by Sonia Parin
Evie smiled to herself and pictured the headlines. Society heiress held for ransom by a gang of scriptwriters.
“Tom’s looking rather dapper today,” Phillipa remarked. “He always dresses well, but there’s something different today.”
He came in through the French doors and greeted them with a wide smile.
“Savile Row?” Evie asked as she admired his gray suit and navy-blue tie. “What happened to your country squire tweed suits?”
Tom gave his cufflinks a twist. “Well, you know how your grandmother feels about men dressing appropriately. If she sees me in English country tweeds, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“But that is appropriate…” Evie shook her head. “And she’s not due to arrive for weeks.”
“I’m playing it safe,” Tom said, “and getting some practice in before she arrives.”
Evie pressed her hand to her chest but couldn’t contain her laughter. “You’re scared of her. Oh, thank you. You’ve lightened my mood.”
Tom bowed his head slightly and thickening his Boston accent, said, “I’m glad I could be of service, ma’am.”
“Speaking of which…” She had almost forgotten about one of her most pressing concerns. Evie tapped her chin in thought. If she didn’t act promptly, she might end up losing her butler. “I’d appreciate some fresh ideas.” Evie lowered her voice. “I need to keep Edgar happy. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m afraid he might be planning an exodus back to London. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is scouting around and looking for another place of employment even as we speak.”
“What do you have in mind?” Tom asked.
“I’m not really sure. All I know is that I wish him to feel this is the right place for him.”
“So, you want him to feel more valued,” Tom mused.
Casting a glance around the drawing room to make sure everything was as it should be, Evie said, “Please don’t ask me how you can accomplish that. I’m afraid my imagination doesn’t stretch that far.”
“He could save your life,” Phillipa suggested.
Tom and Evie both looked at her, their eyes wide with surprise and a hint of intrigue.
“I’m trying to engage my creativity.” Phillipa sat on an armrest and swung her foot. “Let’s see. Tom could hide somewhere out of sight and take a shot at you.”
“Me?” Evie asked.
Phillipa waved her hand. “Of course, he’d miss you. You could make sure Edgar stood nearby to rescue you and when he does, you would feel so indebted to him, he’ll never want to leave because he’ll think your safety depends on him remaining in this house.”
“That’s rather extreme but…” Evie looked over her shoulder toward the door to make sure no one would overhear her, “I’m almost willing to try anything.”
“Increase his income.” Tom grinned. “That would work for me.”
“Bribery and corruption is not beneath me. When I found out he enjoys the theater, I gave him tickets and leave to go into town.” And, she’d recently gifted him a handsome tiepin.
“You could play matchmaker,” Phillipa suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s not married. What if he were to fall in love with someone local? He’d have to stay here.”
True. “Do we know someone suitable?” She gave it some thought. “I’m in favor of everyone living happily ever after, but I’m not sure I have the right experience to find him a perfect match.”
Phillipa sunk into the chair. “With three other authors in the house, I think we might be able to come up with a plan for you.”
A footman entered the drawing room and began setting up for morning tea.
Evie decided having the authors residing at Halton House just before her grandmother’s visit might work in her favor. It seemed infinitely more satisfying to immerse herself in a world of make-believe than to have to deal with the reality of disappointing her granny in any way.
Sitting up, Phillipa mused, “You said he likes the theater… I could suggest writing a part for him in our play.”
Evie brightened. “Oh, I think Edgar might rather enjoy that.” Glancing over at Tom, she added, “It sounds far safer than having Tom shoot me.”
“Do you think he might want to be the villain or the hero?” Phillipa asked.
Evie gave it some thought. She could picture Edgar as the hero but, secretly, she thought he might rather enjoy playing a villain…
Chapter Three
All the world’s a stage, and all the men
and women merely players
– William Shakespeare
The library, Halton House
“So far, so good,” Tom murmured as Evie showed her guests through to the library.
After morning refreshments, they had all taken a stroll around the estate, returning in time for lunch.
Conversation during lunch had been demure and restricted to pleasantries, mostly focusing on the theater and the authors’ plans to write a play set in a country estate.
Since returning to England, Evie had entertained a few guests for lunch and dinner while easing back into her life at Halton House, but the last couple of weeks had been relatively quiet. So much so, she felt slightly on edge. Her eyes wouldn’t stop flitting about; her attention focused on her guests’ comfort.
“Please feel free to use the library as your writing space,” Evie offered. “Phillipa explained how it helps to have a place where you will not be interrupted.”
Zelma Collins smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Lady Woodridge, but we have recently adopted a new attitude. Since we can’t always control our environment, we have decided to embrace all possibilities and have actually found ourselves thriving in the midst of chaos.”
Evie had no idea what to say to that. Personally, she needed peace and quiet to work through her dilemmas…
“Evie will be only too happy to provide some chaos,” Phillipa said, her tone cheerful.
“This is a splendid library,” Ernestine Wilding commented.
“That’s saying something,” Phillipa gave Evie a bright smile. “Ernestine’s father is quite a collector.”
