The next day, even late-sleeper Jack was obliged to get up early, but since it was to prepare the village hall for Grantie Etta’s party, he made no complaint. At breakfast, their parents’ cheerfulness seemed a little forced to Paige, who, recalling the worried tones of the night before, puzzled briefly over this before attributing their manner to concern over having the party go well.
When they arrived at the hall, Cousin Anna was already there, with her mural affixed to one of the walls.
“Just the day trippers to get now,” she called out jovially.
“Looks great,” said Mr. Marchand. “I’ll make sure the cameraman gets Grantie putting her print on and then does a pan shot of the whole thing.”
Cousin Florinda had come to help too, along with the children’s grandparents, and Uncle Edmond and his family.
“Any luck finding Aurea-Rose’s Little Box of Rhymes and Reasons?” Jack asked Granddad before they got started.
“Afraid not. I searched every nook and cranny of both the Regency Room and the Georgian Room.”
“Perhaps you should try some of the other ones. If Rosalina’s book could get stored incorrectly, it might have too.”
“Possibly. Worth a try, anyway.
Granddad’s Scottish houseguests had come with him to lend a hand, and the rest of Aunt Meredith’s family arrived shortly after, including a grand-daughter and grandson-in-law who lived in Ireland and had flown over for the party. The only ones missing from this group were another granddaughter and the great-grandchildren she was looking after so they wouldn’t get underfoot.
“Claire’ll make sure our Alasdair and the other bairns have a wee nap so they’ll not be cranky later on,” Claire’s husband Blair told Aunt Augusta. Claire and Blair McNair had heard all the jokes about their rhyming names, and thought they might as well keep the pattern going.
The Dexter family and Cousin Ophelia rounded out the work force, which got an unexpected boost from some early arrivals from Bath. Sidney Delacourt, a descendant of one of Grantie Etta’s Wolverton cousins, was accompanied by his wife, two middle-aged children, and three grown-up grandchildren, as well as his sister and her family from Germany. Cousin Regina now lived in a small town near Frankfurt. Her historian husband, Ludwig Ziegler, spoke excellent English and so did the Zieglers’ daughter Emma, and son-in-law Horst Bauer. Twelve-year-old Zacharias Bauer’s English was quite good, too, and even ten-year-old Alina’s was passable. They also hailed from Frankfurt, but Cousin Regina’s son Klaus and his wife Priska lived in Munich.
“That’s München, in German,” said Jack. Priska had been his parents’ au pair when he was small, and he was delighted to see her. He told his cousins his fluency in German came from spending his early years in Priska’s care. “She taught me French, too, and Italian. They speak all three in Switzerland, where she comes from.”
Priska smiled. Though she now had a child of her own—a year-old baby girl, who was sitting contentedly in a backpack carrier—she was obviously still very fond of Jack. “He was most quick to learn,” she told them. “And it was because of helping to look after him that I met my Klaus. He was studying at Oxford, and came often to visit little Jonty and his parents.”
Decorating the hall, arranging tables and chairs, putting out the food and drink, and setting up microphones and other electronic equipment kept everyone busy until just before noon, when Aunt Augusta finally pronounced everything in readiness. With the party set to begin at half past one, the workers went off to change clothes and have a light lunch before reassembling. The Hollingsworths, McAllisters, Taisleys, and Marchands were the first to return, so as to be ready to serve as Grantie Etta’s official welcoming committee. Concerned that she might become fatigued, her doctor had suggested having Mr. Dexter bring her and Mrs. Purdom to the party around two o’clock.
The Hollingsworths and Taisleys were also patients of Doctor Bindal, and he greeted them warmly when they arrived back at the hall. He and his family were waiting outside because his thirteen-year-old daughter Neeta had volunteered to help Paige with child-minding duty until such time as two village girls came to take charge of a side room furnished with toys and activities for the youngest party guests.
The doctor and his wife both had slight East Indian accents, but the younger Bindals all sounded thoroughly English. These consisted of Neeta, her older brother Vishal, and younger brother Ravi. A handsome young man in his twenties was introduced as Doctor Bindal’s nephew, Arjun. Arjun was studying medicine, but was not yet a qualified doctor.
“That, of course, is only in the opinion of the British Medical Association,” Doctor Bindal said as Uncle Gareth unlocked the hall. “Listening to him, you would be forgiven for thinking he already knows everything.”
Used to his uncle’s teasing, Arjun smiled tolerantly. “My uncle and I have occasional disagreements in our approach to medicine.”
“I have yet to convince him that new is not necessarily best,” said Doctor Bindal. “But then, I am a mere GP, whereas he intends to specialize in the field of allergies.”
“That so?” said Mr. Marchand. “I’m planning a documentary on that. We should talk.”
“Yes, we should,” Arjun responded eagerly.
Doctor Bindal put up both hands in protest. “No, no, no. Do not get him started. We are here to enjoy ourselves, not talk shop.”
“I enjoy talking shop,” Arjun protested.
“Of that I am well aware, but we are also here to honour a respected elder. If Miss Wolverton follows my recommendations, she will not be here until at least two o’clock. These people will have host duties you should not keep them from.”
