Ashton Park (16 page)

As he drifted off to sleep, recalling how the weight of her hair felt under his hand, his fingers touched an envelope that had been placed on his pillow. It had a whiff of perfume about it but not Christelle’s. He groped for the wooden matches on his bedside table and lit a candle. The letter was from Lady Caroline Scarborough.

At first he was not going to read it. Then he was going to read it in the morning. Finally he opened it. The note was short, wishing him well, promising him her prayers, asking after his health. At the end, she wrote of their upcoming marriage.

Although there has not yet been a ring or a formal proposal, something we agreed to wait on until the end of the war, I think we are one regarding the matter and will wish to proceed with the wedding as soon as the politics of Europe allow. I would be grateful if we could discuss particulars as to when the ceremony ought to be held and where we ought to live once we are man and wife. I think the next time you are on furlough would be a perfect time to deal with such matters. I do love you so very much and look forward to your response to my letter and your return to England, my dear.

“The soup is quite good, Mrs. Longstaff.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It was a new recipe.”

Mrs. Seabrooke took another spoonful. “Did you receive it from someone who lives near us?”

“At a Baptist church in Liverpool. A lady there gave it to me.”

The household servants were seated at their table just off the kitchen and eating supper. Some were listening to the two women discuss the soup recipe, a few were carrying on their own conversations, several had almost finished their meals and were ready to leave.

“Don’t run off,” said Mrs. Seabrooke, wiping her soup bowl with a thick slice of bread. “I wanted to announce that Sir William wishes for the servants to head down to the Danforth cottage in Dover and have it ready for Parliament’s summer recess. Some, of course, must stay behind to maintain the house and property here. Harrison, you will remain. Skitt and Todd, you will take care of the horses and stables here. But Charlotte, you have been asked down to Dover to attend Victoria, and Norah, you will wait on Lady Elizabeth instead. Cynthia, you will be Aunt Holly’s maid this summer. Tavy, you will naturally perform the same duties there as you do here. Wallace, you will be Sir William’s valet, and Lewis, you will see to Sir Arthur and any of the sons who might pop up on furlough.”

She paused to eat the bread. Then she tapped her spoon on the rim of the bowl. “Who else? There will be another maid or two and several footmen needed. For those of you who have never been there, the house at Dover is quite small compared to the manor here, only about forty rooms, but Sir William and Lady Elizabeth do like to entertain during July and August.” She rapped the spoon sharply on the bowl. “Where is my head? Mrs. Longstaff, you will, of course, come with us to cook and you may ask two assistants to accompany you…Sally and Margaret, I should think. In any case, I shall pin the list of those going on the board here. If you haven’t been selected to serve at Dover Sky this summer you may the next.”

Tavy sipped his water. “What day will we be heading off?”

“The twenty-first or twenty-second of May. By coach to Lime Street Station and then by rail to London and Dover.”

Charlotte gave a short laugh and twisted a fork about in her hand. “I’ve never been out of Lancashire, much less all the way down to the Channel.”

“You’ll adore it,” said Norah, adjusting the pins in her brown hair with long white fingers.

“But won’t the house be musty after a year all shut up?”

“No, dear girl,” responded Tavy, wiping at a small stain on his sleeve with a damp napkin. “They have servants who live there all year round. Just to keep everything trim and proper. There are horses there too, y’see, as well as some lovely fields and orchards to maintain. About six or seven servants, I would say. They keep the place airy and bright.”

“So they do.” Mrs. Seabrooke clapped her hands together. “No more dilly-dallying. I’ll post the list in a day or two after I’ve spoken with Lady Elizabeth again. Oh, and Harriet, we’ll need you to tend to any lady guests’ needs.”

Harriet was small and white, with her hair pulled back in a bun so tight it stretched the skin around her eyes. “What of Lady Grace?”

“Lady Grace does not travel to Dover for the summer. She prefers to remain at Ashton Park. The maids here will see to her.”

Throughout April and May Sir William was busy at the House of Commons, and Lady Elizabeth took advantage of his absence to attend the Baptist church Mrs. Longstaff liked in Liverpool. A motorcar picked the two of them up at Ashton Park and brought them back after the service. The car belonged to a husband and wife who lived in a village nearby who were also members of the small church.

At her first visit, Lady Elizabeth found the singing noisy and the preaching loud and far too personal. She also felt the people took too many liberties and presumed too much when it came to striking up a friendship with her. And then there was the oddly musty smell of the building itself. She very nearly decided not to return and said as much to Mrs. Longstaff. But by the following Saturday night, she felt compelled to attend again. And by the third visit she found she preferred the enthusiastic style of the Baptist worshippers to what she considered the dull complacency of the congregation at St. Mark’s. The preaching was easily understood and the friendship of the women and men, she had come to believe, was not affected or fawning as she had first supposed, but genuine and warm. She found herself praying in the pew and at home with an intensity that had not stirred her for years.

