by Cameron May
“You see what I’ve done, Winnie? I hadn’t even thought of all you’ve brought up. It’s just that you pitch in so often, everything flows so easily, and I hadn’t considered a lot of it, that we’d need more help, for one.” He sighed “I got caught up the spirit of the coming holidays, perhaps drank more than I should have. I didn’t consider so many things.” He shook his head. “I remember those gatherings my father had with such fondness, the good food, the laughter, the mulled wine my mother always made. In truth, I don’t know what came over me.”
Winnie bit her lip. “I think it might be best to make that trip to town tomorrow. The sooner we get started, the better, I think.”
“If you can pull this off, I shall be forever in your debt.”
Winnie laughed softly. “Yes, I think you just might be.”
“No, I mean it,” Lance said.
“As do I,” Winnie replied soberly.
Their first call was to Mistress Goodwill, and Winnie had a very long list in her head of what might be required: the best midwife in town; covers for the worn arms of chairs, a sofa and settee, there wouldn’t be time to have them upholstered anew; bed and window coverings; people in town who might be capable of serving meals and waiting on guests, the list having the dressmaker gasping for breath and laughing. “It isn’t funny. I was up before the sun this morning, taking inventory of what was needed, and it’s a great deal. As always, I would want to be careful of funds. For the bedcovers, for example, I was wondering if there would be some quick way to make quilts using pieces that might otherwise go to the ragpicker’s, for example, and I would prefer them coordinated for colors and fabrics, that sort of thing. I need to know the right place to go for linens, pillows, oh, my goodness, I can’t believe what Sir Lance has done,” Winnie said, explaining the predicament. “Where to put all the temporary servants at night, for one.” She stopped for breath. “And, of course, I would expect to pay a proper fee to you for all the help. Can you accommodate me, d’you suppose?”
“To be honest, this will be an especially busy time, but I think I might be able to help, yes.” She tilted her head. “Nothing for yourself?”
“No, I think not. I still have enough garments to see me through.”
“How did the nightdress and peignoir suit you?”
“I think you know better than to ask, Mistress Goodwill,” Winnie said softly.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
Winnie nodded. “I bought them on a whim, pieces of art, you know. I have them hanging at an angle against the dark, blank wall of my room, and everyday I’m reminded of how beautiful they are.”
“Oh, my. That’s the nicest compliment any of my customers have ever said. And an idea for display, as well. I would be honored if you could call me a friend, though we’re not the same, you know.”
“What is your name?”
“You’ll laugh. It’s Eustacia.”
Winnie’s smile was soft. “I like it. And you’re wrong, Eustacia. We are the same, both two women trying to make it in a man’s world, sometimes succeeding, sometimes flailing. You have been most helpful and accommodating, and I won’t forget. You may call me Winnie, short for Winifred.”
The woman smiled back and took the hand Winnie offered. “I shall, but only when another customer isn’t in the house.”
“And now, I’ve at least a dozen other calls to make before I can call it a day.”
“Good luck, my dear.”
“Thank you. I shall need it.” Smiles and a look of understanding passed between them before Winnie turned and left the other woman’s shop.
Winnie and Frances met midday at the baker’s, ate buns and drank cider standing in the street, and afterward, Winnie sent Frances on a set of quests. They needed cots and pallets, blankets, perhaps not the best as they might not see them again, chamber pots and more. There would be an all-hands-on-deck cleaning of the attics, one space created for females and another for males. And once all of this was accomplished, supposing it would be, yes, Lance would be owing Winnie. She had withdrawn funds of her own to cover many of the purchases made today. She hoped it would be the last time she would need to come to town for a long while.
For supper at home, the women bought meat pies from a vendor on the street and left town. ‘My feet do so hurt,” Frances complained, “but then they do usually anyway. I wonder what Barnaby has been doin’ today.”
