Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 4

  “Thank you. And could you get a man to take my trunk to the ship?”

  “Of course.”

  Peter gave him a coin generous enough to pay the man who did the work and reward the man sent to summon him. “I’m sailing on the Valorous. And I thank you.”

  The hotelier hurried away. Peter entered the dining room and filled a plate at the sideboard with broiled fish, scones and jam, and a boiled egg. As soon as he sat down, a steward appeared at his elbow with a silver coffeepot.

  “Coffee this morning, sir? Or would you prefer tea?”

  “Thank you, that’s fine. A little cream in it, if you please.” He looked up as another man entered the dining room.

  “Good morning, Stark.”

  Peter jumped to his feet and bowed to the Earl of Washburn. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning, my lord.”

  “I wanted to have a final word with you before we part.”

  “Very good, my lord. Can I serve you breakfast?”

  “Nay. I’ll take some coffee, and we’ll talk. I’ll eat later with the prince and Newcastle.”

  Peter nodded and waited until his master had taken a seat.

  “Sit, lad,” said the earl.

  Peter sat, feeling a bit odd and out of place. Sitting down when the earl was in the room violated the rules under which he lived, and eating in his master’s presence was unthinkable.

  The steward poured coffee for the earl. “Would you like cream and sugar, my lord?”

  “Yes, thank you. Just a bit of sugar.”

  Washburn said no more while the steward cut a small piece from the sugarloaf, placed it in his cup, and poured in a dollop of cream. Peter began to eat, though it was difficult. He took small bites and tried his best to remember every table manner his mother had ever taught him. He simply couldn’t enjoy the well-cooked food with the earl sitting across the table from him.

  At last the steward left them.

  “Now then,” said Washburn, “I’m glad we have a moment with no one else present. You will take the utmost pains, my lad, to be certain the people of Charlottetown put a good face on it when the prince arrives.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  The earl pulled a wry face and lifted his coffee cup. “They weren’t prepared when we landed in Saint John, as you know. I hope we can prevent that from happening again.”

  “Yes. Of course, His Highness was very good about it.”

  Washburn sipped his coffee and set the cup down. “Yes, he’s been very good-tempered throughout the journey so far, but a little more of this rain and a few more provincials full of excuses—well!” He brushed the thought aside with a wave of his hand. “No matter. You will precede us this time, and the lieutenant governor shall be on the alert.”

  “Absolutely, my lord. I’ll see to it that they’ve got their program in order. With your letter and the one from the Duke of Newcastle, I’m sure I’ll be admitted to see the proper authorities.” Peter laid down his fork and gave up all pretense of eating.

  “That is well, then. I know you’ll see to all the details. His Grace was a bit perturbed the other day—more so than His Highness, I believe. Of course, the duke reports continually to the prince consort and the prime minister back in England.”

  “We’ll make certain the islanders are prepared,” Peter assured him. He reached for his own cooling coffee. If he did not head for the docks soon, he’d miss his ship to Prince Edward Island.

  The earl leaned toward him confidentially. “Of course, the queen hopes this tour of her son’s will solidify the local feeling and they’ll show more support for the monarchy and confederation of the colonies. You’re aware of that.”

  “Well...yes, my lord, I’ve heard talk.”

  Washburn grunted and leaned back. “Then you’ve also heard that the people of Prince Edward Island are among those most resistant to confederation.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “This trip is very important. And the prince’s temper, while even and sweet to this point, could grow less amiable if he’s met with disdain.”

  Peter straightened his shoulders. “Surely the colonists wouldn’t—”

  “I don’t suppose they would, but we can’t be certain, can we? I expect the local officials to fawn over the prince. I’m not so sure about the farmers and workmen.”

  “Ah.” Peter tipped up his cup and drained it.

  “Well, you must be off, lad, if you hope to catch the tide.” The earl stood.

  Peter rose as well. “Yes, my lord. I shall look forward to seeing you in a few days.”

  “I’ll anticipate the reunion as well. Oh, and Peter—”

  “Yes, my lord?” His master rarely addressed him by his Christian name, and Peter felt the earl’s concern behind his words.

  Washburn reached into his waistcoat and brought out a small pouch. “You may have some unexpected expenses.”

  “You’ve been most liberal with me.”

  “Take it. You may have need. They might even send you to a hotel.”

  “Yes, my lord. Thank you.” Peter accepted the pouch and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. To his surprise, the earl extended his hand.

  “And take care, Peter.”

  “I will.”

  The earl nodded and looked him over as their hands clasped with a wistfulness that bespoke the loss of his family more than ten years ago. Peter wished he could fill the empty spot in Washburn’s lonely life, but in his station, he could be no more than a servant to the earl. And so he released his master’s hand and turned to the hall, where he’d left his bags. He only hoped he could fulfill the earl’s expectations. When he’d been invited to accompany Lord Washburn on this journey, he’d never expected the prince’s reception—and perhaps the loyalty of North American British subjects—to require his personal attention.

  He shouldered the small bag that held his personal items and the leather case containing the top hat that wouldn’t fit in his trunk and quickened his steps toward the dock. He could not fail his master or his prince.

