It Only Takes a Kiss

by Wilma Counts

Mac raised his eyebrows as Barkley left to get the drink. “Something wrong, Mr. Wainwright?”

  “You might say that.” Alex waited until Barkley had brought the drink and he had taken a large, burning swallow before answering. “To start with, you can drop that Wainwright business, Mac. I am back to myself.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I doubt it is all that good, but it’s happened.” He explained the arrival of Captain Whitby and the captain’s inadvertently blurting out Alex’s name and title.

  “I take it Miss Whitby did not react well,” Mac said.

  “Not well at all. But then she has never made a secret of the regard she has for the owner of the Abbey. Lack of regard, that is.” He took another swallow of the drink and felt its warmth all the way down.

  Mac finished the last spoonful of the stew, pushed the bowl aside, and reached for his glass of ale. “So now what, sir? Are you taking a room here?”

  “No. You and I, my friend, are taking up residence at the Abbey. Now. This evening. Before I have time to talk myself out of it.”

  “Do you think it is safe to do so?” Mac asked.

  “Safe enough with you along as an extra set eyes and ears,” Alex said.

  “Very good, sir. I need a few minutes to gather my things.” Mac finished his ale and rose.

  “While you do that, I shall pen a note to the Abbey’s steward, who, I’m sure, has long been expecting something of this sort.” Alex signaled Barkley again for a refill of his drink and asked for writing materials. He merely sipped at the drink this time as he composed the note.

  Mr. Teague:

  You are to report to Weyburn Abbey no later than 8:00

  tomorrow morning. You will bring with you any

  ledgers you may have in your possession that pertain

  to the maintenance of the entire estate and be

  prepared to explain any and all discrepancies. Also,

  please bring with you any keys that may be needed to

  examine any of the properties of the Abbey.

  A. Sterne

  Alex put the date and time beneath his signature, then signaled Barkley again. He gave the innkeeper the note and a coin to see the missive delivered immediately to Teague.

  “I shall see it done, my lord,” Barkley said.

  Ah, Alex thought, the word is out already. But he had not sworn Perkins to secrecy, had he?

  Chapter 17

  An hour and a half later, having hired a coach and driver at the inn, Alex and Mac presented themselves at the front entrance of the Abbey. The butler, Mullins, answered their knock after a long while. He carried a lamp, which he held high.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. The Abbey is closed to visitors at this hour.”

  “Not to me,” Alex said brusquely and pushed past the man.

  “Sir! I shall summon help and have you thrown out if you do not leave at once.” His raised voice brought the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from the rear of the building.

  “He owns the place, you twit,” Mac muttered as he too shoved past the openmouthed butler and set down two large bags before returning for the last two.

  Alex turned and faced Mullins just as his wife joined him. “Mac is right: I own the place. I am Lord Alexander Benjamin Sterne, and if you will direct me to the nearest room that is not shrouded in hundreds of yards of holland linen, I will be happy to supply you proof of that statement.”

  The housekeeper and butler looked at each other and, with the kind of silent communication found in long-lasting marriages, seemed to come to agreement, nodding to each other before shifting their attention back to Alex.

  “I am afraid that would be the kitchen at the moment, my lord,” the housekeeper said apologetically. “Mr. Mullins and I were just having a cup of tea. Would you care to join us?”

  “Mac and I will be happy to do so,” Alex said as Mac set down the last two bags.

  They followed the Mullins couple into the kitchen, which Alex was pleased to see was clean and neat. A white cloth covered one end of the central worktable, and tea paraphernalia had been set out there. Both the husband and wife were nervous, but did not appear to be frightened. They directed Alex and Mac to a bench on one side of the table. Mullins sat on the other side while his wife added more hot water and more tea to the pot, then procured two more sets of cups and saucers before sitting herself. After checking the strength of the brew, she poured and passed the tea and a plate of lemon biscuits.

  Alex retrieved from an inner coat pocket the papers Mac had brought with him from London. “These documents should establish my identity adequately,” he said. He sipped the hot tea as the couple held the papers closer to the light and studied them intently.

  Finally, Mullins handed them back to Alex. “Yes, my lord. They seem to be in order.”

  There was a long, heavy silence as Alex tapped his fingers nervously on the table. Then he announced, “I intend to open the Abbey immediately and to take up residence here.”

  “Oh, very good, my lord,” Mrs. Mullins said with a welcoming smile. “The staff will be so pleased.”

  “Yes. Well, I will need to know much more about the staff than I do presently,” he said bluntly. “Beginning with the two of you.”

  They looked at each other apprehensively, but merely waited for him to go on.

  “Miss Whitby indicated when I visited here earlier that you have been fulfilling housekeeper and butler duties here for several years.”

  Mullin nodded. “That is true.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “Who—?” Mullins seemed confused by the question.

  “Who actually employed the two of you? Sir Benjamin? Or Mr. Teague?”

  “Oh. Sir Benjamin,” Mullins said.

  His wife added, “Atkins, the previous butler, wanted to retire. Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper at the time, decided she wanted to go and live with her daughter, so the two positions became available at the same time. We were very lucky.”

  “Who recommended you?”

