The Potter's Lady (24 page)

Mrs. Woodfield smiled and said, “We’ll meet you downstairs for dinner at seven o’clock, Rylan. Until then, we’ll rest and refresh ourselves.”

When the ladies departed, Rylan surveyed the room and then dropped into one of the soft upholstered chairs. While he’d been in the company of the ladies, he’d tried to appear casual, but he’d never been in surroundings such as this. Inhabiting the realm of the wealthy could become quite intoxicating. Perhaps that was why most of them acted so snooty. They’d become accustomed to the best life had to offer.

If he ever possessed a great deal of money, he hoped he’d be kind and generous like Mrs. Woodfield. She appeared to treat everyone with the same grace and dignity, no matter their station in life.

Once inside their room, Rose hurriedly unpacked her belongings and sat down in a chair near the windows. With paper and pencil in hand, she began to sketch designs while Mrs. Woodfield napped.

Nearly two hours passed before the older woman stirred and then appeared in the doorway leading into the sitting room. “Dear me. I meant to rest my eyes only for a short time. I’ve been asleep far too long. I do hope I’m not going to make us late for dinner.”

Rose placed her sketching pad on the nearby marble-topped table and shook her head. “We have more than enough time to get ready. As you can see, I’ve not begun dressing for dinner.” She tapped her fingers atop the sheaf of papers. “I think I’ve created some exciting designs. Coming here was such a wonderful plan. Seeing how Mr. Franklin has decorated the hotel has inspired me.”

The older woman crossed the room. “I’m delighted to know it’s proving helpful.” She extended her hand. “Let me see what you’ve been drawing while I slept.”

Rose watched the older woman’s features for any sign of disapproval as she thumbed through the several designs. “The work is still rudimentary, but I wanted to capture my first impressions of the hotel’s décor.” She waited, hoping to see a nod of approval.

When Mrs. Woodfield had looked through the several pages, she handed them back to Rose. “They are lovely, my dear, but I’m surprised you’ve begun without Rylan. I’m sure he’ll have some ideas, as well. As I recall, Ewan wanted this to be a cooperative project between the two of you.” She gestured toward the bedroom. “Come along. We need to dress for dinner. We don’t want to keep Rylan waiting.”

Why not? Waiting was what Rylan did best. Mustn’t change anything too much. Mustn’t make it too ornate. He probably even dreamed in black and white.

Rylan stood outside the hotel restaurant a few minutes before seven o’clock. He didn’t want to keep the ladies waiting, especially Mrs. Woodfield. He pressed his fingers down the front of his black sack coat. Before leaving his room, he’d made certain his white shirt was free of wrinkles and the knot in his wide necktie had been perfectly formed.

An oversized clock in the hotel sitting room began to chime the hour as Mrs. Woodfield and Rose descended the stairs and approached. Rose glided toward him in a gown of plum and ivory silk that enhanced her shimmering blue eyes and creamy complexion. Narrow plum and ivory ribbons had been woven into her hair, and her shoulders were draped with an intricately woven lace shawl. He wanted to look away, but his eyes betrayed him and remained fixed upon her. She was a vision of beauty that could not be ignored.

A warm smile curved Mrs. Woodfield’s lips as she tapped his arm. “Are we going to enter the restaurant, or do you plan to remain in the lobby and stare at Rose for the remainder of the evening?”

Embarrassment seized him, and he snapped to attention at the older woman’s question. Hoping to hide his mortification, he forced a smile and dipped his head toward the doors leading into the restaurant. “Though Rose is truly lovely in that beautiful gown, I’m thinkin’ you ladies would rather have dinner than stand in the lobby.” It wasn’t a jaunty reply, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

A waiter seated them, and once they’d ordered dinner, Rylan traced his finger over a few fine cracks in his bread-and-butter plate. The crazing on the dishes detracted from the beautiful surroundings, though he doubted most diners would take notice. “The hotel seems to be decorated with a great deal of blue, so I’m thinkin’ it might be good if we thought about an underglaze in pale blue or white with maybe some small blue flowers in the center and a rim of dark blue.” When Rose didn’t immediately respond or reveal any enthusiasm, he arched his brows. “Or maybe the letter F in the center with a few flowers that mimic the frieze in the lobby.”

Rose wrinkled her nose, as if he’d presented her with a bowl of smelly cabbage. “We don’t want anything so plain. I think we need to submit designs that reflect Mr. Franklin’s sense of décor. Look around you, Rylan. This hotel is appointed with a flamboyant style all its own. Trust me, we don’t want something as simple as a flower or initial in the middle of the dinner plates. We need something much more complex.” She took a sip of water before she continued. “While Grandmother Woodfield rested this afternoon, I worked on a number of sketches for both the dinner plates and the urn. They’re not yet fully developed, but I think they’ll more likely gain us a win in the contest.”

While she detailed her afternoon activities, the waiter arrived bearing dinner plates filled with slices of roasted pork dressed with apples and onions, baked cauliflower, and potatoes scalloped in heavy cream and topped with a layer of cheese. Even though Rose’s comments had soured his stomach, Rylan’s mouth watered at the sight.

Mrs. Woodfield touched Rylan’s hand. “Would you please pray before we begin our meal?”

Rylan’s thoughts churned, and his stomach clenched with discomfort. He’d never prayed in front of Rose and Mrs. Woodfield. The only person who’d ever heard him pray aloud was Mr. Bancock. He didn’t know how to put words together that would sound pleasing to these women, but he couldn’t refuse. He bowed his head and squeezed his hands together so tight he cut off the circulation. “Dear Lord, we thank you for our safe journey and this fine food. Please bless it to our bodies.” He paused and quickly added, “And please help us to be willing to listen to each other and to follow your leading, so we can combine the talents you’ve given to each of us.”

