Langley's Choice

by Kate Dolan

  “Do not look so alarmed, Georgiana. I shall have all day tomorrow to get the scent from my hair and skin, and I certainly won’t be wearing this old gown.” She laughed as she looked down at the collage of frayed edges, stains and holes that made up her dress. “This is hardly good enough for the garden anymore. Even the plants will have nothing to do with me, I daresay.”

  Georgiana crossed her arms resolutely. “I do not understand why you are doing this, Caroline. We are poor no longer, yet you make us work like slaves in the kitchen—”

  “Overseeing and assisting activities in the kitchen one day per week hardly qualifies as slave labor, Georgiana.”

  “Well, I still do not see that it is necessary. Why can we not simply buy another housekeeper?”

  Caroline started to inch around her sister, who still blocked the doorway. “We have discussed this on numerous occasions, Georgiana, and I do not have time for a full recitation now. We each take a turn in the kitchen to learn the necessary management skills so that when we have our own kitchens to manage—”

  “I shall buy a housekeeper at once and never set foot in a kitchen the rest of my days.”

  “All well and good if you have the means.” Caroline smiled as she realized she was almost out the door and would have to defend her choice of activity no further.

  “I shall, you may depend on it. That is, my husband shall.” Georgiana stopped thoughtfully. The subject of the mysterious future husband provided food for endless speculation, and she paused just long enough for Caroline to slip free.

  “Tell Mother I will be back for supper,” she called as she headed for the stairs.

  “Wait, Caroline. Must you go to the tenants’ house for this?”

  “Why? Would you prefer that Mrs. Johnson come here?”

  The sound of Georgiana’s exaggerated sigh followed her as she escaped down the stairs.

  “I think crushed lavender will work best, but I’ve also brought dried rose petals and mint leaves. What do you suggest?”

  “Perhaps we’d better start getting the water over the ashes first, Miss Carter.” Molly Johnson eyed the large barrel in the yard with concern. “We can only do a little at once, and it takes some time to get it all done.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Caroline set down her baskets of sweet-smelling produce and looked at the barrel full of ashes. A smaller kettle of water bubbled over an open fire nearby. One of them would have to remove that kettle from its perch and somehow pour the water into the large tub without getting burned.

  “Did you bring Leda?”

  “No.” Caroline had been so consumed with her experiments crushing herbs and flowers to judge the power of their scent that she essentially forgot what Mrs. Johnson had told her about the effort and dangers involved in making soap. “I shall go collect her at once.”

  “Do not trouble yourself; I’ll send the boys.”

  “It would be no trouble.”

  “Please, Miss Carter, the boys would appreciate the opportunity of the errand.”

  This Caroline did not doubt. “Very well. I am sorry for the delay.”

  “There will be no delay. William! James! We can start by ourselves.”

  “Oh.” Caroline watched in silence as the tenant instructed her boys to bring Leda back straightaway. She looked at the barrel again. “When will we need to add the scent?”

  Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Not for some time, yet. We’ve to make the lye, first. When that’s done, we boil it with the grease, and just at the end we’ll add your flowers. And if it sets up, we’ll have soap for the year.”

  “And if it does not?”

  “If we’ve bad luck with the soap, then we shall do much less cleaning during the year.”

  Caroline shook her head. “No, if my experiment ruins the soap, I shall buy you some.” She suddenly wondered why she had not simply planned to purchase scented soap rather than attempt to make it. The idea of making and scenting her own soap had been conceived during their days of genteel poverty. It had sounded like an interesting experiment. Now, it looked like a lot of work with the prospect of having little to show for it.

  Still, she was curious. How could they take water and ashes, two substances so very harmless on their own and by leaching the water through the ashes create such a powerful and dangerous substance as lye? And when that strong substance was boiled with old grease, the end result would be a soft soap they could use for cleaning.

  “Don’t you find this a marvelous process, Mrs. Johnson?”