  Mrs. Mullins drew herself up like a pouter pigeon. “We came with very good references, my lord. But Mrs. Jennings is my husband’s cousin.”

  “So Mr. Teague did not employ you?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, he had suggested a connection of his own, but both Sir Benjamin and his dear wife were very fond of Annie—Mrs. Jennings—and they accepted her recommendation,” the wife answered.

  Her husband added, “Later, Sir Benjamin wrote it into his will that we should stay on after he passed. We like it here. I—uh—I hope you will find our services satisfactory, my lord.”

  “I see,” Alex said, stalling before asking his next question. “Who built the wall in the cellar?”

  The two looked at each other for a moment, then the husband answered, “It was built after Sir Benjamin took ill.”

  “Why?”

  Again, it was the husband who answered. “Mr. Teague said it would prevent dampness coming from the underground portion of the house and he convinced Sir Benjamin it would be an economizing measure.”

  “I see,” Alex said again, and finished his tea. “I am sure that in time, I will get to know all of the staff, but for now, I should like you to rouse a maid or two to the task of preparing bedchambers for Mr. MacIntosh and me. It need not be the master suite for tonight. We’ll look everything over tomorrow and decide on more permanent arrangements.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The Mullinses rose immediately to do as he bade.

  Alex looked at Mac when they were no longer within hearing. “What do you think, Mac?”

  “They know more than they are saying, but I’m not sure they are in Teague’s pocket.”

  “Neither am I.”

  * * * *

  Hero steeled herself for the family gathering. She would simply present
herself as though today had not turned out to be the most devastating day of her life. She could pretend to be normal—had she not had years of practice already? She gave herself a mental shake. Do stop feeling sorry for yourself. Wallowing in self-pity is the way of madness. Now, for heaven’s sake, just carry on. You’ve already put a damper on Michael’s homecoming!

  She went to her room and called for a maid to help her out of the cotton day dress and, after she had washed away any residual evidence of tears, into a teal-blue, high-waisted silk gown with a wide, scooped neckline and cap sleeves. She dismissed the memory of how, in choosing that garment earlier, she had imagined Adam’s removing it. No, not Adam. Never again Adam. What was that again about self-pity? She squared her shoulders as she drew on elbow-length gloves.

  She reported to the nursery to gather up Annabelle, for this was to be truly a family gathering, with all the children as well as the adults. Annabelle was dressed in a sunny yellow frock that seemed to suit the child’s excitement at being included in an adult affair.

  “Ooh, Auntie H’ro, you look like a princess!” Annabelle squealed as Hero entered the nursery. The little girl sat on a child-sized couch, petting her kitten beside her.

  “And so do you, my darling. Your new dress is very pretty.” Hero mouthed a thank-you to the nurse.

  “Nurse Henson says I must leave Bitsy here when we go down to supper. Do I really got to do that? Bitsy will get lonely.”

  “Yes,” Hero said firmly. “You must leave Bitsy here. And she will not be lonely because Nell will be coming to play with her while we have supper.” Two-year-old Nell, Diana’s youngest, would be given over to the care of Nurse Henson while the rest of the family dined.

  “Oh. Aw right, then.” Annabelle jumped down from the couch and turned to admonish the kitten. “Now you be good, Bitsy. No scratching.”

  Hero, Annabelle, and Nurse Henson went down to the drawing room, where Annabelle was introduced with proper curtsies to her Uncle Michael and her new Aunt, Monique, who promptly became “Auntie ʼNique.” When the toddler, Nell, had departed with the nurse, there ensued one of those awkward silences that sometimes occur in any gathering of people.

  Annabelle, standing at Hero’s knee after everyone was seated, looked around the room, then up at Hero. “Where is Mr. Ainrye?”

  All eyes focused on Hero, and she could tell that the Tamblins had been informed of the afternoon’s bombshell news. She leaned closer to Annabelle and said, “He had to be somewhere else this evening.”

  “Oh. Where?”

  “I—I’m not sure,” Hero said, accepting the glass of sherry her father handed her. She watched as Annabelle was given a glass of lemonade—only half-filled, as a precaution against spills.

  “But he’s coming back, isn’t he?” Hero knew that Annabelle, despite being firmly ensconced in the Whitby family, had latent memories of the first three years of her life—and feared being abandoned by new people who appeared. Drat that man! She chalked up yet another mark against him. “Uh, not tonight, he’s not,” she said to Annabelle. “Now, why don’t you tell Freddie about your new trick with your pony?” She gave the child a gentle shove in the direction of Diana’s younger son.

  “You handled that well,” Diana, who sat next to Hero on the horsehair settee, said softly, and touched her glass to Hero’s. In a more normal tone, she announced, “Michael, it is wonderful that you have given us an excuse to have us all together. What with Anthony and Jonathan at school so much of the year, it is rare for us to have this pleasure.”

  Michael and his bride occupied another settee set at an angle to the one on which Hero and Diana sat. Dr. Whitby and his son-in-law, Milton, occupied winged chairs that had been moved to be part of the conversational group. Anthony and Jonathan and Diana’s two daughters, Juliet and Portia, sat on straight-backed, cushioned chairs behind the Tamblin parents; the girls, aged twelve and nine, were obviously awestruck by the stylish young woman Michael had brought into the family’s midst. Hero had noted that others had been given glasses of sherry or lemonade as appropriate to their ages.

