Winter Is Past

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Oh!” Althea slapped her forehead. “Rebecca! I forgot about Rebecca!”

  “That’s all right, miss.” A young parlor maid spoke up shyly. “I can take her tray up and sit with her.”

  “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. Tell her I’ll be in to see her later. Perhaps you could read to her?”

  The woman blushed and began twisting her hand in her apron. “I’d like to, miss, only…only I can’t.”

  It took Althea a few seconds to catch her meaning. “You can’t read—is that what you are trying to tell me?”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “Well, look at a picture book with her. Sometimes she feels like reading, and you can have her read to you. If not, you can make up the story as you go along, with the pictures. Do you think you can do that?” She gave her an encouraging smile.

  The girl nodded, her eyes hopeful.

  “Martha—” Althea turned to the scullery maid “—you start setting up a kettle to boil water for the lobster. I may dispense with the bisque and simply serve the meat on a bed of greens. All right, to work….”

  Nearly five hours later Althea took her damp handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Her dress clung to her body; the only thing keeping her from collapsing over the suffocating coal stove was the knowledge that the clock was ticking without mercy. Every second counted.

  She kept her eye on the various pots simmering before her, all the while stirring the sauce in front of her. She had concocted what she could from the cook’s receipes. Other dishes she had improvised from all her girlhood years spent in the kitchen with her own family’s cook, who had been more of a mother to her than anyone. She also drew on her experience in recent years from her work at the mission’s kitchen. She knew what feeding a multitude entailed.

  “How does this look, miss?”

  Althea glanced at the tray Martha held out to her. She had filled the pastry cups with the creamy fricassee. “Very good. We shall have to keep them warm until they are ready to be served. Place them here.” She indicated a spot with the tip of her wooden spoon, then went back to stirring.

  “Miss, we’ve finished cutting the fruit into the crystal bowl.”

  “Very good, keep the bowl on ice. How is the syllabub?”

  “All set. We’re also keeping it cold.”

  “Miss Breton.” Mrs. Coates came up to her with a look of concern. “Shouldn’t you be getting upstairs to dress? It’s going on eight. The guests are all here.”

  Althea looked at the watch pinned to her dress. “Oh, so it is. Let me just put the shrimp into this sauce and check on the fish.” She removed the sauce from the stove, then opened the oven door and looked at the flat white fillets baking in butter. She tested one. “Yes, these are ready.”

  While Mrs. Coates took the pan out of the oven, Althea pricked the pheasant with a long fork. She basted it and the venison one last time.

  “Daisy, come here and stir the shrimp carefully into this sauce. Giles, you will be able to oversee carving the pheasant and venison?”

  “Yes, miss.” Giles was sharpening the long carving knife with a whetstone.

  “How does the table look upstairs?”

  “All is in order. Sixteen places, with their place cards.”

  “And the sideboard?”

  “All is in place.”

  “The wines?”

  “Uncorked.”

  Althea walked to each servant in turn and gave last-minute instructions.

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Coates,” she said, taking a glass of lemonade from her. “That tastes wonderful.”

  “Your cheeks look so flushed. That stove is awfully hot.”

  “Yes, it certainly is. I begin to see why Cook might take to drink.”

  “Oh, no, miss. She’s a disgrace. We shall speak to her in the morning, you can be sure.”

  “How is she? Have you looked in on her?”

  “Snoring like to wake the dead.”

  Althea drained her glass, then proceeded up to her room. As soon as she had closed the door, she began stripping off her clothes. They were drenched. As she was walking to her basin, a knock sounded on her door.

  “Yes, who is it?”

  “It’s Dot, miss, the parlor maid.”

  Althea opened her door a crack then, when she saw it was the young woman who had sat with Rebecca, bade her enter. “How is Rebecca?”

  The young woman smiled. “Oh, she’s fine. Dropped off to sleep while I was still talking, poor lamb. We had a grand time imagining the dinner party tonight.”

  “I was going to stop in as soon as I took off these wet things.”

