by Adrien Leduc
"I hadn't thought about it. Normally Winston makes me stew on Fridays...but I don't see why I shouldn't come out for some fun."
"Yes! Do come! Winston's stew can wait for another time."
The pretty, young heiress laughed. "Yes, I suppose it can. He will be ever so disappointed, but he won't object to having the night off either. He's very sweet on the woman next door you see."
"Who is that? The Irish woman?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
Lady Hutchinson rolled her eyes. "I don't know...I would keep an eye on that, Miss Foster. You don't want the drama that will inevitably unfold from such a romance. Those Irish can be quite...what's the word..."
"Passionate?"
"Yes, passionate."
"Well, I'm not worried. And you wouldn't be either if you saw them together. They mostly play cards. Bridge and other games of that sort. They're both quiet-humoured people. Neither of them drink or smoke. It's quite a good thing, actually."
Lady Hutchinson pursed her lips. "Well, just don't let it go too far. Goodness knows the trouble you have on your hands when an employee begins filandering..."
"I'm sorry?"
"It's nothing," Lady Hutchinson said quickly. "What were we saying before?"
"Dinner. On Friday evening."
"Yes. Dinner. On Friday evening. Are you free to come?"
"Yes, I am," Miss Foster answered, glancing at Ernest who nodded approvingly.
Their eyes exchanged the words their mouths could not. They would find a moment to discuss Helena sometime on Friday evening. It was settled.
"Very well then. Let us say, oh...Peter? What time can we have dinner ready on Friday?"
The young man, who'd been watching Clarissa Foster closely, had to give himself a shake before he could respond. "About half six, Madam. I'll make lamb."
"Oh, I don't eat meat."
"Well, vegetable stew then. Anything you like. I can make it. I'm really quite a good cook, you know."
Lady Hutchinson rounded on the young man. "I will decide on the menu, thank you, Peter. Miss Foster is my guest after all."
"Yes, of course, Madam," the young man spluttered, his ears turning a bright shade of red.
Lady Hutchinson turned back towards Miss Foster. "How does six o'clock sound, then?"
"That sounds just fine."
"Excellent. Shall I send Philip to get you?"
"That would be most generous."
"Very well then. He shall be at your door no later than a quarter to the hour."
"Thank you, Lady Hutchinson. I do appreciate your invitation."
"Oh, it's nothing. You are going through a difficult time, after all. We English have to stick together now, don't we?"
"I suppose so," the young woman answered, smiling.
"Very well then. Friday at six o'clock in the evening."
"Friday at six."
"Come now, Ernest. Peter. We have some shopping to do. Good day, Miss Foster."
"Good day to you, Lady Hutchinson."
Two days later, at the prescribed time, Philip opened the door to the Hutchinson house and ushered Miss Foster inside.
"What a splendid home you have, Lady Hutchinson," she commented as Ernest and Lady Hutchinson greeted her at the door.
"Why, thank you, Miss Foster. I must say, if you don't look outside, you would almost think you're still living in England."
"Yes, I can see that you've got it done up just like a proper London flat."
"Indeed."
"Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson, turning towards the butler. "Take her coat, will you?"
"Of course, Madam."
Clarissa Foster smiled at Ernest as he reached out and accepted her beaver fur coat.
"It is a pleasure to have you this evening, Miss Foster," said Ernest with as elegant a tone as he could muster. He liked to put on a good show now and again.
"The pleasure is mine, Ernest."
"And I must say," the butler added, "you look quite stunning."
The young heiress giggled. "Why thank you, kind sir."
"Alright, enough chit chat," Lady Hutchinson said abruptly, interrupting their dialogue. "If you'll follow me into the parlour, James has been gracious enough to allow us ladies to use it tonight."
"That's very kind of him."
"Indeed. Peter?"
Peter, who was struggling with a heavy bucket of potatoes, was just making his way back into the kitchen.
"Yes, Madam."
"Could you please bring the hors d'oeuvres now, please?"
"Yes, Madam. Right away."
"Keen young man," Lady Hutchinson observed aloud as she opened and held open the door to the parlour. "After you, Miss Foster."
