Trouble Cove

by Nancy Lindley-Gauthier

  The sisters alighted together, and Genevieve handed George a tip. Two for lunch, anyway. I heard voices as the old art professor ushered the French lady down the front hall stairs; four then.

  I withdrew into Osten’s tiny side office off the foyer as they all went in to the meal. I was near enough to assist with any problem, yet not obliged to join the conversation. Bills needed attention, apparently. I began to sort the pile.

  We of the resort enjoyed the popularity that went with spending.

  Locals in the little harbor towns around us took the sudden arrival of this new resort in stride. While the reports from Britain were grim, the summer of nineteen sixteen would very likely be remembered for its local economic boom. The resort ordered everything imaginable, from vegetables to baked goods, fish to fine fillets, wine and brewed goods, and hand-made gift items.

  I sighed over the array of bills stuffed wildly in the ledger book. I could only shake my head; our popularity certainly depended on our paying what was owed. It seemed Mr. Osten had not sent out checks with any regularity of late. An oversight? It had to be.

  Genevieve leaned in from the front foyer.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” I half stood, ready to run out on an errand, if she required it.

  She brought a finger to her lips. I could hear deep voices from the smoking room next door but could not quite hear what they said.

  Gen winked at me. “The sweet shop lady set aside some Jordan almonds for me. Avery’s favorite. I wanted to slip them into the smoking room when the men weren’t about. It would be such a lovely surprise. I can’t manage it, though. They’ll notice me.”

  Notice her! I guess they would. Today she wore a burnt-orange mid-length jacket accessorized with a ghastly bright blue headscarf. She had no idea of colors matching or not matching, but her sister usually managed to dissuade her from truly wild combinations. I tried not to stare at the scarf. Tried.

  “I can pop it in there later,” I offered. “Did you want to leave a little card or something?”

  She giggled. “No no, it can be anonymous. He’ll enjoy them so, after dinner.” She pressed the box into my hands and paused there, for half a second. “Elizabeth, you have always been so kind and helpful. I do hope you’ve enjoyed the stay here, too?”

  So not only was Genevieve lovelier and richer, but she was, by miles, a nicer person than I. I forced a little smile and said, “It has all been lovely.”

  I trotted down the hall and peeked into the smoking room.

  Avery was bent over his wireless contraption. “I’ve had a broadcast right here in this room, word for word what was being announced in New York City at the same time.”

  Two guests rolled their cigarettes around and nodded. The one studying a coastal map did not as much as lift his gaze. The older one had a sharp look about him, not inviting conversation. I fairly scurried away.

  I ran straight into another guest; Gen’s sister, Ariel, also hovering, rather oddly, outside the men’s smoking lounge.

  Ariel had the same fate hanging over her head as I; make a good marriage and hurry up about it. Gen’s not-quite-as-lovely sister spun and pretended to be looking toward the front foyer windows, as if she had been watching the gulls hover over the retreating tide all along. “We’re so near the water; this hotel is almost floating on the sea.”

  “Yes. Lovely view.” I tried to scoot by her. Why did she tarry here? I wanted my own lunch, if the guests were finished.

  She followed like a pesky child. “I have loved this picturesque setting all summer. Now, all I can say is I’m freezing to death. Why isn’t there a fire set in the fireplace? Thick wool drapes in these front rooms?”

  “I’m so sorry.” I stopped. “Can I get you something, heat your tea, or find you a sweater?”

  “I’d like some information.” She crossed her arms. “Have you worked for the owners long?”

  “Only this summer.”

  “Tell me.” Ariel fiddled with one of those very insufficient curtains. “Exactly how has Avery avoided conscription into war service for so long? He’s the perfect age to be in the service. There must be some reason?”

  “I haven’t any idea,” I replied. I had every idea, in fact. The moneyed sort like Avery did not get packed off to war (unless their father wanted them to go, which might well be the case with his brother Daniel.) I certainly couldn’t say such a thing, though.

  Ariel stretched a hand to me. “Forgive my questions. You must be careful what you say, of course. But I want you to be perfectly frank. Avery seems quite the mystery.”

