The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon as Meggy finished brushing her hair and placed the brush back on her dresser. “Now, say your prayers and off to bed,” her nanny, Patsy, directed, giving her a quick peck on the top of her head. Though she’d only worked for the family for about a year, Meggy liked her best of all, and she especially liked it when she was allowed to bring her daughter, Kelly, to play. Most of the time, however, Meggy’s mother forbade Kelly from visiting, and she spent most of her time with her grandmother while Patsy carefully tended to someone else’s child.
As Patsy put out the lights, Meggy kneeled and said a proper prayer, asking God to look after all those she loved, and as Patsy neared the door, she rose, whispering, “Good night,” with a sweet smile.
“Good night, my love,” Patsy smiled in return, watching the little girl climb into her bed before she went out, leaving the door open just a crack as she blew a kiss into the darkened room.
“Is she off to bed then?” Mr. Westmoreland asked, meeting her in the hallway.
“Yes, sir,” Patsy replied, giving a little bow.
“And you’re off too then, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated.
“Have a restful evening, Patsy,” he said with a smile.
“You, too, sir,” she nodded.
Henry approached Meggy’s door cautiously so as not to scare her, even though he knew for certain she would be expecting him. He visited every evening when he was home. This night, he felt quite tired and worn down. The trip to New York had been tiresome, though he had begun to feel better physically the longer he was there. Now, back in Southampton for just over a day, he was beginning to feel quite ill again. He did not intend to let his daughter see that, however, and as he approached her bed, she pulled the covers down away from her face, which beamed at him in the moonlight.
“Are you still awake, my little angel?” he asked as he sat down next to her on the bed.
“Yes, Da,” she said, still smiling. “You know I cannot go to sleep until I’ve had a kiss from my da.”
He laughed and stroked her hair. “What do you do when your Da is away on business then? Stay up all night like an old barn owl?” He began to make hooting noises until she giggled and then he leaned in and tickled her until she couldn’t control her laughter and neither could he.
“Noooo, Da!” she squealed in an attempt to answer his question. “I’m not an owl!”
“Perhaps an alley cat then?” he asked, beginning to meow, while she continued to laugh, though he stopped tickling her quite so much.
“Nooo! I’m not an alley cat either,” she reminded him.
“Well, then, what are you?”
“I’m your little girl!” Meggy exclaimed, stretching her arms open wide.
He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly. “Yes, you are my little girl,” he agreed. “You are my little angel, Meggy. My dear, sweet child.”
As he released her and she snuggled back down against her pillow, she said, “I love you, Da.”
“I love you, too, very much,” Henry replied. He leaned down and kissed the top of her blonde silk covered head. “More than anything.”
“I wish that you could stay home and play with me forever and ever,” Meggy continued, stifling a yawn. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“Yes, darling. That would be lovely. Just know that I will always be looking after you, my sweet child, no matter what. You will remember that, won’t you, angel?”
“Yes, Da,” Meggy replied, nodding off. Her eyes were heavy and her head had lolled to the side as if she were nearly asleep.
Henry leaned down and kissed her once more atop the head and then tucked the blankets in tightly around her. “Good night, my love.”
She was clearly sleeping now, her breath shallow and even. He took one more look at her and then quietly pulled himself off of the bed, noticing it took more effort than it should have, and headed toward the door. This time, he pulled it completely closed behind himself, leaning against it for a moment, his eyes closed and his heart heavy.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
He opened his eyes to find Patsy before him, a concerned expression on her face, her voice low.
“Oh, Patsy. I thought you’d gone on,” he said, managing a smile.
“Yes, sir. I had just gone back to the nursery to tidy up a bit. Are you feeling well, sir?”
He didn’t bother to answer her question. Rather, taking a quick look around to make sure they were alone, he leaned in closely and placed his hand on her arm. “Patsy, you love my Meggy, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“As if she were your own?”
“As much as one can,” Patsy assured him.
“Good. Then, I need you to know something. If anything should happen to me, will you let her know… when she’s older. When she’s old enough. Will you let her know that there is a bank account in her name, National Provincial, the one on High Street. It’s not my usual establishment. No one should know—unless… unless you tell her. You will won’t you, Patsy?”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Patsy replied, her freckled forehead furrowed. “Sir? Should I help you into the parlor?”
“No, no, I’m quite all right,” he assured her. “I just want to make sure that Meggy is protected, should anything ever happen.”
“I understand,” Patsy replied.
“Good then,” Henry replied, patting her arm. “You’re a good woman, Patsy.” He smiled at her, and turned to go, leaving her looking after him with a puzzled expression on her face, wondering what had just taken place.
Henry made his way down the stairs to the parlor where he thought his wife might be having tea. His brother was likely out for the evening, as he preferred to frequent the local watering holes. Though Bertram was in line to take over the company should anything happen to Henry, he hoped that he would run it in name only. He knew nothing about running a textile manufacturing company, despite plenty of opportunities to gain an education in that field—or any business field he had wanted. Their parents had been rather wealthy and had done all they could to see that both of their sons were looked after, though neither of them had lived past fifty. His mother had lost a battle with tuberculosis just after Meggy was born and his father had gone on shortly thereafter. The doctors had declared he had suffered a heart attack, but Henry believed his father had died from a broken heart, missing the woman he had loved so dearly.