The pretty young woman gave a grateful nod and stepped into the parlour.
"Wow. Lady Hutchinson. You put my cleanliness to shame."
The older woman managed a small laugh. "Oh, it's a little untidy to be completely honest."
Unbeknownst to her, Lady Hutchinson had made Ernest dust every picture frame, clean every nook and cranny, and fluff every chaise cushion earlier that day, making it look nothing short of spectacular.
"Shall I bring tea now, Madam?" asked Ernest, as he entered the parlour behind them.
"Yes, please do, Ernest. And some biscuits to go with it."
She turned towards her younger counterpart. "I must say, this winter weather gives me quite a sweet tooth."
"I find it to be the same with me, Lady Hutchinson."
"Isn't it awful?"
Ernest left them then and headed down the corridor, towards the kitchen, and pushed through the heavy doors. Peter was busy assembling an assortment of finger foods on a plate.
"Lady Hutchinson sure is going for the medal here."
Ernest nodded. "Aye. Miss Foster holds a great deal of clout in town for such a young woman. It wouldn't do to serve up a mediocre meal."
"Suppose y'er right."
The butler made his way to the counter and put the kettle on to boil.
"Ernest?"
"Yes?"
"Suppose I were to ask Miss Foster to the Easter Ball."
Ernest had to stop himself from laughing out loud. "What? Are you mad?"
"Well - "
"Clarissa Foster is the prettiest woman in town. She's only a year or two older than me."
"Yes, but - "
"No, Peter. It simply wouldn't do. You'd make a fool of yourself."
"But she's a good person, Ernest."
"Yes, but she's also got a reputation to uphold. You can't honestly expect her to go to the Easter Ball with a common cook, can you? Especially seeing as how she's the richest woman in Kingston."
"Well - "
Ernest sighed loudly. "I don't mean to be rude. Perhaps I have been somewhat offensive. It's just - I need her attention focused on something else right now. And her reputation may be bruised as a result. I can't have you sullying it further."
"Why? What's she got to pay attention to?"
"Nothing," said Ernest, turning round and praying the water would hurry up and boil so that he could avoid Peter's question.
"Tell me, Ernest. What's Miss Foster got to pay attention to? We're friends, aren't we?"
The butler sighed.
He's right.
"It's Helena. You know how she's having a child soon and how Lord and Lady Hutchinson want to send her to that home for girls in Toronto, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well," he continued, sighing. "I've asked her to take Helena in."
The cook stared at him, wide-eyed. "Do you think she'll agree?"
"I hope so. I need a few moments in private with her after dinner tonight to ask her properly."
"That would be good if Helena could go and stay with her while she has the baby."
"Yes. That would be a good thing."
The kettle began to whistle and Ernest removed it from the stovetop.
He set the kettle on the counter and prepared a teapot using the
finest Twinings tea. The kind reserved for company. Turning towards Peter, he asked: "Why don't you ask Linda?"
"Linda? You mean Linda from up the street? The butcher's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Why...I guess I never thought of it."
"She's a sweet girl," said the butler as he portioned a spoonful of tea leaves into the pot and added the hot water. "Her father seems like a nice enough chap as well. So you shouldn't get too much difficulty from him."
The young cook stopped to ponder Ernest's proposition.
"I know Linda fancies you," he added, taking up the tray and making for the door. "Think about it."
"I will. Thank you, Ernest."
"My pleasure. Now hurry it up with those hors d'oeuvres. I want them eating soon so I can steal a few moments with Miss Foster."
"Right."
"Good man."
When dinner was over, and Philip and Lord Hutchinson had left for the theatre, Ernest lingered at the table, biding his time and waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with Helena.
"Oh, and you wouldn't believe the hat she wore to Lord Barker's funeral!"
"Oh?"
It was obvious to Ernest that Clarissa Foster was feigning interest in Lady Hutchinson's usual gossip.
"Yes. And - "
"Mother? Can I have the last scone?" Caroline interrupted.
"No, heavens child. You ate like a horse tonight. Please, Ernest. Take these things away. And bring us more tea, please."
