by Barbara Dan
He couldn't disagree with her on that point. Ah, Lord! He could just see his money flying out the window. And it wasn't even his house.
Lydia patted his arm and led him up the staircase. "What I have in mind isn't terribly expensive. If you could advance a couple of hundred dollars and throw in the labor, I know I could accomplish wonders with the place."
She threw him another heart-warming smile, and Robert Harris found himself powerless to resist. His forehead wrinkled like the folds on an old basset hound. Mrs. Masters always seemed so cold and aloof before. What had come over her?
"You really like the house?" he asked out of curiosity.
"I only want to fulfill my obligation," she said primly. "After all, I'm being paid for my work, and it does seem a shame to stop now, when it could become a functional and beautiful place to live."
"All right! I'll throw in me hand with ye, but let's make it one hundred dollars. Not a penny more."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Harris!" Lydia positively beamed as she extended her hand. "Let's shake on it, shall we? I think you and the owner will be extremely pleased with the results."
Harris stood with her tiny hand in his, his thumb counting the calluses. "Who knows? The owner may like the changes so much he'll want to keep it." He studied the radiant young woman thoughtfully.
"In that case, perhaps I shan't be out of a job," she replied with a quick smile. "Unless, of course, he brings home a wife to manage it for him."
"That remains to be seen," said Harris, quick to spot a bargain wherever it popped up. And, indeed, he saw all kinds of possibilities standing before him. "Aye, well! I must get back to business, Mrs. Masters. And rest assured, you'll have my full cooperation."
"Here's a list of things I need." She whipped out a scrap of paper from her apron pocket. "Just something I compiled, as various ideas came to mind."
Lydia gave him another of her devastating smiles. If she keeps this up, Harris realized with a sinking heart, she'll have the ante back up to two hundred in no time at all. Even with the rag around her hair, a smudge of soot on her nose, and her dowdy dress, she was better looking than any decent woman had a right to be. Strange that he hadn't noticed before.
"I'll look this over when I get back to the office, Mrs. Masters. If everything appears to be in order, I'll send some workmen over next week."
"Oh, but I want to get started tomorrow, Mr. Harris," she said firmly. The steely glint in her eye warned him that she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "And please have Ezra Mallory stop by. I need some shrubs planted."
Robert Harris stared at her, flabbergasted. Obviously she had just been waiting for him to drive by, so she could spring her trap. Without suspecting a thing, he'd been sold a bill of goods. Ah, well, he had given his hand on the matter; he couldn't back down now. He only prayed Bruce wouldn't serve his head like a haggis on a platter when he found out what was going on.
"I'll see to it," he agreed. "When you take on a job, you don't do it halfway, do you, Mrs. Masters?"
Lydia's cheeks warmed with pleasure at his honest compliment. "You said to make the place appeal to buyers," she reminded him. "I only want to be faithful to the task. Goodbye, Mr. Harris."
Lydia shut the door behind him and leaned back, tickled right down to her toes. God bless Mr. Harris for giving her a free rein! Well, he needn't worry. She would make this place irresistible. That way the owner could never say she hadn't earned her keep.
She was so glad to be out of that wretched house on Linden Street. Here she had time to sort out her life. And even though she worked hard and fell exhausted into bed every night, it was worth it. The lonely solitude and trips to the beach were healing. By the time she finished this assignment, she would be more than ready for whatever lay ahead.
But first she must finish what she had started. By now, she knew every nook and cranny in this drafty mansion. Judging by the number of bedrooms and its large kitchen and pantry, whoever built it had anticipated filling it with many children. Hopefully as she put the woman's touches where they were needed, the house would come to life and attract a family who would love it as much as she did.
In the meantime, since this was probably the only time in her life when she'd have total charge of such a grand house, she meant to enjoy it to the full. What a delight to put her imagination to work! Lydia felt a little guilty for exaggerating the house's flaws to Mr. Harris, but how else could she get what she needed to fix it up? Deep down, she loved the house! Who wouldn't? Its rooms were light and airy, presenting a wonderful view of the lower Thames and the waters of Long Island Sound.
