Miss Foster sighed again, her slim figure pressed against the door frame as she continued to watch the new mother and her baby sleeping peacefully. "I suppose it would be good to have him come and visit Helena. I know she would like that. Ernest as well. How about we wait until the morning though, eh? We can send a message with the milkman."
"That sounds like a good idea, my lady."
The young woman simply nodded as Winston dusted his way down the corridor, looking on with a sad expression and wishing she was the woman in bed with the new baby.
- 7 -
Helena's replacement, eighteen year old Catherine Pollock, was really starting to annoy Ernest. She was utterly useless. Irresponsible. Careless. Incompetent.
Worse still, her growing attraction towards Philip seemed to be mutual, and the Hutchinson boy had taken to pinching her bottom whenever she walked by. This of course caused the new maid to blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. And despite their increasingly public displays of affection, neither Lord nor Lady Hutchinson seemed to notice - he being extremely occupied with work and she with helping plan the Easter Ball.
"I thought Helena showed you how to do this," Ernest commented one evening while demonstrating to Catherine how to run Caroline's bath.
"She did, but I wasn't watching," the girl answered dryly as she examined her fingernails, a bored expression on her face.
"And why weren't you watching?" the butler asked irritably.
"OUCH!" he yelled as the side of the hot pot made contact with the top of his hand.
Catherine giggled as Ernest set the pot on the floor and rubbed his burning hand briskly against his trousers.
“You are too funny, Ernest.”
The butler shook his head in disgust while he grimaced in pain. "You really do take the cake, dear girl.”
"I wish I could! But there's not a sweet to be found in this house! And believe me, I've searched."
"I'm sure you have," said Ernest darkly, glaring at her. "You can finish up here."
"But, I don't know how!"
"Well, you'll just have to figure it out then, won't you?"
Catherine made a face as Ernest brushed past her and left the bathroom. Downstairs, the made his way to the kitchen where Peter was still busy putting away the last of the supper dishes.
"Good Lord, that girl is impossible."
Peter nodded as he reached high above his head to place a large soup pot atop the cabinet. "Aye. She doesn't know what she's doing half the time."
"I still can't believe they would hire someone like her," Ernest said, shaking his head. "Helena, with a babe tied to her, would still do better than that...that poor excuse for a servant."
"Agreed."
"What do we have to do to get her sacked?" Ernest asked, only half-serious, as he ran his burned hand under some cold water from the pump.
"Well, I imagine we don't have to do anything, really. Way she's going, she'll get herself sacked in a short while. I give her a month."
"A full 'nother month?"
"Unfortunately."
Ernest stopped pumping, and the water ceased flowing a second later.
"Have you got a towel?" he asked, turning to face Peter.
"Aye. Here you are," the cook answered, tossing Ernest a small, white towel.
"Cheers."
The butler leaned back against the counter, toweling off his wet, injured hand and thinking. Thinking about how annoying Catherine was. Thinking about Helena. He'd been to see her last weekend. She'd seemed out of sorts and she hadn't held Grace once while he'd been there. When he'd asked if he could hold the newborn infant, she'd simply waved her hand as though to say, "Go right ahead."
Afterwards, speaking privately with Miss Foster, they'd agreed that she wasn't quite herself. Yet, while Miss Foster had suggested that Helena was simply experiencing the anxiety that comes with being a new mother, Ernest suspected it might be something more. As though, perhaps, Helena was rejecting her baby because of how it had come to be. Maybe it reminded her of Oliver and what he'd done to her. It certainly didn't help that Grace had a full head of Oliver’s bright, red hair.
“Thinking about Helena?”
Returning to the present, Ernest looked at Peter. “Yes? Is it that obvious?”
The cook grinned. “Aye.”
“Well,” Ernest sighed, as he hung the towel over the line above the counter, “I suppose I’m just worried for her is all.”
“How so? Is she not alright?”
“Well, she seemed a little out of sorts when I went to visit her the other day.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Miss Foster thinks it’s just nerves and that she’ll perk up in a week or two. But I saw something in her eyes. It was this haunting look. Well, perhaps not quite haunting, but a look that made me think she was elsewhere. Like she didn’t want to be where she was.”
