Katherine, When She Smiled

by Harmon, Joyce

  Dinner that night was all about the past and the future, with anecdotes from the floor skating party vying with plans for the picnic. While Clara continued to ask Charles if they might do this or that thing for the picnic, Charles would merely say, “It’s your show. You make the decisions and tell me what’s to be done.”

  Over the dessert course, Clara said, “Hector, when we leave here, Amanda might accompany us to Fernley Park.” Though she addressed Hector, her eyes were on Charles, wondering if he could be brought to the realization that the match under his nose required him to take action.

  “Oh, yes?” said her agreeable husband with a smile. “Nice for you, m’dear. And of course, always welcome, Mandy.”

  Mandy gave Hector an enigmatic smile. Clara looked from her back to Charles, whose face was unreadable. She felt frustrated, almost angry. Couldn’t either of them see it was a perfect match?

  Charles was not a stupid or unobservant man; it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Amanda had been summoned to Greymere more for his benefit than for Clara’s. His sister’s machinations on his behalf amused and rather touched him, and he couldn’t deny that Mandy was the living embodiment of the sort of lady he said he was looking for.

  So, what was holding him back? Charles couldn’t say, even to himself. Amanda was certainly a jolly girl, just what he said he wanted. And yet somehow he knew, she wasn’t the girl for him.

  It was a rare quiet evening at Greymere Manor. In the drawing room after dinner, Clara and Amanda gathered at a table with lists, avidly making plans for the picnic. Captain Fernley stretched out on a sofa and was soon peacefully asleep. Charles sat in a comfortable chair with a newspaper, while Han sat on the other side of him with a sketch pad.

  Charles read the newspaper. He read the entire thing. How long had it been since he’d had the uninterrupted time to read a newspaper? And then he came to the end. The dullest article, the silliest ad, he’d read them all. He cast the newspaper aside and looked around. Han, he noted, had begun a fresh sketch pad. The old pad lay on the table between them and Charles reached for it. “May I?” he asked.

  Han nodded. “Feel free,” he said with a shrug, before turning back to his current drawing.

  Charles pulled the pad toward him and held it in front of him. Now that he had permission, he felt a superstitious hesitation and a reluctance to open the cover. He remembered his mother’s reaction to Han’s drawings, and wondered if he too might turn a page and be caught off-guard by a previously unknown hatred.

  But Charles was a soldier, and soldiers who didn’t face unpleasant facts were soon removed from the board. Resolutely, he opened the cover.

  The first picture he saw featured Mrs. Spelling and the Greymere kitchen. She stood at a heavy wooden table, and her attention was directed to her pie crust. Beside her reposed a large bowl of apples, and a black and white cat watched from the corner.

  Charles smiled. The picture gave him a deep sense of well-being. He could almost smell the spices. He turned the page. Mrs. Purvis was folding a sheet, the sheet caught in mid-billow as she flung it in front of her.

  Interspersed with the drawings of people were small sketches of architectural details of the house, a turn of the stairs, the balusters of the terrace, an odd little window high up under the eaves. Now here were Lady Clara and Captain Fernley, her talking and him listening. Charles stifled a chuckle.

  He turned the page, and there was Amanda, looking ready to stride right out of the page. Charles blinked, impressed by Han’s skill. He had truly captured the enormous vitality of the woman. Charles smiled, remembering scenes from their childhood. What fun they had had! Running wild through woods and fields, muddy, laughing, happy. Then he remembered more details, and his grin faded slightly. Amanda had always been the last to leave any activity. Whatever they had been doing, she always wanted to climb one more tree, catch one more fish. Just thinking of it now, he felt a sense of great weariness. Charles stole a glimpse over at the table where Clara and Amanda were deep in picnic plans. Mandy, he thought now, had always been hard to keep up with.

  Charles turned the page. Ah, this was better. Fish. No insights here, just accurate renderings of fish. Fish swimming in the water. Fish caught in mid-leap, the faint trace of a fishing line pulling them from the water. Charles thought that if his brother intended further expeditions, he could do worse than take young Han along as a wildlife artist.

