The Good Servant

  "Uh...er...no, Sir. It's not about supper...I have a favour to ask."

  The parliamentarian stopped writing and looked up from his desk.

  "A favour? Of me?"

  "Er...yes, Sir. It was Ernest actually, who - "

  "Don't go bringing Ernest into this now. You have something to ask me, you ask me."

  "Right. Well, um...I have that luncheon to go to today. You know. At the McConnell's."

  "The butcher's?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "Well..."

  "Well, what?" Lord Hutchinson demanded. "Do you want money? Is that it? Money to buy flowers or some'at? Don't I pay you enough! I haven't any more money to give!"

  Peter looked nervously across the desk at his employer.

  "No. It's not that, Sir. Shoes. I need to borrow a pair of shoes is all."

  Lord Hutchinson blinked. "Ah. Well, let me see. I believe Philip left a pair or two in the closet downstairs. Check there."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  The parliamentarian waved his hand dismissively.

  "Is everything alright...Sir?"

  "Yes, yes, everything's fine, Peter. Run along now and enjoy your luncheon."

  "I will, Sir. Thank you. Oh," the cook added, suddenly remembering, "Ernest would like to know if he should bring your morning cup of tea."

  "No. I haven't the appetite for much today, I'm afraid."

  "Right..."

  "Leave me now, Peter. I have work to do."

  "Right. Sorry, Sir. I'll see you at breakfast."

  "Not likely."

  "Okay. Well, maybe this evening then."

  "Perhaps," Lord Hutchinson replied as he sorted some papers on his desk.

  "See you later, Sir."

  "Perhaps."

  With that, Peter exited Lord Hutchinson's study and after shutting the door softly behind him, made his way as quickly he could through the corridor. He didn't want Lady Hutchinson pestering him with some trivial request - not when he was so concerned about his upcoming luncheon - and he bounded down the steps without a glance back.

  Downstairs, he headed directly to the closet where he located two well-worn, but otherwise durable brown, pairs of leather shoes. He tried both on for size, modeled them, tested them, and finally settled on the pair with the darker leather. That done, he returned the unwanted pair to the closet and made for Ernest's room.

  The butler was just exiting.

  "Oh. Peter. Did you get a pair of shoes? Did Lord Hutchinson have any to offer?"

  The cook nodded and held up a foot. "Aye."

  "Splendid. And tea? Would he like his morning cup?"

  "Oddly...no," Peter answered, setting his foot back down. "He seemed...a little off."

  "Off? How so?" asked Ernest, concerned.

  "Well...he seemed sad. Disappointed. Downtrodden."

  "Peter," Ernest remarked with a smile. "I see you've been reading. Your vocabulary has grown tremendously these past few months."

  The cook grinned. "Thanks, Ernest. I mostly read to impress Linda. Well, so that I know what she's talking about. As dull as I find Jane Austen, she sure gives me affection when I quote certain er...romantic passages."

  "You scoundrel."

  "Hey. It's above the waist."

  "Well, just make sure it stays that way - until you're married at least. If her father finds out, he'll have your you-know-what ground up for his next batch of sausage."

  The young man cringed. "I suppose I should lay off a bit. It's just, you know, we get talking, and she tells me how much she enjoyed Pride and Prejudice or Mansfield Park and if I jump in and say - "

  "Yes, yes. Enough of that. What of Master Hutchinson? Is he ill?"

  Peter shrugged. "I don't know. You'll have to see him for yourself. It's hard to say, really. He seems...sad. Like I said. Disappointed. Downtrodden."

  "Right. Well, I suppose I shall make him some tea and bring it to him anyway."

  "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

  Ernest laughed. "Not to worry. Whatever is ailing Master Hutchinson, he's sure to perk up once I bring him his tea. I'll go and do that now. You're off to Linda's now, I suppose?"

  "Yep."

  "Well, good luck."

  "Thanks, Ernest."

  With Peter gone, Ernest made his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Several minutes later, with a tray containing a steaming pot of tea, two cups (in case Lady Hutchinson wanted some as well), a creamer and a bowl of sugar, he climbed the stairs.

  At the door to Lord Hutchinson's study, he stopped and knocked. "Sir?"

  "What is it?" the parliamentarian barked in reply.

