The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  James sent her a half smile. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Did you stop loving Alice because she ignored you for a while or disobeyed you?”

  “Never.”

  “Neither will He.”

  James rested his head in his hands and murmured, “Oh, Mercy.”

  When he said no more for a few moments, she whispered, “Exactly.”

  Mercy passed the coffee room later that evening and saw Mr. Kingsley standing near the door. Her heart instantly lightened.

  “Miss Grove, good evening,” he said stiffly, eyes wary.

  She smiled at him. “Mr. Kingsley, I am happy to see you. I was sorry you left the wedding so quickly.”

  “Were you?”

  She nodded.

  He studied her face, and his expression brightened. He looked past her and around the empty hall. “Not dining with Mr. Drake and Alice tonight?”

  “No. Alice has gone to bed early and Mr. Drake has been invited to dine with the Phillipses in Wishford. So I am on my own.”

  “Happy chance. Would you have dinner with me, then?”

  “I would enjoy that.”

  He pulled out a chair for her at a table, then looked around the room. “No friends of Mr. Drake’s here tonight? Good. That should make it easier to avoid getting into fisticuffs.”

  He grinned at her, and she returned the gesture.

  When they were both seated, one of the waiters soon appeared with printed menus.

  “Hello, Lawrence.”

  “Miss Grove. Mr. Kingsley. You are familiar with our usual offerings, of course. And today, our chef has prepared a few special dishes to tempt you: a creamy white soup, followed by roast loin of pork and parsnips. And almond cheesecakes for dessert.”

  “Sounds lovely.” But Mercy noticed Joseph did not look similarly pleased. In fact, a shadow crossed his face. “Give us just a few minutes to decide, will you, Lawrence?”

  “Of course. Take your time.”

  She studied her companion. “Mr. Kingsley, is something the matter?”

  “No. It’s only . . . white soup was Naomi’s favorite. Just took me off guard.” He winced. “I’m sorry. I suppose I should not mention her to you.”

  “Of course you should. We are friends, are we not? And she is an important part of you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Grove.” He gestured to the waiter. “We are ready now.” He ordered the special menu for both of them.

  While they waited for their food, Mercy said gently, “Esther told me a little about Naomi. How would you describe her?”

  He slowly nodded as he considered his reply. “Bright. Lively. Affectionate. Pretty.”

  “She sounds perfect,” Mercy murmured on a self-conscious little chuckle. “Had she no faults at all?”

  He shrugged. “Of course she did. We all do. She was given to moods at times. Not much of a cook, nor good with money. If she met someone in need, she would give him more than we could comfortably spare. Though I suppose that’s not truly a fault.”

  “No. How long has she been gone?”

  “Seven years.” He winced again and fiddled with his cutlery.

  “I’m sorry. Is this hard for you?”

  “Not easy. But it’s only natural you should wonder. Ask what you like.”

  She thought of another question. “I understand you have a house in Basingstoke?”

  He looked up in surprise.

  “Esther mentioned it.”

  “Yes. Esther and Naomi’s mother still lives there. While I, as you know, live in the bachelor quarters above the shop.”

  “Have no Kingsley females ever lived up there?”

  “Laura lived there briefly when she and Neil first married—just until their house was finished—but otherwise no.”

  “It isn’t so bad.”

  “Of course it is. Small, drafty. Low ceilings.” He chuckled. “I walked around with lumps on my head the first few weeks I lived there, until I learned to duck.”

  Mercy grinned.

  A man and woman entered the coffee room, and Joseph stood. “Here are my parents.”

  He did not seem surprised at their arrival. Mercy, however, was.

  She had seen Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley many times about the village or at church over the years, though she was not well acquainted with them. The senior Mr. Kingsley had a full head of chestnut-colored hair, silver at the side-whiskers. He was slightly stoop shouldered but clearly had been a tall man in earlier years. His wife was a handsome woman with bright keen eyes and a toothy smile that reminded Mercy of Anna.

  She said, “Joseph, I thought you were not dining with us.”