Bartlett, West Virginia

B
efore departing for Bartlett on Saturday morning, Beatrice considered wearing the new shoes and dress she’d recently purchased, but in the end she decided upon her serviceable boots with flat heels and a faded print dress. Her choices might elicit a bit of pity from Aunt Margaret. Though she referred to Margaret Crothers as her aunt, they weren’t blood relatives. Beatrice’s relationship to the family was through Hugh, Margaret’s deceased husband. As a sign of respect or because her parents had instructed her to do so since she was a wee child, she’d addressed them as aunt and uncle. In truth, Hugh was a third or fourth cousin, twice removed, but there was enough blood running between them that her father had somehow finagled his way onto the ship with his family in tow when one of Hugh’s first cousins was stricken with the fever shortly before sailing to America.

The appearance of their family hadn’t particularly pleased Uncle Hugh, and when Beatrice’s father quit his job at the brickyard and went to work in the coal mines for better pay, strong words were exchanged. After that, Beatrice had given Uncle Hugh a wide berth, but Aunt Margaret was a different story. The older woman seemed a kindred spirit. She knew what she wanted and did whatever was necessary to gain victory. Aunt Margaret prided herself on being shrewd, but thus far she’d proved easy for Beatrice to manipulate.

The train fare and buggy from town would cost her, but Beatrice planned to make this journey worthwhile. At the train station she convinced a young fellow to give her a ride in his buggy for half fare, but when they arrived at Crothers Mansion, she’d offered him a kiss instead. He’d accepted, and she’d tucked her coins away for safekeeping. She stood at the edge of the driveway and waved to the fellow until he was out of sight.

“Fool!” She muttered the condemnation as she walked up the brick-lined path leading to the front porch. Her leather and canvas boots made little noise as she climbed the front steps and lifted the brass knocker attached to the massive front door.

Fia, one of the relatives from Ireland who worked as a housemaid for Margaret, pulled open the front door. “Beatrice! I didn’t know you were comin’ to pay the missus a visit today.”

“Nor does she, Fia, but I was given an extra day off and thought to put my time to good use. It’s been far too long since I’ve visited any of me family, and I decided to make Aunt Margaret the first stop along my way.”

The maid stepped aside to allow Beatrice entry. “Sure I am that the missus will be pleased to see ya. Just have a seat in the parlor, and I’ll tell her you’re here.” Fia hurried off as though her very life depended on how fast she could carry the news to her mistress. Knowing Aunt Margaret, it probably did.

Beatrice stepped into the parlor and surveyed the extravagantly decorated room. She was examining a porcelain figurine when Margaret appeared. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She stepped to Beatrice’s side and reached for the piece, then carefully placed it back on the table. “It was very expensive. I wouldn’t want it to break.” She gestured toward the sofa. “This is quite a surprise. I could hardly believe my ears when Fia said you were in the parlor, but I’m truly delighted and relieved to see you.”

Beatrice grinned. “You don’t have to use that fancy talk with me Aunt Margaret. I’m not one of those social ladies you’re keen to impress.”

Margaret leaned back as though offended, but she soon recovered. “I’ve been hoping for another letter from you. Tell me more about Laura. Is she still feeling poorly? Have you heard what ails her?” Before Beatrice could answer, Margaret’s lips screwed into a knot, and her brow creased with a frown. “Why are you here on a Saturday? Has your day off work been changed?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Nay. I told a wee lie so’s to get an extra day away from the family. Writing letters is hard for me. I’d rather visit in person. Besides, I have too much news to put in a letter.” She didn’t add that letters were impossible to deny when they fell into the wrong hands. “I told Mrs. McKay I needed to visit home as me father is ailing. I had a letter from home last week, so she believed me. I don’t think she was none too happy about the extra day away, but she can have the twins look after Tessa if she’s not feeling up to it herself.”

Margaret’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “So tell me all this news you’ve come bearing.”

Beatrice folded her hands and looked about the room. “I was thinking you might offer me a cup of tea or at least a cool glass of lemonade after me traveling so far to see you.”

Reaching to a small table, Margaret retrieved a small bell and gave it a hearty shake. The jangling brought Fia running to the doorway, her eyes wide and her brows arched high on her forehead. “You need something, missus?”

“I wouldn’t have rung the bell if I didn’t want something, Fia.” She directed a look of disdain at the maid. “Bring tea and biscuits and be quick about it.”

A twinge of regret swept over Beatrice. Her demand for tea had created more work for Fia. “You’re lucky to have such good help, Margaret. Both Melva and Fia are trustworthy women.” Perhaps a few words of praise could help set things aright. “I know they’re looking for maids at the hotel in town, and I’d wager they pay a sight more than you’re paying Fia and Melva.” She curved her lips in a sly grin. “Best you treat them well, or they’ll do like me own da and seek work elsewhere.”

The cautionary comment seemed to ease the harsh lines that etched Margaret’s face, and when Fia reappeared a short time later, Margaret spoke with enough kindness that the maid appeared flummoxed and nearly dropped the plate of biscuits. Beatrice smiled as Margaret praised the maid for her agility when she caught the plate.

Teacup in hand, Margaret settled in her chair. “I can bear to wait no longer. Tell me what has been happening in Grafton. I do hope it’s all bad news.” She cackled before taking a sip.