Katherine, When She Smiled

by Harmon, Joyce

“I certainly didn’t shrink,” Amanda told him. “I just stopped growing eventually. And apparently you did not.”

  “I think I’ve attained all the height I will reach,” he assured her. “So I’m as large as I will ever be. Or perhaps not, considering the excellence of my cook, but any further expansion will be around, rather than up.”

  “That’s good to hear, because I think my neck would grow fatigued if I had to look up much higher.”

  It was a lively day and evening at Greymere. Clara and Amanda had not met for several years, and had much catching up to do, and of course Charles had not seen Amanda since he went away to the army when she was a child. Clara and Amanda leapt immediately into conversation, Amanda ridiculing the notion that she might be tired and in need of a lie-down after her journey. “I wasn’t pulling the post-chaise after all, but riding inside it,” she pointed out.

  The two women spent the afternoon exchanging recent news of their own lives and those of their friends. Encountering Charles again at the dinner table, the talk turned to childhood exploits. Like many people with a shared past, they often didn’t have to tell an old story, just remind their listeners of it.

  Amanda’s exclamation of “that goat!” drew forth gales of laughter from Charles and Clara. Han and Hector exchanged shrugs of bemusement.

  When Charles countered, “Your mama’s glasshouse...”, Amanda immediately replied, “Was that you? I just knew it!”

  When the ladies retired and left the men to their port, Charles realized with contrition that he’d been rude to his other guests. Pushing the port decanter to Hector, he said, “I’m sorry. I suppose you’ve been bored to tears. I’ll call the ladies to account and we’ll be better.”

  “No bother,” said Hector peaceably. “It cheers Clara no end and I like to see her so bright and energetic. Thought I’d just play billiards with the lad this evening. You go ahead and get the ‘do you remembers’ out and over with.”

  “Thank you,” said Charles gratefully. “That’s quite understanding of you, and gives Han something to do as well.”

  But when Charles joined the ladies in the drawing room and Amanda learned that billiards were on offer elsewhere, she demanded that they go there. In the billiard room, she met Han, who had absented himself from dinner, and professed herself delighted. “Why, you’re quite famous!” she declared. “I hope I might even be drawn by you, that would be quite a thing to boast of.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Han said softly.

  By the next day, all of Piddledean was aware of the new visitor at Greymere Manor. “An old friend of the family,” Aunt Alice told the breakfast table. “Tiny, pretty, and lively, according to Mrs. Purvis.”

  “You’ve spoken to Mrs. Purvis today?” asked Katherine, surprised. It was early yet for the usual rounds of information passing.

  “No, but Mrs. Gage did,” Alice explained. “Amanda Mason,” she continued, buttering her toast. “A young single lady, with a quite respectable dowry.”

  Helen’s eyes were big as saucers. “And staying right there at the Manor! Oooh, Julia must be mad as fire!”

  If Julia was indeed mad as fire, she disguised it beneath a brittle gaiety. “An old childhood friend!” she exclaimed to Mrs. Worth, who’d brought the news to the family at the Place. “How pleasant that must be for Lady Clara and Lord Charles. Friends from childhood are just like brothers and sisters, are they not?”

  Mrs. Worth shot her a look of satisfied spite. “Oh, like brothers and sisters, eh, missy?” she said and gave a crack of laughter. “Just as you say, m’dear. They do say that Lord Charles was in extraordinarily good spirits yesterday, with his old friend who’s just like a sister visiting.”

  “Is she very fashionable?” asked young Evelyn.

  Mrs. Worth patted her hand. “Still more interested in clothes than in beaux, are you? From what I’ve heard, she’s quite fashionable, but careless-like with it, as if it doesn’t really matter to her and it’s all a grand joke.”

  Evelyn sat back, starry-eyed, dreaming of the day when she too might be careless with fashionable clothes.

  The Rose ladies decided among themselves that they should not look to see Lady Clara that day, though it was her usual day for walking with Katherine. But with new company just arrived, surely she would have too much else on her plate for her regular outing.

