by Joan Smith
“The Lake District,” Mama said, with a fond smile at Beamer. “And where will you and Acton go, Kate?”
“To Cornwall,” Acton replied promptly.
“Really? Whatever for? There is nothing in Cornwall, is there?”
“The scenery is delightful,” Acton said.
“Ah, the scenery. Just cliffs and water. If it is scenery you’re after, the Lake District is very scenic.”
“It certainly is. I have been there several times.”
“Kate has never been there,” Mama said, looking a question at me.
“I have always wanted to see Cornwall, Mama,” I lied.
“You never mentioned it. Well, don’t leave on Friday. Friday is very unlucky for travel.”
Once it was settled, Beamer left and Mama went to dash a note off to Signora Rossini for instructions. I had no fear of a postponement at least.
Acton emptied the last of the champagne into our glasses and said, “We don’t have to go to Cornwall, Kate. I had to say something before we were roped into the Lake District. Pity, actually I’d like to see it. We must go there some other time. Where would you like to go?”
“Myrna and I were going to go to Paris.”
“Paris it is.”
“We don’t have to go there for the wedding trip. I don’t care where we go. Anywhere, Acton. You decide. I am no longer in charge of making decisions.”
“I wonder how long that will last,” he said, chewing a smile. “Meanwhile, I choose Paris.”
I accompanied Acton to the door when he left. Balky tossed his head at me as he closed the door and I went into his little sanctum. “Just a word, Miss Simmons,” he said, using the address that told me he wanted something. “With the two of you — you and your Mama leaving, what’s to become of me?”
This had not occurred to me, but of course it was of great importance to him, and all the staff. When he saw I had nothing to suggest, he continued. “I fancy you’ll be putting Oak Hill up to let. The likeliest taker is some rich Cit. He’ll be wanting a butler who knows what’s what about the place. Who knows better than me, if I say so myself? They’ll be wanting a character reference. Can I use you?”
“Of course, Balky. That’s a wonderful idea. Let us hope the new tenant takes the rest of the staff as well.”
He smiled. “If they take me, I’ll see to that. I wish you happy, Missie.”
“Thank you, Balky,” I said, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. It was the only time I ever saw him blush.
That evening Beamer drove Mama and me to the Abbey, where Lady Mary welcomed us and Maddie cried real tears of joy. She is emotional. “It will be grand to have youngsters at the Abbey again. Babies, I mean,” she said, “for of course Acton will want — “
“We know what you mean, Maddie,” Lady Mary said, rolling her eyes.
She went out of her way to be not only polite but friendly to me. “You will be mistress of the Abbey now, Kate, and I don’t want you to worry that I will cause you any trouble. At my age I shall be happy to hand the job over to someone else. I cannot think of anyone who could handle it — and Acton — so well as you.”
I accepted her peace offering and told her I was happy to have her to explain things to me.
Maddie and Mama were soon together in a corner, enjoying each other’s company, to judge by their excited chatter and light laughter. I was happy to see Mama had one friend in my new home, for she and Lady Mary would never be close. Acton looked at them, then at me, and smiled in a conspiratorial way that told me he was thinking the same thing.
Strange how we were beginning to read each other’s thoughts. Beamer and Lady Mary also got along famously. They were enjoying a good argument over the relative merits of various breeds of cattle. The fact that Lady Mary was ignorant as a swan on the subject did not curtail her expressing her opinion one whit. She was Lady Mary of Lewes Abbey after all.
Effie spent the night in her old room at the Abbey and returned to London the next day. We haven’t heard from her or Myrna since. Oak Hill became a hive of activity with two trousseaus and two weddings to prepare and the visits of two fiancés and visits from Signora Rossini to arrange without too much interaction. Beamer and the Signora did not hit it off. I expect to see her influence over Mama wane in the near future, now that she has Beamer to tell her what to do.
Tomorrow is the big day. From my bedroom window that night I looked up at the moon. I was careful not to point at it. Bad luck. Occasionally Mama is right in her superstitions. I wasn’t about to take any chances.
Copyright © 2016 by Joan Smith
Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads (ISBN 9781610849593)
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
