by Regina Scott
The groomsmen hung their heads.
“Now, Miss Allison,” Chimes put in, “you yourself told us what the vicar said. Surely you don’t think he’d lie about what he saw.”
Allison pouted. “Of course he wouldn’t lie. He’s a man of God. However, he could be mistaken. Perhaps it was someone who looked like Geoffrey Pentercast.”
“The only person who looks like Geoffrey Pentercast in these parts,” Chimes replied with a snort, “is Geoffrey Pentercast. Pentercasts have always been trouble. We all remember the time old man Pentercast came home from the inn drunk and set fire to the hay fields. The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“That’s enough,” Gen ordered. “We all have better things to do with our time than gossip.”
Chastised, the servants wandered back to their duties. Allison and Gen turned to the Abbey.
They found their mother awaiting them in the entry hall. “What was all that commotion? Did I hear a carriage?”
“I’ll let Allison explain, Mother,” Gen replied, feeling craven as she slipped past her mother for the family wing. Her mother looked at her askance, but Allison launched into her tale and her mother focused on her dramatics. Gen escaped to the quiet of her room.
But she wasn’t to be given time to ruminate. Bryce bustled in to help her out of her riding habit, tsking over its condition. She attempted to engage Gen in conversation but gave up when Gen responded with discouraging nods and unladylike grunts. Moments after she left, Gen’s mother came in. Gen smothered a sigh of frustration.
“Most distressing news,” her mother murmured. “Are you all right?”
“Actually, Mother,” Gen replied with sudden hope, “I’m quite done in. I thought I might rest before tea.”
Her mother nodded. “A wise decision. I will suggest the same for Allison. The Thorn will be a loss. I do hope the Squire can locate the perpetrator.”
“I’m sure we all feel the same,” Gen replied, emotions warring. “I’ll see you at tea, Mother.”
A few moments later when she stretched out on her bed, alone at last, she found her mind a jumble of thoughts. Was Geoffrey Pentercast the vandal who had flooded the Manor and destroyed the Thorn? If so, what was his reason? If not Geoffrey, then who would want to harm the Munroes and the Thorn?
If Geoffrey was the vandal as everyone thought, Alan was clearly shielding him, but was it brotherly love or a darker motive? And did he truly love her as he claimed, or was his declaration today part of some plan that would bring her family pain? If he did love her, could she return his love? It would certainly make things easier for her family if she could bring herself to marry him. But was it only the lure of an easier life that made the idea seem palatable?
Needless to say, she got no rest and eventually made her way across the Abbey to the drawing room in time for tea. Allison and her mother were there before her, her sister sliding over to make room for her on the sofa. She offered them both a smile and knew by the looks of concern on their faces that she was fooling no one.
“I have been thinking,” her mother began as she poured and distributed the tea. “Perhaps, with this vandal about, it would be best if we returned to London early.”
Gen accepted her cup, struggling to hold it steady. Not this, she prayed silently, not now. She had enough to contend with without having the specter of the end of Christmas hanging over her head. She wracked her brain to think of something to allay her mother’s concerns.
Allison accepted her own cup with a shake of her head. “But, Mother, you promised to remain through Christmas. And we still have two more days until Epiphany.”
“Yes, I realize that. I was considering your safety, girls. From your story, Allison, I take it Reverend York was not greatly hurt, but we cannot be certain of the outcome the next time the vandal strikes. And it does not look as if the Squire will take action.” She shook her head, sipping her tea. “Pity. I had expected more of him.”
“I am quite tired of the way you all assume Geoffrey Pentercast is guilty,” Allison said heatedly. “I tell you, the Reverend York is mistaken. And when Geoffrey returns, he will prove himself innocent.”
“Your loyalty does you credit, Allison,” her mother replied. “But be careful not to mistake a handsome face with a kind heart. The two are not synonymous.”
“Still,” Gen prompted, having found her reason, “to allow anyone to drive us from our home seems to be cowardly in the extreme. I believe we should stay.”
