Rose through time, p.5
Rose Through Time, page 5
7
Bread-And-Butter Pudding
The days passed swiftly. I was on the mend thanks to Mrs. Avery's attentions, who I found out was the housekeeper in charge of everything that happened in the house and also served as the main cook. The Eastons, despite their large home and obvious wealth apparently preferred keeping the staff to a minimum. Beth herself also barely left my side and helped me eat and dress though that usually was a maid's job. I’d briefly been introduced to Estelle, a French woman, who insisted she should be dressing me while Beth was waving her concerns away. When they were away, even John peeked in through the door a couple of times.
"I do think the worst has passed; your fever is gone and your cheeks have color in them again. How do you feel? Do you think you might be getting better,” Beth asked.
"I think you are right. I do feel a lot better." And I did, the tenderness and pounding in my scalp and temples had stopped and my coughing had receded. My chest was still a bit sore from over exertion but that would go away soon. I flexed my ankle and moved my foot up and down. Beth followed the movement.
“Is your ankle still sore?” she said. “I know the doctor said to keep it elevated and that it might take a couple of days.”
My ankle felt fine as I moved it and I told Beth as much.
"Splendid, it is a beautiful day outside, so we should go for a walk, catch some fresh air. I will fetch one of my walking gowns for you to wear."
Beth hurried out and returned with a shift dress, petticoat, and stockings hanging across her arms. She helped me pull on the shift dress and petticoat. I rolled the stockings up my legs as Beth fastened my hair. It was odd to wear these old-fashioned clothes.
"There isn't any underwear?" I asked Beth. She looked confused and then scandalized.
"Underwear? Do you mean drawers? Do ladies wear those in America?"
"Umm, you don't?"
"No, I've only heard women of ill repute wear those." She let out a gasp and slapped her hands across her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you, that you… well, you know."
"It's okay, Beth, I'm not offended. It's normal to wear, you said drawers? In America."
"Oh, thank you, I didn't mean to sound so callous. Here, you are ready. Let's go and have a stroll through the gardens." We stopped at the front door where she helped me put on a bonnet, a kind of weird hat. She linked her arm with mine and led me along the paths winding through the garden.
The few days of bed rest left me feeling weak. However, I was sure that would pass soon. The watery English sun warmed my skin. I was in desperate need of some vitamin D. I turned my face toward the sky to soak up the sunshine. The faint heat made me miss the southwest sun. I loved going to the river to lay out in the sunshine or go canoeing. Though, every summer Nicole and I would drive to Los Angeles or San Diego so we could sunbathe at the actual ocean. Those road trips brought up fond memories of eating sliced mango topped with chili powder from fruit stands at the side of the road, and digging in to cold creamy custards with the sound of waves in the background.
“Do you like our garden?” Beth said. I turned my head towards the young woman.
“It is very pretty,” I said. And it was. The garden was set up with small pathways and nicely manicured topiaries. Some marble statues and stone benches were scattered throughout. Beth and and John had to be fond of roses since those bushes were planted everywhere. Their buds barely started to bloom.
“Hugh, our gardener and driver, works magic with the hedges and grass,” Beth said. “But the roses are originally planted by my mother. They were her favorite flower.”
“Roses are my mother’s favorite as well. I prefer peonies.”
Beth grinned. “I guess I should have known that. Roses for Rose.”
“My family likes naming their children after plants. It’s a bit of a tradition.”
“That is nice,” Beth said. ”I’ve always liked the name Daisy.”
“Or Juniper,” I added.
“Marigold.”
“Lily.”
Beth tried to think of more flower names. “There are so many,” she said.
“Definitely a lot of choices,” I said, as we continued walking.
We turned a corner and walked straight into Mr. Easton.
"Ah, Miss Hart, how nice to see you up and about."
"Thank you," I said as I dropped into an awkward curtsy and stumbled. Mr. Easton had to steady me while Beth let out a giggle.
"Does your ankle still bother you?"
"No, my ankle is fine; I think I'm just still a bit faint from being confined to a bed for so long."
