 
The Good Servant

Adrien Leduc

Copyright © 2012. Adrien Leduc. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved.

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(Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Dedication: For my great-grandfather, Ernest Attfield, a servant and a man who made a fair attempt at leading a "normal" life. And for Anne McGuire (nee Sullivan), a strong and optimistic woman who has led an exemplary life of hardwork and goodwill.

Synopsis: Set in Kingston, Canada, in the year 1842, The Good Servant tells the tale of the Hutchinson's, a prominent English-emigrant family, and Ernest Caldwell, the man who serves them. The Hutchinson's spectacular fall from grace, coupled with the riveting and suspenseful drama of the daily goings-on of their househould make this historical thriller a fast-paced and exciting read that will keep you captivated until the very end.

### \- 1 -

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're trying to get at, Helena. You know very well that you can remain with us as long as you like."

"I know. It's just...it's just..." the young maid replied slowly.

"Well? Spit it out child! I don't have all night!"

"Well...it's just...if my situation were to change, Madam..."

Lady Laura Hutchinson gave a sigh of exasperation. "I still have no clue what you're talking about and frankly I'm through trying to understand! Now go and run Caroline's bath! It's getting late!"

"Yes, Madam."

Through the thin parlour door, Ernest Caldwell could hear everything Helena and Lady Hutchinson were saying and he wondered with intense curiosity what secret Helena was so unwilling to share.

"Add some wood to the fire, would you, Ernest? There's a draft coming in and I can't afford to fall ill - not with the Assembly set to resume this week."

"Yes, of course, Sir," Ernest answered, turning to face Lord James Hutchinson, his employer and patriarch of the Hutchinson family.

"And make sure to use the old wood - those logs the Hayden boy brought us smoke too much," Lord Hutchinson added, giving his newspaper a shake so as to straighten the pages.

"Yes, Sir."

After selecting only the oldest of the logs stacked beside the hearth, Ernest dutifully added more wood to the fire, stoking it as needed. Within minutes, it was crackling peacefully once more.

"Absolute lunacy..."

Ernest looked up. "Something the matter, Sir?"

"No...no...nothing that concerns you, anyways," he answered slowly, repositioning his feet so that they rested on the small, brown ottoman in front of him. Seated in his high-backed, leather lounge chair, the graying parliamentarian coughed and continued reading.

"Well. Would it be alright if I turn in for the night then, Sir?" Ernest asked hopefully.

The butler's motive for going to bed earlier than usual had nothing to do with his desire to sleep and everything to do with finding an opportunity to speak with Helena - though admittedly he would probably benefit more from the former than the latter. Lord Hutchinson had set him to work in the stables that morning, cleaning the carriage and laying new straw in the horse pens. It had been exhausting work and he wouldn't mind laying his head on his pillow right about now...but then again, Helena had tried to tell Lady Hutchinson something - something important - and he was determined to find out what it was in the event the young maid needed his help.

"I see no reason why you shouldn't," Lord Hutchinson drawled, rousing Ernest from his thoughts.

"Very well then, Sir. I shall retire for the evening. Thank you."

Lord Hutchinson merely grunted and the butler left him alone in the parlour, being mindful to shut the door quietly as he exited. Once in the corridor, Ernest stopped and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Directly in front of him was the stairwell. To his left, the kitchen and beyond. To his right, the ante room and front door.

Hearing the muffled sound of Helena's voice upstairs, the butler stepped forwards, quietly, listening intently. He couldn't very well go upstairs without first ensuring that Lady Hutchinson wasn't up there also. He tiptoed forwards and peered up the dimly lit stairwell.

Where is that confounded mistress of mine...

As his room was on the main floor, past the kitchen at the opposite end of the house, Ernest would have to think of an excuse for going upstairs. Just then however, a sudden _clang_ from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

Peter had evidently dropped a pot or something of the sort and the _clang_ was proceeded by a barrage of shouts from Lady Hutchinson as she began to scold the young cook.

There she is.

Wanting to go into the kitchen and help soothe the situation, he realized that this temporary distraction was his chance and, seizing on his bit of good fortune, the butler made his way quickly up the stairs. Once upstairs, Ernest navigated his way through the corridor using the dim light emanating from the bathroom, and stopped once he reached the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar and he could hear the voices of Helena and Caroline inside. Helena was explaining to the young Hutchinson girl why she had to wash her hair.

"But, it's so cold!"

"Caroline, it's _not_ cold. I heated this water not half an hour ago."

"And that's why it's _cold_ , Helena!"

There was a rush of water and Ernest could hear Caroline start to whimper.

"Hold still, Caroline."

"But, it's cold."

Evidently, they were going to be awhile. Stepping away from the bathroom door, he moved towards the stairwell and listened closely. He didn't want Lady Hutchinson coming upstairs and surprising him - not with him lurking outside the bathroom door like some peeping Tom. Or peeping _Oliver_. Leaning forwards, he looked out over the banister, eyes and ears straining for any sign of Lady Hutchinson.

He needn't have tried so hard though as, a moment later, Lady Hutchinson's shrill, loud voice echoed down the corridor and carried up the stairs.

_Poor Peter_ , the butler thought to himself, shaking his head in dismay. _They really don't appreciate the good work he does..._

Several seconds passed in which Ernest reflected on the Hutchinson's lack of gratitude towards the hardworking cook. But then, suddenly, there came the familiar creaking sound of the kitchen door being opened, followed by the unmistakeable sound of Lady Hutchinson's heels on the hardwood floor. She was in the corridor now and by the sounds of her brisk pace she would reach the stairs in an instant.

Stepping quickly away from the stairwell, the butler pressed himself against the wall beside the bathroom door once again. It was quickly becoming apparent that he would be unable to speak with Helena tonight.

It'll have to wait until tomorrow.

With his mind now set on confronting the maid the following morning, Ernest turned, plucked the oil lamp from the table at the top of the stairwell, and made his way back downstairs just as Lady Hutchinson had begun to climb them.

"Ernest?"

"Oh, Madam, you gave me quite a fright," he lied, patting his chest dramatically.

"What were you doing upstairs? I thought you were in the parlour with James."

"I was, Madam. And then I had to fetch the lamp for Helena. It needs refilling."

The tall, stern-looking woman nodded. "Right. Very well then."

"And as soon as I'm finished with that, I'm headed to bed."

"Oh? Are you quite tired?"

"Yes, Madam. Lord Hutchinson worked me like a Negro today."

The woman looked at him. "He had you in the stables, did he not?"

Ernest nodded and descended two more steps so that he was at eye level with his taller mistress.

The woman paused and pursed her lips. "I meant to speak with him about that," she remarked after several seconds. "You're getting too old to be doing that sort of labour. Best we leave those types of tasks to Oliver or Peter from now on. I'll speak with James tomorrow and tell him that you're not to work in the stables any longer."

"Thank you, Madam."

"There's no need to thank me. You've been with our family for nearly six years now...and we need to keep you in good condition if you're to last another six," she finished, winking.

Ernest smiled politely.

"Now," she said, growing serious once more, "it's getting late and the ladies are coming for luncheon tomorrow. It will be a busy day. I want you fully rested and ready to go at seven o'clock. So off to bed with you."

"Yes, of course, Madam."

"Good night, Ernest."

"Good night, Madam."

Their conversation over, the butler continued down the stairs and then shuffled down the corridor. He passed the kitchen where he could hear Peter grumbling to himself, the storage closet that contained a bit of everything, and the guest room, before finally arriving at his bedroom door.

Once inside, Ernest set the lamp down on his dresser, closed the door, and locked it. The oil didn't need refilling - he'd done it just yesterday. The lamp had only been a prop - an excuse to be upstairs. Unfortunately, he'd still not gotten an opportunity to speak with Helena. Still, there was always tomorrow.

As his feet were exceedingly sore, the butler took a seat on the edge of his small, sturdy bed and removed his shoes. It was January, the coldest month of the year in Kingston, and he pulled thick, woolen socks over top of the ones he already had on to keep his feet from freezing in the night.

That done, he changed into his pyjamas - as quickly as he could to avoid the chill of the night air - turned down the lamp, and crawled under the covers. His bed was cold and it took a long while to warm up. Rubbing his hands and feet together, he was able to speed the process along and within minutes, he was warm and yawning fiercely. Not long after, Ernest felt his eyelids flutter, and he was soon fast asleep and snoring softly.

### \- 2 -

The following morning got off to a fast and tumultuous start. Lady Hutchinson was in a foul mood because Peter had found a mouse in the pantry. Enraged by this, she had Peter and Ernest check each and every item of food for mouse droppings and then had them place bits of lye soaked bread in every crack and crevice.

Ernest had hoped that he would have a chance to speak with Helena, but with all the hubbub surrounding the discovery of the mouse and Lady Hutchinson's afternoon luncheon, no opportunity arose.

It was only after morning tea, as Ernest was heading outside to speak with Oliver the groundskeeper about clearing the ice from the front step, that he finally found himself alone with Helena.

"Helena."

"Ernest."

She seemed distracted. Distant.

"Busy morning, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Well, after this upcoming week-end, we should get some respite. Master Hutchinson is back to the Assembly on Monday and so our work should be a little lighter."

"For you, maybe," the young woman scoffed. "The Madam can't seem to leave me be. And what with Caroline's embroidery and reading lessons now - I'll hardly have a minute to myself."

Ernest looked closely at the maid's face. Her golden blonde hair. A single lock protruding from her maid's cap. Her eyes, worried and concerned-looking. Her mouth, unsmiling.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Helena - "

"HELENA! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"COMING, MADAM!"

"Sorry, Ernest. I've got to get the plants in the drawing room watered, the table set, Caroline's hair needs doing..."

"Right...er...well...we'll talk later in the day then, shall we?"

She looked at him begrudgingly. "If I have time."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to impose. You need time for yourself after all."

"I'm glad you understand."

"HELENA!"

"I'M COMING!"

Ernest watched as the young maid turned and disappeared upstairs.

It's going to be a busy day.

He continued down the corridor and made his way outside where the January air was as frigid as always. Shivering, he surveyed the sprawling, snow-covered yard, searching for the groundskeeper.

"Oliver?"

The butler made his way through the tall hedges that flanked the main yard and saw a plume of smoke coming from the chimney stack of Oliver's cabin at the bottom of the hill. Stepping carefully along the snow-covered pathway. He descended the hill and arrived at the sturdy, wooden door minute later.

He rapped sharply.

"Oliver?"

There came the scraping of a chair, the sound of footsteps, and then the door opened.

"What do you want, old man?"

Ernest was taken aback by the unfriendly greeting. While Oliver had always been considered to be somewhat of a brute, he was not usually so crass.

"Master Hutchinson has asked me to ask you to remove the ice from the front step. Madam is worried that one of the ladies may slip."

"I haven't gotten to that yet," answered Oliver dryly, wiping his hands on his leather apron.

Ernest looked at the brawny groundskeeper, ignoring the foul odour emanating from his person. "Any clue as to when you'll get to it?"

"No. I'll get to it when I get to it."

Ernest smiled to mask his disproval. Evidently the man was in another one of his "moods".

"Right, well I'll tell Master Hutchinson that you'll get to it _sometime_ today."

"Tell him what you like, old man."

The man's steel blue eyes - which Ernest thought contrasted oddly with his bright red hair - bored into his and he smiled once more, hoping to ease the tension. "Bit nippy out, eh?"

Oliver grunted and shifted his gaze away. Evidently, he had no intention of inviting Ernest inside. Not that the butler was particularly keen to step inside the unkempt cabin. The few times he'd done so, there'd been game hanging from the rafters with the blood of the animals left to drip unhindered onto the floor below. Not exactly sanitary...

Ernest rubbed his hands together, managing to warm them only slightly. "Right, well, I suppose I'll be going then."

Oliver looked back at him, then shut the door. There was the sound of the lock being turned and then footsteps as the groundskeeper returned to whatever he'd been doing.

Ernest shook his head disdainfully, unable to comprehend why Oliver was such a slovenly brute, and then turned and made his way back towards the house. As he passed once more through the hedges that flanked the main yard however, he stopped.

There was something in the hedges. It was difficult to make out, but if he just got a little closer...a boot? There was a boot. Stuck firmly amongst the branches of the tallest hedge. It was Helena's boot.

Trying to determine how Helena's boot might have come to arrive at such a place, Ernest bent down on hands and knees and managed to free it.

Back inside, he headed to the kitchen and set the boot by the oven. Peter was busy skinning a chicken, skillfully separating the meat from the feathers without wasting a morsel.

"I've left Helena's boot beside the stove, Peter. It needs thawing. I found it in the hedges outside. If you see her before I do, let her know that it's there, will you?"

"I shall, Ernest," said the young cook without looking up from his work.

"Thank you."

Ernest made his way towards the door, but stopped himself before going through.

"Say, Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Have you noticed anything different...or peculiar...about Helena lately?"

"No, I can't say - well - hold on - now that you mention it," he said pensively, setting down his knife, "she was crying the other day. Out by the stables. It was fairly early in the morning - "

"What day was this exactly?"

"Well, today is Thursday, so let me see..."

He muttered to himself as he counted backwards.

"Monday. Monday morning. I was bringing in some lamb from the cellar. And I saw her. Standing there."

"And you say she was crying?"

"Yes."

"Out by the stables?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I confess that I do not know, Ernest."

The butler massaged the stubble on his chin as he deliberated. "Did you speak with her then?"

Peter shook his head. "No. It seemed...private. I felt it best not to interfere."

Ernest leaned back against the wall.

Cheerful Helena? Crying? Whatever for?

The door swung open then and Lady Hutchinson strode in with Caroline following closely behind her, chattering away.

"Is Charlotte coming for luncheon then?"

"No. Mrs. Winthrop said that she is sick with the flu."

"No," the young girl whined, obviously disappointed that her playmate wouldn't be coming that afternoon.

"Yes."

Neither had noticed Ernest standing sentry-like behind them. Lady Hutchinson switched her attention to Peter.

"So are we clear about the menu?"

"Yes, Madam. One basket of croissants, a platter of cured ham, a dish of pickled cucumber, a dish of pickled beet, and a tureen of chicken soup. And of course, tea. Oh, and a small basket of biscuits for the soup."

Lady Hutchinson smiled. "Good. And what time is luncheon to be brought out?"

"At one o'clock, Madam."

"Very good. I expect - Ernest?"

"Madam."

"I didn't see you there, Ernest. You startled me."

"Oh...I apologize...er...I was just trying to remember what Master Hutchinson wanted me to do this afternoon. I sort of fell into a day dream."

Caroline laughed.

"This is no time for day dreaming, Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson tersely, casting her daughter a reproving stare. "The ladies will be here in two hours. Go and ask him what he wants from you and be quick about it. He's in the parlour."

"Yes, Madam."

"And tell him I'd like to speak with him."

"I shall."

"Thank you, Ernest."

"You're welcome, Madam."

Lady Hutchinson's luncheon came off without a hitch, much to everyone's surprise - Lady Hutchinson included - and after supper that evening, while Ernest cleared away the dishes, the happy hostess raved about the event.

"And James, you should have heard Mrs. Winthrop's compliments! The woman would not cease speaking. She absolutely _adored_ Peter's chicken soup. I don't believe she's ever had chicken soup. You know? As Peter's recipe is nothing _unique_ \- not by any stretch of the imagination - I can't envision why she would compliment it so. Still, a compliment is a compliment."

"Hmmm, yes," was all Lord Hutchinson replied.

"Stop fidgeting, Caroline! Goodness!"

The young girl stopped what she was doing and looked wide-eyed at her mother.

"How _ever_ are we going to prepare you for polite society?"

"Oh, Laura," interrupted Lord Hutchinson. "Give it a rest, would you? She's eight years old."

"And that's high time to start behaving like a lady. When I was her age, I had already been wholly trained in proper dining etiquette. Not to mention, singing, dancing, and sewing."

"Well, teach her then."

"I've _tried_ teaching her. She refuses to heed my instruction!"

"Well, get Helena to help you. I thought she was going to start giving Caroline lessons of some sort anyways."

"She is. Helena will be giving her reading and embroidery lessons. However, as her mother, it is my _duty_ to teach my daughter to behave in civilized society. That's my domain, James. And I hardly think our _Helena_ could teach her as well as I."

"I'll take my coffee in the parlour, Ernest," said Lord Hutchinson, shaking his head at his wife's ramblings.

Ernest smiled just enough to be polite. "Certainly, Sir."

"James."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Are you listening to what I am saying?"

"Of course, my little hummingbird. You would like Caroline to behave like a proper lady."

"Yes!"

"Well, then, teach her."

"She doesn't let me!"

Lord Hutchinson shook his head once more, and rose from the table.

"Can I be excused now, mother?" asked Caroline.

"See what you've started now, James? She sees you get up and immediately wants to leave the table after you."

Lord Hutchinson shrugged. "I don't know what to say, darling."

"Just...oh never mind. You may be excused, Caroline," said Lady Hutchinson, turning towards her daughter. "But _tomorrow_ you'll be spending an hour or more with me learning how to sit properly. Are we clear?"

"Yes, mother."

"Very well then. You may go."

Lady Hutchinson watched her daughter get up from the table and follow her father out of the dining room.

"What do you think, Ernest?"

Ernest, who had lingered behind to see if Lady Hutchinson wanted anything more from him, didn't know what to say.

"Er..."

"Do you think I'm being unfair? She is only eight after all..."

"I suppose it's all relative, Madam. These are different times."

The woman sighed and propped her chin on the heel of her hand. "I suppose...perhaps I am being a bit strict..."

She made a face and Ernest smiled. "You're simply trying to be the best mother that you can be to our Caroline."

"Awww. That's so sweet. Thank you, Ernest. You can be so wise at times."

The butler chuckled to lighten his discomfort. He wasn't accustomed to compliments from Lady Hutchinson.

"I try my best, Madam."

"Well, keep it up, Ernest. We love having you with us."

"Thank you, Madam. Your confidence in me is inspiring. Would you like some coffee as well? I've got to go and make some for Lord Hutchinson."

"No, thank you, Ernest. I rather find that it keeps me up at night. And after the busy day we've had, heaven knows I could do with an early night."

"As you like, Madam."

"Tomorrow evening, perhaps. Lady Armstrong said it helps with her digestion. And according to Doctor Avery, it has many benefits for the body. So tomorrow evening, I'll have you make me a cup."

"With pleasure, Madam. Now, I really must be going," said Ernest, juggling the stack of plates he had cradled in his arms. "Lord Hutchinson doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"No, that he doesn't. Off with you then. And I'll ring for you if I need something before bed."

"Of course, Madam. Never hesitate."

With that, Ernest left Lady Hutchinson at the dining room table and headed for the kitchen.

It was a short while later, returning to the kitchen after bringing Lord Hutchinson his coffee, that he finally got a chance to be alone with Helena.

"Goodness. Ernest. You gave me a scare."

The butler smiled apologetically, and shut the kitchen door behind him. Evidently he'd acquired the habit of frightening people.

"I thought you heard me come in," he said slowly.

"I suppose I should have. My thoughts were elsewhere. It's no matter. All's well."

She finished cramming a slice of ham into her mouth - leftover from the luncheon earlier that day - and picked the hot kettle off the stove that was to be used for Lady Hutchinson's washing up.

"Here, let me get that," said Ernest, moving quickly to help the young maid.

"No. It's fine. I've got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please. You do enough for me as it is."

Ernest looked at her. "Really? Sometimes I feel as though I'm not doing enough."

"Really, Ernest. You've already done more for me than either of my parents ever did."

Considering that he really hadn't done all that much for her in the two years she'd been employed by the Hutchinson family, Ernest could only wonder what sort of uncaring creatures her parents had been.

"So, er, how have you been these past few days? Is anything troubling you?"

He'd told himself that since he'd had such difficulty getting a chance to speak with her, in private, that the next chance he had, he would just come right out and ask. No beating around the hedges as his mother used to say.

Helena looked sideways at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Ernest said, seizing up again.

He watched as the maid, a tea towel in each hand, leaned forwards and grasped the heavy kettle.

"Please. Helena. Give me a minute to ask you something."

The girl set the kettle back onto the burner and turned to face him. "Okay. What?"

She seemed suddenly hostile and Ernest wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

"Last night...while I was in the parlour with Lord Hutchinson...I heard you trying to tell something to Lady Hutchinson."

"Ernest," Helena said, somewhat incredulously, "that's really none of your business."

She turned and went to pick up the kettle once more.

"No! Please! Just wait. Give me a minute to explain myself properly."

"Argh. Ernest. Please. I have to get Lady Hutchinson her hot water."

"Helena. Just a minute. Please."

He was desperate now. Helena rested her hands on her hips and stared at him.

"If you're in trouble...I can help you....are you in some kind of...trouble?"

The fearsome look on the young maid's face softened. "I'm flattered, Ernest, that you would be willing to help me. But I really don't know that there is anything you can do."

"Well. What's the problem? Do you owe money to someone? Has someone threatened you?"

Ernest racked his brain for possibilities. "Are you with child?"

At this last one, the room seemed to freeze and the butler stopped himself.

"You're not with child...are you?"

But the look on her face was all the answer he needed. "You're with child? Goodness...Helena..."

The girl's previously stoic face melted and Ernest could see tears welling up in her soft, brown eyes.

"But who ever is the father? You hardly go out."

Helena bit her lip and looked away, leaning her head backwards so as to stem the flow of her tears.

"Peter? It's Peter, isn't it?"

Ernest was giddy with excitement now.

"Helena. It's a miracle. Life. It's a miracle. Don't be sad about it."

He walked quickly over to where she was standing and opened his arms to embrace her. But all this seemed to do was bring on a flood of tears and the poor girl began to sob. She threw herself forwards, clutching at him and then crying on his shoulder as he hugged her gently.

"Dear Helena. What ever is the matter? I know it's a big change in your life - but it'll be alright. It'll work itself out."

"You don't understand, Ernest," she wailed.

"What? What don't I understand?"

"I don't want it! I didn't want it!"

"The baby? How can you say such a thing? Oh, Helena. A child is a blessing!"

"No, Ernest. Not _this_ child."

"But, pray, tell me, what are you trying to say?"

"I was ravaged, Ernest! In the most vile way, by the most vile, disgusting man!"

Shocked, the butler pulled himself from her grip. His mouth gaping, his face ashen, he looked wide-eyed at the sobbing, red-faced young woman before him.

"But...who? How? When?"

His words came slowly, a pause between each one. Helena shook her head and wiped away her tears.

"I can't say anything, Ernest."

"But no! You must! You must, Helena! Don't you see? This man must be brought to justice!"

"Ernest, he said he'd do it again if I told! He said he might even hurt me worse next time!"

"No! I won't allow it! Whoever hurt you...Helena...you must tell me! Is it someone I know? Is it someone in this house?"

He was almost tormenting her now. Pushing her. Begging her to tell him.

"OLIVER! IT WAS OLIVER! OKAY!?"

Shocked, Ernest stepped backwards, releasing her arms as he did so.

"Oliver? Our Oliver?"

"Yes. Our Oliver. Oliver the groundskeeper."

### \- 3 -

Ernest was perplexed by Helena's startling revelation. No one at the Hutchinson household had ever really liked Oliver. He was loud, uncouth, slovenly. His breath always stunk. His encounter with the swarthy groundskeeper the day of Lady Hutchinson's luncheon had been particularly unpleasant...

But never would Ernest have thought the man capable of something so vile. Rape. Rape was something that happened in London. Maybe in Toronto even. But Kingston? At the Hutchinson's own residence?

Helena had refused to answer where the attack had occured, but Ernest figured that the boot he'd found in the hedges might have something to do with the story.

Shaking his head in sadness and disgust, the butler climbed slowly out of bed and massaged his temples.

What to do...what to do...

Accusing Oliver of something so heinous would require proof; Lord Hutchinson, of all people, respected the rule of law. Lady Hutchinson would likely believe Helena's story, but she had neither the authority nor the willingness to have Oliver arrested. The shame of such a thing would surely harm her credibility among Kingston's social elite.

More importantly, Helena had implored him to stay silent about the matter, to not discuss it with anyone, fearing she would lose her job if Lord Hutchinson or Lady Hutchinson were to learn that she was with child.

What to do, therefore? Tell Lord Hutchinson that Helena had been viciously assaulted by Oliver - even though Helena had specifically told him not to breathe a word? Remain silent and let Oliver's crime go unpunished? What to do, indeed...

Setting aside the matter for a moment, Ernest changed out of his pyjamas and into his uniform. Perhaps after breakfast, once he'd had some more time to think, he'd have a solution.

