Hospitality is a virtue recommended in Scripture.
Mrs Taylor, Practical Hints to Young Females
Lady Hawk’s guests were ferried to the island by a specially chartered boat the next morning, since a fishing vessel would hardly be suitable for such important passengers. Frederick Blunt, the clergyman, escorting his sister and her companion, Miss Smith, arrived with the Lane ladies and their aunt in the morning. The other three gentlemen came after luncheon. Once everyone was assembled, tea was taken on the lawn, and, given the small number of staff, Pattern and the other housemaids helped to serve it. It was the ideal opportunity to survey the party.
The trestle tables were laid with beautiful lace cloths, and urns of tea steamed gently among tiers of Mrs Palfrey’s finest cakes. The young ladies, pale and gauzy in their summer frocks, seemed almost to float upon the grass. Everyone remarked on the glorious weather and the picturesque scene, congratulated themselves on escaping the tedium of town and marvelled that they were a mere four miles from the English coast. Meanwhile, the servants, sweating in their new livery, scurried back and forth with more tea, more jam, more scented napkins.
Lady Sylvia Lane, the elderly Dowager, did not look likely to be a very fearsome chaperone. Indeed, on sitting down on a wicker chair in the shade, she very soon fell asleep. Her nieces Alicia and Adele were hard to tell apart, with their bouncing ringlets, rosy cheeks and matching trills of laughter. Honoria Blunt was a regal brunette who spoke with authority on any subject, whether Fordyce’s Sermons or the Lord Mayor’s Ball. Only Marian Smith, Miss Blunt’s companion, seemed in the doldrums. She was a small, faded-looking person, with red-rimmed eyes, which – so Pattern noticed – were often fixed on Mr Ladlaw.
Pattern knew at once that Mr Ladlaw must be the poet because he so clearly looked the part, with ink-stained fingers, a brooding expression and an unruly shock of dark hair. Lord Charnly was handsome enough, with heavy-lidded eyes and a jutting jaw, but his manner was very rough. Pattern resolved to keep her distance from him where at all possible; the Silver Service’s informants reported that his violent temper had seen him involved in several brawls, and even one rumoured death.
Perhaps the Reverend Blunt was aware of His Lordship’s reputation, for he cast him several disapproving looks. However, given the clergyman’s history of stealing from his own charity, Pattern did not think he was really in a position to judge. Whereas Reverend Blunt was rather stout and ungainly in appearance, Captain Vyne positively glittered with charm. As fair and dashing as a fairy-tale prince, he winked at Jane, the prettiest of the maids, said something that made Elsie blush and – before she fell asleep – even had the old Dowager aflutter with his smiles and compliments.
Miss Hawk, meanwhile, did nothing but smile and nod and make occasional remarks about the weather. She was dressed in her customary white, her only adornment a gold charm in the shape of a key, which she always wore round her neck, and though she made for a very pretty picture Pattern found it curious that neither the liveliness of the Lane sisters nor the dash of Miss Blunt seemed to make any kind of impression on the gentlemen. If the other ladies were hoping that more than one engagement might result from the party, it looked, for the moment, as though they would be disappointed.
The gentlemen were already well acquainted with each other. For several weeks, they had been scowling at each other at parties, suppers and soirées spent in pursuit of Miss Hawk. Their competitive gallantry towards her, and insincere civility towards one another, set Pattern’s teeth on edge.
Perhaps she was not the only person to feel this way.
‘Dear me,’ said Honoria Blunt, the clergyman’s sharp sister, ‘there is so much politeness in the air it is rather like breathing in a cloud of powdered sugar.’
‘It was certainly very kind of dear Miss Hawk to invite us,’ gushed Adele, who, along with her sister, had set upon a strategy of relentless cheerfulness. ‘We are such new acquaintances, after all.’
‘I am sure that after our stay here,’ Alicia trilled, ‘we will all be the best of friends!’
‘Perhaps someone should tell that to the gentlemen,’ said Miss Smith, though so quietly the only person to hear her was Pattern.
Miss Hawk’s mama came late to tea, emerging from the villa with a magnificent peregrine falcon on her arm. It was wearing a jewelled collar and sat on her shoulder as she fed it tit-bits of iced cake. ‘I adore birds and beasts of every kind,’ she declared. ‘And they learn to love me in return. This is my darling Alphonse. See how docile he is – like a baby! All my pets are.’
Everyone made admiring noises, and the Lane sisters cooed as enthusiastically as if it had been an actual infant. Nonetheless, Alphonse’s tawny eyes had an angry glint, and his beak was cruelly sharp. Despite Reverend Blunt claiming a keen interest in ornithology, the only person who took up Lady Hawk’s invitation to pet the bird was her daughter.
‘O savage majesty, tamed by a fair maiden’s hand!’ declaimed Mr Ladlaw. ‘Lightning-beaked bolt of feathered awe! Cloud-blazoned warrior of wing and claw! How proud his . . . um . . . How swift the . . . er . . .’ But faced with Miss Hawk’s calm gaze his powers of poetic invention deserted him, and he lapsed into sulky silence.
‘D’you hunt with it, my lady?’ Lord Charnly enquired. It was the first sign of interest he had shown in anything save for Miss Hawk.
‘I confess I have little taste for blood sports.’
