Anything But Civil. Anna Loan-Wilsey
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now this.
When Sir Arthur had hired me directly from my disastrous assignment in Eureka Springs, I was elated to accept in part because I hated spending Christmas alone. I was looking forward to a jolly holiday with Sir Arthur’s large and boisterous family. Lady Philippa was a wonderful hostess, but with only a few days before Christmas I’d begun to wonder when his family would arrive. Finch and Ida had prepared all the rooms, but they’d remained empty. I’d wanted to ask Sir Arthur when we should expect Lady Philippa, but it was not my place to ask. Now I had my answer. Christmas wasn’t going to be festive after all.
“I had suspected as much when she wrote of her ambivalence in her previous letter. So I decided to invite some old friends of mine for the holidays,” Sir Arthur said, holding up two letters, “and they have both accepted.” Suddenly things didn’t look so bleak after all. “But that will mean more work for the staff, preparing for the holidays, decorating, trimming the tree, that sort of thing. Philippa usually takes care of all that. I want you to do it, Hattie.”
“Sir?” I wasn’t a hostess. I’d spent the last eleven years of my life alone on Christmas and the seven years before that it was only my father and me. I didn’t know the first thing about preparing for a proper holiday. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
“I want you to oversee everything, Hattie. Coordinate the menus with Mrs. Monday and work with Finch in arranging for the guests. And I want you to supervise all of the holiday preparations, the tree, the greenery, the ribbons and bows, whatever you want. All of my decorations are in Richmond with Philippa, so you’ll have to either buy or make what you need. And since Philippa usually buys the staff’s presents for Boxing Day, I’ll need you to do that too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Though I’m concerned I won’t have time to do everything properly.” My subtle hint was as far as I could question Sir Arthur.
“You’ll have Finch, Harvey, Mrs. Monday, and the maid to help you. Besides, I have proofreading I need to do in the next few days, which should free you up to attend to these extra responsibilities. I can count on you, can’t I, Hattie?”
I was elated about enjoying such an elaborate Christmas but overwhelmed by the fact that I had to plan it all. Just another challenge, I told myself.
“Of course, sir,” I said.
“Good,” Sir Arthur said. I poised my pencil to paper again. “Lieutenant Triggs and his wife, Priscilla, are due to arrive any minute now. You remember the lieutenant, don’t you, Hattie? He acted as our guide and liaison in Kansas City.”
I did remember Lieutenant Morgan Triggs. I’d only been working for Sir Arthur for four days when he insisted I accompany him to the Westport battlefield site he was researching. Lieutenant Morgan Triggs was the man who volunteered to escort us and answer any questions Sir Arthur might have. For three days, the two men trampled every inch of what remained of the battlefield discussing every nuance of strategy while I, straggling along behind them, diligently recorded every word they said. Once, while taking notes, I tripped over a fieldstone and fell sprawling on the ground at Lieutenant Triggs’s feet. He helped me to rise. I thanked him, brushed myself off, and continued taking Sir Arthur’s dictation without comment.
“Now that’s loyalty,” the lieutenant said to Sir Arthur, pointing over his shoulder at me with his thumb. “I’ve seen a pack of bloodhounds during a hunt less diligent and steadfast than your Miss Davish.” Sir Arthur stopped in his tracks and gestured to the field around them.
“You were in the infantry, Twenty-Ninth Missouri Volunteers, if I recall right,” Sir Arthur said. The lieutenant nodded. “Isn’t that what you soldiers did every day of the war?”
“I’d never thought of it like that,” Morgan Triggs said.
“Loyalty,” Sir Arthur had said. “That’s what this war was all about, loyalty to your country, to your principles, to your commanding officer, to your God.” He had turned to face me then, as I’d finished recording his last words. “That’s what I expect from you, Miss Davish. Nothing less than complete loyalty. Give me that, girl, and I can open doors you never knew existed.”
I’d been too dumbfounded at the time to capture the words on paper, but I’ve never forgotten them.
“We kept up a correspondence and I’ve enjoyed a hunt with the lieutenant several times since,” Sir Arthur said. “John Baines and his wife will be arriving Monday morning, from Chicago. I don’t know the exact time.” I oddly knew nothing about the acquaintance between John Baines and Sir Arthur. But with Sir Arthur, one learns to stifle one’s curiosity. It was a lesson I’d learned from him long ago that has served me well in my profession. Except in Eureka Springs, of course. I’d allowed my curiosity free rein there. Even now I marveled at the thought.
What was I thinking?
“I’ll look it up, sir,” I said.
“Good, now as to the menu, I had Mrs. Monday start a proper pudding several days ago, but I also want a goose, not a turkey, a goose. And I want wassail punch for Christmas Eve and Christmas cake, with extra walnuts, for Christmas Day tea.”
“Would you also like mince pies, sir?” I said.
“Yes, I would.” He sent a ring of smoke into the air. “I knew I could count on you, Hattie.”
The clock struck half past five and the doorbell rang almost simultaneously.
“He’s right on time,” Sir Arthur said. “I knew I liked that fellow.”
“Welcome to my home away from home,” Sir Arthur said as William Finch helped Lieutenant Morgan Triggs off with his coat. Lieutenant Triggs was a small man, only a few inches taller than me, but muscular under his well-fitted suit. He was in his mid-fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair. He had a round, clean-shaven face that made the scar that crossed his right eyebrow and stretched to the corner of his ear all the more prominent. Although soft-spoken, he had a friendly openness to his demeanor that made him excellent company for Sir Arthur. Lieutenant Triggs had treated me with respect and I’d liked him for it.
Sir Arthur took Mrs. Triggs’s hand, then shook the lieutenant’s. “Glad you could make it, Triggs. How was the train ride? You remember Hattie, don’t you?”
“Ah, Miss Davish,” the lieutenant said. “Sir Arthur’s pen-wielding Galahad! I’m glad to know Sir Arthur had the brains to hire you back again.” He turned to the woman beside him and put his hand against her back. “May I introduce my wife, Priscilla? You know Sir Arthur, but I don’t think you’ve ever met Miss Davish, have you, darling?”
“No,” Priscilla Triggs said softly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Davish.”
Priscilla Triggs was a short, slightly built woman, who seemed dwarfed by everyone around her. She wore a dark purple dress of plain material, embellished with only a trim of beads, and an older purple and black full crown lace bonnet, which she seemed reluctant to take off. Her hair was still dark red and she had pale, freckled skin. Yet Mrs. Triggs seemed older than she was, which was probably late forties. She stood with a slight stoop to her shoulder and had sad eyes that she raised with visible effort. She stood in stark contrast next to her vibrant husband.
“Please to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
“When Sir Arthur was in Missouri, Miss Davish here was his right hand,” Lieutenant Triggs explained. “And his left!”
“She probably knows as much about the battles of Westport as you or I do now, Morgan,” Sir Arthur added.
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Priscilla, you should see her fingers fly over that typewriter of hers, like the rapid fire of the enemy line.”
“You’re Sir Arthur’s secretary then, Miss Davish?” Mrs. Triggs said.
“Yes, ma’am. I assisted when he was writing an article on the battles of Westport. That’s when I met your husband.”
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