Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
A bigail entered the children’s playroom and took in the mess on the floor. From the looks of it, Esther had increased her number of book soldiers. The floor littered with varying sizes of Shakespeare’s sonnets and plays. “I see ye don’t fancy poetry books as infantry, young miss.”
Esther gave her a toothy smile. “No, they’re too small. Don’t do near the damage.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Esther, how many times have I told ye to use yer handkerchief?” Abigail scolded. She went to the child and pulled the handkerchief she’d slipped into the girl’s dress sleeve that morning. “Goodness gracious, what will yer sister say?”
Esther grinned again. “To use my handkerchief. But I always forget when it’s tucked away like that.”
“That’s no excuse,” Carson said. He took his shoe and wiped out all of Esther’s toy soldiers in one sweep.
“Carson!” she cried. “That’s cheating!”
“Cheating, is it?” Abigail huffed. “I’d say using Mrs. Pettigrew’s books is doing the same thing.”
“Yeah, Esther!” Carson said, clearly pleased he wasn’t the one getting scolded for once.
Abigail’s hands went to her hips. “And as for you, young man, how are ye any better?”
He looked at his shoe, and his cheeks went pink. “Well, I only used my shoe and not a dozen or more books.” He glanced at the mess on the floor. “That you’re going to make both of us pick up, aren’t you?”
“Yer catching on, wee man.” Abigail tapped her temple with a finger. “But I’ll tell ye what, I’ll help ye. Mrs. Pettigrew and yer sister are talking with the new assistant.” She smiled at Carson. “A man by the name of Mr. Bailey.”
“A man?” Carson said, wide-eyed. “Doing women’s work?” His jaw dropped.
Abigail rolled her eyes. “I’ll have ye know there are lots of men that assist other men. They call them…” she smacked her hands against her cheeks dramatically. “Assistants! Mercy, who would have thought?”
Carson rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”
“And yer stalling,” she shot back. “Now get this mess picked up. We have time for a lesson before lunch.”
“But I want to meet Mrs. Pettigrew’s new assistant,” Esther whined. “Can he play with us?”
“No, not right now. And ye’ll be on yer best behavior when ye meet him, right?”
The children exchanged a look of indecision. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d decided to defy her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But at their age, it was expected. They were still very young.
She helped them tidy the room, put the toy soldiers away, then handed them each a slate and some chalk. “Right, where did we leave off with our arithmetic?”
“Fives,” Carson said. Esther stared at her slate like it might bite her. She didn’t like arithmetic and preferred practicing her letters.
“Correct,” Abigail said. “So, five plus one is?”
“Six,” Carson said and yawned.
“Esther, five plus two?” Abigail asked.
Esther held up her hands and started counting fingers.
“What did we talk about?” Abigail asked, crossing her arms.
Esther gulped. “Don’t use my fingers.”
“Right. So, five plus two?”
Esther bit her lower lip and stared at her slate.
“Come now, ye wee blossom, ye had it yesterday.”
Esther looked up at her. “I did! Seven!”
“There, ye see? Ye remembered.”
Abigail got down on the floor with them. Sometimes they worked in the library. Other times, they did lessons in the kitchen, and Mrs. Fraser helped. Today, Abigail planned on taking them down to the dining room and working with them until lunch, but as they had the new assistant joining them, she thought better of it.
They worked on arithmetic for the next hour, then moved on to spelling. When that was done, they headed downstairs to the dining room. Abigail found it was easier to have the children already seated when everyone else joined them.
She ushered Carson and Esther into their usual chairs on one side of the table and stood by as Mrs. Pettigrew and the others filed in.
Abigail stole a few glances at the newest staff member earlier and liked what she saw. But he wasn’t like a footman or even Mr. Tugs. This man was British, for one, and landed gentry. She had no more business letting him catch her eye than Mr. Simpson or Mr. Bradshaw. Even Mr. Forsythe, the Pinkerton-turned-lawyer, was far above her station.
Abigail swallowed hard as Mr. Bailey brought up the rear and surveyed the table, deciding where to sit.
Mrs. Pettigrew decided for him. “Sit here, Mr. Bailey, on my left next to Esther.”
Esther sucked in a breath and blushed. She watched him come around the table, pull out the chair next to hers, and sit. “Hello.”
The child giggled and sank a little in her chair.
“She’s shy around strangers,” Carson explained. He looked Mr. Bailey over. “You don’t look like an assistant. You’re dressed too nice.”
Abigail snorted, then quickly straightened, standing at attention. She should go to the kitchen and help Mrs. Fraser serve, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the dining room just yet. “What did we talk about, young man?” she asked Carson.
“What did you talk about?” Hattie asked with concern.
“The usual,” Abigail said. “Behaving themselves at the table.” She eyed the children. Esther’s cheeks went pink, while Carson had a grin forming on his face. Never a good sign. She hoped he didn’t throw food at Mr. Bailey.