  “I heard you come in. Would you like me to help you dress?”

  Althea was going to refuse help, then thought about how late she was. “Thank you. Please come in. I must hurry. I should have been down by half-past seven. Could you help me undo these buttons?”

  “Certainly, miss.” Dot came toward her. “Oh, miss, is this what you are going to wear? It’s beautiful!”

  “What?” Althea turned. “Oh—” She hadn’t noticed the dress draped across her bed. “My, who put this here?” She moved to the bed and picked up the garment. It was a beautiful evening gown of jade-green gauze over a white silk underskirt. Matching green kid slippers sat on the floor beside the bed. Alongside the dress were laid underclothes, gloves, hair ribbons, even a soft white cashmere shawl. As she picked up the dress, a note fluttered to the ground. Dot immediately bent to retrieve it.

  Althea took it from her and unfolded it.

  Dearest Althy, I heard you were attending a fashionable dinner party. Please accept this dress with my compliments. I have grown much too large for it, and I know it will suit you admiringly. Enjoy it on my behalf, as my dinner party engagements are few and far between at this juncture!

  It was signed Gillian, her sister-in-law. Althea smiled despite herself. How like Tertius’s wife. She looked at the maid. “I must hurry. Let me wash. I can’t wear this garment in my present state.” She walked to the washstand and began sponging off her skin. The maid handed her the fresh underclothes and petticoats.

  “Oh, we must hurry!” It was past eight. She hoped Simon had not missed her. The maid brushed out her hair then dressed it for her. Althea turned toward the door without even glancing in the mirror. Instead she turned to Dot. “How do I look?” she asked quickly, not sure if she wanted to hear the reply. She felt a little naked with her upper arms and throat exposed.

  “You look beautiful.” The maid hesitated. “Haven’t you no jewels, miss?”

  Althea’s gloved hand went to her neck. “Does it look too bare?”

  “It looks very pretty, miss, but isn’t it usual to have a few jewels?”

  Althea nodded. She went over to her dressing table and opened a box. “I’ll wear these,” she said, taking out the only jewelry she possessed, a strand of pearls.

  Dot helped her with the clasp. “They’re just the thing,” she said in approval, giving her one last looking over.

  “My father gave them to me at my coming out.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Well, I had better go down.” She squared her shoulders, feeling as if she were about to face a firing squad.

  She bolstered her courage with scripture, which she recited as she descended the stairs.

  By the time Althea reached the double doors leading to the main salon, her heart felt as if it were pounding in her throat. She gave her hair a pat with both hands, having no idea what it looked like. “‘Not my will, but Thine,’” she murmured under her breath, wanting to run as Elijah had when he fled from Queen Jezebel.

  The first thing that greeted her when she opened the doors was the noise. After weeks in the quiet household, Althea was no longer used to crowds. A buzz of voices greeted her. The light from the chandeliers and wall sconces gave the room a bright glow. Several gentlemen stood about in groups, their dark-colored evening jackets contrasting with
the brighter gowns of the ladies. Although her reasoning told her there were not more than fifteen or sixteen people in the room, certainly not more than twenty, her senses felt an assault of noise, heat and light.

  Giles spotted her over the crowd of heads and came toward her. His gaunt, wrinkled face suddenly seemed the friendliest one in the world.

  “Very good, miss, that you’re here. Mr. Aguilar told me to inform him as soon as you arrived.”

  “Thank you, Giles.” Already she felt at a disadvantage, hoping she had not held things up through her tardiness. She ventured a few more steps into the room, wishing there was a quiet corner where she could fade into the background. As her breathing steadied, she noticed one or two gentlemen turn to look at her. She kept walking without meeting anyone’s eyes directly, but smiling in the general direction of everyone. Before she could reach a wall of the room, Simon came up to her.

  “What kept you so long? Dinner’s long overdue!” His tone was a sharp whisper as his dark eyes frowned at her behind their spectacles. Not waiting for her answer, he turned to Giles, giving him the signal to announce the meal.