  In this they misjudged Clara, because at her regular time, the Greymere carriage came bowling up the drive, bringing her ladyship, not with news of her guest, but with the guest herself.

  Katherine beheld a dainty little creature with a heart-shaped face and tousled black ringlets. “How do you do?” said Miss Mason. “Clara described her usual activities, visiting the village and walking in the shrubbery here, and it all sounded so entrancing I said that we must do exactly that. I do love your village, so quaintly pretty. I’ve already fallen in love with one of your High Street cottages. I vow I shall move there and keep chickens. Chickens? No, ducks. I think ducks are so comical, don’t you?”

  “Now that I consider the matter, I suppose ducks are rather comical,” Katherine admitted.

  Amanda clapped her hands like a brisk governess. “Come along now,” she said. “To the shrubbery! Don’t dawdle, ladies, I want to see Lady Clara’s promenade.”

  Thus directed, they took themselves to the shrubbery, where Amanda crowed with laughter at the sight of Clara’s regal promenade. She displayed her own promenading skills, and the exercise soon developed into a three way promenade, punctuated by snippets of conversation.

  “We met your vicar as we came through the village,” Amanda offered. “My, but there’s a handsome man! A little stiff in his manner, perhaps. Though perhaps that’s merely his professional manner and in private he can loosen up and be more human. What do you say, Miss Rose?”

  She was intrigued to note that Katherine had blushed slightly. Katherine said, “I don’t know why you say ‘your vicar’.”

  “Oh-ho!” said Amanda. “I had meant a plural you, speaking of your parish as a whole, but I see that I might have stumbled upon an intrigue. Is he ‘your’ vicar, Miss Rose?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Katherine with a touch of irritation.

  “How very conscious you look. Clara, I think we have stumbled across a village intrigue.”

  Clara observed Katherine’s discomfort, and cautioned, “I do believe you are embarrassing her, Mandy.”

  “Am I? asked Amanda, astonished and genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry. My tongue runs like a fiddlestick, but I don’t mean any harm, I assure you.” She linked arms with Katherine and moved them toward the bench around the old oak tree. “You might retaliate and tease me about my beaux, but I’ve sent them all to the devil and no longer have any.”

  Helen had observed from the window that Lady Clara had brought the intriguing new visitor with her. She sought out Cook to learn what herbs were needed for dinner, and raced out to the herb garden with a basket. Soon she was able to make her way to the shrubbery, chancing across the walking party with a basket of herbs picturesquely on her arm.

  Helen’s infatuation with Lord Charles, built up over his long absence and fueled by her imagination, had not long survived meeting the real man himself. The real Lord Charles seemed painfully prosaic when compared to the dashing soldier of her imagining. He didn’t even wear his regimentals! But the Ramsey family still had glamour for young Helen, and she wished to be on terms with this noble family, to have opportunities to sit on grand furniture in grand rooms, admiring fashionable clothes and fashionable manners, and perhaps one day become a part of that world.

  She knew that she could not yet be fashionable in the mode of Lady Clara and Miss Mason, so settled on a simple lavender muslin round gown, her hair caught up in a matching ribbon. She came around the corner and was hailed by Lady Clara and Katherine and introduced to Miss Mason. “Here’s a sweet country Rose!” said Amanda. That was exactly the reaction Helen had been seeking, so she was well pleased.
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br />   The Greymere ladies admired the herbs and quizzed Helen on her daily life. “It’s rather slow,” Helen admitted. “Since I’m not yet out and we’re in mourning besides. We don’t attend many evening events. I still do some lessons that Katherine checks over. Other than that, my piano, my garden, and books.”

  “Is that the tenor of your days as well, Miss Rose?” Amanda asked.

  Katherine began to speak but Helen was before her. “Oh, no,” she said. “Katherine spends much of each afternoon in Papa’s study, working on his papers.”

  Amanda and Lady Clara looked at Katherine in some astonishment. “Indeed!” said Lady Clara. “Katherine, are you a bluestocking? I had no notion, I’m sure.”

