The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster Read online

  “Mother and Helen send their love,” she said, attempting to make conversation.

  “Yes, how is your mother, now that she has lost both house and husband? I was too unwell to attend the funeral myself. I had one of my terrible headaches. I am often plagued by them, and when I get one, I have to go to bed for days on end. I can eat only a little chicken broth when I am so afflicted. I have a dull headache today, as a matter of fact. That is why the draperies are drawn. They are always drawn as a precaution – this room can get unbearably bright.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that you are unwell, Aunt,” Harriet said. “Mother misses Father very much, of course, but Helen and Sinclair have made her quite comfortable in their home.”

  “What foolishness, to be turned out of one’s home at her age. Your father should have provided better for you both so that you would not have to rely upon the charity of your relations now.”

  Harriet was angered by this slur upon her father’s character, but held her tongue and stared stonily at the floor. She had to rely upon this woman for her living now, and it wouldn't do to begin with a fight. Sinclair coughed, and Aunt Edna turned to him.

  “I trust that you are well, sir? I am too prone to respiratory infections to risk entertaining a contagion.”

  “No indeed, I am quite fit, Aunt. Just a little dryness in the throat. Travelling thirty miles can be thirsty work.”

  “Humph. Niece, pull the cord for the maid.”

  Harriet rose and did as she was bid, and the neat little maid promptly returned.

  “Grace, where’s the tea? It’s late today,” her employer said.

  “Cook was just adding the teapot to the tray when you rang, ma’am.”

  “Well, run and fetch it, girl. Don’t keep us waiting.” Grace scurried out of the room and returned minutes later laden with a heavy silver tea service and a plate of sandwiches.

  “You might as well pour, Niece – it will be your duty from now on. What are you waiting for, Grace, get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Harriet poured out the first cup and looked questioningly at her aunt. “I like my tea undiluted, but sweet. Put in three spoonfuls of sugar, if you please.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” Harriet stirred in the sugar and passed the cup to the lady.

  “What kind of sandwiches did Cook make today?” Aunt Edna asked, eying the plate.

  “They appear to be chicken.”

  “Good, I can stomach a little chicken. Pass the plate.”

  Harriet obliged, and then poured tea for Sinclair and for herself. The trio lapsed into silence as Aunt Edna chewed her sandwich. When the widow showed no sign of offering food to her guests, Harriet reached for the plate and offered it to Sinclair before taking a sandwich for herself.

  Aunt Edna said, “Dinner is served at six o’ clock here. I do not tolerate people coming in late to meals. I have a delicate stomach and I must eat regularly. Plain food – none of your rich sauces for me. I retire early and I rise early, unless I am unwell and obliged to spend the day in bed. You will run errands for me, Niece. It will save the servants trouble, and provide you with some exercise. You can start by going to the milliner tomorrow. The hat she sent was not at all what I had ordered. She trimmed it with beads instead of feathers, and it looks shoddy. You will return the hat and have her fix it to my specifications. I also told Reverend Simons that you will be stopping by tomorrow to discuss parish visits. The reverend is a good, solid man, but he needs more support from the parish. Some of the female members are shockingly lax in their duties, and I expect you to set an example for them.

  “Yes, Aunt Edna,” Harriet said, shrinking before this sudden onslaught.

  “I also want you to watch for those ruffians from the boys’ grammar school whenever you are on the house grounds. My gardener, Brown, has caught them climbing into my orchard more times than I care to remember. Climbing over the wall and stealing my apples, can you believe their impudence? I complained to the headmaster once, but he is ineffectual.” Aunt Edna sniffed.

  “But what can Harriet do about the boys?” Sinclair asked.

  “Why, I expect her to keep her eyes open and a stout stick handy. Send those boys back over the wall with a good smack. I truly wonder at the way young people are raised these days, with no respect for other people’s property. Boys need to have respect knocked into them, in my mind. You just look sharp when you’re in the garden, Harriet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Harriet glanced at Sinclair out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at the carpet, one corner of his mouth twitching.