Ernestine Wilding shook her head. “He has devoted most of his life to reading yet he disapproves of my writing.”
Evie wondered if he had reason to disapprove. She studied the tall, slender woman who could easily have graced the pages of the most popular fashion periodicals. Her fine features were highlighted by a slightly angular face and her pitch-black hair had been styled into a fashionable bob with a fringe hovering just a fraction above her delicately curved eyebrows.
Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Evie tugged at her sleeve. Ernestine Wilding wore a bright orange blouse matched with a black and white houndstooth skirt and two-toned shoes, also in black and white. Evie felt downright provincial in her pleated sea green skirt and pretty pink blouse with spring blooms printed on it. Yes, she really needed to upgrade her wardrobe. Evie had no doubt it would be the first observation made by her grandmother.
“Phillipa mentioned you have a thespian working for you,” Zelma said.
The petite brunette wore a black and beige striped low waisted dress with a long strand of pearls around her neck and the shortest bob Evie had ever seen on a woman.
Smiling, Evie said, “My butler does enjoy the theater.”
Right on cue, Edgar entered the room and surprised Evie by once again making a formal announcement.
There had to be a message in there somewhere…
“The Most Honorable, the Dowager Countess of Woodridge.”
“Thank you, Edgar.” Henrietta strode in only to stop and ask, “Have you been heavy handed with your starch? Your posture seems to be stiffer than usual. Try to relax a little, Edgar.”
“Yes, my lady.”
When Edgar moved to exit the room, Zelma Collins said, “Oh, please don’t leave.”
Edgar looked confused.
Zelma Collins approached Edgar and engaged him
in conversation. “The Countess tells us you are interested in the theater…”
Evie tried to listen in on the conversation, but Henrietta edged toward her and commandeered her attention.
“Evangeline. Would you mind telling me what I have walked into?”
Evie tried to formulate a response that would set Henrietta at ease, but before she could do so, Ernestine Wilding stepped forward.
“You mustn’t mind Zelma, Lady Woodridge,” Ernestine said. “She is rather fixated with her craft and sometimes forgets herself.”
Evie made the introduction. “Henrietta, this is Ernestine Wilding. She is one of the writers I told you about.”
“I see,” Henrietta said with a sense of trepidation in her voice. “You are here to write a play.”
“We hope so, yes.”
“Where do you normally write your plays?” Henrietta asked.
Smiling, Ernestine said, “We all live in London. Both Zelma and Bernie have taken up residence in the West End and I live in Mayfair.”
Mention of the prestigious address seemed to pacify the dowager who nevertheless gave Ernestine a head to toe sweep of her eyes.
“My grandfather is the Earl of Ansonfield and my father is Lord Wilding,” Ernestine murmured.
Henrietta brightened. “Well, that makes you Lady Wilding.”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Either you are Lady Wilding or you have been dispossessed of the privilege.” Henrietta looked at Evie. “It’s been known to happen when relatives disapprove.”
Smiling, Ernestine said, “My grandfather dotes on me. He is more than happy to indulge my whims.”
Henrietta’s eyes twinkled. “And how do your parents feel about your whims?”
“My father is buried in his books so he rarely notices what I’m up to. In any case, he doesn’t care much for plays. My mother reserves her opinions but I know she would much rather see me settled.”
Henrietta nodded. “Mothers are required to worry about their children. Have you been presented?”
Evie glanced over at Edgar to see how he was faring with Zelma Collins. Smiling, she remembered her own presentation at court. So many of the young girls she had known at the time had vied for the honor of being presented. To Evie, it had been part of the whole rigmarole she had to undertake in order to fit in.
The whole process had been quite remarkable. Although, she had found it a little dull as most of the day had been spent waiting for her turn. Then again, she had only recently married and so her thoughts had been otherwise engaged. Since her husband had been an Earl, she had been expected to fulfill her duty by being presented to the monarch but Evie knew others had relied on their string-pulling abilities to secure an invitation.
“Evangeline looked resplendent in her gown,” Henrietta reminisced as she continued to engage Ernestine in conversation.
Evie didn’t comment. Personally, she had found the gown odd. White, low-necked and short-sleeved, she’d had to contend with a train four yards long and three yards wide. The long white gloves, white veil, and three white feathers in her hair had been de rigueur.
All that trouble just to make a deep curtsy to each royal in attendance. Remembering the details, Evie laughed to herself. Advancing toward the dais where the royals had been seated, her train had swept along behind her. After her curtsey, an attendant had then handed her the train, saying, ‘Your train, Madam.” As if she could have forgotten she had been dragging it along. She had then been instructed to throw the train over her arm and depart.
Had it been a life changing experience? Hardly. Nevertheless, she had appreciated the process as well as the resplendent setting.
Henrietta turned to one of the scriptwriters, Bernie Peters, but the young woman had already surrounded herself with a pile of books from the shelves. Finding another target, she signaled toward Zelma Collins, and said, “Your guest seems to be intrigued by Edgar.”
