Friends and Lovers

by Joan Smith

  “I could not agree with you more. Those demmed cats have more fun than their owners.”

  At lunch hour, our uninvited guest still made no motion of leaving. Not long afterwards, Mr. Everett arrived. It was his day for a visit, though it had slipped out of my mind. He was not surprised or dismayed to see Menrod lounging on the sofa with Ralph at his feet, looking at picture books, while Mama and myself danced attendance on them both.

  “Good day to you all,” he said, strutting in, knees stiff. “I see you have had a spot of trouble with your roof, Wendy.”

  He heard the story from Menrod, who made much of his fall, complaining of various aches and pains, all with accompanying winces and so on. Everett had a good laugh at our folly. “What you need is a scaffold,” he told us.

  “It is such a big job to build a whole scaffold up the side of the house, only to clean the chimney,” Mama pointed out.

  “ ‘Tis,” he agreed, frowning, “though there’s more than a chimney to do now. There’s the roof to be redone as well. There’s another route you could go. Broad planks laid atop the thatching would serve your purpose, to distribute the weight, you see. Don’t buy them. I’ve planks aplenty at Oakdene I’ll have sent up.”

  “Would they not slip off?” I asked, trying to envisage this arrangement.

  “What I’ll do,” he outlined, taking over the whole project for his own, “is to have my carpenters bang up a V-shaped contraption to sit over the top of the roof, so it won’t fall off. It won’t take a minute. I’d do it now, but I am due in an hour at the Dower House.”

  I was curious to hear his explanation of this statement. Menrod hid his curiosity no better than I. “Calling on my stepmother, are you?” he asked.

  “Her and Lady Althea. I am taking up my gear for making ices, for the ball. My ice tub, freezing pot, spaddles, cellaret, and so on. Her ladyship has got herself a tin freezing pot, which is why she has such poor luck with her ices. It must be pewter. You can pick up a pewter pot for a sovereign, if you know where to go for it. There is no point stinting on cheap gear; it don’t pay off in the long run. The freezing goes on too quickly in the tin pots. The edges are frozen solid before the rest of the stuff is chilled at all. I would be happy to lend them to you as well, Wendy, if you ever find yourself hankering for an ice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “A four-gallon freezing pot is what I have got,” he continued. I could not think it likely I would ever require four gallons of iced cream, but it was kind of him to offer. “I have some excellent receipts as well, if you don’t know how to stir the stuff up. I thought ices were a new thing in the world, but Lady Althea tells me they have been around forever, since the days of the Medicis.”

  “You showed her your gear when she was at Oakdene to see the picture, did you?” Mama asked, with a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

  “She’s not seen it yet. I offered the loan of it yesterday, when I was at the Dower House,” he answered promptly, with no appearance of guilt. “I went to have a look at your ice house, Lord Menrod, in case you hadn’t enough ice for the iced cream, but I see you are well supplied. My ice house at Oakdene holds twenty-five thousand pounds.”

  These statements revealed a closeness between Everett and the ladies that went beyond anything I was aware of. How did he know they planned to serve ices in the first place? He was clearly a pet at the Dower House. I was piqued to learn it, though it was unreasonable of me.

  He left in ample time to be at the Dower House before the hour he had spoken of. Mama could not say what she wanted, with Menrod under her nose, but her impatient jiggling in her chair spoke as clearly as words what she thought. Lady Althea was stealing my beau.

  Within another sixty minutes I learned Lady Althea held a similar grudge against me. She came dashing down to the cottage to learn why Menrod had spent the entire day thus far with us. She had done no more than accept Everett’s ice-making gear from him, learned where Menrod was, and come hounding down after him immediately. Her pretext was to learn how bad his condition was.

  “Lady Menrod and I were so worried to hear from Tarn you had fallen,” she said earnestly, but there was a stiffness about her lips that spoke of anger. “Tarn said it was not serious, or I would have been here sooner. I thought you had gone on into Reading or elsewhere, when you canceled our luncheon engagement,”

  “No, I stayed here, to recover from the shock,” he answered.