"Ah, if that's the case, I hope I will get to see you and my sister at dinner tonight."
"I would love to," I said, while pushing down the urge of doing another awkward curtsy. All this formal behavior really awakened my inner 19th century maid. Next, I'd be saying “my lord” and “my lady” and sweeping out the ashes or milking the cows are whatever it was that a maid did all day. Beth nudged me in the ribs after John strode away.
"Was that supposed to be a curtsy?" Beth asked still giggling. Her laugh was infectious and soon I joined in with her.
"I tried," I managed to blurt out.
"Isn't there any polite society in New York?"
"There is, but my father was protective of me and didn't let me mingle with anyone my own age."
"No tea? No social calls, or balls?"
"No, none of those."
"Well, you have to experience a ball! It is great fun, and I haven't been to one in ages. John never wants to host a party, but I will persuade him! Oh, I shall introduce you to the ladies in town. I will send Hugh out with a note to ask if Mrs. Blakeley is free for tea tomorrow morning. With you here, John can't possibly refuse."
"What does tea entail?"
"Oh, we catch up on all the gossip. Mrs. Blakeley generally knows about everything that happens in Westbridge. We drink tea and eat some small bites of food. She'll be able to help spread the word about you and your predicament and start your venture into society. Who knows, maybe she even knows something about your family."
"That sounds amazing," I said, though I worried what would happen if they all saw through my fabricated story. Whatever I thought up on the fly couldn't possibly hold up under scrutiny. Beth spent most of the day showing me around Hawthorne, leading me through the various downstairs and upstairs rooms. I personally loved the hothouse that was built against the backside of the huge stone building. Back home, I used to love lounging in a sun room with a tall glass of iced tea, except during the summer months when the temperatures would be sweltering. The hothouse made me think of one, except it was filled to the brim with all kinds of plants and flowers— petunias with their funnel-shaped flowers with green hearts, vibrant yellow tulips, and pink to white ruched petaled carnations.
"These are beautiful," I told Beth.
"Thank you," John Easton said, as he sneaked up behind us. "This one is my favorite." He pointed towards the violet flowering wisteria whose vines were threading up a trellis in the corner of the hothouse. "But if left unchecked, it smothers all the other more delicate flowers." He moved to the plant and snipped one of the vines snaking towards another potted plant with his shears, then he turned back towards us and raised his brow at me.
"My brother is fond of horticulture. All these plants are his work," Beth said.
"Oh, how wonderful. You must be gifted to grow so many beautiful flowers," I said, trying to sound pleasant more for Beth’s benefit than Johns. His veiled warning shook me, but Beth didn't notice. I wondered how long I would have to stay here. What would I have to do to return home? It was honestly exhausting being a woman in a period drama. The bodice pinched everywhere; I couldn't bend over properly, or draw in a deep breath. I got a hard-won new appreciation for anyone walking around wearing corsets or stays or whatever else kind of torture device.
John held out his arm and said, "Please, let me escort you ladies to the dining room. I was merely coming to fetch you on Mrs. Avery’s behalf. Her cooking waits for no one." I nodded and grabbed his right arm a bit awkwardly.
Beth on the other hand chirped out, "Lets," and deftly linked her arm with his left.
The dining room was bathed in a warm glow coming from the candles on the two candelabras arranged in the middle of the long wooden table. A white cloth had been draped across and on it were the place-sets for the three of us, although with many more plates and silverware than I thought we'd need. The best word I could use to describe the room would be opulent. Still-life paintings in gilded frames depicting a variety of foods were hanging in between the wainscoting on top of dramatic burgundy wallpaper, glass oil lamps fixed symmetrically between them.
John Easton strode towards the table and pulled out two ornate dining chairs; Beth sat down at one and I took the other on her right. John ambled around and settled himself down across from us. Two servers sat dishes out on the table in an impressive pattern.