As it turned out, Ernest was no closer to a solution after breakfast than he had been before breakfast. Nibbling slowly on his slice of bread and boiled egg, he'd had ample time to ponder the matter. He'd run through a dozen different scenarios in his mind, but all of them ended in Helena being made to leave because of her condition. He knew as well as she that there was no hope of Lady Hutchinson allowing her to stay if she was with child.

Of course, they wouldn't have to divulge that Helena was with child. They could leave that bit of information out and simply state Oliver's crime. However, Lady Hutchinson being the inquisitive and diligent woman that she was, would no doubt insist that Doctor Avery examine her. And that would be the end of that little ruse.

Thus, they had to somehow charge Oliver with the crime without implicating Helena. Surely not impossible. Yet nonetheless, difficult. What to do...

A solution came to him that evening as he was rekindling the fire in the parlour for Lord Hutchinson. On the mantle, directly above him, displayed with regal prominence, was the pistol of Lord Hutchinson's grandfather, Captain James Hutchinson. According to Lord Hutchinson, his namesake had been a member of the Royal Artillery regiment and had fought in the Battle of the Plains of Abraham in seventeen hundred and fifty-nine. The pistol was a treasured family heriloom, left to Lord Hutchinson by his father Amos, and Lord Hutchinson never failed to bring guests into his parlour so that he could tell them about it. Surely, if it were to go missing, it would be noticed immediately. And its importance to Lord Hutchinson would almost guarantee that if a person were to steal it, he or she would be severely reprimanded.

All he had to do therefore, thought Ernest as he poked the new logs into position, was steal the pistol and hide it in Oliver's cabin. Oliver was not well liked at the Hutchinson household. Nor was he liked in town. If Lord Hutchinson's pistol were to go missing and turn up in Oliver's cabin, few, if anyone, would raise an eyebrow.

Ernest couldn't help but smile and silently congratulate himself as he stood there poking at the fire and reflecting further on his idea. It was simple and effective. Oliver would be gone from the Hutchinson household. And Helena would have some time before having to tell Lady Hutchinson of her predicament. Well, three months or so. Then she would begin to show and there'd be no hiding the fact.

However, in the meantime Helena would still have a job and Oliver would be but an unfortunate memory. Determined to carry out his plan the following day, Ernest replaced the log poker and rose to his feet. Lord Hutchinson was just as he had been five minutes before - seated in his chair with his nose buried deep in the weekend edition of the _British Whig_.

"Shall I bring you another coffee, sir? Or perhaps some tea?"

Lord Hutchinson coughed. "No, Ernest. But thank you. You've rekindled the fire?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I have no further need of you and you're free to do what you like for the rest of the evening."

"Thank you, Sir. I am much obliged."

This was good. Very good. He needed time to devise a plan.

When Lord Hutchinson said nothing more, Ernest excused himself, exited the parlour, and closed the door quietly behind him. At this late hour, his bedroom would give him the peace and quiet he needed to figure out the best way to frame Oliver with the theft of Lord Hutchinson's beloved heirloom.

There was nothing inviting about Oliver's cabin and the building was as openly hostile as its owner. With the groundskeeper gone into town to run errands for Lady Hutchinson however, he wouldn't be interfering with what Ernest was about to do.

As the butler eased the door open, it creaked loudly, causing the small hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. He wished Helena or Peter were with him. He'd promised himself last night, after much deliberation, that only he could know about his plan. To share it with Helena or Peter was to invite trouble and he wanted to be the only one involved.

Still, the eerie stillness of the dark and dreary cabin interior reminded him why he'd thought to include Helena and Peter in his plans in the first place; he certainly wouldn't object to having either of them by his side right now.

Ernest stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar so that someone might hear his shouts should Oliver arrive home early and intervene. He crossed the floor quickly, sidestepping buckets of blood and the sundry dead animals hanging from the rafters and stopped beside Oliver's bed. Evidently the place hadn't changed much since he'd last been inside.

Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew the pistol and placed it behind the headboard. That would hide it from Oliver, but yet, it was also a place one would look if searching for it. All he had to do now was wait for Lord Hutchinson to ask where the pistol had disappeared to and answer that he'd seen Oliver earlier in the day, coming from the parlour, acting in a suspicious manner. With any luck, the groundskeeper would be gone by bedtime.

Giddy with excitement about the events that were about to unfold, Ernest hurried back across the room and left the cabin. In three hours Lord Hutchinson would be home. He would have his supper. After, he would have Ernest bring him his coffee while he relaxed in the parlour. He'd see the pistol conspicuously absent from the mantle, and the inquest would begin. Justice was sweet...

It didn't take long for Lord Hutchinson to notice that his beloved pistol was missing. He'd come home shortly after five o'clock in the company of Lord Baldwin, a charismatic and energetic man who was as wide as he was tall. They'd supped on Peter's meal of pheasant and sweet potatoes, and afterwards, had retired to the parlour to smoke their pipes and discuss the business conducted in the Legislative Assembly earlier that day. But they were hardly in there five minutes, when Ernest had heard Lord Hutchinson shout.

"MY GRANDFATHER'S PISTOL! WHERE IS IT?"

Ernest of course, knowing full well where the pistol was, had calmly continued to clear the supper table. Lady Hutchinson on the other hand went to see her husband immediately.

"James? Why are you shouting? What's all this about your grandfather's pistol?"

Within minutes the entire house was being turned upside down as Lord Hutchinson commenced the search for his precious heirloom. Lord Baldwin offered to stay and help, but Lady Hutchinson sent him home. She did not want him to witness any longer, her husband's crazed behaviour. After all, if word got out that Lord James Hutchinson threw a tantrum when he couldn't find something...

After setting Caroline up in the drawing room with her embroidery patterns, she joined Helena in searching the upstairs for the missing pistol. Peter and Ernest were assigned the main floor while Lord Hutchinson seemed to be everywhere, opening drawers at random and peering into cabinets that held little more than extra bedding.

Oliver never came to assist with the search - much to Ernest's delight. The groundskeeper was usually in his cabin by six o'clock and didn't stir until the morning. He had no inkling of the uproar taking place inside the house - and Ernest hoped it would stay that way. His absence would surely seem suspicious to Lord and Lady Hutchinson. When it came time to search his cabin, and the pistol was discovered, there'd be no sympathy for the wretched man.

The search of the Hutchinson family home lasted an hour, and Ernest feigned surprise when they failed to find the missing pistol.

"Where in the name of all that is holy could that bloody thing be hiding?" Lady Hutchinson grumbled as she passed Ernest in the corridor.

"I haven't the faintest idea, Madam," the butler answered with all the sincerity he could muster.

"Well, where ever it is, I don't see any hope of finding it."

Ernest watched her go then made his way into the parlour where Lord Hutchinson sat in his chair, smoking his pipe.

He looked up as the butler entered.

"Sir, I..."

"It's alright, Ernest. It's gone. I knew this would happen. Laura warned me to keep it under lock and key. I always opposed that option though. What good is having a family heirloom of that stature and hiding it away in a drawer somewheres? Bah."

"Yes, I would have to agree."

"The problem, Ernest, is that it was evidently someone under this roof that took it."

The parliamentarian stared at Ernest as he puffed away on his pipe.

"Of course, there's no way of ever finding out."

"I'm sorry, Sir. Do you suspect me?"

Lord Hutchinson laughed. "Heavens no, Ernest. You're far too loyal. No, it was likely that kitchen boy...Piers or Patrick or whatever."

"Peter."

"Yes, Peter."

"Why do you suspect him? Sir."

Lord Hutchinson's expression was shrewd and calculating. "He needs money obviously. He's got a family back home, you know. His mother. Alone and without a husband to look after her. Several younger brothers and sisters running about. Probably not much food in the house."

"Er...yes...I suppose they are rather poor."

The butler turned and slid the parlour door shut. No sense in having Peter overhear their conversation. If only he could steer Lord Hutchinson's attention to Oliver...

"If it wasn't him, well, bah, I can't see Helena doing such a thing. And Oliver - "

He stopped himself and took a long drag from his pipe.

"I suppose...perhaps..."

Trying hard to suppress his excitement, Ernest concentrated on keeping his voice steady. "You suspect Oliver, Sir?"

"Yes...yes..."

He puffed away and stared into space. Ernest watched and waited.

"The man is quite a loathsome creature..."

Ernest nodded, but said nothing.

"Completely uninhabitable that cabin of his...and while he's never shown an interest in money, he is a collector. He likes to collect pelts and animal skulls and those types of things. Perhaps he's starting a new collection? Stolen items. God only knows..."

Ernest wanted to jump out of his shoes, but he maintained his self-control.

"While I think it prudent to avoid hasty conclusions, I must confess, if I were a betting man, I would put my money on Oliver."

Lord Hutchinson looked at him, nodded, and resumed puffing.

He'd done it. He'd managed to steer him towards Oliver. More importantly, he'd managed to do it without giving the impression that he was doing it. Lord Hutchinson was not a man to take instructions - but any man could be manipulated - and Ernest had managed to do just that.

Overjoyed that his plan was now in full swing, he asked Lord Hutchinson if he could get him anything else, and when the greying parliamentarian answered no, he politely excused himself and headed to his bedroom to revel in his victory.

"OUT YOU GO! THAT'S IT! Officer Bates!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Take him to the wagon."

"Of course, Sir."

"What's going on?"

Ernest, back from shopping with Lady Hutchinson, had just arrived at the scene unfolding outside Oliver's cabin.

"We found my grandfather's pisol," Lord Hutchinson answered grimly. "Behind the headboard of Oliver's bed."

Ernest feigned a look of surprise. "No..."

"I'm afraid so," said the pudgy police captain with the large walrus moustache standing beside Lord Hutchinson.

"YOU!"

Ernest looked up to see Oliver, hands cuffed behind his back and being led away by Officer Bates, glaring at him.

"Me?"

"YOU DID THIS! I KNOW YOU DID! YOU!"

Ernest felt a wave of anxiety rush over him, but reminded himself that nothing Oliver was saying made sense to anyone present.

"Me? What ever do you mean, Oliver?"

"YOU STOLE LORD HUTCHINSON'S PISTOL! YOU PLANTED IT IN MY ROOM! I KNOW YOU DID!"

Ernest did his best to look dumbfounded.

"I have no idea what he's talking about, Sir."

Lord Hutchinson returned his gaze and nodded. "We know, Ernest. The raving accusations of a guilty man."

"I see it everyday," agreed the pudgy police captain, shaking his head. "Shame, really. It's so much easier when they simply confess."

"Ah, but then you'd be out of a job, Captain Iverson."

The police captain chuckled at Lord Hutchinson's remark. "I supoose you're right."

"THIS ISN'T OVER, ERNEST CALDWELL! I'LL BE BACK FOR YOU! YOU MARK MY WORDS! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!"

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" Captain Iverson barked loudly.

"YES, SIR!" Officer Bates yelled in response as he and another officer dragged the groundskeeper to the wagon waiting out front.

"Heavens! James! What's happening?"

It was Lady Hutchinson.

"Everything's fine, my little hummingbird. Look. We found my grandfather's pistol," he said cheerfully, holding the arm up for her to see.

"Where?" she said, looking anxiously from face to face.

"In Oliver's cabin."

"Oliver!? Goodness. I don't believe it."

"Aye, Madam Hutchinson," Captain Iverson said. "What your husband says is true."

"Well, I guess we'll be needing a new groundskeeper then," she said matter-of-factly.

And with that Lady Hutchinson turned and went back into the house.

The police captain chuckled. "Women, eh?"

### \- 4 -

The rest of January seemed to pass quickly. Caroline became quite adept at embroidery under Helena's tutelage. Peter crafted a few new stew recipes and took up soap making. And Philip Hutchinson, Lord and Lady Hutchison's twenty-six year old son, returned home from his two year sojourn in Toronto where he and several associates had been busy establishing a lumber mill.

As for Oliver, he'd been sentenced to a year's stay at Kingston Penitentiary. Lord Hutchinson took pity on him however and had Judge Hamilton lessen the sentence to six months. While Ernest disproved of the more lenient sentence, he was happy that Oliver was at least being punished and that Helena would never again be his victim.

The search for a new groundskeeper hadn't lasted long. As soon as Lord Hutchinson learned that Philip would be returning home, he canceled the advertisement he'd placed in the _British Whig_. Philip was somewhat handy, and in the words of Lord Hutchinson, "in need of honest, character-building work", and thus the task of maintaining the grounds and batiments of the Hutchinson estate fell to him.

Ernest wasn't particularly fond of the eldest Hutchinson child. Master Philip was arrogant and often obnoxious - though that wasn't his greatest fault. The young man's greatest fault was his unhealthy fixation with the drink. In fact, his attachment to brandy, rum, and whisky was so severe that he had been arrested on several occasions for "public drunkenness". Philip Hutchinson's frequent visits to the county jail had been a source of embarassment for the Hutchinson family ever since they had arrived in Kingston and as soon as Lord Hutchinson heard of his son's desire to travel to Toronto for business, he'd bought the carriage ticket.

But according to the numerous letters he'd sent home over the course of the past twenty-four months, Philip Hutchinson was a changed man. He'd given up alcohol for good (Ernest doubted this given his previous penchant for anything in a bottle), had begun attending church, and hoped to find a wife and settle down.

All this of course was hearsay - Ernest obtained this information second hand from Helena who read bits and pieces of Philip's letters while coiffing Lady Hutchinson's hair or setting out tea in the drawing room - and it remained to be seen whether the "new" Philip Hutchinson was indeed a changed man or whether he'd simply found a better mask to hide his bad habits. At any rate, he was once again a member of the Hutchinson household, so time would soon tell.

"Father, are you still smoking?" he asked that evening as the family sat in the parlour, Ernest standing idle in the corner.

Lord Hutchinson nodded. "Aye, son. It clears the mind."

"I can't imagine mother approves," said Philip scornfully, casting a sideways glance at Lady Hutchinson who pretended as though she wasn't listening.

"Sorry? What was that?"

"I said, I can't imagine you approve of father smoking, mother."

"No, I can't say that I do," the woman sighed, before recommencing her knitting.

"And how about you, Ernest? Do you smoke?"

The butler feigned a laugh. "No. No tobacco for this old boy. Doctor Avery says it's not wise at my age."

"Well father's practically your age."

Ernest managed a soft chuckle. "Well he sure doesn't look it."

"No, he does look rather young for a man of his age, doesn't he? Doesn't he mother?"

"Sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I asked whether or not you think father looks young for his age."

"Well, gosh, I...of course. Philip, please do change the topic. That is not polite conversation. You set the example for your sister, you know."

"It's okay, mother," said Caroline sweetly, looking up from her drawing book. "I know never to mention the age of an older person."

"Very good, darling."

"See mother, she knows," said Philip irritably, waving his hand dismissively.

Bored, he climbed out of his chair by the fire and set about inspecting the various artifacts Lord Hutchinson had displayed around the parlour. He stopped beside the mantle and glanced at a photograph hanging from the wall.

"Father, isn't this that man who used to tailor your suits in London?" asked the young man, pointing at a photograph. "Andrews or something, wasn't it?"

"Aye. William Andrews. A good man. Passed away last year."

Ernest watched as Philip put a hand to his mouth. "No."

"Aye. Married forty-three years. Fathered four children. Now he's gone."

"Well, I imagine his wife was well looked after."

"Yes, I believe William left her a fair sum of money."

"Wonder if the old bird's spent it, by now."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, I hope she's well."

Lord Hutchinson cleared his throat and gave a nod before taking another long puff from his pipe. "Aye."

"And what of Lord Turner?" asked Philip, moving on to another photograph. "Have you kept up a correspondance?"

"Aye. Received a letter from him at Christmas, in fact. Reported that the family is doing well. His wife, I'm not sure you remember her - "

"The one who always wore those ridiculous mantelets?"

Lady Hutchinson gave a "tut-tut" (although Ernest noticed a small smile played across her lips) and Caroline giggled.

Lord Hutchinson exhaled a stream of smoke and looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry, father. I can tell that my comments are perturbing you."

Ernest watched, transfixed, as the greying parliamentarian lowered his eyes and let them settle on his son.

"And what of you, eh? After all of your pomp and circumstance and fashion critiques?" he asked, his voice taking on a steely tone. "How is your business coming along in Toronto? Toronto, what kind of name is that for a city, anyways?"

"Father, it's quite a bustling and busy city. I must say, it's not unlike London. You know, even Mister Dickens himself is planning a visit this coming spring?"

" _Charles_ Dickens?" Lady Hutchinson interrupted.

"Yes, mother. The one and only."

Lady Hutchinson looked at her husband. "What do you think of that, James?"

Ernest watched as Lord Hutchinson exhaled another lungful of smoke. "I confess that I do not think much of it, Laura dear. He's an author. A romantic. His writings are fantastical - too imaginative - and describe nothing of the real world. Did you know the man had a pet raven? And that when the dirty bird died he had it stuffed and kept it as a souvenir?"

Lady Hutchinson laughed. "Oh heavens, James. Lighten up a little, would you? The man is celebrated all throughout the Empire. Of all people, _you_ , at least, should promote his genius."

"Genius? The man writes of politics as though he works in it. Politics is not the childish game he professes it to be. It's serious business and he makes a mockery of it."

"I see I've touched a nerve, father," said Philip, re-entering the conversation. "That wasn't my intention. Let us speak of other things. Your work, for instance. How - "

Lady Hutchinson looked at her son and shook her head silently, sternly.

" I see..." said Philip slowly, looking away from his mother. "Ernest, my good man. How about you regale us with an interesting story? I'm sure you have a good one to entertain us with."

"Master Philip," Ernest said, smiling politely, "I lead a humble life. I really - "

"It's alright, Ernest," said Lord Hutchinson sharply, rising from his chair. He turned to face his son. "I see you haven't changed a lick. Still the social lollygagger with all his bally hoo and foolish, school yard chit chat. When are you going to learn to speak like a man, eh? Of business, and war, and politics - "

"I tried to ask you about your work, father - "

"Enough! You know of my line of work! You know nothing of this history of this colony! You bide your time drinking and whoring and spilling every thought that enters that thin head of yours, all the while believing that you are actually performing some service in amusing us."

"James - "

"No, Laura. I have to accept the fact that my son is an incompetent buffoon who would rather drink and while his evenings away chatting about nonsensical school boy, bally hoo, when the rest of the men his age are working and establishing themselves as leaders."

"But father! I've started a lumber yard! With Ethan and Joshua!"

"Bah! I have friends in Toronto. They tell me your lumber yard is a joke. That you have six employees and that half of them are drunk Irishmen who don't know what end of the river to shit at."

"James!"

"Don't pester me, Laura. Ernest, go and make me a cup of tea and bring it to my room, please. As for you," said Lord Hutchinson, turning once again to face his son, "if you are to remain a member of this household, you will perform the work of groundskeeper. As well as any groundskeeper. As diligently as any groundskeeper. I am not to see you with a drop of liquor. And as for your other bad habits - many of which I no doubt have yet to see - leave them outside this house. And if you ruin my reputation in town, be prepared to be excluded from any inheritance you have coming your way."

"James!"

"Enough, Laura! The boy needs to be told. You've held his hand long enough."

With that, the proud patriarch pushed past Ernest and stormed out of the parlour.

"Heavens..." Laura muttered. "Are you alright, Philip?"

Ernest waited to see the young man's reaction.

But he said nothing. He swallowed, then, inhaling slowly, excused himself and left the room.

"Madam, I..."

"None of that was your fault, Ernest. Now go and make my husband's tea. Perhaps it will settle his nerves."

Philip Hutchinson's return was met with mixed reaction in Kingston. Some of those who had known him prior to his two year absence marveled at the young man's apparent transformation.

Budding businessman?

Devout Anglican?

Family man?

Still, others doubted his sincerity.

"It's not possible that he's changed so much in so little time," Ernest overheard Mrs. Everton say the following Thursday as he, Peter, and Lady Hutchinson perused the stalls of the indoor market.

The woman accompanying her voiced her own thoughts. "I heard he'd met a woman in Toronto and that they were engaged, but that her father forced them to annul it once he learned of Master Hutchinson's trouble with the drink."

This of course, wasn't true. As Ernest had learned from Helena, Philip had indeed met a woman while he'd been in Toronto. He'd proposed to her, but she'd refused him because she had plans to return to England the following year. She'd been unhappy in Canada ever since her parents had decided to emigrate and her father had said that she could return the following year, once she'd finished her schooling.

Her rejection had no doubt been injurious to Philip however - and perhaps even tarnished his reputation - but according to Lady Hutchinson, he'd gotten over it.

"Ernest, what do you think of this for a new tea pot?"

Shaking his thoughts away, the butler returned to the present and glanced at the tea pot Lady Hutchinson held up in front of him.

"It looks splendid, Madam."

Lady Hutchinson nodded smartly. "And you, Helena? Helena?"

"Sorry. What is it, Madam?"

"Are you alright, dear? You look a little pale."

Ernest watched the young woman closely as she managed a smile.

"Yes, Madam. I'm perfectly well. Thank you. It must be the lack of sun."

"Yes, these Canadian winters are absolutely dreadful, aren't they?"

It was a full week later, as Lady Hutchinson was assisting Caroline with her latest embroidery project, that the secret of Helena's pregnancy came out. Ernest had just delivered tea for Lady Hutchinson - Helena hadn't been feeling well all morning and had been told to stay in bed.

Pouring cream into the tea cups, all three had heard Helena leave her bedroom and make a mad dash for the bathroom. Several seconds later they heard the awful sounds of her wretching.

"Mother? What's the matter? What's wrong with Helena?" asked Caroline, clearly upset with the sickening sounds emanating from the bathroom.

"I don't know, darling. Perhaps Ernest will go and see. It sounds as though Helena may be ill with something. Go and check, will you, Ernest?"

"Of course, Madam," answered Ernest, setting down the creamer and hurrying from the room.

Inside the bathroom, he found Helena hunched over a bucket. She looked up at him as he entered.

"Oh, Helena..."

"It's alright, Ernest. I've been doing this almost every morning now. Seems to have hit me harder today though."

"Come, let's get you up," said the butler tenderly, bending down and helping Helena into a sitting position.

"Thank you, Ernest. What ever would I do without you."

"I don;t know, Helena. But I'm here alright. Now, just sit there while I go and fetch you a glass of water."

She nodded and Ernest left the bathroom.

"Ernest?" Lady Hutchinson called from the drawing room just as he was about to descend the stairs.

"Yes, Madam?"

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Madam. Everything is fine. I'm fetching some water for Helena. She's definitely ill."

"Is it serious? Shall I send for Doctor Avery?"

"Goodness, no, Madam. She'll be fine within a day or so I reckon."

"How can you be sure?"

She was at the door now, looking at him with an accusatory stare.

"What about the rest of us? What if we contract whatever Helena has got? Should we not know whether she should be quarantined?"

"Madam, I - "

"No, Ernest. You will fetch Helena a glass of water and then you will hurry to Doctor Avery's. Tell him it's urgent."

Ernest bowed his head to hide his worried expression. "Of course, Madam."

_Doctor Avery will clearly be able to tell that Helena was expecting_ , Ernest thought as he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. _What ever will happen to her when Lady Hutchinson finds out? She'll most certainly terminate her employment - even though it's not her fault. Perhaps Lord Hutchinson will take pity on her..._

As it turned out, Doctor Avery was indeed clearly able to tell that Helena was expecting. The minute Ernest arrived on his doorstep to tell him that he was needed at the Hutchinson household, he'd grabbed his bag, thrown on his coat, and they were back out the door within minutes, leaving poor Mrs. Avery all alone at the table, lunch having just been served. Immediately upon his arrival he'd followed Lady Hutchinson to Helena's bedside and there, without even removing his tools, he'd announced that she was with child.

"But how can you tell, Doctor Avery?" Lady Hutchinson implored, tight lines of concern etched across her face.

"She's swollen, Lady Hutchinson. Various areas are...enlarged. She's got that glow about her. Her hands are cold and clammy. And if she's been vomiting as Ernest mentioned, then she's got the sickness that goes with it."

"Is what he says true, child?"

Ernest looked on as the young maid nodded slowly, shamefully.

"Good God in heaven...and who is the father?"

Helena looked at Ernest and Lady Hutchinson followed her gaze.

"Ernest!?"

Helena shook her head and Ernest threw his hands up in the air.

"Heavens no, Madam!"

Then, who?"

"If I may, Madam," said Ernest gently, "perhaps it would be best if we went into the drawing room. We can leave Doctor Avery to further examine Helena. I'll explain the situation to you in private."

Doctor Avery looked offended, but Ernest didn't care. Kingston was a small town and Mrs. Avery was one of the biggest gossips in town. If he were let in on the secret, Helena would never again be able to show her face in public.

