Winter Is Past (7 page)

“Is it like Mayfair?”

Althea shook her head. “No, not on the outside, at least. The houses are old and haven't been kept up. Many are boarded up because all the windows have long been broken. At night people shut themselves up because they are afraid of those around them.”

“Why do you live there? Is it because you are poor, too?”

“No, dear. I have great riches.” She smiled. “Like Esther.”

Rebecca's eyes widened. “Are you a queen?”

Althea laughed. “No, though sometimes I feel like a princess. My riches are invisible most of the time. But even though you cannot see them, they are more precious than all the gold in the world. And so, like Esther who knew God had sent her to help her people, I, too, want to share my riches with those who need them.”

“What are your riches like?”

Althea pursed her lips. “They bring life, for one thing. They bring freedom from fear. They bring joy.”

“How did you get these riches?”

“By believing in God's goodness.” Althea hesitated. “By believing God looked down from Heaven and saw all the poor people—even some people who seem to be rich, even people who live in palaces—and felt compassion on them because they didn't have any of these true riches. So, He decided to give them of these riches. He decided to send the very best of Himself to them, and if they received Him, they would receive these true riches.”

Rebecca pulled her coverlet up, excited by the story. “Did it work? Did the people believe?”

“Some did, but others didn't. Some became so angry they killed the gift God sent.”

“Oh,” breathed Rebecca. “Then what happened?”

“Well, that was many hundreds of years ago. Since then, God has asked those who believe to share the riches with others who
haven't heard. It's gone on from there. God sent me to that part of London, for example, to show these children and the grownup folks around them how much He loves them and wants them to have these riches.”

“Why did you come here, then? Do people here need these riches, too?”

Althea smiled, touching Rebecca's cheek. “People everywhere need them. I know God sent me here to meet you and let you know He loves you.”

Rebecca's thin hand came up to Althea's. “I'm glad He sent you.” She lay quietly for a little while. “Do you think Papa knows about these riches?”

“I don't know, dear. Perhaps he doesn't think he needs them.” She added after a moment, “Sometimes people are afraid to believe in God.”

“Why would they be?”

“I think they believe God might ask them for something, and they are afraid to give it.”

“My grandmama is afraid of God.”

“Is she?”

Rebecca nodded then smiled. “She's always saying, ‘God forbid' and ‘The evil eye spare me.' She puts things around the house and on the doors to ward off the evil eye. I always imagine God's big eyeball staring at me from the ceiling, looking to see who might be doing something wrong.”

“God's Word tells us to ‘fear God,' but I think the meaning is a little different from the one your grandmama has taken.”

“How do you mean?”

Althea pondered how best to explain it. “Think of how you feel about your papa. You love him?”

Rebecca nodded.

“And you know he loves you?”

A more vigorous nod.

“You respect him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You respect him because you love him, isn't that so, and not the other way around? You don't love him because you respect him.”

Rebecca thought about it. “You mean, I respect him because of my love for him, and not that my love comes because I respect him?”

“Exactly. Now, do you fear your papa?”

Rebecca giggled. “No, I'm not afraid of him!”

“Have you ever seen him angry?”

Rebecca screwed up her face. “I don't remember. Oh, yes, once. I was little and I went down to the library and heard him talking to the footman. I had opened the door and could hear him. He was angry at the footman, but I don't know about what.”

“Was he shouting at him?”

“No, he wasn't shouting, but I could tell by his voice that he wasn't being very nice to him.”

Althea could imagine the cutting remarks. “Were you afraid of your father then?”

“I wasn't afraid of him for my sake but for the footman's. I remember thinking I would never want him to talk to me like that.”

“So, in that sense you fear your father. You know he is capable of being angry, but you wouldn't want that anger turned toward you.”

Rebecca nodded. “That's right. Is that how it is with God?”

“Yes. He is our Heavenly Father. Because we love Him, we don't want to anger Him. But it's not because we are afraid of Him. It is because we love Him so much.”

“Oh,” Rebecca breathed in wonder.

Althea plumped the girl's pillow and smoothed her coverlet. “Why don't you take a little nap? We can continue with our puppets later.” At the girl's nod, Althea stepped away, picking up the scraps. She stood a moment, watching her charge.
Oh, Lord,
she prayed,
heal her, let her laugh and run and jump like those children at the mission.

 

The following week passed quickly with puppets in the mornings and dinner party preparations in the afternoons. Althea dug up a puppet theater in the nursery and had it brought down to Rebecca's bedroom. One afternoon after luncheon, they put on a performance for Simon.