  “I had not planned to. But Miss Grove found herself at leisure this evening, so . . .” He let his sentence dangle unfinished.

  “Excellent,” his mother said. “Hello, Miss Grove. A pleasure to see you.”

  “Thank you. And you. You are well, I trust?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Kingsley beamed and grabbed her husband’s hand. “Today this man and I have been married one and forty years.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Mrs. Kingsley nodded. “Thank you. Joseph thought we would enjoy dinner at the Fairmont as a special treat to celebrate.”

  “I see.”

  The older man added, “And I will enjoy this opportunity to peek at the work he’s been doing here for so long. Though something tells me it may not be the work alone that’s kept him.”

  Mercy felt her neck heat at the implication.

  “Hush, my dear. You’ll embarrass them.”

  Joseph cleared his throat. “Would you like to join us, or would you prefer a table for just the two of you?”

  “Oh, the two of us talk every day.” Mrs. Kingsley waved a dismissive hand. “I should like a chance to visit with Miss Grove, whom I see too rarely.”

  Her son pulled out a chair for her, and the two sat down with them. Lawrence appeared, and Joseph’s parents ordered.

  “You should have celebrated with us last year, Miss Grove,” his father said. “For our fortieth, our sons put on a ceilidh for us.”

  “A kay-lee?” Mercy asked, not certain what he was talking about.

  “Oh yes.” Mrs. Kingsley’s expression softened in memory. “Folk music, singing, and dancing, with all our children, grandchildren, and friends gathered around us. My ancestors are Scottish, you see.”

  Mercy looked at Joseph. “I did not think you danced, Mr. Kingsley.”

  “Nothing formal like a minuet,” he allowed. “But I can fudge my way through country dancing passably well.”

  “Beware your feet when Kingsleys take to the dance floor, Miss Grove.” His mother’s eyes sparkled. “Take my word for it.”

  Mercy smiled. “Sounds like a joyous celebration.”

  “Indeed it was. Sore toes notwithstanding.”

  Joseph said, “Miss Grove is governess now to Mr. Drake’s daughter here at the Fairmont.”

  “Yes, I know. I was sorry to hear of your school closing, Miss Grove. I had hoped to send another granddaughter or two your way when they were older. Anna benefited so much from her time with you.”

  “Thank you, but Anna is clever and disciplined and an avid reader. I can take little credit for her accomplishments. She was a pleasure to teach.”

  Mrs. Kingsley nodded. “Yes, Anna is a dear girl.”

  Joseph said, “Mamma here taught all of us boys at home: reading, writing, ciphering, geography, and the Bible.”

  His mother smirked. “Tried to, at any rate.”

  Joseph looked at his father. “And from Papa and our uncles, we each learned our craft and profession. Neil followed Papa into stone masonry, but I was always drawn to wood.”

  His father nodded. “You’ve got a knack for it, for sure and for certain. That’s your carved moulding in the entry hall, is it not?”

  When Joseph made do with a modest shrug, Mercy answered in his stead, “It is indeed.” She had seen him install it
and had admired it at the time. “Your son is very talented.”

  Three faces turned to look at her, eyes alight with speculation.

  Mercy tried to keep her expression neutral. “I am merely stating fact,” she defended, wishing she had remained quiet.

  Mrs. Kingsley patted her hand with a small, knowing grin. “Of course, my dear. And we agree. Joseph is talented. He is a good son and a good man, and we are proud of him.”

  “Mamma, don’t go on so.” Joseph shifted uneasily. “Ah, here comes Lawrence with our meals. Just in time too.”

  After that, the conversation turned to innocuous topics, like the fine food and the weather, to Joseph’s obvious relief. Mercy’s too.

  chapter

  Thirty-Eight

  Jane and Gabriel slept in late the day after their wedding and enjoyed a leisurely morning in bed. In the afternoon, they each packed a valise and prepared to depart for a brief wedding trip.

