"That I am."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for bringing this...er...what was her name again?"
"Rosa, Madam. Rosa."
"Yes, thank you for bringing Rosa 'round. However, I'm afraid we can't keep her. We've simply no place for a dog in this house.
"Mother!" Caroline seethed. "No! You can't! Ernest bought her! She's mine! You promised!"
Ernest smiled nervously as Lady Hutchinson glared at him.
"Yes, yes, that's all very well. But we still can't keep him."
"But, mother! You promised me a puppy!"
"I know, dear - "
"What's all this groveling and shouting about? A man can hardly think with all this racket going on."
"James - "
"Yes, yes, move aside. Ernest? What's happening? Why's my wife holding a puppy in her arms."
"Well, Sir...it's really...it's a gift! It's a gift! From me. For Caroline. Do you remember that Sunday we were headed to church and Caroline saw a boy she knew walking his dog in the street?"
"I suppose."
"Well, she was promised a puppy if she behaved and...well...frankly I think Caroline's been a good girl lately. Certainly good enough to warrant getting a puppy."
Lord Hutchinson cleared his throat as all eyes shifted to him.
"Well..." he began, grabbing the puppy from his wife and holding it up for all to see.
"Quite a cute little thing. Girl is it?"
"Yes, Sir. Rosa. Picked her out me'self."
"Yes. Well," he continued, gazing into the young dog's eyes. "You chose well Ms...?"
"Miss Owens, Sir. I'm Mrs. Hayden's sister."
"Ah, the shopkeeper's wife?"
"My sister, yes."
"Well, pleased to meet you! Please, come in. Where are our manners? Do we leave guests standing on the stoop like common peddlers? Please, come inside Miss Owens and have a cup of tea. Ernest? Put the kettle on would you?"
Rosa's arrival seemed to brighten the mood of the whole family - Lord Hutchinson included - and by the end of the week things appeared to be back to normal.
"Well, I really don't think he meant it that way, Laura."
"Well, he could have been more polite."
"Who could have been more polite, mother?" Caroline asked.
"No one dear. Now eat your eggs."
"Tell me, mother! Who could have been more polite? You never tell me anything!"
"The postman, Caroline! God help me, child. I shall give you a slap if you do not be quiet and sit and eat your breakfast like a civilized individual."
"Alright, I knew it," said Lord Hutchinson, rising from the table. "I can't even eat my breakfast in peace! What's the world coming to when a man can't eat breakfast in his own house, eh!?"
"James, please," said Lady Hutchinson. "Sit down. Finish your meal. Caroline, take Rosa and go and finish your breakfast in this kitchen. Ernest, take her plate, will you?"
"But mother - "
"Caroline! Kitchen, now! And take the dog with you. She's been bugging me all morning. She's not to be let into the dining room anymore. No exceptions."
"This way, Caroline," said Ernest gently, plucking the youngest Hutchinson's plate from the table and heading for the door. "We'll eat our breakfast together. Me, you, and Rosa? Sound good? Give mother and father some time alone together."
"Nope," said Lord Hutchinson, shaking his head. "I've already made up my mind. You can go to the kitchen, but I'm finished."
"James - "
"Laura."
Lady Hutchinson grew silent at her husband's warning tone. An uncomfortable silence followed before Lord Hutchinson dropped his napkin on the table and stormed out.
"Right, then..."
"Mother? Why's father upset again? He was so happy yesterday."
"I don't know, child. I don't know."
"Come on, Caroline," said Ernest, glancing worriedly at his mistress. "Let's go finish our breakfast, eh? Maybe afterwards we can take Rosa for a nice walk. Would you like that?"
"Yay! Let's go now, Ernest! Rosa would love to go for a walk! I just know it!"
"Yes, yes, Caroline. All in good time," said the butler, pushing the door open and ushering the little girl and her puppy outside. "Let's go finish breakfast and then we'll see about that walk."
"Alright..."
- 12 -
A week later, Lord Hutchinson shot himself. With his great-grandfather's pistol. It was Ernest who found him. In his study, slumped over his desk. His face immersed in a pool of blood. The butler had summoned Dr. Avery at once, but to no avail. Lord James Hutchinson was dead.