  He turned to the next page and there was young Jack, concentrating with every fiber of his being on his line in the water. Charles chuckled. A scholar’s son he might be, but Jack Rose was a country gentleman in the making. Charles doubted that Jack had ever focused on a school book with the intensity that he saw here.

  Another turn of the page and Charles found himself face to face with Miss Katherine Rose. He caught his breath and blinked. Miss Rose was horseback, riding a lane, staring off who knows where with a dreamy smile on her lips. What, he wondered with a sudden stab of jealousy, was she thinking of? Her vicar?

  Charles experienced an almost overwhelming urge to tear this sheet from the sketch pad and keep it for himself.

  What was it about this picture that drew him so? Charles studied it some more, enjoying the experience. It gave him… a sense of peace. He remembered Han calling Miss Rose ‘restful’. That was it. This picture was restful. It seemed to be saying, “With me you can relax. You can be yourself. You can be at peace.”

  And yet, the rendering was at odds with the Katherine Rose Charles thought he knew. That woman was serious and burdened with cares. It was strange.

  It was several days before Lord Charles realized that Lady Clara’s little picnic had got out of hand. He had come late to the breakfast table and found only his sister still at the table, just finishing her own breakfast. He filled a plate and sat down to a hearty meal. Clara stood, and made her way to the door, pausing on the way out to say, “Oh, by the way, Charles, you’re going to need to ask the gardeners to scythe the lower pasture.”

  “Scythe the pasture? Whatever for?”

  “For the picnic, of course.”

  “The lower pasture?” Charles said again. “I assumed we would be using the south lawn.”

  “Oh, my dear Charles,” Clara said with a trill of laughter. The south lawn won’t do at all. It’s not nearly big enough.”

  She was gone before he could interrogate her further.

  He was standing at the window with his coffee cup, looking out over the south lawn, which seemed vast to him, when movement in the glass made him turn to see Amanda pass the door. She was in riding habit and drawing on her gloves. “Where are you going?” he called to her.

  She paused and looked in. “I’m just off to the vicarage,” she told him. “I’m to ask Mister Downey for the loan of some tables from the church for the picnic.”

  And then she was gone.

  Charles frowned. The picnic he envisioned, an al fresco entertainment for a few select families, did not need a pasture and borrowed tables.

  His steward was waiting for him in the estate office. Mister Doakes looked up from his desk and smiled. “I have those papers for you to sign,” he said. He arranged the papers on Charles’ desk, and Charles went through the stack, reading, approving, and signing. Doakes was an excellent steward, so there were no controversies or problems.

  “The tenants are very much looking forward to the picnic,” Doakes observed.

  Charles’ hand froze for an instant before he signed the next paper. The tenants were included in the picnic? He hadn’t known that, but didn’t want to admit it. “Oh, they are?” he said casually.

  “It will be quite an event, as good as a Public Day,” Doakes said. “The lavish spread and the games for the children. Lady Clara and Miss Amanda between them are tireless organizers.”

  “They are indeed,” Charles said a trifle grimly.

  At dinner that night, Lord Charles called the ladies to account. “I understand we’re going into competition with Vauxhall Gardens,�
� he said, too pleasantly.

  “Oh, now Charles, it’s not as much as that,” Lady Clara said.

  Amanda looked up from her pheasant with a gleam in her eye. “Fireworks!” she exclaimed. “We never thought of that!”

  “No!” Charles said explosively. “Whatever you’ve arranged, I’ll allow. It’s my own fault for giving two such giddy creatures their heads. But that is it. And this evening, I’ll want a complete accounting of what we are to expect.”

  So that evening, he went over Clara’s notes and learned that he was hosting what could more accurately be described as a fair. After turning over page after page and learning about the musicians, and the pony rides for the children, and the lavish spread that Clara considered essential for a picnic, all he could do was laugh.

  Heartened by this sound, Clara said placatingly, “And you need do nothing but smile and greet people, like Papa at a Public Day at Winton Court.”

  “I shall be a great man, indeed,” Charles said with resignation.