Mrs. Coates began to thaw towards Althea as she perceived Althea's knowledge in matters of etiquette. She yielded more and more of the preparations to Althea's management. Under Althea's gentle persuasion a thorough housecleaning was begun. Curtains and carpets that hadn't been moved in years were taken out and shaken, floors mopped and waxed, dust covers removed from unused rooms. With Mrs. Coates as an intermediary between herself and Cook, Althea made sure orders for food were placed in time for the event.

Althea knew a dinner party could make or break a host, and the quality of the table was crucial. She surmised from the talk of the servants that this was Simon's first foray into the world of entertaining. She imagined that with his star rising in Parliament it was important for him to mingle in society. Althea threw herself into the preparations, vowing to do her best to make the party a success.

She didn't know what to do about her own attendance, and the day was drawing near. She had no evening clothes, and decided finally to use her brown merino. She made sure it was clean and reserved for that evening. She had mentioned the dinner party to her brother on one of his quick visits during a trip to London. He didn't share her misgivings about attending, but rather applauded Simon for insisting upon it.

On the afternoon of the dinner party, Althea finally escaped for a walk in Hyde Park. It had been several afternoons since she had been able to spare the time. The raw March wind felt refreshing against her face. She walked briskly along the Serpentine for an hour, then made her way back home. The house was still when she entered. She noted with satisfaction the gleaming
entrance and the smell of beeswax. A vase of fresh orchids had been placed on a side table. She removed her cloak and prepared to ascend the staircase. Then she hesitated, her cloak over her arm.

Bracing herself, telling herself she had nothing to fear, she decided to go down to the servants' quarters and check for herself that preparations were fully under way in the kitchen. Mrs. Coates had assured her that Cook had everything under control, but Althea hadn't yet seen for herself.

She pushed open the door, and a group of servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. They were all grouped around the long table where they usually dined. Something didn't seem right. The only one sitting was Mrs. Bentwood, who wasn't so much sitting as slumped over the table.

“What is the matter?” Althea ventured farther into the servants' domain. “Is anything wrong with Cook?”

Giles coughed. “It seems she has fallen asleep.”

“Asleep?” Althea reached the cook and leaned over her, touching her on the arm. Her head did not lie cushioned on her arms, but rested sideways on the table itself. Deep, rough breathing emanated from her nostrils. Her lips parted slightly and Althea received the full force of her breath at close range.

She knew that smell. “Why, she's inebriated!”

A
lthea looked up in indignation at Giles, then at Mrs. Coates, then at each of the younger maidservants and footmen in turn. They all stared back at her, their looks scared.

“How long has she been this way?”

Again Giles coughed, his demeanor no longer dour. “It's hard to say, miss. She seemed all right this morning. She was making all her preparations. Then she served us some soup at noon. After that…well, I don't know…I don't remember seeing her much after that. I was down in the wine cellar for a while, then upstairs inspecting the rooms.”

Althea turned to Mrs. Coates.

“He's right, miss. It was after lunch we lost track of 'er.”

Althea looked at the serving girls.

One bobbed a quick curtsy. “I work with Mrs. Bentwood, miss.” She motioned to another girl in a dingy gray apron. “Me and Martha. She's scullery maid.”

“Weren't you assisting Cook with this evening's preparations?”

They both nodded their heads vigorously. “Oh, yes, miss. But
she put us to work first, scrubbing the pots and dishes from our dinner, then told us to start on the vegetables.” She motioned to the other end of the long table littered with vegetables and parings.

Again Giles gave a discreet cough. “If you please, miss.”

Althea turned questioning eyes to him.

“I…that is…we all know Mrs. Bentwood likes to take a nip now and then. Oh, nothing more than that. She's never shirked on her work. But she's not opposed to a little swig in her tea.”

“I see.” Yes, the explanation of all those overcooked and frequently cold dinners became clear. “This is more than a little nip, however.”

“Yes, indeed. You are most correct, miss. I found this in the cellar.” Giles held up an empty bottle.

Althea took the bottle from him and brought it to her nostrils. She didn't need the smell of stale rum to tell her what it was. Many such a bottle lay strewn in the streets of the East End on a foggy dawn.

“Where did she get this?”

“We don't know, miss. She must have had her own supply. I keep the wine cellar keys with me at all times.” Giles tapped the key ring at his waistcoat.

Althea put her hands on her hips and looked around. “There is nothing to be done about Mrs. Bentwood now. How are the preparations for the meal coming?”

“Oh, Miss Breton, there's not nearly enough done,” said Mrs. Coates, ringing her hands. “Without Cook, none o' us knows enough about cooking to carry on.”

Althea turned to the first kitchen maid. “Show me what she has done.” The girl showed her around the room then took her into the kitchen and pantry. Althea found the cook's scrawled menu and a few written recipes she had left beside it.

