A Harrington House New Year’s Eve by A.M.Westerling

 

https://bookswelove.net/westerling-m/ 

Sleet and howling gusts of wind battered the windows of Harrington House but inside the drawing room, a fire crackled merrily in the grate and candles set in freshly polished silver sconces cast a golden glow throughout the room. Lady Evelyn Harrington wandered about the room, fingering the beribboned evergreen boughs and adjusting the sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway. Nothing must be out of place, everything must be perfect. She lifted her nose and inhaled the spicy fragrance of fresh cut evergreens. New Year’s Eve, seeing out the old year and bringing in the new, was quite the event in the Harrington household. Her teenage daughters, Sophie, Leah and Catherine, enjoyed it as much as Christmas.

Footsteps clumped down the hall and in strode her husband, Lord Oliver Harrington. “I see you’re making sure all is set for the evening’s festivities.”

She nodded then dropped into the nearest armchair. “Although I am rather afraid the weather has hampered our guests as they’re late. I do so hope nothing has happened to them.”

He winked at her. “Invitations to your evenings are highly sought after. Only out and out disaster would stop people from coming.”

A warm flush spread through her and she knew if she looked in a mirror her cheeks would be crimson. “Really, Oliver. You speak too highly of me.”

“Am I? I think not.” He crossed over to her and dropped a kiss on her nose before making his way over to the side table to pour himself a cognac. He sat down across from her and raised his glass before taking a sip.

Evelyn nodded. “I look forward to spending the evening with Vicar Sinclair and his wife and daughter.”

“Very thoughtful of you to invite them, my dear.”

“And it will be lovely to share our New Year’s Day feast with them tomorrow. House parties are delightful and it’s been far too long since we’ve held one.”

Her husband shook his head. “Yes, it shall be nice to put our troubles aside for awhile. The estate hasn’t been productive this past while but in the new year things shall be better, I’m sure. I’ll hire a new estate manager.”

Evelyn bit her lip and considered her husband’s words. Poor weather this past year and a shoddy performance by their previous overseer had affected their harvest. The man had been let go for thievery some weeks past but not until the damage was done. Although Oliver had posted notices to fill the position, no one in this isolated corner of Cornwall had responded, leaving Oliver to deal with the daily matters of running the vast Harrington estate. It filled his days until late in the evening.

The patter of soft soled slippers on bare floors almost drowned out the hubbub of girlish voices before their daughter Sophie burst through the door closely followed by her sisters. “Leah and Catherine are determined to see who stays up the latest,” she announced. “But it shall be me as I am the eldest.”

“If you stay up the latest, then I shall be the one to cream the well.” Leah cast a triumphant glance towards her elder sister.

Catherine, the youngest, said nothing, just looked at her both her sisters. “I don’t understand the fuss over drawing a bucket of water from a well,” she said finally. “It sounds like dreadful work to me.”

Evelyn chuckled. “None of you shall cream the well. That is only for young ladies looking to snare a husband and none of you are of an age.  If anyone is to cream the well, it shall be the vicar’s daughter. Gossip has it that the new constable is courting her. No, we’ll have no drawing of water” she continued. “Rather, once our guests arrive and before we usher out the old year and ring in the new, I should like Catherine to play Auld Lang Syne on the pianoforte accompanied by Sophie and Leah.”

The girls responded with a chorus of “Yes, Mama.” Leah and Catherine settled themselves on the settee but Sophie remained on her feet and twirled about slowly, inspecting every detail. “The drawing room looks ever so festive,” she said before dropping into the nearest armchair.

Evelyn leaned back against the thick cushions and regarded her daughters: Sophie, the independent one who preferred riding and outdoor pursuits as much as she enjoyed making her own decisions; Leah, the prim and proper miss who spent many hours with her poetry but had recently become obsessed with marriage; and Catherine, the quiet one who played the pianoforte beautifully but consequently spent many hours on her own. The eldest two were tall and dark like their father; the youngest blonde and curvy like Evelyn. She shook her head, marveling how she and Oliver had produced three wonderful, yet entirely different, daughters.

A knock sounded and Montgomery, the butler, inserted his balding head. “I’m afraid I have rather bad news for you, my lord.”