Once inside, Dane and Jack went off with Ravi, who was Jack’s best friend.
“I guess we should station ourselves in the playroom,” Paige said to Neeta. “If we’re lucky, we’ll only have happy, well-behaved rug rats in there until the paid child-minders arrive.”
“As opposed to Brad and Alexis’s demonic duo?” queried Granddad, overhearing. “Don’t worry. They never allow other people to look after their sweet, impressionable, lambs. Might expose them to restrictions and negativity, and that would never do.”
Great-Gran was now with the Hollingsworth group, so as soon as the girls went off to the nursery, Granddad escorted his mother to a chair beside the large, decorated, throne-like one awaiting Grantie Etta. Quiet and unassuming, Great-Gran didn’t think she rated such an esteemed place, but her son assured her that, as Grantie Etta’s niece, she was the closest relative and therefore worthy of the privilege.
Unfortunately, someone else had a similar claim.
At quarter after one, the Wolverton-Hernes arrived, this time accompanied by a couple in their nineties who took immediate exception to Great-Gran’s exalted position.
“Why are there no chairs there for my husband and myself?” demanded the old woman Paige and Dane took to be Cousin Hermione.
Aunt Augusta gave her a frosty look. “I beg your pardon?”
“Percy is Grantie Etta’s nephew, and of equal status with Emmeline.”
“Not quite,” said Uncle Edmond. “Mother has lived near Grantie all her life, and therefore knows her much better.”
“Most of your lot knows her better,” Cousin Willoughby rejoined, his tone sharpened by the frustration of having had all their attempts to see Grantie Etta repulsed. “But only because you’ve spent so much time ingratiating yourselves with her. Don’t think we don’t know how you dance attendance on her and try to make her feel you’re the only ones she can rely on. That’s why so many of you are here now, making ready to receive guests. Which is something we should all be doing. Like you, we are the direct descendants of one of Grantie’s sisters and as closely related to her as you are. Actually, since my grandmother was the oldest of them, we could even claim to hold seniority, but we won’t press that point. The fact remains, Pater and Mater should also be seated next to Grantie, and the rest of us have both the right, and the obligation, to help welcome people to her party.”
“My, my, how dutiful,” muttered Aunt Meredith, who was standing nearby with her son Stuart. “Strange how they didn’t feel obliged to help set up for it. Or pay for it, either.”
“Whisht, Maw. They’ll hear you.”
“Good.”
If they did, they gave no sign.
Cousin Willoughby went on speaking. “Well, are you going to accord my father a similar place of honour or not?” He waved a hand toward Grantie’s awaiting throne, where Great-Gran had shrunk back in her own chair looking nervous.
Seeing this, Arjun Bindal moved forward to address the Wolverton-Hernes in a polite, but serious, manner.
“Excuse me. As a medical student, I feel I have to caution against that. Mrs. Hollingsworth appears to find the idea upsetting. In observing her reaction, I would say she has mild anthropophobia, which means she doesn’t like having too many people around her. Especially in close proximity. One person, well known to her, is probably all she can handle. More could result in her becoming extremely agitated. I therefore think seating arrangements should remain just as they are. Uncle?”
He looked at Doctor Bindal, who nodded emphatically. “I quite agree. Mrs. Hollingsworth must not become agitated. Not at her age.”
Uncle Edmond was quick to seize upon this endorsement.
“That’s it, then,” he said, glaring at Cousin Willoughby. “The subject’s closed. Doctor Bindal is Mother’s GP, as well as Grantie’s, and we intend to heed his advice.”
“Heed his advice? Why, that’s…that’s absurd!” Cousin Willoughby spluttered. “If she believes sitting next to Pater will bring on some silly panic attack, why can’t she move?”
“Because she was already seated by the time you arrived,” said Aunt Meredith, pushing away her son’s restraining hand and moving forward. “Both common courtesy and consideration for her condition dictate that you abide by what the doctor says and have your parents sit elsewhere. Oh, look, Séamus has found them a nice spot over there.”
Her grandson-in-law, a young Irishman by the name of Séamus Ruane, had indeed moved two of the fancier chairs nearer to the throne-chair, but not very near, and at an angle behind it. If Grantie Etta or Great-Gran wanted to talk to their proposed occupants, they would have to turn their own chairs around and raise their voices quite a bit, which Dane, for one, didn’t think they’d be likely to do.
“Does Great-Gran have whatever Arjun said?” he whispered to his grandfather.
Granddad shrugged. “First I’ve heard of it, but if it keeps her from having to sit beside Percy, we’ll go along.”
Cousin Percy intervened before Cousin Willoughby could try a counter argument.
“Oh, just leave it, Willoughby,” he said, with a condescending nod toward Great-Gran. “We don’t want unpleasantness on what is supposed to be a pleasant occasion. Poor Emmy was always a bit delicate. Best to humour her.”
He and his wife shuffled forward, supported by both walking sticks and the respective arms of Cousin Bentley and Cousin Zenobia. As the Wolverton-Hernes settled the nonagenarians into chairs, Mr. Marchand gave Arjun a grateful smile.