  “Well, that’s all I have to say about your duties for the present. I’m sure that I will remember more when the occasion presents itself. Summon Grace, and have her show you and Mr. Watts upstairs to your rooms. The groomsman will bring up your trunks. I’m going to lie down for a little rest before dinner. I will meet you in the dining room at six o’ clock sharp.”

  Sinclair and Harriet stood as Aunt Edna rose and left the room. Harriet sank back into her chair with a sigh, while Sinclair patted her shoulder.

  Chapter Four

  Sinclair gave his sister-in-law an affectionate kiss before leaving after breakfast the next morning. Aunt Edna gave him a curt nod, and then sent Harriet to the milliner’s shop. Harriet was forced to make a second visit before the hat’s decoration satisfied her aunt, and was then dispatched to wait upon Reverend Simons at the manse. The manse was situated at the end of a side street next to the church and the solitary graveyard. A sober-faced, sturdy female of indeterminate age admitted Harriet, escorting her to the reverend’s study and announcing, “A Miss Walters to see you, Reverend.”

  “How do you do, Miss Walters,” said the gentleman in a deep, rumbling voice, rising from behind his desk. Middle-aged and angular with silver streaks threading through his black hair, Reverend Simon’s reserved manner was as welcoming as the graveyard’s next door.

  “Very well, thank you, sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Harriet said with a curtsy. “I’ve come on my aunt's bidding. She thought that I might help with the parish visits."

  "Ah, yes, I remember discussing it with her. So, you have arrived at last, Miss Walters. I hope that you will be a credit to your aunt's fine name in this community. Please sit while I make up a list."

  The good man sat back down behind his desk while Harriet passed the time looking about the drab room. The only decoration was an oil painting of Christ in agony upon the cross. His wounds were particularly sensational, and Harriet looked away in dismay. Privately, she had misgivings about the success of these visits, although her sense of obligation to her aunt goaded her into trying. Harriet had accompanied her mother on charitable visits back at Willoway, but she had never known what to say to the elderly and infirm, and had left all of the talking to her mother.

  When the reverend finished writing and handed her the folded paper, she rose and promised to visit the name at the top of the list that very day.

  “Ah, yes, that would be Mrs. Higgins,” Reverend Simons said, walking Harriet to the study door. “She is somewhat deaf, although she would never admit to it. Enunciate clearly, speak slowly, and you should do well, Miss Walters.”

  “Yes, Reverend Simons. I shall try my best.”

  He nodded. “That is all God asks of you, child. Neglect your Christian duty at the peril of your soul.”

  “Indeed, sir, I shall do my best,” Harriet promised, backing into the hallway before turning to escape the manse as quickly as she could. Standing outside on the sidewalk, Harriet unfolded the list and studied the seven names written there. None of them meant anything to her. “Heaven help me, why must the first one be deaf?” she muttered.

  Harriet tucked the paper into her reticule and followed the reverend’s directions to Mrs. Higgins’ home just outside the village. She was pleasantly surprised to find a pretty thatched cottage with roses blooming in the front garden, but the path leading up to the door was overgrown, and Harriet guessed t
hat the widow relied upon others for the property’s upkeep. Squaring her shoulders, she strode up to the front door and rapped hard with the iron knocker. When there was no response, she rapped even harder.

  “Coming, I’m coming, wait for me,” a reedy voice called from within. The door creaked open to reveal a round, elderly female with white hair knotted on top of her head, her wrinkled face wreathed in a welcoming smile. Her sleeves were pushed up to the elbows and her forearms were dusted with flour. The widow wiped her hands upon her apron.

  “Yes, my dear, what can I do for you?” she asked.

  “Good day, ma’am. Are you Mrs. Higgins?”

  “Yes, my love.”

  “How do you do? My name is Harriet Walters. I am Mrs. Slater’s niece, recently arrived in Rexton. Reverend Simons suggested that you might enjoy a visit.

  “Reverend Simons?” Mrs. Higgins queried.

  “That’s right, Reverend Simons sent me.”

  “You must be new to the parish. I haven’t seen you before. Come in, my dear, come in. Why don’t you follow me back to the kitchen – I was just having a cup of tea. I didn’t catch your name, my love?”

  “My name is Harriet Walters, Mrs. Higgins.”