“Hear, hear!” Allison cheered, raising her teacup.
Her mother glanced between the two of them, and Gen held her breath.
“Very well,” her mother said, “since you both feel that way. But we will take a few precautions. You will not go out without one of the groomsmen or Chimes with you, not even to the village.”
“Yes, Mother,” Allison said with a sigh.
Gen relaxed, sitting back against the sofa and taking a sip of her tea. Her mother nodded at their apparent agreement. The three sipped contentedly for a few moments. Allison reached for one of Mrs. Chimes’ famous scones on the tea tray.
“Given that we will be staying,” their mother murmured, “I will reinstitute the Munroe Epiphany party.”
Allison clapped her hands with glee while Gen choked on her tea, then hastily set it on the table near the sofa. Could nothing go right today?
“Mother,” she managed to gasp, “you can’t!”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t think it’s inappropriate, even under the circumstances. I’m sure it will be expected, with the Abbey open for the first time in years and us now fully out of mourning.”
“But, but,” Gen sputtered, mind whirling through ways to stop this latest threat. “You can’t possibly plan a party in two days!”
Her mother complacently took another sip of tea. “Normally I would quite agree with you, my dear, but I had planned for such a possibility before we left London. I’ve been making arrangements since we arrived. And we will keep it tastefully small. I had Mrs. Chimes draw up a list of the best families in the area, and they number no more than thirty individuals, not including those children who are not yet out, of course.”
Gen stared at her, stunned. “Thirty!”
“Oh, Mother, surely you’ll let me come as well,” Allison pleaded.
“Certainly, dear, since it will be in your own home. It will do you good to practice a little before we return to London.” She took another sip of tea. “I believe we’ll even have dancing. I wrote to the violinist from that lovely quartet Mrs. Bascombe had at her ball, and they agreed to make the trip.”
Gen felt as if a cord were closing around her throat. Outside, one of the cows scraped itself along the Abbey wall, lowing plaintively. She smiled. “But, Mother, what about the cows? The smell, the noise, and our obligation to milk them will certainly make the party a great deal less enjoyable for our guests.”
Her mother allowed herself a frown. “You have a point there. They are quite a nuisance. Has the Squire determined when he will take them back?”
“I understand the barns will be open soon,” Gen replied, trying to sound regretful, “but his pasture is still underwater, and I understand the water is freezing. It certainly is cold enough.”
Her mother’s frown deepened. “This could present a problem. Since it was our dam that caused the damage, I cannot in good conscience demand he find another home for them. Still, I do not see how we can have the party here with them so near.” As if to prove her point, another of the beasts pressed its muzzle against the glass of the drawing room window and blew a gust of moist air, fogging their view.
“Pity,” Gen agreed with a sigh of mock regret and true relief. “Perhaps next year.”
Allison leapt to her feet. “No! We cannot give up so easily. We must at least ask the Squire if he can take back the cows. Would that be so awful? Surely he knows they are a burden to us.”
Her mother set down her cup of tea. “I believe you are correc
t, Allison. Please ring for Chimes and ask him to have the carriage brought around within the hour. We will pay a call on the Squire.”
“You go ahead, Mother,” Gen told them as Allison hurried to the bell pull. “I’m still feeling a bit under the weather after this afternoon’s excitement. I’m sure the Pentercasts will excuse me.” And I don’t give a care if they don’t, she amended silently, sipping her tea. After what had happened, she didn’t imagine Alan would be too pleased to see them, and he certainly wouldn’t be in the mood to offer favors. She had a feeling his cows had found a new home for the winter. She’d deal with that after Christmas.
*
She should have realized she’d be wrong about Alan, as usual. At dinner that night, her mother and Allison hastened to gush over his generosity. Not only had he agreed to come get the cows the next morning, but he was sending his mother’s gardener and staff to set their grounds to rights. In addition, in hearing they were hosting the party, he had offered the use of any of his servants they might wish as well as his mother’s best china and silver. He’d even sent a gift for her, nine tiny tin soldiers he must have used as a boy, all drummers. Did that mean he intended to continue this cursed wager after all or was he mocking her for her tirade earlier that day?