“I thought you were going to specialize in allergies, not phobias.”
Arjun grinned. “I am. And it is my pre-specialist opinion that Mrs. Hollingsworth is allergic to her cousin.”
“I’d say she was afraid of him,” said Paige, who had come back into the hall upon hearing raised voices.
“She is,” Aunt Meredith replied. “Her childhood memories of Percy are not at all pleasant.”
“That’s because Percy was, and is, thoroughly unpleasant,” said Grandad, turning toward the main door. “Ah, looks like you girls have the first of your charges, Paige. Or will have, once Claire gets them in.”
Paige and Neeta turned too, and saw Cousin Claire trying to get through the door with her year-old son, whom she was carrying, and two small girls whose reins had become tangled. Her little nephew had been holding the door for her, but for reasons known only to not-quite-four-year-olds, had suddenly let it go of it and dashed forward into the hall.
“Is that the kind of manners we’ve been teaching you?” his father admonished, catching hold of him. “When you hold a door for a lady, you hold it ’til she’s all the way through, laddie.”
“Sorry, Auntie,” the child apologized as someone sprang to hold the door in his stead. Anxious to redeem himself he added, “I was good all morning.”
“He was,” Cousin Claire confirmed, handing the baby to her husband and stooping to release the toddlers from their reins. “They all were.”
“And when is my babby girl anything else?” inquired Cousin Séamus, scooping up his two-year-old daughter.
“What a lovely outfit,” said Mrs. Marchand, admiring the little girl’s traditional Irish dress.
“Aye, and handmade by me mother,” Cousin Séamus replied, beaming. “Not one of those touristy pieces from a diddly-idle shop.”
“Would you like to come with Paige and me and play with some toys?” Neeta asked the children.
Cousin Séamus hiked his child higher in his arms. “Toys, is it? Now that sounds like grand fun, doesn’t it, me treasure? Come with Daddy and let’s go see.”
Mr. Marchand watched them go off. “I used to carry my little treasures around like that,” he said, looking at Paige wistfully.
“Huh, you can’t even pick us up now.”
“Oh, can’t I?”
He took a step towards her. Laughing, she sidestepped him and headed for the nursery, stopping only long enough to wave a hello to the incoming Braxtons, and notice that fourteen-year-old Colby Braxton was quite good-looking.
“Looks like we got the right place,” Mr. Braxton, now Cousin Mitch, said upon recognizing Dane and Jack, who were standing near the door with Ravi. “Hi, boys. This is my wife, Myra, our two youngest kids, Colby and Amy, my sister Ginny, my brother-in-law, Wade Horner, and my niece, Jade. Trevor told me there’re a lot of folks coming. I see there are quite a few already.”
Uncle Edmond was also near the door. “Tip of the iceberg, old chap. I trust he was able to sort out some of your lineage for you last night?”
“He sure was. Didn’t know you’d traced the Wolvertons all the way back to the Conquest and beyond! Ginny and I might just forget about our Braxton heritage and go with this one.”
“Give me a bit of time and I’ll help you get the Braxtons back that far too,” said Trevor, coming up.
“Tracing family is the only time he shows any interest in eras predating the early twentieth century,” Uncle Edmond complained. “Can’t understand his having such a modern outlook. The only really old thing he has a passion for is Rosebank. He’s loved the place since the first day he was carried in there as an infant.”
Cousin Mitch looked toward the throne-chair. “Miss Wolverton not here yet?”
“Call her Grantie,” said Uncle Trevor. “We all do. It comes from my cousin, Gus, over there, not being able to say ‘Great-Aunt’ when she was small.”
Cousin Mitch’s gaze then went to the Wolverton-Hernes. His expression hardened only slightly, but Uncle Edmond caught it.
“Acquainted with our Wolverton-Herne branch, are you?”
“They’re staying at our hotel. They were just coming in when Ginny and I got back last night and found Wade, Myra, and the kids down in the lobby waiting for us. They must have heard us talking about what we’d learned from Trevor and figured out we were related. They came over to introduce themselves and—”
“Inflicted their society upon you until you were able to escape,” said Uncle Edmond, nodding. “You have my sympathy.”
“We do?” Cousin Mitch looked relieved. “Then it’s not just us that finds them… finds them, kind of, well…”
“Narrow-minded? Patronizing? Insufferable? No, that’s most of us.”
“That’s all of us,” corrected Uncle Ewan. Now dressed in full Highland regalia, he strode over and put out his hand. “Ewan McAllister, Edmond’s brother-in-law. And no fan of them baheids.”
“That a fact? Well, that makes me feel better, then,” Mr. Braxton responded as they shook hands. “We came to England to find kinfolk, but I would have happily passed on finding them. I don’t think the one called Bentley strung together two sentences that didn’t involve money. I thought Brits considered it vulgar to talk about money.”
“Most do,” Uncle Trevor agreed. “Bentley’s an exception. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to everyone else here present. Like Dad said, these are just the tip of the iceberg. There’s lots more coming.”