Lady Hutchinson was far too distraught to coordinate funeral arrangements and several members of St. Gregory's organized it for her.
"I just can't believe it," Miss Foster said quietly as she and Ernest sipped tea one drizzly Thursday afternoon.
"Neither can I, Clarissa."
"I mean...he seemed so happy. So full of life. Well, he was irritable at times...but that's to be expected, isn't it? Given the line of work he was in."
The butler nodded, looking into space. "Aye. 'Tis. A politician's job is a thankless one."
"And you say he left no note?"
"No."
"Seems odd. A man like him...with his principles...one would think he'd have left a note."
"Yes," Ernest sighed, adding another spoonful of sugar to his tea and stirring it in methodically.
"How ever is Lady Hutchinson going to cope, I wonder?"
"I must confess that I do not know, Miss. It troubles me deeply that creditors have been knocking at the door all week."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Apparently my master had several outstanding debts."
"Seems...suspicious."
The butler grimaced. "My thoughts exactly. Did he owe money to someone? Did he have a gambling habit or something that we weren't aware of?"
"I've no idea, Ernest," replied the young heiress, taking a crying baby Grace from her bassinette and cradling the infant in her arms. "There's a good girl...there's a good girl."
The baby’s crying ceased as quickly as it had begun and Miss Foster laid her daughter back in her bassinette.
"You're coming to the funeral tomorrow, I presume?" Ernest asked.
"Yes. Of course. I wouldn't miss it."
"'Tis a shame Peter can't make it. He's not due back for another two weeks yet."
"Well, all in good time."
"I don't even know that my mistress has the funds to keep him on. And I've no way to let him know either. He's better off staying in England. God forbid he should return in two weeks time only to find that he no longer has employment."
Miss Foster nodded sympathetically. "Goodness, that would be awful. Especially since his mother isn’t well."
"Ah," Ernest moaned. "I can't take all this suffering."
The young heiress set down her tea cup and moved to the chair where the butler was sitting.
"It'll be alright," she said, caressing his shoulder. "This is life."
Ernest shrugged and looked away.
"When Arthur died," Miss Foster continued, "I thought the world would end. I thought I would never be happy again. But then this precious angel was dropped in my lap and it gave my life a whole new meaning."
The butler looked back at the young woman. "You have a point there."
"And, it's not to say that I don't still think of Arthur - I miss him every day. But, the new joys in my life make that grief easier to bear."
Ernest inhaled deeply and his anxiety subsided. "You've a good head on your shoulders, Clarissa."
"I've my father to thank for that. He was a good man my father. Always pushing us to read and explore and investigate. To study, to learn, to grow."
"I wish I'd had a father like that," said Ernest, casting his eyes towards the floor.
"Yes, I was lucky. But then, as you know, I lost my mother as a child to consumption. And so I grew up without my mother just as you grew up without
your father."
"Aye, I suppose you're right. We can't have everything in life now, can we?"
Miss Foster smiled. "No. Else it wouldn't be life. That's what heaven is for."
"Do you believe in heaven, Clarissa?"
The young woman nodded. "I like to think it exists."
"That about sums up my beliefs. It's hard to imagine sometimes that there's something greater than ourselves out there."
"'Tis," said Miss Foster. "But I'd rather believe in something than nothing. I guess it gives me comfort to know Arthur and my mother are watching over me and baby Grace."
A comfortable silence settled between the two companions and lasted until Winston came in carrying another tray of tea and biscuits.
"Oh, Winston, you've outdone yourself," Miss Foster said politely as her butler laid the contents of what he was carrying on the small coffee table in front of Ernest.
"I aim to please, Miss."
"And you do, Winston. Thank you."
"Another biscuit, Ernest?"
Turning towards the smiling, young heiress, the butler nodded. "I think I shall, Miss Foster. I think I shall."
"And in death, as he was in life, a great statesman is here laid to rest on this twenty-first day of June, in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and forty-two."