Beth leaned towards me and said, " Since it's just the three of us, we are only having one course; although, Mrs. Avery has made today a little special with her bread-and-butter pudding. You should see the variety of dishes when we are having a dinner party!" I couldn't imagine the amount of food there would be with a dinner party because I already thought there was way too much food for the three of us to eat already. The centerpiece was a golden-brown roasted duck, and around it, the two waiters had placed a silver terrine with a brown aromatic liquid that had to be some kind of onion soup, pickled carrots, the bread-and-butter pudding Beth had mentioned topped with plump currants, asparagus topped with melted butter, and a bowl with what I assumed were pieces of chicken.
One of the waiters served me some onion soup; I grabbed a spoon from the many cutlery options next to my plate. Beth gave me a little nudge and pointed at the other spoon. I never had to learn which plate went where and what piece of silverware to use with each dish, so I felt a bit embarrassed. John studied me like a hawk as I switched spoons.
"Curious," he said. “You say your family is connected to a wealthy family here, but you haven't been brought up with proper table manners. Surely, polite society in America can't differ that much from England's." His doubts were loud and clear from his tone of voice. I took a sip of savory onion broth with a hint of tart white wine to save time for an answer.
"As I said before, my late father unfortunately fell on hard times, so I wasn't raised learning dinner etiquette or polite conversation. I do hope you can forgive my lack of knowledge; perhaps Beth will be able to teach me. On that note," I said, as I turned towards Beth, "could you tell me what the dish with pieces of chicken is?"
"Oh, of course. That is chicken fricassee; you must try it." The waiter added some to my plate and I took a bite of chicken breast smothered in a fragrant sauce with hints of sage and rosemary and acidity from a splash of wine.
"This is delicious," I said.
John rolled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, sniffed the red liquid, and took a sip. "Mrs. Avery is a good cook. I'm sure you aren't used to these luxuries." I rolled my eyes at his remark. He probably thinks I'm poor, but there's no reason to sound like such a snob. John was getting on my nerves. Beth sensed our animosity and changed the subject.
"Oh, John, you must let me invite the other ladies over for tea, so they can meet Rose."
"That isn't a good idea, Beth. I have to leave for some business in London tomorrow morning and I might be gone the whole day or possibly overnight."
"Please, brother. I'll send out Hugh with invitations. Besides, it's only tea, and Mrs. Avery is here to keep an eye on us." John glanced at me, bit his lip, then with a big sigh spread his hands.
"Fine, but only invite a couple of ladies." With a big smile covering her face, Beth started on the bread-and-butter pudding.
8
New Visitors
John had left for London before dawn, the noise his carriage made on the decorative gravel in front of estate had woken me up. Thankfully, I'd managed a few more hours of sleep before Beth burst through the doors. I really did not want to leave the warm and cozy bed, but Beth was full of excitement and dragged me out of it.
"Come, Rose, I've got the perfect dress for you in my room, and Estelle is waiting to do our hair." Estelle, a petite and pretty French maid with honey-blonde hair and a button nose, who picked up all kinds of odd-jobs like dressing Beth, cleaning, and helping in the kitchen, stood by the vanity in Beth's room.
"Bonjour, madame, 'ow would you like your hair styled today?" the maid said.
"I think both of us will wear it in a chignon with ringlets framing our face," Beth interjected, "Rose already has beautiful curly hair and I picked out one of my dresses to compliment her eyes." Behind her, hanging over the wardrobe, was a soft green empire gown with pearl beading on the cap sleeves.
"That's a gorgeous dress. Are you sure you don't want to wear it?" I said, but she brushed the thought away.
"No, green suits you and I have chosen a pink dress."
Estelle’s fingers turned deftly as she gathered my hair in bunches and wrangled them into a chignon. I’d never been able to tame my mane into shape like that. The maid’s features were delicate and laser focused as she worked on both of our hair. The end result wasn’t something I would normally ever wear but I had to admit that it looked sophisticated. The shape accentuated the length of my neck and my heart shaped face.
