by Kit Morgan
A hand flew to her chest. She hadn’t thought of that before! She looked at Mrs. Wallace who had gone to the armoire. She pulled out her only other dress. Was she in on this? Oh dear! How could the cook do such a thing?
Mary shivered at the thought. Was there no one to save her from such debauchery? But wait, Patrick! Yes, he could help her! So what if she was the squire’s property. He’d not stand to see the squire allow her to be defiled, would he?
She glanced at the door, at Mrs. Wallace, the window. Was there any hope of escape? Mary swallowed hard. Somehow, she was going to have to let Patrick Mulligan know that she needed him to come to her rescue.
Chapter 6
“Do I look all right?” Mary asked dreading the answer.
“You look fine, dear,” Mrs. Wallace said. She touched up Mary’s hair. “Though I’m not sure why a maid’s uniform wouldn’t be better.”
“You mean you have some?”
“Yes, but they haven’t been in use for ages. Around here we don’t stand on ceremony. The squire is a simple man, even if he does pride himself on having the best of the best.”
“So I’m beginning to notice. But this dress?” She looked at the pretty blue frock Mrs. Wallace had fetched from the attic. “Whom did this belong to?”
“The squire’s daughter. She’s married now and lives in Boston. She doesn’t come to the manor house much.” Mrs. Wallace stepped back and admired her handiwork. “There now. Squire Ferguson can’t argue with that.”
Mary stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror in Mrs. Wallace’s room. “I’m … beautiful.” She didn’t’ want to say it and have the older woman think she was vain. But she’d never seen herself look so good.
“Indeed you are, my dear. Now let’s get downstairs and get to work.”
Mary followed Mrs. Wallace back to the kitchen where trays of savories had been prepared. “The squire’s guests will be arriving any minute,” she told Mary. “Take these to the parlor and place them on the sideboard. They can help themselves.”
“So casual? Shouldn’t I serve them?”
“You will be, but I believe you’ll be serving the wine, while young Mr. Mulligan serves the ale.”
“Oh, I see.” Mary felt her heart flutter. “We’ll be serving together then?”
“Yes,” she said and put some garnish onto each platter. “Off with you now. Here comes the first buggy.”
Mary peered through the kitchen window. Sure enough, a buggy and two carriages were rolling up the lane to the main gate. Bobby, the groom, stood waiting to open it and welcome the first of Squire Ferguson’s guests. The squire himself would be waiting on the front porch. Who she didn’t see was Patrick. “Where is Mr. Mulligan?”
“He’s in the barn, silly man,” Mrs. Wallace said and wiped her hands on her apron. “He should be here.” She glanced at the platters, then the door. “Go fetch him. I’ll take these into the parlor.”
“Yes, Mrs. Wallace,” she said and hurried out the door. A part of her couldn’t wait for Patrick to see her looking so fine. Another worried he wouldn’t take notice. But then, why would he? She was nothing to him but an indentured servant; the lowest of the low, as far as most folks were concerned including her.
Mary walked as fast as she could. She didn’t want Squire Ferguson’s guests see her sprint to the barn and start asking questions. Besides, she didn’t want to muss her hair or get dust all over the skirt of her dress. “Mr. Mulligan?” she called when she reached the entrance.
He popped out of nowhere, a huge smile on his face. “Have ye seen Lady Helena’s colt, lately? What a fine wee fellow he is.”
Mary, a bit out of breath, smiled and tried not to cough. “Aye, he is fine.” She pointed to the manor house. “Mrs. Wallace wants ye.”
He glanced at the buggy and carriages coming up the lane. “Aye, it’s about that time, isn’t it?” He turned around. “I’m off, Mr. Gerber. Thank ye for the chance to see such a fine colt.”
“Come any time, Patrick,” came Mr. Gerber’s reply.
Patrick waved and left the barn. “Shall we get to work, then?”
Mary couldn’t help but smile. “Aye, we’d better, before poor Mrs. Wallace gives us both a good hiding.”
He laughed. “I can tell ye’ve been working with her, lass. Yer starting to sound like the woman.”
“I wonder if she’s sounding like me?” Mary commented as they hurried toward the house. It was all she could do to keep up with his longer strides.