The next morning, she put Joe Carter and his assistant, a large oafish lad named Wayne, to work in the kitchen. All the shelves had to be lowered, so that a woman could reach inside without standing on a chair. She measured and marked the walls herself, so there would be no mistake as to where she wanted the new shelves.
She had them start by ripping out all the deep cupboards. Joe and Wayne then cut these into long narrow planks, which they hung to her specifications. After three days, the kitchen and pantry's storage capabilities had doubled, and they were ready to reinstall cabinet fronts and doors. The end result was everything she had hoped for. More storage and more work space.
During the fourth morning, the pump at the backyard well gave a defiant squeak and died. Joe Carter made a hasty trip back to the warehouse for parts. She was waiting for him when he got back. Forced to focus on the house's water source, Lydia quickly decided that he should go back and purchase enough pipe to install a second pump inside 'her' kitchen.
"And while you're at it, Mr. Carter, perhaps you can figure out a way to bring water up to the second floor as well."
Already hot from the long ride into town, Carter threw down his hat in disgust. "Never heard anythin' so frivolous!" he protested. Would the woman never stop thinking up more work for him and Wayne? "I can fix the existing pump in less than an hour. Bringin' pipe indoors will require an expert."
"Then tell Mr. Harris to send me an expert, Mr. Carter," she ordered and turned to inspect the apple-cinnamon bread baking in the hearth oven. No matter what else was going on, she never neglected her daily routine. She still ran things by the clock.
Seeing the hangdog look on Joe Carter's face, she took pity. "On your way, could you take your wife a loaf of my bread? If that's agreeable with you," she added in a conciliatory tone.
That took all the argument out of his sails. For the past forty minutes Joe's mouth had been watering. Ah, Mrs. Masters was a crafty one, she was. Every time he opposed her, she found a way to sidestep his objections.
"Wayne, you may have some, too," she offered. "In fact, why don't you stay and eat lunch with me? Then you can stack more firewood."
"Yes, ma'am." Blushing, Wayne fumbled with his cap. He couldn't tell whether he had a crush on this beautiful lady, or if his foolish young heart was flopping about in his chest because she was such a hard-driving harridan! Either way, he couldn't refuse her.
"Good. Now, Mr. Carter, I shall expect you to return within the hour with an expert to install water in this kitchen. The woman who runs this big house must save all the steps she can."
Joe Carter made the trip to Mr. Harris's warehouse and the general mercantile store and returned with a wagonload of copper pipe. The expert would follow in two or three days, he announced smugly. He fixed the pump, and then he and Wayne stood docilely in the middle of the parlor while she explained her next project.
"I want doors here." Standing in the middle of the room, she flapped her arms to show them where to put them. "Partition this into two rooms, so that connecting doors can be opened up to entertain large groups. And I want bookcases along these two walls, so it can be used as a study."
Carter shook his head. "Doors will require a skilled carpenter."
"Then tell Mr. Harris to send me one," she said. "In the meantime, start cutting and sanding ten inch planks in the lengths shown on my plan." She waved her drawing under his
nose.
Joe Carter scratched his head and looked at his helper. "C'mon, Wayne, makin' shelves to suit this little lady is gettin' easier by the minute! We got plenty of practice in the kitchen already, right, lad?"
"If you do an extra good job," Lydia promised, "I'll bake you each a walnut pie."
Since the long room had a fireplace at each end and two sets of tall double doors from the great hallway, it was really a simple matter to divide the rooms. As luck would have it, the carpenter who did the original woodworking showed up three days later.
Following Lydia's sketches, he settled into a routine, interrupting his work only for lunch and four o'clock tea. His name was Adam Fenton, and he was well known to both Robert Harris and the house's owner.
"Can't tell you who owns the place, ma'am," he said one day, in reply to her query. "Mr. Harris has sworn me to secrecy."
"That's odd, Mr. Fenton. I wonder who it could be?"
Up until then she hadn't even cared. As long as the owner was absent, she could indulge her every whim, while bringing the house up to snuff.
