Once and Always
Page 17
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Northrup,” he provided, his manner polite, his expression carefully blank.
“Northrup?” Victoria repeated, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Is that your given name or your surname?”
His gaze slid to hers, then away. “Er—my surname, miss.”
“I see,” she continued politely. “And how long have you worked here?”
Northrup clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, looking solemn. “For nine generations, my family has been born and has died in service to the Fieldings, miss. I expect to carry on that proud tradition.”
“Oh,” Victoria said, carefully suppressing a chuckle at his profound pride in holding a job that seemed to entail nothing more important than opening and closing doors for people.
As if he read her thoughts, he added stiffly, “If you have any problems with the staff, miss, bring them to me. As head of the household, I will endeavor to see that they are rectified immediately.”
“I’m certain I won’t need to do that. Everyone here is very efficient,” Victoria said kindly. Too efficient, she thought as she wandered into the sunshine.
She walked across the front lawns, then shifted direction and went around the side of the house, intending to visit the stables to see the horses. With a half-formed idea of using apples to befriend them, Victoria went round to the back and asked directions to the kitchen.
The gigantic kitchen was filled with frantically busy people who were rolling out dough on wooden tables, stirring kettles, and chopping vegetables. In the center of the bedlam, an enormously fat man in a spotless white apron the size of a tablecloth stood like a frenzied monarch, waving a long-handled spoon and shouting instructions in French and English. “Excuse me,” Victoria said to the woman at the nearest table. “May I have two apples and two carrots if you can spare them?”
The woman glanced uncertainly at the man in the white apron, who was glowering at Victoria; then she disappeared into another room adjoining the kitchen, returning a minute later with the apples and carrots. “Thank you, ah—?” Victoria said.
“Mrs. Northrup, miss,” the woman said uneasily.
“How nice,” Victoria replied with a sweet smile. “I’ve already met your husband, the butler, but he didn’t tell me you worked here, also.”
“Mr. Northrup is my brother-in-law,” she corrected.
“Oh, I see,” Victoria said, sensing the woman’s reluctance to talk in front of the moody fat man, who seemed to be in charge. “Well, good day, Mrs. Northrup.”
A flagstone path bordered by woods on the right led to the stables. Victoria walked along, admiring the splendid vista of rolling, clipped lawns and lavish gardens on her left, when a sudden movement a few yards away on her right made her stop short and stare. At the perimeter of the woods, a huge gray animal was foraging about in what appeared to be a small compost pile. The animal caught her scent and raised its head, its feral gaze locking with hers, and Victoria’s blood froze. Wolf! her mind screamed.
Paralyzed with terror, she stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move or make a sound, while her benumbed brain registered haphazard facts about the terrifying beast. The wolf’s heavy gray coat was mangy-looking and thick, but not thick enough to hide its protruding ribs; it had terribly large jaws; its eyes were fierce.... Judging from the animal’s grotesque gauntness, it appeared to be nearly starved to death. Which meant it would attack and eat anything it could catch— including herself. Victoria took a tiny, cautious step backward toward the safety of the house.
The animal snarled, its upper lip curling back, baring a set of huge white fangs to her view. Victoria reacted automatically, hurling her apples and carrots to him in a desperate effort to distract him from his obvious intention of eating her. Instead of pouncing on the missiles she’d thrown at him, as she expected him to, the animal jerked away from its garden feast and bolted into the woods with its tail between its legs. Victoria spun on her heel and raced into the house via the nearest back door, then ran to a window and peeked out at the woods. The wolf was standing just inside the perimeter of the trees, hungrily staring at the compost pile.
“Is something wrong, miss?” a footman asked, coming up behind her on his way toward the kitchen.
“I saw an animal,” Victoria said breathlessly. “I think it was a—” She watched as the gray beast trotted stealthily back to the garden and gobbled the apples and carrots; then it ran back into the woods, its bushy tail still between its legs. The animal was frightened! she realized. And starved. “Do you have any dogs around here?” she asked, suddenly wondering if she’d been about to make a mistake that would make her appear exceedingly foolish.
“Yes, miss—several of ‘em.”
“Are any of them big, thin, and black and gray in color?”
“That’d be his lordship’s old dog, Willie,” he said. “He’s always around here, beggin‘ fer somethin’ to eat. He ain’t mean, if that’s worryin‘ you. Did you see him?”
“Yes,” Victoria said, growing angry as she remembered how the starved creature had been gobbling spoiled vegetables from the compost pile as if they were beefsteaks. “And he’s nearly starved. Someone ought to feed the poor thing.”
“Willie always acts like he’s starved,” the footman replied with complete indifference. “His lordship says if he eats any more, he’ll be too fat to walk.”
“If he eats any less, he’ll be too weak to live,” Victoria retorted angrily. She could perfectly imagine that heartless man starving his own dog. How pathetic the animal looked with his ribs sticking out like that—how gruesome! She went back to the kitchen and requested another apple, some carrots, and a plate of table scraps.
Despite her sympathy, Victoria had to fight down her fear of the animal as she neared the compost pile and spotted him watching her from his hiding place just inside the woods. It was a dog, not a wolf, she could see that now. Remembering the footman’s assurance that the dog wasn’t vicious, Victoria walked as close to him as she dared and held out the plate of scraps. “Here, Willie,” she said softly. “I’ve brought you some good food.” Timidly, she took another step forward. Willie laid his ears back and bared his ivory fangs at her, and Victoria lost her courage. She put the plate down and fled toward the stables.