“Oh?” Oliver swiveled his head to regard him.

“It’s the weather, sir. The vicar and his wife have sent their regrets. Do you wish to send a response with their man servant?”

“I suppose I can’t really blame them.” Evelyn tried to keep her disappointment in check. The party was meant to lift Oliver’s spirits. It appeared disaster had happened after all for their guests to cancel. They would have to make the best of the evening on their own, she decided. “Do send the poor fellow to the kitchen to warm up and make sure he gets something to eat and drink. I’ll send them a note in a day or two to reschedule.”

The butler nodded and withdrew from the room.

“Ha. Then I shall be the one to cream the well after all.” Satisfaction filled Leah’s voice.

“It’s silly anyway. Who cares if you’re the first to draw a bucket of water,” Sophie sniffed. “Besides, it’s a useless endeavour for to be truly effective, one’s sweetheart must drink of the freshly drawn water.” She slanted a glance to her sister. “You don’t have a sweetheart.”

“Oh, there’s still good use for the first bucket. We’ll set you to washing the cow’s udders with it,” teased Evelyn. “To ensure they give plenty of milk in the new year.”

A horrified look cascaded across Leah’s face. “Oh no,” she said. “I’ll not touch them.”

Another knock sounded on the door and this time Montgomery stepped fully into the drawing room. “The hearths are clean and all ashes, scraps and rags consigned to the dust bin. Cook has done her best to clean out the larder and there will be a fine supper later. Whatever she can’t use will go to the household staff and tenant farmers.”

“Yes, a thorough cleaning invites good luck for the upcoming year.” Evelyn nodded. A spot of good luck is just what we need, she thought. She glanced over at her husband. Although he tried to put on a brave face, worry rimmed his eyes and deepened the creases on his cheeks. Did she imagine it or did more streaks of grey lighten his brown hair? The situation with the estate manager had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“Then as midnight approaches, we shall sit in a circle and Papa will open the front door to welcome the new year and Montgomery shall open the back door to usher out the old.” Leah clapped her hands.

“The cold winter air is invigorating.” Sophie smiled. “I love it. It clears one’s head.”

“Hmmph. Cold air makes it difficult to work one’s fingers on the keys.” Catherine frowned then brightened. “But I accept the challenge.”

Dear girls. They’d tried to keep things as normal as possible for them even though recently Oliver’s time of necessity was taken with managing their affairs meaning he hardly saw his family at all. Evelyn understood this but sometimes children didn’t.

The grandfather clock in the corner struck seven, its chimes crashing through the air as heartily as those of the many church bells in London. Evelyn loved the sound. It reminded her of their courting days and wedding – they’d been married in that great city. “It’s a bit early,” she said, “but why don’t we arrange our seats in a circle already and play a round of Cross Questions and Crooked Answers while we wait for our dinner?” Soon laughter, jests and shouts rang through the room as they played the game and time passed quickly.

At nine pm, a line of footmen brought in platters of food which they placed on the side table. The Harringtons helped themselves to a fine repast of baked fish, sliced venison, lamb cutlets, beetroot, peas and asparagus, salad, cheese, nuts and buttered bread, followed by chocolate cream and a trifle.

“You’d scarce know the cook was using up the larder,” remarked Evelyn as she filled her plate. She returned to her chair and sat down, carefully balancing her full plate on her lap before unfolding her napkin and grabbing a lamb chop by the bone. She bit into the fragrant meat and savoured the flavour. No one could best the Harrington cook at preparing lamb.

“Mrs. Winston always fixes nice meals for us.” Sophie placed her plate on the arm of her chair and picked up her fork to stab at a piece of venison.

“It’s nice not to always be so proper,” Catherine chimed in. “I like eating with one’s plate on one’s lap. It’s like having a picnic indoors.” She finished her fish and tackled the asparagus.

“It can be rather messy, don’t you think?” Leah patted her lips with her napkin and placed her fork precisely in the centre of her plate.

“Oh, don’t be such a sour goose,” Catherine said. She waved her fork at her sister. “You can let your hair down every now and again, you know.”

