Caroline laughed and pressed her hand to Ian’s.
“Surely not! Besides, I am determined to extend an invitation to
you when we are all settled properly. You must let me know your
address. My uncle will certainly want to thank you in person.”
“Very well.” Ian took his leave of Caroline with
obvious reluctance, and Eleanor was forced to curb her own
impatience. She was dusty, tired, and hot, as well as eager to know
her own accommodations.
Finally the carriage rumbled on. Ian gazed pensively
out the window at Caroline’s slight form retreating into the grand
house. “It seems a bit awkward, her uncle not even coming out to
greet her, don’t you think?”
Eleanor shrugged. “She told me more than once what a
busy man he is, and he must be to have a house like that!”
Ian pulled a face. “I’m afraid my own accommodations
are meager in comparison. Do you mind terribly, Eleanor? I’ve been
living in a set of rooms, but in expectation of your arrival I’ve
rented a small house in the South End. It’s respectable, but
nothing like this. If you wanted something more comfortable, you
could stay with Margaret and Henry. They’ve offered, and their
house is certainly far grander than mine.”
Eleanor shook her head. “I’ve been the third wheel
in too many homes as it is. I want nothing more than to live in a
place I can at least halfheartedly call my own.”
“You may certainly do that! I haven’t even employed
a housekeeper yet.”
“Then don’t,” Eleanor said firmly. “I shall see to
all the mundane details you needn’t trouble yourself with.” She
liked the idea of taking over the housekeeping. She’d once dreamed
of her own home, filled with her own family.
Now that John was dead, such a prospect seemed
unlikely. This would have to do for now, and as she leaned her head
against the carriage cushions, Eleanor decided it was more than
enough.
The sun broke from behind the clouds and Harriet
lifted her face gratefully to the warmth. It was August, and the
wet days had finally given way to sunshine.
The MacDougalls were gathering together at Mingarry
Farm to help bring in the wheat, an effort that included nearly
every member of the family, as well as some neighbors.
George brought tin pails of water to the men as they
cut the wheat with sharp scythes, and Maggie helped Harriet and
Betty tie the stalks of grain into sheaves. Others had come to help
as well, and that evening when everything was safely packed in the
barn, there would be food and dancing in the swept barnyard.
“It’s a good thing you’ve already got your crop in,”
Betty said as she and Harriet tied the bundles of grain together.
“What, with Rupert’s help.”
“He’s been a wonderful boon to us.” Harriet smiled.
“Although the rain has made the wheat crop modest, at best.” Still,
she’d enjoyed the summer, with Rupert’s fun-loving company. A
letter had come for him from Henry Moore, his sister Margaret’s
husband, and Harriet had been burning with curiosity as to its
contents. Rupert was clearly planning something... but what?
Stars studded the sky by the time the wheat was
finally in. Rupert and Allan had brought out long tables now laid
with sliced meats and summer’s pies, all from neighbors’ homes, as
well as a fair sampling from Harriet and Betty’s own kitchens.
“Care to dance, Mrs. MacDougall?” Allan put his arm
around Harriet’s shoulders as she sipped some cold lemonade.
“Oh, aye, I’m always ready to kick up my feet! I’ve
barely seen you all day, with the work being done. Is Father
pleased with the crop?”
“As pleased as any of us are. It’s been a poor
summer, but we’ll manage.” Besides bringing in their own wheat,
Allan and Rupert had helped Sandy with his. It was the way of
island families, especially in the strong Scots’ community.
Allan frowned. “I didn’t like the sound of his
cough. I know he was a bit poorly this winter, but surely it should
have gone by now.”
Harriet glanced at Sandy, sitting with Betty on an
upturned bale of hay. He looked as strong as ever, although his
hair was whiter and the lines scoring his cheeks deeper. “Like you
said, it’s been a wet summer,” she said. “Surely his cough will
disappear now that we have a bit of sunshine.”
“Just in time for winter again.” Allan took her in
his arms as the fiddle struck up another tune. “It’s hard to
believe on a balmy evening like this, but the first frost is no
more than a month away.”
