by Lisa Prysock
They had a common foundation built not upon their membership to the Anglican Church, but to their Savior and Lord, each having formed a deep alliance in their hearts to Jesus Christ. She learned that his allegiance had childhood roots reinforced by the ravages of war in the Battle of Vimiero while he had served England under General Wellesley. He learned that her salvation and faith had grown over time; deliberately pursued; sought by a divine thirst and hunger; propelled by a great many needs; maintained by a determined, intentional devotion; and sustained by Providence Himself.
Most of all, Catherine was learning that she could take a chance on love again and allow someone to love her without fear of loss. She was learning that God had not forgotten her. She was learning that God would take care of her, even if it meant holding her hand through the rough days. She was learning to trust and take chances on relationships all over again. She was learning to dream again, though she hadn’t realized her dreams had died with Cammy and having three older sisters who required every resource her parents had to give; leaving her little consideration. She was certain her parents hadn’t meant to exclude her… it had just happened as she closed herself off from her own dreams. It was as if her voice had died. She feared that the melancholy she had been subject to throughout most of her life was a learned response that she might not be able to unlearn without a great amount of nurturing and joy that lasted for a time of great duration. Her instincts told her Kingston was a man who would be able to bestow a great amount of love and joy upon her for many years to come, if he did not return to the military and ambitions of war. On that account, she had to acquire a deeper trust in the Lord in order to take another chance on love, regardless of the losses that may or may not follow.
He was also discovering that she had a playful side. War and loss had ruined that for him. He realized she was very much restoring it to him.
There was an indignation that had settled upon the inhabitants as they pondered the mystery of what had become of Bertha, Hillbrook Hall’s Christmas Dinner… and the mystery of the missing items. Some of the guests had begun to consider remaining through the holiday as the snowfall continued sporadically and temperatures decreased making the idea of travel seem a miserable option; thus there were discussions about the Christmas Day Dinner menu. What could have caused the goose to leave her own young but an abrupt end to her life? Who could be a petty thief and why? Was it any among them taking perfume, jewelry, and fashion accoutrements?
Alton disrupted them next that Monday morning before the Duke and Miss Lyndon could participate in some of the discussions about Bertha’s disappearance with the rest of the household which mourned her loss through the process of wondering what had become of her. Guests frequently walked to the French doors at the end of the hall to peer out at the gaggle of motherless goslings. Those coming in from the Dowager House sometimes encountered the goslings which kept Bertha’s loss firmly on their minds. The footmen were secretly taking bets on what had happened… and Hattie, who fed Bertha more often than Mrs. Childers, understandably, seemed the most disturbed as she fed the orphaned goslings.
With these mysteries upon the minds of Hillbrook Hall, the proud, dignified, and loyal butler entered the library flanked by Mr. Andrews in all his glorious fury. Mr. Andrews dragged a young, squirming boy firmly held by the collar alongside him. In his other hand, Andrews displayed no struggle to maintain a firm grip on a rifle. Winnie, who had already grown weary of needlework on that particular morning and had gone to the library to find a book to read, was so shocked she nearly dropped the book on the floor she had pulled from a shelf near where she stood. Following Alton, Andrews, the squirming boy and the rifle in the hands of Andrew, were three intrigued gentlemen swaggering handsomely into the library with curious looks in their eyes: Maguire, Boggs, and Crane. Their names sounded more like a law firm than a business manager and three friends as Alton attempted to announce the disruption.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, my Lord,” the butler began, shaking his head, unsure of how to announce the boy who had momentarily stopped wrestling as Andrews pushed him forward. “Andrews, Maguire, Boggs, Crane… and, uh… uh… a disturbance… begging your pardon, Your Grace.” Winnie stifled a chuckle and straightened at once, clasping the book in her hands more firmly to her chest.
“Thank you, Alton. It’s all right.” Kingston nodded, rising instantly from his desk as the butler stood off to the side. He didn’t have to block the door since his friends made a nice wall. Not even a grown man would escape through his friends when they made up their minds. Kingston did briefly wonder if he should help Andrews as the thin boy began once again to struggle against his captor.