Lady Hutchinson seemed to ponder the matter for a second. Ernest watched her closely, imagining that she was thinking exactly what he'd been thinking. Helena's pregnancy would surely bring shame to the household and there was no sense making it worse by letting Doctor Avery know the identity of the father.

"Alright, Ernest," was all she said, before picking up her skirts and exiting Helena's bedroom.

The butler followed in her wake and once they were both in the drawing room, he shut the door firmly.

"Now," said Lady Hutchinson, looking forlornly at the tea pot on the table, the tea inside now ice cold and undrinkable, "who is the father of Helena's child?"

Ernest took a deep breath and sat down on the long chaise, usually reserved for important Lady visitors.

"This is difficult to say, Madam. So perhaps I'll just spit it out."

"Please don't."

"Madam?"

"Please don't spit."

"Oh, I don't mean literally. It's an expression."

"Well spitting is filthy. Regardless."

"Alright then," Ernest breathed impatiently. "Perhaps I'll just come out and say it."

Lady Hutchinson looked as exasperated as he was. "Please do."

"It's Oliver, Madam."

"Oliver!?"

"Yes, but please, it's not what you think. Before you blame Helena, Oliver took her against her will."

The woman put a hand to her mouth. "No..."

Ernest nodded grimly.

"When? How?"

"Sometime in December. Helena was outside for something and he assaulted her there. She never told me the precise place, but I found one of her boots in the hedges. I'm guessing perhaps in the stables, or thereabouts."

"Well I never!"

Ernest nodded, his eyes sad and remorseful.

"At least he's in jail."

"Aye, Madam. That's where he deserves to be."

"A thief and a violator of women...thank goodness he's no longer with us."

Ernest felt the urge to say that it was only thanks to him that Oliver was no longer living within the Hutchinson confines, but then he wouldn't be behaving as the selfless Caldwell his mother had raised him to be.

"Yes, Madam. I feel at ease knowing that he's behind bars."

"And there he will stay. I'll be speaking to James tonight about this latest development."

"Do you think that wise, Madam?"

"What ever do you mean, Ernest? Do I think what wise? Are you questioning my judgement?"

"Not at all Madam," said Ernest hastily. "Only to say that, Helena is still so young. To have such a weight brought down upon her - she would never be able to show her face in town again. And that's not to mention how the news of such an assault taking place on this very property would tarnish your husband's reputation."

Lady Hutchinson nodded slowly. "You are a shrewd man, Ernest Caldwell. My brother was right to recommend you. What would you advise then? Do we let things be?"

"I think that would be the most prudent thing to do, Madam."

The proud woman inhaled sharply and turned to look out the window.

"Very well then. We shall speak no more about it. And I don't want to hear Oliver's name ever mentioned again. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Madam."

There was a knock at the door.

"That must be Doctor Avery. Come in!"

The door opened and the doctor appeared.

"Well?"

"She's with child. But she's doing well. Her pulse is regular, her temperature seems to be nothing extraordinary. I estimate her to be about six and a half weeks along. Have you thought about where she should have the baby - and more importantly, what will become of the baby afterwards?"

Lady Hutchinson grimaced and looked once more out the window.

"I haven't had the time to think about it, doctor. The news of Helena's condition is as new to me as it is to you. I shall have to speak to James about it."

"Very well. If I may, though, Madam."

Ernest didn't like where this was headed.

"Yes, doctor?"

"An acquaintance of mine runs a home for girls like Helena - in Toronto."

"Girls like Helena?"

The doctor coughed. "Girls who are unwed and are expecting children, Lady Hutchinson."

"Ah, yes. An unfortunate situation indeed. And especially given the way it came to pass."

"I'm sorry?"

Ernest gave his employer a look of warning.

"Oh, I simply mean that she's by herself. Alone. Here in Canada. Her mother, as I understand, is no longer living. And her father is a drunkard. She really has no one to turn to."

"Well, all the more reason to consider Gideon's Home for Girls then, Madam."

"Gideon's Home for Girls?"

"Yes, Madam."

"Well, I shall consider it. As I said a minute ago, I must first speak with James. This is not my decision alone to make."

"I understand, Madam."

Several moments of silence passed, then Lady Hutchinson spoke again.

"How much do I owe you, doctor?"

"Eight shillings, Madam."

"Very well. Ernest, fetch my purse will you? You know where I keep it."

"Of course, Madam."

The butler rose from his chair, dusted off his jacket, and proceeded past Doctor Avery and out the door with Helena on his mind.

Poor girl. Will they send her away? To have the baby on her own? In a strange city? And at such a young age...

Perhaps someone in town would take Helena in. Lady Beckerman was known for her charity. Miss Foster as well. He had some work to do.

### \- 5 -

Finding an opportunity to speak with a member of Kingston's social elite wasn't an easy task for a butler. Moreover, as Lady Hutchinson was not particularly fond of Lady Beckerman or Miss Foster, it's not as though either woman would be dropping by for tea anytime soon. That left the one and only place where, for centuries, common farmers mingled with high-ranking public officials, and humble merchants rubbed shoulders with wealthy land owners: the church.

Nearly every respectable English family in Kingston attended Sunday Mass at St. George's Cathedral and the Hutchinson's, of course, were no exception. And while Ernest did not always accompany them, he definitely planned to today. For both Lady Beckerman and Miss Foster were sure to be there - and if he could just steal a few minutes with either of them - that would be all he needed to explain Helena's predicament.

Whether or not they would take pity on Helena was another matter altogether, but it was the only option remaining. For Lord Hutchinson was in staunch agreement with Doctor Avery that the young maid should be sent to the Gideon Home for Girls in Toronto. And despite Ernest's protestations, it was decided that Helena would leave the Hutchinson's the day she'd reached her third month. Given that Helena was now seven weeks along, that only left Ernest with five weeks - very little time - perhaps too little time - to find a benfactor - or in this case - _benefactress_ \- for the young woman.

"Are you coming or not, Ernest?" came the sound of Lady Hutchinson's voice, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes, Madam."

"Well hurry up, would you? We're waiting."

"Yes, of course. Please excuse my tardiness," he replied, hurrying to throw on his jacket and close the door to the house before pounding down the steps and marching to the carriage where Lord, Lady, and Caroline Hutchinson were seated inside. Outside, perched in the driver's chair, sat Philip, reins at the ready.

"In you get, Ernest," said Lord Hutchinson, extending an arm and pulling him into the carriage.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Not to worry, Ernest," he answered, slamming the door shut.

"And thank you for allowing me to accompany you."

"Well," said Lady Hutchinson, brushing something from the skirt of Caroline's dress, "it has been a rather long while since you've come to Mass."

"I know," Ernest sighed apologetically.

"Why don't you come to Mass more often, Ernest?" asked Caroline, looking up at him.

The butler didn't know what to say to the little girl. Did he tell the truth and say he hated the intoxicating smell of bad perfume, the constant sounds of coughing and sneezing, the wailing babies, the uncomfortable pews, the boring sermons? No, that wouldn't do.

"Er, well, I guess I've been so busy that - "

He stopped himself upon seeing Lady Hutchinson's reproachful stare.

"Too busy to go to church?" asked the girl, bewildered.

"Er...yes...sometimes," Ernest spluttered happlessly. "Other times, it's just...I haven't been feeling well in the mornings. Getting old. You know how it is. I'm not the young man I once was."

"Like Mr. Winthrop?"

"Not that old," answered Ernest with a chuckle. "Not yet anyways."

Judging by Lady Hutchinson's expression, his light-hearted remarks were not appreciated and he coughed uncomfortably, hoping Caroline would change the subject.

As luck would have it, she did. Although the subject she chose wasn't any better.

"Mother?"

"Yes, darling."

The little girl looked out the carriage window at the passing foot traffic as Philip led them down Princess Street.

"What's wrong with Helena? Won't you please tell me?"

"Caroline, darling, what has your mother said about Helena?" Lord Hutchinson scolded.

"She said that I was not to talk about it."

"And?"

Ernest watched as the youngest of the Hutchinson clan squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"Darling," Lady Hutchinson said gently before her husband could launch into another one of his tirades about Helena. Frankly, Ernest was rather disappointed that he held her responsible for the situation she was now facing.

"Helena is having some difficulties...and Doctor Avery said that she'll have to go away...but never fear, child," Lady Hutchinson added hastily, "we shall find you a _new_ Helena."

"But I don't _want_ a new Helena. I want _our_ Helena."

Lord Hutchison inhaled sharply and Ernest braced himself for the barrage of angry words he expected to come out of the man's mouth. But it never came, and Ernest relaxed as Lady Hutchinson smoothed the situation.

"You shall have _our_ Helena for another month, and in the Spring you'll have a new Helena. Helena will show the new girl - and _teach_ her - everything there is to know about you. That way, when it comes time for your bath or your bedtime story, she'll know _just_ how to do it. What do you think of that then, darling?"

"I don't know," the little girl answered, letting out a sigh.  
"Well, that's how it's going be," said Lady Hutchinson tersely.

Caroline turned away from her mother and looked longingly out the window at the passers by enjoying the sunny Sunday morning.

"Hey! Look! It's Robert and Mrs. Levington! And they've got a puppy!" she exclaimed suddenly.

Ernest leaned over and looked in the direction the little girl was pointing. Sure enough, there was young Master Levington, leading a small, black terrier proudly along the promenade. He glanced at Lady Hutchinson whose face expressed her displeasure and realized that this was an opportunity to distract both her and Lord Hutchinson from Helena's predicament. Long enough, at least, for him to make arrangements with Miss Foster or Lady Beckerman to take in the young maid. All he had to do was stoke Caroline's enthusiasm.

"Really? Do they have a puppy?" he asked, pretending he hadn't seen young Robert Levington leading the dog on a leash.

Caroline nodded excitedly and looked from Ernest, to her mother, then back outside again.

"Did you see him, father? Did you? Did You?"

" _Yes_ , my dear girl. For heaven's sake, I've seen many puppies in my time. It's hardly the evening news."

"Oh, James..." Lady Hutchinson said admonishingly.

Ernest threw more oil on the fire. "It's not every young boy or girl that gets to have a puppy now, is it?"

"No..." the little girl answered forlornly, watching out the window as they rolled past the Levington's and their puppy.

Ernest waited impatiently for her to ask for a puppy of her own. Face pressed against the glass, Caroline's eyes watched Robert and his mother and their puppy until they were out of sight.

Come on now...

When they were well clear of the Levington's, the little girl pulled her face from the window with Ernest watching her closely. When she didn't speak, the butler concluded that she wouldn't, and disappointingly pulled his eyes from the girl to gaze out the window on his side of the carriage. But then came the sound of her voice, followed by the question he'd been hoping for.

"Mother, can we get a puppy?"

Silence for a minute.

"I don't think so, Caroline."

" _Please_ , mother. I'll take ever good care of it! It won't bark! He'll sleep in my room, and - "

YOUR MOTHER SAID NO!" Lord Hutchinson roared, pounding a fist against the carriage wall.

The carriage slowed as stunned silence took hold.

"Everything alright in there, father?" came the muffled voice of Philip from outside.

"YES! NOW GET A MOVE ON! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

Ernest heard Philip crack the reins and they got moving again.

He didn't dare make eye contact with either Lord or Lady Hutchinson, and so he continued looking out the window, watching the passers by on Princess Street.

"James..."

"Laura, there's nothing to discuss. We are absolutely not getting a puppy."

Caroline moaned, and Ernest was suddenly saddened. He'd wanted the young girl to bother them for a puppy so their attention wouldn't be so fixated on Helena. All he'd done however was make himself feel guilty that the daugther of his employers, was in distress. And that simply would not do. Thus now, not only did he have to find a home for a mother-to-be and her baby, he had to find a puppy for Caroline as well. Still, no matter. He'd find a way to do it all.

They arrived at the Saint George's Anglican Cathedral a several minutes later and they all got out of the carriage and filed inside. There was a parking place for carriages down the street and Philip pulled the carriage there while the rest went inside. Once inside, after a quick meet and greet with Reverend Alston, Ernest and the three Hutchinsons made their way up the sturdy wooden steps to the balcony and to the pew where they always sat. Lady Beckerman and her husband sat just two rows behind them and Ernest saw her leafing through the day's program. He wasn't quite sure when and if he'd get an opportunity to speak with her, but hoped he'd have some luck.

Philip found them several minutes later and the Mass got underway shortly thereafter. Reverend Alston gave a rather rousing introductory speech, followed by Lady Windermere's choral rendition of "God Save The King", and afterwards there was a reading from the Gospel of Luke. It wasn't long before the initial buzz of a Sunday morning wore off and people began to doze off.

"Stop fidgeting, Caroline," Lady Hutchinson whsipered hoarsely as Reverend Alston delved into a lesson on pride.

"But I'm bored, mother."

"Sit _still_."

"Here, mother. Let me take her," said Philip quietly.

Amazed, Ernest watched as the young man proceeded to hoist his younger sister onto his knee.

"There, now you can at least see properly, eh?"

The little girl smiled and Ernest had to admit to himself that Philip had definitely matured. Somewhat.

As the service dragged on, Ernest took a moment to check on Lady Beckerman. A devout Christian, she was always the first to kneel and the last to rise. Although as Ernest and Lady Hutchinson both agreed, it was more for show than personal conviction. Still, she seemed to inspire those around her - all except for her husband of course who seemed to be falling asleep - and Ernest felt obliged to kneel and rise as enthusiastically as the rest of them.

When it was time for the eucharist, and the pew in which he and the Hutchinson's were seated began to empty and head towards the deacon at the head of the balcony, Ernest pretended to drop something and stayed behind. Catching several curious glances, he made as though he was rummaging for something in his pockets. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pew in which Lady Beckerman and her husband were seated rose and filed into the aisle. With a boldness that belied his usual meekness, Ernest stepped directly in front of Lady Beckerman, nearly causing her to run into him.

Caught off guard, the woman emitted a small sound of surprise, but the line kept moving and her noise seemed to avoid attention.

"Lady Beckerman," Ernest whispered, as they made their way along the aisle towards the deacon and his assistant at the foot of the balcony.

There was no answer and Ernest, unable to turn and face her, whispered again.

"LADY BECKERMAN!"

"What? What do you want?"

"I'm Ernest. Ernest Caldwell. I'm in the employ of - "

"Lady Hutchinson, yes, yes, I know all that. What do you want? Can't you see we are about to consume the body and blood of our Lord? What business could you possibly have more pressing than that?"

"It's goodwill, Madam. For a friend."

He didn't want to give Helena's name just yet lest Lady Beckerman refused his request and babbled about Helena all over town.

"Goodwill?"

"Charity."

"Charity? Are you asking for money? How dare \- "

"No, no," Ernest whispered hastily in response. "I only ask for sanctuary. A girl. She's in trouble. She's expecting. But it was not her choice to have a baby. She was taken against her will."

"I have heard about _enough_!" the woman hissed angrily as Ernest reached the deacon.

The butler opened his mouth to defend Helena, but the deacon, seeing Ernest's open mouth, pressed a fat, stubby finger against his lip and administered the bread. Unfortunately for Ernest, who had been just about to speak, he inhaled the crouton-sized crust and it promptly lodged itself in his throat. The shock of having a blocked airway sent him into a tizzy and Ernest grabbed the deacon's shoulders, gasping for air. The deacon, seeing the problem, quickly spun Ernest around and began to pound fiercely on his back. The crowd milling around them was driven into a furor and loud shouts and nervous chatter grew so loud that the entire congregation stopped to look at the event that was unfolding.

With the help of another man, the deacon forced Ernest to lean forwards and continued to thump on the butler's back with the flat of his hand. It worked, and the piece of bread was dislodged. The minute Ernest felt his airway open, he sucked in a huge breath of air. Next he removed the piece of bread from his mouth and placed it in his handkerchief. It would be sacrilege to discard it.

"Goodness, Ernest!"

It was Lady Hutchinson.

"I thought you would die! Are you alright?"

"Yes, Madam. Never better," he said with a small smile as a round of applause burst out amongst the congregation.

"He's a lucky man, Lady Hutchinson," said the deacon.

"Aye, that he is, Deacon Jenkins."

"How we can thank you, deacon?" asked Lord Hutchinson, stepping forwards and placing an arm around Ernest.

"However you like."

"Well," Lord Hutchinson said, removing his folio and taking out a bill. "Add this to the collection plate, will you?"

"You are most generous, Sir."

"Well, Deacon Jenkins, you saved our butler. Our man Ernest. There is no price that can be placed on that."

"It was God's work, Lord Hutchinson."

"Yes, of course. But you were the vehicle through which it was orchestrated."

"Is everything alright up there, then?" Lady Windermere called from down below.

The deacon and the others assembled around Ernest turned and looked down at the rest of the congregation below.

"Yes, Madam. I think all is well. I shall finish administering communion to those who have yet to receive it, and then we'll be able to continue with today's service."

"Alright then, Deacon Jenkins."

The old woman on the organ struck up the melody for the Eucharist and the lines began to move again.

"Here, Ernest, take a seat."

"Thank you, Lady Hutchinson," the butler answered, giving one last nod to Deacon Jenkins before returning to the pew.

"Are you alright?"

Lady Beckerman and her husband stood beside Lady Hutchinson, looks of concern etched on their faces. Well, on Lady Beckerman's face. Lord Beckerman seemed merely to have woken up.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"I'm sorry, you were saying something about a friend of yours. She needs help, I take it?"

Lady Hutchinson looked curiously at Ernest and he quickly deflected the question.

"No, no. Well, yes. But, it's no matter. First off it's he," he lied. "I just thought perhaps - he needs a job - it's a man I've known for several years," he added, thinking quickly.

"What man? What's this about, Ernest?" Lady Hutchinson demanded.

"Er... it's nothing Madam...just a friend...he's looking for a job...my friend Lionel," he said, conjuring up the first name he could think of. "Lionel Percy. He works at the cobblers on Wharf Street."

"Oh?"

"And his employer is closing up shop and moving to Bytown - in a month's time - and he needs a new place to work. I was merely inquiring with Lady Beckerman here to see if she might have an opening. Lionel is quite an excellent cook."

Now it was Lady Beckerman's turn to think quickly. "Um...er...yes...I suppose...we don't have need of a cook at the moment, Agatha is doing a fine job, but perhaps in future?"

"Of course."

"I will let you know if we have need of your friend."

"Thank you, Madam."

Seeing that she was being, once again, excluded from the conversation, Lady Hutchinson interjected: "Good, well, that's settled then. Isn't it?"

She smiled sweetly at Lady Beckerman who took her words, and her smile, and as an indication that her presence was no longer welcome.

"Yes, that's settled. Marshall," said Lady Beckerman, glancing over her should at her husband who was standing dotefully behind her. "Are we ready to leave?"

Lord Beckerman coughed. "Ahem, yes, I suppose. Yes, good idea. Let's go home. We have lunch waiting, haven't we?"

Lady Beckerman nodded and turned back towards Ernest and Lady Hutchinson.

"Lady Hutchinson," she said with a small curtsy.

"Lady Beckerman," Lady Hutchinson replied, standing to curtsy.

Ernest watched the Beckerman's navigate their way through the throng of parishioners still assembled around the deacon.

"Ernest? Are you alright? You gave us quite a scare."

It was Philip now, standing beside him.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Master Hutchinson."

"That's quite the deacon," Lord Hutchinson mused as he and the man helping him to administer communion headed back downstairs to the lower level.

"A fine man our Deacon Jenkins, isn't he?" asked Lady Hutchinson, rhetorically.

"Quite," Philip agreed, smoothing out his jacket and ushering to Caroline who was headed towards them. "You weren't old enough to receive communion last I saw you, sister."

The elder Hutchinson child reached out and helped his sister in the pew.

"Well, I'm old enough now," she said smartly, taking a seat beside him.

"I can see that."

The service formally ended five minutes later and Ernest and the Hutchinson's made their way downstairs and exited the church after a quick handshake and farewell with Reverend Alston.

"You wait there," said Philip as he placed his hat atop his head. "I'll fetch the carriage and bring it round."

"Why, thank you, son," said Lord Hutchinson who hadn't spoken for a time. "We'll be waiting."

Philip tipped his hat at his father and disappeared down the sidewalk.

"Well, that was an eventful Mass," Lady Hutchinson remarked as she smoothed Caroline's hair.

It was obvious to Ernest that she was referring to his choking on the host.

"Yes, Madam. I do apologize for interrupting the service."

"Oh please," said the woman with a wave of her hand. "Such a thing couldn't be avoided."

The way she said the word "avoided" made Ernest feel as though she thought it could have been.

Well, perhaps it could have been. Had he not been talking to Lady Beckerman.

Drat. That didn't work out at all.

"Ernest?"

The butler and the Hutchinson's whirled around to face the woman who had just spoken.

"Miss Foster."

"Lady Hutchinson."

"Miss Foster."

"Lord Hutchinson."

"Miss Foster."

"Ernest."

"How have you been? Have you been keeping well?" Lady Hutchinson asked, lines of concern etched on her face.

Clarissa Foster's brother, Arthur, had died in January - of what malady, Doctor Avery had not been sure - but nonetheless, the loss had been a painful one for the young heiress.

"I'm keeping well, thank you. Some days are more difficult than others, of course."

Lady Hutchinson inhaled sharply, apologetically. "Yes, I can imagine."

Miss Foster nodded keenly, clearly appreciative of Lady Hutchinson's sympathy, before turning and looking at Ernest. The butler, however, had politely stepped aside, removing himself from what he'd felt had been a private conversation.

"Ernest?"

He turned to look at the pretty woman. Her smooth, doll-white face. Her piercing brown eyes. Her vivacious smile.

"Miss Foster. How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you. But I meant more to inquire as to _your_ health, Ernest Caldwell. I've only just learned from Deacon Jenkins that it was you who had the choking fit during Mass."

Ernest offered up an uneasy smile. "Yes...and I apologize for the interruption. This is why I don't come to church often, you see, Caroline," he added, looking down at the young girl who had remained silently at her mother's side for the past several minutes.

"Oh, come now, Ernest. Don't be so hard on yourself. You interrupted nothing. Your health comes first."

Lady Hutchinson coughed politely to remind Miss Foster that she was still there and that she too, would like to partake in the conversation.

"Our Ernest is too modest at times. To think we might have lost him."

"Yes," Miss Foster nodded, agreeing, yet wondering whether Lady Hutchinson's remark was intended more for Ernest's benefit or for hers.

She set her gaze on Ernest. "That would have been very tragic."

The butler noticed her brown eyes, usually so warm and intelligent, had taken on a sudden sadness. No doubt she was reflecting on her dearly departed brother.

"Mother! Father! Caroline!"

The group assembled on the church steps turned to face the owner of the voice coming from the street. It was Philip. He had brought the carriage around and was seated in the driver's seat, waving his hat at them.

"We're coming, dear!" Lady Hutchinson called back.

Impressed with her son's newfound maturity, she had taken to calling Philip "dear" and "charming boy". It rather sickened Ernest, especially since he was doubtful Philip had changed much.

"Well, Miss Foster. It's been a pleasure speaking with you," said Lady Hutchinson, draping an arm around Caroline's shoulders. "But we must be getting home now. Peter is no doubt expecting us for lunch."

"Of course, Lady Hutchinson."

"Will we see you at the Easter Ball?" Lord Hutchinson asked as he straightened his jacket and took up his walking stick.

"Yes, I hope to go."

"Well then. That's not too long from now, is it?"

"No. Eight weeks."

"And time flies, doesn't it?"

Miss Foster nodded. "It does indeed, Lord Hutchinson."

"Oh, James, don't get so philosophical on us," Lady Hutchinson clucked, smiling graciously. "We've just come from church. Let's get you home and get you your lunch."

Ernest was surprised when Lord Hutchinson didn't object.

"That's a fine idea, Laura. Shall we?" he asked, extending a bent arm for his wife to take hold of.

"Oh," she cooed, taking hold of his arm with her free one, and guiding Caroline forwards with the other.

"Good day, Miss Foster!"

"Good day!"

The Hutchinson's seemed to forget Ernest as they made their way down the stairs and to the boardwalk. The butler, however, was not put out by this, but rather, he was pleased to have a moment alone with the young heiress.

"Well, Ernest - "

"Er, Miss Foster," Ernest said, interrupting her mid-sentence.

"Yes?"

"I wonder if I might ask you a favour?"

"A favour?"

"Er...yes. For a friend."

"Ernest..."

"No, no," he said hastily, "it's nothing like that. It's a woman - and she's in trouble. Well, I don't read minds \- but I'm assuming you're thinking that I want to arrange relations between you and my friend. That's simply _not_ that case."