“And Lance and Jem as well.” Winnie sighed. “I’m going to sleep like a log tonight. I feel as if I’ve run a race all day,” Winnie said. “But we’ve done such a good job, orders made and taken, and people hired.” She chuckled. “And upper crust invited, and the invitations accepted.” Though she hadn’t been sure they would be, what with her situation apparently well-known around town. Perhaps people were coming from curiosity, to gather some small tidbit to add to their store of gossip. Winnie didn’t care. As an afterthought, Howard Collins had been invited. There would be a couple of daughters of shop-owners coming, and a daughter of one of the nearby landowners. After the attics were cleaned, they would start planning meals, cleaning and outfitting the rooms to be used by guests, and hope for the best. “Oh, dear, I forgot to ask what the midwife said. I wanted so to be there with you, as two heads are better than one. I know nothing of babies either.”
“I’m too tired to talk, Milady. We’ll save it for tomorrow.” Frances turned her head and Winnie nodded.
“Thank goodness.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For some reason, people at home were as exhausted as those coming and glad to see the meat pies, all of them hungry and the hour so late. When Winnie brought up that everyone would be expected to help in the cleaning of the attic tomorrow, Jem piped up. “All done!” Winnie looked around the long kitchen table of listless faces.
“All done? Oh, what a marvel! We were dreading starting it. You poor souls, no wonder you look as you do. Frances, please, sit down and rest your tired feet. I shall wait on you. Jem, I’m sorry, but would you fetch enough cider from the cellars for us all. We’ll eat in the kitchen this once. And I’ll break out a couple of our new baked apple pies.” Winnie went to the warm stove, added fuel, and put on water for coffee or tea, brought out the pies and a large chunk of cheese from the pantry, fetched dishes for everyone and began serving while Jem filled cups with cider. No one spoke for a long time afterward, so tired and busy with filling hungry stomachs. “And from now on, Mr. Jones, you will take your wife home in the cart. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner. Perhaps at some point in future, you might construct a lean-to or small shed for the cob, though there might not be enough time this winter. I felt the breath of snow in the air today.”
“Oh, thank ye, Missus Winnie, er Milady. I was not lookin’ forward to the walk to the bed.” Without a word, Isabelle rose from her seat, went to the pantry, and within not more than a minute or two, the company heard her soft snoring.
Winnie and Frances looked at each other and chuckled at the sound. “Let us not change the way we’ve done things always, dear Missus Frances. You may address me as you always have.”
“It’s very confusin’,” Frances said, “now that Master Lance is Sir Lance.”
“It is, but I won’t mind if you don’t call me ‘milady’. It still sounds a little strange. I suppose after a longer time, I will grow accustomed to it.”
“I would like the use of the cart, though.” With that she rose to join Barnaby, who was waiting at the door for her, and Jem came right behind Frances.
Alone with her, Lance rose to wish Winnie goodnight. She sat for a few minutes by herself, then headed slowly upstairs.
“Thank you, Isabelle, that will be all.”
Isabelle’s eyes swept down the robe Lance wore to his ankles and bare feet, nodded and took away the bucket. Off came the robe, and Lance walked to the tub just as Winnie walked in the door with another bucket of heated water. She stalled abruptly, nearly spilling the water on the floor. Her throat constricted. She’d never s
een a man wholly naked before. She drew her eyes from his body to his face, her own reddening furiously. “Sorry,” she muttered coming to her senses.
“Oh, I don’t mind. As long as you’re here, Winnie, could you possibly wash my back? I know you would do a better job than I could. I did wash my face and hands, and hair,” he added wryly. “With all your plans, I figured you wouldn’t like me dirtying the pillows.”
“Hmm. How thoughtful of you. Of course, I shall.” Her chin set, mouth thinning, Winnie set down the bucket of water, went to his wash stand, and yes, the water needed changing.
“Oh, by the way, I forgot the soap and a washing cloth.”
Winnie sighed, coming with both items. “Well, of course you did.” She knelt on the floor, dipped the cloth in water and began. “I’ll begin by washing your hair again.”