Back at the dining table, she addressed the assembled servants. “It is now three o'clock. We have between four and five hours to prepare a dinner for the sixteen people who will as
semble upstairs. It is not much time for a dinner of this many covers. I'm going to need the help and cooperation of each one of you.” She looked at each face in turn. “Can I count on all of you?”

“But surely, miss, you can't… We can't prepare such a meal,” protested a chorus of voices.

“We not only can, but will. Mr. Aguilar expects a dinner to be served by eight o'clock this evening.” She gave them a smile of reassurance. “I believe enough preparations are under way. I have sufficient experience in a large kitchen to guide me somewhat. I'm relying on your collective know-how to do the rest.

“Now, if someone would be so good as to hand me an apron, we shall begin.” Althea began to roll up her sleeves. “Oh, yes, thank you.” She took the large apron the kitchen maid had brought her. “What is your name, please?”

“Daisy, miss.”

“Very well, Daisy. You stick by me.” She glanced at Giles, who was still looking at her, his mouth slack. “Giles, could you and Harry be so kind as to take Mrs. Bentwood to her room? Or perhaps to your sitting room down here, Mrs. Coates?”

“Yes, miss, right away.” Apparently relieved at being dismissed from the coming activity of the kitchen, the butler quickly signaled to one of the footmen to help him.

“When you come back, we can go over your wine selections,” she told him.

“Yes, miss.”

“Now, the first thing is to get the roasts in the oven,” Althea told the remaining staff. “Daisy and I will see to those. Let's see, there's the pheasant and venison, which thankfully have already been dressed. Now, Mrs. Coates, if you would be so good as to don an apron and oversee the vegetables at this table.

“Oh!” Althea slapped her forehead. “Rebecca! I forgot about Rebecca!”

“That's all right, miss.” A young parlor maid spoke up shyly. “I can take her tray up and sit with her.”

“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful. Tell her I'll be in to see her later. Perhaps you could read to her?”

The woman blushed and began twisting her hand in her apron. “I'd like to, miss, only…only I can't.”

It took Althea a few seconds to catch her meaning. “You can't read—is that what you are trying to tell me?”

She nodded, her eyes downcast.

“Well, look at a picture book with her. Sometimes she feels like reading, and you can have her read to you. If not, you can make up the story as you go along, with the pictures. Do you think you can do that?” She gave her an encouraging smile.

The girl nodded, her eyes hopeful.

“Martha—” Althea turned to the scullery maid “—you start setting up a kettle to boil water for the lobster. I may dispense with the bisque and simply serve the meat on a bed of greens. All right, to work….”

 

Nearly five hours later Althea took her damp handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Her dress clung to her body; the only thing keeping her from collapsing over the suffocating coal stove was the knowledge that the clock was ticking without mercy. Every second counted.

She kept her eye on the various pots simmering before her, all the while stirring the sauce in front of her. She had concocted what she could from the cook's receipes. Other dishes she had improvised from all her girlhood years spent in the kitchen with her own family's cook, who had been more of a mother to her than anyone. She also drew on her experience in recent years from her work at the mission's kitchen. She knew what feeding a multitude entailed.

“How does this look, miss?”

Althea glanced at the tray Martha held out to her. She had filled the pastry cups with the creamy fricassee. “Very good. We shall have to keep them warm until they are ready to be served. Place them here.” She indicated a spot with the tip of her wooden spoon, then went back to stirring.

“Miss, we've finished cutting the fruit into the crystal bowl.”

“Very good, keep the bowl on ice. How is the syllabub?”

“All set. We're also keeping it cold.”

“Miss Breton.” Mrs. Coates came up to her with a look of concern. “Shouldn't you be getting upstairs to dress? It's going on eight. The guests are all here.”

Althea looked at the watch pinned to her dress. “Oh, so it is. Let me just put the shrimp into this sauce and check on the fish.” She removed the sauce from the stove, then opened the oven door and looked at the flat white fillets baking in butter. She tested one. “Yes, these are ready.”

While Mrs. Coates took the pan out of the oven, Althea pricked the pheasant with a long fork. She basted it and the venison one last time.

“Daisy, come here and stir the shrimp carefully into this sauce. Giles, you will be able to oversee carving the pheasant and venison?”

“Yes, miss.” Giles was sharpening the long carving knife with a whetstone.

“How does the table look upstairs?”

“All is in order. Sixteen places, with their place cards.”

“And the sideboard?”

“All is in place.”

“The wines?”

“Uncorked.”

Althea walked to each servant in turn and gave last-minute instructions.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Coates,” she said, taking a glass of lemonade from her. “That tastes wonderful.”

“Your cheeks look so flushed. That stove is awfully hot.”

