2

 

Chapter 2

“Ada, be a love and hand me that saucepan!” Roberta shouted over the commotion of Jane dropping yet another dish.

“Here you are.” I sniggered as Jane tried to regain balance and hand Rosie a jug of milk at the same time. Rosie rolled her eyes teasingly at Jane’s perpetual clumsiness while she went to fetch the mop and dustpan.  I sat on the butcher’s block swinging my legs, watching the girls scrape some dinner together, lending my spare pair of hands when needed. I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to be more.

 “So what did you decide on for the music, or rather what did your mother decide?” Rosie snickered as she collected the broken fragments of china into the dustpan. 

“Oh, I don’t know…” I mumbled as I picked at a loose strand of thread on my skirt. “I don’t want to even think about.” I was cringing inside at the very thought of my feet being stomped on all throughout the night, where even the dreamy notes of a waltz wouldn’t soothe my exasperation. Rosie must have sensed my reluctance to discuss the ball and not-so-discretionally changed the subject. “So umm… who exactly is this Mr. Boone?”

“I suspect another hopeful,” I replied “another investee, another bloody waste of my father’s money!”

“Ada, hold your tongue!” Roberta scolded with the smallest trace of a smile hidden beneath her knitted brows and stern expression.

“You know I’m right Bobby” I sang-song.

Roberta’s frowning face crumbled into a wide grin “Yes, you naughty child! Oh my, if your mother were to hear you sometimes!” she muttered as she continued to scour at the pots and pans with such a vigor that often caused me to wonder if one day she’d scrub a hole through one.

My father wasn’t having the best of luck with his invests lately; each one taking a considerable chunk of change from his pocket without it ever being seen again. Reciprocity hadn’t shown its face in months and even the housemaids had taken notice of the dwindling luxuries and fineries around our house. Father had assured me he was just being more resourceful, but I knew better, we all did.

“Poor Anne was in a right state after she showed ‘im in, said ‘e was the rudest whasit she’d ever met!” Jane had taken a break from stirring the soup on the stove and was leaning on the counter with her head propped up in her hands, sleeves rolled up and a nonchalant expression upon her freckled face. Jane loved a good slice of gossip however trivial and Mr. Boone was indeed something to discuss.

“Bless, ‘er, she always gets into a right fluster with strangers, can’t go two seconds without blushing that girl!” Jane contemplated whilst the French onion soup began to bubble and boil, spewing all over the spider-burners.

“Jane!” Roberta shouted as the contents of the pot puked onto her newly mopped floor.

“Oh bugger!” Jane exclaimed, wringing off her apron to clean up the mess.

Roberta’s face grew a startling shade of puce; Jane had not only committed one sin in Roberta’s book, but two: making an unnecessary mess and using vulgar language.

“Bobby, don’t worry about it, I’ll help clean it up and my mother’s not actually very keen on French onion.” I offered already on my hands and knees with the wash cloth.

“Oh love, you don’t have to do that,” Bobby sighed, her face draining to its normal shade of pink. “I think Jane is perfectly capable of cleaning up her own messes!” Jane looked pained and expectant. She had been awaiting a bigger scolding than that, but Roberta just turned away to peel the rest of the potatoes. Gob-smacked, Jane went back to wiping up her mess but not before she mouthed a silent thank you to me. Even Rosie’s mouth hung open a little from shock as she yet again went to collect the mop.

Anne trudged in, breaking the odd tension that had filled the room. The prim little bun that usually sat upon her head was in disarray, her face was flushed and had the appearance of a covered up weeping. She sniffed timidly as she began to put a tray of tea together.

 “Anne, sweetie, what happened?” Bobby cautiously proceeded. It didn’t take much to break Anne’s blasé façade.

“Ooo he was just so horrible!” she burst out. Big fat tears rolled down her ruddy face and dropped into the cream whilst she slammed the teacup saucers onto the serving dish. “How can someone possibly be so rude?” she continued to rant. “Not only did he have the nerve to undermine me, but to…to...”

“To what?” I asked.

“To take advantage of me” she choked wiping her tears on her apron. A collective gasp flew around the kitchen.

“‘E didn’t!” Jane outraged. “I knew you said ‘e was rude, but wot an out n’ out …!” she caught herself from what she was about to say, she’d already escaped one confrontation with Bobby, she did not need another.

“What did he do?” Rosie whispered.

“He…he…he, oh this is so demeaning… he groped me.” She sobbed.

“Oh my! You poor, poor dear, do go on.” said Rosie, starved for details.

“Well, I let him in after a rude introduction from his behalf; he flung his coat and hat upon me and demanded to see Mr. Leighton. I told him that he would be with him in one moment and I turned my back to hang the coat and hat upon the rack and…and.” Anne was know beyond flustered, turning perfectly pink with embarrassment as her desire to retell her dramatic tragedy was winning against her good manners, for what she had to say next was not considered proper conversation for a young lady.

“I um, dropped his hat by accident and as I bent there was definitely a moment of…” she whispered the next word so softly that it was barley audible. “Pinching.”

“What-a-b*****d!” Jane whistled.

I looked to Bobby who surprisingly was not clobbering Jane over the head for her uncouth language but nodding in agreement.

“Well he’s not getting away with that, not while he pretends to be a guest in my house. Jane, hand me that salt.” I said; the punishment for Mr. Boone was already set in stone.

           ♦♦♦

I giggled to myself as I carefully made my way up the kitchen stairs. Jane had wanted to do it, but no, with Anne being in too much of a state to serve revenge herself, this had to be my doing; it was my house, my friend and my father’s money that was in risk of disgrace. Tiptoeing up the steps I began to have regrets, I could still see Bobby rolling her eyes, direly warning me not to do such a nonsensical thing. No good was to come of it.  This would indeed rub Mr. Boone the wrong way, but perhaps my father as well? But as my mind veered off into the what-ifs, my feet continued up the stairs, across the foyer and walked right into the parlor.

“Yes Ada dear?” My father said. They were deep in conversation and I had been standing there blankly for a few moments with the tray in my hands.

“Oh, um, your tea gentlemen” I placed the tray down in a hurry, flustered from being woken from my trance. I avoided my father’s gaze, he would not be happy that I was serving them tea, it was beneath me. “Father” I curtsied. “Mr. Boone.” And with that I walked away, until I was sure I was out of sight and then ran avidly to the gardens.