by Laura Locke
“Yes, ma’am, I believe that as well.”
“Are you taking credit for my husband’s wisdom?”
“No, indeed. I believe your husband was a wise man.”
“Hmph…” Abigail snorted and motioned Mrs. Pinkerton out. “See that you’re here at dawn,” she threw in for the final word.
Conner was smiling to himself. His mother may have just met her match.
Chapter 5
“Where have you been so long?” Sylvia was waiting for Melody as she came in through the worn kitchen door and set her bonnet on the table, reaching immediately for a ladle of cool water from the bucket that always sat there.
“I walked into the village and stopped by Dillard’s Apothecary.”
“Even so, Melody, you must have walked very slowly for I have been waiting for you. Katherine Demar’s gown must be ready by two and you know I was relying upon you to do the edging on the lace collar. You have the finest hand of we two, especially now that my eyes are beginning to fail me.”
“Do not worry, Mother, I am on my way into the sewing room now and will have it done within the hour.
Sylvia followed behind, plumping the pillows on her settee as she passed by. “So, what has the latest gossip to say? I know you cannot leave Dillard’s without hearing it,” she commented, returning to her own sewing by the large window where the light was best. Her dark blue gown fell into perfect folds around her as she sat; the sign of true craftsmanship.
“Well, it is interesting that you should ask, for indeed there is news. It appears that poor Mrs. Smythe has moved, although I know not whether it is due to desire or ill health. The uproar about the new owners seemed to eclipse all else.”
“Indeed?” Ira had come to stand in the doorway of the sewing room, his pipe in his hand.
“Ira! Take that wretched pipe somewhere else, if you will. We cannot deliver these gowns smelling of your pipe tobacco.” Sylvia clutched the fabric of her gown against herself, as if protecting it from his smoke.
Ira drew back the pipe and looked at it as though he was surprised to find it offensive, shrugged and set it out the door before returning. His primary conduit of news came with either Melody or his wife’s customers.
“So, what have ye heard, Melody?”
Melody smiled to herself. Although her father tried to appear nonchalant and uninterested in women’s talk, she knew that he was just as interested as they and in some ways, more isolated, spending long hours in his farrier’s barn with nothing more than horseflesh for company. “Well, Mrs. Dillard was in her usual glory. No one seemed terribly concerned with what happened to Mrs. Smythe, but I believe that’s because she was eclipsed by the newer owner. A Mrs. Abigail Rutherford has taken over the Smythe house. Mrs. Dillard had quite an audience and she can so get on my nerves. I might have said something a bit churlish, but Mr. Dillard did wink at me as I left the store and headed toward home.
“I was strolling down the lane when a younger gentleman came toward me. He stopped and asked if he might have a word with me. He introduced himself as Conner Rutherford, the son of Mrs. Abigail Rutherford. He was quite genial and very respectful.” Melody added this last because she noted her father’s interest piqued because his daughter was having discussion with strangers out in the open.
“Anyway, as I say he was very polite and inquired as to whether I might know someone whom he and his mother could engage as housekeeper. It seemed that his mother, Mrs. Rutherford, was a rather selective woman and liked things a certain way. Naturally Tymington is a small village and a good housekeeper a rarity. I gave the question a moment’s thought and then remembered Mrs. Pinkerton.”
Sylvia and Ira nodded, thoughtful. “Yes, such a shame that she is all alone now. I was concerned with whether she had the wherewithal to continue with her home so it’s good to hear that there may be options for her.”
“Well, I do not know the outcome of their meeting, but I can say that Mr. Conner Rutherford was very pleasant and amenable. Therefore, I felt no hesitancy in sending him to Mrs. Pinkerton’s door.”
“I see.” Sylvia had called the conversation to an end with her comment. “Ira, I am sure you have something to do in the barn and Melody must focus on her work because our customer will be here shortly to pick it up. It would not do for it not to be finished, and done well.” With that she turned back to her own work and Melody and Ira exchanged a quick, humorous glance before he left the house and Melody turned back to her stitching.
Sewing can be a contemplative experience. When one is practiced at their craft, they begin to accomplish it unconsciously and their thoughts can be otherwise dedicated. Apparently, this was Sylvia’s condition as it was only a few minutes later when she asked, “This Conner Rutherford.”
“Yes?”
“I assume he is unmarried since he lives with his mother?”
“I believe he is unmarried.”
“Was he genial in an average sort of way or did he seem to appreciate your charms?”
“Mother!”
“Since I am your mother, I know that you are a fetching lass and would be an attractive catch for any eligible young man. Given our earlier conversation, I cannot help but wonder if there might be an alternative to what we had discussed?”
“Mother, let me say here and now, I am not interested in going to live with your cousin. That would be a signal of defeat and I am not that old, yet. Regardless, I might decide to go another route entirely, but that is up to me. I am old enough to decide my own future.”
“Then are you old enough to finish that collar before she gets here?” Sylvia shot back, feeling as though her youngest daughter had just put her in a place.
