The Kitchen House (27 page)

Lavinia

A
S MEG AND I GREW
older, Miss Sarah used our close relationship to teach the two of us the social skills required of young ladies in Williamsburg. Miss Sarah counted on my influence, as Meg often opposed these lessons, objecting to the time they took away from her beloved bird and nature study. I, on the other hand, knew it was in my best interest to please Miss Sarah, so I paid close attention. These were the polite accomplishments, she said, and was determined that we would not fall short in achieving them. Initially Miss Sarah’s schooling attended to instructions as mundane as how to curtsy or how to correctly enter and exit a room. Gradually, though, these lessons became more sophisticated and included tasks such as how to act as hostess when presiding over a meal.

Although having tea was not the ritual that it became in later years, the serving of it followed a certain pattern, and according to Miss Sarah, it was an important social skill that every young lady was required to know. Meg thought the whole subject a bore, but I was genuinely intrigued and encouraged her participation. As tea was very dear, Miss Sarah had her own tea caddy, a small box made of rosewood in which the precious commodity was kept under lock and key. Her beautiful tea set, imported red and white porcelain from China, had cups with no handles and a low squat teapot that differed so from a tall coffeepot. For the tea ceremony, Miss Sarah carefully directed us in all the necessary equipment. I was keen to learn this task, so Miss Sarah employed my eagerness as example: “You must be more careful, Meg. Watch Lavinia, see how she pours.”

Despairing of Meg’s lack of interest, Miss Sarah tried another
approach. Using my fifteenth birthday as a means for exercise, she drew on Meg’s fondness for her cousin and sent word to Marshall that Meg would host a tea in my honor the following Saturday afternoon. Could he attend, and would he bring a gentleman friend?

Meg was irritable from the start. Not fifteen minutes into it, the young man accompanying Marshall lost favor when he, with supercilious abandon, announced his disfavor of women studying Latin. Meg quickly replied that immature men with strong opinions were, by her estimation, very dull indeed. There was a long silence while Miss Sarah stared at Meg. Remembering my obligation, I fought unsuccessfully to recall a favorable subject to engage our stunned guests. Then (and I believe it was a true accident), in the passing of a full cup, Meg spilled some of the hot liquid in her guest’s lap.

That ended poorly when the young man made an unkind comment, and as he departed abruptly, Meg ran from the room in tears. Miss Sarah, red-faced, did not stop to make apologies before she left the room to set things straight with Meg. Mr. Madden, not yet home from business, was not witness to Marshall and me laughing together at the debacle.

As the lone hostess, I decided there was only one thing left to do: I poured the rest of the tea and offered Marshall the last of the crumpets. When there was a conversational lull, I remembered my duty and asked my guest about himself. I listened for quite some time as Marshall went on, noting with an inward smile how right Miss Sarah had been when she said that no man could resist talking about himself. Marshall finished by saying that though he enjoyed the study of law, he was only marking time.

“For what?” I asked.

He looked surprised at my question. “To go home.”

“Of course,” I said. I was so taken aback at his announcement that I lost the ability to call forth another question. I looked down and began to smooth the embroidered pink edging on the sleeve of my new birthday dress.

“And you?” he asked. “What do you want in your future?”

When I looked up, his blue eyes observed me so intently and his smile was so genuine that I quickly looked down again, this time to straighten my skirt. “I am not certain,” I said.

I was saved when the hallway clock struck. I quickly remarked at the hour. Taking my cue, as a gentleman would, Marshall rose and announced it was time to leave. As he prepared to depart, he asked if Meg was planning other social events.

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Well,” he said in a most serious tone, “could you please send me word, before I make a commitment to attend, whether or not the event involves hot liquid?”

We laughed again. Before Marshall left, he picked up my hand, bowed formally, and with merry eyes said how very much he had enjoyed my company.

“And I yours,” I replied, and produced a curtsy.

I sat for a long while after his departure and pondered my confused state. Since Marshall’s unfortunate bout with drink, he had been on his best behavior. Something about the episode appeared to have freed him, and once again he was making every effort to please the Maddens. Marshall intrigued me. He was older and, in my eyes, worldly and sophisticated. Although he was always reserved with others, he put on another face when alone with Meg and me. Never did he make me feel less than his equal. Yet—although no one spoke of this—I wondered if I was not still considered his family’s servant.

