The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster Page 9

  “No, not really, but Diane warned me that Mr. Ash’s friendship may be based upon false hopes, and. . . .”

  “Diane said that to you?”

  “Yes, when we went for our walk in the country. I had not suspected him of being a fortune hunter before, but it seems likely to me now.”

  Mrs. Evans drew Harriet over to the stool and sat down in the chair beside her. Holding her hand and looking directly into her eyes, Mrs. Evans said, “Dear Miss Walters, please listen to me very carefully. I know something about men ‒ I’ve lived longer and known a great many more than you have, so you may take my words to heart. I do not believe that Mr. Ash is interested in you because he thinks that you will be an heiress some day. I’ve seen how his eyes light up when you enter the room. I am sure that he likes you for yourself, and that he treasures your friendship. Do not so belittle what you have to offer, Miss Walters.”

  “I suppose that a lack of confidence is a failing of mine, but how can I be sure of Mr. Ash? No other man has ever shown an interest in me, so I have no experience by which to judge.”

  “Miss Walters, there is no hurry. Mr. Ash may not be the man for you in the end, but do not condemn him because of some false fear that Diane has instilled in you. I really do not believe that he is a fortune hunter.”

  “Truthfully, I had not suspected him until Diane suggested it, and she doesn’t really know him, does she?” Harriet paused, and then looked up with a smile. “Thank you for your advice. I promise that I will get to know Mr. Ash better before judging him. I do feel better for having talked with you, Mrs. Evans.”

  “I’m glad of it, my dear.” The older woman leaned forward to give Harriet a kiss on the cheek. “Now, here’s the scarf I promised you. I knit it in green and cream to set off your green pelisse. You will look very smart in it.”

  Harriet took the scarf and wound it jauntily around her neck. “It is lovely. Thank you so much, for everything. Now, I had better be going home before Aunt Edna misses me. I promised to help her pin up the hem of her dress this afternoon.”

  “Of course. Off you go, then. And give my regards to Mr. Ash when you see him at Mrs. Higgins’ party.”

  Harriet smiled and gave the lady a quick hug before leaving the room with a new bounce to her step.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harriet brought one of Cook’s excellent plum puddings to Mrs. Higgins’ party. She climbed down from the carriage clutching it closely in her arms and dashed up the front walk through the rain, rapping briskly upon the cottage door. Mrs. Higgins opened it herself.

  “There you are, my love. Oliver told me that he heard a horse outside in the lane, and his young ears are sharper than mine. Welcome, and Happy Christmas to you.”

  “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Higgins,” Harriet replied, hugging her friend with one arm. “What have you been baking? Your house smells wonderful.”

  “Two of my favourites. Come with me. Oliver and Mr. Ash are keeping warm in the parlour.”

  Harriet followed Mrs. Higgins down the chilly hallway into the parlour. The mantle was trimmed with pine boughs woven with ivy and holly berries. Oliver sat on the hearth rug toasting a slice of bread over the fire, the light reflecting in his hair. Ash sat at a nearby table, buttering Oliver’s efforts. He stood when Harriet entered the room and stepped forward to greet her.

  “How are you, Miss Walters. Happy Christmas to you,” he said, shaking her hand.

  “Happy Christmas to you too, Mr. Ash,” she replied. The smile on his honest face dispelled any niggling doubts that Diane’s warning had instilled in her, and Harriet beamed back. Mrs. Higgins smiled from the doorway.

  Harriet turned. “Oliver, I didn’t mean to overlook you. Happy Christmas to you, too.”

  “Happy Christmas, Miss. I’m making the toast for Auntie. She’s going to give us rabbit on toast.”

  Mrs. Higgins laughed. “Not real rabbit, Oliver my love. Welsh rabbit. That’s a mix of cheeses and other good things. We’ll have enough toast when you’re done that last piece.” She took Harriet’s hand. “Come over here and have a seat, love. There’s Christmas punch on the table. Let me pour you a glass.”

  Harriet followed her to the linen-draped table. A heavy, cut-glass bowl filled to the brim with punch sat amidst the nutmeats and sweets festooning the table.

  “What a pretty punch bowl, Mrs. Higgins,” she said as the widow poured her a glass.