  Gabriel’s uncle had already left that morning, but they would see him again in a few days. Jane and Gabriel planned to first travel with his parents to their home. They met them at The Bell, which allowed Jane to give Colin and the rest of the staff last-minute instructions and to remind them to send for Thora if any problems arose.

  Perhaps Gabriel was right and it was time for her to hire a competent manager. She would think about it more seriously when they returned.

  They traveled northeast by stage to his hometown of Newbury, where his father worked as a law clerk and his mother sometimes helped in her family’s clock-making shop. The new couple spent a pleasant evening talking with his parents over tea and cake, and later slept in Gabriel’s boyhood room.

  In the morning, Jane and Gabriel walked up a winding path on a hill north of town to see Donnington Castle, its twin-towered gatehouse all that was left of the medieval ruin. Even so, it was an atmospheric, oddly romantic place, and Jane could have explored it far longer if not for the biting breeze. She retreated beneath a wide stone doorway to get out of the wind, and Gabriel lost no time in joining her there to steal a kiss.

  Afterward, they walked back into Newbury and strolled around the market town, its streets busy with trade and travelers. They stopped to warm up with a coffee in one of its many inns, visited a bookshop, and then walked along the Kennet and Avon Canal. In the evening, they attended a performance at the theatre.

  After a second night with his parents, they bid them farewell and began making their way back south. They visited his uncle’s horse farm in Pewsey Vale, and Jane instantly saw why Gabriel loved the place and had spent so much time there. Gabriel took her riding over the trails of his childhood, showing her all his favorite spots, and introducing her to friends and neighbors.

  They spent a night with his uncle, then continued south to spend two nights in Andover’s lovely White Hart Inn, enjoying a comfortable room, flavorsome meals, and each other’s company. The longer they were away, the less they were in a hurry to return. The ties to work and responsibility thinned to a spider’s web, while the cord binding them together grew and strengthened.

  On the way up to their room after a morning walk, Gabriel took her in his arms yet again. “You know, Mrs. Locke, I’d say Talbot was right. I owe him a debt of gratitude for insisting we take this wedding trip.”

  Jane smiled and kissed her husband. “I wholeheartedly agree, Mr. Locke.”

  While she waited for Alice to write her essay, Mercy thought about Mr. Kingsley. She decided she and Alice might go for a stroll later and talk with him while he ate his midday meal.

  But as morning waned, the weather took an ominous turn and the temperature dropped. Churning grey clouds covered the sun, until the day darkened to shades of twilight. The wind rose, rattling the schoolroom window Mercy had left ajar and whistling down the chimney flue. A door slammed down the passage, startling them both, though as far as Mercy knew she and Alice were the only ones up there this time of day.

  Together they went to the window and looked out. Wind chased leaves, straw, and dust across the stable yard. Men held on to their hats and squinted warily at the sky. The clouds opened, and rain began falling in sheets. Mercy quickly shut and latched the window against the onslaught. The rain thickened and plinked against the windowpanes, then clattered. Clattered? Mercy looked again, dismayed to see solid white chunks among the rain. Hail. It bounced like small balls against the roof slates.

  In the yard, men now scurried to move not only horses to shelter, but also coaches and chaises into the carriage house or under the stable overhang.

  Knowing Alice would not be able to concentrate, Mercy gave up on lessons for the day. “Let’s see if there is anything we can do to help batten down for the storm.”

  Downstairs they found chaos. A fallen branch had broken a bow window in the coffee room, and the sudden, heavy rain outpaced the gutters and cascaded down the recessed basement stairs into the passage below. The kitchen and scullery maids hurried about with mops and buckets, while Mr. Kingsley ran to find something to cover the broken window.

  Outside the wind howled and the rain thickened into flurries of snow. It had been an unusually wet spring. But hail and snow in May?

  Carriages and chaises passing by on the turnpike began stopping at the Fairmont in droves, seeking shelter from the storm. The horsemen worked frantically to keep up, removing horses from their traces, all the while slipping over the icy cobbles. Passengers gripped coat collars tight, held on to their hats, and hurried inside. The ostlers threw tarpaulins over the last chaises to arrive, because the outbuildings were already filled.

