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Thursday, 16 August 1821
Bright sunlight spilling through my bedchamber window awoke me the following morning. Scampering across the room to look out, a lighthearted feeling of euphoria swept over me. However, in minutes the persistent tap-tap-tapping of the workmen’s hammers coming from the far end of the courtyard tamped down a bit of my euphoria. Then, upon spotting the two youngest Medley Park boys, Harry and Spencer, commence to chase three of the precious black and white kittens around the fountain in the center of the courtyard erased the final thread of my elation. Anger took its place when I noticed the boy’s nanny, Mrs. Burton, standing mutely to one side, her arms folded over her ample middle, making no effort whatever to curb the hooligan’s cruel antics. Apparently the woman was allowing her charges to enjoy one last enthusiastic romp in the sunshine before being obliged to settle into a far more disciplined routine at the strict boys’ school their parents were enrolling them in today. Stepping away from the window, I dismissed the discordant sights and sounds as something I would soon not be obliged to ever see, or hear, again!
Below stairs, at breakfast, I encountered yet another mix and stir of moods and emotions. Lady Medley seemed almost gleeful, making me wonder if she too were pleased that the rowdy behaviour of her two youngest children would soon be removed from her sight.
Two places down from that gracious lady, Hannah sat listlessly stirring a dollop of cream and two lumps of sugar into her teacup, which told me she might be having seconds thoughts about agreeing to pass even one term at Miss Farringdon’s Academy.
At the bottom of the table, Lord Medley’s disposition was evidenced by the snorts of disapproval coming from his throat even as his face was all but hidden behind a week-old copy of The London Times. One hand protruding from behind the sheets of newsprint, being held quite close to his nose, was wrapped about his coffee cup. On occasion he lifted the cup but managed to spill more coffee than found its way to his lips.
Beyond his father’s elbow, Ned Ruston looked glummer than usual as he shoved fork-fulls of coddled eggs and ham into his mouth, now and again lifting his eyes to fling a surreptitious gaze upon his brother, then cut to his father. Once or twice I glanced up and actually caught Ned’s shuttered gaze aimed my way, causing me to wonder exactly what dark thoughts were coursing through that young man’s head.
Cecil was the only member of the family who had cheerfully acknowledged my presence when I walked into the room, although Lady Medley soon chimed in.
“Good morning, Miss Abbott!” Cecil called out. “You look charming today; doesn’t she, Mother?”
Lady Medley favored me with a bright smile. “It is always a pleasure to see you of a morning, Miss Abbott, or at anytime of the day, for all that!” A trill of gay laughter punctuated her remark.
I resisted the urge to reply to Cecil that evidentially he needed spectacles every bit as much as his father did since I was dressed in the same drab fashion today as I was every morning, and charming this old gray frock was not.
Instead, I smiled and murmured, “Thank you, sir. Good morning, Lady Medley. Hannah.” I slipped into a chair next to that young lady. “Appears the family has been accorded a fine day for an outing. The sun is shining quite brightly this morning.”
“I daresay you are our ray of sunshine this morning, Miss Abbott,” Lady Medley enthused, the smile on her face causing her brown eyes to sparkle.
Suddenly, our pleasant chatter was interrupted by the crinkling sounds of the news pages being haphazardly creased and unceremoniously flung to the floor, prompting a footman to wordlessly rush forward to scoop up the news pages and solemnly place them upon the table sitting at his lordship’s elbow. A table, which, I presume had been put there for that very purpose, but which his lordship had not noticed; or perhaps he felt a compulsion to provide the excess footmen scattered about the room with at least one task to perform today.
“If we are to return to Medley Park before evening, wife, we must set out for Birmingham at once!” With that, Lord Medley hauled himself to his feet and bellowed for the butler. “Wink!”
“Sir?” Moving a single step forward, the elderly retainer dressed in black, his countenance as impassive as ever, stood awaiting further instruction.
“See to the carriage. We depart straightaway.”
“Winkle.” Lady Medley lifted a finger. “Will you please send a footman up to the nursery to bring down the boys’ things? And, alert Mrs. Burton that we shall be leaving soon. Not that the boy’s nanny is to accompany us, but do let her know that we shall be leaving within the hour.”