  “Yes, I’m very proud of this set. It was a wedding present. We brought it out every Christmas that Mr. Higgins was alive, and for our wedding anniversaries, too. I still bring it out at Christmas. Come here, you two,” she said, nodding to the schoolmaster and Oliver, “take a bowl of punch and let’s have a toast.” The guests stood around Mrs. Higgins, their glasses ready.

  “Happy Christmas to us all, my loves, and a prosperous New Year.” They raised their glasses and echoed, “Happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year,” before drinking.

  “Absolutely delicious, Mrs. Higgins,” Harriet said. “And this is for you, from Aunt Edna and Cook. It’s a plum pudding.”

  Mrs. Higgins drew back a corner of the cloth and took a sniff. “Ooh, that does smell good. Your Mrs. Dale knows her way around a kitchen, to be sure. Please send my thanks to her and to your aunt. Now, sit down and don’t budge an inch. Oliver is going to help me bring out the Welsh rabbit. Give me a hand, my love,” she said, leaving the room with the boy. Harriet looked up at Ash.

  “Please be seated, sir, and tell me of your plans for Christmas, if you will.”

  They sat together on the couch while the young man expounded. “The term finishes on Saturday, and there’s a party for the boys that afternoon. On Monday, I’ll be taking the Bristol coach to go home to my family. It’s been months since I’ve seen them – not since the summer – so I’m very much looking forward to seeing everyone again. What about you, Miss Walters? Will you be spending Christmas with your aunt?”

  “No. I’m going to my sister’s home to visit with my family. I’ve not seen them since September, and I’m particularly looking forward to seeing my mother again. We’ve never been separated for so long before.”

  “And how will you get there?”

  “My brother-in-law, Mr. Sinclair Watts, will be coming to fetch me in his carriage.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad that someone will be looking after you on the journey. But will Mrs. Slater be spending Christmas alone?”

  “No indeed. Her daughters and their families take turns visiting Aunt Edna each year. This year, Mr. and Mrs. Springer and their four children will be coming. They arrive next Wednesday, and I’ll be leaving the day after.”

  “What about Mrs. Evans? Will she be visiting her daughter’s family in London?”

  “No, not this year. They just saw each other, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam entertains heavily at Christmas. Mrs. Evans says that she prefers to have a quiet Christmas this year, but she will be spending Christmas day with my aunt. I’m sure that she will be in and out of the house as if it were her own over the holidays.”

  “Good. It sounds as if we will all be having a jolly Christmas. Oliver’s father will be coming to get Mrs. Higgins and the boy next Sunday.”

  “Here we are, my dears,” Mrs. Higgins said, returning to the parlour. Oliver bore a plate covered with golden triangles of toast while Mrs. Higgins carried a covered china dish. Harriet hurried to clear a place for them on the crowded table. When Mrs. Higgins lifted the lid, a cloud of steam rose from the dish.

  “Mmm, that smells wonderful,” Harriet said. She helped Mrs. Higgins prepare plates of toast covered with the delicious cheesy sauce, and passed them to the others. Soon the three adults were eating side-by-side on the couch while Oliver sat on the floor, his plate wedged among the dishes on the low table.

  “Mrs. Higgins, will you marry me and make this for me every day?” asked the appreciative young man.

  “Well, bless you, Mr. Ash. I would, except that I would soon grow tired of cooking the same thing all the time. But
someday you'll find a young woman to marry, and it will be for more than just her fine cooking, I’m sure.”

  He took another bite and winked at the widow. She elbowed him in the ribs and laughed. “Eat up, my dear. You could use a little more meat on your bones. Someone should take better care of you, young man.” Mrs. Higgins took a sidelong glance at Harriet, who pretended not to notice, but was gratified by the suggestion.

  The little group ate up every bit of the dish, and then Mrs. Higgins and Oliver returned with ginger cake, custard, and warm rum sauce. They chatted and ate and laughed until they could eat no more.

  Harriet said, “Mrs. Higgins, you could cook for the King of England, and he wouldn’t find anything better. Now, I’m afraid that Aunt Edna’s carriage will be returning for me soon, but first I have a little something with which to wish you a Happy Christmas.” She picked up her reticule and produced a tiny, festively-wrapped box, which she handed to her friend.