‘Lord Charnly is a champion huntsman.’ Captain Vyne’s smile had a malicious glint. ‘Foxes, deer and all manner of game. He was saying on the boat that last season he bagged near three thousand pheasants.’
‘Whereas you, dear Captain,’ said Lady Hawk, ‘are a hunter of men! I’m sure your feats of daring in battle are immeasurable.’
Now it was Captain Vyne’s turn to look uncomfortable. He had yet to see active service, and his time in the army was mostly occupied with drinking and gambling in the Officers’ Mess.
The Reverend Blunt seized his chance. ‘The Bible tells us we have much to learn from the animal kingdom. As Our Lord said, “Who teaches us more than the beasts of the earth, and makes us wiser than the fowls of heaven?”’ He absent-mindedly helped himself to a cream puff from Miss Smith’s plate. ‘Ha – I’d certainly rate my horse or my dog above most of my servants. After all, they do their work more faithfully, and with a deal less complaint.’
This was, at least, a subject the rivals could agree on and the ladies contribute to, and so the tea party ended with an animated discussion of the faults and failings of the servant class.
The servants had scarcely finished clearing away the tea when it was time to prepare for dinner. Mr Perks had given them a little speech after prayers that morning on the importance of Pulling Together and Sharing the Load, with additional remarks on the virtues of Industry, Fidelity, Diligence and Calm. However, both he and Mrs Robinson wore a distinctly harassed air, and Mrs Palfrey’s kitchen had been a whirl of activity since dawn. It seemed an increasingly impossible task to feed, serve, dress and launder such a throng.
But at some point that afternoon, a miracle had occurred. They found the silver had been polished and dining table laid, the wine was already up from the cellar, the potatoes peeled, fowls plucked and cherries pitted. Nobody seemed to know when these tasks had been done or who was responsible for them.
‘I could swear. . .’ said Mrs Palfrey to Mrs Robinson, frowning at the potatoes and shaking her head. ‘I swear. . .’
Mr Grey glanced up from where he was inspecting the household accounts. ‘I took the liberty of arranging for a few small chores to be done while you were engaged elsewhere.’
Mrs Robinson was taken aback. ‘That’s, er, very kind of you. But I don’t quite under—’
‘Did I not assure you that the household would be amply served? You will find your duties become lighter, too, as the party progresses.’
Pattern and Nate exchanged looks. Stewards were far too grand to go about peeling potatoes or polishing spoons, but who else could have done it? And how was it possible that nobody had witnessed the work being done? The other servants too were as puzzled as they were relieved. But since there was still plenty to be arranged, and precious little time to do it in, they were not inclined to fret over the issue.
Pattern wondered what Lady Hawk’s guests were making of it all. She did not expect much from their servants – the Lane sisters’ maid was as empty-headed as she was amiable, and neither Lord Charnly’s loutish valet nor the Dowager’s dowdy maid struck her as particularly enquiring types. (They had certainly paid scant attention to Mr Perks’s speech on Sharing the Load, each claiming to be far too busy attending to their master or mistress to assist with other chores.) But the ladies and gentlemen were supposedly educated people. Surely they must be puzzled by the island’s oddities.
Pattern, as a lowly third housemaid, had been assigned to attend to Miss Smith’s needs. As a poor relation, entirely dependent on Honoria and Frederick Blunt’s charity, Miss Smith was little better than a servant herself. Taking her a wash jug before dinner, Pattern found her sitting by the window, staring out despondently over the service yard, an open letter on her lap. Having seen the other young ladies flit about, scented and silken, with costly jewels about their person, Pattern could not help feeling sorry for Miss Smith. Most of her luggage consisted of books, and she had nothing in the way of jewellery. She might have almost been pretty, had there been a bit of colour in her cheeks, and had her hair not been fixed so carelessly.
Miss Smith accepted Pattern’s offer to dress her hair (‘My older sister is a lady’s maid, miss, and she has taught me something of the Art’), though she showed little interest in her efforts. Pattern’s offer was not a selfless one, of course: she knew ladies were apt to gossip with their maids, given time and the right kind of encouragement.
‘How are you liking Cull, miss?’ she asked as she set about with the comb and pins. ‘Very pretty, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ the girl said broodingly. ‘I suppose it is.’
She smoothed down her letter again: it was written in a vigorous hand, and worn and creased in a way that suggested it had been read many times. The blotches on it had the look of tearstains, Pattern thought.
‘And so warm for the season!’ she burbled on. ‘It is an almost magical spot, I should think.’
‘The gentlemen are certainly spellbound.’
Pattern detected a touch of bitterness in her tone. ‘Miss Hawk has admirers wherever she goes.’
‘And yet nobody knew anything of her until this season. She appeared as if from nowhere and – pouf! One flash of her eyes, and even the stoniest of hearts has melted.’
‘I hope her success has not left other young ladies disappointed.’
‘If so, the fault is not Miss Hawk’s. It is a gentleman’s responsibility to keep his word and behave in an honourable fashion. Of course, not all gentlemen are as honest or loyal as they appear. Quite the contrary, in fact –’ Miss Smith stopped and bit her lip, flushing.
Poor lady, thought Pattern. It seemed very likely that Miss Smith had once enjoyed a romance with one of the gentlemen present, probably the person who had written her the letter, and most likely Mr Ladlaw.
Miss Smith was surely right to describe the gentlemen as spellbound. But who had cast the spell? Cassandra Hawk, or her mama?