"Oh?"

"Besides, what few friends I have are much too old for a twenty - how old are you again?"

"I'll be twenty-eight in March."

"Right. What few friends I have are much too old for a twenty-eight year old."

"Ernest? Are you coming?"

It was Lady Hutchinson.

The butler turned and looked in her direction. "Yes, Madam. Coming straight away! Shan't be long!"

He turned back towards Miss Foster and looked her squarely in the eye.

"It's Helena. You know? The servant girl that lives with us. She's with child and Lord and Lady Hutchinson want to send her to a home for girls in Toronto."

"Oh dear."

"Yes, it's been troubling me for quite some time. Do you think you might be able to help her? Perhaps give her room and board?"

"Well, I..."

"You don't have to answer just yet. Please, think it over...and get back to me. We'll be at the market this coming Wednesday. Sometime around noon. We can meet there."

Miss Foster nodded, her face taking on a serious expression. "Okay. I promise to think it over...and I'll let you know either way...at the market, on Wednesday."

"Yes. Thank you. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. You're simply looking out for a friend."

Ernest smiled and tipped his hat. "Thank you for understanding."

### \- 6 -

The following Wednesday, as the bell tower atop City Hall sounded twelve bells for noon, Philip dropped Ernest, Peter and Lady Hutchinson at Market Square for some shopping. It was unusually warm for a February afternoon and the trio taunted the weather gods with their thin, fall jackets - much more comfortable, and _much_ more fashionable than their usual goose down winter coats.

Re-construction of the buildings surrounding Market Square seemed to be progressing quickly - a fact that Peter was keen to point out - and Ernest surmised that by the Spring, visitors to the city would never know that just two years before a terrible fire had gutted them all.

"Well, yes, it is a marked improvement, isn't it?" Lady Hutchinson asked rhetorically as she waved goodbye to Philip. "Perhaps they'll add in a few new buildings now. If we're lucky they'll leave out Stages."

Ernest went along with her, though he really didn't care either way whether the notorious, local watering hole that was practically synonymous with words like "wench" and "scoundrel" was re-built. "Yes, Madam. It would be nice if they'd leave Market Square for more civil folk."

The woman clicked her tongue and then proceeded towards a vendor selling a variety of canned vegetables.

"How much for the carrots?"

"A half shilling a jar, Madam."

"I'll take one."

"Right. Choose whichever you like."

Ernest and Peter stood at her side, watching as she hummed and hawed over the jars that all seemed to look the same. When she had finally settled on one, Peter paid the man and they continued along, examining the goods and wares being hawked at the numerous stalls.

As they made their way through the throngs of people, Ernest kept an eye out for Miss Clarissa Foster. Several times he thought he'd seen her, but then it turned out to be another woman, stranger or acquaintance, but none of them were her.

It was as the minute hand neared the six on the clock tower overlooking the market, that he finally saw her. In fact, she was looking at him when his eyes found her, and she gave him a small smile.

_Surely, that's a good sign,_ he thought as she slowly meandered towards them.

"Lady Hutchinson?"

"Yes? Oh, Miss Foster! What a pleasant surprise! First at church, now at the market. Goodness," she laughed, "are you coming for dinner too?"

The young woman laughed, flashing a mouth full of pearly white teeth. "No, no. I promise, I'm not stalking you. I guess we've got similar schedules this week."

"Yes, of course. I'm only joking," said Lady Hutchinson, stepping aside as an officer moved through the crowd on his horse. "Mind you, I don't see why you shouldn't come to ours for dinner. Are you free this coming Friday?"

Ernest watched as Peter's eyes lit up. The thought of the beautiful Clarissa Foster, dining at the Hutchinson's table and eating his food was clearly something the cook had dreamed of.

"I hadn't thought about it. Normally Winston makes me stew on Fridays...but I don't see why I shouldn't come out for some fun."

"Yes! Do come! Winston's stew can wait for another time."

The pretty, young heiress laughed. "Yes, I suppose it can. He will be ever so disappointed, but he won't object to having the night off either. He's very sweet on the woman next door you see."

"Who is that? The Irish woman?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

Lady Hutchinson rolled her eyes. "I don't know...I would keep an eye on that, Miss Foster. You don't want the drama that will inevitably unfold from such a romance. Those Irish can be quite...what's the word..."

"Passionate?"

"Yes, _passionate_."

"Well, I'm not worried. And you wouldn't be either if you saw them together. They mostly play cards. Bridge and other games of that sort. They're both quiet-humoured people. Neither of them drink or smoke. It's quite a good thing, actually."

Lady Hutchinson pursed her lips. "Well, just don't let it go too far. Goodness knows the trouble you have on your hands when an employee begins filandering..."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's nothing," Lady Hutchinson said quickly. "What were we saying before?"

"Dinner. On Friday evening."

"Yes. Dinner. On Friday evening. Are you free to come?"

"Yes, I am," Miss Foster answered, glancing at Ernest who nodded approvingly.

Their eyes exchanged the words their mouths could not. They would find a moment to discuss Helena sometime on Friday evening. It was settled.

"Very well then. Let us say, oh...Peter? What time can we have dinner ready on Friday?"

The young man, who'd been watching Clarissa Foster closely, had to give himself a shake before he could respond. "About half six, Madam. I'll make lamb."

"Oh, I don't eat meat."

"Well, vegetable stew then. Anything you like. I can make it. I'm really quite a good cook, you know."

Lady Hutchinson rounded on the young man. " _I_ will decide on the menu, _thank you_ , Peter. Miss Foster is _my_ guest after all."

"Yes, of course, Madam," the young man spluttered, his ears turning a bright shade of red.

Lady Hutchinson turned back towards Miss Foster. "How does six o'clock sound, then?"

"That sounds just fine."

"Excellent. Shall I send Philip to get you?"

"That would be most generous."

"Very well then. He shall be at your door no later than a quarter to the hour."

"Thank you, Lady Hutchinson. I do appreciate your invitation."

"Oh, it's nothing. You are going through a difficult time, after all. We English have to stick together now, don't we?"

"I suppose so," the young woman answered, smiling.

"Very well then. Friday at six o'clock in the evening."

"Friday at six."

"Come now, Ernest. Peter. We have some shopping to do. Good day, Miss Foster."

"Good day to you, Lady Hutchinson."

Two days later, at the prescribed time, Philip opened the door to the Hutchinson house and ushered Miss Foster inside.

"What a splendid home you have, Lady Hutchinson," she commented as Ernest and Lady Hutchinson greeted her at the door.

"Why, thank you, Miss Foster. I must say, if you don't look outside, you would almost think you're still living in England."

"Yes, I can see that you've got it done up just like a proper London flat."

"Indeed."

"Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson, turning towards the butler. "Take her coat, will you?"

"Of course, Madam."

Clarissa Foster smiled at Ernest as he reached out and accepted her beaver fur coat.

"It is a pleasure to have you this evening, Miss Foster," said Ernest with as elegant a tone as he could muster. He liked to put on a good show now and again.

"The pleasure is mine, Ernest."

"And I must say," the butler added, "you look quite stunning."

The young heiress giggled. "Why thank you, kind sir."

"Alright, enough chit chat," Lady Hutchinson said abruptly, interrupting their dialogue. "If you'll follow me into the parlour, James has been gracious enough to allow us ladies to use it tonight."

"That's very kind of him."

"Indeed. Peter?"

Peter, who was struggling with a heavy bucket of potatoes, was just making his way back into the kitchen.

"Yes, Madam."

"Could you please bring the hors d'oeuvres now, please?"

"Yes, Madam. Right away."

"Keen young man," Lady Hutchinson observed aloud as she opened and held open the door to the parlour. "After you, Miss Foster."

The pretty young woman gave a grateful nod and stepped into the parlour.

"Wow. Lady Hutchinson. You put my cleanliness to shame."

The older woman managed a small laugh. "Oh, it's a little untidy to be completely honest."

Unbeknownst to her, Lady Hutchinson had made Ernest dust every picture frame, clean every nook and cranny, and fluff every chaise cushion earlier that day, making it look nothing short of spectacular.

"Shall I bring tea now, Madam?" asked Ernest, as he entered the parlour behind them.

"Yes, please do, Ernest. And some biscuits to go with it."

She turned towards her younger counterpart. "I must say, this winter weather gives me quite a sweet tooth."

"I find it to be the same with me, Lady Hutchinson."

"Isn't it awful?"

Ernest left them then and headed down the corridor, towards the kitchen, and pushed through the heavy doors. Peter was busy assembling an assortment of finger foods on a plate.

"Lady Hutchinson sure is going for the medal here."

Ernest nodded. "Aye. Miss Foster holds a great deal of clout in town for such a young woman. It wouldn't do to serve up a mediocre meal."

"Suppose y'er right."

The butler made his way to the counter and put the kettle on to boil.

"Ernest?"

"Yes?"

"Suppose I were to ask Miss Foster to the Easter Ball."

Ernest had to stop himself from laughing out loud. "What? Are you mad?"

"Well - "

"Clarissa Foster is the prettiest woman in town. She's only a year or two older than me."

"Yes, but - "

"No, Peter. It simply wouldn't do. You'd make a fool of yourself."

"But she's a good person, Ernest."

"Yes, but she's also got a reputation to uphold. You can't honestly expect her to go to the Easter Ball with a common cook, can you? Especially seeing as how she's the richest woman in Kingston."

"Well - "

Ernest sighed loudly. "I don't mean to be rude. Perhaps I have been somewhat offensive. It's just - I need her attention focused on something else right now. And her reputation may be bruised as a result. I can't have you sullying it further."

"Why? What's she got to pay attention to?"

"Nothing," said Ernest, turning round and praying the water would hurry up and boil so that he could avoid Peter's question.

"Tell me, Ernest. What's Miss Foster got to pay attention to? We're friends, aren't we?"

The butler sighed.

He's right.

"It's Helena. You know how she's having a child soon and how Lord and Lady Hutchinson want to send her to that home for girls in Toronto, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Well," he continued, sighing. "I've asked her to take Helena in."

The cook stared at him, wide-eyed. "Do you think she'll agree?"

"I hope so. I need a few moments in private with her after dinner tonight to ask her properly."

"That would be good if Helena could go and stay with her while she has the baby."

"Yes. That would be a good thing."

The kettle began to whistle and Ernest removed it from the stovetop.

He set the kettle on the counter and prepared a teapot using the finest Twinings tea. The kind reserved for company. Turning towards Peter, he asked: "Why don't you ask Linda?"

"Linda? You mean Linda from up the street? The butcher's daughter?"

"Yes."

"Why...I guess I never thought of it."

"She's a sweet girl," said the butler as he portioned a spoonful of tea leaves into the pot and added the hot water. "Her father seems like a nice enough chap as well. So you shouldn't get too much difficulty from him."

The young cook stopped to ponder Ernest's proposition.

"I know Linda fancies you," he added, taking up the tray and making for the door. "Think about it."

"I will. Thank you, Ernest."

"My pleasure. Now hurry it up with those hors d'oeuvres. I want them eating soon so I can steal a few moments with Miss Foster."

"Right."

"Good man."

When dinner was over, and Philip and Lord Hutchinson had left for the theatre, Ernest lingered at the table, biding his time and waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with Helena.

"Oh, and you wouldn't believe the hat she wore to Lord Barker's funeral!"

"Oh?"

It was obvious to Ernest that Clarissa Foster was feigning interest in Lady Hutchinson's usual gossip.

"Yes. And - "

"Mother? Can I have the last scone?" Caroline interrupted.

"No, heavens child. You ate like a horse tonight. Please, Ernest. Take these things away. And bring us more tea, please."

"As you wish, Madam."

"And Caroline. It's time you went to bed. Go and find Helena and tell her to read you your story."

"Alright," the little girl grumbled, sliding back her chair and getting up from the table.

"Good night, Miss Foster."

"Good night, Caroline. Sweet dreams."

"Thank you."

"Anyhow," Lady Hutchinson continued once her daughter had left the room, "where was I?"

"The hat Lady Stockton wore to Lord Barker's funeral."

"Yes! _Scandalous._ Don't you agree?"

"Oh, most definitely."

"And that's not all of it. No. That woman insists that their table at the Royal Tavern be kept empty even when she and Lord Stockton aren't there. Can you believe it? The nerve."

Ernest watched as Miss Foster merely nodded.

"If only she'd have stayed in England...you know Lady Windermere told me, that she told her, that she nearly stayed in England. But then a cousin of hers told her of how the women are here. And - oh and I don't mean you, Miss Foster. While you are still without a husband, you're not like those wenches round City Hall or down on Wharf Street what crawl all over the men. You know the ones," she finished, sipping at her wine.

"Er...I wasn't really aware that we had those sorts of problems here in Kingston."

Lady Hutchinson laughed. "Oh, child. You are still quite young, aren't you? I daren't ask just how young you are, but believe me when I tell you that there are just as many brothels in Kingston than there are in London. More even. Ernest? The tea. Please. Hurry. We haven't got all evening."

"Er...yes...of course, Madam," the butler answered quickly, piling the empty dinner plates into a stack and taking them up in his arms. "Shan't be long."

He smiled at Miss Foster as he left the room, hoping he'd soon get his chance to speak with her. It wasn't everyday Miss Foster came here, after all. And with the way Lady Hutchinson was often talking about her, it would probably be the last.

Hurrying to the kitchen, Ernest deposited the dishes in the wash basin and prepared a new teapot.

"Have you spoken with her yet?" Peter asked as he rummaged through the cupboard until he found a sieve.

"No, not yet," the butler answered irritably.

He assembled a tray with tea cups, cream, sugar, and the smallest of spoons.

"Oh. Well, when are you going to speak with her?"

"As soon as I get the chance to!" Ernest snapped, accidentally spilling the cream.

"In the name of - "

He was growing frustrated that he hadn't yet had the chance to speak with Helena, what with Lady Hutchinson's constant demands during dinner and now Peter's interrogation.

Easy now, Ernest.

Calmly the butler cleaned up the spilt cream and set the new tea pot on the tray. Then, picking it up, he took a deep breath and said "wish me luck".

Peter nodded and watching him leavel.

Back in the dining room, Lady Hutchinson was on a rant about the price of women's wear in Kingston.

"And for a chimise, she wanted _five_ shillings. Can you believe that?"

Miss Foster shook her head, clearly bored, but straining to fake interest in the conversation. Her expression brightened when she saw Ernest.

"And what do you think of the prices of goods in Kingston compared to London, Ernest? Is it quite a lot more in your opinion?"

"Well, Miss Foster," the butler began, happy to have been drawn into the conversation, "I don't buy much, but when I do - you know - for gifts and what not - I find that it's rather comparable. Although it really does depend where you go," he continued, setting the serving tray on the table. "You see, if you go to Alexander's, you'll find that the staples - like eggs and cream and sugar and what not - are rather affordable. But tea and coffee and cigars are, well, to be quite frank, priced astronomically in comparison to say, Lucille's, across the street."

"You know, Ernest, you might be onto something there," said Lady Hutchinson, her tone suggesting that she'd not expected him to proffer such wise advice.

"Well, I think so anyway," he replied humbly as he added cream to both cups ("Not too much for me, thanks, Ernest" Miss Foster said at which point Lady Hutchinson felt obliged to say the same).

"Here we are, ladies," he said once the tea had been poured.

"Thank you, Ernest," Miss Foster said, smiling at him as he handed her a cup.

"You are most welcome, Miss Foster. I'd offer you the sugar, but you're sweet enough already."

The young woman emitted a delightful, sing-song laugh that made Ernest feel twenty-five again.

"Ernest Caldwell," Lady Hutchinson chided gently, "I never knew you to be such a charmer."

"Well, I do try, Madam. Admittedly, it is rather difficult at times - especially when it comes to complimenting you in particular as you have so many fine qualities."

"Oh, Ernest," the woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "You men are all the same. Nonetheless, I accept your compliment as it's not every day I get one. Anyways, I should go and check on Caroline - make sure Helena has got her tucked in properly. You won't mind if I leave you for a minute, do you Miss Foster?"

The young woman swallowed the tea in her mouth and shook her head. "No, Lady Hutchinson. Not at all."

"Alright then. Because I wouldn't want to be accused of being a poor hostess."

"No. Lady Hutchinson, you've outdone yourself. Really. This is the most exquisite meal I've enjoyed in a long while. And I thank you again for inviting me over tonight."

"Anytime, dear," she replied, turning to Ernest.

"Keep her tea cup full and see that she gets whatever else she likes. I'll be back shortly and then I think it's time we all retired for the evening."

"Yes, of course, Madam."

"And tell Philip to be ready to take Miss Foster home in a half an hour or so."

"Right, Madam."

The regal woman clasped her hands together. "Very well, then. I shan't be long. Keep my guest entertained, Ernest."

"I will, Madam."

Ernest and Miss Foster exchanged a quick glance and waited patiently while Lady Hutchinson gathered up the skirt of her dress and left the dining room.

"I thought she'd never leave," Miss Foster breathed once Lady Hutchinson was sure to be out of earshot.

"Yes, I know. I was beginning to worry we might not have a chance to speak."

"Me and all."

The butler nodded. "So have you thought about it? Can you take Helena in?"

Without a moment's hesitation, the young woman smiled. "Yes. I would love to."

"Oh! That is _wonderful_ news!" Ernest exclaimed, reaching over and taking hold of Miss Foster's hand. "How can I ever thank you for this kindness?"

"You don't have to thank me, Ernest. This is a good deed you're doing, and I'm simply doing my part. Besides, it's been lonely in that old house since Arthur passed and having Helena around would be a delight."

"Even with a crying infant?"

Miss Foster grinned. "Yes, I suppose so. Even with a crying infant."

"Oh!"

Ernest was ecstatic and he did a quick dance around the table.

"Helena will be so happy. You can't imagine. You're an angel, Clarissa Foster."

"No, Ernest. You are."

Grace Elizabeth Tweedham was born exactly four weeks later, on a blustery March afternoon. Helena, newly installed at Miss Foster's residence, had been eating lunch when she felt her water break. Winston called for Miss Foster and together they helped Helena into the drawing room where a birthing bed had been prepared. Doctor Avery was summoned and Miss Foster, having some nursing experience, was able to assist with the delivery. Two hours later, mother and baby sound asleep, the young heiress watched them from just inside the drawing room door.

"Quite a miracle, isn't it?" she mused, sighing.

Winston, who was dusting the mirror in the corridor sounded his approval. "It is a miracle. I remember when my sister's children were born. Little forms of life eager to make their start in the world."

Miss Foster sighed. "Oh, to have one of my own."

Winston cringed and continued dusting. They'd had _this_ conversation before and Winston wasn't going to bite.

"Maybe one day. When I meet my Prince Charming."

The servant remained silent as he finished dusting the mirror and moved on to the decorative table which held a collection of fine silverware.

"But then again, perhaps I shall die a spinster."

Now, he had no choice but to say something.

"Heavens, don't speak that way. You're Kingston's most eligible bachelorette. You shall find your Prince Charming."

"Will I, Winston? It seems I've tried before."

Yes, and it seems as though we've had this conversation before. But you never like the solutions I offer.

"Well, perhaps the next time will yield the desired result."

"Perhaps."

"Shall I send for Ernest? Or would you rather we wait a day or two?" he asked, eager to change the subject, "I'm sure he'll be dying to see Helena once he gets word. Doctor Avery, well _Mrs._ Avery, will have told half the town by now."

Miss Foster sighed again, her slim figure pressed against the door frame as she continued to watch the new mother and her baby sleeping peacefully. "I suppose it would be good to have him come and visit Helena. I know she would like that. Ernest as well. How about we wait until the morning though, eh? We can send a message with the milkman."

"That sounds like a good idea, my lady."

The young woman simply nodded as Winston dusted his way down the corridor, looking on with a sad expression and wishing she was the woman in bed with the new baby.

### \- 7 -

Helena's replacement, eighteen year old Catherine Pollock, was really starting to annoy Ernest. She was utterly useless. Irresponsible. Careless. Incompetent.

Worse still, her growing attraction towards Philip seemed to be mutual, and the Hutchinson boy had taken to pinching her bottom whenever she walked by. This of course caused the new maid to blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. And despite their increasingly public displays of affection, neither Lord nor Lady Hutchinson seemed to notice - he being extremely occupied with work and she with helping plan the Easter Ball.

"I thought Helena showed you how to do this," Ernest commented one evening while demonstrating to Catherine how to run Caroline's bath.

"She did, but I wasn't watching," the girl answered dryly as she examined her fingernails, a bored expression on her face.

"And why weren't you watching?" the butler asked irritably.

"OUCH!" he yelled as the side of the hot pot made contact with the top of his hand.

Catherine giggled as Ernest set the pot on the floor and rubbed his burning hand briskly against his trousers.

"You are too funny, Ernest."

The butler shook his head in disgust while he grimaced in pain. "You really do take the cake, dear girl."

"I wish I could! But there's not a sweet to be found in this house! And believe me, I've searched."

"I'm sure you have," said Ernest darkly, glaring at her. " _You_ can finish up here."

"But, I don't know how!"

"Well, you'll just have to figure it out then, won't you?"

Catherine made a face as Ernest brushed past her and left the bathroom. Downstairs, the made his way to the kitchen where Peter was still busy putting away the last of the supper dishes.

"Good Lord, that girl is impossible."

Peter nodded as he reached high above his head to place a large soup pot atop the cabinet. "Aye. She doesn't know what she's doing half the time."

"I still can't believe they would hire someone like her," Ernest said, shaking his head. "Helena, with a babe tied to her, would still do better than that...that poor excuse for a servant."

"Agreed."

"What do we have to do to get her sacked?" Ernest asked, only half-serious, as he ran his burned hand under some cold water from the pump.

"Well, I imagine we don't have to do anything, really. Way she's going, she'll get herself sacked in a short while. I give her a month."

"A full 'nother month?"

"Unfortunately."

Ernest stopped pumping, and the water ceased flowing a second later.

"Have you got a towel?" he asked, turning to face Peter.

"Aye. Here you are," the cook answered, tossing Ernest a small, white towel.

"Cheers."

The butler leaned back against the counter, toweling off his wet, injured hand and thinking. Thinking about how annoying Catherine was. Thinking about Helena. He'd been to see her last weekend. She'd seemed out of sorts and she hadn't held Grace once while he'd been there. When he'd asked if he could hold the newborn infant, she'd simply waved her hand as though to say, "Go right ahead."

Afterwards, speaking privately with Miss Foster, they'd agreed that she wasn't quite herself. Yet, while Miss Foster had suggested that Helena was simply experiencing the anxiety that comes with being a new mother, Ernest suspected it might be something more. As though, perhaps, Helena was rejecting her baby because of how it had come to be. Maybe it reminded her of Oliver and what he'd done to her. It certainly didn't help that Grace had a full head of Oliver's bright, red hair.

"Thinking about Helena?"

Returning to the present, Ernest looked at Peter. "Yes? Is it that obvious?"

The cook grinned. "Aye."

"Well," Ernest sighed, as he hung the towel over the line above the counter, "I suppose I'm just worried for her is all."

"How so? Is she not alright?"

"Well, she seemed a little out of sorts when I went to visit her the other day."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Miss Foster thinks it's just nerves and that she'll perk up in a week or two. But I saw something in her eyes. It was this haunting look. Well, perhaps not quite _haunting_ , but a look that made me think she was elsewhere. Like she didn't want to be where she was."

"Well, that makes sense," said Peter, dropping a soup ladle into the canister on the counter. "She didn't want a baby. She's not got a husband. And suddenly she's a mother with nowhere to go and no family to help her along."

"Yes, but..." Ernest sighed. "She's healthy. She had a good delivery. Doctor Avery gave her a clean bill of health. She should be rejoicing her new motherhood, not wallowing in shame and self-pity."

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, Ernest."

"Neither do I, unfortunately. I just hope she returns to her old self."

But Helena didn't return to her old self and just three days later, without a word of goodbye, she upped and left. Ernest heard the following day from Lady Hutchinson, who'd heard from Lady Windermere that Helena had caught the overnight stagecoach to Montreal. According to Mr. Duncan, a driver who worked for Kingston Stagecoaches Limited, she'd worn a shawl and bonnet and he only recognized her when he dropped her at the old port in Montreal - too late to ask her what she was doing or why she was leaving.

As for baby Grace, she was now in the care of Miss Foster and rumours swirled about town for weeks afterwards.

She paid Oliver to assault the poor girl and then bought the baby.

She always wanted a baby and since she could never have one of her own, she conspired to get one in the most despicable way imaginable.