I set those thoughts aside when Mr. Madden appeared. He took a seat and asked how the afternoon had gone. Before I had time to answer, Meg, red-eyed, joined us to sit on a stool at her father’s knee. Taking his hand, she pleaded that he intercede with Miss Sarah on her behalf. She could not bear a lifetime of this! When Miss Sarah entered, Meg’s words ripe in the air, I decided it was time to go to my room.

M
EG CONTINUED TO OBJECT TO
her mother’s tutoring. What was the point? she questioned.

She further horrified her mother when she announced that she did not plan to marry, nor did she plan to take part in a social life, as it only took time away from her studies. I was sensitive both to Miss Sarah and to Meg, and because of that, I was able to intervene. Meg had a sense of fun, and as long as I approached the instruction with levity, Meg made an honest attempt to learn the basics. Then, too, when Miss Sarah tired of Meg’s frequent opposition, I drew attention to myself. I asked questions and took pride in executing what I learned. Miss Sarah did not miss my contribution and praised me often for my good influence. Her focus on me did not trouble Meg in the least. On the contrary, Meg spoke to me of her gratitude.

Of course there were days when I, too, grew tired of Miss Sarah’s scrutiny, but I quickly brought myself to order when I reminded myself how fortunate I was to have this opportunity. I was becoming more and more concerned about my future. It was never spoken of, but I knew my time here was limited. Miss Sarah had hinted that one day I might marry, but where a husband could be found, I did not know. We did little socializing, since Meg opposed most outside invitations, and as she matured, her stand only grew more firm.

I did not know where to turn with my concerns. I no longer communicated regularly with Belle; painfully, I was coming to realize that I would not be returning to Tall Oaks. Through sporadic visits to Miss Martha, I saw that her condition only appeared to be worsening, and I doubted that she would ever go home.

In my fifteenth year, I began to entertain thoughts of locating my brother. I had always dreamed of finding him. Now, along with my longing to be reunited with him as family, I reasoned that he was of an age where he might be in a position to be of assistance to me. Given my good fortune with the Maddens and their extreme generosity, I was reluctant to approach them with a request for their help. I did not want them to think that I was ungrateful, nor that I wished to leave their home. Thus I was silent about Cardigan until an unexpected opportunity presented itself.

Sunday mornings were always taken up with church services, followed by socializing, wherein invitations were extended or accepted for the afternoon dinner. Mr. Madden preferred the company of steady friends, so it had recently become routine to have Mr. Boran and his young daughter at the Sunday dinner table. Mr. B., as Meg called him, was a partner in her father’s business. In the previous year, the unfortunate man had lost his wife—the mother of his six-year-old daughter—to complications following the birth of a stillborn child. In recent months, Miss Sarah had taken it upon herself to help Mr. B. find a second wife. To date, Miss Sarah had been unsuccessful, as she had rather rapidly run through all of her possible candidates. It was quite clear to me why this was so.

To begin, Mr. B. made a poor presentation of himself, though it was uncanny how physically alike he was to Mr. Madden. Of similar age, possibly around forty-five, Mr. B. was also short and plump, balding and bespectacled. But that was where the likeness ended. Mr. Madden was well dressed, neat and tidy in appearance, and was the social equal to his wife. Under all circumstances, he knew the etiquette required, and although he was a private man who preferred solitary pursuits, when obligation demanded, Mr. Madden rose to the occasion with outstanding form.

Mr. B., on the other hand, was disheveled and unkempt. His true failing was a shyness that so affected him he was unable to converse without stammering and stumbling for words. To observe him attempt conversation was painful, and I often found myself jumping to his rescue. Apparently, he was grateful for my help, and after the third or fourth Sunday dinner, he sought me out to express the same.

I must mention how taken I was with Mr. B.’s delightful daughter, Molly. She was around the same age that I had been when orphaned, and for this reason I felt a kinship toward her. She was well mannered and of a curious nature, and following the Sunday meals, I usually spent time next to her on the settee. There we played at games while she plied me with questions about my childhood.

