The Secret of Pembrooke Park(145)

Abigail soon found herself relegated to the task of organizing their new home—interviewing and hiring staff, and meeting with the new housekeeper and cook to review menus and approve orders for the larder, linens, etc. Abigail had offered Mrs. Walsh, Polly, and Molly positions with them in London, but all decided to remain in Easton, with its family ties and the hope of future employment if and when Pembrooke Park was repaired. She had no idea of Duncan’s plans, nor did she care.

Mamma and Louisa happened to meet Gilbert’s mother and sister while they were out, and came home with the news that Andrew Morgan was in town and would join their party. Mamma said, “An invitation has also been extended to the rector—I gather Mr. Morgan is acquainted with him from Caldwell. We met him one Sunday, did we not?”

“Yes, briefly.” Abigail wondered if Mr. Morris had come to Town with his nephew or on his own. She was relieved to hear his health had improved enough to allow him to travel. Or perhaps he came to Town seeking a second opinion from a London physician.

The day of the party arrived, and Louisa spent nearly the entire afternoon bathing and getting ready. Abigail had a new dress for the occasion as well. To her credit, Mamma had insisted both girls should have new gowns.

But late that afternoon Abigail was called into the housekeeper’s parlor to witness a disciplinary lecture between the older woman and a young maid caught flirting with a footman from next door.

“Shall I give her the sack, miss?” the housekeeper asked.

After everything Abigail had experienced in Pembrooke Park, with Miles and even disrespectful Duncan, this seemed to her a petty offense, but she hesitated to undermine their new housekeeper—especially in front of one of the woman’s subordinates. She said with gentle respect, “I . . . don’t think that’s necessary, Mrs. Wilkins. Not on her first infraction. We all make mistakes, don’t we? Especially when we are in a new situation.”

“That’s it, miss,” the girl said eagerly, reminding her of Molly. “I didn’t know what I was doin’ was so wrong. Honest I didn’t.”

Which led the housekeeper to coolly request that Miss Foster write all the house rules and post them in the servants’ hall as soon as may be, to avoid future excuses of ignorance.

Abigail forced a smile and said she would get to it straightaway.

By the time she was able to extricate herself from the goings-on belowstairs, it was well past six. Her mother and father were already dressed, talking companionably in the vestibule while they awaited their daughters and the hired carriage.

Abigail entered the hall in time to see Louisa descend the stairs, looking stunning as usual in a gown of peach satin. Mamma stopped talking, watching with maternal pride as her beautiful daughter came down the stairs.

“I’m sorry the jeweler wasn’t able to repair the necklace in time, my dear.”

Louisa lifted her chin. “So am I.”

“But the coral looks very well on you, all the same,” Mamma soothed.

Abigail had originally thought the emerald necklace would look well with her own new gown but had given way when Louisa begged to wear it, trying on the gems with her new gown and enthusing over how elegant she looked, and somehow breaking the clasp in the bargain.

“The emeralds would have looked well on Abigail too,” her father put in. And Abigail was touched by his loyalty.

Her mother noticed her then.

“Abigail! You’re not even dressed.”

“Sorry. Mrs. Wilkins needed me. Some crisis belowstairs.”

“I do hope everything is all right,” her father said.

“Oh yes. Nothing to worry about. But I am sorry to hold you up.”

“We shall go and then send the carriage back for you,” he suggested. “You can come over when you’re ready, all right?”

“It won’t take Abigail long to slip into a dress and repin her hair,” Louisa said. “But . . . I suppose it would be rude if we were all late. You don’t mind, Abigail, do you?”

Abigail hesitated, feeling herself snapping back into the old pattern like a missing mosaic tile from the floor. “No, of course not. You three go ahead.”

“Thank you, Abigail.” Her mother’s smile shone with genuine gratitude.

You see, Abigail told herself, you are appreciated. Useful . . . in your way. That was something.

As her family left, Abigail took herself upstairs, passing Mary, the upper housemaid who usually helped her dress and pinned her hair.

“I was just going down to my supper, miss,” she said. “But if you want me to do your hair, I can wait.”

Abigail hesitated, torn. She forced a smile and said, “That’s all right. You go on. Don’t miss your supper on my account, I can repin my own hair. No need for anything special.”

“Thank you, miss.” The girl smiled, bobbed a little curtsy, and hurried down the stairs.

Abigail could arrange her own hair, but she could not get into her new gown on her own. Not with all the fastenings and seed-pearl buttons at the back of the bodice. She sighed. Perhaps she would just make do with her old ivory dress. She might even return the new gown, as she’d never worn it. Madame LeClair would have no trouble selling the beautiful thing, and they could put the credit toward Louisa’s large balance.

Abigail went to her closet and regarded the ivory dress. Nothing special. Nothing wrong with it either.