by Marie Silk
Phillip was sitting on the floor with the children while they played a game. “You have to tell her something,” he told his sister.
Serena panicked. “Just tell her I’m not feeling well today,” she begged, then hurried to her room and closed the door.
“Serena, wait!” Phillip called after her. “You can’t just run off!” Serena did not answer. The children looked up at their father when they heard Abigail knocking at the front door.
“Is Miss Abigail here?” Gabriella asked curiously.
Phillip sighed. “She’s here. I just need to talk to her for a minute, alright? I’ll come play again when I’m done.”
“Alright,” sighed Donnie.
Phillip rose from the floor and walked past the kitchen. He was not prepared for the wave of emotions that came over him when he saw Abigail on the other side of the door. “Good evening,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Oh—” she stammered. “Good evening—um—I’m just here to remind Serena that she is caring for the baby tonight.”
Phillip looked at the floor. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but my sister is unable to help at the house tonight.”
“Oh?” Abigail responded, standing there awkwardly.
Phillip suddenly cringed. “I’m sorry, please come in. You shouldn’t be standing out there in the cold.”
Abigail smiled gratefully and stepped inside while Phillip closed the door behind her. Abigail could hear the children playing in the next room. “Is Serena alright?” she whispered.
“Uh—she’s just—not feeling well,” he stuttered.
Abigail became worried. “Oh dear. It’s not the influenza, is it?”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he said quickly, looking into her eyes. “But she’s very sorry to not be able to come tonight.”
“I see,” Abigail replied.
“May I ask—” Phillip began nervously, “—if the little one is in good health?”
Abigail smiled. “Yes, he is very well.”
“And—how are you? Are you doing well?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” he nodded. “There’s just one more thing I wondered. Have you chosen a name for him?”
“We are calling him Patrick…we will name him formally at the christening. It will be at Father Salvestro’s home, before we move back to Philadelphia.”
Phillip nodded again and swallowed painfully. “Of course. I wish you well with the christening…and with the move.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “I should go now. Please tell Serena that I hope she recovers quickly.”
“I will,” he promised. Phillip opened the door for Abigail and watched as she walked away into the night. He was startled by Serena’s voice next to him.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“What do you mean, ‘what was that all about’?” he responded impatiently. “You were the one who disappeared and forced me to explain for you.”
“I’m sorry about that, brother…but that’s not what I meant. What’s going on between you and Abigail?”
“Nothing is going on,” he grumbled, not looking her in the eye. “I just don’t like having to make up excuses for you.”
“The way she looked at you…and the way you looked at her,” Serena persisted. “It’s as if you have been more than only neighbors.”
Phillip could feel his face burning with embarrassment. “Let it go, Serena. You wouldn’t understand.”
Her mouth hung open at his response. “So there is something going on between you two!”
Phillip was quiet and began to walk back to where the children were playing. Serena grabbed his arm before he could leave. “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded. “Why are you so concerned about that baby? And why do you act funny whenever I mention him?”
Phillip clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I never made you talk about Angelina when you didn’t want to.”
Serena let go of his arm and put her hand over her heart as she thought about his response. “Brother, what have you done? Tell me that I am misunderstanding—that the baby in Davenport House is not really your child!”
He glared at her. “It’s not what you think.” He walked away from the door and rejoined the children where they were playing on the floor. He sat down next to them as if he was ready to continue the game, but he held his head in his hands for a moment.
“Papa, are you alright?” asked Gabriella.
“I’m alright,” he mumbled, doing his best to sound convincing. “Now, whose turn is it? Did you wait for me or did you play without me?”
Donnie handed him the dice. “We waited for you for a long long time,” he answered.
Serena looked at the three of them and silently went back to her room, closing the door behind her.
At Davenport House, Abigail was just returning from her visit to the farmhouse. She went to her bedroom and smiled when she saw Ethan sitting there, contentedly holding the baby in his arms. “You are off the hook tonight,” she giggled. “Serena cannot come after all. But poor Clara will be terribly disappointed that we are not down there.”
Ethan shrugged, but seemed happy with the situation, and began to loosen his tie. “This is the best seat in the house as far as I’m concerned. It’s getting noisy downstairs, anyway. I’d rather be up here with you and Patrick.”
Abigail sat on the bed and removed her gloves to place on the nightstand. Ethan suddenly jumped up from the rocking chair. “What was that?” he cried.
Abigail gasped, worried that Ethan would drop the baby in his frantic state. “I don’t know what you mean, but why don’t give Patrick to me,” she said quickly. “It’s time for him to eat.”
Ethan held the baby to her with trembling hands. “It was a shooting sound. I don’t know what it was!”
Abigail was confused, but more concerned that she took the little one before he fell from Ethan’s grasp. “It’s alright, I’ll take him now.”
Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and paced the room anxiously. Then he jumped again. “That’s the sound! Did you hear it?”
“Oh—that—” she stammered. “It was just a champagne cork downstairs, I think.”
