Not QUITE the Classics (13 page)

A chorus of “Yes, mums” and “Oh, ayes” sounded from the assembled staff.

“Good. Now if you can spare me for a minute, I'll make me own.”

As Patsy dug into her sandwich, she glanced around at the various maids, valets, and other servants seated around the table. This was her favorite time of day. A chance to catch up with the gossip, to commiserate over the workload, to be with her friends. Patsy couldn't remember her life before coming to Beckingham.

Her reverie was disrupted by Jack, the junior groundsman, who burst in from the pantry, chest heaving, forehead beaded with sweat.

“Gaaa… hurgh… ledny… gargg.”

Patsy giggled. “Learned a new language, have we? Oooh, you are a bright boy.”

“Bloody…sow!” he gasped. “I'll give you…a walloping.”

“I'd like to see you try. What are you doing back so early? You're not due till later.”

Jack looked around the table. “Got a juicy bit of news for you all. I was in town meeting a friend—”

“Oooh,” said Iris, an upstairs maid. “The dark-haired one with the full lips?”

“Uh…yes,” said Jack. “Anyway, we were heading to the pub—”

“That friend of yours is very handsome,” said Eugenie, a downstairs maid. “Is he married?”

Jack allowed himself a quiet smile. “No, he hasn't found the right woman.”

“Nor likely to,” Patsy muttered, “if he's anything like your other mates.”

“Maybe you could introduce me to him,” said Olga, the hound trainer, plucking a pickle from a tray. (Olga wasn't the brightest button in the jar.)

“Which pub did you go to, lad?” asked Rossman, the apprentice valet. “The Groan and Cleaver has an exceptional lunch menu, very reasonably priced.”

“Can you all just shut it!” shouted Jack. “This is important!” He waved two letters in the air.

Patsy squinted at the envelopes. “What have you got there, Jack?”

“I ran into Lloyd Sidebottom outside the Spotted Dick. He'd fallen behind on his deliveries, and he asked me to take the post to his lordship.”

“Oh,” said Patsy, winking. “And I suppose on the way back the envelopes fell to the ground and broke open, and you, being the conscientious junior groundsman that you are, skimmed the letters to make sure nothing was amiss.”

Jack smiled sardonically. “Yeah, that's what happened.”

He leaned in close to the table and dropped his voice. “The first letter was from Gatsby's barrister in London. There's a lot of big words thrown about, but the simple meaning of it all is this: Beckingham is almost completely bankrupt!”

Olga crunched her pickle.

Jack continued. “There may be enough for a couple of months, but no more. Which leads me to the second letter. From a possible suitor for Lady Jane.”

“Is he rich?” asked Mattingly, the hedge master, whose good eye widened with hope.

“There wasn't a lot in the letter,” Jack admitted. “Just that he'd heard the earl was looking for him and that he would drop by in the next week or so.”

Patsy chimed in: “Is this the young man the old lady was talking about? The one in women's clothing?”

“Really?” Jack said.

“That's what she said. Boots and leggings, if I remember cor—” Patsy stopped as the realization hit her. “He's a bootlegger!”

“They make a lot of money, don't they?” asked Louise, the chief silver polisher.

“Look, I know as much as you do,” Jack said gruffly. “But if Beckingham is in trouble and this Manly doesn't make good, the first to go will be the staff.”

“How…how could they survive without us?” asked Lavin, bathroom oils and salts maintainer.

Patsy looked around the table. “I think the real question is, how will we survive without them? With the war on, positions for household staff in these parts will be few and far between. We'd be as useless as teats on a bull.”

“Heavens above!” exclaimed Margot, the weekend croquet mistress. “I never thought there'd come a day when my services wouldn't be needed.”

They finished their luncheon in silence.

Lord Gatsby was reshelving books when Hemmingsworth the groomsman burst into the library, looking quite shaken. Lord Gatsby immediately grew worried. He was of the firm opinion that nothing could shake the large Yorkshireman. He had once watched Hemmingsworth, after being kicked by a horse, set the compound fracture, sew his own torn skin with a bootlace, bind his shattered knee, and then continue grooming the steed as if nothing had happened.

“What is it, Hemmingsworth? A problem at the stable?”