  “Why, you needn’t have done that, but thank you, Miss Walters.” Mrs. Higgins tore off the wrapping and opened the box to reveal a dainty pair of seed pearl earrings on gold wire hoops. “Aren’t they lovely? I haven’t had a new pair of earrings since I got these old hoops of mine years ago. I’ll try them on right now so we can all see how they look.” Mrs. Higgins pulled them out of the box and fastened them to her ears. “What do you think, Oliver?”

  “They look very nice, Auntie.”

  “Well, as long as we’re handing out presents, I have a little something for you, too, Mrs. Higgins,” Ash said. “I left it in the pocket of my coat. I’ll be back directly.”

  He returned bearing a slim box trimmed with a red satin bow. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Higgins,” he said, handing it to her.

  “Another present for me? This is a memorable day.” She held the box up to her ear and rattled it.

  “What’s in it, Auntie?” Oliver asked, his eyes shining.

  “I don’t know, my boy. Shall I open it?”

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  Mrs. Higgins untied the ribbon, removed the lid, and withdrew a pair of brown leather gloves. “Ooh, aren’t these handsome, and ever so soft. Let me try them on.” She pulled them over her hands and held them up for all to admire. “They have a nice warm lining, too. Won’t I look smart going to church on Christmas Day with my new earrings and gloves! Thank you both very much.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “Now, Oliver, I have a little something for you, too,” Harriet said. Oliver opened his box to find a brightly-painted wooden top.

  “Thank you, Miss,” he said, sitting down in the middle of the floor to play with it. The adults were just helping themselves to another bowl of punch when there was a knock at the door.

  “Oh dear, I’m afraid that the carriage is here already. I’ll just tell the coachman that I'll be a few more minutes.” Harriet ran to the door and returned a moment later, her expression worried. “The wind is rising and it’s still raining. Can I offer you and Oliver a ride to the school, Mr. Ash? I think that we can all squeeze in together.”

  “That’s very kind, Miss Walters, but I do not wish to take you out of your way.”

  “Not at all. Just let me carry these things to the kitchen, and I shall be ready to go at once.”

  But Ash jumped up and beckoned to the boy. “Come along, Oliver. If you take the tray and I carry the punch bowl, we can help Miss Walters clear the table and save your aunt a few steps.” Mrs. Higgins protested, but they insisted that she remain on the couch while they took the leftovers to the kitchen. When they came back down the hallway, Mrs. Higgins was waiting for them by the front door with their outer things.

  “Happy Christmas, Oliver, and I’ll see you on Sunday when your father comes,” she said, helping the boy into his coat and muffler.

  “Happy Christmas, Auntie,” he replied, kissing her cheek before going out the door.

  “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Higgins, and thank you again for a wonderful party.” Mr. Ash pointed to the mistletoe tacked to the ceiling and bent to kiss the old woman upon the cheek.

  “Why, thank you, young man. First a marriage proposal, and now a kiss. I reckon that the young ladies have to watch out for you!” Ash smiled and nodded before following Oliver outside.

  Harriet hugged her friend and said, “Have a wonderful holiday, Mrs. Higgins, and I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “You have a good holiday with your mother, my love. I know how much you’ve missed her. And don’t forget to give Mr. Ash a Christmas kiss, too.” She winked at Harriet. “I think that he would be better off with someone younger and prettier than me.”

  Harriet smiled and shook her head before hurrying out into the rain. Ash stood waiting beside the vehicle to help her in. Once she was settled beside Oliver, the schoolmaster climbed in, and Harriet arranged a seal-skin rug over their laps. They were quite cozy as the carriage made the short drive to the school. The coachman drew up to the gate, where Hubbard greeted them with a lantern and an umbrella. Oliver climbed past Harriet to Ash, who swung him out to the gatekeeper. Taking Oliver’s hand, the gatekeeper waved at Harriet before hurrying the boy across the courtyard.

  “Happy Christmas, Oliver,” Harriet called after him. He turned to wave before disappearing into one of the buildings.

  Ash turned to Harriet and reached for her hand. “Have a happy Christmas, Miss Walters. You know, you made Mrs. Higgins very happy today.”