“Don’t count on it. She’s set in her ways and not likely to pick up any new habits, good or bad.”
“Not even if she were to marry the squire?”
“Hush, lass,” he said and glanced around. “That’s between the two of them. The squire doesn’t like it when folks bring it up.”
“But …”
“No buts, lass,” he said and stopped. He looked at her, concern in his eyes. “Sometimes love has to be left on its own. Just because the entire county can see the two belong together, doesn’t mean it will happen.”
“But why not?” she asked confused. “It’s become obvious even to me he cares for her. And she him, come to that.”
“Even so, let the squire and Mrs. Wallace come together in their own time. It will be better for everyone that way.”
Mary glanced at the manor house and shrugged. “As ye say, Mr. Mulligan.”
“I do say. Now let’s go.” He touched her lightly on the elbow to get her moving.
Mary’s belly warmed at the contact as her chest swelled. He walked beside her, quiet now, his eyes focused on the manor house. He was all business, just as she’d seen him at the squire’s outdoor tea. She let go a tiny sigh, resigned to her work, as he was to his. Maybe the squire wasn’t planning on parading her in front of his guests for their entertainment, but wanted to make sure she was good enough to be seen at all. This wasn’t the first dinner he’d had at the manor house. In fact, on previous dinners Mrs. Wallace served, not her.
Mary’s heart sank. That had to be it. The squire probably wanted Patrick there to make sure nothing happened. He served at the inn, after all, and was good at it. Her? She’d only served at the squire’s tea a few days ago. Not much experience to be had from one gathering.
They entered the kitchen through the back and went straight to the worktable where Mrs. Wallace was arranging another tray of food. “What then, Mrs. Wallace?” Patrick asked.
“About time you showed up. Fill some mugs with ale and offer it to the guests as they come through front door.”
“What about me?” Mary asked.
“You’ll serve the wine during dinner. The squire will ply them with ale first, the old scallywag.”
Patrick snorted.
“Well he is!” she said. “That man is up to something, and I aim to find out what it is.”
“Is he now?” Patrick said with a smile.
She set down the fork she was holding and looked him in the eye. “Yes, and mark my words, young man, it might well have something to do with you.”
His face fell. “What?”
She gave him a curt nod. “Why else would you be here?”
Mary glanced between them. “Is the squire entertaining those awful men?”
Mrs. Wallace spun to her. “Hush, child!”
Mary took a step back, unsure of what to do. Seemed no matter what she said or did, it was wrong. “Well, what else am I to think?” She looked at Patrick. “Mrs. Wallace told me …”
“Never mind what I said,” Mrs. Wallace snapped.
Mary’s eyes darted between them again. Best she keep her mouth shut. She pointed at the tray of food. “Would you like me to take that into the parlor and put it on the sideboard?”
“Yes, do that,” Mrs. Wallace said tersely.
Mary plucked it off the worktable and left the kitchen. Let Patrick Mulligan think what he would. It wasn’t any of her business anyway.
She put the tray next to the others just as Squire Ferg
uson entered the parlor followed by the red-haired man from his garden tea. She stared at him, wide-eyed, before Bert the Bruiser sauntered in, followed by several other men, including Mr. Cromwell from The Rose and Thorn.
“Well, if it isn’t the pretty little flower,” Mr. Cromwell said with a smile. “Don’t you look fine this evening?”
Mary blushed from head to toe. She didn’t want attention drawn to herself. Unfortunately …
“Why Squire Ferguson,” the red-haired man drawled. “What have we here?”
“My indentured servant,” the squire snapped. “And you might as well know now, she’s not for sale or trade.”
The man held up both hands. “Wasn’t in the market. She’s your property to do with as you please.” He looked Mary up and down. “Though, I might fancy borrowing her for an hour or two.”
The squire’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
Mary’s heart went straight to her throat. Maybe she was going to need Patrick after all. The red-haired man’s eyes roamed over her. “Not even for a shilling?”
The squire closed the distance between him and the red-haired man. “Not even then.”
“Two shillings?”
