by Michelle Cox
“Course you will,” he said, giving her a little wink. “I can see you’re that type of girl. Kind, I mean. I’ve got to go now, though,” he said, smoothly extracting his pocket watch from inside his dark green uniform and casually flipping it open with one hand. “Almost time for me to drive back to the station and pick up Mr. Howard.”
“It’s that late already?” Henrietta asked worriedly.
“Yes, almost time for tea, Miss Von Harmon,” he said, lifting his hat to her with a sly grin and hurried off to the stables, Henrietta watching him as he went. When he had disappeared into the stables, she looked back toward the house and then the gardens. She knew she couldn’t creep back into the kitchen; she would have to go around to the East Doors and hopefully let herself in without running into Billings. She was unwilling to get closer to Virgil, however, so she stood, contemplating whether she should instead walk all the way around the house and enter through the front doors, when she saw the figure of what looked like Helen Schuyler hobbling up the path that led up from the beach. She could see that she was headed right for Virgil, so she decided to mercifully intercept her.
“Helen!” she said, waving her hand and walking quickly toward her, causing Virgil to turn and notice her now. He stared at her for a few moments, scowling, as she approached but then looked away and went back to his raking.
“Helen!” she called again, giving Virgil a wide berth. This time the old woman looked up, puzzled at first, but then her face relaxed in recognition. She was breathing heavily when Henrietta finally met her.
“Here, let me take those,” Henrietta said, taking the wooden box of berries from her. “I would have helped, you know.”
“Ta, Daphne,” Helen said, squinting up at her.
“It’s Henrietta, remember?” she reminded her gently.
“Oo, aye! Tha’s wha’ I meant, like. ’Enrietta,” she wheezed, her hands on her lower back as if to support it.
Henrietta began walking slowly toward the house with her now, and she wondered how much help this woman really was to Mary, even during big parties when extra hands were needed. She noticed that Helen kept her head bent slightly away from the direction of Virgil, who stood motionless now, watching them.
“Jis’ keep walkin’, dearie, an ’e migh’ na pay us any attention,” Helen muttered, almost to herself.
“Are you afraid of him?” Henrietta asked softly.
“Aye! Course I am! ’E’s the one tha’ stole me ring.”
Henrietta sighed. The woman seemed obsessed. “But how can you be sure?” Henrietta asked, still not convinced that Helen hadn’t simply misplaced it.
“Cause I seen ’im, creepin’ ’round me place the day it wen’ missin’. I thought I told ya all this afore,” she said, slightly irritated, or perhaps just confused. “Almost dusk it were. I were bringin’ in the washin’ when I sees ’im. ’Idin’ dare in the bushes, jis’ watchin’ me. Gave me the creeps it did, an I ’urried inside. I almos’ forgot aboot it, but then later on tha nigh’ I . . . I were in me bed an then I starts ’earin’ a terrible scratch, scratch, scratchin’ on the side a the cottage, like claws it were. Like some kind a beast tryin’ ta get in. But na wild scratchin, noo, na frantic, like,” she whispered, her shoulders hunched at the memory. “This were slow and steady. Careful like.” Her eyes darted quickly to where Virgil stood working, but she looked away just as quickly.
“Maybe it was a branch scratching the side of the house?” Henrietta suggested.
“It weren’ noo branch!” Helen said with feeling. “Twas tha’ evil man. I lay dare all a tremblin’ until I guess I moost ’ave slipped off ta sleep. But then I ’eard ’im again . . . this time inside the hoose!” she whispered, and Henrietta, despite the fantastical nature of the story, felt goose bumps appear on her arms and the back of her neck. “’Eard ’im shuffle all around, footsteps comin’ closer . . . and then dare were some sor’ a noise ootside an ’e moosta got spooked an run off then.”
“So you didn’t hear him take the ring? Go through your chest of drawers?”
“Ach, noo, but ’e coulda snuck in some time when I were oot. Easy enough. The cottage doesn’ lock. Caugh’ ’im several times creepin’ in the woods down by the lake. Don’ know wha’ ’e’s lookin’ fer or why ’e’s always dare, but ’e is, like.”