“Well, that makes sense,” said Peter, dropping a soup ladle into the canister on the counter. “She didn’t want a baby. She’s not got a husband. And suddenly she’s a mother with nowhere to go and no family to help her along.”
“Yes, but…” Ernest sighed. “She’s healthy. She had a good delivery. Doctor Avery gave her a clean bill of health. She should be rejoicing her new motherhood, not wallowing in shame and self-pity.”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know, Ernest.”
“Neither do I, unfortunately. I just hope she returns to her old self.”
But Helena didn’t return to her old self and just three days later, without a word of goodbye, she upped and left. Ernest heard the following day from Lady Hutchinson, who'd heard from Lady Windermere that Helena had caught the overnight stagecoach to Montreal. According to Mr. Duncan, a driver who worked for Kingston Stagecoaches Limited, she'd worn a shawl and bonnet and he only recognized her when he dropped her at the old port in Montreal - too late to ask her what she was doing or why she was leaving.
As for baby Grace, she was now in the care of Miss Foster and rumours swirled about town for weeks afterwards.
She paid Oliver to assault the poor girl and then bought the baby.
She always wanted a baby and since she could never have one of her own, she conspired to get one in the most despicable way imaginable.
She’s a Saint – taking in that poor maid girl and then keeping the baby after she’s left? Who else in this town would be so charitable? She’s a true Christian she is, that Clarissa Foster.
Ernest found it difficult to ignore the more vicious of these rumours - the ones that accused Miss Foster of concocting a malevolent scheme to get the baby she'd always wanted - and he'd exchanged heated words, on several occasions, with a number of Kingstonians in order to defend the young woman's reputation. After all, he'd approached her to perform a good deed for him; Miss Foster didn't have to take in Helena. Rather, she did it as a favour, an act of charity.
Ernest felt even more guilty when he learned that she hadn't left the house since the rumours had begun. Lady Hutchinson had reported that Miss Foster had even canceled her ticket for the upcoming Easter Ball, too enraged and embarassed to face her accusers.
Of course, in defending Clarissa Foster's good name, Ernest also had to avoid offending Lady Hutchinson. For Miss Foster had upstaged Lady Hutchinson when she took Helena into her home (after Lady Hutchinson had kicked her out) and several prominent ladies voiced this fact about town, much to Lady Hutchinson's chagrin. Nonetheless, Lady Hutchinson refrained from participating in most of the gossip that pertained to either Helena or Miss Foster, (though she was surely tempted whenever Lady Windermere or Mrs. Winthrop were visiting for tea) and Ernest admired her for it.
The rest of March passed quickly and the date of the Easter Ball arrived seemingly without warning. As with the year before, Kingston's premier, annual, social event had the townspeople talking.
Have you seen what Mrs. Winthrop plans to wear?
Why hasn't Bernard asked me to the Ball yet?
I heard Mrs. MacIsaac has
promised to serve real English gin at the reception.
Did you hear? Lady Stockton has hired an orchestra from Montreal!
Ernest of course, wasn't going. Though Peter was. He'd asked Linda, the butcher's daughter to be his date and after some diplomatic discussion between Ernest and Linda's father (who'd turned out to be more strongly opposed to his daughter attending the Ball with the young cook than Ernest could ever have imagined), it was arranged that they would ride with Lord and Lady Hutchinson to and from Simcoe Manor (where the Ball was being held). That way there would be no "unholy business" and no cause for speculation as to what the two twenty-somethings had may or may not have gotten up to.
"Are you ready yet, James? For heaven's sake. You are slower than molasses!"
"Laura, dear. Haven't I told you that talking like a colonial only makes you more of one?"
"We are English, James, and English we shall remain."
"Not so long as you use cute expressions from the colonies. Bah. Have you seen my tie? Where did you put my tie, Laura?"
"I don't know. I haven't touched your tie since the weekend when I ironed it."
"Well, find it."
Ernest made his way downstairs, drowning out the couple's bickering.
"Ernest! There you are! How do I look?"
It was Peter.