  “Marvelous?” The tenant looked at her skirts as she spoke, trying to keep them away from the fire as she collected the boiling water. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever thought of it as marvelous.”

  “Think of it, though. We take these simple wastes, put them together and create an entirely new and useful product. It is almost like magic.”

  Mrs. Johnson grunted as she tipped the heavy kettle into the leaching barrel. “If it were magic, I’d have little elves to help me pour the water.”

  “Oh, let me help you, Mrs. Johnson.” But by the time Caroline reached her, she had finished.

  “I’d say it’s been at least an hour since the last water was added. Let us draw off the lye and see how strong it is. William! Bring me an egg, will you?”

  Caroline finished brushing her lap free of crumbs from their hurried dinner of bread and cheese and looked at her with some surprise. “Are you still hungry, Mrs. Johnson?”

  “It’s more of the ‘magic’ you spoke of earlier.” Molly Johnson smiled. She drew some lye from the bottom of the barrel and poured it into the kettle then placed the egg on top. “If it floats,” she explained, “then the lye is strong enough. And it appears that it is.”

  “So now we…”

  “We add some grease.” Mrs. Johnson gestured toward the smelly barrel of grease. “I find that a ladle works pretty well. Leda, would you help me pour some more lye into the kettle? I think we should make our batches as big as the kettle will hold.”

  Caroline grimaced as she plunged her arm into the barrel and emerged with a full ladle. “How much will we need?”

  “We’ll try that bowl full, for starters.”

  Caroline held her breath to lessen the impact of the smell as she dipped her ladle in each time, and took an extra big breath before carrying the full bowl over to the kettle. Then her curiosity took over, and the odor seemed less important.

  “Will it turn into soap immediately?” she asked as they added the grease to the kettle.

  “Once it comes to a boil, it will turn fairly quickly, yes. We’ll add your lavender then.”

  Caroline fairly bounced with excitement as she dashed over to collect her basket. But the watched pot was a large one, and it seemed as if it would take hours to boil, despite the large amount of wood Leda had added to the blaze.

  The sound of a bird twittering caused her to turn and examine the leafless trees around the clearing. A warm sun and the absence of wind made the afternoon truly beautiful, like a day plucked from the midst of spring—except that nothing was growing yet, and Caroline knew that it would get cold again, for some time, before the real spring days began. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun to enjoy the warmth.

  You’ll burn as red as an Indian, the voice inside her head reminded her. And this time, she was not on a ship full of rough men but was home, preparing to go to a dance full of gentlemen. And one of them might—

  “Good day, Miss Carter.”

  Her startled hands flew up, scattering the contents of her basket through the air like a spray of floral artillery. “Mr. Throckmorton?” His horse reared slightly at the sudden onslaught. “Oh, I am sorry.”

  “No, please.” He dismounted with surprising speed. “It is I who am sorry for surprising you.”

  Caroline looked down at the scattered flowers and at her dirty gown. Then she looked up, wondering how it was Mr. Throckmorton always seemed to make an appearance when she was at her very worst. “I am surprised to see y
ou here, I must admit, sir.”

  “I came to ask Mr. Johnson if he might be able to assist us in building a new barn. I did not realize the Johnsons were entertaining guests.”

  Caroline laughed. “We are making soap, Mr. Throckmorton. But I suppose I am here for entertainment, in a way. I wanted to see if I could make our soap smell like something other than salt pork.”

  “Cake soap from England does not smell like salt pork.”

  “No, but it is terribly expensive. I thought if I could figure a way to make our homemade soap more…”

  “Refined?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

  “And have you?”

  “I do not yet know. We have to wait for it to boil, then add the scent, then wait for it to cool.”

  “I see. It sounds very interesting.”

  “Oh, it is. Except for the waiting.”

  “Would you care to go for a short stroll to pass the time?”

  “Oh, well, yes, but,” Caroline said, looking over to the kettle, “I do not wish to miss the time to add my scents.” Then she looked down at the nearly empty basket. “If I have any left, that is.”