Ethan covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I just can’t do this. I can’t be around all this racket.” He hurried out of the room and Abigail looked out her window in time to see him heading out into the night in the direction of the stable.
Downstairs in the ballroom, a stir of excitement filled the air as ladies strutted through the room wearing their masks and matching evening gowns, holding the arms of gentlemen dressed in masks and tuxedos. Clara had finished cheerfully greeting the late-arriving guests, and she motioned to the orchestra to begin playing. Some guests began to dance while others stood near the elegantly set buffet tables.
At the same time, Fiona was rushing down the servants’ stairs to her bedroom to change her apron. When she closed the door behind her, she began untying the apron strings of the one she had spilled on. A voice in the room made her jump with fright.
“Fiona?”
“Good grief, Bridget, you nearly scared me to death! What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I had to come back so I could talk to Abigail,” Bridget whimpered.
“After Miss Clara ordered you out of her house, you thought you would come back and stay in my room? I could be sacked for this!”
“No one saw me,” Bridget promised. “I was very careful.”
“That’s not the point, Bridget!” she exclaimed in a panic. “Miss Clara said this party has to go perfectly. How am I supposed to make that happen while knowing you are hiding down here in my room?”
“I’ll leave first thing tomorrow, I swear. There isn’t another train to Philadelphia until the morning.”
Fiona shook her head in disbelief. “You want to stay here overnight? Oh, I’m going to lose my job!”
“You won’t lose your job,�
�� Bridget assured her. “No one will know. I bought this mask in town before I came here. I can sneak upstairs to Abigail’s bedroom. I’m sure she won’t tell anyone I’ve been here and I know how to be discreet in this house.”
“I have to go back upstairs now,” Fiona groaned as she tied on her new apron. “And I would hate to see you publicly ordered out of Miss Clara’s house during the ball. For your sake, I hope you will change your mind about going upstairs.”
When Fiona returned to the masquerade, the ballroom was in pandemonium. Guests were asking for their coats so they could leave. “Where have you been?” Clara demanded with wide eyes. “How could you order the maids to serve liquor at this party when half the guests are drys?”
Fiona stood gaping at Clara, unsure of how to answer. “It’s what Mr. Collins insisted on, Miss Clara. I thought you agreed to it!”
A woman approached Clara just then with her nose high in the air. “I’m astonished at you, Mrs. Collins. I would never have attended your party if I knew the devil’s drink was being served here. I thought you were a more sensible woman than that.” She spun on her heel and led her husband away.
Clara looked at Fiona helplessly. “Remove every drop of alcohol from this room immediately! The guests have been quarreling ever since the champagne came out!”
Fiona could hear a man shouting from the crowd. “It’s those Protestants who are keeping the rest of us from practicing our faith and having a good time! I say, drink up while we can!”
There were gasps and murmurs from the crowd. Fiona and Nora hurried around the room to collect every wine bottle and glass of champagne.
Abigail heard the commotion from downstairs and closed her bedroom door all the way, unsure of what was going on. She held Patrick in her arms and hummed to him while she looked out the window. “Why do you suppose the guests are leaving so soon?” she cooed in his ear. “I hope that Clara is not too upset.” She heard the doorknob to her room turn and open just then. Abigail spun around to see who it was. “Bridget! What a surprise!”
“Forgive me for barging in like this, Abigail. I had to see you.”
Abigail smiled and proudly held out her baby. “Come see my son. I had no idea you were in town.”
Bridget gladly took the baby in her arms. “Oh, he is perfect.”
Abigail lowered herself wearily into the rocking chair. “My arms were getting tired,” she giggled. “How are you getting along at the manor house?”
Bridget looked at her solemnly. “Everything at the manor house is fine, but you should know is that I’m not supposed to be here. Clara ordered me out of the house this afternoon and told me not to come back.”
Abigail raised her eyebrows. “That does not sound like Clara. Why would she react in such a drastic way?”
“I suppose it’s because I came to tell her something terrible I learned about Lawrence.”
Abigail cringed. “Yes, I suppose it was not the best timing for that.”
“But it concerns you too,” Bridget said mournfully.
“How could it concern me?”
Bridget explained everything that the new postman in Philadelphia had told her. Abigail covered her heart with her hands. “How awful!” She stood up to look out the window. “But it can’t be. Lawrence and Clara were married before I received the news of Ethan.”
Bridget shrugged uncertainly. “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding, and the note came later than he planned. Were you able to get an explanation from the war office?”
Painful tears stung behind her eyes when she responded. “I went to them for answers after Ethan returned home. They told me they could not understand who sent the note. There was no such captain as the one who signed the letter.”
“Then surely it was Lawrence who arranged it. The evidence points to him,” Bridget said angrily.
Abigail felt tears running down her cheeks. “How could one person…cause so much agony for so many? If I had never received that awful note—” She paused, wiping the tears from her face. “Things would be much different.”
“I’m sorry to bring you this news, Abigail. I hope I did the right thing by telling you.” Bridget carefully laid the sleeping baby into the cradle. “You could go to the police.”