  “Have you had a doctor?”

  “Nothing is broken. I don’t want a country sawbones jostling me about,” he replied.

  “You would be more comfortable at home in your bed,” was her next inspiration. “Lady Menrod and I will tend you. Come, now, Menrod, you have battened yourself on Mrs. Harris long enough,” she said, but it was Miss Harris who received the glaring look.

  “You are right, of course,” he agreed, rising from the sofa. He thanked us for our kind attention, then brought another wince of chagrin to Lady Althea’s face when he said offhandedly he would be down in the morning to help Mr. Everett tend to the roof and the chimney.

  “Let Everett do it,” Lady Althea said at once. “You will only fall and hurt yourself again.”

  “I shall let his men do it, but it is my cottage, and I want it done properly, to retain its historical flavor. I shall go into Reading now and arrange to have a thatcher here.”

  “No, you must come home and recuperate,” she insisted.

  “I am feeling much better since your arrival, Althea,” he answered ambiguously. She took it as a compliment, but it seemed to me he was anxious to escape her ministrations.

  “You promised you would help us with the ball tomorrow,” she said. “It is practically upon us, and there are a dozen things to be done. The seating arrangement for dinner, for instance...” she began, then stopped quickly. Menrod cast an embarrassed look at us, for of course Mama and I were not invited to the pre-party dinner.

  “That has nothing to do with me—I left it in your hands completely. Menu, wines, guests...” he said pointedly, to exculpate himself in our eyes, though neither of us expected to be invited for dinner. That was for particularly close friends and relatives, mostly coming from some distance and remaining overnight.

  They left very soon afterwards, Ralph going with his uncle into Reading, while Althea drove back to the Dower House, her face pink with vexation.

  “There is the boldest hussy in England,” Mama declared, exhaling angry puffs of frustration. “Having no luck with Mr. Everett, she is throwing her cap at Lord Menrod, feathers and all.”

  “You have got it backwards, Mama. Having so little luck with Menrod, she is making a pitch for Everett, to incite her first choice to jealousy. She would never marry Mr. Everett. She is an earl’s daughter. She’ll look higher than a lumber dealer for a match.”

  “That explains why Menrod has stuck to us like a burr all day, preventing us from getting a thing done. He used us as an excuse to escape her luncheon party. That is why he hung around so long. I could not make heads or tails of it, for there was not a thing to do to amuse him, but it is all clear now. Next time he wants to get away from her, I hope he goes somewhere else. You notice Lady Althea did not include us in her dinner party. She withheld those invitations on purpose, Wendy, because she fears you are dangling after Menrod, the ninnyhammer. As though he would ever have an interest in you! I remember to this day how he carried on when Peter offered for Hettie, and he was only the younger son.”

  “What did he say, exactly?”

  “Every unpleasant thing you can think of. I cannot remember the words exactly, except for a few phrases, but he felt the match very much beneath Lord Peter. 'It is what comes of his passing a summer in the country, with no decent company or occupation,' he said, as though we were not decent. I will not soon forgive him for that.”

  “He did not mean indecent, only provincial—lacking in cultural refinement. He places great store in such frivolity.”

  Mrs. Pudge had sauntered in, her ha
nds hidden beneath her white apron, to give her the appearance of an expectant mother. She listened to the speeches, then set her head aslant to condemn the whole house of Menrod.

  “Our Hettie was a deal too decent for Lord Peter. Only see where it got her, perished in the sea. Folks that call their lands after their own names, in their pride, all perish like the beasts, and so do the foolish girls that make the mistake of marrying them. Men of high degree are all a lie, including Menrod. I know Lady is at his barn, with that devil cat. Why else would he disappear from the yard the same time as her? I’ll send Pudge up to have a look about for her. Trying to palm me off with that mangy old brindled cat a dozen years old. He wanted to get rid of it so he wouldn’t have to feed her. She’s a good mice-catcher, though, to give the devil her due.”