  Taken aback by the harsh greeting, the butler recoiled. "Er...I have some tea for you. Would you like some?" he asked, hoping his voice would carry through the heavy, wooden door in front of him.

  "No! And stop bothering me! All of you! First Peter. Then Laura. And now you? Please. All of you. Everyone. I need some peace."

  Ernest heard the sound of a door opening behind him and he turned to see Lady Hutchinson.

  "Madam, I - "

  "It's alright, Ernest. James is going through a rough time at work. He said it should be all over within a week or two."

  "Right."

  "Tea?" she inquired cheerfully, glancing at the tray in his hand.

  "Uh...yes. And I even brought an extra cup for you."

  "Well, I will take some, Ernest," she said with a tone of peachiness to her voice that Ernest only heard when she was trying to sugar coat a situation.

  "Um...how about I set it in the drawing room for you, Madam."

  "Wonderful idea, Ernest."

  He could tell by her eyes that behind that smile, there was nervous angst.

  "And afterwards I'll go and prepare breakfast," he added. "Peter left everything out for me before he left."

  "Excellent."

  "Alright."

  "Um...right...if you just turn - "

  The pair did a dance in the narrow corridor as both tried to accommodate the other by stepping to the side and after several seconds of this, Ernest simply stopped and breathed: "After you, Madam."

  "Sorry, Ernest," she apologized, smiling sweetly, though her face was rather red and anxious-looking. "See you downstairs at breakfast."

  "Yes, Madam. In about a half an hour."

  "Right."

  Ernest left her then, placed the tea tray in the drawing room, and returned to the kitchen. Whatever was troubling Lord Hutchinson, he'd be sure to find out.

  Unfortunately for Ernest, Lord Hutchinson chose to stay in his study all day and wouldn't receive anyone. Not even Ernest. Not even Lord Baldwin who came to call on him at Lady Hutchinson's request.

  At supper, he announced he would be dining out and left without so much as a goodbye. Lady Hutchinson, of course, tried to sugar coat the situation. Ernest could see however that she was clearly upset about her husband.

  "Where did father go? Is he not eating with us then?" Caroline inquired as she and her mother began to eat the food Ernest had just placed before them.

  "Your father went out for awhile. He'll be back before your bedtime, I'm sure. Now eat your peas and stop babbling."

  Ernest watched in silence as the little girl frowned. "But - "

  "Caroline Victoria Hutchinson! I haven't the patience for your questions!"

  Ernest looked on, horrified, as Lady Hutchinson proceeded to sob loudly into her napkin.

  "Madam, please," the butler said, rushing to her side.

  The woman buried her face in her hands and continued to weep. Caroline looked on, dumbfounded.

  "Madam, please. It will be alright. You said so. In a few weeks time. Isn't that right? Master Hutchinson said everything will be alright in a week or two? He's just going through a rough time at work?"

  She nodded, but continued to wail loudly with Ernest, gently massaging her back.

  "Mother, don't cry," said Caroline, her voice shaking.

  Ernest c
ould tell she'd be bawling next.

  "Here, Caroline. How about we leave your mother on her own for a few minutes, eh? And we'll go and get you some taffee in the kitchen. What do you say to that?"

  Caroline looked from her mother to the butler.

  "Okay..."

  "Come, let's go," said Ernest, stepping away from Lady Hutchinson and ushering Caroline to the door. "We'll let your mother be for awhile, and then after we've got you some taffee, we'll see how your mother's feeling, eh? Does that sound alright?"

  The little girl nodded, but continued to look over her shoulder at her mother as Ernest pushed her gently out the door.

  "There, now," he said once they were on the other side and he had shut the door. "Let's go and get Peter to warm us some taffee in the oven."

  "Taffee?" the little girl asked excitedly, making it obvious she hadn't been listening a minute before.

  "Yes!"

  "Hurrah!"

  "Come on, let's go," said Ernest, jogging to keep up with her as they hurried down the corridor towards the kitchen. Inside, they found Peter busy kneading a roll of dough.

  "What's all this about?" he asked as they burst through the door.

  "Taffee! Taffee! Taffee, taffee, taffee!"

  The young man smiled as Ernest slowly regained his breath.