The butler stepped back a foot and gave the cook a once over. "Not bad...let's roll this up a little bit...and tuck that in...can you tighten your braces?"
"I think so," he grunted, removing his jacket and adjusting the length of his suspenders (*The English used to refer to suspenders as "braces").
"There, now give that a go."
Ernest waited patiently while Peter put on his jacket once again and did up the topmost buttons.
"Splendid."
"Really? You think so?"
Ernest nodded. "Aye. More handsome than the great David Garrick himself."
"David who?"
"Nevermind," said Ernest, shrugging off the question. "You're a little too young to know who he is. Just make sure to be a gentleman, eh? You're carrying my reputation. I vouched for you to Linda's father. Don't make me regret it."
"I shan't do anything of the sort, Ernest. And you know it."
The butler smiled a small smile. "Aye. I do. You're a good lad."
"Thank you."
The kitchen door burst open and Philip appeared in the corridor where Ernest and Peter were standing.
"Ready, gents?"
"I'm not going," said Ernest flatly, angered by Philip's shenanigans and juvenile behaviour over the past few days. He'd long since given up on Philip's "changed man" act. Hence his frosty tone towards the Hutchinson boy.
"I know you're not going, old man. I'm talking to my boy, Peter."
"I'm not your boy," Peter growled, shaking Philip's hand from his shoulder.
"Oh, easy now. You don't want to go jeopardizing your employment here by picking a fight with me," said Philip darkly, moving so that he stood mere inches from Peter.
Ernest instinctively stepped in between them. "Why don't you leave him alone, eh?"
Philip smirked. "For now."
"PETER? ARE YOU READY? I DON'T WANT TO BE KEPT WAITING!"
It was Lady Hutchinson and her voice echoed down the stairs and filled the corridor.
"IN A MINUTE, MADAM. JUST GOT TO FETCH ME SHOES!"
"ALRIGHT, WELL BE QUICK ABOUT IT. WE'RE LEAVING. WHERE'S PHILIP? HAVE YOU SEEN PHILIP?"
Ernest watched as Peter glared at the Hutchinson boy before yelling his reply: "AYE, MADAM. HE'S HERE BESIDE ME."
"WELL, TELL HIM TO PREPARE THE CARRIAGE! WE HAVE TO LEAVE IN FIVE MINUTES."
"FIVE MINUTES!?" Philip shot back. "MOTHER, YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE SOMETIMES. REALLY YOU ARE."
"ENOUGH!"
Ernest shuddered as Lord Hutchinson's voice reverberated down the stairs, silencing the house.
"NO MORE SHOUTING. WE'RE CIVILIZED PEOPLE. FROM NOW ON, UNDER MY ROOF, YOU WILL RING THE BELL OR COME TO THE ROOM IF YOU WISH TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE."
Ernest looked at Philip who was using his tongue to dislodge something from between his teeth, an impatient expression on his face. Several seconds passed in which he released a lungful of air, and then the eldest Hutchinson child pushed Ernest aside and headed out the front door.
"What's gotten into him?" Peter wondered aloud.
"Well, did you smell the liquor on him just now?"
"No. He's not drinking again...is he?"
The butler shrugged non-commitally. "If he is, we'd best not discuss it now," he finished as he heard Lord and Lady Hutchinson begin descending the stairs. "You go and enjoy yourself. Treat that girl like something special - she won't forget you that way."
The cook grinned a sly smile. "That would mean me taking her to my bedroom."
"Hey now. What did I say about that type of thing?"
Seeing Ernest's serious expression, Peter stopped smiling. "Sorry. Just a joke, Ernest."
"Well, don't joke. This town is full of talk. And what with Helena's situation and Philip's bad reputation, this house doesn't need anymore mud throw at it."
Peter nodded, his face solemn. "You're right."
"Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson once she'd arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the corridor. "You'll make sure Catherine gives Caroline a bath tonight, won't you?"
"Of course, Madam."
"Good. And see to it that Catherine does a good job of it. Last time Caroline had a gallon of soap left in her hair!"
"I shall, Madam."
"Honestly, James," she continued, turning to her husband who had just joined them in the corridor. "That girl is impossible. I'm not sure she has her head on straight. "
"Madam?"