“I believe there is something outside that you should take a look at, sir.”

“What is it, man? Spit it out!”

Hemmingsworth looked as helpless as a shorn lamb. He pointed to the door. “Sir, I don't know what it is, but I believe it requires your attention.”

When the earl saw what Hemmingsworth was referring to, he had to admit that the groomsman had been in remarkable control of his emotions. There, over the fox and hound topiary on the front lawn, hovered a flying ship. The long, cylindrical body tapered at both ends like a giant cigar. The sound from its engines was monstrous. It came to rest on the front lawn and suddenly all was quiet. Neither a tweet from the birds in the trees nor a bark from the dogs in the kennel moved the still air.

Everyone who had been in the great house seconds before stood outside gaping at the spectacle. Three of the upstairs maids fainted, the charwoman giggled hysterically, and the cook's water broke, though she was not pregnant. Eckersley moved beside Gatsby. “Should I call the constable, sir?”

Lord Gatsby's handsome head whipped around. “Call the constable? To do what? Toot his whistle at this thing and move it on its way?”

“Forgive me, sir, I panicked.”

Jack ran up, breathless. “Sir, do you think it's German?”

“Of course it's German! It's a Zeppelin.”

Suddenly a door at the bottom of the vessel opened and a short ramp was lowered to the ground.

The earl turned around, raised his arms, and spoke to the crowd. “All right, everyone! Keep calm! Let us show these Krauts how the British deal with adversity!”

A woman's voice rang out from the back of the crowd. “Are we surrendering?”

Gatsby turned crimson. “Never!” he hollered at the top of his lungs.

“Then why are your arms raised?” called out the voice.

“I raised them to get your attention, you daft woman!”

“You had our attention. Are you sure you're not—”

“Madam, I assure you that we are not surrendering. Just follow my lead.”

Eckersley stepped in. “Everyone stay calm and let us preserve the dignity of Beckingham as we face our foes.” He turned to Lord Gatsby and lowered his voice. “Sir, if these people have hostile intentions …”

Gatsby allowed a small smile. “Then I fear the next few moments will be filled with running, screaming, and dying. Prepare to protect our women.”

The voice rang out from the back of the crowd. “Look!”

Emerging from the dark interior of the Zeppelin were four men, all of them magnificent, handsome, broad-shouldered chaps with blindingly white smiles.

“Americans!” exclaimed the voice in the back.

One of the four men gave a huge, good-natured laugh. “The name's Sergeant Tex Masterson. We didn't mean to scare ya'll. We're Allies, after all.” The sergeant winked at the group, specifically the women. “Appropriated this little German balloon here,” he said, slapping the side of the Zeppelin appreciatively. “Just came to drop off something from back home, then we'll be on our way.”

Lord Gatsby stepped forward. “Good day, Sergeant. I am Richard Gatsby, master of Beckingham Abbey. We would be honored to have American members of the Allied forces as our guests—even if it did take you two and a half bloody years to get here. Eckersley, set up the picnic tables for an outside tea.”

“Certainly, sir. Jack, Patsy, gather the others and set up a tea service.”

The American smiled warmly. “Well that's mighty kind of you, Dick.”

“Richard Gatsby, Earl of Beckingham,” he corrected.

“Sure thing, Earl. Well, we didn't just drop in empty-handed. Brought a long-lost acquaintance of yours and an old amigo of mine. Picked him up in Southampton. He tells us he's got a rend-ee-vous with a filly named Jane!”

“Lord Gatsby?” Striding down the ramp was a tall man in a crisp white linen suit. His face, beneath a straw boater, was kind and open with large brown eyes.

Jane, who had ventured out onto the lawn in a pristine white gown belted with a pale blue ribbon, stood slightly apart from the others with a startled expression on her lovely face. When she recovered from her surprise, she masked her features with feigned indifference, but her cheeks bloomed pink and betrayed her.

The tall man shook the earl's hand firmly.

“Rockefeller? Rockefeller Manly! Good lord, I haven't seen you in years and yet—and yet I'd know you anywhere. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”

“I did. I sent you a letter as soon as I heard you were looking for me.”

“Um…” Jack stepped forward. “Mr. Sidebottom just gave me these to give to you, milord.” He handed Gatsby the two letters. Gatsby glanced at them.