“Thank you,” I told Estelle. The maid smiled and curtsied. Once I pulled on Beth’s green dress, I looked like a whole different person. I had to do a double take in the vanity mirror. I wished my grandmother was here to see me. She would be so impressed with the way I looked. I could imagine her voice telling me how beautiful I was. She always said so. I was her beautiful Rose. ”Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” she would tell me as a little girl. Beth had sent Hugh out with invitations early this morning and around one in the afternoon, the guests started to arrive. Beth introduced me to Mrs. Blakeley and her two daughters; Anne who was a younger version of her tall mother, with black hair and a face resembling a Roman statue, and Mary whose bubbly attitude lessened her severe features. I liked Mary as she oohed and aahed about my dress. She was a bit younger, maybe fourteen or fifteen and her demeanor reminded me of a little girl in my class; Noelle Mary and her had the same zest for life. Thinking of Noelle made me miss my classroom. How much time had passed? Was everyone back home worrying about me, wondering where I had gone? I hoped not. Even though my mom had set me up with a horrible blind date, she still didn't deserve to have her only daughter go missing. Someone was talking to me and I shook of the memories.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I'm still recuperating from a cold and a sudden drowsiness overtook me," I said, as an excuse to Mrs. Blakeley.
"Ah, we'll have to sit you down so we can all get acquainted. It is ever so lovely to meet a new person, especially one so mysterious." The last person had arrived and stepped through the door with her manservant. Beth had told me she'd invited Mrs. Ashbrook, an elderly widow with a huge fortune and no heirs to Granhope Manor, a vast estate bordering Hawthorne. The low stone wall and fence I had seen the day I fell into the pond marked the border between the two estates. Apparently, the future of her inheritance was the talk of the town, according to Beth. The stately woman with gray coiffed hair commanded the foyer as she pulled off her gloves and handed them, together with her coat, to the servant standing beside her.
"How lovely of you to invite me," she said to Beth. "Mrs. Blakeley, Anne, Mary," she acknowledged the other three guests.
"Wonderful, let's retreat into the drawing room," Beth said, as she led Mrs. Ashbrook through the doorway on the left to a chair by the round table, set-up in the middle of the room, laden with petite-fours and a teapot with strong herb scented steam still wafting up through its spout. Mrs. Blakeley and her two daughters followed behind; I trailed after them. Beth sat down on Mrs. Ashbrook’s right; Mrs. Blakeley nudged Anne, and she hurried as casually as she could to sit down on the left. I wasn't sure what was going on with them; I would have to ask Beth afterwards. This was the room Beth would go to so she could embroider. There was a nice royal blue settee in the corner of the room with a small side table and two lounge chairs. On the other end, there was a piano; the room was set up so guests could sit down to observe the person playing.
Estelle, the maid, curtsied and poured our tea as I sat down next to Beth. I thanked her as she poured mine.
"So, Miss Hart, how did you end up in Westbridge?" Mrs. Ashbrook asked, while she picked up a cucumber sandwich shaped as a triangle. The Blakeley's all stared at me with interest.
"Well, my father passed away, leaving me with no family, but he told me his father originally came from here from a wealthy family before they had a falling out. So, I used the last of my money to travel here to find them."
"How exciting, our very own mystery in Westbridge. I wonder who your family could be," Mary said. I smiled at the girl, but her older sister wasn't as pleasant.
"Such a quaint accent. American doesn't sound as refined as ours, does it?" Anne said as a general statement. "So nice of Beth and Mr. Easton to let you stay with them. Perhaps they will hire you and let you stay on as a maid if you can't find your family." Disdain was apparent on her marble face. Even her mother looked a bit perturbed at Anne's thinly veiled slights and nudged her side, but the girl kept going. "Speaking of Mr. Easton, is he around?" She craned her head as if she could spy him if only she cranked her neck out far enough.
"No, he had to go to London on business. He should be back either tonight or tomorrow. Also, I am glad for Rose's company; she teaches me about things in America and has already become a great friend. No matter what happens to her search for family, she is welcome here." Mrs. Ashbrook seemed to study us all with her lips pursed and her eyes flicking between Anne, Beth, and I. Anne's rudeness irked me on Beth’s behalf; the sweet girl had been so excited to host afternoon tea.
