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.”
As the men exchanged pleasantries, I watched Mrs. Triggs. Her eyes were cast down during the entire conversation.
“Shall I show them to their rooms so they may freshen up before dinner, sir?” William Finch suggested after several minutes of us standing in the hall. Sir Arthur was already discussing his newest project with Lieutenant Triggs and, as usual, had forgotten all about his guests’ comfort.
“Of course, of course. I’ll meet you in the library when you’re ready.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Sir Arthur, I’m in no need of a break. After hours on the train, I’m like a private who’s been flicking weevils into the fire just for something to do. I’m intrigued by your new book and would relish some stimulating conversation.” Sir Arthur’s eyes lit up. I could see why they had continued their friendship. “If that’s all right with you, darling?” Lieutenant Triggs said to his wife.
“Yes, but I think I will lie down.”
“Hattie, see to anything Mrs. Triggs may need,” Sir Arthur said as the lieutenant kissed his wife on the cheek. The two men began their conversation where they’d left off and walked toward the library, us women completely forgotten. William picked up Mrs. Triggs’s suitcases and bag.
“If you’d follow me, ma’am.”
“I’d like a glass of water before I go up, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Triggs said. William dropped the bags with a thud.
“One moment, please.” William disappeared down the hall. Mrs. Triggs gave me a pained smile, then walked over to the Albert Bierstadt painting Forest Stream hanging on the wall. She studied the large, tumbled moss-covered boulders beside the still pool in silence for several moments.
“Oh, how I envy you, Miss Davish,” she said, without turning around.
I was taken by surprise and didn’t know what to say. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. William returned with the glass of water. She turned, drank the entire contents of the glass without taking a breath, and then handed it back to the butler.
“Thank you,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward her. I stiffened at her familiarity. She leaned into me and said, “I know we’ll get along just fine, Miss Davish. Morgan has nothing but praise for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. William and I exchanged puzzled glances.
“Oh, do call me Priscilla,” she said. “And I’ll call you Hattie.” She squeezed my arm to punctuate our new acquaintance.
“If you’d follow me now, ma’am,” William said. We started up the staircase. Priscilla walked beside me, with her hand on my arm, almost as if climbing the stairs took too much effort and she needed my support. We approached her room in silence. William opened the door, showed her in, and set up her suitcases.
“The maid can assist you in unpacking if you’d like,” the butler said. “Dinner will be served at seven. If that will be all, ma’am?”
“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Triggs said.
“Is there anything you need, Mrs. Triggs, I mean Priscilla?” I said. I resented Sir Arthur offering my services first as hostess, now as a housekeeper or maid, but both my loyalty to him and the familiarity this woman imposed upon me compelled