  “Do forgive me, I apologize again for startling you so. Please, allow me.” Mr. Throckmorton bent on one knee and began retrieving the scattered sprigs of dried flowers and herbs.

  Caroline suddenly remembered having seen him on bended knee once before. He had proposed then, looking so formal and serious and somehow almost ridiculous. Now, he was engaged in a rather silly task, yet somehow looked almost dignified. It made no sense.

  “I’m afraid most of these will not be of much use to you now, Miss Carter.”

  “Fear not, Mr. Throckmorton. The most potent of them I have crushed and put into linen bags, and they’ve remained intact.” She held up the bag of lavender for his inspection.

  He smiled but the look in his eyes was sad. “I am glad, for your sake, Miss Carter. And I would not wish to keep you from finishing your task. If you will be so kind as to forgive my interruption, I will inquire after Mr. Johnson now.”

  He bowed and moved quickly away to where Mrs. Johnson stood with the boys near the house.

  Caroline glanced over at the kettle. Surely, there would have been time for a walk before it became necessary to add the lavender, but it was too late now. She sighed. After a moment, Mr. Throckmorton returned, but he mounted his horse and said no more than “Good day, Miss Carter” before disappearing into the woods.

  Chapter Forty-One

  "My dear Anne, it is good to see you again, and under so much happier circumstances.” Abigail Bennett waded against the stiff brocade of her gown over to where her sister had just descended from her horse. “I am so pleased to welcome you all to Longacre.”

  The sisters embraced one another rigidly.

  “Thank you, sister, we are pleased to arrive at last,” Mrs. Carter said wearily. “I do not believe I was designed for travel. I feel all bruised after such a journey on this brute.” She nodded at the horse, placidly chewing on some dried grass at the edge of the lane.

  “Well, we shall soon have you resting in comfort, and you may take your ease until the festivities begin tomorrow.” Mrs. Bennett embraced each of her nieces in turn as they dismounted in the yard. “It has been so very long since I have had the pleasure of your company here.”

  “Since last winter, I believe, sister,” Mrs. Carter noted pointedly.

  “Has it been so long? How time does get away. We had a dance in honor of Mr. Throckmorton, did we not? And now we gather to honor his esteemed sister. My, my.”

  “Greetings, my girls!” Colonel Bennett doddered out of the house and waited while Caroline and her sisters came up to give him a warm hug. “At last year’s dance, you were all fighting my Maggie over that Mr. Throckmorton, now, weren’t you? Ha!”

  “Certainly not, Colonel Bennett!” his wife reproved him.

  “Now, I wonder who you will all set your cap for this year, hmm? It cannot be this Sir James, as he is not eligible on account of—”

  “Colonel Bennett. Let us be perfectly clear. Our daughter Margaret was not of an age last year to be thinking of a husband—”

  “Oh, but her mother did plenty of thinking—”

  “That is beside the point. Margaret would not ‘fight’ over a gentleman’s attentions, and it is not seemly for you to jest of such things. Even in front of family.” Mrs. Bennett took her sister-in-law’s arm and headed toward the door. “I should lock him in his room tomorrow. What if he starts off like this in front of our guests?”

  Mrs. Carter laughed as they walked into the house.

  Colonel Bennett reached out a hand in greeting as John Carter approached. “I see they’ve not run you into the ground yet, John.”

  “Not yet!” John Carter smiled as he shook his brother-in-law’s hand. He dropped his voice before continuing. “Though I daresay they’ve tried mightily these last months.”

  Colonel Bennett waved him toward the door. “Come in, come in. A good brandy may go a long way to ease those pains. You know what your problem is, John? Not enough childhood illness. You’ve too many of them still left in the house.”

  Carter laughed as he was expected to do, but it was a forced gesture.

  “I am sorry, John,” Colonel Bennett said, realizing his mistake immediately. “I spoke in haste, do forgive me. To lose a sickly baby is not the same as a grown son—”

  “I understand, Richard. You’ve no need to apologize.” Carter smiled sadly as he accompanied his host into the house.