“Let me go!” The boy growled through clenched teeth. He managed to give one firm push against Andrews and writhed out of his grip, escaping his hold. In the tussle, his black three cornered hat fell off and long brown hair tumbled down about the black coat that hung from his thin frame. In spite of being dressed like a boy, the audience was astonished to discover a young girl suddenly stood before them. Winnie recognized the waif at once as the scullery maid she had seen at the Christmas Dinner tending the massive fireplace in the Ball Room. She was terribly thin and pale, and Winnie rarely forgot a face.
“What is the meaning of this Andrews?” Kingston demanded, raising his voice. The growls had disappeared, but the child had a hauntingly defensive look upon her face.
“Jorie? Jorie Pritchard?” Alton breathed, barely recognizing her from the Glad Crown Anglican Church. Maguire, Boggs, and Crane, flanking Andrews, exchanged looks. They had witnessed Andrews enter Hillbrook Hall in a struggle at the front hall from the Drawing Room. They thought they had followed a feisty, unruly boy down the halls. Now that they saw long hair, shock registered.
Andrews stumbled over his words looking from the child to the Duke and then back at the child again. “I—I, uh, I caught this… boy… well he was a boy until a moment ago… checking rabbit traps! Poaching! … On the estate of Hillbrook property, Your Grace… armed with this!” Andrews held the firearm up in his other hand, pointing it straight up in the air at the ceiling. “He, or rather, she, is a pretty darn good shot, too!” Andrews reached in his jacket and pulled out a flattened brown hat to reveal where a bullet had gone through it. “I think this is who is responsible for a number of missing animals… traps, disturbances, missing chickens, scaring away our turkey population, and gun shots in the middle of the night…”
Winnie smothered another chuckle and saw Alton’s mouth drop wide open. For the first time in two decades, Alton forgot his place as he stared at the bullet hole in Alton’s hat and interjected: “I don’t know very many boys who can shoot that straight!”
Jorie bent down and retrieved the three cornered hat. She almost put it back on her head, but seemed to slowly remember hats were not to be worn indoors by boys. For a brief moment she was unsure of whether to put the hat on again or not, and then suddenly decided to place it on her head. She was a girl, after all.
Kingston hid a gulp. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”
“My father taught me,” she said proudly, straightening. Maguire just stared in wonder. Lord Boggs shifted his solid weight from one foot to the other, crossed his arms, and tilted his head, intrigued. The Baron grinned broadly, entirely and thoroughly amused.
Alton coughed to disguise his desire to laugh and Winnie held her jaw closed with one hand while Kingston did his best to keep a straight face. Andrews stewed. Seeing his business manager’s face turn a slight shade of red while he simmered, Kingston cleared his throat and took a more serious approach. “Not about your ability to shoot. The poaching… who taught you to steal?”
“I am sorry, m’Lord,” she said, curtseying slightly. “Yer Grace.”
“Why are you not in school?”
Jorie looked down at the floor. “School ‘tis not in session, fer Christmas, Sir.”
“Yes, of course…” Kingston raked through his hair with one h
and, half irritated, half amazed with the child standing before him.
“Pardon, my Lord, but Jorie, I mean, Marjorie Ann Pritchard, has a great number of siblings at home to feed. Her father you may recall, was James Pritchard, who passed away leaving Rose Pritchard a widow,” Alton inserted, shedding much needed light on the situation.
“How many siblings have you?” Kingston inquired, more gently this time.
“Seven,” she answered. “My father put upon me on ‘is death bed to help care for ‘em.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen, yer Grace...”
Kingston sighed and spoke firmly. “Why did you not seek permission to hunt on my grounds?”
“I didn’t think ye would say aye… to a girl, Sir, my Lord, Sir,” Jorie stared at Kingston hard. She wore a brave, determined face which spoke more than words.