  This led to the thought that my mother’s room no longer had a full ceiling, but a great gaping hole, which would allow the mice to enter. The remainder of our day was spent tucking old papers and blankets in to seal up the gap, cleaning up the plaster, airing another room for Mama for the night, and later, chasing the half dozen or so mice that had taken advantage of the hole to get into the house.

  It was difficult to sleep, with the strong possibility one shared her room with a mouse or two. I left two tall candles burning all night. There was plenty of time to think of everything, including Menrod’s speech regarding passing a season in the country, with no decent company. His notion of decent, in a bride, would include a good education, the knowledge of French, pianoforte, an appreciation of the arts, and of course a large dowry. A few titles and honors decking the family tree would not go amiss.

  He was not likely to find any such paragon hereabouts except Lady Althea, and he was so eager to escape her that he had chosen instead to go sequester himself in a small cottage till she had run him to ground. He had not appeared bored with his day, either. It had even occurred to me once or twice—when he was watering my head, for instance, that he might be falling into Lord Peter’s trap.

  His manner, at any rate, had traveled to the very perimeter of a friend’s, and was beginning to go beyond it. As he was so very much aware of the dangers lurking in the countryside, I felt sure he would leave soon. Yes, as soon as the six weeks’ interim custody were up, he would go away.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  After my poor sleep, I was awakened by a loud hammering outside my window at eight o’clock in the morning. Still groggy, I raised the window to see Mr. Everett ordering his three carpenters about. He had a piece of paper in his hand, on which he had doubtlessly drawn a careful sketch of the planking to go on the roof. I made a hasty toilette, had a cup of tea and a piece of toast, and went outdoors to greet him.

  “I have decided to give your roof a new subfloor,” he told me merrily. Looking around to the back of the house, I saw a huge load of lumber stood ready for the job. “We’ll just have the old moldy thatch yanked off, and nail down some fresh lumber beneath. It will not interfere with the ancient looks of the place, which is what his lordship is concerned with.”

  “Menrod is coming down later. You had better await his arrival before removing the thatch, Mr. Everett;”

  “We discussed it at my place last night. He is in agreement.”

  “You’re sure? You thought he would have no objection to the brass railing either, but he was very upset,” I reminded him.

  “We actually talked about it. He took his mutton with me last night, he and the quiet little lad, Ralph. They were in Reading to see the thatcher, and stopped off at Oakdene. I put it to him you ladies do a deal of complaining about the dampness of the thatch and the mice, and he feels a good new wooden roof beneath the thatch will keep you drier.”

  The season in the country was indeed working a peculiar spell on Menrod, if he chose to spend an evening with a lumber merchant. I was quite simply amazed to hear it.

  If I ever have the misfortune again to be living in a house whose roof is being replaced, I shall remove to an inn for the duration. It was such an interesting show that every rattle in the neighborhood with nothing better to do came and stood, gawking. It was a strong inducement to go indoors and draw the curtains, but within, there was the awful pounding and hammering overhead, echoing like the inside of a drum, shaking the whole house. Menrod came riding down at ten o’clock to join the throng.

  “How lively for you.” He smiled. “A full-fledged circus going forth in your yard. You should set up a gingerbread stall, and make some profit from it.”

  “If I had known what was involved, I would have opted for the mold and the mice and the smoking grate. My head is throbbing from the din. I suppose it will go on all day.”

  “It won’t be done in a day,” he pointed out reasonably. “The floor will be done in two or three, however, and once the thatchers get to work, the banging will be finished. They work quietly.”

  Mr. Everett walked over to greet Menrod. “The lads will be done in jig time. You’ll notice the fine cured lumber I have supplied you. Well dried—I would not be ashamed to have it in my own house. Quite an entertainment for the kiddies,” he said, including several octogenarians in the word.

  “A terrible racket to saddle the ladies with,” Menrod mentioned.

  “It is. We are a pair of fools not to have thought to invite them to put up with one or the other of us while it goes on. You and your mama run down to Oakdene, Wendy. You will be perfectly comfortable there.”