“I believe she is trying to entice him into participating in their play. Although, I’m not sure what she means to do with him.” Evie watched Edgar nodding. So far, he hadn’t made any attempt to cut the conversation short. Which could mean anything, Evie thought. She trusted Edgar to be polite, but Evie knew he could be reserved and employ the tactic to escape an uncomfortable situation. To her surprise, he seemed to be intrigued.
“My lady.” Ernestine looked at Evie who promptly invited her to again address her by her name. “Evie. I wonder if you might be interested in assisting us. We discussed this during our drive here. As soon as we have the first scene written, we would like to stage a rehearsal.”
Evie assured her, “As I said, you’re welcome to use the library. Is there anything else you might need? Perhaps some props?”
“Yes, an actress. How would you feel about playing one of the roles?”
Ernestine Wilding’s invitation to participate in her play kept Evie’s mind occupied for the rest of the evening and well into the night.
At least, it served the purpose of keeping her thoughts away from worrying about her granny’s surprise visit, or the possibility of losing her butler.
Sitting back, she once again fixated on the problem. Good butlers were hard to come by. She would do just about anything to keep Edgar happy…
“Caro, you’d tell me if you heard any whispers about Edgar wanting to leave, wouldn’t you?” Evie asked as she prepared for bed.
“Of course, milady. I wouldn’t dream of keeping anything from you.”
Evie finished removing the gloves she had worn for dinner and happened to glance up in time to catch Caro’s expression reflected in the mirror. “Did you just wince?”
“Me? Wince? Why would I do that, milady?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Are you unhappy about something?” Evie watched Caro clearly struggling with her conscience. Evie considered encouraging her to reveal her concerns but Caro must have felt strongly enough to not need any further persuasion.
“Well, if you must know, Edgar told quite an elaborate tale this evening about being invited to participate in a play.”
To Evie, that sounded like good news. If Edgar had shared the information with the downstairs servants, that could only mean he had embraced the idea. “Do you disapprove?” Evie asked.
Caro’s eyebrows drew downward. “Oh, so it is true.”
“Well… Yes. Did you think Edgar had been fibbing?”
Caro shrugged. “He can be a little uppity sometimes. In fact, whenever he goes into town to see one of his plays, he becomes quite unbearable, putting on airs and talking as if he were on the stage putting on a performance.”
Evie turned slightly and smiled at Caro. “But that sounds like fun. Is he any good?”
Caro rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Horace seems to think so. She finds it all very amusing.”
Evie clapped her hands. If the cook found him amusing, then he must have some talent, perhaps even a hidden talent, she thought. “This could work out really well.”
Caro pursed her lips.
“Caro, I get the feeling you disapprove.”
Caro looked away and murmured, “He’s not the only one with talent.”
“Oh, is there someone else?” Belatedly, Evie recalled how much Caro had enjoyed playing the role of her distant relative recently, Lady Carolina Thwaites. “Would you like me to ask if…”
Caro beamed. “Oh, yes. Would you? Oh, that would be marvelous.”
“Consider it done.”
As Caro turned her attention to tidying up, she said, “Would you mind if I wear my new dress? That is… When I read my lines. I think it would be easier for me to step into character if I wear my Sunday best.”
“Yes, of course.” Evie turned her attention to removing her earrings. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we go into the village tomorrow and visit the dressmaker? You can have something new. My treat. She has been working on some new gowns for me and I had intended going in for a fitting next week, but I think I need to organize some more
gowns. I doubt I’ll have time to go into town and, unless I do something about my clothes, my grandmother is bound to notice I’m not keeping up with the times. I hear Mrs. Green has hired a new assistant who’s worked in Paris. I’m hoping I’ll be able to fool my granny. Well? What do you think?”
Caro gave her a worried look. “Oh, yes… It sounds like a perfect plan.”
“Caro. I’ve known you long enough to recognize the signs. I thought you’d be happy. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Well… I thought you might want to avoid going into the village. At least for the time being.”
Evie stilled. She had enjoyed an entire evening without giving a single thought to Mrs. Sheffield, now the name jumped out at her. She would hate to hear her name mentioned, especially in connection to herself. She couldn’t think of any other reason why Caro would think she’d want to avoid going into the village.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Evie said.
“Well, I don’t have all the details because I’d been listening to Edgar prattling on about the play, but I also caught snippets of another conversation. Mrs. Arnold went into the village today. She overheard a conversation and it had something to do with a woman remarking on your accent.”
“My accent?”
“Your lack of a proper British accent, to be precise, something she found highly inappropriate because… because of your title. You know how Mrs. Arnold disapproves of spreading gossip. Well, she made an exception because she felt the woman had overstepped her mark.”
“And?”
“As I said, I don’t have all the details, but she did mention something about an altercation.”
Evie gasped. “With whom?”
Caro looked up and tapped her chin. “Let me think. Oh, yes. Mrs. Sheffield.”
Impossible, Evie thought. “What exactly did she have to say about my accent?”
Caro stepped away. “I’m ever so sorry I mentioned it. My mother always says I have the worst timing and she’s always told me never to break bad news in the evening because it could be disruptive to a person’s sleep.” Caro sighed. “I really should listen to her.”
