“Hello, Lady Cumberland,” the gentleman said. “I am Mr. Wentworth, the butler, and this is Mrs. Chadburn, the housekeeper.”
Mr. Wentworth bowed, and Mrs. Chadburn curtsied.
From around the side of the house, half a dozen servants filed into a line. Mr. Wentworth introduced me to two footmen, two maids, the cook, and the kitchen helper.
There wasn’t nearly enough staff present to run a manor home of this size and magnitude. It was easily twice the size of my parents’ brownstone mansion, and they had twenty-four servants, at least. Where were the others?
“Of course, you’ve met Williams, the driver,” Mr. Wentworth continued, “and Mr. Duncan, Lord Cumberland’s valet.”
“Yes.” I offered him a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.” I motioned toward Edith. “This is my lady’s maid, Edith.”
“Edith?” Mr. Wentworth said in a slow, almost painful way as he lifted a brow, looking her over from head to foot.
“Yes.”
“If it pleases you, your ladyship, a lady’s maid is addressed by her last name in England.”
A lot depended on this first meeting. He was trying to help me understand how things were done—yet I was not prepared to give up all of my ways. I smiled and said, “I’ve always called her Edith, for that is her name.”
Mr. Wentworth slowly nodded, as if trying to figure out how to respond. Thankfully, he did not. It was clear my American ways would not be accepted easily here, but there were certain things I would not concede.
“If you’ll follow me,” Mr. Wentworth said, “I will show you to your room, where you may rest from your journey.”
“I’d prefer a tour of the house.” I was far too curious about Cumberland Hall to take a nap right now. If I was going to spend the next ten months here, then I would like to start on the renovations. Perhaps it would help pass the time.
“As you wish.” Mr. Wentworth gave a slight bow. “As soon as the motor truck arrives with your luggage, I’ll have it brought to your room.”
I followed him under the porte cochere and into the massive great hall.
I had been in many magnificent homes in my life. Our mansion in Newport was larger than Cumberland Hall, yet it was nowhere near as old, and it lacked the charm of a manor house built and remodeled over several centuries. My mouth slipped open as I looked up and found my gaze traveling many stories to a mural painted high on the ceiling. A grand stairway sat on the opposite end of the great hall, and all around were windows letting in the brilliant sunshine.
But despite the grandeur of the room, the disrepair was unmistakable. Peeled paint, crumbling plaster, and cracked windows could not be hidden. The rugs were threadbare, the tapestries faded, and the furniture brocade was glossy with use.
Edith did not join us but went with Mrs. Chadburn to seeto my room and get a tour of the servants’ quarters and belowstairs.
“Cumberland Hall’s initial construction dates back to the year 1610,” Mr. Wentworth said in an important voice, “when it was built by the first Marquess of Cumberland.” He droned on as he gave me the dry details of the previous owners and occupants, the construction, the remodeling, and the additions, including the walled gardens along the sides and back. It could have been interesting, if delivered in a tone that begged for questions or conversation, but Mr. Wentworth’s tour did neither. He spoke, instead, of people and dates that didn’t matter to me in the slightest.
We saw an impressive conservatory with a plate-glass roof inspired by the Crystal Palace in London. It was heated year-round by warm water running in pipes under the floor. Inside were many plants and trees, mostly overgrown and neglected. I thought of Mama and her love for botany. If only she could be here with me! She would spend hours in this room, tending to the vegetation all throughout the year. I would need to ask her advice to return this room to its former glory.
But it was the two-story library facing the sea that took me by complete surprise and delight.
“The library was an addition in 1771,” Mr. Wentworth said. “The sixth Marquess of Cumberland had a penchant for books.”
1771? I could almost imagine this library when it was fresh and new in the days of my life in Williamsburg. Now it was ancient and faded with time, reminding me how far removed I was from my other path. A massive fireplace dominated the room, and I could see myself curling up with one of the thousands of books come winter.
“The eighth marquess was a student of history,” Mr. Wentworth continued, “and he was especially interested in American history, politics, and literature.” He walked over to a section of the library nearest the large desk. “Over the years, his descendantshave added to his collection. Perhaps you’ll find some books of interest yourself.”
I looked closely at the titles on the shelves, and my eyes fluttered wide. There were dozens and dozens of books I recognized.Collected Lettersby Christopher Columbus,The General History of Virginiaby John Smith,Of Plymouth Plantationby William Bradford,Common Senseby Thomas Paine, and evenPoems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moralby Phyllis Wheatley. There were historical accounts, as well, but one particular collection of books caught my attention.A Complete Account of America’s Sons of Liberty, Founding Fathers, and Fallen Heroes.There were thirteen volumes in this collection, one for each of the thirteen original colonies. The book entitledVirginiawas thick and leather-bound, dusty with age. Inside those pages would be the names of men like Mister Washington, Mister Jefferson, Mister Patrick Henry, Mister Peyton Randolph ... but would I find Henry Montgomery’s name written there? And if I did, would I learn his fate?
My fingers itched to pull out the book and flip through its pages, yet I would not. Was knowing the fate of the man I loved a good thing? What could I do with the information, whether good or bad?
But what if it was good? Wouldn’t that put my mind at ease?
“Shall we go into the east drawing room next, your ladyship?” Mr. Wentworth asked.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the book, yet I had no choice. I could not take the chance that I would learn something alarming or heartbreaking.
“I’m starting to grow tired,” I said. “Perhaps we can continue our tour at a later time.”