“Damn war, I suppose. Really playing havoc with the postal system. Oh well, you're here and that's the important thing.” Gatsby clapped Manly heartily on the back and guided him along the gravel drive to where Jane stood.

“I am delighted to find such a warm welcome from such a beautiful family.” Manly stood before Jane and smiled appreciatively.

“Rockefeller, my daughter, Lady Jane. If I'm not mistaken, you were adoring playmates at the age of four or so.”

“I'm sure Mr. Manly would not remember that,” Jane said demurely, gazing at her white shoes.

Manly's eyes, filled with amusement and something far more exciting, locked onto Jane's. “I assure you, Lady Jane, I could never forget you. Especially not your skill at tiddlywinks!”

Jane laughed becomingly. “I think I shall check and see how they're getting along with the tea. Please excuse me. It is a rare pleasure to see you again.” She curtsied prettily and walked across the lawn to the main garden.

Gatsby slapped Manly on the shoulders. “You have no idea how glad I am that you're here! You're a soothing balm for eyeballs that have become tired through…for the… Harrumph.” Lord Gatsby coughed with embarrassment. “Do come into my study for a moment before tea is served. I'd like to make a proposal.”

When they emerged from the study twenty minutes later, Lord Gatsby's lips were set in a grim line.

The earl said little as he watched Jane preside over afternoon tea. The letter from his barrister had dampened his high spirits. At least we have tea, he thought. Life is so much easier to face when one has tea.

The impromptu party was, of course, a resounding success. The American visitors, though a tad rough around the edges, were unfailingly polite and conducted themselves with complete propriety. They seemed to enjoy the watercress sandwiches and Cook's gooseberry scones and clotted cream. After, at Lord Gatsby's urging, Eckersley and Jack led the servicemen on a tour of the estate. Jack, in particular, seemed very happy to show the Yanks a good time.

Gatsby, Manly, and Jane watched as the men walked down the gravel path to the stables. Lord Gatsby turned to Rockefeller. “Perhaps you could tell Lady Jane of your adventures abroad?”

Rockefeller smiled. “I suppose I can give you the condensed soup, so to speak. I believe the last time I saw you, it was at the tender age of six.”

“You had just turned seven,” Jane said. “We had a birthday party and I gave you a little wind-up clown.” Rockefeller smiled a wondrous smile, the warmth of which took Jane quite by surprise. “At least that's what I recall.” She returned his smile. “But it was a long time ago.”

“I believe you're right, Lady Jane. Shortly after my seventh birthday, my father became ambassador to Turkey and my life as a nomad began. More foreign posts followed, and I learned to love travel. As a young man, I was filled with wanderlust and a curiosity about other peoples and cultures. Wherever I went, I made a point of learning about the latest advances in local technology and in the sciences. In the Orient I even dabbled in mysticism and the power of the mind. I never stayed in one place very long. Shortly after the war started, I found myself in New York. Dabbled in a little start-up and made a lot of money.”

“Oh, that's when you…entered the refreshment business?” Jane euphemized.

Rockefeller, catching Lord Gatsby's stern eye, smiled uncomfortably. “Yes. But I'm not in that line of work anymore. Turns out the government discourages that sort of thing. I'm afraid I have no great fortune left. Does that disappoint you?”

“Oh. I… Well, that is to say…” Jane looked questioningly at her father.

“My dear, Mr. Manly and I have spoken at length about his circumstances. And though he possesses less in the way of material wealth than we had supposed, he does possess that which makes a marriage most advantageous.” He paused dramatically. “He is the sole male heir to the Manly Sporting and Gaming empire. A marriage will give us the means to ensure that the estate remains in the family and is settled upon your firstborn son… Should you wish to…enter into… That is to say… matrimonially speaking…” Lord Gatsby coughed and looked away.

“I see,” replied Jane primly.

“Lady Jane, do not be too disappointed. I'm a great catch, as New Yorkers say. I'm a little full of myself at times, but no more than the average man. And I have many talents. I throw amazing parties, can dance the tango, I juggle oranges, and I can cook too.” He gave her a dazzling smile.

“We have a cook,” Jane replied tartly.