“I hope you may always speak freely to me, Mrs Cumber,” Annie said gravely.
“Thank you madam. Mr Sheffield would love to stay on here as a footman. He’s used to serving at table, and he already has the livery. It would be such a help to me to have someone to answer the door and serve tea and so forth, so that I can supervise the kitchens and the upstairs maids. It would be just the same salary, so there would be no extra expense, and he’d be happy to do for any gentleman visitors. He’s already attending to Mr Perkins.”
“Yes, my uncle is very pleased with him. Very well, if there will be no additional expense, let Sheffield be a footman. We shall review the situation at Michaelmas.”
“May I ask, madam…?” When Annie nodded her assent, she went on, “Is Mrs Dresden to make a long stay? Mr Sheffield was tidying the tea things last night and could not help overhearing. But forgive me if—”
“It is quite all right, Mrs Cumber. My mother will stay for… for a few weeks. Or perhaps longer. She will not interfere with—”
“Oh, no, no, madam! I never thought so. It’s just that if she is to stay longer, she might like to choose a different room, and perhaps some different furniture. A sitting room of her own, that sort of thing. Just to make herself comfortable.”
Annie smiled and said that indeed her mother would like that. And once she had made herself comfortable, she would perhaps never leave, and that was perfect. Now Annie could begin her life at Willow Place anew and enjoy all the comfort of her mother’s help and advice as she awaited the birth of her child.
14: A Proper Family Dinner
For the second day in succession, Annie was dressed for dinner and waiting for the others in the peacock chamber when a carriage rolled up the drive.
“Mr Adam Huntly’s carriage, madam,” Sheffield reported.
But when the equipage drew up alongside the front steps, it conveyed more passengers than Adam alone. Instead, one young man jumped down from the box, two more sprang out onto the drive from inside, followed by a lady. Adam himself emerged last, beaming from ear to ear, but Annie did not need his introduction to realise that these were his three younger brothers and his older sister, for they all bore the same fair hair and eyes the colour of bluebells, and the same expression of sunny delight in the world.
Mrs John Elkington was eight and twenty, just two years older than her brother, and already showing a roundness to her form that would render her rather stout by the age of forty. Combined with a lack of height, and a pelisse and bonnet that were serviceable rather than fashionable, if she had stood beside Mrs Cumber it would be hard to tell which of them was the housekeeper.
“My dear Mrs Huntly!” she cried, almost before Adam had finished introducing them. “You cannot imagine how much I have longed to meet you! And now the circumstances are so dreadful. I was never more shocked in my life as when I heard of poor Cousin Rupert’s tragic end. Accept my very sincere condolences. Jerome, stop that, dear! Lord, his boots will be ruined if he scuffs the gravel about in that manner. Edwin, you must not encourage him. Do try to be the responsible older brother. I have two boys of my own, Mrs Huntly, and they will be just as bad, I am sure. And are you pleased with Adam’s little surprise? To send all the way to Guildford for your mama and say not a word about it! What a good joke. Jerome! Stop it at once! Benedict, get him away from the horses, dear, or he will get kicked again and he might not be so lucky next time.”
With some difficulty, Adam rounded up his three brothers to be presented to Annie. Benedict was a fine young man of eighteen, taller than Adam and even more handsome, and already displaying the same roguish twinkle in his eyes. In a few years time he would no doubt be just as much of a flirt. Edwin, at sixteen, was almost as tall, but thin, as if he had been stretched. He made his bow very politely, but he had not Adam’s easy manners. Jerome, at twelve, was still boyishly bouncy. He made a perfunctory bow to Annie and then wandered off to inspect a flower-filled stone urn beside the steps. He gave it a hard push and for a moment it rocked before settling. The boy gazed at it thoughtfully, then he stretched out a hand again.
“No!” Annie cried.
The others turned startled eyes in her direction.
“I just wanted to see what would happen,” Jerome said reproachfully.