  Katherine felt a moment of apprehension that her work with Papa’s papers had become public knowledge, but no sense in repining, what was done was done. “No such thing,” she assured Clara. “Papa was the scholar, but I cannot even read Greek. I’m merely organizing his papers for Balliol College, which expressed an interest in them.”

  “It’s taking an extraordinary amount of time,” complained Helen.

  “I’m afraid that Papa was not the most organized man. Perhaps he knew where everything was and the order of things was rational to his mind. But to a person unfamiliar with his methods, just finding things was a challenge for quite a while. Now I think I’m making progress and hope to have the papers to Balliol… well, sometime, sooner or later.”

  “Well!” said Amanda, impressed. “Scholar or not, the ability to arrange and organize a scholar’s papers is something I doubt that I could do. I’m afraid I’m far too much of a featherhead.”

  “You’re not a featherhead,” Clara challenged. “You just only want to do the things you wish to do, and come up with excuses for all the rest.”

  “You have uncovered my guilty secret,” Amanda confessed.

  The remainder of the visit was spent in mulling over schemes for amusement. “We’ll have fun!” Amanda declared, rubbing her hands together with glee as she and Clara took their leave of the Rose sisters.

  Soon all of Piddledean had made the acquaintance of the lively Miss Mason. Opinion was sharply divided. Most residents, including the ladies at Rosebourne, agreed with Mrs. Shelby, who decreed that Miss Mason was ‘a sweet-natured, lively young thing’. But a handful of the more critical were of Mrs. Worth’s mind, that the visitor was a ‘saucy little minx’.

  And if that weren’t enough to ponder over and talk about, soon the Rose ladies learned that they would be hosting their own visitor.

  ELEVEN

  Sorting the mail one morning, Helen gave a little gasp. “Gracious!” she exclaimed. “Here’s a letter for Papa!”

  Katherine, who usually sorted the mail, quickly whisked the item out of Helen’s hand and examined the exterior.

  “How strange,” said Aunt Alice, looking up from her own correspondence. “Who could that be from? Surely everyone who knew Sidney had already gotten the word by now.”

  “I believe it’s from Mr. Grimthorpe,” Katherine said. “I found some letters from him in the study and this looks to be his hand, though the inscription is a bit shaky.” She broke the wafer and began reading.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed a moment later.

  “Oh?” Helen prompted.

  “I had wondered why we didn’t receive condolences from Mr. Grimthorpe when Papa died,” Katherine explained. “Judging from their letters, they were lifelong friends. But this explains that. Poor Mister Grimthorpe had a stroke last fall. He doesn’t even realize that Papa is dead.”

  “You must write back and explain the matter to him,” Aunt Alice said.

  “I shall, but…” Katherine read further. “Oh, dear. We must prepare for a visitor.”

  “A visitor!” exclaimed Aunt Alice. “And a stroke victim too? Dearie, dearie, have we anything suitable? A ground floor room, surely…”

  “No, no,” Katherine hastened to assure her. “It’s not Mister Grimthorpe himself, but his nephew Rupert Grimthorpe. The younger Mister Grimthorpe will be traveling in the south of England this summer, and the elder Mister Grimthorpe commends him to our care and hopes we might put him up for a time.”

  (In fact, what ‘Grimey’ had written was – “as you can imagine, our friends at M&H are frantic to hear what’s become of our old friend Mrs. W. As soon as I was well enough for visitors, their bright young lads were camped on the doorstep. They hired my brother’s young rascal Rupert last year, and I’ll be sending him along to you. I’ve had to tell him the whole tale, Rosie. Sorry to break the confidence but I’m out of commission for a considerable time, just holding this pen is a chore. Rupert is a good lad and has instructions to help you in any way necessary to get your latest project safely delivered.”)

  Aunt Alice perked up. “A young man, you say? And single, I imagine. Well, that sounds more manageable.”

  “But it’s an awkward business,” Katherine said, folding the letter and sliding it into an apron pocket before anyone could ask to read it. “Imagine arriving for a visit and learning that your host was dead, in fact had died months ago.” Actually, what harrowed her imagination was the notion of the young man arriving and blurting out something about Mrs. Wilson before she could advise him of the situation. “I think when he arrives, I should take him aside and explain our circumstances,” she concluded. “It’s bound to be disconcerting for the poor fellow; how much worse to have the news broken with an entire family of strangers to confront.”