Henrietta shivered. “Have you told Daphne?”
“I wrote ’er a couple a letters. Neils taught me ’ow ta write a bit, but she ’asn’t written back or coom round,” she said despairingly. “I ’ope nothin’s wrong, I do,” she said, looking fearfully up at Henrietta.
“Do you want me to have a word with the Howards, Mr. Clive perhaps?”
“Ach, noo! I wouldn’ bother ’em wit me troubles, na fer the wurld,” she said, wringing her hands now.
“Well, something should be done, surely!” Henrietta exclaimed. “Perhaps Mrs. Caldwell or Billings?” she suggested.
“Aye, mebbe Mr. Billings,” she stammered after a moment’s consideration. “’E an Mr. McCreanney go way back, they do. An Mr. McCreanney, bein’ a Scot, too, like, mebbe . . . mebbe ’e’ll ’ave a word. Ya don’ mind?” she said, peering up at her. “Ya bein’ a lady a the hoose, like?”
“Course I don’t mind!” Henrietta smiled reassuringly. “It would give me something useful to do. And besides, we can’t have you terrified in your own home, now, can we?”
By this time, they had reached the back door of the kitchen, and through the thin, dented screen, Henrietta could see Mary bustling toward them, having spotted them approaching.
“I’ll say goodbye, then, Helen,” she said. “Leave it to me.”
Helen laid a hand on her arm. “Jis’ be careful, lass. Dare’s somethin’ not righ’ aboot ’im,” she said just as Mary opened the door. Henrietta handed her the box of berries as she held the door for Helen to pass through.
“You’re all right,” Mary said confidentially to Henrietta as Helen shuffled past her, sweating profusely now. “Mrs. Howard didn’t see you before.”
“Thanks, Mary,” Henrietta smiled. “I’d better get back.”
Mary nodded and turned then to talk to Helen, who had heavily seated herself in one of the kitchen chairs.
Henrietta slowly made her way to the front of the house, wondering as she walked what she should say to Billings about the whole affair. She looked cautiously around for Virgil as she rounded one of the corners and past a large viburnum, but he was nowhere in sight now. Still, she felt a cold shudder just the same.
Chapter 6
As promised, or rather, as expected, Mrs. Howard took Henrietta shopping the next day and almost every day after, generously lavishing her with a new wardrobe, including a variety of shoes, hats, and gloves as well. At first, Henrietta was resistant to accepting so many expensive new things, but Mrs. Howard convinced her that she was doing her a favor by letting her indulge her in this way and that she would most certainly surprise, not to mention delight, Clive. As the second week wore on, Henrietta actually found herself if not completely enamored with Mrs. Howard’s company, then at least enjoying it somewhat. She could be a rather pleasant companion, as it turned out, as long as Henrietta did as she was instructed.
Their luncheons were divided up between going out to various restaurants or tearooms and staying in, both of which became instructional in nature. The skills and advice learned at both were then put into practice during the evening meal in which Mr. Howard was present, though he seemed not always fully cognizant of what was playing out before him, so lost in his own musings, presumably respecting his firm, was he. They enjoyed a pleasant two weeks, all things considered, the Howards attempting to teach her various card games that she would be expected to know. Mrs. Howard despaired that Henrietta could neither play the piano nor sing. Granted these were becoming quite old-fashioned requirements amongst young ladies, but any accomplishment would have helped Henrietta’s cause immeasurably.
Meanwhile, Henrietta noted with pleasure, Mrs. Howard
seemed less and less cross with her as time went on and corrected her less often, especially regarding which outfit was to be worn on which occasion. Henrietta’s main transgression, if there was one, seemed to be her continued fraternization, as Mrs. Howard called it, with the servants. She was always getting caught chatting with them in the kitchen or, worse yet, helping them with their chores upstairs! Indeed, Mrs. Howard had found it necessary to call her into the study one afternoon to lecture her on the importance of keeping her distance from her inferiors.
