“Bless you,” Duncan said, and took the food back to the boy.
Once he’d settled the plate in front of the young man, he began tearing off pieces of ham and shoving them into his mouth. Once the ham disappeared, the bread and pudding followed shortly thereafter. The boy obviously hadn’t eaten in awhile. Duncan wondered if Grace knew what a state her son was in.
He didn’t have long to ponder the mystery, because Grace soon poked her head into the doorway to the servants’ dining hall and demanded, “John Henry Phippen, what have you done now?”
Duncan noted the boy immediately stiffened, his face flushed red, and he hung his head. He remained quiet for a long time before speaking. “The wheelwright, Mr. Hallewell…he told me to leave.”
Tears filled Grace’s eyes. “That was your last chance, Johnny.”
Duncan had been unable to work out what the boy had replied, because his head hung down too low to read his lips, but he got the gist of what was said by Grace’s reaction.
Duncan leaned close to young Phippen. “Are you still hungry?”
The boy shook his head slowly, shame written on every feature.
The bluster and fighting in the kitchen had been all bravado. He was a broken young man. Fortunately, broken young men had been Duncan’s speciality in the army. He knew exactly what to do. “If you’ve finished, then we’ll find something for you to do to earn your meal.”
Grace’s voicestuck like a lump of lead in her throat. In everything else, she was a capable, hard-working woman. She always knew what to do for every eventuality in the schoolroom. Her son, however was a complete enigma to her. She had no idea how to go on with him, how to make sure he grew into a capable man who could take care of himself. She’d even foolishly hoped he might one day help take care of her and Lucy as well.
The fleeting joy she’d felt the previous day in the arms of Duncan fluttered like a bird with an injured wing. Apparently, she was one of those women who did not deserve joy. She’d been the worst kind of fool. What must the man think of her now with her troubled boy before him?
At a light tap at her shoulder, she turned to see Sir James. He said nothing, but gave her a warm smile before advancing across the servants’ hall to join Duncan and her son. Sir James, who’d encountered young John numerous times over the holidays in years past when Grace had been Mina’s governess, had a little experience with the boy’s black moods.
“Lord Rumsford is meeting with his shepherds this morning, but he asked me to welcome you and said you’d be doing him a great favor if you could help clear snow along the path toCalypso’s memorial grotto so that the ladies can visit later this week without soaking the hems of their coats and dresses.”
“Follow me,” Duncan said, “I know where the gardeners hide the shovels for the winter.”
Lucy attachedanother loop of light blue tulle from the chandelier in the enormous, third-floor Abbey ballroom. She’d volunteered to help decorate for Lord Rumsford’s annual Boxing Day dance and party for the servants. He’d passed out presents to everyone who worked on the estate early that morning, but the afternoon dancing complete with musicians was the crowning event of the day. Everyone who worked on the Abbey estate would be there while Lord Rumsford’s holiday house party guests would attend a grand tea served in a private room at the Romford Inn.
Once the revelers from below stairs filled the ballroom, one could almost squint one’s eyes and imagine the servants had turned the tables on the fine lords and ladies who usually dominated the Abbey. All of the women would be in their finest wear, which many planned and worked to complete throughout the year. The afternoon party would last until the hall clock struck nine, after which an extravagant dinner will be provided in the dining hall. By eleven, like Cinderella and her mice, they would all return to the roles of servants for another year.
Lucy felt the same way at this last Christmastide house party at the Abbey before she’d have to fulfill her commitment. She was duty-bound to marry the man who held the fate of their girls’ academy in his hands. She knew becoming Mrs. Silas Miller was the only way, but beneath the surface her heart seethed with the injustice of forever being on the brink of genteelpoverty, the injustice of never being able to marry the man she loved.
To help dispel her negative thoughts, she made some extra kissing balls and hung them at various vantage points throughout the ballroom. She felt better just knowing that the army of servants who took care of the inhabitants of Montcliffe Abbey the rest of the year would enjoy the added opportunity for stolen kisses.
8
DECEMBER 27, 1843
MONTCLIFFE ABBEY
Essex, England
Hugh gritted his teeth and tried to pretend interest in the inane conversation with Lady Tillotson and her daughter, Alexandra, who had a terrifying overbite. However much he pretended aloof disinterest, he could not for the life of him keep his gaze from straying back to the poor girl’s unfortunate disfigurement.
Rumor had it Baron Tillotson was someone important at the Exchequer, but Hugh couldn’t manage to conduct a simple, polite conversation with the man whilst keeping his gaze from sliding back to the poor girl’s protuberant front teeth.
The word was at White’s that the baron was settling a substantial dowry on his daughter to make up for her, um, shortcoming. He hoped the baron and baroness hadn’t honed in on him because they assumed he needed the money. He tried to keep his business affairs as discreet as possible over the years, but that didn’t stop the gossip sheets from their endless speculation. The rumors they’d published over the years had ranged from him falling victim to his own high stakes card games to stories proclaiming him rich as Croesus.
The house party guests had just finished an elaborate supper featuring a Twelve Days of Christmas favorite - French hens, capons that is, actually roasted and enclosed in luscious, buttery pie crusts with gravy over all and surrounded by at least fifteen other dishes on the sideboard.
They’d moved to the formal sitting room for tea or ratafia for the ladies, brandy for the men, and conversation for most of the company before breaking up for a variety of games planned for the evening. And then there was the ever popular gentlemen’s refuge in the card room.
He was saved finally by a soft tap on his shoulder. Thank the gods for Lucy. “Pardon me, Lord Westfalia. I hate to interrupt, but we need your assistance in the card room There’s been a rules dispute which I’m sure you’re more than qualified to settle.”
She apologized profusely to the Tillotsons before whisking him away.
He waited until they’d progressed far from the Abbey’s formal sitting room and down a dark hallway before asking where she was taking him. It was painfully clear they werenotheaded toward the card room.