  Later in Papa’s study, she read the letter again and wondered anew at the awkwardness of the situation. Not only were they to entertain a guest that none of them had met, but they had been entirely unaware of his existence before today. Added to that, this unknown young man shared with Katherine a secret unknown to the rest of the family. It was thoroughly unsettling.

  She left the study and sought out Mrs. Coulton the housekeeper. “You’ve heard we’re to have a guest?” she asked.

  “Yes, Miss,” Mrs. Coulton said cautiously, “I do believe I’ve heard mention of it.”

  Katherine was not surprised. All servants gossiped about their families, though few of them were willing to admit it.

  “It’s a strange situation,” Katherine said. “When Papa’s death was being announced to the world, his old friend Mister Grimthorpe was just beginning to recover from a stroke and not hearing any news. Now he’s sending his nephew to us, believing that Papa is still alive.”

  “Do we know when, Miss?”

  “I’m afraid not. In the next several days, I suspect. All we can do is have a room in readiness. And Mrs. Coulton, make sure all the other servants understand that this young man believes Papa to be alive and I don’t want him to hear the news from a servant. When he arrives, please have him escorted to the small parlor and find me immediately. I will do that office.”

  A room was accordingly prepared, and the next few evenings were enlivened by discussion about the forthcoming Rupert Grimthorpe. There was little to go on. Since he was the nephew of a friend of Papa’s, he was assumed to be young. Since he was traveling alone, he was presumed to be single. He had employment, which argued for comparative poverty. But he lived in London, which made him interesting.

  Aunt Alice and Helen speculated endlessly on young Mister Grimthorpe’s appearance and personality. Katherine could only repeat, “Until we actually meet the man, there’s no way to know.”

  Of course Alice had to tell her friends about their impending company, and of course from there the word spread throughout the village. Katherine didn’t even try to stop it. Visitors were news, and news was the stuff of life.

  For three days, Katherine’s morning marketing was punctuated by Mrs. Shelby’s High Street query of “Has your visitor arrived yet?” Every day, Katherine replied that their visitor was not yet arrived but was expected at any time.

  On the third day, entering the house through the kitchen and leaving the market basket with Mrs. Gage, Katherine was met on the back stairs by Sa
lly, who exclaimed, “Oh, Miss, he’s here!”

  “Ah! At last!” said Katherine, taking a steadying breath. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the back parlor, miss, asking for the master. I’ve taken him some sherry.”

  Removing her bonnet and smoothing her hair, Katherine walked briskly down the hall and entered the back parlor. She beheld a young man who leaped to his feet at her entrance. Not precisely handsome, but pleasant looking, with sandy hair, light eyes and a snub nose, he was dressed fashionably but not to excess.

  “How do you do, Mister Grimthorpe?” she said. “I’m Katherine Rose.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Rose,” he said with a slight bow. “I expected your father. Will he be available soon? My uncle particularly charged me with messages for him.”

  Katherine gestured him back to his chair and took a seat facing him. “I understand your uncle has been out of touch for a while,” she began. “Unfortunately… well, Mister Grimthorpe, my father is dead.”

  “Good God!” Grimthorpe leaped to his feet and strode about the room. After a moment, he turned to her and said, “My apologies, ma’am. It was just such a surprise. And of course I should say how sorry I am for your loss.” He seemed now to take in the details of her dress, a light grey gown with black ribbons. “Some time ago, I apprehend?”

  “Just after the new year,” she replied.

  He slowly regained his seat and seemed to think deeply. At last he said, “Did your father entrust any package or message for my uncle? They had… business dealings.”

  “No,” Katherine said. “There were no packages or messages. But I should tell you that I’ve been examining and arranging my father’s papers, and as a result…” She took a deep breath and continued, “I know about Mrs. Wilson.”

  “You know!”

  “Yes,” she cautioned, “I know. But no one else in my family does. I’ve been trying to maintain the secret, since it seems to have been important to my father.”