“Yes, it certainly is. I begin to see why Cook might take to drink.”

“Oh, no, miss. She's a disgrace. We shall speak to her in the morning, you can be sure.”

“How is she? Have you looked in on her?”

“Snoring like to wake the dead.”

Althea drained her glass, then proceeded up to her room. As soon as she had closed the door, she began stripping off her clothes. They were drenched. As she was walking to her basin, a knock sounded on her door.

“Yes, who is it?”

“It's Dot, miss, the parlor maid.”

Althea opened her door a crack then, when she saw it was the young woman who had sat with Rebecca, bade her enter. “How is Rebecca?”

The young woman smiled. “Oh, she's fine. Dropped off to sleep while I was still talking, poor lamb. We had a grand time imagining the dinner party tonight.”

“I was going to stop in as soon as I took off these wet things.”

“I heard you come in. Would you like me to help you dress?”

Althea was going to refuse help, then thought about how late she was. “Thank you. Please come in. I must hurry. I should have been down by half-past seven. Could you help me undo these buttons?”

“Certainly, miss.” Dot came toward her. “Oh, miss, is this what you are going to wear? It's beautiful!”

“What?” Althea turned. “Oh—” She hadn't noticed the dress draped across her bed. “My, who put this here?” She moved to the bed and picked up the garment. It was a beautiful evening gown of jade-green gauze over a white silk underskirt. Matching green kid slippers sat on the floor beside the bed. Alongside the dress were laid underclothes, gloves, hair ribbons, even a soft white cashmere shawl. As she picked up the dress, a note fluttered to the ground. Dot immediately bent to retrieve it.

Althea took it from her and unfolded it.

It was signed
Gillian,
her sister-in-law. Althea smiled despite herself. How like Tertius's wife. She looked at the maid. “I must hurry. Let me wash. I can't wear this garment in my present state.” She walked to the washstand and began sponging off her skin. The maid handed her the fresh underclothes and petticoats.

“Oh, we must hurry!” It was past eight. She hoped Simon had not missed her. The maid brushed out her hair then dressed it for her. Althea turned toward the door without even glancing in the mirror. Instead she turned to Dot. “How do I look?” she asked quickly, not sure if she wanted to hear the reply. She felt a little naked with her upper arms and throat exposed.

“You look beautiful.” The maid hesitated. “Haven't you no jewels, miss?”

Althea's gloved hand went to her neck. “Does it look too bare?”

“It looks very pretty, miss, but isn't it usual to have a few jewels?”

Althea nodded. She went over to her dressing table and opened a box. “I'll wear these,” she said, taking out the only jewelry she possessed, a strand of pearls.

Dot helped her with the clasp. “They're just the thing,” she said in approval, giving her one last looking over.

“My father gave them to me at my coming out.”

“They're beautiful.”

“Well, I had better go down.” She squared her shoulders, feeling as if she were about to face a firing squad.

She bolstered her courage with scripture, which she recited as she descended the stairs.

 

By the time Althea reached the double doors leading to the main salon, her heart felt as if it were pounding in her throat. She gave her hair a pat with both hands, having no idea what it looked like. “‘Not my will, but Thine,'” she murmured under her breath, wanting to run as Elijah had when he fled from Queen Jezebel.

The first thing that greeted her when she opened the doors was the noise. After weeks in the quiet household, Althea was no longer used to crowds. A buzz of voices greeted her. The light from the chandeliers and wall sconces gave the room a bright glow. Several gentlemen stood about in groups, their dark-colored evening jackets contrasting with the brighter gowns of the ladies. Although her reasoning told her there were not more than fifteen or sixteen people in the room, certainly not more than twenty, her senses felt an assault of noise, heat and light.

Giles spotted her over the crowd of heads and came toward her. His gaunt, wrinkled face suddenly seemed the friendliest one in the world.

“Very good, miss, that you're here. Mr. Aguilar told me to inform him as soon as you arrived.”

“Thank you, Giles.” Already she felt at a disadvantage, hoping she had not held things up through her tardiness. She ventured a few more steps into the room, wishing there was a quiet corner where she could fade into the background. As her breathing steadied, she noticed one or two gentlemen turn to look at her. She kept walking without meeting anyone's eyes directly, but smiling in the general direction of everyone. Before she could reach a wall of the room, Simon came up to her.

“What kept you so long? Dinner's long overdue!” His tone was a sharp whisper as his dark eyes frowned at her behind their spectacles. Not waiting for her answer, he turned to Giles, giving him the signal to announce the meal.

The couples began pairing up. Althea had no idea what the gentleman she had assigned herself looked like, so she stood waiting. All she knew about him was that he worked with Simon as a clerk of some sort.