She's a Saint – taking in that poor maid girl and then keeping the baby after she's left? Who else in this town would be so charitable? She's a true Christian she is, that Clarissa Foster.

Ernest found it difficult to ignore the more vicious of these rumours - the ones that accused Miss Foster of concocting a malevolent scheme to get the baby she'd always wanted \- and he'd exchanged heated words, on several occasions, with a number of Kingstonians in order to defend the young woman's reputation. After all, he'd approached _her_ to perform a good deed for him; Miss Foster didn't _have_ to take in Helena. Rather, she did it as a favour, an act of charity.

Ernest felt even more guilty when he learned that she hadn't left the house since the rumours had begun. Lady Hutchinson had reported that Miss Foster had even canceled her ticket for the upcoming Easter Ball, too enraged and embarassed to face her accusers.

Of course, in defending Clarissa Foster's good name, Ernest also had to avoid offending Lady Hutchinson. For Miss Foster had upstaged Lady Hutchinson when she took Helena into her home (after Lady Hutchinson had kicked her out) and several prominent ladies voiced this fact about town, much to Lady Hutchinson's chagrin. Nonetheless, Lady Hutchinson refrained from participating in most of the gossip that pertained to either Helena or Miss Foster, (though she was surely tempted whenever Lady Windermere or Mrs. Winthrop were visiting for tea) and Ernest admired her for it.

The rest of March passed quickly and the date of the Easter Ball arrived seemingly without warning. As with the year before, Kingston's premier, annual, social event had the townspeople talking.

Have you seen what Mrs. Winthrop plans to wear?

Why hasn't Bernard asked me to the Ball yet?

I heard Mrs. MacIsaac has promised to serve real English gin at the reception.

Did you hear? Lady Stockton has hired an orchestra from Montreal!

Ernest of course, wasn't going. Though Peter was. He'd asked Linda, the butcher's daughter to be his date and after some diplomatic discussion between Ernest and Linda's father (who'd turned out to be more strongly opposed to his daughter attending the Ball with the young cook than Ernest could ever have imagined), it was arranged that they would ride with Lord and Lady Hutchinson to and from Simcoe Manor (where the Ball was being held). That way there would be no "unholy business" and no cause for speculation as to what the two twenty-somethings had may or may not have gotten up to.

"Are you ready yet, James? For heaven's sake. You are slower than molasses!"

"Laura, dear. Haven't I told you that talking like a colonial only makes you more of one?"

"We are English, James, and English we shall remain."

"Not so long as you use cute expressions from the colonies. Bah. Have you seen my tie? Where did you put my tie, Laura?"

"I don't know. I haven't touched your tie since the weekend when I ironed it."

"Well, find it."

Ernest made his way downstairs, drowning out the couple's bickering.

"Ernest! There you are! How do I look?"

It was Peter.

The butler stepped back a foot and gave the cook a once over. "Not bad...let's roll this up a little bit...and tuck that in...can you tighten your braces?"

"I think so," he grunted, removing his jacket and adjusting the length of his suspenders (*The English used to refer to suspenders as "braces").

"There, now give that a go."

Ernest waited patiently while Peter put on his jacket once again and did up the topmost buttons.

"Splendid."

"Really? You think so?"

Ernest nodded. "Aye. More handsome than the great David Garrick himself."

"David who?"

"Nevermind," said Ernest, shrugging off the question. "You're a little too young to know who he is. Just make sure to be a gentleman, eh? You're carrying my reputation. I vouched for you to Linda's father. Don't make me regret it."

"I shan't do anything of the sort, Ernest. And you know it."

The butler smiled a small smile. "Aye. I do. You're a good lad."

"Thank you."

The kitchen door burst open and Philip appeared in the corridor where Ernest and Peter were standing.

"Ready, gents?"

"I'm not going," said Ernest flatly, angered by Philip's shenanigans and juvenile behaviour over the past few days. He'd long since given up on Philip's "changed man" act. Hence his frosty tone towards the Hutchinson boy.

"I know _you're_ not going, old man. I'm talking to my boy, Peter."

"I'm not your boy," Peter growled, shaking Philip's hand from his shoulder.

"Oh, easy now. You don't want to go jeopardizing your employment here by picking a fight with me," said Philip darkly, moving so that he stood mere inches from Peter.

Ernest instinctively stepped in between them. "Why don't you leave him alone, eh?"

Philip smirked. "For now."

"PETER? ARE YOU READY? I DON'T WANT TO BE KEPT WAITING!"

It was Lady Hutchinson and her voice echoed down the stairs and filled the corridor.

"IN A MINUTE, MADAM. JUST GOT TO FETCH ME SHOES!"

"ALRIGHT, WELL BE QUICK ABOUT IT. WE'RE LEAVING. WHERE'S PHILIP? HAVE YOU SEEN PHILIP?"

Ernest watched as Peter glared at the Hutchinson boy before yelling his reply: "AYE, MADAM. HE'S HERE BESIDE ME."

"WELL, TELL HIM TO PREPARE THE CARRIAGE! WE HAVE TO LEAVE IN FIVE MINUTES."

"FIVE MINUTES!?" Philip shot back. "MOTHER, YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE SOMETIMES. REALLY YOU ARE."

"ENOUGH!"

Ernest shuddered as Lord Hutchinson's voice reverberated down the stairs, silencing the house.

"NO MORE SHOUTING. WE'RE CIVILIZED PEOPLE. FROM NOW ON, UNDER MY ROOF, YOU WILL RING THE BELL OR COME TO THE ROOM IF YOU WISH TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE."

Ernest looked at Philip who was using his tongue to dislodge something from between his teeth, an impatient expression on his face. Several seconds passed in which he released a lungful of air, and then the eldest Hutchinson child pushed Ernest aside and headed out the front door.

"What's gotten into him?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Well, did you smell the liquor on him just now?"

"No. He's not drinking again...is he?"

The butler shrugged non-commitally. "If he is, we'd best not discuss it now," he finished as he heard Lord and Lady Hutchinson begin descending the stairs. "You go and enjoy yourself. Treat that girl like something special - she won't forget you that way."

The cook grinned a sly smile. "That would mean me taking her to my bedroom."

"Hey now. What did I say about that type of thing?"

Seeing Ernest's serious expression, Peter stopped smiling. "Sorry. Just a joke, Ernest."

"Well, don't joke. This town is full of talk. And what with Helena's situation and Philip's bad reputation, this house doesn't need anymore mud throw at it."

Peter nodded, his face solemn. "You're right."

"Ernest," said Lady Hutchinson once she'd arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the corridor. "You'll make sure Catherine gives Caroline a bath tonight, won't you?"

"Of course, Madam."

"Good. And see to it that Catherine does a good job of it. Last time Caroline had a gallon of soap left in her hair!"

"I shall, Madam."

"Honestly, James," she continued, turning to her husband who had just joined them in the corridor. "That girl is impossible. I'm not sure she has her head on straight. "

"Madam?"

Ernest whirled around to see Catherine standing in the kitchen doorway. He hadn't heard the kitchen door open.

"Catherine," Lady Hutchinson said with a wide, plastic smile.

"Do you not like the way I work? Am I not _good enough_ for this place?"

Her tone caused Ernest to recoil, but not more than Lord and Lady Hutchinson.

"I beg your pardon!"

"I _said_ , do you not like the way I work? _Madam_."

"I do like the way that you work, Catherine - _when_ you work. It's when you _don't_ work, where I have difficulty. Did you know that I had to rinse Caroline's hair the other morning? There was so much soap in it, Ernest could have scrubbed the floor with her."

"Madam, she doesn't like when I rinse her hair. She says I get water in her eyes!"

"Well then do a better job of it and don't get water in her eyes. Silly girl!"

Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and dropped back into the kitchen, disappearing behind the door as it swung shut.

"My word," Lady Hutchinson said with a sigh. "If it isn't one thing..."

"Laura," James interjected. "I think it best you leave that and we go to the Ball. Afterwards, you can speak with her."

"No, James, that - "

"Laura. I'm not asking. Ernest, fetch her coat, will you? We'll be outside."

The butler watched as Lord Hutchinson clamped a hand on his wife's shoulder and steered her towards the door."

"Ow! James!"

"Laura. I paid good money for these tickets. Half the town will be there. We're going. Now."

He flung open the door and pushed her gently outside.

"Are you coming, Peter?"

"Yes, Sir. Right away," the cook answered nervously.

"Let's go then. Where's Philip?"

"He's gone to get the carriage, Sir," said Ernest, stepping forwards, towards the door.

"Alright then. Ernest, you keep an eye on Catherine tonight. I don't want her doing anything foolish."

"Yes, Sir."

"If she gives you any grief tonight, let me know tomorrow and she's sacked."

"Yes, of course, Sir."

"Good. Well, we shan't be too long. It's going on half six now. We should be back no later than ten. You know how Laura is if she's not in bed by ten."

Ernest smiled supportively. "Yes. I do, Sir."

Lord Hutchinson nodded. "Very well then. We'll see you later."

"Yes, Sir."

"Come, Peter," he said, turning and making his way down the front walk towards the carriage where Philip and Lady Hutchinson were waiting.

"Have a good time!"

"We shall, Ernest!"

The butler smiled and closed the door.

Ah, to be young again.

"Ernest?"

The butler turned around to see Catherine standing before him. She had obviously been waiting behind the kitchen door for the others to leave.

"Er...yes?"

"Do you believe what she says about me? How I'm not a good worker. You don't believe that, do you? Because it's not true. It isn't."

"Yes, yes, of course it isn't," said Ernest hastily, trying to placate the young woman who was clearly not in a good state of mind.

"Well, why did she say those things then?"

Why was he always being made to answer the difficult questions?

"I honestly do not know, Catherine. Perhaps she was just in a huff because of the Ball tonight. You know, it's occupied a great deal of her time - "

"I don't care! What she said to me was...it was hurtful! She had no right!"

Well, actually...

"Can I ask you, Catherine," said Ernest, deciding to take control of a conversation that seemed to be careening towards a cliff. "Do you like working here? Are you happy with your employment here?"

The girl shrugged and took a seat on the stairs. "I suppose. I'm not used to this type of work though. At Mrs. Hayden's, all I had to do was the laundry and mind the kids now and again."

"Well," Ernest sighed, "there is more work to be done here than that. That's for certain. But consider it a learning opportunity."

Catherine made a face.

"Or not. Stay miserable and hate every day you spend here."

"No."

The butler shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you then."

"Just, just, oh - "

"Catherine?"

It was Caroline. She was standing at the top of the stairwell, looking down at them.

"What is it, Caroline?" asked Ernest, stepping forwards so that he could see her properly. "Are you hungry? Tired? Would you like Catherine to read you a story before bed?"

"No. But I want my bath. Can I have my bath now, Catherine?" the little girl asked.

Ernest looked from Caroline to Catherine. "I reckon she can do that."

The young woman glared at him. "Yes. I can give you your bath, Caroline," she muttered, rising to her feet. "Let me go and fetch some towels."

It was much later that evening, while Ernest was fixing a cup of tea for himself and planning to turn in, that he heard something. It sounded like laughter and it was coming from the corridor. Setting aside the kettle, he wiped his hands on his trousers and made his way towards the kitchen door. He pushed it open. The corridor was empty. Dark. Quiet. But then, just as he began to question his sanity, he heard it again. Laughter. And giggling. Then voices. There was a man. And a woman. Had Lord and Lady Hutchinson come home early? Was it Peter and Linda?

Peter, you promised me...

Curious, the butler advanced cautiously towards the parlour room door - the only plausible source of the sounds he was hearing. A soft and pale light was visible through the white, embroidered curtains that hung over the windows of the door. Putting his ear to the door, Ernest held his breath and listened closely.

The male voice clearly belonged to Philip, and the female voice... _Catherine?_

Inching forwards, he reached for the door handle. Did he dare open it?

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Then, laughter.

What is going on in there?

Ernest knocked and the laughter ceased immediately.

"Did you hear something?" he heard Philip ask.

"No. Why?" replied his female companion. It was most definitely Catherine.

Philip and Catherine doing God knows what in the parlour...

"That sound, it sounded like - "

Ernest eased the door open and stepped into the parlour.

"Ernest! What in blazes - "

"Master Hutchinson," the butler answered politely as though he were simply saying "good morning."

"What in blazes are you playing at?" he demanded, his voice shrill and high-pitched, as he tried to cover himself with the blanket that Catherine was holding on to in order to hide her nakedness.

"I might ask you the same thing, Master Hutchinson. Catherine."

"It is none of your business what we are doing, old man," Catherine said, giggling as she pressed a bottle of some brownish liquid to her lips and took a swig.

"It seems I've missed a party."

Philip shook his head. "No. It's nothing like that."

The young man got to his feet and began to dress. "Pray, tell me. When did my mother say to pick them up from the Ball?"

"No later than ten," Ernest answered, a small smile tugging at this mouth.

"And what time is it now?"

"Half past, Master Hutchinson."

"No! It can't be! No! Father's going to kill me! You whore!" he yelled, turning towards Catherine. "Get up! Get up! Get dressed. And clean this mess up!"

Ernest looked down at the mess he was referring to. Empty liquor bottles, dessert wrappers, the remnants of Peter's smoked ham.

"Wha - "

"I said, clean it up! And get dressed!"

"But, but - "

"I don't care if _he's_ here," Philip seethed, grabbing Catherine by the hair and forcing her to her feet.

Ernest turned away quickly as her nakedness was fully revealed.

"Ow! You're hurting me! You beast! You coward! Hurting a woman!"

"Enough! Get dressed and clean this mess up. I want this all gone when I get back with mother and the rest and you, in your room. Are we understood?"

"Yes," the young maid whined, scratching at Philip's hand until he released her.

"Master Hutchinson - " Ernest began.

"Shut up, old man. You could have warned me what time it was an hour ago."

The butler sighed. "I suppose I could have, yes."

Secretly he'd wanted this to happen. Although now that it was actually happening...and poor Catherine. Crying and red-faced. Naked and pathetic looking. Liquor bottles strewn all around...

Philip let out a groan of frustration and slammed a hand against the wall. "Ernest, clean this mess up. I'm going to fetch mother and father. There's not to be a word about what happened this evening."

"Of course, Master Hutchinson," said Ernest gently, anxiously eyeing Catherine who was still dabbing at her tears, her face pointed at the floor.

"Perhaps, Master Hutchinson, it would be best if _I_ went and got Lord and Lady Hutchinson - and Peter - as you look to be in a right state and I wouldn't want Lord Hutchinson to think you'd been drinking."

The butler looked at Philip, waiting for his response. The young man glared at him and looked as though he was about to unleash a volley of curse words, but he stopped himself, and breathed in deeply.

"I suppose you're right, Ernest. After all, if father catches sees me like this, he'll have me thrown out into the street."

Philip looked next at Catherine. "You and I will stay here and clean up this mess."

The young woman sniffed. "Alright..."

Philip sighed heavily. "Good. Ernest. Get dressed and be on your way. They'll no doubt be waiting and mother is going to be in a foul mood. We'll say that we pre-arranged to have you pick them up. That I was out - at a church function - and that you fell asleep and awoke later than you should have."

Ernest nodded. He couldn't refuse a request from his employer. It was against the Caldwell code.

Oh, mother, why ever did you make me swear to such an unbending set of rules...

"Catherine. You will clean this up. I will be outside and enter just as father and mother are arriving back. You two will back my story. If not, I'll find a way to get my revenge. Now go. There's work to be done," he finished, giving them a commanding stare.

Both butler and maid nodded simultaneously, both too in shock at the sudden change of circumstance. Though arguably, Ernest was the more shocked of the pair. For Philip had been a dithering drunk not minutes ago. And now, he was a crafty conspirator, willing to sacrifice the employment of a faithful butler in order to save his skin.

Oh, that I weren't a Caldwell and didn't have to abide by the code...

It came as little surprise to Ernest the following morning to learn that Catherine was "sick in bed". Lady Hutchinson was still snapping at him for being late to get them from the Ball the night before even though, as the reader well knows, it was only to cover for Philip that he'd offered to go. That and the fact that Philip's drunken behaviour would surely have gotten them all killed or embarassed them all in public.

Clearing the breakfast table, he tried to ignore the tension in the air - the sort of tension you could cut with a knife - but it was unavoidable.

"And why didn't you tell me earlier of this engagement at the church, my boy?" Lord Hutchinson pressed his son as he sipped the last dregs of his tea.

"Because, father, as I already said, it was a sudden prayer session for Mrs. Northcott. Goodness knows, I would have avoided it if I could. All those tears and what not. It wasn't a night on the town, you know."

"Hmmm, yes. So you say anyway."

"Oh, James," Lady Hutchinson interjected. "Believe your son for once."

"Laura, I don't believe him. Not for a minute."

"And why not father?" Philip demanded hotly. "What have I done for you to continue to bear such a grudge against me?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure at this point. But I will find out."

At this remark, Philip cast Ernest a cautionary glance.

"Now then, seeing as breakfast is through and the company has turned rather stale, I must retire to my study," Lord Hutchinson continued. "There's a fair bit of work to do yet on the upcoming bill to abolish the seigneurial system. Thank goodness Lafontaine isn't a _patriote_ like the rest of his brethren."

"Yes, dear. It's all very interesting," said Lady Hutchinson dryly as she smoothed out the crumpled napkin beside her. "Politics."

"It's what pays for this house, darling," the parliamentarian replied, rising from the table. "Ernest, if you could bring a pot of tea to my study. And perhaps a new ink well."

"Of course, Sir."

"I shall meet you there in a few minutes."

Ten minutes later, pot of tea in one hand and ink well in the other, the butler rapped at the door of Lord Hutchinson's study.

"Ernest? Is that you?"

"Aye. 'Tis, Sir."

"Well, don't just stand there. Come in."

Ernest used his shoulder to open the sturdy oak door and then carried the teapot and the ink well to Lord Hutchinson's desk.

"Right there will do."

Ernest nodded and set the items down in the empty space in front of him.

"Now then. What can you tell me of last night?"

"Sir?"

Lord Hutchinson poured himself a cup of tea and sat back in his chair.

"Ernest. You're a smart man. You know what goes on within these walls - better than anyone. Tell me. What _really_ happened here last night while the rest of us were at the Ball? Where did Philip go? Did he go to the tavern?"

"I...er...I don't know, Sir. He said he was going to church to - "

"Oh, bollocks. That boy only sets foot in church to get a look at the ladies. He's no more interested in Jesus than the Romans were. Pray, as my humble and loyal servant, where did my son go last night and what did he get up to?"

"Well, Sir, I..."

"Ernest. Please. Don't waste my time," said Lord Hutchinson, stirring a spoonful sugar into his tea. "Where was Philip last night? Why couldn't he pick us up from the Ball?"

Ernest sighed and sat down. "Have I ever told you about the Caldwell Code, Sir?"

"The Caldwell Code?"

"Yes. It's a Code that my great-grandfather began. My maternal great-grandfather. You see, I never knew my father. I was raised by my mother. She was a Caldwell. Anyway, my mother was a servant, as you know, to Lady Hutchinson's elder brother."

"Correct."

"And my mother comes from a long line of servants. In fact my great-great-grandfather was a servant to William Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire, for a time. Thus we Caldwell's pride ourselves in being faithful and loyal servants."

"Go on."

"Faithful and loyal servants that would never, under any circumstance, betray our employers."

"So, what you are trying to say is that, according to the rules of the Caldwell Code - which you inherited from your mother - as a Caldwell, and as a servant, you are not at liberty to betray Philip's trust because he is your employer or master or what have you. Is that about the gist of it?"

Ernest gave a sigh of relief. "Yes, Sir. I could not have explained it more concisely myself."

Lord Hutchinson picked up his tea, took a sip, and sat back in his chair. The pair sat in silence for a minute and then Lord Hutchinson set his tea cup on the desk and spoke.

"While I find it honourable that you adhere to a code as would a physician or a parliamentarian like myself, it irks me that you would not permit yourself to tell _me_ , the head of this house and the head of this family. Do I not have some sort of seniority over my son?"

"You know, Sir, I believe you do," said Ernest slowly, pensively. "And that is such a simple solution that I am rather embarassed I did not think of it myself. But yes, you are absolutely right. As Philip's father, and as head of this house and the Hutchinson family to whom I have pledged the utmost loyalty, your authority trumps his and thus I am free to tell you what Philip got up to last night."

Lord Hutchinson cleared his throat and gave an approving, yet stern, nod. "Very well then. Where was Philip last night? And more importantly, what was he doing?"

"Well, as you may have suspected, he was drinking Sir."

"Drinking?"

"Yes. I am afraid so."

"He was drinking...tea? Water? _Liquor_?"

"Liquor, Sir."

Lord Hutchinson's expression grew dark. "Oh?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Did he have just _one_ drink? Or did he drink like a fish?"

"He drank like a fish, Sir. When I found him, he was clearly intoxicated."

The greying parliamentarian took up his tea once again and sipped it. But then, suddenly, and without warning, he hurled it across the room so that is smashed against the bookcase and exploded into a dozen pieces.

Slightly shaken, Ernest rose from his chair to clean up the mess.

"Sit!"

Ernest obeyed Lord Hutchinson's command and sat down once more.

"My son went to the tavern then?"

Ernest sighed. "I wish he had, Sir."

"You mean to say that he drank here? In _my_ house?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir."

"That _imbecile_! That _cretin_! That vile little..."

Ernest said nothing while Lord Hutchinson continued to curse out his son.

"And where were you during all this?" he said, pausing from his tirade. "Where were you while he was drinking? Could you not have stopped him?"

"Well...I..."

"You could have, but you chose not to. Because you wanted to let him suffer the consequences of his behaviour?"

Ernest looked at the floor and then at Lord Hutchinson who seemed to have the ability to peer into his very soul.

"Yes."

The parliamentarian closed his eyes and nodded grimly.

"Are you angry with me, Sir?"

Lord Hutchinson opened his eyes and looked squarely at Ernest.

"Not at all. In fact, I should be thanking you. You can't keep a man from engaging in the vices that he chooses. Whoring, drinking, gambling - one cannot protect a man from himself. My son is a man, well a boy still really, but a man who loves the drink. And I fear that will always be the case."

Ernest listened intently, respectfully.

"And as much as it pains me to throw my own son out into the street, it is time he learns to walk among men. To live in the real world. Away from his mother's breast. I thought he'd done so in going toToronto. I must confess, I was rather proud of him even though Mr. Burke - you remember Mr. Burke, don't you?"

"The lawyer?"

"Yes. Even though Mr. Burke told me he's running a very amateur operation and only has three men in his employ. It made me proud nonetheless."

"Well, Sir, any father would be proud of such an accomplishment."

"Please, Ernest, don't patronize me with your flattery. The boy is an imbecile. A good for nothing drunk that will never amount to anything so long as he has a warm bed and food to come home to. No, he needs to be thrown to the wolves. Taught about the real world. Learn that real men work for their livelihoods. And the only way he'll learn these things is if I disown him."

"You can't be serious, Sir."

"Aye, Ernest. I am."

"But, I mean, strike him from your inheritance? Are you sure?"

"As sure as a man dealing with such circumstances can be. I don't want my hard earned money lining the pockets of every thieving bartender and barmaid in Kingston."

Ernest pursed his lips and nodded, but said nothing.

"But," he added, as he finished his tea and turned in his chair to look out the window, "I suppose that might be a bit rash. I am a moderate man, after all. Perhaps all my son needs is a few years of the hard life - and then he'll appreciate what a good thing he has here."

"I think that would be the more prudent path, Sir," said Ernest gently. "If I may say so."

The parliamentarian nodded. "Aye. You can say so, Ernest. You have an intelligent mind for a butler. Too intelligent at times," he added with a chuckle.

Ernest smiled obligingly. "Well, an intelligent employer requires an intelligent servant, Sir."

"I suppose."

The butler nodded and rose to his feet. "Is there anything else you would like before I go and clean up the breakfast table?"

"Well, yes actually. I'm no betting man, as you know, but if I had to wager, I would say that my son and that new servant girl - Catherine is it?"

"Yes, Catherine."

"Right. If I had to wager, I would say that my son and this Catherine girl were drinking together last night."

"And you would become a wealthy man with such a wager, Sir."

Lord Hutchinson nodded grimly. "Well, then, I have no choice but to sack the poor girl."

As difficult as it was to do, Ernest forced himself to hide his delight. "Are you sure, Sir?"

"Of course, I'm sure!" Lord Hutchinson snapped. "Don't question my judgement. A servant girl who takes such liberties in her employer's house demonstrates a lack of moral fibre. Drinking on the job? Getting so drunk that she's bed-ridden the following day? It's an outrage and I'll have nothing of the sort in my house."