  “Harriet Waters?”

  “No, Harriet Walters,” she shouted.

  “Oh, Walters,” Mrs. Higgins said with a nod while leading the way to a well-scrubbed kitchen. A lump of pastry and a rolling pin sat on top of a floured wooden table in the middle of the room. “I was just making a pie for my supper. Why don’t you sit in the chair by the back door where there’s a bit of a breeze blowing while I pour you a cup of tea. It’s a might hot in here with the oven heating. What do you take, dear?”

  “Just a little sugar, please.”

  “Just the way I like it,” Mrs. Higgins said, pouring cream into the tea and handing the cup to Harriet. “I made some shortbread this morning. Would you like some?”

  “Please don’t go to any trouble.”

  “Oh, no trouble, no trouble.”

  Harriet sipped her tea as Mrs. Higgins limped to the pantry and reached down a tin. “Here you are,” she said, placing it before Harriet. “Help yourself while I finish rolling out my crust. The oven will be just right soon, and I want to get my pie baking.”

  Harriet noticed a bowl of peeled apples sitting on the table next to Mrs. Higgins’ elbow.

  “Can I cut those up for you, Mrs. Higgins?” she asked.

  “What was that, dear?”

  Harriet picked up the knife from beside the bowl and waved it over the apples. “The apples – can I slice the apples for your pie?”

  “That’s right, I grow the apples right here in my own back garden. My neighbour’s youngest comes over evenings to gather them for me.”

  Harriet plucked an apple from the bowl and began slicing it.

  “Why, that’s right kind of you,” the widow said. She rolled out the pastry and fit it into a pie plate, telling Harriet all about her children and grandchildren as she worked. “And then there’s my second son’s wife by the name of Ellie. She’s not from around here, you know. Her people live about ten miles down the road from Rexton.”

  Mrs. Higgins rattled on while Harriet watched her mix sugar, flour, and spices together, tossing them with the apples before dumping the coated fruit into the crust. She cut some scraps of butter to pat over the apples before rolling out a second crust to top the pie. Crimping the edges and cutting some slots into the pastry, Mrs. Higgins finished the pie and popped it into the oven.

  “Well, that’s done. Can I invite you to stop and have some supper with me, Miss Waters? I have a nice piece of cold tongue left over from yesterday, and I was about to fix some potatoes and beans to go with it.”

  “You are very kind, Mrs. Higgins, but I must be getting home to my aunt. She is expecting me for dinner. Thank you all the same for the delicious shortbread and tea, though. I hope that I may drop in to visit you again sometime.”

  “Another visit? Well, of course you can, my dear, of course. There’s nothing I’d like better. I’m always at home or around back, working in my garden. Why don’t we just step out the front door and I’ll cut some roses for your aunt. They’re doing very well with all the sun we’ve been getting lately. Just right down the hallway and through the door, my love. It will only take a minute.”

  Harriet returned to her aunt’s house with a lovely nosegay wrapped in a spare piece of brown paper that Mrs. Higgins had found stuffed in a kitchen drawer. Harriet handed Grace the flowers before bolting up the stairs to change her dress. She was late for dinner, and her aunt would be expecting her.

  Harriet found her aunt in the sitting room with a pot of tea, however, and, she was not alone; a mature woman with silvery hair sat on the sofa beside her. The lady was dressed in a fine muslin gown and a straw hat decorated with a profusion of autumnal fruits and flowers. She smiled widely as Harriet stopped short and curtsied.

  “I beg your pardon, Aunt. I did not realize that you had company.”

  “Come and sit down, Harriet. Where have you been all afternoon? Mabel, let me present my niece to you, Miss Harriet Walters. She’s my sister’s youngest. Remember how I told you about my sister’s husband dying and the estate being entailed away to the nephew? Harriet, this is Mrs. Evans, a neighbour and a life-long friend.”

  “How do you do, Miss Walters? You look very well with your cheeks all pink from being out-of-doors. It is a fine afternoon, isn’t it?” the lady said.

  “Yes, lovely. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Evans.” Turning to her aunt, Harriet said, “I visited Reverend Simons at the manse, and he gave me a list of parishioners to visit. I have just come back from seeing Mrs. Higgins.”