“I’m afraid of what it would do to Clara if I went to the police,” Abigail responded. “Bridget…I’m more afraid of what Ethan might do if he heard about this. Please don’t tell anyone else until I decide what I will do with the information.”
Bridget nodded solemnly. “I won’t tell. I should be leaving now before anyone sees me in the house. Goodbye, Abigail.”
Downstairs in the house, Fiona and Nora were gathering coats for the masquerade guests who were leaving through the front door as quickly as they could exit.
Clara retreated alone to the gardens behind the house. She stood in the crisp night air, staring blankly past the courtyard, and almost didn’t hear the soft voice from behind her.
“Mrs. Collins? Are you alright?”
She turned around to face Joe. “Didn’t you notice that everything was a disaster? I wanted the masquerade to be widely remembered, but not like this! I don’t know how I will show my face in town again.”
Joe shrugged. “I thought it was a nice party.”
Clara laughed. “Were we at the same party?”
He stifled a smile. “I’m sure we were. I noticed you right away—mask and all. But anyway, it’s freezing out here. Don’t you want to go back inside?”
Clara shook her head. “It will only remind me of how dreadfully my party has failed. I’d rather stay out here and look out into the gardens where everything is rosy.”
Joe removed his jacket and put it around Clara’s shoulders. “If you insist, Mrs. Collins. It was good of you to host a party to cheer everyone, anyway. I’m sorry they were not as grateful to you as they should have been. I suppose people are getting tense about the new laws.”
“Lawrence said that it will soon be illegal for us to even have wine in our own home…although I never know what to believe from him anymore…he promised he would be at the ball tonight. I suppose I’ve gotten so used to him breaking promises, that I would have been shocked if he actually did attend tonight.”
Joe stood there awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Collins. I figured he must have been quite a fellow for a fine lady like you to marry him.”
Clara felt like laughing, but instead she looked at Joe thoughtfully. “Did you know that I used to be a housemaid here?”
“You, a housemaid?” he chuckled. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true. I suppose there’s a lot you don’t know about me. It was only a few years ago that I began living the life of a lady. It’s been an uphill battle to be accepted into society as I have always hoped to. Then Lawrence came along, and I thought he was my last chance at ever having a husband. I thought I might be taken more seriously when I was married, as the other married ladies are. But I’m afraid I was hasty in accepting Lawrence. In truth, I knew nothing about him or his life.”
“I was sorry for not speaking up to you sooner. I guess it took me a while to work up the courage—” he cringed, “—after calling you an old spinster.”
Clara laughed. “Yes, I remember like it was yesterday.”
“Well, I sure hope things get better for you, Mrs. Collins. You deserve the best.”
“I wish I’d never met Lawrence at all,” she blurted. “I’ve done all I can to please him, but it has been miserable. In fact, as soon as he comes home again, I am going to talk to him about a divorce.”
The following silence was suddenly broken by Nora clearing her throat behind them. “The orchestra has left, Mrs. Collins,” she announced.
Clara felt sick to her stomach when she realized that Nora had been standing there, and Clara wondered how much of the conversation she might have heard. “Uh—very good—” she stuttered. “You may close up the ballroom now, and I’ll be in shortly.”
“Yes, Madam,” Nora
answered, and turned to go inside.
“I’d better be going,” Joe told Clara. “Goodnight, Mrs. Collins.” He left through the gardens while Clara remained in the courtyard, watching Joe walk back to his cottage.
Later that night, after the ballroom was closed and tidied, Fiona exited the servants’ entrance to get some fresh air. Sam saw her sitting on the boulder alone and went to join her. “How did the party go?” he asked, seating himself on a tree stump across from her.
Fiona shook her head sadly. “This whole day was awful,” she replied in despair.
“What happened?”
“Well, it began this afternoon when Miss Clara ordered my sister out of the house,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Then a misunderstanding about the drinks at the party, which caused all the guests to fight and leave. I’m afraid Miss Clara blames me for everything. But it was Mr. Collins who gave instructions about the drinks.”
“I’m sorry it went bad,” he told her. “I still need to talk to Miss Clara about the deed. Maybe I should wait ‘til she’s not cross anymore about the party. But why did she say that to your sister?”
“Oh Sam, it’s all a mess,” Fiona said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m worried that I’ll be sacked.”
“You can’t have done anything that bad,” he said. “You wouldn’t get sacked over a party gone wrong.”
“Maybe not, but Bridget came back to the house after Miss Clara made her go. She is hiding in my room until she can take a train back to Philadelphia. If the other maids see her…or if Miss Clara sees her…I’m afraid of what might happen.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised.
“My family depends on me having this job,” she continued.
“I understand,” he said. “You won’t lose your job. My sister says that no one could run a house as well as you.”
Fiona managed a smile. “Thank you, Sam.”
He stood up from the tree stump. “Are you going to be alright?”
“I hope so,” she replied. “What about you?”
“I’ll be alright…just as soon as I deal with Mr. Collins so I can get my title deed like I was supposed to.”
Fiona nodded. “I should get back inside. Goodnight, Sam.”