  Johanna and Edwina eagerly fell in step behind them. Georgiana gave a brief instruction to the girls’ maid before following. Caroline explained to the rest of the servants where to distribute the luggage and then entrusted it to the care of her aunt’s manservant before she entered the house alone.

  “Now, my dears, I have some exciting news for you,” Mrs. Bennett gushed as the girls and their cousin Margaret refreshed themselves in the parlor with warm drinks and small fried apricot pies. “This year, we have M. Feuillet’s fabulous discourse on the art of the dance.”

  Edwina rolled her eyes, and Caroline nudged her hard in the stays.

  “That is wonderful news, Aunt,” Caroline professed as she reached for another of the exquisite little pies.

  “So, we must get up, up, up now and practice.”

  “What?”

  “Our dance will begin the proper way, with a minuet, and I do not believe any of you girls are familiar with the choreography.”

  “Cherryography?”

  “The steps of the dance, Johanna,” Caroline explained. “The choreography. No, Aunt, I’m afraid we have never had the opportunity to dance the minuet. Perhaps we should keep ourselves as an audience for this dance.” She took another bite, marveling at how the pies remained so warm. The plate had been hot, of course; she had noticed it when her hand grazed the side. What a clever idea, and yet so simple.

  “Put down the pie, Caroline,” Margaret laughed. “You’re to be my partner.”

  Caroline groaned. She enjoyed dancing but only when she did not have to worry about remembering intricate steps.

  Her aunt held up a slim, leather-bound volume as if exhibiting a prized painting. “We have no dancing master here, of course, but we have the book of a dancing master, and I’m sure if I read from this book, we shall learn it properly in no time.”

  A book. Well, Caroline had experienced the limits of book learning when it came to mastering physical skills. But she could say nothing, only smile and try to follow her aunt’s instructions as she called out the intricate steps in a poor French accent.

  “During the dance, Margaret, you must carefully note how your partner holds himself.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  At the sound of giggling, Caroline looked up from the book that had failed to capture her interest. Her aunt sat with her own daughter and her youngest nieces clustered around her as she dispensed instructions for the next day’s festiviti
es.

  “You will not take that tone of voice with me, young lady. This is your first dance, and you’ve no idea how much you are expected to learn about your partners in a very short period of time.”

  “What are we to learn, Aunt?” Johanna’s voice fairly radiated excitement, even though she would not be allowed to dance with any gentlemen.

  “Well, my dear, first you must notice your partner’s breathing, how many breaths he takes, and so forth. You may thereby judge how fit he is.”

  “Oh. I see. But how long do you count the breaths? And how many should a fit partner take? And how do—”

  “Enough, Johanna.”

  “It’s a secret for when you are older,” Edwina cut in. “You will be privileged to learn the secret of the breaths.”

  Caroline couldn’t help but smile, even though she wished her sisters would cease the questioning and head off to their beds. She wanted to speak to her aunt alone.

  “Now, you must also notice his teeth and his breath—”

  “Aunt Bennett!” Georgiana could scarcely contain her excitement. “Will we come so close to our partners, then?”

  The girls erupted in peals of laughter.

  “Believe me, bad breath is noticeable at an arm’s length. Now, I think you girls are too tired to take notice of anything practical this night. Upstairs with you.” Their aunt stood and waved the girls out of the room, then walked over to Caroline and leaned over her imperiously. “I believe you should be upstairs in your bed at this hour as well, niece.”

  “I will be soon, I hope.” Caroline stood and smoothed her gown. “But may I first have a few words with you before you retire?”

  “Certainly.” The older woman motioned toward the sofa where she had held court a few minutes earlier. “Does something trouble you?”

  “Yes, Aunt.” Caroline perched on the edge of the sofa. “I am concerned about my reception tomorrow. We, my sisters and I, have not been out since…for some time, and I worry for their sake, as well as my own.”