  Chapter Four

  Monday, August 6

  Peter stepped off the Valorous onto the wharf at Charlottetown and looked about. He didn’t expect anyone to meet him, and he’d need to find his way to the lieutenant governor’s house and present his letters of recommendation. He’d shared the ship with the military band traveling with the prince. They would set up tents in one of the city’s larger parks and enjoy a few days of relaxation before the aristocrats caught up with them.

  Peter picked up his bags and left the band to unload their gear under Captain Aldham’s supervision. The air was moist from recent rain, making the grass of nearby fields glitter and the leaves of poplar trees overhanging the street to shimmer. The beauty of the place struck him—the red cliffs that had welcomed him as he stood on the ship’s deck and the verdant fields and farms on the distant hillsides. Only eighty thousand souls called Prince Edward Island home. The rich soil and picturesque views wherever one looked made him long for some land of his own. In a place like this, a man could build his own life and take advantage of all sorts of possibilities.

  He strode down the wharf. Charlottetown—what he could see of it from here—seemed a graceful and quiet town. A man in a drooping hat and the rough clothes of a laborer was supervising the unloading of a smaller vessel. Peter paused to watch, and the man waved. “Morning.”

  “Good morning,” Peter said. “Could you tell me the way to the governor’s house?”

  “Not far—up there, turn left at the corner. Walk to the end and turn right, then left.” The man grinned. “Sounds complicated but it’s not. Keep toward the shore, sir, and you’ll find it.” He eyed Peter’s satchel. “Or you might want to hail a wagon.”

  “Thank you.”

  Rather than deal with the luggage and the unfamiliar streets, he followed the man’s advice and hailed a carter. He soon found himself deposited before a fine Georgian house facing the water, with wide lawns in front an
d gardens and trees behind.

  “Please wait while I go to the door,” he told the driver. “I may wish you to take me to a hotel afterward.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The willingness of the colonial people to speak to strangers surprised Peter. Everyone seemed more relaxed here—less conscious of the differences between them. Surely this would be the perfect place for a man who wanted to farm and forget the political furor and class distinctions that were so much a part of life in England. Peter seldom dared to think that way at home.

  A very grave gentleman dressed in black answered his knock, and Peter gave his name and handed over his letters of introduction.

  “Won’t you step into the morning room, sir?” said the man, whom Peter pegged as the butler.

  Peter removed his hat and followed him inside. It amazed him how quickly he gained acceptance using the precious letters. Under ordinary circumstances, he would enter a house like this only through the back door.

  The entrance hall was a tastefully decorated room with a curving grand staircase, a gallery above, and a brass and crystal chandelier. The butler showed him into an opulent room to one side of the hall, where Peter admired the paintings of hunting scenes and a militia regiment drawn up in a battle line. The windows opened on the rear garden, which had been tended with care and now exploded with the hues of a dozen varieties of flowers.

  Within five minutes, a woman in a fine yellow gown appeared in the doorway. Her dark hair framed her pleasant face, and she had the lithe figure of a young woman, though she must be nearing forty. She advanced with a fetching smile, holding his documents in her hand. Only when she came within three paces did Peter notice the fine lines at the corners of her eyes that bespoke her age.

  “Mr. Stark, I am Mrs. Dundas. My husband is at the Colonial Building this afternoon, but he’ll be home shortly. Won’t you sit down and have a cup of tea with me while we await his return?”

  “Thank you, madam.” Peter bowed at the waist and took the smooth, white hand she offered. He straightened and added with some hesitation, “I have a driver outside. Is there a hostelry nearby to which I can direct him with my luggage?”

  “Oh, sir, you must be our guest here at Government House—or Fanning Bank, as we call it.”

  “That is most gracious of you.”

  “We intend for His Royal Highness and the members of his suite to lodge here with us during his visit, so why shouldn’t you begin now? It will make things simpler for you to be near my husband as you make arrangements.”

  “I cannot thank you enough, madam.”

  “Mr. Reynold can take care of the driver and your luggage.”

  Mrs. Dundas went into the hall and gave some muted instructions. Clothing, Peter decided, did make the man—provided, of course, that he also had the recommendation of some high-placed aristocrats. People assumed that Peter was also of blue blood, which he found quite amusing.

  He heard the front door close, and Mrs. Dundas reappeared in a swirl of yellow silk.

  “There. All taken care of. Please sit down, Mr. Stark. I’ve asked for tea to be sent in. You must tell me about your journey and what it is like to travel with the prince.”

  Peter sat as she gestured for him to do, on a velvet-covered chair. The tea Mrs. Dundas served warmed him, and the scones and biscuits she offered with it filled a yawning void he’d been feeling since about the time they’d approached the harbor.

  “And will the prince arrive here as we’ve heard, on Thursday?” his hostess asked.

  “Yes, that is still the plan. August the ninth, or surely by the tenth if he is delayed. When I left Saint John yesterday, His Highness was off by railway to Rothesay and then by steamer to Fredericton. He’s expected to return to Saint John on Tuesday and journey here by steamer.”