Ernest whirled around to see Catherine standing in the kitchen doorway. He hadn't heard the kitchen door open.
"Catherine," Lady Hutchinson said with a wide, plastic smile.
"Do you not like the way I work? Am I not good enough for this place?"
Her tone caused Ernest to recoil, but not more than Lord and Lady Hutchinson.
"I beg your pardon!"
"I said, do you not like the way I work? Madam."
"I do like the way that you work, Catherine - when you work. It's when you don't work, where I have difficulty. Did you know that I had to rinse Caroline's hair the other morning? There was so much soap in it, Ernest could have scrubbed the floor with her."
"Madam, she doesn't like when I rinse her hair. She says I get water in her eyes!"
"Well then do a better job of it and don't get water in her eyes. Silly girl!"
Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and dropped back into the kitchen, disappearing behind the door as it swung shut.
"My word," Lady Hutchinson said with a sigh. "If it isn't one thing..."
"Laura," James interjected. "I think it best you leave that and we go to the Ball. Afterwards, you can speak with her."
"No, James, that - "
"Laura. I'm not asking. Ernest, fetch her coat, will you? We'll be outside."
The butler watched as Lord Hutchinson clamped a hand on his wife's shoulder and steered her towards the door."
"Ow! James!"
"Laura. I paid good money for these tickets. Half the town will be there. We're going. Now."
He flung open the door and pushed her gently outside.
"Are you coming, Peter?"
"Yes, Sir. Right away," the cook answered nervously.
"Let's go then. Where's Philip?"
"He's gone to get the carriage, Sir," said Ernest, stepping forwards, towards the door.
"Alright then. Ernest, you keep an eye on Catherine tonight. I don't want her doing anything foolish."
"Yes, Sir."
"If she gives you any grief tonight, let me know tomorrow and she's sacked."
"Yes, of course, Sir."
"Good. Well, we shan't be too long. It's going on half six now. We should be back no later tha
n ten. You know how Laura is if she's not in bed by ten."
Ernest smiled supportively. "Yes. I do, Sir."
Lord Hutchinson nodded. "Very well then. We'll see you later."
"Yes, Sir."
"Come, Peter," he said, turning and making his way down the front walk towards the carriage where Philip and Lady Hutchinson were waiting.
"Have a good time!"
"We shall, Ernest!"
The butler smiled and closed the door.
Ah, to be young again.
"Ernest?"
The butler turned around to see Catherine standing before him. She had obviously been waiting behind the kitchen door for the others to leave.
"Er...yes?"
"Do you believe what she says about me? How I'm not a good worker. You don't believe that, do you? Because it's not true. It isn't."
"Yes, yes, of course it isn't," said Ernest hastily, trying to placate the young woman who was clearly not in a good state of mind.
"Well, why did she say those things then?"
Why was he always being made to answer the difficult questions?
"I honestly do not know, Catherine. Perhaps she was just in a huff because of the Ball tonight. You know, it's occupied a great deal of her time - "
"I don't care! What she said to me was...it was hurtful! She had no right!"
Well, actually...
"Can I ask you, Catherine," said Ernest, deciding to take control of a conversation that seemed to be careening towards a cliff. "Do you like working here? Are you happy with your employment here?"
The girl shrugged and took a seat on the stairs. "I suppose. I'm not used to this type of work though. At Mrs. Hayden's, all I had to do was the laundry and mind the kids now and again."
"Well," Ernest sighed, "there is more work to be done here than that. That's for certain. But consider it a learning opportunity."
Catherine made a face.
"Or not. Stay miserable and hate every day you spend here."
"No."
The butler shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you then."
"Just, just, oh - "
"Catherine?"
It was Caroline. She was standing at the top of the stairwell, looking down at them.
"What is it, Caroline?" asked Ernest, stepping forwards so that he could see her properly. "Are you hungry? Tired? Would you like Catherine to read you a story before bed?"
"No. But I want my bath. Can I have my bath now, Catherine?" the little girl asked.
Ernest looked from Caroline to Catherine. "I reckon she can do that."