Her mother and Allison, of course, had been only too glad to accept his offers and had apparently spent the rest of the time before dinner plotting what else had to be done to make the party a success. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn they were trying to drive her mad!
She sat through the first course listening to her mother and Allison’s plans with growing concern. She wrestled with her conscience through several more courses, trying to convince herself that Carstairs could find a way to pay for the extravaganza. By the time dessert had been served, however, she knew she could be silent no longer. Much as she had wanted to give her mother and Allison one last happy Christmas, she could not allow them to spend the rest of their savings on such a frivolity as a party. She set her spoon down beside the blueberry trifle Mrs. Chimes had prepared and cleared her throat. “Mother, Allison, we cannot have this party.”
They turned surprised faces to her, spoons in midair. She forced out the rest of the words. “I’m most sorry to have to tell you this, but we cannot afford it.”
Her mother waved her spoon languidly through the air. “Do not fret, my dear. Mr. Carstairs can contrive, I dare say. The entire affair won’t cost more than a few hundred pounds.”
Gen was thankful she hadn’t taken a bite of the trifle for she knew if she had she would now be choking. “A few hundred! Might as well be a few thousand, You have no conception of what you’re saying, Mother. We are penniless.”
Allison stared at her, frozen.
Her mother frowned. “That isn’t amusing, Genevieve.”
Gen sighed. “No, Mother, it’s not. And I’ve tried to find a better way to tell you than this, but this party has forced my hand. You must understand, both of you, that we are destitute. Father spent everything and beyond. All we have left is the Abbey.”
“But my Season,” Allison whimpered, eyes tearing.
Gen reached a hand across the table and gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll find a way, love, I promise. Only it probably won’t be in London.”
“This is ridiculous,” her mother snapped, tossing down her damask napkin. “You are obviously mistaken, Genevieve. I shall speak to Mr. Carstairs myself when we return to London. I will not have him filling your head with such nonsense. As if your father would leave us in such a difficult situation. The very idea is utterly reprehensible.” She took a deep breath and seemed to collect herself, her voice returning to its usual murmur. “Allison, after dinner we should start addressing those invitations.”
Now it was Gen’s turn to stare. “But, Mother, haven’t you been listening? We cannot afford this party.”
“I do not wish to hear another word on this subject. I find I have no interest in this dessert. Allison, when you are finished, please join me in your father’s study. We have much work to do. I shall expect your assistance as well, Genevieve.”
Allison set down her spoon at last, glancing between her mother and Gen even as Gen tried to think of some way to break through her mother’s resistance. “But, Mother, if Gen is correct, we cannot, we should not host a grand party.”
“That is enough!” Mrs. Munroe thundered, rising, and both of them started at her vehemence. “Your father was a good man. He would never leave us destitute. There has been a mistake, you may count on it. I will write to Mr. Carstairs this minute and insist he wait on us here immediately. I will demand that he make an explanation for this outrage. And I will not hear another word on this subject, do I make myself clear?”
“Very,” Gen clipped, sinking back against the dining chair in defeat.
“Good. Now, since you two seem to be fit for nothing but frivolous fretting, I shall have Mrs. Chimes assist me with the invitations. But I will expect you will have thought better of this by morning.” So saying, she swept from the room.
Allison sank against her chair as well. “I don’t know what to think. Is it truly that bad, Gen?”
Gen nodded. “It is. You must believe me. Mr. Carstairs has tried everything these last six months, but to no avail. She talks of returning to London, but we’ve already lost the London house and all its furnishings. The only horses we have left are the ones we brought with us and Blackie and Scout. All we have is the Abbey. And if Mother insists on running up a mound of bills for this party, we may lose it as well.”
