Bridget, cloaked in a blue woolen cape trimmed in white fur, hood, and muff, took Edward’s hand as she descended from the carriage at his impressive Tudor-style home on the opposite side of Philadelphia from David and Ella’s house. Amos and Sarah followed, with Sarah chattering about the snow and the lovely shutters on the windows and the upcoming wedding. The three windows on the second story looked like a set of eyes and a nose to Bridget, with the matching gables serving as eyebrows. The house seemed to be a silent guard watching the comings and goings on the street. Small balconies jutted from the windows. The front door, in the middle between two windows, opened onto a small porch with rounded steps leading to the ground.
Bridget did not care for the close proximity of the house to the street. She preferred the long circular driveway bordered by the lush trees and open fields at Whisper Wood. The houses in town made her feel confined and restricted. The spindly masts of ships docked in the harbor behind the house were lined up like schoolchildren awaiting their assignments.
However, nice hemlocks did border the front of the house and shouldered the snow like a fur cape. Pin oaks stood along the street and jutted their scrawny limbs into the sky as if begging the sun to warm them. A lone streetlamp sat in front of the house.
Edward instructed his servant to take the carriage to the back of the house to the small stable. Then he ushered the Barringtons up the steps and into the large foyer.
Dark, Bridget thought. It is depressing and dark, although quite elegant.
A highly polished wooden staircase wound gently to the upper floor. Bridget’s eyes followed the lines of the stairs, and she strained to see what lay beyond them. She had attended a ball here shortly after Edward began to court her, but she had seen only the bottom floor of the house.
A tall, slender, stoic valet took the Barringtons’ wraps and motioned them into the parlor. The diamond brooch unveiled at the neckline of her dress glinted in the candlelight, and Edward noticed. “It suits you,” he said quietly, then touched her arm. “I’ll give you a tour of the house later.”
She looked at the multiple bookcases filled with volumes, the tapestry hangings on the walls, and the tall windows, festooned with heavy draperies. Soon she would be the mistress of this imposing household. The place definitely needed a woman’s touch.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to attend to a matter.” Edward had not removed his outer garments. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.” He turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Bridget circled the room, picking up a book here and there, fingering the draperies.
“Bridget, mind your manners.” Sarah sat on the edge of the sofa, rigid and upright.
“This is to be my house soon. I’m simply making note of things I want to change.” She pulled the draperies back and fastened them on the large brass hooks on the sides of the windows, letting in what little light was available through the snow clouds. “The first thing we are going to do is get some light in this gloomy place.”
“Ahem.” The valet stood at the door with a young maidservant carrying a silver tray with tea and scones. He looked at the windows.
Bridget moved to the second set of windows. “You may set the tray on the table. Thank you.”
The servants exited the room.
“Now, isn’t that better?” She traced her finger over a shelf on the bookcase. “Except that now it shows all the dust.” She brushed her hands together. “Oh well, that’s what housekeepers are for, right?”
“It would behoove you to be gracious as you move into the role of mistress of this house. It will not sit well with the servants for you to begin to change routines immediately.” Amos chewed on his pipe. “You must be wise. It will go better for you in the long run.”
Bridget nodded. “Of course, you’re right, Father.”
Sarah poured tea for them. Bridget went to the window with her teacup in her hand and looked out. “But it feels like a dungeon in here. I simply wanted to bring some light into the room.”
A wagon turned into the alley that ran beside the house and headed toward the harbor. A young man with red hair sticking out from under his cap drove the wagon, which was loaded down with several crates. Another young man sat beside him on the driver’s perch. The crates were labeled Zwicken’s Foundry. She craned her neck to watch until the wagon turned the corner to the back of the house.
Zwicken’s Foundry. A redheaded servant. That’s Charles! That’s Philippe’s brother!
Bridget set her cup down on the tray with a clang and ran from the room, down the hallway in the direction Edward had gone, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen.
The maid looked up and bobbed a curtsy. “May I help you, mistress?”