Henrietta stood awkwardly in front of her now, dressed in a long navy blue silk skirt with blue oxfords and a sailor-style white blouse with a large bow at the side of the neck, and felt rather like a recalcitrant schoolgirl being chastised for some infraction of the school rules. Mrs. Howard, conversely, sat at her leisure at her elaborate Queen Anne desk, where she went every morning to write her letters.
“Henrietta, my dear,” she sighed, putting her pen down. “I’m afraid I really must be rather severe with you. You simply cannot continue to treat the servants as if they were your close friends. Don’t think I don’t see what goes on around here, and it is really very tiresome.”
Henrietta rather thought that Mrs. Howard did not know all that went on around the estate, but she did not say so.
“Understandably you are lonely, but soon, after the engagement party, a whole new set of friends will open up to you. Indeed, they will be people you will need to form relationships with in order to properly uphold Clive’s place in society. Your bosom friend simply cannot be one of the junior maids.”
Henrietta bit back a smile and mentally relinquished some credit to Mrs. Howard’s wherewithal. In truth, after the Howards retired each evening, she had been sneaking to the kitchen where she could usually enjoy a game of rummy and cocoa with the servants before they all turned in for the night. She couldn’t help it, really; she was so used to keeping late hours, and they all seemed to welcome her immensely. It had been awkward at first until she had told them her stories about her own poverty and her long string of jobs to support her family, though she wisely left off the fact that she had been a taxi dancer and an usherette. Still, it was enough for them to accept her as almost one of them, and they were happy for her Cinderellaesque story of becoming engaged to the prince of the house. Most of them, that is. James tended to still snub her, as did Kitty, another of the junior maids whose dismissive behavior toward her, Henrietta attributed to an obvious attempt to impress the unsuspecting James. Mrs. Caldwell tolerated her presence in the kitchen, though she did not, or pretended not to, know that she sometimes helped them in their work. Billings, however, did not approve and had said so publically on more than one occasion.
In fact, Henrietta was pretty sure it was him who had gone directly to Mrs. Howard to snitch on her, thus the current interview. Him or James, Henrietta felt certain. Henrietta’s lowly background and socialization with the servants did not impress Mr. Billings, but rather they had the opposite effect they seemed to have had on the others. It was as if he needed the family he so astutely served to be above him, to be his superiors; otherwise, they seemed somehow not worthy of his devotion. Henrietta’s common roots and, worse, her desperate clinging to them vexed him to no end, and he had no qualms about complaining to Mrs. Howard with reference to her questionable comportment. Henrietta herself could feel his disapproval and tried to avoid him as much as possible. She had kept her promise to Helen, however, and not long after she had seen her that day behind the house, she had worked up her courage and approached Billings in his private office next to the butler’s pantry.
“That’s preposterous!” Billings had thundered, after she had explained Helen’s story of woe. “Virgil is quite a hard worker. Doesn’t give us one minute of trouble! He no more stole that ring than I did. Helen Schuyler served this house faithfully for over fifty years, I’ll give her that. But she’s a bit touched now,” he said, momentarily tapping his temple with an index finger. “She’s become paranoid, always assuming someone’s after her. Next week it’ll be some other thing. She still knows her way about the kitchen, and it’s good of her to still help out from time to time, but it’s more out of sympathy we ask her up to help than for what she really contributes, and that includes whatever comes out of her mouth. Pay no more mind to what she tells you.”
“But, Billings, I’ve looked for the ring myself, and it’s nowhere! Honestly. Something had to have happened to it . . .”
“Yes, something like she dropped it somewhere or lost it down a hole. Who knows? Now, please, don’t waste any more of anyone’s time.”
“But couldn’t you have a word with him? Or Mr. McCreanney?”
“Certainly not! I know for certain Virgil is in bed every night, early. Not creeping around in the woods or down by the cottage, that’s for sure. Now, really, Miss Von Harmon, I must get back to work, if you’ll excuse me.” He stood up from his desk where he had been sitting to reinforce that he wanted her to leave.
“Well, perhaps I should discuss this with Mrs. Howard,” Henrietta said, trying her hand at a parry.
“That is as you think best, Miss Von Harmon,” he countered expertly. “All I can say on the matter is that Mrs. Howard most certainly does not like to be bothered with trivial matters pertaining to the servants.”