Leah scowled. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Girls, this is not the night for your arguments,” interjected Evelyn. “Come, there’s still so much left to eat, let’s have another round, shall we?” She got to her feet and made her way to the table still overflowing with food.

By the time they finished their dinner, it was almost eleven.

“Should we play a hand or two of Speculation while we wait for midnight?” Evelyn looked around the room.

“Splendid idea.” Oliver pulled over a low table and positioned it between the circle of chairs.

Cards were shuffled and dealt and several hands played until Sophie was pronounced the winner. She sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. “That was fun, don’t you agree?”

“You’re only saying that because you won. You’d be pouting otherwise.” Catherine wagged her finger at her sister.

At five minutes to midnight, Oliver got to his feet and rang for the butler. “Time to open the doors.”

He returned just before the hands of the clock pointed to midnight. Twelve stately gongs rang out and they all got to their feet and raised their glasses in a toast. Thereupon, Catherine took her seat at the pianoforte and they joined in with Auld Lang Syne which ended with a burst of applause.

“Well, that should do it. All good luck through the front and bad luck through the back. We can shut the doors now.”

“When you return, we could play another round of Speculation. Or Charades,” suggested Evelyn. “It is New Year’s Eve after all. We needn’t end the party quite yet.”

Oliver nodded and left the room. The minutes passed and still he did not return. Despite the girl’s casual chatter while they waited, a frisson of fear scuttled across Evelyn’s scalp. What delayed him? She kept glancing to the door and was about to get to her feet in search of her husband when the front door slammed, rattling the windows and sending a gust of cold air barreling down the hall. The wind must have caught it.

Then the murmur of masculine voices drew closer until Oliver entered the drawing room followed by a tall, handsome, dark haired man with a rucksack slung over his shoulder. His clothes were serviceable yet clean, his boots new. A working man, thought Evelyn, but successful to sport such fine footwear.

The stranger bowed. “I’m afraid I’d hoped to be here sooner however the inclement weather slowed my progress. I saw your lights on and hoped you wouldn’t mind the intrusion at such a late hour.” He inclined his head. “Niall Smithers.”

“Mr. Smithers has come about the overseer’s position.” Oliver smiled. “It appears our new year is off to a lucky start.”

Leah’s eyes popped and she smoothed her skirts before her gaze wandered to the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. Evelyn shook her head. She knew exactly what her middle daughter was thinking: Here was a fine man to set her sights on. Mercy, she must have a word with Leah sooner rather than later about the proper comportment of young ladies around gentlemen, no matter their station. Sophie and Catherine, on the other hand, appeared immune to the man’s charms for the first idly flipped through a picture book and the latter stifled a yawn.

“How did you hear of us?” Evelyn asked. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you do sound Scottish. You are a long way from home.”

“My sister is married to one of your tenant farmers. She knew I was seeking employment and sent me a letter. Our parents are dead and she is my only sibling. I thought it a fine idea to move closer to her.”

Oliver held up a letter. “Mr. Smithers comes with the finest of references from the Duke of Abernathy. I offered him the position immediately.”

For the first time in weeks, his face lost that pinched look. Gratitude and relief flowed through Evelyn and she sagged back against the cushions. “So it seems these New Year’s Eve traditions do work.” She held out her hand and Oliver came over to grasp it and tuck it firmly in his fist.   “The Scots believe in first footing,” she continued. “The first visitor to cross the threshold after midnight on New Year’s Eve will determine our fortunes. One who is tall, dark and handsome is the best omen.” She eyed Mr. Smithers. “I should say that’s correct.”

“But it wouldn’t be complete without a fine bottle of whiskey for good cheer.” Smithers pulled a bottle out of his rucksack and placed it on the table.

“Then I should say a toast is in order,” Oliver said. “Here’s to better fortune for the Harrington estate.”

“I like the man,” Evelyn remarked later as she and Oliver readied themselves for bed.

“Yes. The Duke had nothing but the highest praise for Mr. Smithers. I feel fortunate to have engaged such a capable fellow. Already 1805 has taken a turn for the better.”

“Indeed it has.” Evelyn climbed into bed and held out her arms.