  “So—Michael—tell us the story of you and Monique,” Diana demanded in an “older sister” kind of tone.

  Michael grinned and glanced at his wife before responding. He set his glass on the table in front of him. “It was just after the Battle of Waterloo.”

  “But that was over a year ago!” Hero said. “And all this time, you never said a word?”

  “Let him finish,” Diana admonished.

  “Yes, allow me to tell my tale my way, Hero. This lovely woman came to the hospital looking for her brother. She was dressed in fine clothes and seemed totally out of place in that environment. Many citizens of Brussels fought beside the allies, you know.”

  “My brother, Andre, he no come home after the battle. Not the next day, either. I so hoped he merely injured, but—” Monique shrugged and looked down at her hands in her lap.

  Michael slipped a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I helped her look for him, but we did not find him. I think I fell in love with her during that search.” He looked at his wife, who smiled at him. “But I was sorely afraid I would never see her again. You simply cannot imagine what chaos reigned in that city. I mean there were wounded everywhere, in our hospital, of course—we had taken over the cathedral, I might add—in private homes, and even lying in the streets.”

  “It truly was ʼorrible,” Monique said.

  “But to my surprise,” Michael went on, “she came back the next day, donned an apron, and started washing dirty bodies with ugly wounds. She was great with patients, especially with those speaking French.”

  “Did you find your brother?” Diana asked gently.

  “No,” Monique answered. “He had died in the first onslaught at Quatre Bras. H-he was buried with his comrades.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Diana murmured, and the rest of the Whitby clan nodded their sympathy.

  “So the two of you worked together, eh?” Dr. Whitby asked.

  “We did. But she was a real woman of mystery.” Michael grinned teasingly at Monique. “She’d appear at the hospital each day in a fine dress, put on an apron, and get to work, but she refused to let me take her home or even send one of our orderlies with her.”

  “They were all needed right there,” Monique interposed.

  “Turns out,” Michael went on, “her family had no idea what she was doing. Her father is a lawyer, one of the city’s best-known judges, actually.”

  “Papa has very strict notions of what women should do,” Monique said. “Tending wounded foreign soldiers was not something he approved of.”

  “Nor did he approve of her walking out with a foreign soldier—officer or no,” Michael said. “You won’t believe what I went through to convince first the daughter and then her father that I am a worthwhile sort of person!”

  “Hmm. Perhaps they sensed the truth,” Hero teased.

  “But I persevered and finally won her, and then him, over.”

  Stewart appeared in the doorway to signal Hero that supper was being served. Conversation during the meal was lively. Hero was pleased to see the ease with which they all seemed to slip back into the sort of family interaction they had been used to, though Michael had been away for over four years. Monique seemed rather quiet, but surely that was to be expected when a bride was meeting her new family for the first time.

  After supper, at Hero’s suggestion, Diana sent her two daughters to the nursery, where they would help entertain Freddie and Annabelle who were to remain in the playroom until the Tamblin family were ready to return home. The children would have their own tea there. The rest of the family retired to the library where Stewart delivered a heavily laden tea tray. From one end of the couch she shared with Diana and Milton, Hero had command of the tea tray. Her father and the two young boys sat in scattered chairs. Michael and Monique
sat in winged chairs across from Hero. When the tea had been poured to everyone’s satisfaction and her father had offered his eldest son and his son-in-law brandies to accompany it, Dr. Whitby, as the family patriarch, spoke.

  “I have filled Michael in on what has been going on in Weyburn recently,” he announced. “I think as a family we need to be prepared for what the future might hold.”

  Hero saw the others all nod and that Milton had instinctively reached for his wife’s hand.

  “Smugglers are hardly a new phenomenon for any coastal town in all of Cornwall,” Michael said.

  Trust Michael to jump right to the heart of things, Hero thought.

  “That is true,” her father agreed. “However, since the war, the government’s pursuit of such activities has intensified profoundly. And, heretofore, no one in our family has been directly involved. But now—”

  Milton sighed heavily. “You must know I never intended—I had no idea things would get so out of hand.”

  “Mr. Teague threatened to evict us if Milton failed to help him after he lost those other members of the gang,” Diana said. “And after what happened to the Thompson family…”

  “Anthony and Jonathan?” her father prompted.

  Milton gave his father-in-law a bleak look. “Bad timing. They just happened to be there when Teague came to the house. Had I been able to keep them out of it, believe me, I would have,” Milton added, and Hero heard the anguish in his voice. “All I wanted to do was save my family’s home. And I’m not the only one.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you are,” his father-in-law said.

  “At least half the locals involved are there because Teague has some threat hanging over our heads,” Milton said. “Those thugs he brought in from Bristol are very efficient at keeping people in line too,” he added bitterly.

  “The question is, what now?” Michael said. “Can the Abbey’s steward make a threat of eviction stick?”

  “He certainly did with the Thompsons,” Diana said.

  “That was months ago, though,” her father said. “Now that the owner has shown some interest—”