  “Visiting the parishioners already, Miss Walters? How kind of you,” Mrs. Evans said as Harriet sat down. “You can’t have been in Rexton very long yourself.”

  “She arrived yesterday, Mabel.”

  Mrs. Evans’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Just yesterday? And how did your visit with Mrs. Higgins go?”

  “Quite well, I think. Mrs. Higgins told me all about her family and gave me tea and shortbread. So I fear that I am not particularly hungry for my dinner, Aunt.”

  “Well, pour yourself a cup anyway – it’s a thirsty walk from Mrs. Higgins’ house. I was just telling Mabel about my new hat and the trouble the milliner gave me getting it right. I swear that I will take my business elsewhere if she doesn’t follow my instructions in the future.”

  Harriet was tired from her exertions and sat back in her chair, allowing the conversation to wash over her. Mrs. Evans smiled at her from time to time and directed an occasional comment her way. Harriet thought that she had a pleasant voice and a kindly face, while the lively gleam in her eyes bespoke intelligence.

  After half an hour, Mrs. Evans said, “I really must be going, Edna. I have to return a book of poetry to the lending library, and it’s half an hour before closing. But before I go, I am curious to see who else is on your visiting list, if I may, Miss Walters?”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Evans.” Harriet drew the list from her pocket and gave it to the lady.

  “Reverend Simons will have you making a tour of the village with these far-flung addresses! I hope that you are athletic, Miss Walters, or perhaps your aunt will lend you her carriage to visit some of the country addresses?”

  “Oh, the carriage is unnecessary. I am quite a walker, Mrs. Evans.”

  “How tireless youth is. Well, the rest of your shut-ins are all old dears like Mrs. Higgins, so you should have no difficulty in getting to know them.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Higgins did most of the talking today. All I had to do was listen, which was more than agreeable to me.”

  “Edna, we must think of some young people for Miss Walters to meet now that she is living here. I would introduce you to my daughter, but Diane lives in London with her husband, and only comes to visit once or twice a year. Rexton is a pretty spot, but it lacks society.”

&nb
sp; “Well, what can one expect when our houses and the manse are the only decent homes in the village, Mabel? I’m sure that my niece did not expect to find society here in Rexton.”

  “No, Aunt, I assure you that I did not have any such expectations."

  “Of course not, Edna. I did not mean to suggest that,” Mrs. Evans said. “All the same, it’s too bad that there are so few young people in the village.”

  “What with my Henry doctoring in Jamaica, and Lucy and Caroline with their own families, Harriet cannot expect young people to be visiting me every day. Of course, when I pass over, Henry will inherit my property and return to England. He writes of how much he misses our climate and civilized society, but a young doctor must take what opportunities he can to establish himself.”

  “Of course, Edna,” Mrs. Evans said, patting her friend’s hand and glancing at Harriet. “Well, the least I can do is to invite you both to dinner. How would Wednesday suit?”

  “Don’t worry about Harriet. She is sure not to have any prior engagements,” Aunt Edna said with a snort. “Wednesday evening will suit us just fine.”

  “Wonderful,” said Mrs. Evans, rising from the couch. “I look forward to your visit.” Aunt Edna walked her friend to the front door, leaving Harriet in happy anticipation of at least one evening that week not spent entirely in her aunt’s company.

  Chapter Five

  The next day was unseasonably cool, and rain lashed against the windows all day long. Aunt Edna complained of joint pain and headache and kept to her room. She still managed to keep Harriet busy, however, with mending and reading aloud to her aunt from religious tracts until Harriet thought that she would go mad. Fortunately, the rain ended overnight, and the sun broke through the clouds the following morning. Harriet decided to escape outside before her aunt could assign her any new chores.

  Donning an old pair of sturdy shoes before venturing out, Harriet crunched along the gravel path that led from the house into the formal garden. Butterflies and bees darted about the flowers, birds flit by overhead, and squirrels chased each other up and down the trees. A gentle breeze whispered through the shrubberies’ freshly-washed leaves. Harriet trailed her fingers through the droplets spattered atop a box hedge and paused to inhale the scent of pine.