  The Fairmont was bursting with people who’d decided to stay the night instead of traveling onward. The storm stopped within a few hours, but the roads remained wet and icy.

  The chef and his staff flew about, preparing many more meals than usual, and James kept busy talking with his impromptu guests and making sure all were comfortable.

  The new roof cisterns had overflowed, causing a leak in the schoolroom ceiling, and Mr. Kingsley helped Mercy move all the books, maps, and papers from harm’s way.

  Afterward he, Mercy, and even Alice helped out around the hotel, mopping leaks, carrying up extra towels and blankets, gathering glasses and washing tables—whatever was needed. They had to use a few rooms that were not yet up to James’s standards, and two university students slept on sofas in the sitting room, a screen set up for some semblance of privacy.

  It was after ten before things quieted down and the guests had mostly gone to bed. Alice had gone up as well. The staff were slowly finishing their last tasks and retiring for the night. James, Mercy, Mrs. Callard, and Mr. Kingsley stood in the reception hall, quietly conversing and taking stock of the situation.

  “Will we have enough food for breakfast, Mrs. C?” James asked.

  “Monsieur is grumbling, but we will make do. There will be more than enough porridge, if nothing else.”

  Mercy noticed dark shadows under the older woman’s eyes.

  “Tell him to do the best he can,” James said. “I think our guests will understand.” He turned to Mr. Kingsley. “Thank you for helping with so many things outside of your regular duties. I appreciate it. Would you mind staying here tonight, in case any other problems arise? It’s pitch-black outside, and the roads are still slippery. You don’t want to go out in that.”

  “I don’t mind staying.”

  “All the guest rooms are taken, even the two you are still working in, so . . .”

  “No worries. I’ll find a corner somewhere.”

  Mrs. Callard spoke up. “There is one unoccupied room in the attic. The bed is a little rickety and has only a straw mattress, but—”

  “That’s all right. I don’t need much.”

  The housekeeper regarded the long flight of stairs and took a strengthening breath. “I will go up with you and help you find blankets and a pillow.”

  “I’ll do it, Mrs. Callard,” Mercy offered. “I’m going up anyway.”

  “Would you? Th
ank you, Miss Grove. I am weary, I confess.”

  “And no wonder,” Mr. Drake said kindly. “You’ve worked hard today, Mrs. C. You all have. Now get some sleep.”

  The woman nodded and slipped away.

  James handed Mercy and Mr. Kingsley each a candle lamp and picked up one for himself. “I was proud of Alice today. She helped through it all, even though she is not fond of storms.”

  Mercy nodded. “I was too.”

  She turned to lead the way upstairs. At the first landing, James diverted toward his own room, while Mercy and Mr. Kingsley continued toward the top floor.

  Mercy paused at the linen closet. A few sheets remained, but little else. She would loan him one of her blankets. She also retrieved soap, a brush, and tooth powder from the hotel’s stores.

  Then she escorted him to the unoccupied room. “It’s down here. Though I don’t know why I’m telling you—you are probably familiar with every room in the house.”

  “I have not worked in every room in the Fairmont, Miss Grove, though sometimes it feels like it.”

  She opened the door and surveyed the small chamber by candlelight. “It is a little dusty, I’m afraid.”

  “Never mind.”

  Mercy retrieved a pillow and blanket from her own room, and then they put sheets on the narrow bed.

  They had worked together on several tasks during the evening, and at Ivy Cottage in the past, so it seemed perfectly natural to help him now. Only belatedly did she consider that it was likely not proper for her to be alone with the man in what was effectively his bedchamber.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a nightshirt to offer you.”

  “That’s all right, Miss Grove. I don’t usually sleep in one.”

  Mercy’s eyes flashed to his and quickly away, face heating. Trying to blink away a rogue image of Joseph sleeping without a nightshirt, she backed from the room. “My bedchamber is just down the passage, as you know . . .” She swallowed. “If there is anything you need.”