Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
E wart sat, teacup in hand, and pictured himself being fired in due course. But was Mrs. Pettigrew really threatening him with dismissal already? Naturally he’d be on a trial basis, that was to be expected since he was her new assistant. Maybe he should find out exactly what his probationary period was going to be.
He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Pettigrew, may I inquire as to how long you wish to give me to prove myself? Not that I plan to slack in my duties once I’ve passed any tests you have in mind for me. But just as I must prove myself to you, I also feel that this job should prove itself to me.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Indeed,” she drawled.
Ewart noticed the three women on the sofa had gone as quiet as three little church mice. They each stared at him with a look of trepidation. His statement must’ve been a shock, but he had to be able to write and research while doing this job, and if it took up too much time, he’d find another. It was as simple as that.
“What exactly do you mean?” the pretty blonde-haired bride asked.
“Well, I’m a writer, you see,” he said with a smile. “But a working writer sometimes also needs a job to support himself until his books grow an audience.” He smiled at Mrs. Pettigrew. “Did Mr. Tugs not tell you this?”
“He mentioned a few things.” Mrs. Pettigrew eyed him with that elegant smile of hers.
Ewart nodded. He hoped Mr. Tugs hadn’t exaggerated. True, Ewart had a great passion for writing, and he wanted to prove to his family that he could make a living at it—and leave a legacy behind to boot. But his father was stubborn, his mother even more so, and they would insist he come home to marry a woman of their choosing within the year. He needed to write a book or two and secure more publishing contracts before that time expired.
“Will you take a letter, Mr. Bailey?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked.
“Of course.” He looked around the drawing room, spied a small desk and stood, setting his cup and saucer on the low table near him. “I take it there’s paper and writing instruments in the desk?”
“There is indeed,” Mrs. Pettigrew confirmed. “You may use the desk if you wish. I’ll join you in a moment. Would you like more tea?”
He reached the desk and turned to her, surprised by the offer. “Why, that would be lovely. Thank you.” He sat at the desk, opened the middle drawer, and found everything he needed. As soon as he was settled, he prepared to write, as Mrs. Pettigrew brought him a second cup of tea. She even stirred some sugar into it.
“Thank you,” he told her. He took a sip, set the cup down, and picked up the pen he found. “I’m ready when you are, Mrs. Pettigrew.”
A slow smile curved her mouth before she started dictating a letter to someone named Mrs. Weaver. She talked mostly of a gown she’d like to have made then asked for a few recipes for Mrs. Pettigrew’s cook to try.
“Mrs. Fraser is trying the beef and vegetable soup recipe today, along with the recipe for butter biscuits you sent. We all look forward to trying them both, and Mrs. Fraser would greatly appreciate it if you would send your cherry tart recipe.”
Ewart was writing in shorthand, something he found quite handy—even with his novel writing. It was a new method of taking notes and letters, but he used it for all sorts of writing, including his research.
Mrs. Pettigrew hovered over his shoulder now and then, probably to see if he was keeping up. She was doing it now, but he didn’t bat an eye and kept writing.
She signaled to Ewart to stop writing. “How very interesting,” she stated. “Ladies, come look at this.”
Ewart turned in his chair to see the three young brides heading his way. “You’re not familiar with shorthand?” he asked.
“Indeed not, though I’ve heard of it,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “Chastity was thinking of learning, but then there’s really no need now. I doubt she’ll make use of it while married to Mr. Simpson.” She gave a nod to a dark-haired beauty with brown eyes.
“Goodness gracious!” Mrs. Pettigrew suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t introduce you, Mr. Bailey. This is Chastity Eastwick, and next to her is Hattie Winslow, and then we have Holly Turtledove.”
He smiled at all three. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Chastity said. “We do hope you like working here. Did Mr. Tugs tell you that you get to live here in the mansion?”
“He did indeed, and I must say I’m looking forward to it. In fact, he promised me a room with a writing desk.”
“And so you shall have it,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “Tugs will show you to your room as soon as we’re done here. You can get settled in then join us for lunch.”
He gave her a curt nod as the three brides gathered behind him to look at his shorthand.
“Fascinating,” Hattie said. “How long did it take you to learn that?”
“Not long. I took a course while I was in New York. I’m sure there are places here in Denver that teach it.”