Melody snipped off the end of her thread and held the gown up, shaking it out for inspection. “I believe this answers your question, Mother. The dress is complete and ready to be delivered. Now, if you do not mind, I need something cold to drink and I would like to sit in the garden for a few minutes before beginning my next project.”
Sylvia watched her daughter leave the house through the kitchen door. Her heart broke that Melody was still at home, and most especially because she was not only easy on the eyes, but spirited, very bright and ambitious. She would make someone an excellent wife.
At that very moment, there was a knock at the door. Sylvia’s customer had arrived to pick up the gown that Melody had so recently completed.
Chapter 6
Conner was having morning coffee with his mother in her parlor. It was a custom that had developed over the years and seemed to be the focal point of her day. Abigail loved to complain. It really did not matter about what or whom, it was simply a need she seemed to have to justify her own actions. Conner listened with only half an ear for to become too embroiled in the machinations of her mind would be a cumbersome, if not wasteful, endeavor.
“The coffee is delicious,” Conner complimented Mrs. Pinkerton. She seems to be working out well?”
“So far, but they often put on a good show in the beginning before they began robbing you blind,” she commented dryly, stirring her coffee and nibbling on one of Mrs. Pinkerton’s perfectly browned croissants with fresh raspberry jam. “They wait until your guard is down and then it’s all over. Keep this in mind, Conner, for when you run your own fine house. You must factor in a certain amount of loss due to theft.”
“Now, Mother, I do think you are being a bit hasty in your judgment. Miss Pinkerton has lived in this village for a very long time and were she not a trustworthy soul, she would have nowhere to hide. Besides, Melody Wellchester gave her high praise.”
“Oh, yes, I meant to ask you about that. Conner, it will not do for you to mingle with the locals, surely you can see that? They are not up to your standards.”
“And in your opinion, Mother, what sort of woman is up to my standards?”
“You are the marriageable son of a fine family.” Abigail took another sip of her coffee and considered her words carefully. It had always been her opinion that
someone in their family should have been given a title, but since that had never occurred, she could at least behave like nobility. “I was rather hoping you might travel to London for the season. Perhaps you could come across a second daughter of a titled family and be welcomed at court by proxy.”
“Let me understand, Mother. Is it my fortunes you wish to advance, or your own?”
“Conner! Do not take that tone with me. Of course, it is your welfare for which I am concerned. You seem to have little concern for your own. It is bad enough that our downturn in fortunes has required us to come to such an out-of-the-way place in order to stretch our funds. It would be so much easier if you were to marry into a fortune. You should not be so selfish. You should be thinking of your mother’s older years, and of course your own future.”
“Indeed?” All they seemed to discuss was Abigail’s older years, as she called them. Conner was not certain just when those years would occur as his mother was already well past the age of remarriage, her hair a splendid silver gray and the wrinkles about her downturned mouth deepened each time the sunlight shone fully upon them. As far as he was concerned, his mother was already enjoying her golden years. For himself, he was somewhat less enthusiastic, however. Since his father’s death, he had taken it upon himself to look after his mother. Although she was not aware, Conner had joined the world of business, from an investor’s point of view. On the excellent advice of the family solicitor and banker, Conner had dipped into a small portion of the funds his father left behind and invested these in newer firms that had promising futures. From these he and his mother received a regular income and it served well to let her believe they were living from his father’s legacy alone. It was unlikely that Abigail would ever change her extravagant ways and it kept Conner on his toes to keep her well-supplied. He could not consider what she would be like to live with had she no money with which to control people.
“I have inquired after Melody and it seems her father is a farrier of some renown. She is one of triplets, her brother and sister having married and moved to distant locations where they are happy and comfortably settled. Melody works with her mother, a seamstress, and while they have a modest but comfortable life, Melody has yet to find a suitor.”
“What is the matter with her?” Abigail asked bluntly.
“Wrong with her?”
“Well, by your own opinion, she is of marriageable age, possesses positive assets and is, as of yet, unclaimed. How would you explain that?”
“Frankly, Mother, I do not know. I was very taken with her, you should know, and it is my intention to get to know her better.”
“A seamstress!” shrieked Abigail.
“It is an honorable profession, Mother,” Conner commented, feeling slightly defensive on Melody’s behalf.
“Does she make ladies’ clothing?” Abigail wanted to know.
“I believe so. In my inquiries, it became apparent that many of her clients were local young ladies so yes, I assume that she makes women’s clothing.”
“Send word that she is to come to me,” Abigail said imperiously.
Conner shook his head as he sat down his coffee cup. “Now, Mother, I can handle my own affairs. I do not need your tampering.”
“Conner! How can you say such a thing? I am neither tampering nor meddling, I am simply protecting the family name. I require some additions to my wardrobe. It is far cooler here than it was in the lowlands and I take on chills some days. I would like more suitable gowns.”
Conner dipped his head, looking at her dubiously. “Are you certain that is all your after?”
Abigail sniffed, as though Conner’s question was rude and inappropriate. She admitted to herself that from time to time she may dabble in affairs that did not concern her, but her son was her son. If this Melody girl were up to some sort of inappropriate behavior, it was her duty as his mother to uncover it and expose Melody now rather than later when he might be more forgiving. “Just, do as I say. Ask her to come on Thursday. I will set aside the afternoon for tea and discussion.”