  “Thinking of him, are you?” I whispered, knowing perfectly well she was not. Practical, plain Ariel did not have the net needed to catch the likes of Avery Brookeson.

  “Gen is. You know she is,” Ariel spoke frankly. “Avery is popular in the Halifax social scene, and I guess he’ll follow his father in their Halifax business. My sister is down to inherit a decent fortune and she’s… Well, she thinks they are made for one another. I think we need a more practical approach.” She tucked her arms all the tighter said, boldly, “More than once I thought him sweet on you, Elizabeth.”

  She plainly didn’t mind what she said to the help.

  “I’m not down to inherit anything, decent or otherwise,” I admitted. “My family is nothing in the city, and if my sister hadn’t married Ambrose Belanger and got noticed in the social pages, I probably wouldn’t have even been hired here.”

  “If we had known you’d win all those ladies’ sailing races, all of us would have tried to get you to come up and join our teams this summer. You were a lucky third for Avery.” she trailed off and wandered to the sitting room.

  I followed along after her. I could hardly ignore that she spoke not only frankly, but kindly. “I couldn’t afford to stay here as a guest. This is my job, but I’m grateful you lot included me so much.”

  “Avery included you,” she corrected.

  “We are about the same age, I think.” I shrugged. “Genevieve shouldn’t give it a second thought.”

  “She doesn’t.” Ariel gazed straight at me, earnestly. “She doesn’t ever have second thoughts. She thinks he’s a perfect gentleman. Mims and Dad think he’s perfect for her. Otherwise, we wouldn’t still be here, would we? Hoping that their, er”—she waved a hand—“friendship might become more. More of a formal courtship.”

  It was exactly what my parents hoped for me. Oh, not Avery Brookeson, precisely, but that over the summer, elbow to elbow with the swells, they hoped I might make a match almost as good as my sister’s.

  Mamma had as much as said so, one afternoon, “After all, your sister is hardly the looker in this family! If you put your mind to it, who can say?” My toes curled up at the memory.

  ‘Marrying Avery doesn’t sound appealing to you, does it? Why? Is it Avery? Do you object to his lifestyle?”

  “What? Oh, of course not. That is to say, I can’t speak to his lifestyle. For goodness sakes, Ariel, working here is the most exciting thing I have ever done. I’m just not eager to find myself all settled down, in a house on a street exactly like where I grew up, with a view of other houses, and see nothing but streets and nosy people all my days!”

  “I might have said the same thing myself, not so long ago.” Ariel seemed poised on the verge of sharing something about herself, then abruptly barked. “You can’t blame me for thinking there’s something odd about him, sitting around here so late in the season. They delay returning to the city because of him, don’t you think?”

  “He’s keeping his mother company and overseeing the resort. Mrs. Brookeson insists she’s not going home until her younger son is released from service. You know how she is. She says her husband never should have signed for him to go in, a year under age and all.”

  “Unlikely reason, don’t you think? I don’t believe it,” Ariel said. “Her husband probably hasn’t the power, even with all their money, to get the boy out of the service.”

  “What else would
be the point then?”

  “I think Avery is avoiding service. Military service. I think his mother is staying here in order to keep him here. Away from the city, out of the public view. You know.”

  “Avoiding? Oh, surely not. It would be a—a shameful thing,” I cast about for some other answer. “Surely not.”

  “I read about politics, the war, about people struggling for their lives, and then, here we are, acting as if the big society lifestyle was the most important thing in the world. You wouldn’t know there was a war on, living here.” She leaned forward and clutched her hands together. “Elizabeth, young men from all of Canada, Newfoundland, even here on the island are shipping overseas, some never to return! There’s talk of German warships off this very coast and our merchant vessels go missing too often to be accidents. Yet, we sit around and talk about fashion. Organize teas. Do any of the rich young men here at the resort end up going off to fight? Does it seem like we are surrounded by patriots here?”

  “Some here are very informed. Madame Chatillon is always pouring over the newspapers,” I pointed out. “Avery and his cronies listen to reports on the wireless.”