  The couples began pairing up. Althea had no idea what the gentleman she had assigned herself looked like, so she stood waiting. All she knew about him was that he worked with Simon as a clerk of some sort.

  A young man approached her and gave a discreet cough. “Miss Breton?”

  She gave him a smile. “Yes, Mr.—” Oh, no, she could not recall his name.

  “Charles Covington, at your service,” he said, offering her a black-sleeved arm.

  “Thank you.” She made her way with him to the end of the line as the party proceeded to the dining room. Althea realized Simon had only been waiting for her for the dinner to begin. No wonder he had been annoyed. She could only hope the extra time had given the kitchen staff down below a chance to see to any final preparations. Wondering how things would proceed, knowing she could no longer do anything to assist them, she entered the dining room with the feeling that everything was out of her hands now.

  Had Daisy remembered to stir the sauces and keep them warm until the proper time? Would Mrs. Coates and the kitchen maids remember the correct order of the courses? Peering around the table, Althea tried to discern whether the hot plates had been lit. The table did look beautiful, she had to admit, as Mr. Covington tucked her into her chair. The plate glistened. The crystal sparkled. Fresh flowers added a touch of color against the white damask cloth and china.

  She watched the footmen. Giles stood back, with a nod here and a nod there, directing them in bringing in the first cover. Althea removed her napkin and spread it upon her lap as the footmen ladled out the consommé. Bowing her head, she said a short prayer of thanks. Looking up, she realized that her companion was holding out a covered basket of rolls to her.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, taking one automatically. The conversation drowned out the other noises while the guests were being served, but once the footmen finished their task, the volume descended as everyone brought his attention to the food before him.

  Now was the moment of truth, thought Althea as she took a spoonful of soup. It tasted like absolutely nothing to her. She put down her spoon and glanced around the table trying to discover the reaction in the others. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the soup. She mentally went down the list Mrs. Coates and she had gone over a dozen times, able now to fit names to faces.

  Simon sat at the head of the table, his face looking relaxed, she noted with relief, as he spoke to his immediate dinner companions. Althea’s gaze drifted to his right, where she had been forced to usurp Lord Stanton-Lewis’s place for that of the Duke of Belmont, the highest ranking of the dinner guests. Her grace, the duke’s wife, sat on Simon’s left.

  On the duke’s right sat Lady Stanton-Lewis. A flash of recognition went through Althea. She now distinctly recognized Lady Stanton-Lewis. Althea had been seventeen and eighteen, respectively, during her two London Seasons. Lady Stanton-Lewis had been only a few years older, recently married and becoming a leader in the fashionable world. The shy, young Althea had envied her wit and beauty in a world where those qualities were highly esteemed.

  Despite the duke between them, Lady Stanton-Lewis and Simon seemed to be having a lively discussion at the head of the table. Something Simon said caused Lady Stanton-Lewis to answer in a laughing retort. The duke and duchess joined in the laughter.

  Althea had no fear that Lady Stanton-Lewis would recognize her that evening. The last time Althea had appeared in London society was eight years ago. She didn’t remember ever having Lady Stanton-Lewis address a word to her; she doubted Lady Stanton-Lewis had known who Althea was back then, unless someone had pointed out her family connections. The two had been worlds apart then—Althea one of the dozens of young ladies on the Marriage Mart—someone’s ward, at that—while Lady Stanton-Lewis was a seasoned young matron. She had made a respectable if not brilliant marriage to a baron. Althea calculated Lady Stanton-Lewis had been in her mid-twenties then, so she must be just over thirty now.

  Althea’s gaze roved down the table. The rest of the guests were untitled, although most of noble lineage: a couple of notorious dandies, a cabinet member and his wife, a few other members of the House of Commons with their wives, a prominent poet and some lesser individuals. Althea sat near the end, between the young Mr. Covington and an older white-whiskered gentleman in uniform. Colonel Ballyworth, she remembered, was his name.

  Just as their glances met, she saw his mouth move, but she couldn’t hear his words above the clatter as the footmen began removing the soup bowls and all the dishes and silverware around and under them, whether used or not. She could only smile at him while waiting for the noise to subside again.