  "Well, did your mother say you could have some?"

  Caroline turned and looked at Ernest.

  The butler nodded as he drew in lungfuls of air, the jog to the kitchen tiring him more than he would have thought it would. "Yes...your...mother...said...it was...alright."

  "Yay! Taffee, taffee, taffee!"

  She clutched at Peter's arm and the cook pulled away, laughing. "Alright, alright. Let me wash my hands first. It'll be a minute because it's much too firm to eat just yet. I have to warm it in the oven first. You're lucky I haven't raked the embers yet."

  "Hmph," said Caroline, taking a seat on an old apple crate.

  "Caroline..."

  "What?"

  "Be good or you won't get any."

  "Everyone always tells me, 'be good, Caroline, be good' and then I never get anything. So why should I?"

  "What haven't you gotten?"

  "A puppy," she moaned, leaning forwards and resting her chin in her hands.

  "Whoever said - " Ernest stopped himself as he remembered the conversation they'd had about the puppy. It was that Sunday when Ernest went to church to speak to Miss Foster. He'd completely forgotten, though he really couldn't blame himself given all the hubbub of the past few months.

  "I'm so sorry, Caroline. I forgot all about the puppy."

  "Hmph."

  "I'll get you one, I promise."

  "Hmph."

  "Caroli - "

  "WHO'S READY FOR TAFFEE?" Peter yelled enthusiastically as he returned to the kitchen with a metal tray, four strips of taffee laid out neatly on it.

  "Me! I am! Me! I'm ready for taffee!"

  Caroline's screeching caused Ernest to cover his ears and as he watched the pair put the tray into the oven, Peter hoisting the little girl up so that she could reach. Their happy pose contrasted sharply with the situation he presently found himself in. Lord Hutchinson under the weather. Lady Hutchinson equally so. And now Caroline needing a puppy. Did it never end?

  - 10 -

  To answer Ernest's question, no. And in fact, by the following week, things had only managed to get more confuddled at the Hutchinson household.

  It had all begun the following Sunday afternoon, while Caroline and Lady Hutchinson were eating lunch. Lord Hutchinson had locked himself away in his study, and the two were dining alone.

  "Bring the sandwiches now, would you Ernest?"

  "Of course, Madam," the butler answered, quickly snapping out of his reverie.

  "Won't be a minute."

  He left the women at the table and headed to the kitchen where Peter was hunched over a pot of stew on the stovetop.

  "I'll be taking the sandwiches now, Peter."

  The cook nodded without turning around.

  "Everything alright, lad?"

  "Yeah, course."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Well...no...not really."

  'What's the matter?"

  The young man turned to face the butler. "Me mum's dying. Got a letter yesterday from me cousin."

  "Oh my..." replied Ernest, lost for words.

  What could he possibly say to console the boy? His mother, dying. He, here in Kingston, three thousand miles and an ocean between them.

  "Can you go to see her?"

  "I haven't the money, Ernest."

  "What if I lent you the money?"

  The cook shook his head adamantly. "I wouldn't take it."

  "But, why ever not?"

  "Because. I can't. I shan't take money from any man."

  Ernest grew impatient. "It would just be a loan, Peter. You can pay me back whenever. At no interest."

  The young man looked at him with a sad expression. "You know I spent a year in debtors' prison when my father didn't pay his debts."

  Surprised, Ernest set down the platter of sandwiches in his hand. "I was not aware of that."

  The cook nodded grimly. "An entire year of my life. Living in that dank, dark hole. All because my father spent more than he earned. I had a lot of time to think, Ernest. And I resolved to never owe money to any man. Never. Under any circumstance."

  "But I would never report you if you failed to repay me. You're a friend. It - "

  "No, Ernest," the young man said, shaking his head. "I can't."

  "ERNEST? WE'RE WAITING!"

  "Sleep on it," said Ernest anxiously, ignoring Lady Hutchinson's shrill shouts from the dining room. "My offer won't expire."

  Peter looked at him. "And neither will my resolve."

  "Well, just think about it, eh?" Ernest shot back, picking up the platter of sandwiches once more. "My offer's there as long as you need."

  Peter nodded and Ernest carried the sandwich platter from the kitchen without another word.

  "I don't know. He said he didn't want to borrow any money."