“But this isn’t trivial!” Henrietta had protested. “Helen’s terrified!”
“That is as it may be. As I said, Miss Von Harmon, you must do as you feel best,” he added as his final thrust.
In the end, Henrietta had had no choice but to accept defeat where Billings was concerned and had instead turned to interrogating those below stairs who were more receptive to her. Mary, however, when asked about Virgil, had nothing concrete to say about him either way; that was Mr. McCreanney’s department, she had said. Didn’t know much about young Virgil, just that he was a good eater, despite his thinness, and that he didn’t say all that much. Thought he might be sweet on Edna, but that was just a guess.
Edna, on the other hand, had blushed when Henrietta mentioned Virgil and said she didn’t understand why everyone thought he was sweet on her. Jack, who had been sitting at the table with the two of them as Edna sat mending, pointed out that perhaps it had something to do with the bouquets of flowers he was always picking out of the gardens for her.
“Those are for the house, not me!” she had exclaimed.
“Then why is there always a rose by your bedside?” Jack asked, grinning.
“How would you know what’s by my bedside?” she had exclaimed.
“I make it my business to know,” he said smoothly, “’Specially where my girl is concerned.”
“I’m not your girl, Jack Fletcher!”
“Really now? So you’re Virgil’s, then?”
“It’s none of your business who I fancy! Not saying I fancy anyone, actually.”
“Well, if you’re not sweet on him, then why’d you dance with him this past May Day at the servants’ picnic?”
“Because I felt sorry for him, if you must know!” she said hotly. “No one else asked me.” She looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“He’s always starin’ at you,” Jack added.
“He stares at everyone!” she said, abruptly standing now. “I’ve got to take this upstairs,” she mumbled, holding up the trousers she had been mending for Mr. Howard. “I’ll leave you two to figure it out yourselves!”
Jack had laughed as Edna hurried out, but his laugh had died down once she was out of earshot, as if he had not been quite sincere in it.
“You’re a terrible flirt, you are,” Henrietta said to him.
“Well, he does fancy her,” he said, taking a final drag from the stump of the cigarette he was holding. “He actually told me once. A queer one he is, though,” he said, rubbing it out now.
“Why do you say that? Aren’t you just being jealous?”
“Jealous? Of him? As if he’d ever stand a chance with a girl like Edna.”
“Wel
l, what’s so queer about him?” she asked, a spark of hope igniting.
“Just that he’s always creepin’ around in the woods, always goin’ off alone, down by the lake, I think.”
Henrietta shuddered. “He gives me the willies. I can’t stand his staring.”
They were silent then for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, before Henrietta roused herself and stood up. “I suppose I should go up now. It’s getting late.”
“Henrietta,” Jack said deferentially, standing up as well.
“Yes?” she said with a smile as she turned back toward him.
“We’re having a party. This Saturday. For Edna. It’s her birthday, and we wanted to surprise her, give her a bit of a rub. Do you think you might come?” he asked earnestly. “She’d be honored, I’m sure. She really likes you.”
“Oh, Jack! I’d love to. Honestly. But Clive is supposed to be coming back from the city that night, so I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
“Sure,” he said, clearly disappointed. “I get it. I just thought you might like to be included, have a bit of fun, but I’m sure Mister Clive will provide that in his own way.” She could have been mistaken, but Henrietta thought she detected what might have passed for a hint of suggestiveness in his tone.
“You know I would if I could, though, right?” she added, deciding to ignore it.
“Sure,” he said again with what seemed a forced smile. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she had said lightly and had slowly gone upstairs, but not without perhaps more regret than she should have felt.
Now, standing corrected in front of Mrs. Howard, she wondered exactly how much Antonia really knew about her activities, how much Billings had reported. She felt relatively certain that he would not have mentioned her relationship with Helen, as he was loath to take her story seriously in the first place. She tried to decide if perhaps now would be a good time to broach the subject, as she stood, her hands folded politely in front of her as she had previously been instructed. The decision was made for her, however, as Mrs. Howard went on now, apparently not finished with her lecture.