  SIXTEEN

  All of Piddledean was anticipating the coming entertainment. “Well, Miss Katherine,” said Mrs. Shelby over the tea cups, “are you looking forward to his lordship’s picnic?”

  “It sounds quite lavish,” Katherine admitted.

  “It sounds thrilling!” said Helen.

  “That Lady Clara and her little friend Miss Mason have been most energetic,” Mrs. Shelby said.

  Mrs. Worth gave a snort of disapproval. “Miss Mason! Miss Minx, I call her. On the catch for a man, and the higher the better.”

  Mrs. Shelby replied with a rumbling chuckle. “Say what you will, I think we’ll be seeing that young lady among us for quite some time to come, though whether we will be calling her Miss Mason for long, I’m sure I can’t say.”

  Aunt Alice leaned forward. “You think she and Lord Charles?”

  Mrs. Shelby just laughed again.

  Katherine had seen little of Lady Clara in recent days, her friend being deep in picnic plans, and Mister Grimthorpe spent much of his time at Fordice Place, enjoying his successful courtship. That had given Katherine time to complete her fair copy of The Peculiar Staircase. By the day of the picnic, the manuscript was finished indeed, as perfect as Katherine could make it, wrapped in paper and safely tucked into Rupert’s portmanteau.

  So it was with a light heart that Katherine joined her family for the carriage ride to the Greymere picnic. Her family’s finances were secured for the year. What next year would bring was still unknown, but Rupert had assured her that any new Mrs. Wilson novels would be accepted by Mulberry and Hawes at a substantial increase in payment.

  The Rose ladies were in lavender, still in half mourning, but looking lovely beneath black parasols. Helen was bouncing in excitement, and Katherine smiled at her. “Beautiful day for a picnic,” she said.

  “More a fair than a picnic,” Aunt Alice said.

  As the carriage approached the front of the manor, gardeners stationed along the drive directed the coachman around the back and to the lane leading to the lower pasture. Katherine, looking out the window at the aspect from the back of the manor down to the river, felt the oddest sense of familiarity, almost as if she’d been here before. But she knew she hadn’t. It was most peculiar.

  Lord Charles felt proud as he surveyed the bustling scene. He was proud of his estate, proud of his family, proud of his staff, and absurdly proud of himself for putting on this grand entertainment that he would have decisively rejected if asked in advance.

  Now, as Clara suggested, he was acting the great man with a touch of self-consciousness, greeting his guests and tenants with warmth and interest. Clara, Amanda and the Purvises were his lieutenants and he allowed them to manage their business without interference. Everything seemed to be running smoothly. The serving tables were laden with food, tables for picnickers were set up in the shade of trees and under canopies, and musicians from Dorchester were providing lively music for the event. Children raced among the tables making noise. Many of them carried streamers that Amanda was handing out, and most of them were already sticky from the cakes and candies.

  Now here was the party from Rosebourne. As he went to greet them, Charles caught his breath at the sight of Katherine. She was smiling a genuine smile, her eyes bright, and she was lovelier than he had ever imagined she could be. What had happened to cause this gentle glow? Charles wondered if she had finally accepted her vicar, and why that thought should dismay him so.

  “The Misses Rose!” he said. “And Master Jack. So pleased you could make it.”

  “Thank you for providing this for us all,” Aunt Alice said.

  Charles waved at the tables. “Find yourself a table that suits you; we’re entirely informal today.”

  With a murmur of apology, Rupert darted away to his beloved’s side, and spent the rest of the day as a member of the Fordice party. The Roses found seats at a table occupied by the Massinghams, Mrs. Shelby and Mrs. Worth. Footmen darted between the tables and the serving area, bringing the newcomers an impressive array of meats, cheeses, freshly baked breads, and mountains of fruit. Jack applied himself as if his family had been starving him. His female relations enjoyed the repast in a more decorous manner, chatting with their friends and laughing at the antics of the children.

  Charles turned as a hand slipped into his arm, to find his sister at his side. “Find me a place to sit and something to eat,” she said with a winsome smile. “I am famished and on the verge of collapse.”