  Miss Foster finished folding the sheet she was holding and smiled at baby Grace before looking squarely at Ernest "I suppose he told you about the year he served in debtor's prison?"

  "How do you know about that?"

  "Arthur told me," the pretty woman answered.

  "Here, let me help you," said Ernest, rising from his chair and taking a corner of the sheet.

  Miss Foster smiled. "Thanks."

  "And why would Arthur know?"

  "He and Peter spent a fair bit of time together."

  "That's right...heavens, it's been so long...since I've seen those two together...I mean...since Arthur - " Ernest stopped himself and studied her face, but it showed no sign that she was thinking of her dead brother.

  "I imagine that would have been an awful time for him," she added with a sigh. "Makes sense why he wouldn't want to borrow money ever again."

  "I know, Miss Foster. But, his mother is dying."

  "Yes, Ernest. But Peter is very principled."

  "He is, isn't he? Too principled for such a young man. The world of men is not so black and white."

  "Well," said Miss Foster, folding the last of the laundry and placing it in the large wicker basket in front of her, "let him keep his principles. Lord knows we could use some more principled men in this world."

  "Aye," he affirmed, draining the rest of the tea from his cup.

  They heard Lady Hutchinson returning and Ernest changed the subject.

  "So, is baby Grace getting her teeth in yet?"

  The pretty woman smiled. "No. Not yet. Thank goodness."

  "Thank goodness for what?" Lady Hutchinson asked curiously as she made her way back into the parlour.

  "Thank goodness baby Grace hasn't started getting her teeth in yet."

  "Oh, I know! Do you know, when Caroline began teething..."

  Ernest massaged his temples and sat back in
his chair, drowning out the conversation and wishing he'd brought up a different subject.

  It was a full week later, the last day in June, when Peter approached Ernest.

  "Ernest?"

  The butler ceased pouring the tea and set the teapot on the counter.

  "Yes, Peter?"

  "I...er..."

  "You'll take my money?"

  Peter nodded. Slowly. His face tight with worry.

  "It's simply a loan, Peter. I know you'll pay me back when you can."

  The cook gave another nod. "Thanks, Ernest."

  The butler smiled. "I'm glad you've come to see sense. Now, help me carry this tea to the drawing room, will you? And then I'll go and fetch your money, eh?"

  The young man allowed himself to return the butler's warm smile. "Sure."

  On the seventh of June, with flowers in full bloom and reparations to Market Square progressing enthusiastically, Ernest, Peter, Miss Foster, Lady Hutchinson and Caroline Hutchinson made their way slowly down the steps that led to Kingston main port.

  "Now I hope you've packed enough food, Peter," said Lady Hutchinson in a motherly manner as she and Caroline stepped down onto the wharf where a dozen other groups had congregated to see off their friends and family.

  "I'm a cook, Madam, and I'm pretty sure I've got enough," said Peter matter-of-factly. He opened the sack he had slung over his shoulder and proudly displayed its contents.

  Ernest stepped around Miss Foster to peer inside.

  "Is that smoked rabbit? And those look like carrots - raw - there's a smart lad. That way they'll keep longer. Biscuits. Smoked lake trout - why in heavens haven't you served trout in so long? Have you been hoarding it all for yourelf?"

  Peter managed a half-smile at the butler's mock accusations.

  "No, Ernest. This was stuff that Linda and I caught last weekend. Down at Charter's Landing."

  "Right. Well I'll expect some trout for dinner when you return, then."

  "When are you returning again, exactly, Peter?" asked Miss Foster, catching Caroline by the shoulder. "NO, CAROLINE! THAT DOG SURELY HAS FLEAS!"

  "Five weeks from today," answered Peter quietly, moving aside for Lady Hutchinson as she grabbed hold of her daughter and began to scold her.

  Looking at him, Ernest could tell the visit would be far too short.

  "Caroline," said Lady Hutchinson sternly. "That's a street animal. You leave him be. He could have rabies."

  The little girl nodded and watched the mangy dog plod away, sniffing at the grass edging as it searched out scraps of bread and other discarded bits of food.

  "You still haven't gotten me a puppy, mother."

  Ernest grimaced as he waited for Lady Hutchinson's reaction.