  “I was just inviting Wendy and her mother to spend the day at the Manor,” Menrod said when he read the dismay on my face. If he was astute, he saw no diminution of it at his own offer. I hardly knew which house was less desirable to go to.

  Accepting Everett’s kind offer would look like encouragement of his suit, while going to the Manor so close to the time of the ball would put us under Lady Althea’s feet. We would be about as welcome as poison ivy to her. Home was suddenly seen to be not at all so bad as before.

  I took the coward’s way out. “Mama spoke of going into town for a few hours,” I lied.

  “That settles it, then,” Everett jumped in quickly. “You will stop off at Oakdene on your way home, and stay there while the work goes forth. I’ll halt the lads a bit early, to let you dine in peace. Unless you would care to sup with me...”

  With the omission of dining at Oakdene, we followed Everett’s plan. We took lunch in Reading, spent an afternoon at Oakdene, gazing at all its finery, like tourists at a museum. We were taken to the attics to see the cherry wainscotting, which was very handsome. The slightest hint of curiosity saw the rug removed from one of the studies, to show us the parquetry unicorn laid into the pattern, also very handsome.

  We returned at four, at which time Everett called the work to a stop. Kind schemer that he is, he had worked only half the roof at a time, so that one side was all done, and the thatch not yet disturbed on the other side.

  “We’ll give the lads tomorrow off, so that you and your mama may be home in peace to ready yourselves for the party. I hope my people took care of you at Oakdene?”

  “Superb care, thank you so very much.”

  “After the ball, you will come to spend a few days, if you like, while this little job is finished up for you.”

  We should have asked him to dinner, but with both of us away all afternoon, it had not been arranged, so was impossible. We ate a simple omelette ourselves, in the deafening silence that followed the day’s hammering.

  The next day was blissfully peaceful. We saw neither Everett nor Menrod, the children, nor anyone else. Though quiet, it was not dull, with a ball to prepare for. No peacock, I had not had a new gown made, but I did hang my best blue crepe on the line to air in the morning. During the afternoon, while I was working to revive my complexion with some lemon juice and oatmeal, I toyed with my hair, wondering what the deuce a victime do might be.

  Mama thought it was a style popular during the French Revolution, favored by Victims there and aped in England by society. If so, it cannot have
been the highest kick of fashion. The Revolution was twenty-five years old. She pointed out to me in a two-year-old fashion magazine a style that was similar to the victime. I tried puffing my curls around my head but looked a perfect quiz, so abandoned the idea.

  Pearls were my jewelry, a single strand of good-sized pearls given to me by my father’s mother. With my new white kid gloves, I felt elegant in the extreme. Mama too had her navy silk aired, and wore her pearls, larger and longer than my own. She wore a white shawl with a long fringe, to cover her bare arms.

  We were no sooner announced and made welcome by the hostess, the guest of honor, and Lord Menrod, ranged in state at the stair landing, than Mr. Everett came trotting up to us. It scarcely left us time to assess Lady Althea’s toilette—a beautiful bronze taffeta, very much the shade of hair, and a set of emeralds much darker than her eyes, and much more beautiful.

  “A dandy do,” Everett said, rubbing his hands. “I was surprised not to see you sit down at dinner. Lady Althea said they had so many houseguests it was impossible, but it seems to me they could have squeezed in a couple of extra chairs. Menrod was put out about it, and so was I. I would not have come, had I known you were omitted.”

  “We are not on such close terms with Lady Althea as you are coming to be,” Mama told him.

  “How was the dinner?” I enquired.

  “A fair meal,” he said judiciously. “I expected to see some better seafood than prawns, and oysters, but the roast was tasty. My own cook does the fowl better, I think. A fine bit of carving there, around the oval mirrors,” he said on the next breath. We strolled toward the mirrors to admire this specimen of wood, that was bound to interest Mr. Everett.

  There was plenty of wood to catch his attention. He traced a wooden bunch of grapes with his finger, to determine whether it had been sanded after carving or the artist had worked his knife so skillfully as to leave no rough edges. “The grain of it looks like oak,” he said doubtfully. “Oak is a hard wood for ornamental carving.”