  “He’s more interested in the weather, if you ask me. He did nothing but host parties this summer. So frivolous. Making small talk about nothing. At home, we were very involved in our local Red Cross chapter. I was hoping we’d get back to doing more good works, this fall. Now, I’m stuck here as Gen’s chaperone. She doesn’t want to leave Avery. He’s been dawdling here, weeks and weeks after Oceanside should have closed.”

  “Yes. What does that prove though? There are a number of us still tarrying here.”

  Ariel settled on the settee, automatically adjusting her skirt and smoothing her hair. “Yes. We all do have our reasons, don’t we? Gen’s reason is plain as plain. She stays for him, so I keep her company. Mark and most of the other young men follow after Avery’s endless parties. They probably do the same when they are back in Halifax, hanging around all the clubs. Mindless.”

  “Mindless,” I repeated.

  “Some do have a reason to stay. I mean, our French lady likely has nowhere else to go.”

  I nodded. “And, the old art professor would happily freeze to death to keep painting his precious seascapes.”

  “At the very least, wouldn’t you think Avery would have been expected to be back in the city, by now?”

  “None of my business,” I mumbled.

  “It is mine, if my sister is to marry Avery. I think young Daniel Brookeson got into a bit of trouble and they shipped him off, and his departure provided a handy excuse. Avery is no patriot and a coward.”

  I sidled down the hall, horrified. I mean, I might harbor some suspicions, but… “I’m so sorry you feel that way.”

  She stomped along in my wake. “Don’t you see? If I could do one thing right by my family, I’d like it to be making sure Gen lands someone nice, someone worthwhile. She deserves it. If you know something about him, tell me.”

  I inched toward the front room in hope of escape. Honestly! What could I say? Then too, I did not want the resort Manager Osten overhearing me in discussing such things.

  Ages later, I slipped into the smoking room and dutifully dumped the almonds in a candy dish. The room was in disarray, with furniture shoved back and a big map laid out on the floor. They’d marked the resort’s beach as well as the bigger moorings, from Ingonish and McLellan’s Harbor, past Meat Cove and around the point to Trouble Cove.

  They’d strewn the mail on an end-table. So careless! Someone had grabbed up a letter for Madame Chatillon and left it in among the gentlemen’s mail. I pocketed it with a mental note to leave it in the ladies’ basket in the foyer. I noticed the headline on The Cape Courier and with Ariel’s comments in mind, paused to read the top article.

  In the ‘Over the Wires this week,’ column, meaning the telegraph wires, reports of damage to a Marconi Telegraph station at the port city of Sydney. Signal was lost between Sydney and the Halifax station for much of two days, wire discovered down. Investigation has proved inconclusive; speculation blamed German sabotage.

  They blamed every problem these days was “German sabotage.” I never knew what to think of such things. The war seemed so terrifically far away.

  I sat in the big leather chair and glanced around the smokers’ lounge: the men’s room of course. Wasn’t it strange that I, just by dint of being ‘staff’ could wander practically anywhere in the establishment, without comment?

  I sighed. Once I’d have thought it an extraordinary freedom. Now, I recognized it as a difference, an important difference, from me and the ladies.

  Chapter Four

  Threat of Storm

  Thunder rumbled the morning to life. Sea spray and rain spattered against the windows, and the air tingled with expectation.

  Even in my back-of-house bedroom, I could feel the wind shaking every beam and rafter. I scrambled out to the front hall window. Giant, white-capped waves stormed up our beach. Let my Daro be safe, I prayed. Fishermen knew when not to go to sea, I hoped.

  I belted downstairs straight to our big monster kitchen.

  “Missus Buxton ain’t come.” Beryl busily poached eggs on the giant stove.

  “Cook hasn’t come. Why, she’s never missed a day.” I drew back, aghast. Why in months and months, and indeed, in the face of thunderstorms and summer gales, she had always arrived precisely on time. Beryl could make breakfast and I could serve, but the idea of Cook not arriving suggested weather conditions quite beyond the ordinary.

  The side door burst open to none-other than a drenched Daro Michelson. “Get you things. We need to get you inland.”