“Uh, yes. Where did Master Moorehead go?”
The maid pointed to the door at the rear of the kitchen. “He went outside to check on a shipment.”
“Thank you.” Bridget cracked the door open and looked out.
Dark clouds had blotted out the sun, and it had begun to snow again. Edward, holding a sheet of parchment, stood with his valet beside the wagon, as if he were checking off items as the two young men began to unload the crates onto another wagon. The redhead stepped toward Edward with a pad in his hand.
Bridget stepped onto the landing. “Edward?”
Edward’s head swiveled around abruptly. “Bridget! Do get inside. It’s begun to snow again, and you have no wrap. You’ll catch your death.”
“Are you coming back for tea?” She stared at the redheaded boy, who looked up at her, his soft brown eyes focusing on hers. He smiled hesitantly. It was Philippe’s smile.
“Yes, but I need to check these goods. I shall be right there. Now, back inside with you.”
“Very well. Do hurry though.” She disliked the condescending manner in which he spoke to her, as if she were a child.
“I shall be in shortly.”
Bridget returned to the kitchen, but tiptoed to watch out the window. She was desperate for news of Philippe. Had Charles seen him? Somehow she must talk to him.
The young man with Charles finished unloading the crates, and Edward and Charles headed up the steps to the kitchen. She remained at the window and watched as they stamped the snow off their boots and entered the warmth of the house.
Edward looked at her with surprise as she helped him off with his cloak. “Why, thank you, my dear. Now, if you will excuse us . . .”
Bridget looked at Charles as she hung Edward’s cloak on a peg. “Do I know you? You look awfully familiar.”
Charles gave a slight bow. “I don’t think so, mistress, but the pleasure is mine.”
Edward took the inventory list from Charles. “Bridget, this is Charles Clavell. He is one of Zwicken’s best craftsmen at our foundry.”
“Clavell! Why, of course. You are Philippe’s brother. I’m Bridget Barrington—Philippe was one of our favorite indentured servants for many years. You’re the brother he always went to visit when we came to town.”
Charles grinned and took off his cap. “Yes, Mistress Barrington, I am that Charles Clavell.”
“How does your brother fare? We . . . he is sorely missed at our estate. I fear we’ve found no one as good as he with our horses.” She searched Charles’ eyes. “My father has not been able to replace him.”
“I’m sure he is well. We had a good visit the night before he went to the Schuylkill Valley to be with our family. He . . . he caught me up on everything . . . everything concerning his departure . . . but I’ve not seen him since.”
Edward looked up from the inventory list. “Well, if you two have caught up on the state of the world, my dear, may we finish our business dealings here, please?” He turned to pick up a quill on a table beside the door that served as a desk and scribbled something on the bill of sale. Edward’s caustic tone ended the conversation, but not before Bridget had discerned the double meanings tucked into Charles’ sentences.
“Wait here a moment, Clavell. I have something I need you to take back to the foundry.” Edward ducked into a small adjoining room.
Charles turned to Bridget, his eyes darkened. “It is urgent I speak with you.”
She caught her breath. What could this mean? “How?”
“Come to the foundry, if you can . . .”
Edward came back into the room with a handsome rifle in his arms. “The stock on this just doesn’t feel right. You are the expert. Fix it for me.” He looked at Bridget. “You may go back into the parlor. I’ll be joining you shortly.”
“Of course.” She turned and left the kitchen, her heart thudding in her chest. Why did Charles need to speak with her? Did he have news of Philippe?
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Sarah rose and started toward her daughter.
“It’s nothing, Mother. I merely stepped outside without a cloak, and it rather took my breath away.” She moved to the window and looked out on the alley.
The now-empty wagon made the turn from the back of the house and slowly rumbled down the alley toward the street. As it drove by the side of the house, Charles looked up and into the window where Bridget stood. She smiled and nodded. He tipped his hat and chucked the reins. The empty wagon jostled over the ruts in the alley and disappeared quickly into the increasing snowfall.