“Now, Mother, I wish to make it clear that you are to treat her as a guest and not a servant. Is that understood?”
“Yes, yes,” she responded impatiently.
“Perhaps it would be better if I were also in attendance?”
“No, that is precisely what I do not wish. This is an occasion for one woman to another, without male interference.”
“Mother, promise me you will treat her kindly and with respect. I would be most unhappy if I heard you had done otherwise.”
Abigail opened her mouth to protest but she knew if she did not play his game, there was a strong likelihood he would move away and she would be left to her own devices. “Yes, yes, I understand. Agreed.”
“Very well, then I should send word.”
Chapter 7
“Mother! Father! Come and look. A messenger boy just came to the door. He brought with him an invitation. I am to go for tea at Mrs. Rutherford’s house on Thursday. What do you think of that?”
Sylvia was the first to take it from Melody’s hands. “What prompted this?” She said as she turned it over to see the gilded monogram on the envelope flap. Ira stood nearby, puffing upon his pipe and watching the women.
“Does it matter?”
Ira finally spoke up. “Melody, I will not have you throwing yourself at that woman. She may come from money, but you come from a good and strong family. You are not to allow yourself to be trod upon or in any way made small, is that clear?”
Melody was practically spinning with excitement. Her mind was filled with Conner and his chiseled jaw. She hoped upon hope that he would be joining them. “Yes, Father, I hear you. Oh, Mother, what shall I wear?”
Sylvia looked at her in amazement. “Melody Wellchester, I do declare. If anyone in this village was prepared for a special occasion, it is you. While your closet may not be filled, look behind you at the bolts of fabric. This is your opportunity to make a good impression. Have you no idea why she is inviting you? Could it be that she needs dresses made?”
Melody’s excitement dropped at that thought. Yes, it was highly likely that she was being summoned as a dressmaker. She swallowed her disappointment and looked for the silver lining. In any regard, it meant spending time at Conner’s home and there could be nothing negative about that. Melody whipped about and pulled sketchbooks from the drawer. Flipping through the pages, she finally chose one that would be suitable for an afternoon tea and began making revisions to it that would accentuate her own figure. She flew across the room and chose a bolt of fabric that had been saved for special occasions. She looked to Sylvia for approval, who nodded and smiled. If there was any chance that the dear child could be given this opportunity is something other than a tradeswoman, Sylvia was all for it.
While she did not make it obvious, Sylvia handled the existing orders and left Melody to her own devices over the next few days. Melody’s hands were deft and quick as she cut into the length of fabric and began piecing the gown together for her first trial fitting. Between the two of them, she and Sylvia managed to make the dress in just a day and a half.
Untitled
Ira watched from the sidelines, concerned that Melody’s hopes may be too high. He loved both his daughters, but Melody held the soft place for she was the youngest of the triplets and the last to find her life’s path.
Mr. David Wainwright, a solicitor who often stopped on his way through Tymington, showed up on Wednesday afternoon. His horse was limping and although it was nothing serious, he enjoyed sharing a pipe with Ira at the table in the back garden. They spoke of politics and war but before Mr. Wainwright left, Ira put it to him about the Rutherford family.
“Yes, indeed, I knew the senior Mr. Rutherford before he passed. He was a quiet man, gentle in nature and I would think of him as an honest man who had been run over by his rather overbearing wife. They have one son, Conner, to whom you probably refer. While I have not yet met Conner, I’ve heard nothing neg
ative and see no reason that your daughter should avoid the family.”
Ira nodded and held out his hand, shaking Mr. Wainwright’s as he prepared to mount his horse. “David, I thank you for that opinion. It does put my mind at ease.”
David turned the horse about, preparing to leave the Wellchester barnyard. He looked over his shoulder as he rode and said, “Look on the bright side, Ira. Perhaps at least one of your children will marry into money.”
Ira stood for some time, considering David’s words and puffing upon his pipe. A pipe becomes an intimate object for a man. It measures the time he allows for consideration and rings the bell when a resolution is called for. It invites male company and discourages females. Ira quite liked his pipe and often went to the barn, even in the cold months when there was nothing to do, simply to enjoy its orange embers and the peace it brought.
Chapter 8
Melody presented herself at the Rutherford’s front door precisely at four in the afternoon that Thursday. Her eyes glowed with excitement as a woman dressed in an apron answered the door and ushered her into the parlor.
“Mistress Wellchester, I presume?” The woman in the apron left the room quickly and Melody stepped forward to see Mrs. Rutherford, ensconced in her high-backed chair. She wore her monocle over one eye, which appeared to Melody to be more an instrument indicating observation than actual necessity with which to see. She told herself to reserve judgment until she had spent more time with the woman.
“Indeed, but please, call me Melody. I thank you for the kind invitation.”
Mrs. Rutherford motioned to a nearby chair and Melody noted that the older woman did not bother to introduce herself. Perhaps she felt it was superfluous. She glanced quickly and noted that Conner was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, she hoped she might yet pass him before their visit ended.