Lady Elizabeth’s friendship with Mrs. Longstaff went back to the years when the children were growing up. The two had become close friends despite the social gap between lady and servant, Lady Elizabeth talking over difficulties with the children freely and frequently, growing to trust her. When Mrs. Longstaff had asked if she would come with her to her church, Lady Elizabeth had gone for the sake of their relationship, never expecting to go back again. By the time the household was to travel down to Dover Sky for the summer, Lady Elizabeth found she wished she could take the brick Baptist church—musty smell and all—and its congregation and minister with them.

“They’ll still be here when we get back, ma’am,” said Mrs. Longstaff. “You can count on that. I expect you’ll still be wanting to worship with them come fall and winter.”

“Of course,” replied Lady Elizabeth as they privately shared a tea together in the front parlor. “So long as Sir William doesn’t object.”

“Why, he hasn’t objected so far, has he?”

“He doesn’t know. That’s why we haven’t heard a word from him.”

“My heavens, ma’am, why would you keep it from him? Sir William is a good Christian man.”

Lady Elizabeth stirred more sugar into her tea. “Sir William is a good Church of England Christian man, Mrs. Longstaff. That’s the thing.”

Catherine Moore hurried along the sidewalk toward the Belfast docks and her husband’s office. Under one arm she had a roast-beef dinner she had placed in a box wrapped in brown paper and twine. The sooner she could reach Albert, the warmer his meal would be once he opened the box.

Thick fog the color of clay fastened itself to the larger buildings and shops as well as the high cranes that loomed over the harbor with their long necks. Catherine tightened a scarf around her neck as the cold damp tried to find its way past her coat to the thin blouse underneath. She did not want to miss him and quickened her pace.

There had been quarrels, usually over her father’s Home Rule stance that granted Ireland a measure of independence, for Albert remained adamant that Northern Ireland in particular needed to stay firmly united to England. Over the past two months he had begun coming home later and later, skipping dinner with her altogether and snatching a plate of fish and chips at a local pub, showing up at the house smelling like beer and cigars. They had fought about that too. Several times he had slept on the leather couch in his den.

Catherine had decided that taking meals to him might be one way to heal the rift. Albert loved meat-and-potato dinners and was not likely to get those at a bar. She was certain it would bring a smile to his face and that they might be free to talk in a friendlier fashion to each other. It was worth a try.

Pigeons were clustered in front of her, jabbing their beaks at the cement. A man in a plum-colored vest was sweeping crumbs and cigarette butts out of a restaurant and onto the sidewalk and street. The pigeons hopped away from the broom but would not fly. They were too intent on getting the scraps he brushed out the door.

Catherine paused to let the man finish. She glanced through the window of the restaurant. It was full of people eating and talking and smoking. There, at a far table, she saw Albert. He was laughing loudly, she could hear him through the open door, cigar in one hand, a plate of roast beef and potatoes and mushy peas on the table in front of him, a beautiful woman with raven hair, dark-red lips, dark eyes, and a sleeveless dress holding his other hand, constantly bringing it up to her mouth to kiss and then press against her cheek.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The man with the broom smiled and stepped back to let her pass.

“I’ve forgotten something!” blurted Catherine and began to walk quickly back the way she had come.

After a block, she went into an alley and put a hand to the brick wall of a law office to brace herself. She felt like she was going to collapse. A trashcan was lidless a few feet away and she pitched the box that held Albert’s roast beef dinner into it. Her knees almost buckled. She took a dozen slow, deep breaths and finally straightened. Leaving the alley, she half-ran across the street in her long coat before another wave of traffic swept past. Gaining the other side, she turned up a boulevard with spreading green elms and walked as rapidly as she could up a slope and away from downtown. The house she lived in with Albert lay in the opposite direction and she had no intention of returning to it.

“I always love a train ride,” Lady Elizabeth said as she stepped down from the rail car and looked around. “But I enjoy arriving even more. Ah, there’s Fairburn!”

Fairburn, who managed what Sir William liked to call the Cottage at Dover Sky, stepped forward to greet Victoria and Lady Elizabeth, as well as Aunt Holly and Sir Arthur.

“The carriage is this way, milady,” he said, directing them through the station and to the navy-blue and burgundy carriage waiting outside. A larger coach handled by his assistant Adkins was parked just behind, waiting for the servants to assemble on the platform. A third was picking up the steamer trunks and luggage. Motorcars and trucks mingled with coaches and wagons as Fairburn coaxed their carriage out of town and into the countryside. Every tree and bush and flowerbed was at least two to three weeks ahead of Lancashire. Victoria smiled as she gazed at long lilac hedges that were in full bloom and perfuming the air. The afternoon sun lay on the green fields like lace.