"Well, if that is your will, Sir, then so be it."

"'Tis my will, Ernest Caldwell. Now go and tend to your duties. You're becoming too plucky for a servant."

Ernest wasn't sure whether he was speaking in jest or whether he actually meant it. Either way, he wasn't going to question it. After all, he'd gotten what he'd wanted.

"Of course, Sir. I shall see you for lunch."

"Bring my lunch here. I've much work to do."

"Certainly, Sir."

### \- 8 -

With Philip and Catherine gone, the Hutchinson house felt much calmer. Lord Hutchinson was noticeably more cheerful and Lady Hutchinson, though she had more work to do with no maid on the premises, spent less time bothering Ernest and Peter with her criticisms and idle chit-chat.

Miss Clarissa Foster came around to visit several times in the weeks following the Easter Ball. Helena had left baby Grace in her care and the young heiress was as proud a mother as any could be.

Additionally, Miss Foster had made Lady Hutchinson godmother. As the latest cause celebre in Kingston, it was socially advantageous to be affiliated with the young heiress and Lady Hutchinson enjoyed a great deal of praise from the ladies at church as a result of her newfound generosity towards Miss Foster.

"Winston can't stand the crying, but thankfully Linda gets up to feed him when he's hungry and change him and what not," she explained, one afternoon in early May as she and Lady Hutchinson were having tea.

"Oh, isn't that just a lovely arrangement," Lady Hutchinson said, smiling sweetly. Ernest noticed that she'd taken an almost motherly attachment to the younger woman and he was happy that things had turned out so well. With the exception, of course, that Helena had disappeared and not been heard from since.

"And aren't you just the most precious, little angel," she cooed, pushing her face towards that of baby Grace's as the infant suckled on a wooden pacifier. "How she's grown since last month...isn't it amazing?"

Miss Foster smiled and exchanged a happy glance with Ernest who stood attentively nearby. "Yes. She's getting to be a big girl."

"And a pretty one too."

Their conversation turned to spring, and the markets, and finally, the impending visit of Charles Dickens.

"And did you know, Clarissa (Lady Hutchinson had taken to calling her young conterpart by her first name) he's _only_ thirty. _Thirty_! Can you believe it?"

"Why, that does seem rather young considering he's so famous."

"Doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Ernest, bring us some more of those little cookies, would you? I just can't get enough of them today."

"Of course, Madam," the butler replied, stepping forwards and taking the empty plate from Lady Hutchinson.

"Oh, it's alright, Lady Hutchinson," Miss Foster said, waving a hand in an attempts to waylay the butler. "I should get Grace home. She's got to take her nap."

"Oh, it's still early yet," Lady Hutchinson protested gently. "Stay awhile longer. Caroline wanted to show you the handkerchiefs she's monogrammed."

Miss Foster sighed. "Alright. But no more than a half an hour. Then I really have to get going. Grace will be wanting her nap soon. Or, rather, mum will be wanting her nap soon. Which means baby goes to bed so mum can too."

"That's just fine, dear," Lady Hutchinson replied warmly as she gave Ernest a look that said "hurry up".

The butler got the message.

"I'll be right back, ladies," he said quickly, turning and disappearing from the drawing room.

"Thank you, Ernest!" Miss Foster called after him

When he returned, Caroline was eagerly showing off her monogrammed napkins.

"And see! It's got a "J" for James and an "H" for Hutchinson. James Hutchinson. Isn't it pretty?"

"It's _very_ pretty, Caroline," Miss Foster cooed. "And what a beautiful thread you've chosen. It almost looks like real gold."

"Yes. It's stunning. Mother picked it out for me. Didn't you mother?"

Lady Hutchinson smiled. "That I did, my darling."

"And do you plan to make one for your mother and brother as well?" Miss Foster asked, glancing at Ernest who stood watching them politely, a tray of cookies in his hand.

The little girl nodded enthusiastically.

"And how about me? Would you make one for me?"

Caroline looked perplexed. "For you? But you're not married."

"No...no, I'm not," Clarissa answered, somewhat embarassed.

Ernest felt a twinge of sadness for the young woman and decided to come to her defense, but Lady Hutchinson beat him to it.

"Caroline?"

"Yes, mother?"

"Who says you've got to be married to have a monogrammed handkerchief?"

"Well, because Miss Foster doesn't have a husband's name. Mrs. Winthrop says that Miss Foster will never be a missus anybody. _You_ get one because you're _Mrs_. Hutchinson. But I have to wait until Miss Foster gets married before I can make her one."

"What a silly - "

"No, no, it's quite alright," said the young heiress, interrupting Lady Hutchinson to avoid any further embarassment. "She's right. Once I get married and I have my husband's last name, then you can make me one. Right, Caroline?"

"Of course, Miss Foster," the girl said, smiling.

Lady Hutchinson rolled her eyes and took a cookie from the tray Ernest was holding. The girls chatted awhile longer but then the bell sounded downstairs, announcing Winston's arrival, and it was time for Miss Foster to return home.

"Goodbye, Lady Hutchinson. Ernest. Caroline. Thank you for having me."

"Oh, anytime Clarissa."

"Come again, Miss Foster."

"Mind the step. Careful with the baby."

"I've got it. Thank you."

"Good day."

"Good day."

"Well, that was a fun afternoon," Lady Hutchinson mused once Ernest had shut the door.

"Yes it was, wasn't it?"

"And to think that I am that baby's godmother."

With these final words, the woman touched her heart and sighed softly before turning and heading down the corridor.

It was a week later when a letter arrived from Helena. She was in Montreal. At a family's house in Westmount. The Mitchell's. Working as a domestic. She said the pay was good. The food was decent. And her bedroom was small, but cozy. Peter likened the arrangement to the home he'd worked at before the Hutchinson's. Lady Hutchinson was still miffed that Helena hadn't said goodbye. Ernest only hoped that it was really as good as it sounded.

"Why can't we have pancakes today, mother?" Caroline whined as Ernest set breakfast on the table.

"Because, dear, Peter chose to make us omelettes instead."

"But I don't like omelettes."

"Caroline," Lord Hutchinson said in a reproving tone. "There's to be no whining at my table. I've got a busy day of work ahead of me and I haven't the patience. You'll eat what's on your plate or you won't eat at all."

"But, father - "

"No buts, Caroline!"

"Caroline," said Lady Hutchinson gently, as Ernest reached around her to place a plate in front of her. "Don't upset your father. Remember what we talked about?"

The little girl paused. "That if I behave, I may get a puppy?"

Lady Hutchinson nodded affirmatively as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"I'll be good," Caroline sighed softly.

Ernest remained stoic as he continued to serve breakfast.

"Pass me the butter, would you, Laura?"

As their meal got underway, Ernest retreated to the kitchen and made his own breakfast of leftover omelette and toast. Peter was busy preparing soup stock for lunch.

"So what do you think of this business with Helena, Ernest?" the cook asked as Ernest munched happily on his meal.

His stomach had been growling since he'd woken and he was glad to finally be eating something.

"Well, I hope it's as good as she says it is."

"I mean more of her baby," said Peter, adding a container of lamb bones to the boiling broth.

"That is a matter of endless debate," said Ernest, shoving a piece of omelette into his mouth.

"Do you think she did the right thing?"

Ernest looked curiously at the young man. "Why are you so interested about Miss Foster all of a sudden?"

"Well, it's just, Linda, you know..."

"Ah," said Ernest, his eyes lighting up. "That lass you're seeing...you and her share bits of gossip, I imagine?"

Peter shrugged, but didn't answer.

"And what of the situation at Clarissa's? It's been weeks since I've been over. Is everything running smoothly?"

Peter nodded as he stirred the broth. "It seems to be. Linda says that Miss Foster's a natural. That she's got what it takes to be a good mother to the baby."

Ernest gave a grunt of satisfaction. "I never doubted her for a second."

"Well, according to Linda, Winston did."

"What? Doubted her?"

"Yeah. Like...he said that she wouldn't make a good mother - that she was too caught up in her social activities and traveling and church to commit herself properly."

"Bah!" Ernest spat as he finished his meal. "She's perfect for it."

"That's what Linda said."

Ernest wiped his plate and set it in the wash basin. "I suppose it helps she has her father's money."

"Who was her father, anyway?"

"Irwin Foster. Coal magnate. Of Boston fame."

"Is that where they're from then?"

"Leeds, originally. But Clarissa and Arthur were born in Boston. Their father moved them here when he started the Kingston coal refinery."

"And then he died?"

"Yes."

Peter finished stirring the broth. "I've got to get some carrots from the cellar."

"Alright. I'll leave you to finish cooking."

"Ernest?"

The butler turned around. He was nearly at the door."

"Yes?"

"The father of the baby? Can you finally tell me? Now that Helena isn't coming back?"

Ernest grimaced. So far he'd not told anyone except Lady Hutchinson. Peter was right though. Helena wouldn't be returning - so it's not as though it would tarnish her reputation to divulge that information. But, then again, Grace would one day grow into an adult and if Clarissa Foster remained in Kingston, Grace would indoubtedly face some ridicule around town.

"I'm sorry, Peter. It's too sensitive."

The cook nodded, but his face wore an annoyed expression.

"I understand," he said, as he set the wooden soup ladle on the counter and made his way towards the door that lead outside.

"I'm glad for that."

The young man shrugged and pushed through the door, disappearing. Ernest hated keeping secrets - but this was one secret that needed keeping.

"ERNEST? BRING SOME MORE TEA, WOULD YOU?"

_Best not to keep Lady Hutchinson waiting_ , thought the butler as he lit the kettle and prepared a fresh pot of tea.

James Hutchinson walked as quickly as possible. Past McGuire's pub, past the law offices of Thompson and Abelard. The wind had picked up and rain pelted at his rain slicker. Several metres in front of him, a group of rowdy youths were piling into a taxi carriage, happily oblivious to the troubles that presently vexed the parliamentarian.

Turning onto Wharf Street, he hurried past the canner's before turning into the narrow, winding alleyway that would take him to Victor's Victuallers.

_Thank God this is the last of it_ , he thought as he approached the heavy, plank door that advertised "Meat For Sale".

There was a light on inside - but as always - the drapes that covered the window had been pulled tight.

The parliamentarian took a deep breath and rapped sharply on the door.

There was a scraping of chairs and the sound of footsteps as someone approached.

"Who goes there?" a man's voice barked gruffly.

"J. H.," James replied as he always did. One didn't want to go saying their name aloud in this part of town.

The lock was unlatched and the door swung open. Anxious to get out of the rain, the assemblyman stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Good evening, James."

The parliamentarian whirled around and saw his colleague seated at a small, wooden table. An oil lamp sat blazing atop it.

"Alistair..."

"Have a seat, James."

Surprised to see Lord Black, James made his way slowly towards the table.

Why is he here?

Normally he was absent from these exchanges. Normally it was just he and Victor. This area of town had a bad reputation, and after dark, was only frequented by Kingston's various criminal elements.

James Hutchinson pulled up a chair and sat himself down a few feet away from Lord Black.

"I was sorry to hear about your son. Every young man deserves a good home."

"My family's business is none of your concern, Alistair," James growled.

The heavy-set assemblyman seated across from him chuckled. "Ah, James. Everything that happens in this town is my concern. Don't you see? That's how I supplement my meagre income. You of all people should understand that."

James scowled.

"Anyhow, would you like something to drink?" he asked cheerfully. "Fetch our guest some brandy, would you, Victor?" he ordered, turning towards the grizzled victualler who had greeted James at the door.

The small man James was accustomed to dealing with at these monthly exchanges nodded and shuffled towards the liquor cabinet at the other end of the small abode.

"Now then, perhaps we can get our business underway."

"What business is that?" James demanded, feeling inside his jacket for the pistol he always carried. "This was to be my last payment."

Edmund sighed as Victor set a glass on the table for James.

"I wish it were."

"What do you mean?" James asked. He turned and glared at Victor until he took a large step backwards.

"Well, you see, I will be returning to England shortly and I wish to live out my final years in the utmost comfort."

"And? How is that my business?" James asked, eyeing his drink suspiciously.

"Well, it means your payments shall continue until the day I leave the continent."

"No."

"You can't refuse me, James."

"Alistair. We agreed. This was to be the last of my payments to you."

"Ah, but see, then I wouldn't be a politician," the heavy man chuckled as he sipped his own drink. "Your money is paying for my lad's schooling. I can't afford to abandon the milk from that cow now, can I?"

Lord Hutchinson shook his head in disgust. "And if you milk the cow dry?"

"Well, I shall just have to find another one then, shan't I?"

"We're done, Alistair. I have no more money to give you. My family will be on the street before long!"

Lord Black smiled and wagged a finger. "Ah, ah, James. Victor, re-introduce our friend to James, will you? Perhaps, in the two years since he's last seen her, he's forgotten her."

The weasle-like Victor grinned malevolently and strode to the other end of the room where he drew back the curtain that covered his bed, James' eyes widening at what he saw. For there, standing in the corner, was Isabella - or at least that was the name she'd given him when, in a night of drunkenness and debauchery at a party hosted by Lord Black, she'd climbed on top of him and they'd done what only a husband and wife were meant to do.

"You vile witch..." he muttered as she stepped forwards, into the light, her long red hair cascading down her half-naked shoulders.

"Oh, come now, James. You certainly didn't think she was so foul those twenty-four months ago."

"You whoreson!" James yelled, rising from his chair so violently that it fell backwards with a _bang_.

The woman jumped at the sound and Lord Black's previously smiling face now wore a deep frown.

"Sit down, James!"

"Never! This is finished!" he yelled, pulling a small bag of money from inside his slicker and placing it on the table. "You stay away from me and my family. Consider that your warning!" he spat.

Suddenly he was seized from behind.

Victor.

Lord Black, his expression dark, rose from the table so that he stood facing James.

"You foolish man! Don't you know that your reputation will be ruined? I have witnesses!"

Arms pinned to his sides, Lord Hutchinson could only shake his head. "You've blackmailed me long enough, Alistair. You're nothing more than a petty thief. To think that you and I hail from the same nation..."

The heavy-set man opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but stopped himself.

"Release him, Victor," he said after nearly a minute had passed.

The victualler did as he was ordered and Lord Hutchinson immediately made for the door.

"Not so fast."

Despite his desire to flee, Lord Hutchinson turned to face his colleague.

"What is it? You want my house now, too?"

Lord Black smiled. "I wouldn't object. It is one of the finest in town. But no. Sadly, as I said, I am returning to England in a short time and I need my money in liquid form."

"So what more do you want from me? I can't afford to keep paying you this outrageous amount."

"No, I suppose you can't. But you will, if you wish for me to keep your secret."

Lord Hutchinson stared at his nemesis. "Why can't you honour our agreement? For twenty-four months, without fail, I have paid you two hundred pounds. And yet you still come to me. Why? For what reason?"

"Because, James, as I said, your donations pay for my lad's schooling. You know it's much more expensive here in the colonies."

"Well, be that as it may, I've paid you nearly _five thousand pounds_ over these two years. I can't afford anymore."

The heavy-set man nodded. "I know. But you will."

Lord Hutchinson shook his head. "I will not."

And with that, he turned, pulled the door open, and exited the victualler's.

"YOU'LL PAY ME, JAMES! ELSE I'LL BE SILENT NO MORE! YOUR SECRET WILL BE OUT!"

Lord Hutchinson ignored his blackmailer's shouts and hurried through the alleyway, back to Wharf Street, back to familiarity, all the while dogged by the glaring question: Just what, exactly, was he going to do?

### \- 9 -

"How is it that a man with twelve pairs of socks doesn't have an extra pair of shoes?" Peter asked as he and Ernest rifled through his dresser drawers the following morning.

"I don't know. I guess I never thought to keep an extra pair."

"Well, bother..."

"I'm sure Linda's father won't be looking at your feet."

"And if he does?"

Ernest grinned. "Then I suppose you shan't be allowed to see his daughter any longer."

The cook made a face and continued his search. Today was a big day for the young man. He'd been invited to join Linda and her father for breakfast and he wanted to look his best. Unfortunately, he'd spilled lard on his shoes the night before while preparing supper and was now in desperate need of a clean pair.

"Suppose we were to exchange shoes for the day? You'll wear mine, and I'll wear yours."

Ernest shook his head. "We've already explored that option and our feet aren't _nearly_ the same size."

"Oh...er...right," Peter said slowly, suddenly remembering.

"Maybe Master Hutchinson will lend you a pair. I would go and speak to him."

"That's a good idea, Ernest."

"Those are the only sort of ideas I have, lad."

"I'll go right now. He should be awake by now. Won't he?"

Ernest nodded. "I imagine he'll be in his study. When you go, ask him if he'd like his morning cup of tea brought."

"I will."

The young man left Ernest to clean up the mess they had made hunting for an extra pair of shoes, and hurried to Lord Hutchinson's study. Upstairs, he passed the bathroom. The door was ajar and he could hear Lady Hutchinson humming to herself. Ahead, further down the corridor, the door to Lord Hutchinson's study was shut. Peter approached and knocked softly on the door.

"Laura?"

"Er...no...it's Peter, Sir."

"Oh."

"May I come in for a minute?"

"I suppose."

The young man opened the door and stepped inside Lord Hutchinson's study, closing the door just as Lady Hutchinson's face appeared in the corridor outside.

"What is it? I want chicken tonight. You already asked me," the parliamentarian said brusquely.

"Uh...er...no, Sir. It's not about supper...I have a favour to ask."

The parliamentarian stopped writing and looked up from his desk.

"A favour? Of me?"

"Er...yes, Sir. It was Ernest actually, who - "

"Don't go bringing Ernest into this now. You have something to ask me, _you_ ask me."

"Right. Well, um...I have that luncheon to go to today. You know. At the McConnell's."

"The butcher's?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Well..."

"Well, what?" Lord Hutchinson demanded. "Do you want money? Is that it? Money to buy flowers or some'at? Don't I pay you enough! I haven't any more money to give!"

Peter looked nervously across the desk at his employer.

"No. It's not that, Sir. Shoes. I need to borrow a pair of shoes is all."

Lord Hutchinson blinked. "Ah. Well, let me see. I believe Philip left a pair or two in the closet downstairs. Check there."

"Thank you, Sir."

The parliamentarian waved his hand dismissively.

"Is everything alright...Sir?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine, Peter. Run along now and enjoy your luncheon."

"I will, Sir. Thank you. Oh," the cook added, suddenly remembering, "Ernest would like to know if he should bring your morning cup of tea."

"No. I haven't the appetite for much today, I'm afraid."

"Right..."

"Leave me now, Peter. I have work to do."

"Right. Sorry, Sir. I'll see you at breakfast."

"Not likely."

"Okay. Well, maybe this evening then."

"Perhaps," Lord Hutchinson replied as he sorted some papers on his desk.

"See you later, Sir."

"Perhaps."

With that, Peter exited Lord Hutchinson's study and after shutting the door softly behind him, made his way as quickly he could through the corridor. He didn't want Lady Hutchinson pestering him with some trivial request - not when he was so concerned about his upcoming luncheon - and he bounded down the steps without a glance back.

Downstairs, he headed directly to the closet where he located two well-worn, but otherwise durable brown, pairs of leather shoes. He tried both on for size, modeled them, tested them, and finally settled on the pair with the darker leather. That done, he returned the unwanted pair to the closet and made for Ernest's room.

The butler was just exiting.

"Oh. Peter. Did you get a pair of shoes? Did Lord Hutchinson have any to offer?"

The cook nodded and held up a foot. "Aye."

"Splendid. And tea? Would he like his morning cup?"

"Oddly...no," Peter answered, setting his foot back down. "He seemed...a little off."

"Off? How so?" asked Ernest, concerned.

"Well...he seemed sad. Disappointed. Downtrodden."

"Peter," Ernest remarked with a smile. "I see you've been reading. Your vocabulary has grown tremendously these past few months."

The cook grinned. "Thanks, Ernest. I mostly read to impress Linda. Well, so that I know what she's talking about. As dull as I find Jane Austen, she sure gives me affection when I quote certain er... _romantic_ passages."

"You scoundrel."

"Hey. It's above the waist."

"Well, just make sure it stays that way - until you're married at least. If her father finds out, he'll have your you-know-what ground up for his next batch of sausage."

The young man cringed. "I suppose I should lay off a bit. It's just, you know, we get talking, and she tells me how much she enjoyed Pride and Prejudice or Mansfield Park and if I jump in and say - "

"Yes, yes. Enough of that. What of Master Hutchinson? Is he ill?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. You'll have to see him for yourself. It's hard to say, really. He seems...sad. Like I said. Disappointed. Downtrodden."

"Right. Well, I suppose I shall make him some tea and bring it to him anyway."

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Ernest laughed. "Not to worry. Whatever is ailing Master Hutchinson, he's sure to perk up once I bring him his tea. I'll go and do that now. You're off to Linda's now, I suppose?"

"Yep."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks, Ernest."

With Peter gone, Ernest made his way to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Several minutes later, with a tray containing a steaming pot of tea, two cups (in case Lady Hutchinson wanted some as well), a creamer and a bowl of sugar, he climbed the stairs.

At the door to Lord Hutchinson's study, he stopped and knocked. "Sir?"

"What is it?" the parliamentarian barked in reply.

Taken aback by the harsh greeting, the butler recoiled. "Er...I have some tea for you. Would you like some?" he asked, hoping his voice would carry through the heavy, wooden door in front of him.

"No! And stop bothering me! All of you! First Peter. Then Laura. And now you? Please. All of you. Everyone. I need some peace."

Ernest heard the sound of a door opening behind him and he turned to see Lady Hutchinson.

"Madam, I - "

"It's alright, Ernest. James is going through a rough time at work. He said it should be all over within a week or two."

"Right."

"Tea?" she inquired cheerfully, glancing at the tray in his hand.

"Uh...yes. And I even brought an extra cup for you."

"Well, I will take some, Ernest," she said with a tone of peachiness to her voice that Ernest only heard when she was trying to sugar coat a situation.

"Um...how about I set it in the drawing room for you, Madam."

"Wonderful idea, Ernest."

He could tell by her eyes that behind that smile, there was nervous angst.

"And afterwards I'll go and prepare breakfast," he added. "Peter left everything out for me before he left."

"Excellent."

"Alright."

"Um...right...if you just turn - "

The pair did a dance in the narrow corridor as both tried to accommodate the other by stepping to the side and after several seconds of this, Ernest simply stopped and breathed: "After you, Madam."

"Sorry, Ernest," she apologized, smiling sweetly, though her face was rather red and anxious-looking. "See you downstairs at breakfast."

"Yes, Madam. In about a half an hour."

"Right."

Ernest left her then, placed the tea tray in the drawing room, and returned to the kitchen. Whatever was troubling Lord Hutchinson, he'd be sure to find out.

Unfortunately for Ernest, Lord Hutchinson chose to stay in his study all day and wouldn't receive anyone. Not even Ernest. Not even Lord Baldwin who came to call on him at Lady Hutchinson's request.

At supper, he announced he would be dining out and left without so much as a goodbye. Lady Hutchinson, of course, tried to sugar coat the situation. Ernest could see however that she was clearly upset about her husband.

"Where did father go? Is he not eating with us then?" Caroline inquired as she and her mother began to eat the food Ernest had just placed before them.

"Your father went out for awhile. He'll be back before your bedtime, I'm sure. Now eat your peas and stop babbling."

Ernest watched in silence as the little girl frowned. "But - "

"Caroline Victoria Hutchinson! I haven't the patience for your questions!"

Ernest looked on, horrified, as Lady Hutchinson proceeded to sob loudly into her napkin.

"Madam, please," the butler said, rushing to her side.

The woman buried her face in her hands and continued to weep. Caroline looked on, dumbfounded.

"Madam, please. It will be alright. You said so. In a few weeks time. Isn't that right? Master Hutchinson said everything will be alright in a week or two? He's just going through a rough time at work?"

She nodded, but continued to wail loudly with Ernest, gently massaging her back.

"Mother, don't cry," said Caroline, her voice shaking.

Ernest could tell she'd be bawling next.

"Here, Caroline. How about we leave your mother on her own for a few minutes, eh? And we'll go and get you some taffee in the kitchen. What do you say to that?"

Caroline looked from her mother to the butler.

"Okay..."

"Come, let's go," said Ernest, stepping away from Lady Hutchinson and ushering Caroline to the door. "We'll let your mother be for awhile, and then after we've got you some taffee, we'll see how your mother's feeling, eh? Does that sound alright?"

The little girl nodded, but continued to look over her shoulder at her mother as Ernest pushed her gently out the door.

