck, goods and coins were exchanged, and Johnny nodded his thanks as the man dropped his change into his waiting palm. Johnny waggled his brows in Matt’s direction, apparently well pleased by the outcome. However, before Johnny could even fold the ribbons, they and the change were yanked back out of his hand.
“No, siree. You don’t run off wiff my goods ’less’en you pay for ’em!” the peddler shouted, leaning his stubbled gray face into Johnny’s.
“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Johnny pointed to the shilling still clutched in the man’s fist. “What’s that, then?”
“Thievery! An’ youse lucky I don’t reports ya to the magistrate.” The peddler threw the shilling at Johnny’s feet. “Are ya gunna pay or not?”
With a growing frown and a swallow of discomfort, Johnny reached for the coin that had landed on the toe of his boot. He lifted it to his eyes, and Matt, from where he stood, could see that the silver had been scratched away to reveal a lead plug underneath.
“Lawks,” Johnny said quietly, and then his jaw tightened. “Lawks!” he shouted between his teeth. He shook the fake coin as if he were shaking the culprit who gave it to him. “He cheated me! Stole me ring an’ I didn’t even know it! I been had.”
“I’ll cover the cost.” Matt sighed, motioning to the peddler, hoping he had enough to pay for the ribbons on him.
“No, you will not.” Johnny, unreasonably, turned his ire on his friend. “This is my business. I won’t have you sticking your nose in it.” He lifted his arm as if to toss the coin across the yard, but Matt grabbed it before Johnny could do so.
With a furtive glance at those around them, Matt noted that the Musson House boys were getting more tha
n their fair share of attention from the Shackleford Park shoppers. The glint of amusement in Pippa’s eyes was particularly irksome. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside,” Matt suggested, “where it is warmer.”
“Warmer? Warmer? I want me bleedin’ ring back. Don’t care if I be warm!”
Nodding, as if Johnny were being sensible, Matt grabbed his friend’s arm in a viselike grip and smiled at the enthralled staff. He marched Johnny back to the door and pushed him inside, almost colliding with the lovely Kate, who was on her way out.
“Oh, most excellent,” she said with a buoyant smile. “I hoped that you had heard about the peddler. Did you find—”
Tugging his arm from Matt’s grip, Johnny glared at them both. “Can’t buy no ribbons with empty pockets, an’ I have no ring besides.” Straightening, Johnny started down the corridor, marching toward the men’s quarters. “I’m goin’ into town. I’m goin’ ta get me ring back!”
“Excuse me,” Kate called. “I don’t understand—”
“Don’t be a bacon-brain, Johnny. It’s not worth it. Let it be. The ring is gone.” Matt rushed down the narrow hall after him; he could hear Kate following behind. “You’ll never find the rotter.”
“It’s not right!” the footman shouted over his shoulder.
“That may be so, but you can’t run off. Walker won’t let you disappear for hours; he’ll have your head on a platter. He’ll make certain Sir Andrew knows of it, Johnny; you know he will. Don’t throw it all away on account of a piece of tin.”
The footman turned by the servants’ hall door, waiting for Matt and Kate to catch up. “Do you know him, Miss Darby?” Johnny’s expression was as thunderous as Matt had ever seen.
“Him?” Kate leaned away from the accusation disguised as a question.
“A red-haired man. He stole me ring at the Gambling Goat. Paid me with a fake coin. You know who he be?”
Shaking her head, Kate lifted her palms. “The man you met in Tishdale … when I was not present? Why would you suppose I know this person?”