“Hattie, my dear,” Mrs. Pettigrew said, “you were the one person I thought it might help. I’m sure you’ll be doing reports and assisting River, correct?”
“Indeed, I will. We’ve already decided I’ll be his secretary. This would make things easier—so long as it’s not too difficult to learn.”
“Like I said, I found it easy, but that’s just me,” he told her. Ewart tacked on a pleasant smile in hopes of putting her at ease.
“Mrs. Pettigrew,” came an Irish lilt from behind them.
For some reason, Ewart’s chest warmed at the sound, and he turned in his chair to see the pretty red-haired maid standing a few feet behind Mrs. Pettigrew.
“What is it, Abigail?”
“Mrs. Fraser wants to know if yer new assistant will be joining ye for lunch. And Mr. Tugs would like to let ye know that his room is ready and wants to know if he’s ready for it.” She looked at Ewart with her big blue eyes and bobbed a small curtsy.
He smiled at her. “If I’m to work here, then I’m a fellow employee and don’t need the same respect as our employer.”
“Oh, aye, to b-be sure,” the maid cut in. “But it’s a habit, ye see.”
Mrs. Pettigrew smiled again and went to look over the letter he’d been writing for her as the conversation continued.
“It’s true,” Holly added. “Abigail was always curtseying to me and the others. But we don’t mind.”
Chastity put her arm around Abigail. “She’s like one of the family and helped me immensely when I first came here. I was Mrs. Pettigrew’s first assistant.”
“I was the second,” Holly said.
Hattie clasped her hands in front of her and held them tight. Ewart wondered if she was nervous like Abigail seemed to be. “I was the third. You’re the fourth. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’d best go upstairs and check on Esther and Carson.”
Abigail gave her a big smile. “Oh, ye’ve no need to worry about them. They’re having a grand time. They’re playing war, of course.”
“War?” Ewart couldn’t help but ask.
“Oh, aye,” Abigail said. “The wee tykes do love to play soldier.”
“Who’s winning?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked with interest.
“Last I left, Esther had Carson’s men cornered and surrounded by several books she insisted were box soldiers. She stands the books up and then lets them fall on Carson’s toy soldiers, smashing them, ye see.”
The women laughed.
“How ingenious,” Miss Eastwick said.
“Good heavens! A massacre!” Mrs. Pettigrew put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I may swoon.”
The women around her giggled before their attention was once again drawn to him. Hattie put a hand to her mouth to stifle another giggle, then explained, “Carson and Esther are my younger siblings. They’re quite rambunctious at times but don’t cause too much mischief.”
“I see,” Ewart said. “I’m glad to know they’re having an enjoyable time here. Are they being tutored?” He addressed no one in particular.
“We’ve been trying to find one,” Mrs. Pettigrew said, “and thought we had one there for a bit, but she eloped with her lover, and that was the last we saw of Miss Dudley. She lasted all of a week.”
“Shocking,” he said with a scandalized look, then cracked a smile.
It had the desired effect—the three young brides began giggling again. He smiled at them, then looked at Mrs. Pettigrew. “Is this all you wish to say to Mrs. Weaver?”
“Yes, sign it, ‘Your servant, Adelia.’”
She glanced at the maid. “Abigail, check on the children. Let them know that we’ll have my new assistant joining us for lunch.” She winked at Ewart. “Carson will be especially eager to meet you.”
“Oh, aye,” Abigail agreed. “He’ll try to have ye play war with him in yer free time, of course. But ye’ll have to make sure Carson knows what that is.”
Ewart nodded and smiled. Abigail had the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen.
“Well, I’ll be upstairs with the children. I’ve already helped Mrs. Fraser. Ring if ye need me, Mrs. Pettigrew.”
“I will, Abigail.”
Everyone watched her leave before turning their attention back to him once more.
“Let’s see… who else do I need to write to?” Mrs. Pettigrew mused.
As she thought, Ewart slowly turned in his chair just in time to see Abigail head up the wide staircase in the grand hall. She not only had pretty eyes—she was just plain pretty. The sort Father would fire the moment Mother hired her, for fear the male servants would try to bed the poor thing.
He sighed and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to start another letter.
The three brides returned to the sofa and their tea, chatting amongst themselves. Mrs. Pettigrew paced before the fireplace, then began to dictate once more.
“Dear Mr. Peabody…”