"He's rarely in New London," Fenton hastened to say. "Lost his wife and kids two years ago—hit him hard. I guess he can't bear to live out here all alone."
"I can't say I blame him." Lydia remembered how desolate she felt, clanking around the house, when she first set foot across the threshold.
Fenton grinned, curiosity stamped all over his face. "I can't figure how a nice lookin' woman like yourself stays out here all alone. It's positively spooky."
Something about his remark made Lydia instantly wary. The blood draining from her face, she drew back and unleashed a look cold enough to stop a runaway horse. "I keep busy, the pay's good, and I'm used to loneliness."
"Ah, well, there's no need for that, Mrs. Masters." Fenton reached over to pat her familiarly on the forearm.
The days had grown shorter, and the sun had sunk over the western boundary of the property while they were talking. With Joe and Wayne gone only minutes before, Lydia prayed Adam Fenton would wind up his business without delay.
She stood, making it clear that she wanted him to go. "Don't let me detain you, Mr. Fenton. I know you have other places to go."
Fenton smiled his insolent grin, and Lydia stepped back, warned by the impertinence of his gaze, but not before his arm snaked out and caught her to him.
"Got you, pretty wench," he laughed and lowered his head to kiss her.
Bent over backwards, she groped frantically for a weapon. His lips ground against hers, and she thought she would suffocate! As she pushed against him, her fingers came in contact with the hammer looped through his leather carpenter's belt.
"Let go, Mr. Fenton!" she said fiercely. "As of now, you are no longer in my employ."
"Mr. Harris pays me, lass, not you. An' for damn sure I'd prefer a sample of your charms to your apple fritters, tasty as they are."
That did it! If he wouldn't listen to reason, a knock on the head wasn't likely to deprive him of much in the way of brains. Lydia hauled off and whacked him on top of his head with his hammer.
"Wha—!" Dazed, he staggered forward. As she felt him slump against her, she twisted away and delivered another blow. Instead of folding up altogether, he charged her, red-faced and angrily shaking his head.
She spun around and raced to the kitchen, where she kept knives and an old pistol stashed away in a drawer. How dare he! She had done nothing to warrant this, and though her mind was in a whirl, she vowed she would kill him before he laid another hand on her.
Fenton bullishly pursued her into the kitchen, staggering so much that, on impulse, she wrenched open the back door. He stood weaving, clearly unable to decide which image before his confused vision was hers.
Lydia snatched up her broom, thrust the stiff bristles in his face and pushed as hard as she could. Arms flailing, he tripped over the threshold and pitched backward into the gathering dusk.
Quickly she slammed and locked the door. She grabbed the pistol from the kitchen drawer, rushed to the front door and threw the bolt. She stood in the hallway, her heart in her throat, listening to Fenton fumble around the door, cursing.
"Get out of here, Mr. Fenton," she shouted. "Otherwise I shall shoot you dead."
"You bitch!" she heard him scream. "Nobody treats me that way and gets away with it."
"I did, Mr. Fenton. And I'll do worse, if I must. Now get off this property, and don't come back!"
"I'll see that you're thrown out!" His tirade continued, but Lydia turned a deaf ear. At least, if his bellowing meant anything, he hadn't suffered permanent injury.
Securing all the windows, she marched upstairs, taking the pistol with her. She sat on the edge of her high feather bed, and for the first time she feared living alone. Almost immediately she knew what she must do: She must get a dog as a companion and to protect her.
That night she read the Psalms for a long time, seeking to calm herself. Perhaps she should be thankful that Adam Fenton's behavior had jolted her out of her complacency. Somehow, surrounded by the solid walls of this solitary stone fortress, she had allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. All along, she knew her position as housekeeper was temporary, but in all the excitement of remodeling, she had lost sight of the fact. She must make plans. Any day now she could be out of a job.
First thing the next morning, she paid Mr. Harris a visit. She described as delicately as possible her reasons for no longer requiring Mr. Fenton's services.
Harris had already heard Adam's angry version, and between the two, he had a pretty good idea what had happened. He had never seen Lydia Masters in a frostier mood.