Squire Ferguson was about to comment when Patrick hurried into the room, a tray of mugs in his hands. “Sorry to keep you waiting gentlemen, but you had already retired to the parlor. I’ve served your other guests in the hall, Squire.”
“Fine, Patrick,” he said and took Mary by the arm. “Have her help you tonight.”
Patrick stared at the squire’s hold on Mary’s arm. She met his eyes and hoped she didn’t look utterly hopeless. Not that she minded the squire coming to her rescue, but it did make her feel inadequate. What if this sort of thing happened every time Squire Ferguson had guests? Would he think she was more trouble than she was worth?
“I’ll see to her,” Patrick said.
His voice caught her by surprise and she almost jumped. She looked at him. His eyes were fixated on the red-haired man, and vice-versa. What was going on? Mary gulped.
“Come along, lass,” Patrick said and took her by the arm. “We’ve work to attend to.” He ushered her out of the dining room and back to the kitchen.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Wallace said when they entered, her eyes riveted on Mary’s arm.
She quickly pulled it from Patrick’s grasp and went to a nearby hutch. She pulled out two glasses, hurried outside to the pump, and filled them. She drained one glass and filled it again, all the while listening to Mrs. Wallace and Patrick Mulligan’s voices drift to her from the kitchen. They were no doubt talking about her, and she began to wonder if her position was in jeopardy. She laughed. “What position, ye daft girl!”
She returned to the kitchen, glasses in hand, and offered one to Patrick. “Here, drink this. Ye look thirsty.”
He took the glass, drained it, and handed it back. “Stay close to me this evening, Mary.”
She stared at him in shock. He’d not only used her Christian name, (and not for the first time, she reminded herself) but had a serious look on his face. “What’s happening?”
“Just never mind and do as I say, understand?”
She caught the serious tone in his voice and nodded. “Aye, I will.”
Mrs. Wallace, her face red, plopped some boiled potatoes into a dish and began to mash them. “The old windbag! What is he thinking?”
Patrick and Mary exchanged a quick look. “Best we see to the squire and his guests. Have ye poured wine before?”
“Aye, for the squire.”
“Good, do the same for the gentlemen in the dining room. They might not want any until dinner. They talk, eat and drink in the parlor, then do the same thing in the dining room.”
“Where do they put all that food?” she asked, perplexed. “Is this a … business dinner then?”
“Of sorts,” he said, voice dismal. “Offer them wine, but if they refuse, come straight back to the kitchen and stay here.”
She glanced at Mrs. Wallace who nodded. “Best do as he says, dear.”
Mary nodded, picked up the bottle of wine Mrs. Wallace had on the worktable and headed for the parlor.
“Stop.” She turned, eyes wide as Patrick closed the distance between them. “Not without me, lass.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. He filled a pitcher with ale from a small barrel. She’d not noticed it before. He must have brought the ale in while she and Mrs. Wallace were upstairs.
Mary waited for him to finish, then followed him to the parlor. The men were seated around the room eating and drinking. She stood in the corner and waited for Patrick to finish re-filling some of the men’s mugs, then stepped forward. “Wine, mi’ lords?”
One of the men laughed. “Mi’ lords? Where are you from, girl?”
“Ireland, sir,” she said.
“Sirs is fine,” Mr. Cromwell stated. “There’s no need to be so formal for the lot of us. Except for the squire, here.”
She bobbed him a small curtsy. “Wine?”
“No, I prefer ale.”
“I’ll have some wine, girl,” the red-haired man said with a sly smile.
She swallowed hard as she approached. He picked up a wine glass from a nearby tray and watched her every move as she poured. Done, she quickly backed away and almost tripped.
“Clumsy, isn’t she?” the red-haired man commented then took a sip. “Sure you don’t want to be rid of her, Squire?”
Patrick stepped between her and the man. “Done with your ale already, sir?”
“Yes,” he said and tried to wave him away. “Why else would I be drinking wine?”
“Leave Mr. Pike be, lad,” Mr. Cromwell suggested. “Besides, we’ve business to discuss.”
Patrick glared at him. “I just bet you do.”
Mr. Pike laughed. “Be gone, boy, you too, girl. We’ll call if we need you.” He looked Mary over again and licked his lips.