  Beryl gawked at him. “Ain’t leavin.’ I’ll lose my job!”

  Daro shook his head sending a shower of frozen raindrops about the kitchen. “Who will do the cooking and cleaning here if you and Mrs. Buxton don’t? They aren’t going to dismiss you. You’ll be safe up to your auntie’s cottage, for now, anyway.”

  I nodded. “If he thinks you should go, Beryl, why then, you must go.”

  “You, too, miss.” He motioned toward the coat rack. “Dress quick now, and I’ll see you up to her Auntie Alma’s, as well.”

  “Cook will be furious if she gets here to find no help at all,” I said.

  “She’ll not be coming.” Daro spoke with perfect assurance. “White squall. Boats are staying at their moorings, people are keeping indoors. “

  “I must tell these folks then. I mean, the manager and all must be warned.”

  “We’ve told them,” he barked. “We warned them months ago. This place was not built for a Nova Scotia winter. They insist it is ‘state of the art.’ We’ll leave them to it. No need for you to stay. Get a hat. Freezing spray coming across the road. It might get bad here.”

  Beryl paused on the doorsill, looking at me. She wanted my permission, I realized. “Yes, go on, get your coat, run along. Breakfast is all set. I’ll tell Mr. Osten I’ve sent you.”

  “Captain.” Daro raised his eyebrows.

  “I cannot simply up and leave,” I hissed at the man. “There are still nearly a dozen guests here. There is the resort’s old Packard.” Even as I said, it, I guessed taking the big, open-topped four-seater automobile might not be the best idea. Still I carried on. “We could fit everyone in and get them to safety if you think we absolutely must leave.”

  “There’s freezing spray coming over the road. It would be the worst thing, trying to take an automobile out. These rich people decided to stay here and now for better or worse, they’ll have to stick it out. You come with me.”

  I had the feeling he’d have shove me in a rucksack if I didn’t agree.

  “I need a minute.” I ran ’round to Osten’s office, trying to think of some way to explain my departure, but Osten was not in his office. The smoking room also sat empty, and Avery’s heavy overcoat had gone.

  The wind rattled the windowpanes in the front room. The cold swept over thresholds and around doorfra
mes and swirled around my feet. I stopped, abruptly, looking at the sea spray blowing from the little bay directly onto our wonderful front view windows.

  Daro thundered after me. “Come away from the glass, miss!” He shepherded me back to the kitchen. His hand sat gently at my waist, and I fear my mind insisted on picturing him as my dance partner. Oh, if only Daro had been my escort at the summer ball. We would have swept out onto the floor as naturally as we sailed the Thistle.

  I could see us together so easily. Daro would have said, ‘Captain, I’ve never seen the likes of one who dances as well as she sails.’ In response I would have said, would have said… Even my impressive imagination could not keep me on the dance floor as we shoved open the swinging door to the kitchen.

  Beryl stood poking at the great stone oven. She looked guiltily over her shoulder. “Just checkin’ the lucky cupboard.”

  I had no idea what she babbled about and struggled not to feel annoyed with the girl. It was hardly her fault if we were not, in fact, in an elegant ballroom. “We should pack a few things.”

  Though Daro’s hand on my waist remained gentle, he nearly shook with urgency.

  “Never mind,” I said to her. “We’ll go right now.”

  Daro hustled us out the door. “I’ll show you to Alma’s, but we must hurry.”

  Wind caught my hair and my cloak the moment I stepped over the threshold. Wind swirled in every direction, swooping from the rafters above while rolling in like waves from the sea. Instead of going to the road, we turned inland and dashed up the long hillside.

  I glanced back only to see the resort’s big bay mare standing, tail to the wind, watching me depart.

  “My goodness. Ainslea-mare! No one’s seen to her!” I started back.

  “Miss.” Daro Michelson pointed after Beryl. “Run along with Beryl. I’ll close the mare in her stall and be right along. Go.”

  I hated leaving the big bay lady, though. One of the workmen usually filled her hayrick of a morning, saw to her water, and gave her a proper breakfast of grain. I worried Daro wouldn’t know to feed her.