Pausing for effect, the Anglican minister surveyed the crowd assembled around Lord Hutchinson's casket. Then, as two burly cemetery workers began to pile dirt onto the casket, he recited: "Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother departed, and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
Ernest ignored the rest of the sermon and eyed Lady Hutchinson who stood stock still beside him. Hardly blinking, the woman stared haplessly at the burial site of her deceased husband. At her other side stood Caroline.
Poor girl, thought the butler, wiping a tear from his cheek.
He glanced at Miss Foster who stood on the other side of Lord Hutchinson's grave. Her expression was one of sadness and no doubt she was reminiscing about her dearly departed brother. Behind her, and all around her, stood a third of Kingston's population. Uniformly dressed in an assortment of black vestments, it was difficult to make out individuals, but Ernest was able to pick out various faces. There was Mr. and Mrs. Perry from up the street. Donald Philpot, the man who delivered their coal. Mr. Anderson whose wife had died the year before. Also present were a number of Lord Hutchinson's colleagues. They were easily discernible by the red sashes they wore. There was Sir William Parker. Sir Byron Jamieson. Lord Kitchson and his wife. Lady and Lord Black.
The priest finished his sermon and the groundskeepers finished piling dirt onto the casket until the hole had been completely filled. When that was finished, the crowd began to part. Numerous guests filed past Lady Hutchinson and paid their respects. Ernest ignored all of them and instead watched as Lord Black approached the mound of dirt. The portly man’s face wore a look of disdain as he gazed down. Finally, after a minute, he summoned to his wife and they left, arm-in-arm. A quarter of an hour later, only the Hutchinson's (Philip included), Miss Foster, and Ernest remained. (Baby Grace had been kept at home with Winston.)
"I'm very sorry for your loss - all of you," said Miss Foster, as she approached, one eye on the Hutchinson's, the other on the dirt mound covering Lord Hutchinson's casket.
"Thank you," Lady Hutchinson answered quietly.
Ernest cast an eye towards Philip who hadn't spoken all morning. His face was red, his eyes swollen and puffy from crying.
"Mother...I want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore," Caroline said, her voice breaking.
"Neither do I, dear. But I'm not ready to leave your father just yet. Ernest, Philip? Would of you take her home?"
"Of course, Madam," Ernest answered first.
Lady Hutchinson looked at her son, who simply nodded.
Then, turning towards Miss Foster, "Philip will give you a ride too, if you like, Clarissa."
"Oh, no, I'm quite alright walking thank you. Helps clear my head. Funerals always remind me of Arthur."
Lady Hutchinson inhaled. "Yes. I imagine they would. Tell me - does it ever get better?"
Ernest looked on as the young heiress shouldered the question.
"In a way yes, in a way no. It's impossible to ever fully forget a loved one. But, rest assured your James is in a better place now," she added.
"Thank you, Clarissa."
"Come on, Caroline," said Philip slowly, reaching for his sister. "Let mother be. I'll come and get her later. Mother? What time shall I return for you? Is an hour enough time?"
Lady Hutchinson nodded, but said nothing.
"I'll stay with you, Madam," said Ernest.
He looked at Philip and they exchanged a glance. He still wasn't on speaking terms with the young man - even though Philip had moved back to the Hutchinson's two nights prior - and he looked away as quickly as he could.
"Come, Caroline. Let's go. Rosa will be wanting a walk right about now, I imagine."
"Rosa. Do you like her Philip? Do you think she's as swell as I do?" the little girl asked, letting go of her mother.
"I do."
"Do you think we can have something special for supper tonight?"
"I don't see why not. Perhaps Ernest will fix us something nice," he said, coiling a protective arm around his sister and leading her away.
Ernest recoiled at the young man's audacity. To suggest that he, him of all people, would make a "special supper" after the day they'd just been through...
"I shall be heading home myself," Miss Foster announced. "Leave you two to mourn in private. Please, don't hesitate to ask me for anything, Lady Hutchinson. And, you know what? I'll have Winston send over some crab cakes. The ones you love, Lady Hutchinson. Oh, and perhaps some fresh rolls as well. He made them just this morning."