"As you wish, Madam."
"And Caroline. It's time you went to bed. Go and find Helena and tell her to read you your story."
"Alright," the little girl grumbled, sliding back her chair and getting up from the table.
"Good night, Miss Foster."
"Good night, Caroline. Sweet dreams."
"Thank you."
"Anyhow," Lady Hutchinson continued once her daughter had left the room, "where was I?"
"The hat Lady Stockton wore to Lord Barker's funeral."
"Yes! Scandalous. Don't you agree?"
"Oh, most definitely."
"And that's not all of it. No. That woman insists that their table at the Royal Tavern be kept empty even when she and Lord Stockton aren't there. Can you believe it? The nerve."
Ernest watched as Miss Foster merely nodded.
"If only she'd have stayed in England...you know Lady Windermere told me, that she told her, that she nearly stayed in England. But then a cousin of hers told her of how the women are here. And - oh and I don't mean you, Miss Foster. While you are still without a husband, you're not like those wenches round City Hall or down on Wharf Street what crawl all over the men. You know the ones," she finished, sipping at her wine.
"Er...I wasn't really aware that we had those sorts of problems here in Kingston."
Lady Hutchinson laughed. "Oh, child. You are still quite young, aren't you? I daren't ask just how young you are, but believe me when I tell you that there are just as many brothels in Kingston than there are in London. More even. Ernest? The tea. Please. Hurry. We haven't got all evening."
"Er...yes...of course, Madam," the butler answered quickly, piling the empty dinner plates into a stack and taking them up in his arms. "Shan't be long."
He smiled at Miss Foster as he left the room, hoping he'd soon get his chance to speak with her. It wasn't everyday Miss Foster came here, after all. And with the way Lady Hutchinson was often talking about her, it would probably be the last.
Hurrying to the kitchen, Ernest deposited the dishes in the wash basin and prepared a new teapot.
"Have you spoken with her yet?" Peter asked as he rummaged through the cupboard until he found a sieve.
"No, not yet," the butler answered irritably.
He assembled a tray with tea cups, cream, sugar, and the smallest of spoons.
"Oh. Well, when are you going to speak with her?"
"As soon as I get the chance to!" Ernest snapped, accidentally spilling the cream.
"In the name of - "
He was growing frustrated that he hadn't yet had the chance to speak with Helena, what with Lady Hutchinson's constant demands during dinner and now Peter's interrogation.
Easy now, Ernest.
Calmly the butler cleaned up the spilt cream and set the new tea pot on the tray. Then, picking it up, he took a deep breath and said "wish me luck".
Peter nodded and watching him leavel.
Back in the dining room, Lady Hutchinson was on a rant about the price of women's wear in Kingston.
"And for a chimise, she wanted five shillings. Can you believe that?"
Miss Foster shook her head, clearly bored, but straining to fake interest in the conversation. Her expression brightened when she saw Ernest.
"And what do you think of the prices of goods in Kingston compared to London, Ernest? Is it quite a lot more in your opinion?"
"Well, Miss Foster," the butler began, happy to have been drawn into the conversation, "I don't buy much, but when I do - you know - for gifts and what not - I find that it's rather comparable. Although it really does depend where you go," he continued, setting the serving tray on the table. "You see, if you go to Alexander's, you'll find that the staples - like eggs and cream and sugar and what not - are rather affordable. But tea and coffee and cigars are, well, to be quite frank, priced astronomically in comparison to say, Lucille's, across the street."
"You know, Ernest, you might be onto something there," said Lady Hutchinson, her tone suggesting that she'd not expected him to proffer such wise advice.
"Well, I think so anyway," he replied humbly as he added cream to both cups ("Not too much for me, thanks, Ernest" Miss Foster said at which point Lady Hutchinson felt obliged to say the same).
"Here we are, ladies," he said once the tea had been poured.
"Thank you, Ernest," Miss Foster said, smiling at him as he handed her a cup.
"You are most welcome, Miss Foster. I'd offer you the sugar, but you're sweet enough already."