"There, now," he said once they were on the other side and he had shut the door. "Let's go and get Peter to warm us some taffee in the oven."

"Taffee?" the little girl asked excitedly, making it obvious she hadn't been listening a minute before.

"Yes!"

"Hurrah!"

"Come on, let's go," said Ernest, jogging to keep up with her as they hurried down the corridor towards the kitchen. Inside, they found Peter busy kneading a roll of dough.

"What's all this about?" he asked as they burst through the door.

"Taffee! Taffee! Taffee, taffee, taffee!"

The young man smiled as Ernest slowly regained his breath.

"Well, did your mother say you could have some?"

Caroline turned and looked at Ernest.

The butler nodded as he drew in lungfuls of air, the jog to the kitchen tiring him more than he would have thought it would. "Yes...your...mother...said...it was...alright."

"Yay! Taffee, taffee, taffee!"

She clutched at Peter's arm and the cook pulled away, laughing. "Alright, alright. Let me wash my hands first. It'll be a minute because it's much too firm to eat just yet. I have to warm it in the oven first. You're lucky I haven't raked the embers yet."

"Hmph," said Caroline, taking a seat on an old apple crate.

"Caroline..."

"What?"

"Be good or you won't get any."

"Everyone always tells me, 'be good, Caroline, be good' and then I never get anything. So why should I?"

"What haven't you gotten?"

"A puppy," she moaned, leaning forwards and resting her chin in her hands.

"Whoever said - " Ernest stopped himself as he remembered the conversation they'd had about the puppy. It was that Sunday when Ernest went to church to speak to Miss Foster. He'd completely forgotten, though he really couldn't blame himself given all the hubbub of the past few months.

"I'm so sorry, Caroline. I forgot all about the puppy."

"Hmph."

"I'll get you one, I promise."

"Hmph."

"Caroli - "

"WHO'S READY FOR TAFFEE?" Peter yelled enthusiastically as he returned to the kitchen with a metal tray, four strips of taffee laid out neatly on it.

"Me! I am! Me! I'm ready for taffee!"

Caroline's screeching caused Ernest to cover his ears and as he watched the pair put the tray into the oven, Peter hoisting the little girl up so that she could reach. Their happy pose contrasted sharply with the situation he presently found himself in. Lord Hutchinson under the weather. Lady Hutchinson equally so. And now Caroline needing a puppy. Did it never end?

### \- 10 -

To answer Ernest's question, no. And in fact, by the following week, things had only managed to get more confuddled at the Hutchinson household.

It had all begun the following Sunday afternoon, while Caroline and Lady Hutchinson were eating lunch. Lord Hutchinson had locked himself away in his study, and the two were dining alone.

"Bring the sandwiches now, would you Ernest?"

"Of course, Madam," the butler answered, quickly snapping out of his reverie.

"Won't be a minute."

He left the women at the table and headed to the kitchen where Peter was hunched over a pot of stew on the stovetop.

"I'll be taking the sandwiches now, Peter."

The cook nodded without turning around.

"Everything alright, lad?"

"Yeah, course."

"Are you sure?"

"Well...no...not really."

'What's the matter?"

The young man turned to face the butler. "Me mum's dying. Got a letter yesterday from me cousin."

"Oh my..." replied Ernest, lost for words.

What could he possibly say to console the boy? His mother, dying. He, here in Kingston, three thousand miles and an ocean between them.

"Can you go to see her?"

"I haven't the money, Ernest."

"What if I lent you the money?"

The cook shook his head adamantly. "I wouldn't take it."

"But, why ever not?"

"Because. I can't. I shan't take money from any man."

Ernest grew impatient. "It would just be a _loan_ , Peter. You can pay me back whenever. At no interest."

The young man looked at him with a sad expression. "You know I spent a year in debtors' prison when my father didn't pay his debts."

Surprised, Ernest set down the platter of sandwiches in his hand. "I was not aware of that."

The cook nodded grimly. "An entire year of my life. Living in that dank, dark hole. All because my father spent more than he earned. I had a lot of time to think, Ernest. And I resolved to never owe money to any man. Never. Under any circumstance."

"But I would never report you if you failed to repay me. You're a friend. It - "

"No, Ernest," the young man said, shaking his head. "I can't."

"ERNEST? WE'RE WAITING!"

"Sleep on it," said Ernest anxiously, ignoring Lady Hutchinson's shrill shouts from the dining room. "My offer won't expire."

Peter looked at him. "And neither will my resolve."

"Well, just think about it, eh?" Ernest shot back, picking up the platter of sandwiches once more. "My offer's there as long as you need."

Peter nodded and Ernest carried the sandwich platter from the kitchen without another word.

"I don't know. He said he didn't want to borrow any money."

Miss Foster finished folding the sheet she was holding and smiled at baby Grace before looking squarely at Ernest "I suppose he told you about the year he served in debtor's prison?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Arthur told me," the pretty woman answered.

"Here, let me help you," said Ernest, rising from his chair and taking a corner of the sheet.

Miss Foster smiled. "Thanks."

"And why would Arthur know?"

"He and Peter spent a fair bit of time together."

"That's right...heavens, it's been so long...since I've seen those two together...I mean...since Arthur - " Ernest stopped himself and studied her face, but it showed no sign that she was thinking of her dead brother.

"I imagine that would have been an awful time for him," she added with a sigh. "Makes sense why he wouldn't want to borrow money ever again."

"I know, Miss Foster. But, his mother is _dying_."

"Yes, Ernest. But Peter is very principled."

"He is, isn't he? Too principled for such a young man. The world of men is not so black and white."

"Well," said Miss Foster, folding the last of the laundry and placing it in the large wicker basket in front of her, "let him keep his principles. Lord knows we could use some more principled men in this world."

"Aye," he affirmed, draining the rest of the tea from his cup.

They heard Lady Hutchinson returning and Ernest changed the subject.

"So, is baby Grace getting her teeth in yet?"

The pretty woman smiled. "No. Not yet. Thank goodness."

"Thank goodness for what?" Lady Hutchinson asked curiously as she made her way back into the parlour.

"Thank goodness baby Grace hasn't started getting her teeth in yet."

"Oh, I know! Do you know, when Caroline began teething..."

Ernest massaged his temples and sat back in his chair, drowning out the conversation and wishing he'd brought up a different subject.

It was a full week later, the last day in June, when Peter approached Ernest.

"Ernest?"

The butler ceased pouring the tea and set the teapot on the counter.

"Yes, Peter?"

"I...er..."

"You'll take my money?"

Peter nodded. Slowly. His face tight with worry.

"It's simply a _loan_ , Peter. I know you'll pay me back when you can."

The cook gave another nod. "Thanks, Ernest."

The butler smiled. "I'm glad you've come to see sense. Now, help me carry this tea to the drawing room, will you? And then I'll go and fetch your money, eh?"

The young man allowed himself to return the butler's warm smile. "Sure."

On the seventh of June, with flowers in full bloom and reparations to Market Square progressing enthusiastically, Ernest, Peter, Miss Foster, Lady Hutchinson and Caroline Hutchinson made their way slowly down the steps that led to Kingston main port.

"Now I hope you've packed enough food, Peter," said Lady Hutchinson in a motherly manner as she and Caroline stepped down onto the wharf where a dozen other groups had congregated to see off their friends and family.

"I'm a cook, Madam, and I'm pretty sure I've got enough," said Peter matter-of-factly. He opened the sack he had slung over his shoulder and proudly displayed its contents.

Ernest stepped around Miss Foster to peer inside.

"Is that smoked rabbit? And those look like carrots - raw - there's a smart lad. That way they'll keep longer. Biscuits. Smoked lake trout - why in heavens haven't you served trout in so long? Have you been hoarding it all for yourelf?"

Peter managed a half-smile at the butler's mock accusations.

"No, Ernest. This was stuff that Linda and I caught last weekend. Down at Charter's Landing."

"Right. Well I'll expect some trout for dinner when you return, then."

"When are you returning again, exactly, Peter?" asked Miss Foster, catching Caroline by the shoulder. "NO, CAROLINE! THAT DOG SURELY HAS FLEAS!"

"Five weeks from today," answered Peter quietly, moving aside for Lady Hutchinson as she grabbed hold of her daughter and began to scold her.

Looking at him, Ernest could tell the visit would be far too short.

"Caroline," said Lady Hutchinson sternly. "That's a street animal. You leave him be. He could have rabies."

The little girl nodded and watched the mangy dog plod away, sniffing at the grass edging as it searched out scraps of bread and other discarded bits of food.

"You still haven't gotten me a puppy, mother."

Ernest grimaced as he waited for Lady Hutchinson's reaction.

"Because you haven't been deserving of one, Caroline. Now, we'll talk about this another time as we are here to see Peter off. Don't you want to wish him well?"

The little girl nodded and looked at Peter. "I hope you have a safe journey, Peter."

"Aww, thanks Caroline," he answered, picking her up and giving her a twirl in the air.

"We'll miss you. And your taffee."

Ernest and Miss Foster exchanged a smile.

"Well, I'll be back before you know it. And I'll make you a fresh batch of taffee soon as I get home. And hey, I'll bring you some sweets from London, eh? How'd you like that?"

"Really?" the girl asked, her eyes wide.

"Really."

"Wow. Mother. Did you hear what Peter said?"

Lady Hutchinson nodded perfunctorily. "I did. And you should be thanking him for his generosity."

"Thank you, Peter."

"You're welcome, Caroline," the cook answered, setting the girl back down.

Just then, the loud bell sounded for the Kingston-Montreal ferry, catching the attention of all those crowded together on the wharf.

"That'll be the ten minute warning," said Ernest, glancing at his pocket watch. "Best you get on board, Peter."

"Aye."

"And be sure to keep a close eye on your things at all times," Lady Hutchinson warned.

"I will, Madam."

"Because you never know what sort of thieves and ruffians may be on board," she added, glancing at a swarthy-looking fellow who stood a few feet away.

"Aye."

The horn gave another blast.

"Well, five weeks. And I'll be back. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Peter," said Miss Foster warmly, wrapping her arms around the young man.

"Thanks, Miss Foster," he said, glancing at Ernest.

The butler, knowing the cook's previous affection for Miss Foster, winked and stepped forwards as she released him. "Come back to us safe and sound, lad."

"I will."

"Good. Because no one cooks as well as you. Isn't that right, Madam?" Ernest asked, turning to face the woman.

"Well, I do make a scrumptious tomato soup - "

Ernest and Miss Foster both looked at her until she conceded.

"But yes, I suppose. Peter, you shall be sorely missed. So hurry back."

"Er...thank you, Madam," the young man answered, taken aback by her compliment.

"Now, off with ya," said Ernest. "Got to find your cabin. Make sure you take the bottom bunk. Much less rolling that way. Mind you, you're not at sea yet. But, when you depart from Montreal."

"Right."

"And don't eat too much when you're at sea, either," Miss Foster added.

"I won't."

"Good. Because I still remember when we came over all those years ago. First to New York, of course, and then on to Boston. But Arthur just couldn't help himself from eating the desserts on board. Cakes and biscuits and all sorts. And he was sick as a dog. Poor Betty - she was our governess at the time - had to sit with him for three days straight while he emptied himself."

"Heavens," said Lady Hutchinson as Caroline began to pull on her petticoat.

"Mum...can we go..."

"Caroline..."

"Well, see you all in five weeks then," Peter piped up, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

"Yes. Five weeks. Very good. Safe travels, Peter."

"Thank you, all. And you especially, Ernest," the cook added, lowering his voice. "I promise. I will pay you back as soon as I am able."

"No rush, lad. You go and see your mother. Give her our well wishes," Ernest finished, patting the young man affecetionately on the shoulder.

"I will. Thank you."

The horn emitted a third and final blast.

"That'll be your five minute warning. Best get off!"

"I'm going. I'll see you all very soon. Take care of yourselves."

"Bye, Peter. Safe travels."

The group watched as the young man gave a final wave before making his way onto the gangway. An agent took his ticket and he found himself a spot on deck.

Several minutes later, the ferry sounded a final blast and pulled away from the wharf. The crowd was packed tightly, all around them, and Ernest hoisted Caroline onto his shoulders so she could have a proper view of the departing vessel.

"BYE!"

"GOODBYE!"

There were camera flashes, white handkerchiefs, and joyful shouts. A quarter of an hour later, when the ferry was well in the distance, the crowd parted and their group returned home.

### \- 11 -

Several weeks had passed since Lord Hutchinson had been to see Lord Black, though Ernest still couldn't guess what was troubling his employer. Not that Lord Hutchinson made it easy. For he no longer took his meals with his wife and daughter, and he was seldom at home. On the rare occasion that he was, he would lock himself away in his study. It was on such an afternoon, with the rain pouring fast and hard outside, that Ernest rapped at the door to Lord Hutchinson's study.

"Master Hutchinson?"

There was no answer.

"Master Hutchinson?" he said, louder this time, rapping once more on the door.

"Yes."

"Glad to here you're still alive, Sir."

"Yes, yes. What do you want?"

"Well, I was wondering...I was wondering..."

What did he want? Lord Hutchinson out of his room. Jovial once more. Happy and carefree. No longer causing Lady Hutchinson to fret her poor heart out.

"I was wondering if you would perhaps enjoy a game of chess..." he said hopefully.

Lord Hutchinson coughed, but did not answer.

"Well?" Ernest asked after a minute.

"No, I don't think so, Ernest. I'm quite tired today."

"Alright, but if I may say so, Sir, I think it would do you good. Take your mind off things."

"I don't imagine that it would, Ernest. But thank you for the offer."

At a loss for words, Ernest apologized for disturbing his master and made his way back downstairs.

"Ernest?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Come here a second, would you?"

"Er...alright."

"Mrs. Winthrop would like to size up your pocket watch. I told her you had one. She'll be purchasing one for Mr. Winthrop's birthday."

"Ah, I see," said the butler, stepping into the parlour where the ladies were gathered round the table, some sipping tea, others knitting.

"He's all yours, Mrs. Winthrop," Lady Hutchinson said with a smile. "Though you can only use him to measure - nothing more. Goodness knows, with Peter gone we need our Ernest more than ever."

Mrs. Winthrop emitted one of her bleating laughs that caused Ernest's hair to stand on end.

"I wouldn't dare deprive you of your butler, Lady Hutchinson! You know that!"

"Yes, yes, I know, Mrs. Winthrop," said Lady Hutchinson dismissively, ushering the woman towards Ernest who stood there like a mummy.

"Alright, there, now let me just get out my measuring tape..."

Several minutes later, with Ernest feeling somewhat violated, he strode from the parlour, re-adjusting his pants.

Tea and biscuits, tea and biscuits, tea and biscuits...such trivial nuisances at a time when my master needs me. Even Caroline's puppy is more important than this - Caroline's puppy. What a fantastic idea. Would that take Master Hutchinson's mind off his troubles? A young pup with big brown eyes and boundless energy running around the house? A gleeful and giddy Caroline. A relaxed Lady Hutchinson? By jove, Ernest Caldwell, you are a smart man.

Eager to get to work on finding Caroline a puppy, the butler hurried to the kitchen.

Miss Foster would know where to get one. I have to go and see Miss Foster. Shame I didn't speak to her about it when we were over the other day. Oh well, perhaps I can get there this afternoon.

Hastily adding kindling to the stove, he set the kettle on top and began to prepare a second platter of cookies. He noticed the jar was nearly empty.

Hurry home, Peter.

The platter of cookies ready to serve, Ernest made a fresh pot of tea and returned to the parlour. He coughed politely so that Lady Windermere would move aside and then set the contents of his tray on the large coffee table in the centre of the room.

"And you should see the work they've done on the waterfront!" Lady Hutchinson exclaimed. "You'd hardly know there was a fire two years ago!"

"I _know_ ," Mrs. Avery affirmed. "And this new limestone or whatever it is that they're calling it - it's rather pretty. Oh, and you'll be happy to know Mr. Fletcher has already got his shop all fixed up for the summer season."

"Is Mr. Fletcher the man who sells souvenirs? To tourists? In the summer, down at the port?"

"Yes. That's him. I believe you've met his wife at one of my dinner parties. The one who always wears her hair up like a beehive. Goodness, what a silly idea."

Ernest drowned the clucking out and, telling Lady Hutchinson he had to fetch more milk from the corner store, then quickly left the parlour and headed to his bedroom. If he hurried he could make it to Miss Foster's and back within a half an hour. A little longer than Lady Hutchinson would like him gone no doubt, but he could surely think up some excuse. He would also need to bring some milk with him - he wouldn't have time to stop on the way.

_What an inconvenience_ , he thought as he grabbed his hat and made for the kitchen. He found the milk jug, filled it, corked it and then hurried outside, through the back door. It was half past two. Given the rain, Miss Foster would most likely be at home. Though one could never be sure. She was so busy now with baby Grace and out at all hours visiting and entertaining.

Hopefully she isn't entertaining at the moment.

The butler shut the door tight and then hurried along Princess Street. Past the butcher's where Linda's father was hanging sausage in the window, past the wine sellers advertising a bottle for fifty pence, and past the corner store where Mr. Hayden gave him a friendly wave.

Ernest crossed the street and headed up Kemp Street where Miss Foster's three storey doll house loomed in the distance.

"Pardon me, excuse me," he said as he stepped around idle pedestrians.

_This better not be a hopeless pursuit_ , he thought as he checked his pocket watch. It was nearly a quarter past now and Lady Hutchinson would be calling for him any minute - if she hadn't already. Two minutes later he strode up the walk of Miss Foster's residence and rang the bell hanging outside.

"Just a minute," he heard Winston shout from inside.

A second later the two butlers were facing one another.

"Ernest! What a happy coincidence! Miss Foster was just discussing you!"

"Oh?" the older butler replied as Winston held the door for him.

"Yes. Nothing bad of course. No, no. Just mindless chitchat. Miss Foster was telling Mrs. Hayden your role in the matter of baby Grace."

"Ah, I see," said Ernest slowly, stepping inside and removing his hat.

So she has company...

"ERNEST? WINSTON, IS THAT ERNEST?"

"YES, MISS FOSTER," the two butlers chimed in unison.

Winston chuckled and Ernest managed a polite smile.

"COME IN, ERNEST! DO COME IN! I WAS JUST TELLING MRS. HAYDEN ALL ABOUT YOUR HEROICS!" Miss Foster's voice rang loudly from her parlour.

The butler's ears reddened and Winston gave him an approving nod.

"I'D HARDLY CALL CHARITY, HEROICS, MISS FOSTER," he said, making his way through the ante room and into the parlour where Miss Foster and Mrs. Hayden were seated in a pair of wicar chaises.

"Oh, don't be so modest you silly man," the young heiress cooed. "Winston?"

Winston's face appeared in the doorway.

"Bring Ernest a cup of tea, will you?"

"Oh no, Miss Foster, it's quite alright," said Ernest, raising a hand. "I can't stay long. I just came to ask...another favour..."

"Not another baby!?" Mrs. Avery said dramatically.

Ernest smiled and shook his head. "No, no. But be sure, Mrs. Hayden. Next time there's a baby in need of a home, I'll be sure to come to you and Mr. Hayden. Young William would enjoy having a brother or sister, I'm sure."

The shopkeeper's wife laughed heartily. "He might very well enjoy a brother or sister, but it ain't him who's got to do the pushin'!"

"But of course, that work is usually left to the mother."

"And so 'tis the mother who decides whether she'll have another baby or not!"

"I do hope you know that I'm only saying this in jest, Mrs. Hayden."

"Yes, I gathered that, Ernest."

"Well then, you'll be happy to know that I am not in need of a home for a baby, but rather a puppy. And it is the puppy I want - not the home."

"You mean, you want a puppy, Ernest?" Miss Foster asked, wide-eyed. "But what will Lady Hutchinson say? She _hates_ animals!"

Ernest shrugged. "I really don't know. But frankly, at this point, I don't care either. There's a black cloud hanging over the Hutchinson house and I need to do something to cheer them up. What better way than to get a puppy? Caroline's been pining for one for months."

"Yes, but - " Miss Foster began to protest.

"If I may," Mrs. Hayden interrupted. "By a stroke of sheer luck my sister's bitch has just had a litter and she's got six of the little runts running around."

Ernest looked at her flabbergasted. "Really? You've got puppies? What sort?"

"Bull terrier."

"And she's got six of them, you say?"

"Why, yes. That's what I said."

"Well, goodness. May I purchase one? Name your price," he added, whipping out his pocket book.

"I'm sorry, Ernest, but they're rather expensive. She breeds them, you see."

"Yes? And?"

"Well, I think what Mrs. Hayden is trying to say, Ernest," Miss Foster interjected, "is that she'd feel guilty offering one to you when the price is, I imagine, quite high."

"Yes, yes, I gathered that," the butler answered, waving his hand dismissively. "Just name your price and I'll pay."

Winston and the two women exchanged glances.

"Well, don't be all day about it!" Ernest snapped.

"Fifty pounds."

"Fifty pounds?"

That would only leave him with a hundred more. Just a month ago he'd had nearly three times that.

_But what with the loan to Peter and all - and now this._ _Still, if this is what will improve the disposition of my masters..._

"I'll take one," he said finally. "To whom do I make out this money order?"

Suspense filled Ernest the next morning as he awaited the arrival of Mrs. Hayden's sister and the bull terrier pup. Every chance he got he would look out the window until finally Lady Hutchinson had had enough and demanded to know why he was "such a basket of nerves".

"Madam, I simply wish to get outside and enjoy the nice day. As soon as you're through with breakfast, I think I'll take a walk."

"Well, don't be all day about it. There's laundry to do today."

"Yes, Madam."

"And bring me some more tea."

"Yes, Madam."

The butler left Lady Hutchinson and Caroline in the dining room and returned to the kitchen for more tea. Giddy with excitement, he could hardly contain himself and he did a little jig as he set the kettle on to boil.

"Oh, I can't wait," he said aloud. "Just wait. Caroline with a new puppy in her arms."

And what if my mistress disapproves of it? Will she force me to return it? Oh she just can't. Not when it will make young Caroline so happy.

He paced back and forth for several minutes, anxiously wondering when Mrs. Hayden's sister would arrive and whether Lady Hutchinson would approve of his purchase.

Too late now.

The kettle boiling, Ernest removed it from the stovetop and began filling the teapot. Suddenly though, he stopped. The butler was sure he'd heard a knock at the front door. One could never tell from the kitchen however. He set down the kettle and made his way to the kitchen door.

Let's just see.

Ernest opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Nothing. No one.

Hmph.

Just as he was about to return to the kitchen though, he heard it again. Knocking.

This is it! She's here! Goodness!

He wanted to be the one to greet Mrs. Hayden's sister. He had to be the one.

If my mistress answers the door and turns her away like everyone else who'd tried to sell goods at the door...

Racing down the corridor he nearly collided with Caroline and Lady Hutchinson who had both left the dining room to see who was at the door.

"Ernest! Good Lord in heaven! What in blazes are you running about like a madman for?"

"Er...no reason, Madam," the butler replied quickly, stepping around them and pulling open the door.

"Good morning!"

"Hello."

She was a portly thing, but the resemblance to her elder sister was uncanny.

"Ernest Caldwell," said Ernest, extending a hand. "How do you do?"

"Patricia Owens. A pleasure to meet you."

"Ernest? What's all this about?" Lady Hutchinson demanded, coming up behind him.

"A puppy!" Caroline shrieked happily. "Oh mother! A puppy! Is it for me?"

"Why...I don't know. Ernest? What's the meaning of this?"

"My name is Patricia Owens, Madam. Pleased to meet you."

"Yes...yes...Miss Owens," Lady Hutchinson answered automatically. "How do you do?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you. I'm here to see Ernest about Rosa here."

"Rosa? Who's Rosa?"

"Rosa's the finest looking one of the lot," the heavy-set woman replied cheerfully. "Take her."

And with that, Patricia Owens pushed Ernest aside and handed the yelping bull terrier to Lady Hutchinson.

"Why I never!"

"What's the matter, Madam?"

"You've just handed me a...rodent. An animal. A..."

Lady Hutchinson's protestations ceased as the helpless pup burrowed itself in the woman's arms, whimpering softly.

"Why, she's quite adorable, I suppose."

Ernest smiled happily as Caroline tugged at her mother's sleeve.

"Mother, mother! I want a turn! I want a turn! Let me hold him!"

"It's a _she_ , darling. And you can hold her just as soon as Miss Owens here finishes explaining why she's brought us this little...bundle of excitement," she finished, looking affectionately at the animal in her arms.

"Yes, of course, Lady Hutchinson. It was Ernest. Ernest bought one from my sister. You know? Dolores Hayden?"