“Aye, you are quite right on that account, but I would have given you some type of assistance to fend off these reduced circumstances,” Kingston remarked.
“Reduced cir-cir-circumstances?” Jorie looked at him blankly.
“Poaching is nearly the same as being a thief,” he explained, “which has reduced your circumstances, as you now stand before me for a criminal action which has sent many a fellow before you to prison. Not to mention, you could be charged with attempted murder with a deadly weapon of assault… for which many have hanged.”
Jorie stood up taller and just blankly stared beyond the Duke, fixing her eyes on the landscape outside the window behind the Duke’s desk. “Beggin’ yer pardon, my Lord, hang me if’n ye fine an’ fancy folk prefer. I might find it preferable to watchin’ my mother and wee brothers, and my dear little sisters starve themselves to death any longer. It be just a matter o’ time at this point anyhow, from where ‘tis I stand, peerin’ into the empty pans and cupboards bare of all provision most days. Me hunger pangs no longer hurt, so ‘twon’t be long a’fore me body be layin’ beneath the cold and cruel earth. If I live tuh see our Abby get the operation she needs, I will die with a smile upon me bones. I did what needed bein’ done. I would do it a’gin. I b’lieve ev’ry one o’ ye in this room would do the same in this wretched cir-cir-circumstance, as ye call it.”
“No remorse whatsoever!” Andrews grumbled under his breath. Maguire looked down at his feet. Lord Boggs shook his head. Crane’s mouth fell open and then shut again. Winnie swiped a tear away from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Kingston held his hand up, silencing the room. Turning toward Alton, the Duke aired some of his thoughts on the matter. “I thought this family was being provided for by the fund for the orphans and widows. I contribute to their chest quarterly. Why was this not reported to me? This child should not have faced any of this, nor her mother, and siblings.”
“There may not have been enough in the chest to help everyone who needs help, my Lord,” Alton replied, clearing his throat. “I do not know exactly how it has come to this, my Lord. Certainly, a severe case… I do know the Duchess used to make the rounds to each villager and tenant of Glad Crown often. If she were still with us, this would not have gone unnoticed.”
Turning to Winnie, Kingston responded, “We shall soon have a new Duchess who will lend her expertise to these matters.” Kingston drew in a deep breath and turned his focus on Jorie. “You do understand the severity of the crimes, young lady? Marjorie Ann Pritchard?”
“Aye,” she nodded.
There was a long pause as silence prevailed in the room. Everyone froze, holding their breath, wondering what the Duke’s verdict would be. Remembering the words Kingston had spoken about poachers the night of the Christmas Dinner, Catherine was not so sure what he would decide to do. Surely the Duke would not make an example of this child.
Kingston raked a hand through his hair. “I am not going to press any charges against you, though the constable should be called. Instead, I am going to ask that you surrender poaching. Instead of taking criminal actions, I will eliminate the rent on your property. I will also make arrangements with your mother to provide you with an education, clothing, food, and the operation your sister Abby needs.”
All that the Duke said barely registered, but Jorie knew it was the act of mercy she and her family desperately needed. A slight grin began to spread across her face, though she was still holding her breath, expecting Andrews to object.
“What are the names and ages of your siblings, Marjorie?” Kingston asked, folding his arms in front of his chest and sitting back on the edge of his desk.
“Victoria, eleven; Regina, nine; Adelaide, eight; Amelia, seven; Christian, five; Abigail, four; and Reese, he’s three.”
“Instead of poaching, I authorize you to hunt, fish, and trap freely on my grounds for anything wild, but no more stealing the Christmas geese, nor our horses, cattle, our chicken, or barn yard animals. Is this understood? If you shoot a deer, come to the door. Someone will assist you to carry it home.”
Maguire, Boggs, Crane, and Alton exchanged looks when they heard Kingston say the words Christmas geese. It was an ‘aha’ moment… and they considered the Duke keenly perceptive to have connected Bertha’s disappearance with Jorie, though an admission was not exactly forthcoming, nor required. None of them cared about the loss of Bertha for the dinner. They were somewhat concerned for the survival of the flock she had left behind. For these comfortably wealthy gentlemen, it was a likely clue to solving the mystery that before now, they hadn’t considered.