“What did you think would happen?” Annie said.
“There are several possibilities,” he said, taking this question seriously. “Nothing at all might happen, or it might move by a little amount, as it just did, or it might move a bit more, or it might move so much that it would fall.”
He was so solemn that Annie burst out laughing. “True enough, and for a proper study, you should repeat the experiment several times to see if the results are the same.”
“Exactly!” he said, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “Although if it should fall, then I should not be able to do so.”
“But you would not need to,” she said. “You would have a definitive result at that point.”
“You should not encourage him,” Adam said. “He is forever doing things just to see what would happen, and it is not a sensible way of going on, not if one wishes to retain the use of all one’s limbs.”
“But with proper guidance, such a lively curiosity may be harnessed to the advancement of human knowledge,” Annie said. “I have conducted many investigations for my uncle, under supervision.”
“There, you see!” Jerome cried triumphantly. “Cousin Annie understands.”
The rest of the family drifted outside to greet the newcomers at this point, and Jerome wandered off to get in the way of the coachman, who was walking the horses.
“Will you not come inside?” Annie said to Mrs Elkington.
“Oh, dear me, no! We only came to say hello, because the boys were wild to see you, and I confess to just as much interest. Adam’s letters have been quite full of you, and naturally we could not wait a moment longer to meet you. We will call tomorrow and get to know you properly, for I am to stay for a few days at the Manor.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Annie said. “I am so happy to make your acquaintance. Will you not come for dinner tomorrow? My aunt and uncle will not be here for much longer, so it will be the perfect opportunity. And bring all your brothers, too.”
“Heavens! Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Judith’s daughters can attend, too — hmm, perhaps not Isobel, but certainly Janet and Margaret. We shall have a proper family dinner.”
~~~~~
The following morning, Annie awoke full of energy. The torpor that had afflicted her since Rupert’s death was driven away. She could not any longer sit and wallow in lassitude, for Willow Place was her responsibility now. In a few months’ time, it would belong to her son, or to Adam, or perhaps to the unknown James Huntly, but for now it was hers, and she must do her best to present it in good order to its next owner.
Consequently, she asked her uncle for his help in looking over the account books. She had been closely involved with Uncle Tom’s business as an apothecary, but she had never before had to deal with financial matters. Now it had become necessary. Furthermore, it was Ransome’s day to call and discuss the management of the estate, and that too was a matter where Annie felt that a masculine presence would be invaluable.
They had spent some time on the accounts, had spoken to Ransome, and had returned, reluctantly in Annie’s case, to the accounts, when Adam was shown into the hunting room.
“Forgive me for intruding, but there is a matter on which I must consult you, cousin,” he said, his usually smiling countenance sombre. “Mr Perkins’ advice would be welcome, too, for the business is… concerning.”
“This is serious indeed,” Annie said. “We are at your disposal, cousin.”
“You will recall that I searched the house looking for Rupert’s will, but in vain. Nor did my enquiries in Salisbury yield better results. I wrote to Aunt Dempster in Grantham, but I have now had word from her that no attorney in the town holds the will. But then
Mr Perkins arrived the day before yesterday, and gave me fresh hope, for the new will — the one written with Rupert’s marriage in view — was drawn up in Guildford at the same time as your settlement. I wrote at once to the solicitor, the same who supported Rupert at your wedding, and he confirms that the will was enacted there, but he has no copy of it. Rupert wrote the will himself, took it to his friend to be signed and witnessed and made legal, and then left taking with him the only copy. And therefore I return to the same conclusion as formerly, that the will is in the house somewhere, but where it may be hidden is beyond my ability to guess.”
“I do not quite see the difficulty,” Uncle Tom said. “The estate is securely entailed and Annie’s jointure is also secure. The will is scarcely necessary, I should have said.”
“That is perfectly true, but there is a will and it should not be so difficult to find. My cousin’s papers were in perfect order, everything in its proper place. I have no doubt you find his accounts to be just as meticulous.”