Harriet smiled back at him. She could hear the
crickets calling by the river, and the moon cut a silver swath
through the inky black waters. She didn’t want to think about the
long, frozen months ahead, or the hardship they caused. Right now
she was just happy to rest in Allan’s arms, with the warm night air
like a cloak around her.
“I wonder if Rupert will be with us at the frost,”
she murmured. “He seems to have a head full of plans.”
“Indeed he does.” Allan chuckled wryly. “I’m sure
he’ll tell us, in time.”
In time turned out to be the very next day. Rupert
laid a letter on the breakfast table, next to his tin cup of
coffee. “From Henry Moore,” he said in a voice radiating pride. “I
didn’t want to tell any of you, until I was sure.”
Allan raised his eyebrows, bemused. “Sure of
what?”
“He’s offered me a position, as clerk, in his
shipping office. In Boston.”
“What!” The spoon Harriet had been stirring the pot
of porridge with fell on the floor with a clatter. “Rupert, you
can’t be serious!”
“Why not? I’ve always had a head for figures, and
those years being tutored in Fort William shouldn’t go to
waste.”
“But this is your life here,” Harriet protested.
Rupert shook his head. “No, it’s not, Harriet. It’s
yours.”
“Clerk, hmm?” Allan sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
“I suppose it’s a start.”
“It is that. I won’t be satisfied as a lowly clerk
for too long, I can assure you, but I’m grateful to Henry for
giving me the offer. For all that we’re kin, we’re still strangers
to one another.”
“
When do you leave?”
“There’s a ship leaving Pictou for Boston in two
days.” Rupert glanced apologetically at Harriet. “I’m sorry to
leave so quickly, but Henry wants me to start as soon as
possible.”
Harriet nodded in understanding, although she’d a
feeling it was Rupert who wanted to start in haste, not Henry. His
life, she realized with a pang, was about to begin, and in a place
far from here.
“You must look after Eleanor, then,” she said. “My
suggestion wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed!”
“No, indeed.” Allan nodded at Rupert. “Perhaps you
will fetch her back for us in a few months’ time. I’m sure Father
and Mam will want word of you, by then.”
Rupert nodded. “When the time comes, I’ll be happy
to bring Eleanor back. It’s high time this family saw one another!
As for me...” he rose from the table. “I’ll start to pack.”
Eleanor clutched the embossed stationery with
Caroline’s address in one gloved hand. She’d walked from Ian’s
lodgings in the South End to this Beacon Hill mansion, enjoying the
sights and sounds of a new city.
Caroline, in a decidedly imperious fashion, had
summoned her to tea at her residence that afternoon. Eleanor was in
a mood neither to complain nor decline. Although only a week in
Boston, she longed for companionship. It was invigorating to set
Ian’s house in order, but the maid who came twice weekly to do the
heavy work was virtually the only other woman she’d spoken to since
her arrival.
She was also curious about how Caroline had fared
since she’d left their carriage. Had her uncle been pleased to see
her?
Eleanor was taken aback when Caroline herself
answered the door, her cheeks flushed and her hair not yet
arranged. “I needn’t stand on ceremony with you, I know,” she said.
She made a face as she touched her rumpled hair. “I haven’t yet had
the time to engage a lady’s maid, and I’m hopeless at dressing
hair. I’ve begged the cook to arrange it for tonight... I’m going
to a musicale and you must come with me!”
Eleanor smiled inwardly. “Why don’t you let me dress
your hair?”
Caroline looked at her hopefully. “Are you
skilled?”
“Not overly, but I’ve been putting my own hair up
since I was seventeen.”
Over tea and cake, Caroline regaled Eleanor with her
already vibrant social life in Boston. “I had no idea there was
such pleasant society to be had! Of course, some people are
hopelessly rusticated, but I have been happily surprised.”
“Indeed.” Eleanor’s lips twitched and she took a sip
of tea.
“Oh, yes,” Caroline continued firmly. “My uncle is
most determined to give me a proper season, since his business
prevented him from doing so in London.”
Eleanor glanced again at Caroline’s flushed cheeks,
her strident tone. What was the real story, she wondered.
There could be no question that Caroline was
accustomed to a life of at least some luxury, although Eleanor knew
how creditors could hound even the wealthiest of society. Possible
creditors aside, something did not seem right with Caroline and
Eleanor wondered what it was.