"Ah, you're Mrs. Hayden's sister, then?"

"That I am."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. And _thank you_ for bringing this...er...what was her name again?"

"Rosa, Madam. Rosa."

"Yes, thank you for bringing Rosa 'round. However, I'm afraid we can't keep her. We've simply no place for a dog in this house.

"Mother!" Caroline seethed. "No! You can't! Ernest bought her! She's mine! You promised!"

Ernest smiled nervously as Lady Hutchinson glared at him.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well. But we still can't keep him."

"But, mother! You promised me a puppy!"

"I know, dear - "

"What's all this groveling and shouting about? A man can hardly think with all this racket going on."

"James - "

"Yes, yes, move aside. Ernest? What's happening? Why's my wife holding a puppy in her arms."

"Well, Sir...it's really...it's a gift! It's a gift! From me. For Caroline. Do you remember that Sunday we were headed to church and Caroline saw a boy she knew walking his dog in the street?"

"I suppose."

"Well, she was promised a puppy if she behaved and...well...frankly I think Caroline's been a good girl lately. Certainly good enough to warrant getting a puppy."

Lord Hutchinson cleared his throat as all eyes shifted to him.

"Well..." he began, grabbing the puppy from his wife and holding it up for all to see.

"Quite a cute little thing. Girl is it?"

"Yes, Sir. Rosa. Picked her out me'self."

"Yes. Well," he continued, gazing into the young dog's eyes. "You chose well Ms...?"

"Miss Owens, Sir. I'm Mrs. Hayden's sister."

"Ah, the shopkeeper's wife?"

"My sister, yes."

"Well, pleased to meet you! Please, come in. Where are our manners? Do we leave guests standing on the stoop like common peddlers? Please, come inside Miss Owens and have a cup of tea. Ernest? Put the kettle on would you?"

Rosa's arrival seemed to brighten the mood of the whole family - Lord Hutchinson included - and by the end of the week things appeared to be back to normal.

"Well, I really don't think he meant it _that_ way, Laura."

"Well, he could have been more polite."

"Who could have been more polite, mother?" Caroline asked.

"No one dear. Now eat your eggs."

"Tell me, mother! Who could have been more polite? You never tell me anything!"

"The postman, Caroline! God help me, child. I shall give you a slap if you do not be quiet and sit and eat your breakfast like a civilized individual."

"Alright, I knew it," said Lord Hutchinson, rising from the table. "I can't even eat my breakfast in peace! What's the world coming to when a man can't eat breakfast in his own house, eh!?"

"James, please," said Lady Hutchinson. "Sit down. Finish your meal. Caroline, take Rosa and go and finish your breakfast in this kitchen. Ernest, take her plate, will you?"

"But mother - "

"Caroline! Kitchen, now! And take the dog with you. She's been bugging me all morning. She's not to be let into the dining room anymore. No exceptions."

"This way, Caroline," said Ernest gently, plucking the youngest Hutchinson's plate from the table and heading for the door. "We'll eat our breakfast together. Me, you, and Rosa? Sound good? Give mother and father some time alone together."

"Nope," said Lord Hutchinson, shaking his head. "I've already made up my mind. You can go to the kitchen, but I'm finished."

"James - "

"Laura."

Lady Hutchinson grew silent at her husband's warning tone. An uncomfortable silence followed before Lord Hutchinson dropped his napkin on the table and stormed out.

"Right, then..."

"Mother? Why's father upset again? He was so happy yesterday."

"I don't know, child. I don't know."

"Come on, Caroline," said Ernest, glancing worriedly at his mistress. "Let's go finish our breakfast, eh? Maybe afterwards we can take Rosa for a nice walk. Would you like that?"

"Yay! Let's go now, Ernest! Rosa would _love_ to go for a walk! I just know it!"

"Yes, yes, Caroline. All in good time," said the butler, pushing the door open and ushering the little girl and her puppy outside. "Let's go finish breakfast and then we'll see about that walk."

"Alright..."

### \- 12 -

A week later, Lord Hutchinson shot himself. With his great-grandfather's pistol. It was Ernest who found him. In his study, slumped over his desk. His face immersed in a pool of blood. The butler had summoned Dr. Avery at once, but to no avail. Lord James Hutchinson was dead.

Lady Hutchinson was far too distraught to coordinate funeral arrangements and several members of St. Gregory's organized it for her.

"I just can't believe it," Miss Foster said quietly as she and Ernest sipped tea one drizzly Thursday afternoon.

"Neither can I, Clarissa."

"I mean...he seemed so happy. So full of life. Well, he was _irritable_ at times...but that's to be expected, isn't it? Given the line of work he was in."

The butler nodded, looking into space. "Aye. 'Tis. A politician's job is a thankless one."

"And you say he left no note?"

"No."

"Seems odd. A man like him...with his principles...one would think he'd have left a note."

"Yes," Ernest sighed, adding another spoonful of sugar to his tea and stirring it in methodically.

"How ever is Lady Hutchinson going to cope, I wonder?"

"I must confess that I do not know, Miss. It troubles me deeply that creditors have been knocking at the door all week."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Apparently my master had several outstanding debts."

"Seems...suspicious."

The butler grimaced. "My thoughts exactly. Did he owe money to someone? Did he have a gambling habit or something that we weren't aware of?"

"I've no idea, Ernest," replied the young heiress, taking a crying baby Grace from her bassinette and cradling the infant in her arms. "There's a good girl...there's a good girl."

The baby's crying ceased as quickly as it had begun and Miss Foster laid her daughter back in her bassinette.

"You're coming to the funeral tomorrow, I presume?" Ernest asked.

"Yes. Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

"'Tis a shame Peter can't make it. He's not due back for another two weeks yet."

"Well, all in good time."

"I don't even know that my mistress has the funds to keep him on. And I've no way to let him know either. He's better off staying in England. God forbid he should return in two weeks time only to find that he no longer has employment."

Miss Foster nodded sympathetically. "Goodness, that would be awful. Especially since his mother isn't well."

"Ah," Ernest moaned. "I can't take all this suffering."

The young heiress set down her tea cup and moved to the chair where the butler was sitting.

"It'll be alright," she said, caressing his shoulder. "This is life."

Ernest shrugged and looked away.

"When Arthur died," Miss Foster continued, "I thought the world would end. I thought I would never be happy again. But then this precious angel was dropped in my lap and it gave my life a whole new meaning."

The butler looked back at the young woman. "You have a point there."

"And, it's not to say that I don't still think of Arthur - I miss him every day. But, the new joys in my life make that grief easier to bear."

Ernest inhaled deeply and his anxiety subsided. "You've a good head on your shoulders, Clarissa."

"I've my father to thank for that. He was a good man my father. Always pushing us to read and explore and investigate. To study, to learn, to grow."

"I wish I'd had a father like that," said Ernest, casting his eyes towards the floor.

"Yes, I was lucky. But then, as you know, I lost my mother as a child to consumption. And so I grew up without my mother just as you grew up without your father."

"Aye, I suppose you're right. We can't have everything in life now, can we?"

Miss Foster smiled. "No. Else it wouldn't be life. That's what heaven is for."

"Do you believe in heaven, Clarissa?"

The young woman nodded. "I like to think it exists."

"That about sums up my beliefs. It's hard to imagine sometimes that there's something greater than ourselves out there."

"'Tis," said Miss Foster. "But I'd rather believe in something than nothing. I guess it gives me comfort to know Arthur and my mother are watching over me and baby Grace."

A comfortable silence settled between the two companions and lasted until Winston came in carrying another tray of tea and biscuits.

"Oh, Winston, you've outdone yourself," Miss Foster said politely as her butler laid the contents of what he was carrying on the small coffee table in front of Ernest.

"I aim to please, Miss."

"And you do, Winston. Thank you."

"Another biscuit, Ernest?"

Turning towards the smiling, young heiress, the butler nodded. "I think I shall, Miss Foster. I think I shall."

"And in death, as he was in life, a great statesman is here laid to rest on this twenty-first day of June, in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and forty-two."

Pausing for effect, the Anglican minister surveyed the crowd assembled around Lord Hutchinson's casket. Then, as two burly cemetery workers began to pile dirt onto the casket, he recited: "Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our _brother_ departed, and we commit _his_ body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

Ernest ignored the rest of the sermon and eyed Lady Hutchinson who stood stock still beside him. Hardly blinking, the woman stared haplessly at the burial site of her deceased husband. At her other side stood Caroline.

_Poor girl_ , thought the butler, wiping a tear from his cheek.

He glanced at Miss Foster who stood on the other side of Lord Hutchinson's grave. Her expression was one of sadness and no doubt she was reminiscing about her dearly departed brother. Behind her, and all around her, stood a third of Kingston's population. Uniformly dressed in an assortment of black vestments, it was difficult to make out individuals, but Ernest was able to pick out various faces. There was Mr. and Mrs. Perry from up the street. Donald Philpot, the man who delivered their coal. Mr. Anderson whose wife had died the year before. Also present were a number of Lord Hutchinson's colleagues. They were easily discernible by the red sashes they wore. There was Sir William Parker. Sir Byron Jamieson. Lord Kitchson and his wife. Lady and Lord Black.

The priest finished his sermon and the groundskeepers finished piling dirt onto the casket until the hole had been completely filled. When that was finished, the crowd began to part. Numerous guests filed past Lady Hutchinson and paid their respects. Ernest ignored all of them and instead watched as Lord Black approached the mound of dirt. The portly man's face wore a look of disdain as he gazed down. Finally, after a minute, he summoned to his wife and they left, arm-in-arm. A quarter of an hour later, only the Hutchinson's (Philip included), Miss Foster, and Ernest remained. (Baby Grace had been kept at home with Winston.)

"I'm very sorry for your loss - all of you," said Miss Foster, as she approached, one eye on the Hutchinson's, the other on the dirt mound covering Lord Hutchinson's casket.

"Thank you," Lady Hutchinson answered quietly.

Ernest cast an eye towards Philip who hadn't spoken all morning. His face was red, his eyes swollen and puffy from crying.

"Mother...I want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore," Caroline said, her voice breaking.

"Neither do I, dear. But I'm not ready to leave your father just yet. Ernest, Philip? Would of you take her home?"

"Of course, Madam," Ernest answered first.

Lady Hutchinson looked at her son, who simply nodded.

Then, turning towards Miss Foster, "Philip will give you a ride too, if you like, Clarissa."

"Oh, no, I'm quite alright walking thank you. Helps clear my head. Funerals always remind me of Arthur."

Lady Hutchinson inhaled. "Yes. I imagine they would. Tell me - does it ever get better?"

Ernest looked on as the young heiress shouldered the question.

"In a way yes, in a way no. It's impossible to ever fully forget a loved one. But, rest assured your James is in a better place now," she added.

"Thank you, Clarissa."

"Come on, Caroline," said Philip slowly, reaching for his sister. "Let mother be. I'll come and get her later. Mother? What time shall I return for you? Is an hour enough time?"

Lady Hutchinson nodded, but said nothing.

"I'll stay with you, Madam," said Ernest.

He looked at Philip and they exchanged a glance. He still wasn't on speaking terms with the young man - even though Philip had moved back to the Hutchinson's two nights prior - and he looked away as quickly as he could.

"Come, Caroline. Let's go. Rosa will be wanting a walk right about now, I imagine."

"Rosa. Do you like her Philip? Do you think she's as swell as I do?" the little girl asked, letting go of her mother.

"I do."

"Do you think we can have something special for supper tonight?"

"I don't see why not. Perhaps Ernest will fix us something nice," he said, coiling a protective arm around his sister and leading her away.

Ernest recoiled at the young man's audacity. To suggest that _he_ , _him_ of all people, would make a "special supper" after the day they'd just been through...

"I shall be heading home myself," Miss Foster announced. "Leave you two to mourn in private. Please, don't hesitate to ask me for anything, Lady Hutchinson. And, you know what? I'll have Winston send over some crab cakes. The ones you love, Lady Hutchinson. Oh, and perhaps some fresh rolls as well. He made them just this morning."

"That is most generous of you, Miss Foster," Ernest remarked enthusiastically.

He looked at Lady Hutchinson to gauge her reaction, but the woman's eyes were fixed straight ahead. Straight ahead at the pile of dirt in front of them. The pile of dirt under which lay her dead husband.

It was decided several days later that Lady Hutchinson, along with Caroline and Philip, would sell their home and return to England. The only trouble was that creditors had filed a writ with the bank claiming ownership of the house for "unpaid debts". In addition, James Hutchinson still owed, according to a collection bill pinned to the door, three thousand, five hundred pounds.

"How in God's name we're expected to come up with that money," Lady Hutchinson moaned as she, Caroline, and Philip sat around the breakfast table the following morning.

She'd essentially been talking to herself all morning as neither of her children seemed game to engage in any sort of meaningful conversation. Caroline was too preoccupied with Rosa and feeding the animal bits of ham from her plate. Philip would offer up the occasional grunt or mutter, but hardly said more than two words at a time.

Ernest, for his part, stood idly by, watching the family eat and wondering whether Peter would get his letter in time. He'd sent it the day before the funeral, notifying the cook of Lord James Hutchinson's demise and of the fact that he'd have to find new employment. Did he want to stay in England? Was it worthwhile to return to Kingston? These same questions nagged at Ernest. At sixty-three, it would be difficult to find a family willing to take him on; families here in the Canadas typically wanted young and hearty servants - not the old and arthritic - as the work tended to be much more laborious than back in the old country.

"Get us another pot of tea, would you Ernest? And take a few minutes to take your breakfast. You're working much too hard for a Sunday."

"Straight away, Madam. Thank you."

Lady Hutchinson had been much kinder to Ernest as of late. How could she not be? He was, in a manner of speaking, the last one standing in the absence of Peter and following the departures of Oliver, Helena, Catherine. Her newfound softness towards him made up for Philip's continued rudeness.

In the kitchen, Ernest put the kettle on to boil and fixed himself a plate of bread and boiled egg. It would have been nice to have some jam to go with it - but he'd given the last bit to Caroline and all that remained in the way of condiments was a bit of sour butter.

Once he'd eaten, Ernest rinsed his plate in the wash basin and brought a fresh pot of tea to the dining room.

"I see it as the only way, mother."

"But Philip, can we actually get away with it? I mean, just not paying?" Lady Hutchinson asked dumbfounded.

"Of course we can. What? Do you reckon they'll track us down to England? Bah," he said, laughing mightily.

"Who will track us down to England, mother?"

"No one, dear," the woman answered hastily. "Now finish your breakfast and then you may be excused. Rosa seems to be begging for another walk."

"Yes, mother."

Ernest set the pot of tea in the centre of the table and then cleared the empty plates away.

"Ernest. Bring me a cigar."

"Of course, Master Hutchinson," the butler replied, forcing the words from his mouth.

If Master _James_ could see the way his obnoxious son was ordering him around...

"And a light as well. You forgot last time."

"Philip..."

"What, mother?"

"I don't like you smoking at my dinner table."

"Ha! It's hardly your dinner table anymore, mother. The bank owns it. As with everything else in the house. The only things any of us own at this point is the clothes on our backs and even that's questionable - "

With this final word, Lady Hutchinson administered a stinging slap to the young man's face. Surprised, Ernest jumped back, knives and forks clattering to the floor as they fell from his arms.

Silence followed as Caroline looked at her mother, a frightened look on her face.

"You will _not_ speak that way in my presence!"

"I will speak as like you foul woman!" Philip seethed. "You killed my father! He's dead! Gone! Forever!"

"How did I _kill_ your father you ungrateful little - "

"You pushed him to the edge with your expensive habits! The poor man couldn't afford to keep up," Philip finished, rubbing his injured cheek.

"Say that again! Say that again!"

"You pushed him - "

"GET OUT! GET OUT YOU RANCID LITTLE CREATURE!"

"Mother - "

"GET OUT!" Lady Hutchinson roared, flinging her tea cup at the young man's head.

"MUM!"

"Come Caroline," said Ernest quickly, pulling the girl from the table.

Rosa, wagging her tail meekly, followed them as the butler ushered her outside. A second later the door flung open and Philip stormed out, nearly knocking Ernest to the floor.

"AND DON'T COME BACK! EVER!" Lady Hutchinson's screams echoed through the corridor.

Caroline, her lip quivering and tears on her face, looked up at Ernest.

"What's wrong with mother? Why's she yelling? I'm scared, Ernest."

"It's alright, darling. Come. Let's go into the kitchen for awhile. We'll get a bit of taffee and take Rosa for a walk. Alright?"

The little girl nodded meekly.

"Your mother is just going through a difficult time. She'll be better by tomorrow, I reckon."

But Lady Hutchinson wasn't better by the following day. Nor the next day. Nor the day after. Lying in bed, she would spend the entire day in her room. Being the dutiful servant, Ernest would check on her as often as possible, asking if she'd like some tea or something to eat. But every time she forced him away. Finally, on the fourth day, Ernest went to fetch Miss Foster.

_She'll know what to do_ , he thought as he made her way up the steps leading to her door.

He rang the bell and waited impatiently for Winston to come to the door.

When the butler answered, he smiled. "Ernest, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

"I'm...well. Been better. You?"

"Can't complain. This weather sure is putting a damper on things though, isn't it?"

"Yes, 'tis," Ernest answered, glancing upwards at the grey sky with its menacing rain clouds.

"What can I do ya for?"

"Well, I was hoping to see Miss Foster? Is she in?"

"She is not, actually. She went to visit her aunt in Boston. Did she not tell you?"

"No."

"Yes, she left yesterday. She'll be back in a fortnight."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"No, it's...quite alright," said Ernest slowly.

"But do come in for a bit of tea. The house has been quite lonely without my mistress."

"No, thanks...I have work to do. Another time perhaps."

Winston smiled. "Right. Anytime. Feel free."

"Thank you."

_Now what_ , Ernest thought as Winston closed the door. _Surely this can't go on. She hasn't eaten in three days._

Disappointed that Miss Foster would be unable to assist him with his present predicament, Ernest made his way slowly back to the house. In the distance, two lightning forks sliced through the sky. The sound of rumbling thunder followed and the butler quickened his pace.

What to do... What ever to do...

As it turned out, there was no need for Miss Foster. For, arriving back at the house, Ernest found Lady Hutchinson dressed and seated in the parlour, sipping from a tea cup and snacking on a plate of biscuits.

"Madam!"

"Hello, Ernest," she said somewhat cheerfully.

"I've been worried _sick_ about you."

"Yes, well. I'm alright now. I just needed...some time. Some time to sort out my thoughts. Oddly enough, this thunder storm seems to be helping."

As much as the butler wanted to know more, he decided it more polite to wait for her to explain. Pulling up a chair, he sat down slowly and waited.

"I've decided that Caroline and I will return to England this coming Friday," she continued after several seconds of silence had passed. "We'll be taking the overnight carriage from Kingston to Montreal, and from there, the ship to London. However, I have no money to pay for the fare. And with the banks having seized what little savings I had left, I require a small loan."

Lady Hutchinson looked at him and Ernest nodded. "Of course. Anything for you, Madam. How much will you be needing?"

"Oh, I reckon about two hundred pounds."

"Two hundred..."

"Is that alright? Is that too much? I assure you I will send you the payment in full - with interest - within a month. As you are aware, my family has money. I have property. I can easily come up with the money to repay you."

Yes, but that would be every penny I have...

"So...can you loan me the money, Ernest?"

He'd be homeless for a month. But, the Caldwell Code demanded his utmost.

The butler paused then smiled. "Of course, Madam."

"And rest assured, I _will_ repay you at the earliest opportunity."

"Of course you will, Madam."

Lady Hutchinson smiled. "Ah, excellent. You are a charm, Ernest Caldwell. Would you like a cup of tea?"

### \- 13 -

It was two days later, at precisely eight fifteen in the evening, that Lady Hutchinson and Caroline gave Ernest a final goodbye.

"And I will write you as soon as I get to London."

"Of course, Madam."

"And we'll make arrangements to have Rosa sent over."

Ernest nodded and glanced at Caroline who was still clearly upset her dog would not be making the voyage with her.

"How long is Rosa going to stay with Ernest?" she whined dejectedly, tired of screaming and crying.

"Until we're back and settled at home, dear," said Lady Hutchinson as though she were issuing recipe instructions.

"Rosa, I'll miss you," the little girl cried, kneeling down and embracing her beloved bull terrier.

"It's alright, Caroline," said Ernest tenderly. "You and Rosa shan't be apart for long," he said, though he knew full well Lady Hutchinson had no intention of sending for the canine. He had resolved to ship it off himself though. One way or another.

"Feed her lots of ham, Ernest."

The butler smiled. "I will. Don't you worry. Rosa and I will have a gay old time whilst you're apart. In a few weeks, she'll follow you to England. I'll make sure of it."

Ernest and Lady Hutchinson exchanged a glance.

"Alright..."

"Now, it's getting late. The carriage leaves at nine o'clock sharp. And it doesn't wait."

"Ernest's right, dear. We must get going."

Lady Hutchinson turned and pressed a thumb into his hand. "Thank you, Ernest. You've been a good servant."

The butler bowed. "It was my pleasure and my duty, Madam. Say hello to England for me."

"I shall."

With that, Lady Hutchinson seized her daughter by the hand and pulled her roughly from Rosa.

"Goodbye, Ernest."

"Goodbye, Madam. Goodbye, Caroline."

"Goodbye, Ernest."

Ernest watched them exit the house and make their way to the taxi carriage, Lady Hutchinson leading her daughter by the hand.

"Market Square," he heard Lady Hutchinson say once they were in the taxi carriage.

The driver nodded, cracked his reins, and Ernest watched them pull away and head for Princess Street.

"Well, girl," he said, looking down at the bull terrier as he shut the door.

The dog's big brown eyes stared back at him.

"Shall we fix you a snack? I don't doubt that you're hungry. We haven't had any proper food in days," Ernest muttered, making his way to the kitchen.

He pulled open the cold box and found nothing but a jar of pickled eggs and the small end of ham he'd saved from the day before,

"That about does it," said the butler, unwrapping the ham and setting it on the counter. "What do you say? Half for me and half for you?"

Rosa cocked her head to one side and looked at him.

"Fine, fine. A third for me, and two thirds for you. Fair enough for ya?" he asked, shaking his head disdainfully.

The ham divided, Ernest took one half, threw it to Rosa, and then carried the other half to his bedroom where he lay down on the bed, nibbling thoughtfully.

Oh, mother. If you could only see me now. Not a penny to my name. No employment. Perhaps Miss Foster will hire me? I shall wait for her to return from Boston. Yes. Although Winston may see me as unwanted competition. Hopefully he's game and supports the idea. That would be a grand way to live out my final days -

There was a sudden creak of the floorboards in the corridor.

What in the name -

The butler sat upright and reached for his lamp. Listening intently, he heard the sound of feet shuffling slowly on the hardwood. Someone was approaching. And quickly.

"Who goes there? Lady Hutchinson? Is that you?"

Too afraid to go to the door and inspect, Ernest sat as still as possible, his eyes straining in the darkness. If only he could light the lamp.

Now where is that light...

The sound of Rosa growling pierced the remaining quiet and the hairs on Ernest's neck stood on end.

"Rosa? Is everything alright, girl?"

A second later, everything happened at once. A man shouted, ran into his room, slammed the door and stared a petrified Ernest in the face.

"Oliver..."

The former groundskeeper stood in the doorway, brandishing a long hunting knife. His eyes gleamed and a wicked smile played across his lips.

"I told you I'd come back for you, Ernest."

THE END

Acknowledgements

Not sure if it's considered tacky or not to acknowledge myself, but it's always a tough slog writing a book. Especially when you work forty hours a week and you deal with a chronic disease like Type 1 diabetes and all the joyous things that go with it! (sarcasm). So, on that note, I'd like to acknowledge myself. My discipline. Foregoing T.V. and nights out and things of that nature to sit down and write. I would say that most of the time I enjoy writing. It's an escape. It's entertainment. But other times it seems more of a chore. For instance, the editing process. Especially when you're editing while your mouth is still frozen (had a dentist appointment a couple hours ago). No, you don't need your mouth to edit. But it's an annoyance. And that, coupled with high blood sugars. Hard to focus. Hard to concentrate. But I keep at. I'm a soldier. A trooper. A happy one. An author. Thanks for reading. Love you guys.

About The Author

Originally from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Adrien Leduc makes his home in Ottawa with his fianc _ée Jenica and their two crazy cats. He is a graduate of Carleton University (BA' 10) and is passionate about Canadian history. An avid reader and writer, Adrien hopes to write and publish many more books in his lifetime._