"Can you manage to get the doors hung with Joe Carter's help?" he asked, being of a practical bent.
"Yes. Fortunately they're already stained, and the hardware installed."
"Good. So the house is almost ready for the agent to show?"
"Yes, it's nearly finished," she said softly, looking down at her gloved hands.
"Will there be anything else, Mrs. Masters?" Harris expected his next shipment at ten. He didn't have time for chit-chat.
"I was thinking perhaps I should seek another post, now that the house is tidy." She peeped at him questioningly through her lashes.
"Dear lady, without you there, doin' battle with the spiders an' mice, I daresay the house would soon fall into a state of ruin again." He patted her hand. "Please don't let this incident frighten you away, Mrs. Masters. It won't happen again."
She hesitated. "It wasn't so bad when I was too busy to notice how isolated I am, but after what happened— Well, I would feel safer—" She choked up, hoping for sympathy.
Harris's look shamed her for being derelict in her duties. "An' I was so countin' on you, dear lady," he chided.
"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Harris. The only way I might be persuaded to stay if I had a dog for protection."
He brought his hands together in a hearty clap. "A grand idea! An' I know just the dog. 'Brun,' me children call him. He's a big collie, with as grand an' gentle a heart as—" About to mention Bruce MacGregor, he caught himself in the nick of time. "Well, he's gentle."
"No doubt that's a desirable trait, Mr. Harris, but I need protection." She was already standing. The determined look on her face told him that if she walked through his door without getting what she wanted, she'd not be coming back.
"Brun is gentle as a lamb, but he'd lay down his life for ye, lass." He smiled, jingling the coins in his pocket, while he watched her shoulders slowly relax.
"Very well. I’ll take him for a week's trial," she said, adjusting her bonnet strings.
"I'll have Joe Carter bring him out later this morning."
"Thank you." She shook his hand and strode from the warehouse. "Tell that land agent to get busy and find a buyer," she called over her shoulder and was gone.
Robbie Harris watched her walk down the street toward the general mercantile. What a strange woman, he thought. She bleeds me blind for materials
for the house, yet she hasn't once asked for her wages, nor has she made any demands for her own creature comforts.
If all it took was a dog to keep the woman slaving her fingers to the bone, then he would gladly part with Brun. After all, the dog belonged to Bruce before the fire. What could be more fitting than to have the dog watching over his house? Aye, sending Brun out to keep Lydia Masters company was the very least he could do.
* * *
During a lull in his business that afternoon, Mr. Harris paid Mrs. Rafferty a visit. "I have a wee proposition for ye, dear lady," he began. "Strictly legal, and definitely profitable. You probably know that Captain MacGregor and I do a good deal of business together."
"Indeed," said the lady. "Would you care for some fudge?"
Harris waved aside the proffered confection and got right to the point. "Bruce should be sailin' into port any day now."
Mrs. Rafferty nodded. "The last week in November, I believe he said. I'm reservin' his room, as usual."
"Now there's where I need your help. I'm willin' to pay well, if ye agree to me plan."
"I'll tell you up front, Mr. Harris: I run a respectable boarding house. I don't hold with any shenanigans."
"Dear lady! What do ye take me for? My proposition's strictly on the up-'n-up, as I said before."
"Out with it, sir! There best be more than money in it, or I'll see you to the door right now."
"As you know," the wily Scot leaned forward confidentially, "the good Captain's a good friend of mine. He's had a rough time of it since his wife an' children died. In truth, it near broke me heart to see his tender heart grieve, if ye get me drift."
"I'm as aware of the situation as you, Mr. Harris. So what's your point?"
"He's been alone too long, in my opinion."
"Long enough." She nodded. "Aye, you're right. Way too long."
"Did you know he's scarce been out to see the house he owns?" Harris asked, coming closer to the heart of his scheme.
"What would a lone man do with a big house like that?" Bea Rafferty studied him from behind a chocolate. The man had something devious up his sleeve that just might cost her a quiet boarder. And Bruce paid on time, which was more than she could say for most of her boarders.