“There was a great deal of dust in the attics,” Lance said. Winnie wet Lance’s hair, soaping it thoroughly and scrupulously scrubbing it until she was satisfied. Winnie rinsed the cloth and started on Lance’s back, her hand slowing as she saw all the healed nicks and scars, and there had been one on his head. “Goodness, so many injuries.”
“True, but most are very minor. I was lucky in that way, Winnie. Say, you’ve done such a good job, I wonder if you wouldn’t like to do my front.”
Winnie was up like a shot. “Certainly not. Your own hands are as healthy as mine, and you may do it yourself.” She heard the suppressed laughter before kneeling again to rinse his back.
“Ah, so good to be home,” Lance said with a smile, “to have a bath in my own room. We rarely had a chance in the war to bathe.”
“I’m sorry, Lance, truly.”
Lance nodded. “You know, Winnie, I’ve told you more about my so-called adventures abroad than anyone. And you never judged what I told you.”
As he was washing himself, Winnie frowned. “That man you killed, the coat you needed so desperately…”
“He was already wounded, the French soldier, perhaps dying. I hurried the process along, yes. I’m not proud of it, but there were times when we all were quite mad.”
“I cannot imagine how it was, Lance.”
He stopped bathing and sighed. “Better not to try, Winnie. The worst you could imagine happened.” Winnie nodded and made to leave, was almost out the door. “Oh, by the way, if ever you need a full bath, I should be glad to volunteer. I imagine I might be quite good…” Before he’d begun the second sentence, Winnie came back in the room, lifted the bucket of water as he was speaking, and poured it over him before he finished. Like a dog, he shook his head, sputtering, laughing, as Winnie marched hurriedly, stiffly from the room. “Ah, it’s good beyond words to be home,” he chuckled.
Dressed and downstairs, Lance walked in on three women seated around the kitchen table, their heads together, their conversation of some urgency it appeared. “Am I interrupting something?” They drew apart in a guilty fashion. He lifted an eyebrow. “Might I have breakfast if you please, Isabelle?”
She stood at once. “Of course, I’ll bring it right in.”
Winnie, after watching Isabelle gather Lance’s breakfast and take it to the dining room, rose, too, patted Frances’ shoulder, and followed Lance, glad she could be as casual as Lance seemed to be. Though the picture of a naked Lance was forever burned in her brain.
Lance was wiping his mouth on a napkin and frowned at Winnie. “What was that all about, Winnie, all you women gathered like hens around a single bug.”
Winnie looked puzzled, then relaxed. “Oh, that. Frances went to a midwife yesterday. I did so wish to go along, but there were far too many other things to take care of.”
“Why on earth should you wish to go along?”
“Why not? Supposing Frances were to deliver in the depths of winter, with no one to help who knows anything about bringing babies into this world? Though Frances has been married before, she knows next to nothing about having or caring for a baby. Men seem to think that knowledge is somehow inborn in a woman.”
Was that a shudder she saw in Lance? It must have been, because he quickly changed the subject. “So, what are you doing today?”
“Cleaning, mostly. I peeked in the attics, and I’ve a good idea where the servants might sleep. We’ve cots and pallets coming soon for that and I want to take a good look at the idle rooms, how best to use them. To be honest, this is overwhelming, the idea of having so many guests, making sure they’re comfortable, how to entertain them, all of that.” She chuckled. “Sometimes I would hide when Mother and Father had company. Mother would tend to have nervous outbursts before guests’ coming and have a lie-down every day for days afterward.”
“You sound as if you miss them.”
“Yes, of course I do.” The soft laugh that came was pleasant in Lance’s ear. “But sometimes Papa and I would find a place to hide together until one of Mama’s episodes passed. And they went away as quickly as they came.” Lance nodded, his mouth full. She waited until he swallowed. “And what will you do today?”
He sighed. “I’m tackling the books, dreading it. I suspect we will have to be careful at least a year after this splurge. Tomorrow, Barnaby and I are going hunting, taking along Jem.”
“Are you sure it’s wise? Barnaby once told me you hated the sound of a gun.”