  A new set of plates was set before the guests and the next cover brought in. Althea looked and saw with satisfaction that the two kinds of fish arrived with their accompanying sauces and vegetables. Thus far, everything was going according to schedule.

  “I beg your pardon, Colonel Ballyworth,” she said to the gentleman who had addressed her earlier. “I didn’t hear what you said a moment ago.”

  “Quite all right, m’dear.” He took a hearty bite of sole. “I was just inquiring if you weren’t the Marquess of Caulfield’s ward?”

  She smiled in surprise. “Yes, I am. Do you know Lord Caulfield?”

  “Oh, my, yes. Since we were boys. How is Caulfield? He doesn’t come up to London much anymore, does he?”

  “No. He prefers the quiet country life in Hertfordshire.”

  Colonel Ballyworth chuckled. “He must have changed a lot since I last saw him. He was one of the leading rakes in his day.”

  “He has…mellowed somewhat since then, I believe. Now that he is awaiting the arrival of his first grandchild, he doesn’t like to be away from Pembroke Park.”

  “Oh, no, I should think not.” Colonel Ballyworth took a forkful of potatoes before turning to her once again. “And how are you, m’dear? I recall you during your London Season.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  He chuckled at her amazement. “Quiet little thing, you were. Didn’t think anyone noticed you, did you.”

  “That was quite some time ago. I’m certainly flattered you remember me.”

  “Oh, I never forget a face. Can’t always come up with the right name, but never forget a face. Must say you look much prettier now than you did then.”

  She blushed. “I—I thank you.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying that you weren’t an attractive thing then. Excuse my saying so, but at my age, you earn the right to speak your mind, and I always like a pretty face. You were so pale and timid back then that I guess a body wouldn’t notice you much, sitting at the back of the room. But, my dear, when you walked into the room tonight, I saw more than one gentleman stand at attention.”

  She said nothing, but her glance strayed back down the length of the table. Had her employer noticed that she wore something other than her “gray go
verness garb”? She doubted it, watching his absorption with his immediate dinner companions.

  The colonel’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Excuse my asking, but what’s your connection to Aguilar?”

  She did not hesitate. “I am nurse—or perhaps I should say governess—” she remembered her correct title “—to his young daughter, Rebecca.”

  “Nurse-governess, eh?” He turned back to his plate and took a last bite of fish. “My, that was excellent. Not every cook knows how to prepare sole. I must send her my compliments.”

  Althea restrained a smile.

  “Nurse-governess, eh?” he repeated. “I heard his little girl was ailing. What a shame.” He shook his head, then took a sip of wine. “So, you were forced to seek employment. Pity you never married. Didn’t Caulfield settle anything on you? Never knew him to be niggardly.”

  She shook her head. “My decision to enter my present employment did not have to do with my financial state. Lord Caulfield has always been most generous to me.”

  He looked more puzzled than ever. “I can’t understand why some young gent didn’t grab you up then. What’s got into them nowadays? No starch in ’em. It’s all in their shirt points, I guess. Now, in my day—”

  Althea laughed out loud. “Colonel Ballyworth, please, I’m sure the fault was not in the young gentlemen who were presented to me. As you pointed out, I was a quiet thing who preferred sitting in the background.”

  The colonel eyed her shrewdly from under his bushy brows. “You look happy enough tonight. Don’t tell me you’re one of those bluestocking types that despises men?”

  She shook her head, restraining laughter. “Oh, no, not at all. Don’t forget I grew up with two bro—with Lord Caulfield’s two sons.”

  “Pity about the heir…riding accident and all.” Colonel Ballyworth tut-tutted before taking another sip from his glass. “How’s the younger one turning out? I’ve heard good things about him, steadier head on his shoulders than he used to have. No one ever thought he could step into his brother’s shoes…” The colonel frowned, looking at the pale amber liquid in his glass. “Heard some rumor of his getting pious—probably just some gossip.”