  Mrs. Dundas smiled. “We do so look forward to this visit. It will be the first time any of the royal family has come to the island.”

  “His Highness has thoroughly enjoyed seeing Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick. But I’m sure he’ll find this island a unique experience. I was struck by its beauty as we crossed the strait and approached the wharf.”

  “That is kind of you to say so, especially in this weather. We are partial to the island, I must say. My husband has been here only a year, but he is very fond of the colony and its people.”

  “Oh, that puts me in mind—” Peter sat forward, eager to take care of one detail he’d forgotten. “The prince’s table service arrived on the steamer with me, madam. The captain said he would have it unloaded on the wharf within the hour and delivered here. You’re aware of this provision?”

  “Yes, indeed. I can barely wait to see it. I’ve heard that the queen had the dishes specially commissioned for this tour.”

  “That’s right. There are two complete sets, bearing the prince’s crest surrounded by a wreath of maple leaves. While one is being used, the second is shipped ahead to the next destination.”

  “Which would be my house.” She smiled with evident pleasure in her role as the prince’s hostess.

  They chatted for several minutes, and Peter found Mrs. Dundas a good conversationalist. He gladly answered her questions about the Atlantic voyage and the prince’s tour, but when she inquired about his family, he touched only lightly on the topic.

  “My mother was very excited that I was able to come. I’m traveling as an employee of the Earl of Washburn. He’s among the prince’s suite—with His Grace, the Duke of Newcastle.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m looking forward to meeting both gentlemen. I must say, Mr. Stark, that despite your youth, you are doing a fine job of representing your employer—and the Crown.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Peter’s nerves were a little on edge from being in the plush surroundings, and her comments about his station sent his pulse careening. He would give a lot to avoid discussing his family. He cast about his mind for another subject he could broach without seeming rude. They’d covered the weather, but he harked back to it. “I’m sure the rain will pass before His Royal Highness arrives.”

  “I do hope you are right.” She looked toward the doorway. “Ah, Mr. Reynold.”

  Peter followed her gaze to where the butler now stood.

  “Mr. Stark’s room is ready, madam.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Dundas rose, and Peter also stood. “A footman will take you to your room, Mr. Stark. Once you’re settled, please feel free to return to this room. Would you like me to inform you if the lieutenant governor returns in the meantime?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Peter followed the liveried young man up the curving staircase to the gallery overlooking the main hall. His room lay on the second floor, along one hallway and then down another into a separate wing.

  They passed several closed doors, and one of them opened just ahead of the footman, causing him to check his pace momentarily. Peter glanced into the open doorway. A lovely young woman, wearing the black dress and apron of a maid and holding an armful of linens, stepped back, her face flushing.

  “Oh, excuse me, Milton.” Her gaze caught Peter’s for a split second and then she looked down. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Peter said. A lock of her golden hair had escaped her black kerchief and lay against the dark cotton of her dress. She presented a charming picture, though she obviously regretted having opened the door when she did.

  The footman said hastily, “This way, sir.”

  Peter followed him down the hall. When they neared the end of the passageway, the footman opened the door to a cozy room with windows on two sides. Peter stepped in and looked about. He could barely keep from protesting that the place was too fine for him. The cherry furniture included a wardrobe, a dresser, a large cheval mirror, and a four-poster bed with embroidered brown-and-gold hangings. A mound of brown, red, gold, and purple pillows on the bed reminded Peter of how little sleep he’d caught the night before on the ship.

  “Is everything satisfacto
ry, sir?”

  “Yes, it’s perfect.”

  The footman gave a nod that was almost a bow. “May I assist you in dressing for dinner, sir?”

  Peter reined in his impulse to stare at the man. No manservant had ever before offered to help him dress. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  The man gave a full bow then. “If there is anything else I can do for you, sir, just ring the bell.” As he straightened, he nodded toward a tapestry bell pull on the wall near the bed.

  “Your name is Milton?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you very much, Milton.” Peter was tempted to tell him that, in reality, their stations were much the same, but he held back. The earl had trusted him to perform a duty that required authority, and he would erode that authority if he began making friends with the staff at Government House.

  Molly watched the gentleman retreat down the hall behind Milton then scurried to the back staircase and down into the kitchen, carrying her burden of soiled linens. She hoped Milton wouldn’t tell any of the other staff that she’d opened a door practically in the face of a distinguished guest.

  The afternoon waned as she waxed the floors of the guest chambers in the south wing, and soon it was time for her to leave for the day. She took the floor polish and rags to the cupboard in the laundry then peered into the pantry in search of Allison. Her friend sat at a small worktable, polishing silver.

  “Ready to go?” Molly asked.

  “Nearly. I have to finish this.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Allison smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

  Molly took the cloth her friend handed her and set to work while Allison fetched another.

  “Did you hear that there’s a dinner guest?” Allison asked. “Very unexpected.”

  “That must be the gentleman I saw in the hall upstairs. Who is he?”

  “Someone to do with the royal tour. Making arrangements for the prince, I suppose, making sure we’ve cleaned and shined everything. He’s probably a stuffy old bureaucrat.”