Lance stared at Winnie. “I didn’t know he’d said anything.” And in fell another part of the recent mystery. So, that was the reason she’d been sitting at the door at Lord Blackwater’s. Waiting for him in case he might be wandering around at night, as Doctor Collins had told him was happening. “But this is different. We’re hoping to come back with enough geese to fill the kitchen floor, and perhaps even a deer. Barnaby says Frances makes a superb venison pie. And whatever is left after our guests leave will be welcome. There ought to be a lot of game as the woods around haven’t been hunted for years, Winnie,” he said with what Winnie thought might be forced enthusiasm. And he had said “we” will have to be careful at least a year. What did it mean? Surely, they would be parted before a year was up, wouldn’t they?
The finishing touches put on the house to ready it for guests, plans for meals, teas, and entertainments made, not a lot of those but for card games and the like, Winnie was ready to take Lance on a tour. She sighed. This venture was hard work and uncertain.
Lance was enthusiastic about the changes, suddenly wishing he could have mixed the two gatherings and have them all over at once to enjoy the quiet of the coming winter. He would need a space of time after the heady, busy holidays to steady himself.
Winnie had been superb, the only word he could think of. Like two boxers, they had settled into their own corners to wait for the next move of the other, staying out of each other’s way, each busy with a different kind of work. The best part of preparations was seeing the surprise on Winnie’s face when Lance’s gift to her was delivered. It wasn’t new, this piano, but was newly tuned. Tears welled in the blue eyes that suddenly sparkled with happiness. “I looked and looked, inquired and finally found the piece in an old widow’s home. She was eager to have the price for it, being in a bit of need. And the best part, Winnie, is that you may take it with you when you leave.”
Oh! After the warm story of the widow and her piano, the last was like being doused with cold water, or the cloud she’d been on dissolving and her falling to the hard ground. But that had been the agreement early on, and to have a piano to call her own? It was so much more than expected. She thanked Lance sincerely, asking that it be put in a corner of the refurbished sitting room. “It looks splendid there,” she said, clasping her hands together while a smiling Lance looked on.
And then the deluge came, with men and women, mostly young and enthusiastic about a gathering of any kind before real winter set in. There had been a few brief snows, the first one like Winnie said, and Lance breathed in the quiet and singular beauty of its moment before it melted and left too soon, to be replaced in time by another not quite as exquisite as the first snow for s
ome reason.
It was tight for dancing, the sitting room, but they managed, moving the furniture around the edges of the room while Winnie played. One of Lance’s friends brought along his fiddle, almost doubling the musical selections. The kitchen stove seemed to be continuously working and spilling out wonderful things to eat: sugared nuts, several varieties of sweetmeats Frances made early on, geese, a suckling pig, vegetables of all kinds, and then barrels of ale, and last, mulled wine. It was reminiscent of the gatherings of his parents. Lance glanced over at Winnie passing around cups of it, almost like that his mother made, not better, certainly not lesser, but different.
As had been the case at the Blackwater gathering, men and women divided into different rooms for the sexes and it worked well. After this gathering, there were a few blessed days of peace before the second flood of people arrived. The new crew of temporary servants stayed on to restore the house, to put together new dishes under the direction of Frances, all under the stewardship of the temporary butler, Mister Stevens, recalled from retirement and happy to have newfound wages.
Before the next company came, it would be necessary for a blushing Winnie to explain the new sleeping arrangements to Lance. The night before their arrival, Winnie was on her way to bed after making sure the house was secured, had found Lance wandering the corridor between their bedrooms, unaware as usual, the results predictably the same with Lance, petting her and, luckily, that was all, Winnie able to maneuver him to his own bed. Her own small bedroom was made into a kind of dormitory for the young female guests who tended to go bed early in the morning after a night of gossip, and, with Isabelle in the attics with the other servants, Winnie had slept during the first gathering in the pantry, but, because of Lance’s problem, that was no longer an option. All her thoughts that Lance was done with his affliction flew out the window with this last episode. “I have a confession to make to you, Lance.”