  “So did you, sir. You’re a kind man.” The schoolmaster looked into her eyes, and bent to kiss her gloved hand. Without a word, he sprang from the carriage and shut the door, giving a cheery wave before dashing across the courtyard. Harriet sank back in her seat and hugged herself as the carriage carried her home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aunt Edna was anxious to finish the preparations for the house guests arriving the following Wednesday, and Harriet was tireless in assisting her aunt, running instructions down to Cook, helping Grace to air out the spare bedrooms and linens, placing orders at the butcher and grocer’s shops, decorating the gardener’s wreaths with ribbon, nuts, and berries, and running over to Mrs. Evans’ home to borrow everything else that they required. The old nursery was being readied for Aunt Edna’s four grandchildren and their nanny, plus servants’ accommodations were being prepared for Caroline’s maid and her husband’s valet. Every year Aunt Edna could not imagine how everything would be ready in time, and yet every year they managed.

  Harriet knocked on her aunt’s door on the evening preceding their guests’ arrival. When she was given permission to enter, she discovered Aunt Edna propped up in bed with a cup of chamomile tea, studying the list of tasks yet to be completed.

  “Good evening, Aunt. I hope I do not disturb you.”

  “Harriet, did we borrow those extra candlesticks from Mabel?”

  “Yes, they’re on the dining room sideboard.”

  Aunt Edna ticked another item off her list. “Good,” she said, finally looking up at her niece. “Well, come and sit down. What do you want with me?”

  Harriet sat on the edge of the bed and drew out a flat package wrapped with paper and ribbon from behind her back. “I wanted to give this to you before the house is filled with people tomorrow. Here you are, and Happy Christmas.”

  Aunt Edna exclaimed happily as she took the present and tore open the wrapping paper. Inside was a leather-bound journal with pressed flowers on the first and last pages.

  “Why, Harriet, what a pretty little thing. I haven’t kept a journal since I was a young married woman, but it will do for the household accounts. Here, go into my wardrobe, and you’ll find something for you. It’s the box covered in blue paper.”

  Harriet found the gift and carried it back to the bed. Aunt Edna said, “Happy Christmas, Niece. Go ahead and open it.”

  Harriet pulled off the paper, opened a hat box, and found a beaver felt hat within, the brim trimmed with fur. “Why, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much!” she cried.

&nbs
p; “You need a good warm hat to wear to your sister’s home, child. I’m glad that you like it. Have you finished your packing, by the way?”

  “Everything is ready except for a few last minute additions.”

  “And you have the sweetmeats for the children, and the gifts for Helen, Mr. Watts, and your mother?”

  “Yes. It was very thoughtful of you to send them.”

  “Well, I do not usually send gifts at Christmas, but since you’re visiting your sister and saving me the cost of the postage, I thought that I would be generous this year.”

  “Yes, Aunt."

  “Well, you had better go to bed. You’ll need your strength for our guests tomorrow and for your journey on the following day.”

  “Goodnight,” Harriet said, getting up from the bed and impulsively kissing the old lady on the cheek.

  Aunt Edna waved her away. “Off to bed with you. Goodnight, Harriet.”

  The next morning passed in a flurry of last-minute preparations, but by mid-afternoon, Harriet and Aunt Edna were dressed and waiting in the drawing room when Caroline, Gerald, and their children arrived.

  “Caroline, my dear – welcome,” her mother said, rising to kiss her. “Gerald, you look well. Do you remember your cousin, Harriet Walters?” Harriet rose and shook hands with them while the four children lined up to give their grandmother a peck on the cheek.

  Caroline Springer was a small, calm woman who’s every word and movement was a model of economy. Her husband, on the other hand, was a tall, languid man who sank back into his chair as if he had no intention of ever getting up again. The children sat primly upon the couch from the oldest to the youngest, the youngest a male child who looked solemnly about the room like an infant owl. Thinking of her sister's horde, Harriet marvelled at their restrained behaviour, and could not refrain from glancing at them every few minutes to see if their good manners were an illusion.

  Caroline and Aunt Edna got caught up on family news while Mr. Springer puffed upon his pipe and Harriet listened. When they had finished, Harriet was asked to provide an account of her mother and sister’s family, and of her life since arriving in Rexton. The room’s unrelenting stillness made Harriet conscious of the sound of her own voice, and she feared that the Springers would not find her recitation very interesting.