The young woman emitted a delightful, sing-song laugh that made Ernest feel twenty-five again.
"Ernest Caldwell," Lady Hutchinson chided gently, "I never knew you to be such a charmer."
"Well, I do try, Madam. Admittedly, it is rather difficult at times - especially when it comes to complimenting you in particular as you have so many fine qualities."
"Oh, Ernest," the woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "You men are all the same. Nonetheless, I accept your compliment as it's not every day I get one. Anyways, I should go and check on Caroline - make sure Helena has got her tucked in properly. You won't mind if I leave you for a minute, do you Miss Foster?"
The young woman swallowed the tea in her mouth and shook her head. "No, Lady Hutchinson. Not at all."
"Alright then. Because I wouldn't want to be accused of being a poor hostess."
"No. Lady Hutchinson, you've outdone yourself. Really. This is the most exquisite meal I've enjoyed in a long while. And I thank you again for inviting me over tonight."
"Anytime, dear," she replied, turning to Ernest.
"Keep her tea cup full and see that she gets whatever else she likes. I'll be back shortly and then I think it's time we all retired for the evening."
"Yes, of course, Madam."
"And tell Philip to be ready to take Miss Foster home in a half an hour or so."
"Right, Madam."
The regal woman clasped her hands together. "Very well, then. I shan't be long. Keep my guest entertained, Ernest."
"I will, Madam."
Ernest and Miss Foster exchanged a quick glance and waited patiently while Lady Hutchinson gathered up the skirt of her dress and left the dining room.
"I thought she'd never leave," Miss Foster breathed once Lady Hutchinson was sure to be out of earshot.
"Yes, I know. I was beginning to worry we might not have a chance to speak."
"Me and all."
The butler nodded. "So have you thought about it? Can you take Helena
in?"
Without a moment's hesitation, the young woman smiled. "Yes. I would love to."
"Oh! That is wonderful news!" Ernest exclaimed, reaching over and taking hold of Miss Foster's hand. "How can I ever thank you for this kindness?"
"You don't have to thank me, Ernest. This is a good deed you're doing, and I'm simply doing my part. Besides, it's been lonely in that old house since Arthur passed and having Helena around would be a delight."
"Even with a crying infant?"
Miss Foster grinned. "Yes, I suppose so. Even with a crying infant."
"Oh!"
Ernest was ecstatic and he did a quick dance around the table.
"Helena will be so happy. You can't imagine. You're an angel, Clarissa Foster."
"No, Ernest. You are."
Grace Elizabeth Tweedham was born exactly four weeks later, on a blustery March afternoon. Helena, newly installed at Miss Foster's residence, had been eating lunch when she felt her water break. Winston called for Miss Foster and together they helped Helena into the drawing room where a birthing bed had been prepared. Doctor Avery was summoned and Miss Foster, having some nursing experience, was able to assist with the delivery. Two hours later, mother and baby sound asleep, the young heiress watched them from just inside the drawing room door.
"Quite a miracle, isn't it?" she mused, sighing.
Winston, who was dusting the mirror in the corridor sounded his approval. "It is a miracle. I remember when my sister's children were born. Little forms of life eager to make their start in the world."
Miss Foster sighed. "Oh, to have one of my own."
Winston cringed and continued dusting. They'd had this conversation before and Winston wasn't going to bite.
"Maybe one day. When I meet my Prince Charming."
The servant remained silent as he finished dusting the mirror and moved on to the decorative table which held a collection of fine silverware.
"But then again, perhaps I shall die a spinster."
Now, he had no choice but to say something.
"Heavens, don't speak that way. You're Kingston's most eligible bachelorette. You shall find your Prince Charming."
"Will I, Winston? It seems I've tried before."
Yes, and it seems as though we’ve had this conversation before. But you never like the solutions I offer.
"Well, perhaps the next time will yield the desired result."
"Perhaps."
"Shall I send for Ernest? Or would you rather we wait a day or two?” he asked, eager to change the subject, “I'm sure he'll be dying to see Helena once he gets word. Doctor Avery, well Mrs. Avery, will have told half the town by now."