"That is most generous of you, Miss Foster," Ernest remarked enthusiastically.
He looked at Lady Hutchinson to gauge her reaction, but the woman's eyes were fixed straight ahead. Straight ahead at the pile of dirt in front of them. The pile of dirt under which lay her dead husband.
It was decided several days later that Lady Hutchinson, along with Caroline and Philip, would sell their home and return to England. The only trouble was that creditors had filed a writ with the bank claiming ownership of the house for "unpaid debts". In addition, James Hutchinson still owed, according to a collection bill pinned to the door, three thousand, five hundred pounds.
"How in God's name we're expected to come up with that money," Lady Hutchinson moaned as she, Caroline, and Philip sat around the breakfast table the following morning.
She'd essentially been talking to herself all morning as neither of her children seemed game to engage in any sort of meaningful conversation. Caroline was too preoccupied with Rosa and feeding the animal bits of ham from her plate. Philip would offer up the occasional grunt or mutter, but hardly said more than two words at a time.
Ernest, for his part, stood idly by, watching the family eat and wondering whether Peter would get his letter in time. He'd sent it the day before the funeral, notifying the cook of Lord James Hutchinson's demise and of the fact that he'd have to find new employment. Did he want to stay in England? Was it worthwhile to return to Kingston? These same questions nagged at Ernest. At sixty-three, it would be difficult to find a family willing to take him on; families here in the Canadas typically wanted young and hearty servants - not the old and arthritic - as the work tended to be much more laborious than back in the old country.
"Get us another pot of tea, would you Ernest? And take a few minutes to take your breakfast. You're working much too hard for a Sunday."
"Straight away, Madam. Thank you."
Lady Hutchinson had been much kinder to Ernest as of late. How could she not be? He was, in a manner of speaking, the last one standing in the absence of Peter and following the departures of Oliver, Helena, Catherine. Her newfound softness towards him made u
p for Philip's continued rudeness.
In the kitchen, Ernest put the kettle on to boil and fixed himself a plate of bread and boiled egg. It would have been nice to have some jam to go with it - but he'd given the last bit to Caroline and all that remained in the way of condiments was a bit of sour butter.
Once he'd eaten, Ernest rinsed his plate in the wash basin and brought a fresh pot of tea to the dining room.
"I see it as the only way, mother."
"But Philip, can we actually get away with it? I mean, just not paying?" Lady Hutchinson asked dumbfounded.
"Of course we can. What? Do you reckon they'll track us down to England? Bah," he said, laughing mightily.
"Who will track us down to England, mother?"
"No one, dear," the woman answered hastily. "Now finish your breakfast and then you may be excused. Rosa seems to be begging for another walk."
"Yes, mother."
Ernest set the pot of tea in the centre of the table and then cleared the empty plates away.
"Ernest. Bring me a cigar."
"Of course, Master Hutchinson," the butler replied, forcing the words from his mouth.
If Master James could see the way his obnoxious son was ordering him around...
"And a light as well. You forgot last time."
"Philip..."
"What, mother?"
"I don't like you smoking at my dinner table."
"Ha! It's hardly your dinner table anymore, mother. The bank owns it. As with everything else in the house. The only things any of us own at this point is the clothes on our backs and even that’s questionable - "
With this final word, Lady Hutchinson administered a stinging slap to the young man's face. Surprised, Ernest jumped back, knives and forks clattering to the floor as they fell from his arms.
Silence followed as Caroline looked at her mother, a frightened look on her face.
"You will not speak that way in my presence!"
"I will speak as like you foul woman!” Philip seethed. “You killed my father! He's dead! Gone! Forever!"
"How did I kill your father you ungrateful little - "
"You pushed him to the edge with your expensive habits! The poor man couldn't afford to keep up," Philip finished, rubbing his injured cheek.
"Say that again! Say that again!"
"You pushed him - "
"GET OUT! GET OUT YOU RANCID LITTLE CREATURE!"
"Mother - "
"GET OUT!" Lady Hutchinson roared, flinging her tea cup at the young man's head.