Squire Ferguson stood. “Have Mrs. Wallace begin serving dinner.”
“Yes, sir,” Patrick and Mary said at once. They glanced at each other, then quickly fled to the kitchen.
“Thank ye,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what for. Her heart was beating so fast, she couldn’t think straight.
“Yer welcome. Now do ye see why I didn’t want ye going into the dining room without me?”
Ah, that’s what she was thanking him for. “Yes.” She backed to the worktable, set the wine down, and leaned against it. Her knees went weak as her stomach tied itself into knots.
Patrick set the pitcher down and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, yer safe so long as yer with me.”
“Safe?”
“Aye.” His eyes filled with concern. “We’ll get through this night together.”
She nodded, still unsure of what to do. Did he think her incapable of protecting herself? She did her best not to roll her eyes. She hadn’t done a very good job of it so far. But what could she do? She didn’t dare talk back to one of the squire’s guests. At least Squire Ferguson was looking out for her. That was comforting. Still, why was the squire entertaining such men in the first place? And why was Mr. Cromwell from The Rose and Thorn in attendance?
“Mrs. Wallace, the squire would like you to begin serving,” Patrick said. “If you like, I can do it, so you can keep to the kitchen.” He gave Mary a pointed look before returning his attention to the older woman.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “That would be wise. I don’t like the looks of some of those men, I can tell you that.”
Patrick looked at the door leading to the dining room. “That makes two of us.”
Mary followed his gaze. He was uneasy, she could tell. She took a deep breath. “Are they talking about you?”
That got his attention. He straightened and blew out a long slow breath. “Aye, most likely.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Mrs. Wallace asked.
He shrugged. “That depends on the outcome of their conversation.” He looked at Mar
y. “Don’t worry. I can handle the likes of them.”
Her heart thundered in her chest. “What are ye talking about? Why would they be discussing you?”
Mrs. Wallace put an arm around her. “They want him to fight, that’s what they’re discussing.”
“Mrs. Wallace,” he said with a groan.
“Well, it’s not like she doesn’t know already. Besides, thanks to the squire, the whole village will know soon enough.”
He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
“Ye are the reason those men are here,” Mary said softly.
“I’ll handle this my own way,” he said.
“But … does that mean ye have to do it?” she asked.
“What? Fight?” he said to clarify.
Mary nodded, her heart in her throat.
“That remains to be seen, lass,” he said with a sigh. He looked at the bowl of potatoes. “Finish those and I’ll take their dinner in.”
“I’ll help you,” Mrs. Wallace said.
“I’d rather ye remain here.”
She made a scoffing noise. “Forget what I said earlier. I’ll help you serve. I can handle the likes of them.”
He studied her, as did Mary. Both knew Mrs. Wallace could indeed handle them. “Fine, but you stay put,” he said and gently poked Mary in the shoulder with a finger.
“But, the squire wanted me to serve tonight …”
“Never mind about that, dear,” Mrs. Wallace said. “Best listen to the lad.” She returned to mashing her potatoes as Patrick arranged meat on a platter.
With a sigh, Mary went to a stool in the corner, sat, and watched as Patrick and Mrs. Wallace prepared to serve Squire Ferguson and his guests. She wasn’t sure if she felt upset or relieved. What she did feel was a pleasant tingle go up her spine at the thought that Patrick Mulligan was, without a shadow of a doubt, protecting her.
Mary smiled at the thought and waited for one of them to ask her help.
Chapter 7
The next day Mary watched as Mrs. Wallace stormed through the kitchen preparing breakfast. She was angry, but Mary hadn’t a clue why. Last night remained peaceful for the most part. Patrick and Mrs. Wallace served and took care of the squire’s guests while she waited in the kitchen. Several times she expected the squire to call on her to serve, but he never did. Probably a good thing, if the look on Patrick’s face was an indicator. When he came into the kitchen he looked at her sometimes gently, sometimes not. But any anger on his part wasn’t aimed at her, but the squire’s guests. At least, that’s what she thought. He never said a word about it, not even to Mrs. Wallace, who suddenly made it clear how she felt.