Caroline sliced the cake she’d purchased for
Eleanor’s visit, and forced another smile. Truth be told, she
wasn’t certain why she felt strangely apprehensive, for surely
Boston was all she’d hoped for and more.
Despite having not fetched her at the docks--a small
oversight--her uncle had been the soul of benevolent generosity
since her arrival.
He’d talked with almost manic enthusiasm about
Boston society, and how he intended for her to have a season the
rival of any in London.
“You’ll see the society in Boston is to be as good
as any in the old country,” he boasted, “or even better. Plenty of
parties and balls to be had--we want you to be seen, of course. A
pretty girl like you... you’ll be snatched up in an instant!”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Caroline said quietly, and
wondered why she was not more pleased. This was exactly as she
dreamed... yet something did not feel quite right. Uncle James’s
joviality was at odds with the brusque civility he’d greeted her
with on their last meeting. What had changed?
“I’ll need new dresses,” she ventured cautiously,
and he waved an arm in sweeping acceptance. “Of course, of course.
There is a modiste here that is all the fashion. You must visit
her.”
Hope leapt within her, and Caroline smiled. “That
would be pleasant indeed.” Feeling emboldened, she added, “I see
you have not yet engaged a lady’s maid for me.”
James frowned and then managed a small smile. “Yes,
well, we’ll see about that. All in good time, of course.”
Caroline nodded, deciding for once to be happy with
what she had. She wasted no time leaving James’s calling card--she
didn’t have any--at every house of quality she could find. No doubt
everyone would see through her attempts as the beggar for society
that she was, but Caroline didn’t care. She was hardly able to meet
anyone by simply walking in the park!
Uncle James continued to beam approval at her
actions, and even went so far as to secure an invitation to a
musicale for them both. “I too know some people of import here,
niece,” he said in a preening way and Caroline had to admit he was
right.
Although she never inquired as to the nature of his
business, it appeared that his work provided him with some useful
contacts.
“Do have some cake,” Caroline invited Eleanor now,
forcing her thoughts back to the present. “I’m afraid it’s bought
from a bakeshop; the cook here is quite hopeless and I’ll have to
sort something out as soon as I can.”
“As hopeless at cookery as at hair?” Eleanor
chuckled dryly. “Then you are in a sorry state, indeed.”
Caroline knew her friend was gently mocking her, and
sighed. “I don’t mean to sound spoilt. I only wanted nice things
for you. You will come to the musicale tonight, won’t you?”
Eleanor glanced at the invitation card Caroline
showed her. “As it happens, I’ve already been invited to this
musicale. Ian is attending with Isobel Moore, and they’ve kindly
asked me along.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize...!” Caroline said awkwardly
and Eleanor smiled. Caroline’s thoughts were plain on her face; she
had not expected Eleanor to travel in the same society as she did.
In truth, Eleanor had not expected it either. Ian’s position in
society was far more elevated than being a doctor warranted, and it
was all due to his association with the Moores.
When Ian first showed her the
invitation, Eleanor had balked. “I can hardly attend with you and
Miss Moore,” she protested. “I shall feel a third wheel, and that,
dear Ian, is something I refuse ever to feel again.”
“The Moores wish for your company as much as I do,”
Ian replied. “And you must get out in society, Eleanor. You’re
young and pretty. Don’t moulder away sewing my shirts and making
butter as if you were a spinster!”
“I haven’t made any butter yet,”
Eleanor protested with a little laugh, “and I like to keep
occupied. You might like these soirees and such, but they’re quite
out of my element. The most entertainment I’ve had is a
ceilidh
at home, or a
prayer meeting in Glasgow. They hardly count!”
“Then it’s high time you went to something proper.
Besides, I’d appreciated your company. I... I don’t want to be with
Isobel alone.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows at this confession. “Has
she set her cap at you?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ian said uncomfortably.
“You must put it to rights if she has,” Eleanor
warned him. “For you’ll both suffer if anything improper
occurs.”
“Eleanor!” Ian was scandalized. “Nothing improper
could ever occur, I assure you!”
“Perhaps not,” Eleanor allowed, “but much happens in
the minds of gossips.”