“Northrup?” Victoria repeated, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Is that your given name or your surname?”
His gaze slid to hers, then away. “Er—my surname, miss.”
“I see,” she continued politely. “And how long have you worked here?”
Northrup clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, looking solemn. “For nine generations, my family has been born and has died in service to the Fieldings, miss. I expect to carry on that proud tradition.”
“Oh,” Victoria said, carefully suppressing a chuckle at his profound pride in holding a job that seemed to entail nothing more important than opening and closing doors for people.
As if he read her thoughts, he added stiffly, “If you have any problems with the staff, miss, bring them to me. As head of the household, I will endeavor to see that they are rectified immediately.”
“I’m certain I won’t need to do that. Everyone here is very efficient,” Victoria said kindly. Too efficient, she thought as she wandered into the sunshine.
She walked across the front lawns, then shifted direction and went around the side of the house, intending to visit the stables to see the horses. With a half-formed idea of using apples to befriend them, Victoria went round to the back and asked directions to the kitchen.
The gigantic kitchen was filled with frantically busy people who were rolling out dough on wooden tables, stirring kettles, and chopping vegetables. In the center of the bedlam, an enormously fat man in a spotless white apron the size of a tablecloth stood like a frenzied monarch, waving a long-handled spoon and shouting instructions in French and English. “Excuse me,” Victoria said to the woman at the nearest table. “May I have two apples and two carrots if you can spare them?”
The woman glanced uncertainly at the man in the white apron, who was glowering at Victoria; then she disappeared into another room adjoining the kitchen, returning a minute later with the apples and carrots. “Thank you, ah—?” Victoria said.
“Mrs. Northrup, miss,” the woman said uneasily.
“How nice,” Victoria replied with a sweet smile. “I’ve already met your husband, the butler, but he didn’t tell me you worked here, also.”
“Mr. Northrup is my brother-in-law,” she corrected.
“Oh, I see,” Victoria said, sensing the woman’s reluctance to talk in front of the moody fat man, who seemed to be in charge. “Well, good day, Mrs. Northrup.”
A flagstone path bordered by woods on the right led to the stables. Victoria walked along, admiring the splendid vista of rolling, clipped lawns and lavish gardens on her left, when a sudden movement a few yards away on her right made her stop short and stare. At the perimeter of the woods, a huge gray animal was foraging about in what appeared to be a small compost pile. The animal caught her scent and raised its head, its feral gaze locking with hers, and Victoria’s blood froze. Wolf! her mind screamed.
Paralyzed with terror, she stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move or make a sound, while her benumbed brain registered haphazard facts about the terrifying beast. The wolf’s heavy gray coat was mangy-looking and thick, but not thick enough to hide its protruding ribs; it had terribly large jaws; its eyes were fierce.... Judging from the animal’s grotesque gauntness, it appeared to be nearly starved to death. Which meant it would attack and eat anything it could catch— including herself. Victoria took a tiny, cautious step backward toward the safety of the house.
The animal snarled, its upper lip curling back, baring a set of huge white fangs to her view. Victoria reacted automatically, hurling her apples and carrots to him in a desperate effort to distract him from his obvious intention of eating her. Instead of pouncing on the missiles she’d thrown at him, as she expected him to, the animal jerked away from its garden feast and bolted into the woods with its tail between its legs. Victoria spun on her heel and raced into the house via the nearest back door, then ran to a window and peeked out at the woods. The wolf was standing just inside the perimeter of the trees, hungrily staring at the compost pile.
“Is something wrong, miss?” a footman asked, coming up behind her on his way toward the kitchen.
“I saw an animal,” Victoria said breathlessly. “I think it was a—” She watched as the gray beast trotted stealthily back to the garden and gobbled the apples and carrots; then it ran back into the woods, its bushy tail still between its legs. The animal was frightened! she realized. And starved. “Do you have any dogs around here?” she asked, suddenly wondering if she’d been about to make a mistake that would make her appear exceedingly foolish.
“Yes, miss—several of ‘em.”
“Are any of them big, thin, and black and gray in color?”
“That’d be his lordship’s old dog, Willie,” he said. “He’s always around here, beggin‘ fer somethin’ to eat. He ain’t mean, if that’s worryin‘ you. Did you see him?”
“Yes,” Victoria said, growing angry as she remembered how the starved creature had been gobbling spoiled vegetables from the compost pile as if they were beefsteaks. “And he’s nearly starved. Someone ought to feed the poor thing.”
“Willie always acts like he’s starved,” the footman replied with complete indifference. “His lordship says if he eats any more, he’ll be too fat to walk.”
“If he eats any less, he’ll be too weak to live,” Victoria retorted angrily. She could perfectly imagine that heartless man starving his own dog. How pathetic the animal looked with his ribs sticking out like that—how gruesome! She went back to the kitchen and requested another apple, some carrots, and a plate of table scraps.
Despite her sympathy, Victoria had to fight down her fear of the animal as she neared the compost pile and spotted him watching her from his hiding place just inside the woods. It was a dog, not a wolf, she could see that now. Remembering the footman’s assurance that the dog wasn’t vicious, Victoria walked as close to him as she dared and held out the plate of scraps. “Here, Willie,” she said softly. “I’ve brought you some good food.” Timidly, she took another step forward. Willie laid his ears back and bared his ivory fangs at her, and Victoria lost her courage. She put the plate down and fled toward the stables.