  He led her toward the Roses’ table, pointing out, “Mandy is still going strong.” Indeed, Amanda was to be seen leading a group of tenant children in some sort of a round dance.

  “Mandy is not quite human,” Clara said darkly. She smiled brightly at the Roses, and said, “May I join you ladies?”

  “Of course you may!” Aunt Alice said. “Sit, sit! You must rest.”

  “I think I could eat as well,” Charles said. He waved a footman over and added to Clara. “Where’s Hector?”

  Clara gave a trill of laughter and pointed to a tree. There was Hector, half lying, half sitting beneath the tree, leaning back against the trunk, fast asleep. A ravaged plate beside him indicated that he had availed himself of the food offerings. “He’s fine,” she said. She and Lord Charles sat themselves at the table and a footman hurried over to fill their plates.

  Jack was finally slowing down, and Han appeared at the table.

  “Say, Footer,” he began. “I’ve been thinking and looking at maps and I believe I’ve a notion of where we need to look next.”

  “You do?” said Jack eagerly, bolting the last of his ham. “Let’s go then!” About to race away, he belatedly remembered his manners and turned to his aunt. “May I be excused?”

  “Go, go,” she said with a laugh and a shooing motion. The two boys raced away.

  “They’re still looking for that cave?” Charles asked.

  “So it seems,” Katherine said. “Jack has been virtually invisible lately as they scour the woods. I don’t think anyone remembers where the entrance is.”

  Charles smiled. “If I’d heard of a cave on Winton land when I was a boy, I don’t think I would rest until I’d found it.”

  Helen sniffed. “I don’t see what’s so grand about a dirty, smelly old cave.”

  “Oh, a cave can be so many different things, if you only use your imagination,” Katherine said.

  “Exactly!” Lord Charles said, surprised that Miss Rose could grasp what was essentially a boy’s point of view. “It does surprise me, though, that the entrance has been lost.”

  “Not so surprising,” Katherine said. “The last Grey, Hiram, died over twenty-five years ago and was a recluse in his final years. Papa used to play with Reginald Grey, Hiram’s great-nephew, and I believe they explored the woods, but he died young. Your woods are too far for the boys of the neighborhood to frequent them as a matter of course. So it’s easy to see how that information might be lost. Though of course, your gamekeeper might kn
ow.”

  “I will ask him,” Charles said idly, and added after a moment’s thought, “I’ll ask after the boys have returned to school.”

  “Thank you for that!” Katherine said with a chuckle.

  Mrs. Worth leaned forward, “Oh, Lord Charles,” she gushed. “Perhaps you would tell us if these rumors are true!”

  “Rumors?” Charles asked uneasily.

  “Why, yes. I’ve heard from several people that this lovely picnic is going to become an annual event! Is that true?”

  Charles opened his mouth, about to utter an immediate denial, but then reconsidered. “Well, now, Mrs. Worth, that depends,” he said. “I’m just a plain old soldier, and the planning and management of functions such as this are well outside my powers. But I will certainly be glad to host such an event any time my dear sister is able to come and make the arrangements.”

  Lady Clara blinked. “Why, of course, Hector and I have our own home to tend to…” she began.

  “But you can certainly gift us with an occasional visit,” Charles said smoothly, “ and while you are in residence, what could be more natural than that you would employ your undoubted talents in this fashion?”

  “Never mind, Lady Clara,” Mrs. Worth said with a beam and a hand pat. “I’m sure it won’t be so very long before a Lady Charles takes such responsibilities from you, isn’t that right?” She nodded her head meaningfully toward the musicians, where Amanda was watching an impromptu dance.

  Lady Clara said frostily, “I couldn’t say, I’m sure.”

  Eager to escape the gossips, Lord Charles said to Katherine, “Would you care to take a turn about the grounds, Miss Rose?”

  “Thank you,” said Katherine. “That would be just the thing after this meal.” She rose from her seat and took his arm and then ambled off.

  “Well!” said Mrs. Worth, her thoughts taking a new direction.

  Over by the musicians, Amanda saw the vicar and went over to him. Spreading her hands to indicate the scene, she said, “Well, Mister Downey? What do you see to disapprove of?”