“Indeed,” Uncle Tom said. “If only my own were so precise.”
“Just so. Therefore the will is here to be found, if only we knew where to look. I have searched all the likely places.”
“Then it must be in one of the unlikely places,” Annie said, amused.
“Then how on earth am I to find it?” he said, with a smile and a shrug. “It is impossible. My imagination can find no more plausible hiding places than those I have already examined. I would not know where to begin.”
“Then you need someone with greater curiosity, and a scientific approach,” she said teasingly. “Can you think of anyone who meets that description?”
“Jerome?” he said in tones of astonishment. “Are you seriously suggesting that I should set a boy of twelve to look for it? Or that he might succeed where I have failed? I am affronted at this slur on my capabilities, Mrs Huntly.” But he was smiling as he spoke, so she knew he was amused by the idea.
“When Uncle Tom is uncertain of an approach in a difficult case, he discusses it with… someone else,” she said. “Another mind may bring a different perspective to bear on the case.”
“That is true,” her uncle said. “Your ideas have been very much missed, my dear. I have had to consult Mr Badger, and you know my opinion of him.”
“You consulted Annie?” Adam said in disbelief. “I am aware that she is excessively knowledgeable about medicinal plants, but I should not have supposed that her understanding was in any way comparable to that of a learned and experienced apothecary like yourself.”
“Oh no, she lacked experience and a certain awareness of human nature, perhaps. However, she has always had an original way of looking at a problem, just as now, when she suggests setting your young brother to work on the question of the will. I should never have thought of such a thing, and yet it seems to me that it will answer admirably, for even if the will remains unfound, the young gentleman will have a project to occupy him for quite some time.”
Adam chuckled. “It will keep him out of mischief, that is true. He cannot get into much trouble looking through cupboards and bookcases, can he?”
When Jerome arrived that afternoon for the promised family dinner, he entered into the spirit of the search with the utmost enthusiasm. He was all for setting off immediately for the attics, a place he had never been permitted to explore before. Only when Mrs Elkington pointed out that he was wearing his sole pair of evening breeches and he would be banished to the nursery for dinner if he damaged them was he persuaded to delay the pleasure. Even so, he spent the entire meal explaining in a penetrating voice precisely how he intended to set about his task. Fortunately, he had Edwin sitting next to him, who was almost as keen as Jerome to participate, and offered his own advice as to the most systematic approach to the problem. When Adam reminded them of the plan of the house currently hanging in the hall, they disappeared immediately to peruse this interesting document, and peace descended on the dining room. The adults sighed with relief and after a moment resumed their conversations.
“Benedict, I shall depend upon you to keep a watchful eye on them,” Adam said. “And do not let them wander about the grounds, or we may lose them entirely. If the will is to be found, it must be within the house.”
Benedict heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Am I to have no pleasure at all this summer? I want to be out riding, not bear-leading two foolish boys.”
“You can ride with me every morning before breakfast, and after breakfast you and I will take turns in watching Jerome. When it is my turn, you may ride with Ashby.”
“Am I not old enough to ride alone?” he said. “Come now, brother, you trusted me to ride your hunters when I was barely fourteen, so surely I no longer need a groom with me.”
“It is not your riding skills which concern me, but your astounding ability to become lost. Ashby will not hold you back, but I know he will get you home.”
Annie listened to this family discussion with amusement. She was beginning to understand why Adam described his brothers as troublesome, yet their gentle bickering was restful to her. It was exactly what she was used to in her uncle and aunt’s house, for although their children were no older than Jerome, they grumbled and manoeuvred for advantage in exactly the same way. Perhaps her child would do so, too.
An almost physical pain shot through her at the realisation that she would only ever have one child. She had lost her husband, and perhaps that was not a matter of much grief to her, but the loss of the large, happy family she had hoped for was. One child, that was all the family that would ever be hers.