“My, you have quite the houseful, Mrs. Pettigrew,” Mr. Bailey commented.
“Yes, for now,” she said. “But once my charges are married, I’m afraid the house will be rather empty. Just myself and my staff.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting everyone,” Mr. Bailey said with a smile.
Abigail glanced at Mrs. Pettigrew. She gave Abigail a single nod, then smiled at Mr. Bailey. “You’ve already met Tugs. Behind you is Abigail—my only maid.”
Mr. Bailey turned in his chair to face her, eyebrows raised in question. “One maid for this enormous house?”
“Yes, Abigail manages just fine,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “Then we have Mrs. Fraser, my cook, and Mr. Prosser, my stable master.”
Mr. Bailey looked Abigail up and down as if she might be made of glass, then faced Mrs. Pettigrew. “That’s it?” He turned back to Abigail. “No groundskeeper or gardener?”
“Tugs and Mr. Prosser handle the grounds,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “Tugs does love to garden.”
“But…with all these people in the house, how do you manage?” he asked. Mr. Bailey turned to Abigail again. “You’re taking care of all these rooms by yourself?”
Abigail’s eyes flicked to Mrs. Pettigrew. “It’s no trouble, not really.”
“And she helps with the children,” Hattie said. “Abigail is a wonder. I don’t know how she gets everything done in a day.”
“My staff is small because it’s all I need,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “But I have thought of hiring another maid temporarily, considering we’ve only a few months before the weddings.”
“I can manage well enough, Mrs. Pettigrew,” Abigail said.
“Let her hire on more help,” Mr. Bailey told her. “You’ll be better off once the weddings draw closer.”
“He’s right, Abigail,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “In fact, if I hire on some temporary help, that frees you up to assist Mr. Bailey.”
Abigail sucked in a breath. “What?”
“Why, it’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Pettigrew went on. “After all, Chastity, Holly, and Hattie can’t be asked to do everything. They need to be spending time with their future husbands.”
Abigail wanted to protest but thought better of it. She looked at Mr. Bailey’s bright smile as he placed his spectacles in a pocket. “I’ll do whatever’s needed, Mrs. Pettigrew.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” her employer drawled. “I knew I could count on you.”
Mr. Bailey turned in his chair to face Chastity, who sat across from him. Abigail took the opportunity to slip from the dining room and help Mrs. Fraser in the kitchen. She didn’t want to get caught up in another conversation about her abilities as a maid.
In the kitchen, Mr. Tugs was trying to sneak a biscuit from a bowl and nearly got his hand smacked by Mrs. Fraser. “Don’t touch those!” She whacked the worktable with a wooden spoon. “Sometimes you’re worse than Carson and Esther.” She nodded at a tureen of soup. “Take that upstairs, Abigail, and serve it. Tugs, you can take the biscuits.”
“As you wish.” He took the bowl and eyed the contents.
“I counted them, Tugs,” Mrs. Fraser called after them. “I know exactly how many there are. Don’t even think about sneaking one into your pocket!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Fraser.” He winked at Abigail—and promptly put one in his pocket.
It was all she could do not to snort with laughter. Mr. Tugs put a finger to his lips, winked, then headed for the dining room. Abigail followed and did her best not to laugh. She had no doubt Mr. Tugs would sneak another biscuit somehow.
In the dining room, she served the soup, then set the tureen on the table. The soup and biscuits looked delicious, and she knew both were recipes Mrs. Pettigrew had gotten from a friend who had traveled out west. That friend, in turn, had picked up the recipes from a stage stop somewhere in Oregon.
“Will there be anything else, Mrs. Pettigrew?” Abigail asked.
“No, go to the kitchen and enjoy some lunch.” Her employer smiled at her, then bowed her head to say the blessing.
Abigail left the dining room slowly, stealing a glance over her shoulder at Mr. Bailey. His head was bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped before him. She noticed how broad his shoulders were and the golden glow of his skin from being in the spring sunshine. Did he spend a lot of time outdoors?
In the kitchen, she pondered Mrs. Pettigrew’s new assistant. She wanted to know more about him. It would be nice to talk to him, but as busy as she was these days, she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance. Mrs. Pettigrew’s assistants ate meals with the women. The rest of the staff didn’t. They ate in the kitchen.
Mr. Prosser came in through the kitchen’s back door and took a long whiff of the savory smell of vegetable beef soup and biscuits. “Now that’s new. Another recipe?”
“Yes, and a good one too,” Mrs. Fraser said. “Sit down, and I’ll get you a bowl. You too, Abigail. They’ll be fine in there so long as you left the tureen.”
She nodded and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Mr. Tugs is still in the dining room.”
Mrs. Fraser frowned. “Is he now? Stealing biscuits, no doubt!”
Abigail wished she were still in the dining room. If she were, she’d be stealing more glances at Mr. Bailey.