Christmas at Thornton Hall. Lynn Hulsman Marie

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СКАЧАТЬ assisting Edward. It might have been that grumpy old Frenchman who pretends not to understand English spoken by Irish folk. Now, take yourself to the kitchen…My dear Rose put the kettle on when she heard you come over the grate, and I’ll wager she’s laid out biscuits and some sherry to go with the tea.”

      Seamus and his wife Rose, the housekeeper, live in Rose Cottage, the largest on the grounds. It was built when Rose was new in service to the Earl, and she was the first to dwell in it. Seamus had already been working on the grounds when she was hired. Eventually, she and Seamus married and raised their son, Isaac, in the cozy abode. She’d lived there so long I doubt anyone could remember whether the cottage was named after her or the flower bushes that surrounded it.

      Seamus and Rose, both from Ireland, are somewhere in their late fifties. Rose stands around 5’ tall and is nearly that wide. Seamus is around 6’4” and lanky as a beanpole. Rose usually cuts through the shock when they’re introduced as a pair by saying, “There’s a cup for every saucer, isn’t there?”

      Trudging along the dark path, I started feeling a little better. I ached to be near Rose and her warm kindness, like a mum to the whole world.

      “Ah, here we are, go on through and join the others,” Seamus said as he peeled off down the path to carry my luggage to my cottage. Walking in the door to the pantry that lead to the kitchen, I wasn’t surprised to first see Terrence, the butler at the hall, wielding a bottle as he turned.

      “Look what the cat dragged in! Merry Christmas Eve Eve Eve,” he said as he jumped up to slip my coat off and hang up my shoulder bag. He took a quick moment to slide the purse onto his own shoulder. He was wearing a long, silk smoking jacket and, oddly, a kerchief around his head, tied at the top with a rabbit-ears-like bow.

      “Oooooh, Prada! I wouldn’t have thought a sensible girl like you would be hauling around something this glam! Does it go with my dress?” he asked, cat- walking across the kitchen.

      “It’s a hand-me-down from Posy,” I told him.

      “She’s a poshie, isn’t she? I saw that photo of her in that trench coat in the Daily Mail. Supreme! If I were her dad, I’d put her in every advert for that airline of his. Maybe she’ll rub off on you.”

      Rex came barreling through the kitchen, trying to find traction on the slick, wide beam wooden floor, sliding into the table and yelping.

      “Not much chance. I’m just me. She was born to be fabulous.”

      “Could someone lock this beast in the laundry room?” Terrence asked, nodding toward Rex. “He nearly knocked over my glass!”

      “Oh, hello there,” I said to a smallish young woman sipping nervously at a glass of wine. She had a very plain face, but even underneath her modest black maid’s uniform, I could see she had a pin-up girl, hour-glass body. “I’m Juliet.”

      “Hello, Juliet.” I turned my attention from the girl to Edward, who was standing in the corner near the bookshelf, and froze.

      “Glad to see you here,” he said slowly. He reshelved the book he’d been flipping through.

      All I could manage back was a slightly brusque, “Edward.”

      Thankfully, no one seemed to notice my temporary inability to speak.

      “I’ve got big plans and they involve you. Hey, your head’s bleeding.” He continued. I reached up and felt a small, wet trickle near my hairline. Edward pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. He cupped my chin in the palm of his large hand, and I could feel the roughness of his skin. He pressed the cloth to the side of my head. It hurt, but I didn’t want to tell him to stop, to lose contact. His breath was warm on my cheek, and I felt dizzy. Was it Edward or the wound? Suddenly aware that all eyes on the room were on me, I took the cloth, and pushed his hand away.

      “Oh, I guess I banged it when I wrecked my car just now.”

      “That’s a thrilling conversation starter,” Terrence interrupted, plopping down into a chair and slugging back half a glass of red wine. “One might think you’re Dorothy Parker! I’m all ears. Mind that you don’t blurt shocking remarks in the presence of our underbutler, though. We certainly wouldn’t want to dislodge the stick from his bum.”

      “Terrence…” Rose cautioned as she got up and made her way toward me and enfolded me in a warm hug. “Welcome, my Juliet!”

      “By the way,” Terrence plowed on, ignoring my reunion with Rose as he held up a copy of Tips for the Homefront: A Domestic Guide to Wartime Cookery and Making Your Rations Count, “did you know we could make our own furniture polish out of turpentine and shredded beeswax?” The kitchen’s south-wall collection of books was well visited by Terrence. “I’ll bet Chisholm remembers doing just that! Don’t let the half-inch of pancake make-up fool you. He’s 95 if he’s a day.”

      “I apologize for Terrence,” I said, turning to the girl. “He’s not happy unless there’s full-on drama in the room. I’m sorry we got interrupted.” I darted a glance at Edward, who was looking right at me, drinking from his cup of tea. “Um, like I said before, I’m Juliet, the chef. That is, the sous-chef, this time around.”

      “I’m Daphne,” she said. “You can call me Daffy.” She seemed to think for a minute, then burst out in almost a full voice, “You’re so clean!” She saw that we were all looking at her strangely, and blushed. “I just mean that you’re really fresh and, you know, pretty, for being, you know…your age.”

      I was taken aback and laughed out loud. It was a fact, but not something a stranger would normally comment on. I was dressed very simply in a red velour hoodie, jeans and my good leather riding boots, which had been a stretch for my budget, even on sale. But she was right, I was very clean. I’d scrubbed myself raw in my own shower after having awakened to Ben’s betrayal, trying to rid myself of the anger and hurt. And also the smell of that whorey Amanda’s shampoo. I didn’t have a stroke of make-up on my face, aside from the lipstick.

      “Don’t mock the poor dear, you old cow,” Terrence said to me. “Take the compliment. Sure, I’ve seen better, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.”

      “Ignore Terrence, Daphne,” said Rose, and to me, “Juliet, dear, I’ve missed you like mad.” She was still hugging me, a real squeeze, rocking me back and forth and it made me suck in my breath to keep from crying. Rose was a cuddler, and her warm touch brought all my sadness to the surface. I wanted to tell her all about Ben, but now wasn’t the time. I bit the inside of my cheek and concentrated my attention on the napkin holder.

      “Our Terrence is bent out of shape because he’ll be sharing his territory with the esteemed Mr. Chisholm from Mr. Roth’s Chelsea house. Also, he’s in his cups. Terrence,” she said loudly, as if to a deaf person, “perhaps it’s time to slow down on the drink for the night. As for Mr. Chisholm, leave him to his corner. There’ll be plenty of work for everyone and we’ll all be minding our manners, won’t we?”

      Terrence waited till Rose turned her head and made wanking motions. I shook my head at him. He crossed his arms and scowled.

      “Now then, Juliet, I’ll pour you a nice glass of sherry.” She set a glass in front of me. “Edward, will you have some too?” Rose asked. Edward nodded, and sat himself down in the chair next to mine. I couldn’t relax.

      “How’s your fella, Juliet? СКАЧАТЬ