“Are you quite well, cousin?” Adam’s voice was gentle. How was it that he always noticed her moments of distress, however slight? Absorbed as he was in his discussion with Benedict, yet he had seen something in her to raise his concern.
“I am quite well,” she said, and then impulsively went on, “It is the greatest pleasure to me to be surrounded by all my family, both the old and the new. Your brothers… Judith’s daughter… it is delightful, but it has made me realise that I shall never have a large family of my own.”
His face was sympathetic, and he leaned forward to speak quietly. “Cousin, you are young, still. You will not be a widow for ever.”
“Marry again?” Her instinctive reaction was revulsion. “No, I could not!”
He jumped back as fast as if she had slapped him, eyes wide. Then, recovering quickly, he said, “Forgive me! It was crass of me to mention such a thing.”
Benedict interrupted them to ask his brother to pass a dish of braised kidneys, and Annie was very glad to let the subject lapse. Yet she could not quite understand her own reaction. All her life she had wanted nothing but marriage, so why, when one husband was taken from her, did she not long for another? Once her period of mourning was over, why should she not consider the prospect again?
She knew why. Her judgement had been faulty. Rupert had seemed such a pleasant, inoffensive man. His manners, his opinions, his habits were all good and he had provided generously for her — better than his brother had provided for Judith. He had dealt so kindly with her that her complaints had seemed churlish. Yet he had been so protective of her that she had felt… what had she felt? As if she could not breathe. And now that he was gone, she could breathe freely again, and the air was sweet. She would not lightly surrender her freedom to another man, no matter how handsome or charming or rich. She had tasted the fruits of marriage once, and they had turned out to be more bitter than she had expected.
Nothing about her previous acquaintance with Rupert, or his visits in Guildford, had led her to suspect it. Her uncle had said she lacked an awareness of the human condition, and perhaps that was true, but she felt as if she ought to have suspected it. A man who carries an image of his ideal woman in his heart for eight full years is surely driven more by obsession than love, and when confronted with the reality of that woman — a living, breathing, flesh and blood creature — she will never match the ideal in his imagination. He could not
accept Annie as she was, a woman with her own thoughts and ideas and desires.
But she could learn from this. Just as she had learnt about her uncle’s medicines and potions and lineaments by trying this and that to see what worked, so she could learn about marriage. She would begin by reflecting upon those marriages she knew well — that of her parents, and of her aunt and uncle. She would take note of other couples as she encountered them. And perhaps, one day, she would again feel comfortable enough in her own judgement to risk another marriage.
With this resolution made, she rose and led the ladies from the room. Judith took her daughters away to their beds, and Annie’s mother and aunt settled by the window with their work baskets, as was their habit. Mrs Elkington smiled and waved Annie across the room, patting the sofa invitingly.
“Do come and sit with me, Mrs Huntly, or may I take the liberty of calling you Cousin Annie, as Adam does?”
“Of course, Mrs Elkington.”
“Oh, but you must call me Cecilia, or Cousin Cecilia, if you wish to be formal. How strange to think we only met yesterday, when I feel I know you so well already. Adam’s letters were full of you, as I am sure you are aware.”
“No, indeed, how could I know such a thing?” Annie said, laughing.
“Ah, you are such a modest creature, but you need not dissemble with me. You must have noticed that Adam has the greatest admiration for you. Why else was your husband in such high dudgeon, banning Adam from the house and such like nonsense? But you need not fear— Oh! You did not know! Oh, my dear cousin, pray forget my foolishness, I beg you. I shall not say another word about it.”
Annie was almost too shocked to speak, but it was absolutely necessary to make the exertion. “Mrs Elkington, I am sure you have misunderstood or… or perhaps read something into Cousin Adam’s words that was not meant in such a way. He has never shown me the slightest hint of such a thing as you seem to suggest. He is a very friendly and amiable man, but he is so to all his acquaintance equally. I am sure you have misread something… some little phrase or other in one of his letters that he did not intend.”
The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3) Page 14