It was snowing outside the winter afternoon that Mr. B. approached me. Molly and I were playing a game of dominoes, and while I waited on her next move, I glanced up. This day, particularly, there was an intimate feel in the room, helped out by the crackling fire. As I gazed about the room, I saw Mr. Boran’s advance. So clear was his discomfort, I immediately urged him to take a seat. It was his disability that gave me courage, for he was a gentleman of an age that otherwise would have intimidated me. Miss Sarah, always observing my manners, gave a nod of approval, but as the man sat, I caught Meg’s look of reproach. I flashed her a smile before I turned my attention to Mr. Boran. He situated himself, and then, as Molly and I conversed, he edged into the conversation. He appeared to be as eager as his daughter to learn more of my past. Molly had already told him that I was an orphan, he informed me. Had I no other family? Only a brother, lost to me, I said. How was this so? father and daughter both questioned.

When I looked over and saw the Maddens in discussion and Meg distracted by a book, I decided to tell my tale. At the finish, after a short silence, Mr. B. astonished me when he suggested that he might be able to assist in finding my brother. I hesitated only briefly, but he guessed the reason and assured me that he would first seek the approval of the Maddens. Grateful beyond measure, I wasted no time in telling him so. The man grew red while Molly took my hand in hers and rested her head against my shoulder.

After supper, the Maddens asked me to stay with them when Meg retired early to her room. They informed me that Mr. B. had asked for their permission to look for my brother. They voiced disappointment. Why had I not come to them? If only I had asked, they would have carried out the search themselves.

After I explained, they offered me their full support, but they hastened to warn me that the search could take many months. They added that oftentimes such a quest ended in vain, and I was to keep in mind that my brother might never be found. Their concern, coupled with my excitement, threatened to move me to tears,
but as Miss Sarah often lectured Meg on emotional outbursts, I held myself together.

Miss Sarah concluded by saying that Mr. Boran was a good man and she was very pleased with the way I had put the poor man at ease. I left the room ready to burst from happiness, but I waited until I reached the stairs before I gave way to my excitement. Then I bounded up the steps two at a time and squealed as I flew into Meg’s room.

She did not share my happiness. Instead, she was filled with forewarning. “He is using this as an opportunity,” she said.

I sank into a chair. “An opportunity for what?”

“You know that Mr. Boring is looking for a wife?” she asked, sitting opposite me on the edge of her bed.

“It’s Mr. Boran, Meg.”

“It’s Mr. Boring!” she said, and threw herself back on her bed with a great sigh, then flung her arm over her eyes.

I laughed.

“This isn’t funny, Vinny,” she said, peeking out from under her elbow. “Next he’ll be proposing to you.”

“Please, Meg!” I was astonished that she could even think along those lines. “I’m only fifteen years old. He is as old as your father!”

“That wouldn’t hinder him; nor would it stop Mother if she thought there was opportunity for you,” Meg replied.

As I prepared for bed that evening, I thought of Meg’s words, but I soon dismissed her concern. Certain I would be reunited with my brother, I would let nothing cloud my happiness. That very night I sat at my desk and, for the first time in a long while, wrote a letter to Belle. I told her of the search for Cardigan and how I knew that within him lay the answer to my future. I then set before her my plan. Once I was settled with him, I would send for her and Jamie.

I
ALWAYS LOOKED FORWARD TO
Saturdays, when Marshall came to teach and then to spend the day. As we matured, our friendship grew and at times took on a flirtatious note. Increasingly, I found
him attractive and often saw him studying me. Occasionally, he would tease me, and I felt quite pleased with myself when he laughed aloud at my returning quips. When Marshall periodically experienced his “dark moods,” as Meg labeled them, I was flattered to see that I was the one who could best pull him out.

Then something of a more serious nature occurred, which might have given me pause but did not. During a class, Marshall and I began bantering, and Meg, attempting to dampen our sport, silently peered at us over the top of her spectacles. Her serious demeanor only encouraged us, and together we teased her to join our fun. Marshall playfully snatched her spectacles and perched them on the edge of his own nose. After Meg failed to retrieve them, she left the room in a huff. I saw her return, although Marshall, with his back to her, did not. I stayed quiet when she tiptoed up behind him, then pinned his arms while she called for me to take her spectacles from him. Meg was small but strong and determined. She had the advantage of surprise, and for a brief moment Marshall must have felt overpowered. His face whitened as he fought free. The stool he perched on flew over, and when he swung to face Meg, for one terrible moment, I was afraid that he might strike her. He stood over her, shouting, “Don’t do that! Don’t you ever do that again!” He was silent as he gathered his things and left the room, and he did not stay for dinner.