As he entered the parlor and saw Mildred sitting in her usual chair near the unlit fireplace, a lantern illuminating her embroidery, he wondered what that must be like, to love someone so much you couldn’t fathom going on without them. He had been in love with her at one time. She had been a clever, cunning young woman, with beautiful hair and sparkling eyes. He knew almost immediately she was after him for his money and the promise of a prominent life, but they had become involved more quickly than he had planned for, and he’d asked her to be his wife one evening when she’d come to him in tears, carrying the evidence of their indiscretions beneath her ample gown. A month later, after they’d made their vows, the first of their three tragedies occurred, and that evidence was buried in a tiny box in her father’s family plot. He had thought at the time their loss would bring them closer together, but that was the beginning of Mildred’s emotional rati
Southampton The swing was creaky. Her father had promised to look into it, to see if he could switch out the rope or tie it to a different branch, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to, and with every sway to and fro, Meggy was reminded that her father wasn’t coming home this time. She would never see him again.Her mother had said he’d had a heart attack, and when she’d questioned what that meant, she’d been sent out of the room. Later, Patsy had explained that his heart had stopped working, and now he was in heaven with Jesus. Meggy didn’t think it was fair that Jesus could just take her Da like that. Didn’t he have enough other people to keep him company? Her Da was the only person in the whole world she’d wanted to keep, and now he was gone. Forever.“Whatcha doin’?” Ezra asked sneaking around the back of the tree.“Nothing,” Meggy
Meggy’s prayers went unanswered, however, when her face made contact with the rough fabric of Patsy’s skirts. “Miss Meggy, darlin’ whatever are you doing?” she asked just above a whisper.Happy that it was Patsy who had found her out and no one else, Meggy let go a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Nothin’,” she replied looking up into the kind eyes of her caretaker.Patsy shook her head, frizzy red curls dancing around her mob cap. “Now, I know that isn’t true.”“I was just…. Mother and Uncle Bertram were talking, and I wanted to know what they were saying, that’s all. I thought maybe they might say something about Da.”Smiling, as if to say she understood, Patsy reached down and took her charge’s little hand. “How would you like a cookie?” she asked, leading her into the kitchen.“Mother says I shouldn&rsquo
New York CityCharlie Ashton always enjoyed walking the floor of his father’s factory with him, listening to the owner encourage the workers and comment on their effort. Everyone always seemed so happy and proud to be doing their job. Today was no different, as Mr. Ashton proceeded up and down the rows, patting workers on the back, calling almost every single one of them by name, despite the hundreds of individuals they passed. Charlie wondered how he knew everyone so well, and when he’d asked, his father simply said, “People are important.”The sounds of the machinery made parts of the factory very noisy, and whenever they would approach some of the more dangerous areas, John would always take Charlie by the hand, even though he was nearly eleven years old—practically a grown man—and his head reached his father’s shoulder. He said he wanted to make sure nothing happened to his right hand man, so Charlie shrugged and took his f
Southampton“Time for bed,” her mother repeated for at least the third time. Meggy continued to pretend that she could not hear her. She had been playing at reading for nearly half an hour now, not budging from her chair in the parlor, despite the fact that she knew her mother didn’t like her to be downstairs. Meggy didn’t like her room anymore.“Mary Margaret!” she shouted this time. “Get upstairs and change this instant or else I shall fetch Ms. Strickland from her chambers and have her put you to bed!”Meggy took a deep breath, realizing she would have to go now, despite the fact that she would have done almost anything to work her way around it. But without a word of back-talk (which would have gotten her a fat lip at the least) she gathered up her book, dragged herself out of the room, and began her slow ascent up the stairs.She took her time washing up as well. No longer would Patsy come in and help h
New York CityCharles Ashton’s study looked out over the courtyard of his parents’ estate. The gardens and hedges were gorgeous and a large fountain decorated with cherubs sat directly in the center of his view. He considered himself quite blessed to have the opportunity to take a break from his studies to look out at such a lovely vision.His father believed that children should stay at home with their parents until it was time to go off to a secondary school to study, so John had hired the best tutors to come into their home to educate both of his children, and despite the fact that she was female, his sister Grace studied just the same as he did, though in another room with a governess instead of a male tutor.Charlie had always been told he was quite bright and his tutor gave him high marks in nearly every area. He studied hard and paid particular attention to math and business as he knew how important those two subjects would be when he took ove
New York CityCharlie sat in his study staring at a blank page, his pen poised just above his stationery. His initials, CJA, were inscribed at the top in fancy, golden calligraphy. A gift from his mother, the stationery made him feel important. Perhaps that was part of the reason he wasn’t exactly sure what to write. What if his words came across as foolish? It would be difficult to be both important and ridiculous at the same time.Of course, the other idea that made this particular writing task difficult is that it was the first time he was to write to Mary Margaret. He had known for years that she would be his wife one day, but having never met her, he simply had no idea what she was like. He wasn’t sure what he should discuss. What if she found his remarks drab and boring? Though he’d written a bit of correspondence before—mostly to his grandparents who lived upstate—this letter seemed important, and he didn’t wish to mess it up.
Southampton“Well of course I’m not going to allow her to read it!”Meg could hear her mother shouting from the parlor below her. She’d always known that sound travelled up the radiator pipes to her room, but she had only recently discovered that pressing an ear to the pipe (or a glass if one had such a thing handy) allowed even more sound to come through. In this way, she had discovered quite a bit of information that she would have otherwise not been privy to. This evening was no different. Ditching the history textbook Ms. Strickland had insisted she read, she made her way over to the radiator and had a listen, wondering what had gotten her mother so completely bent out of shape.“Why ever not? It’s not as if it even mentions the arrangement,” her uncle replied, his voice showing more indifference than irritation.There was a jolt, as if her mother had tossed something on a table or slammed her hand down. &ldqu