“Within the hour?” Lord Medley scowled as he hesitated before his wife’s chair. “We leave within the quarter hour, madam! Make haste!”
Lady Medley rose from the table. “Hannah, dear, you heard your father. Do get your things and join us in the foyer straightaway. Cecil,” she turned to her son, “I am quite pleased that you will be joining us today. Your presence alone will help me . . . contain the boys.” Turning to go, she muttered beneath her breath, “Since, no doubt, your father will be of no help at all.”
Cecil turned a questioning gaze upon his twin. “What about you, Ned? Will you be joining the family today?”
One of Ned’s dark brows quirked. “To see the boys off?” he scoffed. “I think not. I mean to ride into Stoksey this morning. A friend from London is to pass through on his way to the races. I intend to place a bet.”
“Remember, Ned,” Hannah tossed over her shoulder as she hurried from the room, “if you wish to win, you must bet on a black horse!”
With a huff, Ned’s eyes rolled skyward.
Cecil cast several long glances at me, still seated at the table quietly sipping my tea. “Very well then, Ned; good luck.” He rose, but near the door, paused. “Miss Abbott? I wonder if I might have a . . . word with you, please?”
“Certainly, sir.” Setting down my teacup, I too rose.
In the corridor, the handsome young man turned a warm gaze on me. “I do wish you were coming with us today, Juliette. The weather has, indeed, turned off smashing and I would like nothing better than to spend every minute of the day with you.” He paused. “Unfortunately, Father would have none of it. He asked me to . . . I say,” he glanced from a window at his side. “Shall we just step into the courtyard for a bit?”
Clasping my hand, which to my chagrin, he seemed wont to do more and more often of late, we turned and headed back up the corridor to the solarium. Today the airy chamber was awash with sunlight pouring in through the windows and doors, all standing open allowing gentle gusts of fresh, flower-scented air to drift in, the light breeze ruffling the green leaves of the plants growing in pots here and there. Once we crossed the room and stepped onto the path that led to the fountain, my companion paused and again turned to gaze down upon me.
“I have missed you frightfully, Juliette.”
“But, sir, we were only just together . . . last evening,” I reminded him with a weak smile.
“Yet, it feels as if I’ve not seen you in a fortnight.”
He stood gazing down into my eyes in quite a . . . love-struck fashion. A look that I am certain did not have the effect upon me that he desired. Instead it caused me to nervously cast about for a way in which to escape, perhaps even to run wildly through the courtyard much as had his little brothers earlier that morning. Attempting to rein in my rising anxiety, I inquired, a bit tightly, “Y-you wished to speak with me, sir?”
Fortunately, my question jarred Cecil’s thoughts back around. Blinking, he appeared to make a valiant effort to swallow his ardor.
“Indeed.” After clearing his throat he said, “Father asked me to speak with you regarding your duties for today, Miss Abbott.”
“I see. As it happens, sir, I have very nearly completed my work in the library. I will be glad to fetch my list of titles for you, if, perhaps, your father would like to . . . peruse my report whilst on your journey. I assume the family will pass a good many hours in the carriage today.”
“Ah.” Cecil nodded. “Quite a good idea, Miss Abbott. However,” he paused, appearing to consider the notion. “Perhaps to give Father your report upon our return would better serve. Mother is rather looking forward to enjoying a family outing today. I expect she would prefer that Father study the report at another time. I wonder have you yet got around to cataloging the paintings on the walls of the ballroom?”
“Why, no sir. I was unaware Medley Park had a ballroom.”
He smiled indulgently. “All country estates of a size possess a ballroom, Miss Abbott. Come, I shall take you there.”
Thankfully without clasping my hand, Cecil led the way back through the solarium and on up the staircase to the second floor of the house. Reaching it, he headed down the corridor to a closed chamber situated across and down a bit from the schoolroom. Fishing a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and made several attempts to push open the door. When at last he was successful in loosening it, a small sigh of relief escaped him. As the door creaked open, he turned a sheepish grin on me. “We’ve not hosted a ball here since the festivities surrounding my father and step-mother’s marriage, a . . . good bit ago.”