Allison shuddered. “Then we must stop her.”
“Easier to stop the flood the other night. You heard her—she will not even speak of it.”
“Perhaps Mr. Carstairs can explain it to her.”
“If she’ll listen to him. She never has. More likely she’ll sack him instead. And then where will we be? No, there must be some way we can stop her.” She stared off into the middle distance, sorting through possibilities. She could drop word of their financial trouble in the village—that would effectively halt their line of credit. It would also shame her mother horribly. Besides, she was just as likely to purchase what she needed for the party from somewhere else where Gen would have no way to influence the shopkeepers. She might even have ordered the supplies beforehand, like the gifts for the servants on Boxing Day.
Gen might be able to arrange for the invitations to mysteriously lose their way, but that wouldn’t stop the party preparations, since her mother would still assume the event was occurring as scheduled. Short of physically restraining her mother, she could think of no solution.
“Oh, these ridiculous traditions!” Gen cried, rising to pace the room. “Why did I think living here would be any cheaper than London?”
“There is nothing for it,” Allison said with a sigh. “We must sell our jewels.”
“Too late,” Gen informed her, meeting her sister’s shocked look with one of defiance. “How do you think I managed to save the Abbey? All of mother’s jewels are paste, except for the Munroe diamonds. I was saving those for your dowry.”
Allison’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, Gen, how thoughtful. But what of your own? I know the Pentercasts are fairly wealthy, but won’t Alan expect you to bring a dowry?”
Gen jerked to a stop. “What did you say?”
“I merely wondered whether you’ll need a dowry when you marry Alan Pentercast this spring.” Her sister had the audacity to giggle. “I don’t suppose we can count the cows since he’s taking them back tomorrow.”
Gen sank onto her mother’s chair at the head of the table. “Whatever made you think Alan and I are…that is why would you ask…”
“Oh, honestly, Gen.” Allison laughed, shaking her head, “Anyone with eyes in their heads could see it’s bellows to mend with the two of you. And I must say, it will make short work of this penury situation. We have only to constrain ourselves until the wedding, after all. I dare say the Squire will care enough f
or conventions that he won’t want his in-laws starving at his doorstep.”
Gen stared at her, watching her sister’s smile fade and knew her emotions must be showing on her face. “I will not marry Alan to save this family, Allison. You have no right to expect it of me, any more than I would of you.”
“Oh, you are so pigheaded!” Allison jumped to her feet and threw down her napkin. “The Squire obviously cares for you, and you once thought he was top of the trees, don’t you dare deny it. But you won’t marry him because it might benefit your family? Genevieve Munroe, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. I think I will help Mother plan this Epiphany party after all, just to run us nicely into dun territory. Then you’ll have to marry Alan Pentercast!” Nose in the air, she stalked from the room.
“You’re wrong, all of you!” Gen shouted after her, jumping to her feet as well. “Nothing will induce me to marry that man, so you may save your breath!” From outside came the lowing of cattle. Gen stalked to the window and threw up the sash. “And you be quiet as well!”
In answer, the cold winter wind blew in the tang of cow dung. She snapped shut the window.
That night and most of the next morning, she fretted and fussed to no avail. Her mother refused to listen to her, Allison refused to listen to her, Chimes was too busy to listen to her, and even Mrs. Chimes scurried out of her way looking vaguely troubled. The only time they worked together was the final milking of the cows that morning, right before Tom Harvey and a group of young men from the village came to drive them back to the barns beyond the Manor. By late morning, she was sitting in the drawing room, at her wits’ end, when Chimes ushered in the Reverend York.
“I’ll go get the lady of the house,” Chimes muttered at her. Left with no choice but to play hostess in the meantime, she greeted the vicar and saw him seated near the fire. She took a chair as far from him as was still courteous. When the silence stretched and she could no longer abide his complacent stare, she forced herself to make conversation.
“I’m a bit surprised to see you up and about today, sir, after your trials of yesterday,” she ventured.