‘Yes, Sir, my Lord, thank ye, Sir!” Jorie glowed victoriously. To her surprise, Andrews turned the musket sideways until it rested in both of his palms. He approached her, holding it out toward her in peace. She took it into her hands capably, though it weighed her arms down significantly.
“There will be no more shooting at Andrews, or any other of the human race, or I will see that you are placed behind bars for a very long time!” Kingston was stern. Andrews seemed somewhat appeased but wary.
“No shooting at hats… or humans wearin’ them. I promise ye, my Lord,” Jorie replied, one foot circling a pattern on the carpet with the tip of her worn, black, ankle boots. Kingston raised an eyebrow and she added, “Nor any of the human race.”
“No wearing boy’s clothing… and I expect you to work hard to make the rounds and introduce yourself. You will show a letter with my seal and permission to all of the grounds keepers, staff, tenants, and neighbors who might mistake you for a poacher and take aim or fire upon you,” Kingston added. “I will pen a letter momentarily and affix my seal.”
“You go to the Glad Crown village school, I assume?” Kingston asked.
“Aye, when not too hungry, or ill, and if the weather be fair,” she replied, “and when no one at home is taken abed.”
“What does your mother do for a living, in addition to being your mother?”
“She takes in sewing when she can find clients, Yer Grace.”
“In exchange for my help, I insist that you and your siblings as they become school age make every effort to faithfully attend school and church with your mother on a weekly basis, as conditions permit. I also welcome and expect to see you in my library once a week to borrow books, if you will agree to return them and check with the housekeeper concerning their value. If they are not easily replaced, you may not take them out of the library, but you may study from them here in the house. I expect to see you at least once a week with a full report of the status of your family, and to supplement your education properly. I expect you to not cause any problems in the community and to be an upstanding, honorable, law abiding, God fearing, helpful citizen.”
Jorie’s mouth dropped open as she surveyed the walls lined with books and shelves. “Aye, thank ye, my Lord.” Maguire and Boggs moved like warriors of stealth to stand on each side of the doors. Crane joined them. They approved of the Duke’s decision and exchanging looks, intended to salute when she passed by. She had defended her actions before a Duke, sensibly. She had kept her family alive. She had been brave, both i
n adversity and in the library, where others held the power to decide her fate. There was a respect and admiration they had for this anything but ordinary girl.
“Winnie, before Marjorie Ann Pritchard leaves us, please escort Marjorie for a good meal from the kitchen, a daily basket to be delivered to her home, and a ride home in my coach; which Alton shall arrange. I shall send a letter to Mrs. Pritchard along with the hunting permit, Alton. I will have the letters ready shortly. My sisters and the Duchess will assist with delivering the daily basket a few times per week, and Jorie may come to pick it up on the other days. Winnie, perhaps you would like to oversee the baskets of food and the schedule for delivery.”
“I would be honored,” Winnie replied as she stepped close to Jorie and gently steered Jorie toward the doors. Winnie trembled nearly as much as the waif, but for a different reason. Without realizing it, Kingston had referred to her as the Duchess. “Come along, Jorie. You can leave the musket with Alton, for now. The staff won’t take kindly to that in proximity of the kitchen.”
Reluctantly, the child surrendered the rifle to Alton. He accepted it and held it, albeit uncomfortably.
“Don’t worry,” Alton said. “I’ll take good care of it. We will place it on the coach to go home with you.”
As they turned to exit the library, Jorie turned back to Kingston and Andrews. She curtsied, which seemed a little odd coming from a girl wearing boy’s breeches, a boy’s coat, and a boy’s hat. “Thank you, thank you very much, Sirs.” A tear glistened as it slid down one of her cheeks as Maguire, Boggs, and Crane saluted her. Even Andrews pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