Cautiously, he stepped inside. Close behind him, I peeked into the cavernous chamber. The interior, being completely devoid of light, was a stark contrast to the sun filled solarium.
I noted the shadowy outline of a number of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Across the room, all the floor-to-ceiling drapes along the outside wall were drawn tightly shut, allowing no light to seep indoors.
Blinking into the darkness, I spotted a good many spidery cobwebs criss-crossing the chamber and also draped across the tops of a row of chairs at the bottom of the dust-laden room. Suddenly a series of rustling noises arose from one corner, then, two brown blurs streaked past us on their way to the opposite side of the room.
With a squeal, I drew back in horror.
“Rats!” declared Cecil, also quickly retreating into the corridor and pulling the door shut behind him. “I’ll not send you in there today, Miss Abbott. The room must be aired out and cleaned top-to-bottom before the paintings can be catalogued. So . . . have you enough work left in the library to occupy you today?”
Actually I did not, but I hurriedly nodded assent. “Indeed, sir. Quite enough. An entire bottom shelf of one of the . . . smaller bookcases is in want of attention.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Very good, then. I shall just escort you to the library and . . . bid you a good day.”
He did just that and although the gentleman’s good-bye was far more heartfelt than mine, I confess to feeling vastly relieved that I had been spared from sharing the ballroom with a herd of four-footed furry creatures. The very thought caused shudders of horror to ripple through me! Despite Mrs. Bertram’s intense dislike of animals, perhaps to allow two or three cats indoors would serve to rid that chamber of the nasty rodents, and also the kitchen and any other room the vermin might have invaded.
Quite soon after I entered the library and found something therewith to occupy myself, I heard the heavy front door of the house swing shut and then the clatter of carriage wheels on the graveled drive as the family set off on their journey today.
Several hours later, Tilda appeared to ask if I’d like to have my luncheon brought in on a tray since the family being away today meant no meal would be laid out in the dining hall.
“Ain’t nobody doing much of anything below stairs,” she confided with a sly grin. “The family being away is givin’ ever’one of us a nice rest. Fact is,” she laughed, “you appear to be the only one in the house doing anythin’ akin to work, miss.”
“Is that so?” Her remark arrested my attention.
Tilda smiled. “Ain’t often the whole family is gone at once. Mrs. Betram is havin’ a lie-down. Cook ain’t even preparin’ a meal for dinner tonight. Says the family will likely eat their supper on the way back. And, depend on it, Mr. Ned won’t be returning neither. When he goes off, there’s no sayin’ when he’ll come home. Gives us all a nice rest, it does,” she said again.
“Well, then, I believe I would enjoy taking my luncheon in the solarium today, if it is no trouble, Tilda.”
“No trouble at all, miss. I shall bring a tray up straightaway.”
“Thank you, Tilda.”
I passed a pleasant hour seated upon a comfortable wicker sofa in the solarium, the double doors standing open, a part of me wishing a black and white kitten would toddle in and join me. But, after watching and waiting a good long while, I never saw even one of the sweet creatures. No doubt, they were still suffering from the trauma caused from being mercilessly chased around the fountain by the Medley Park boys this morning. Poor things. I wished I could gather them all up and take them home with me to Mayfair.
With a sigh, I rose to return to the library to resume my work there, which, in actuality, had dwindled down to merely rearranging a shelf full of history books into a different order, by year, rather than by author name. Mid-way to the library, I decided instead to return above stairs to my bedchamber in order to freshen up a bit. To dawdle away even another hour this afternoon would make no difference in what little remained of my task in the library.
On my way above stairs and even as I walked through the empty corridor to my room, I was struck by how very silent the large house was with the family away. I passed no maids or footmen, or never once came upon Mrs. Bertram; in fact I heard no sounds at all emanating from anywhere within the house, including the lower level, which could very well mean that perhaps all the servants were enjoying a nice lie-down. Not even the tat-tat-tat of the workmen’s hammers was evident. Suddenly, I decided that I would not return to my work just yet. I would instead take myself from the house and enjoy a solitary stroll upon the grounds of Medley Park! It was something I had wanted to do since I arrived here and today I would do it. I would!