Four
Dinner, as always, was a strained event. If David wasn't sullen, then he wasn't present, as it was that night. Daphne had to make sure that Elizabeth did not have too much wine with any course, and Julia's observations were sharp and harping. If she had a kind word for anyone, none of them lived in Collinwood, and most of them lived in Paris. Daphne knew without a doubt that Julia held a low opinion of her, both her background and the way she managed David.
"Will David not be joining us tonight?" Elizabeth said as she sipped her wine.
"I'm afraid not," Daphne said. "I'll bring a tray up to him later."
"Are you sure that he's in his room?" Julia said pointedly. "Or is he off tramping to the Old House, or somewhere else he's not supposed to go?"
Daphne choked on her chicken, which was already dry to begin with. "Yes, he's in his room," she said evenly, ready to jump down the red-haired woman's throat. "I checked not five minutes before I came down to dinner."
Julia was having no trouble eating and being cruel at the same time. "He probably sneaked out once he realized that you weren't paying attention."
Yes, of course, Daphne thought sourly to herself. The boy's attitude was all her fault. She was just the hired help with gall enough to eat dinner in the dining room with the family, and not in the kitchen with the rest of the servants. Not that there would be anyone to eat with. There was Mrs. Johnson, whose cooking was so sub-par that even she didn't eat it. After serving it and cleaning up, she'd get into her car and drive home. The caretaker--who was more of a jack-of-all-trades--usually ate in his rooms above the empty stables. Willie Loomis had gotten sick off of Mrs. Johnson's boiled something-or-other and vowed never to eat in the kitchen again. Daphne would rather that Willie cooked instead of Mrs. Johnson; the food might actually be tasty.
She didn't say anything; she'd rather keep the peace and keep Elizabeth calm, otherwise she'd start smoking again.
"Well," Daphne said, "if he did go out, I'll just have to find him, won't I?"
Julia frowned at the girl's insolence. She turned to her friend. "Well, Elizabeth, have you heard from your inconsiderate nephew today?"
Elizabeth placed her fork down and stared straight ahead. "No, but I have come to a decision."
"A decision?" her friend asked.
"Yes," Elizabeth said, smiling for the first time since Daphne met her. "And I have Daphne to thank. She convinced me."
"Convinced you to do what?" Julia said carefully.
"I'm telling Quentin that I'm going back to Paris. As soon as possible." Elizabeth was positively beaming now, and it wasn't from the liquor.
"When are you leaving?" Daphne asked. The brocolli wasn't nearly as soggy now as before, not with Julia actually looking at her with a pleased look on her face.
Elizabeth wiped her lips with her napkin. "Day after tomorrow, I hope. Mr. Jennings is getting our tickets for us as we speak."
"Quentin's new 'man of affairs?'" Daphne asked.
"Yes, dear," Elizabeth said. "He came highly recommended to us, and has done a wonderful job so far. His only request is that he gets four days off a month."
Daphne nodded. She knew that Chris Jennings lived in the Old Magruder Mansion, whose appelation of the Rose Cottage was quite the misnomer. A cottage it wasn't, but once the property had fallen into the hands of the Collins family, the name had to change from Magruder. And as Elizabeth had, as a child, a doll house with the name of Rose Cottage, so it was called. And as Quentin Collins also inherited from his father a hatred of waste, and since he believed himself to be generous, he conceeded to allowing Jennings to stay there while Jennings took care of the Collins household accounts. Daphne thought it intriguing that the number of "domestics" had tripled since the death of Mrs. Collins, when there had only been Mrs. Johnson to cook and clean. But that was none of her business; she was just happy that she had found a job.
"I am so glad that you have decided to go back to Paris, Elizabeth," Julia said. "When will your nephew be calling?"
"In two days," Elizabeth said. "After we are on the plane, fortunately."
Five
The only rooms in the Rose Cottage that could be considered half-way habitable were the downstairs study, the kitchen, and an upstairs room. It was all Chris Jennings needed; the house was entirely too big for one man to live in. He conducted all his work for the Collins family in the downstairs study; this was where he wrote out Elizabeth and Roger's checks, paid the bills, and numerous other expenditures. He would have preferred an apartment in town, but one didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. This job was just the thing he needed.
Mr. Collins called him every other day, more than he called his family at Collinwood. Jennings didn't approve of that; nothing came before family, not even money. But business was business. Mr. Collins called like clockwork; always at noon, so Chris knew when to be at the house. And on the day Elizabeth left, it came.
The first quarter hour of the call was routine; he read Quentin the payroll accounts, the bills and their difference from the month before, and other notes of import about the estate in general. Chris had never met the man, yet he felt a chilled respect for him: he knew what was going on despite being hundreds of miles away and wanted to know everything that was going on. He was serious about everything that was connected to the name of Collins.
Except for his late wife. The thought came out of nowhere, and he repressed it as quickly as it had come up.
"Anything else I should know of, Jennings?" Quentin Collins asked.
"Oh, yes, I almost forgot," Chris said. "Your aunt left for Paris this morning with that friend of hers. I got the tickets yesterday, if you hold on a second--"
"Elizabeth left?" Quentin said sharply. "I'll talk to you later, Jennings."
And with that, the phone call was over. This was the first time that he had heard Mr. Collins in such a state. He hoped that everyone at the big house would be okay.
Six
Lessons were held in various places throughout the house, sometimes in Mr. Collins abandoned study, sometimes in the drawing room or gallery, and, when the weather was good, sometimes outdoors. But today it was in the study, Daphne hoping that the surroundings would be more conducive to David's learning. His attention was apt to wander, just like any young child's. Outdoors was good for science, the gallery good for art, but the study was for social studies and the three R's. And David enjoyed sitting in the large leather chair behind the wide wooden desk. It made him feel important.
"North Dakota," Daphne said.
David scrunched his face up. North Dakota was so far away; he didn't know why he had to know the capital of a state he'd probably never go to and that was all snow. He had told Daphne as much, and she just told him that he had to know it. Just like an adult, he thought. They never had a good excuse for why you had to do something, or, conversely, why you couldn't do something. North Dakota, he thought sourly, means nothing to me.
"Pierre?" he asked, totally unsure whether he was right or wrong.
"Are you sure?" Daphne asked.
"No, no," he said. He pictured the map of the United States in his head. If he was blessed with a photgraphic memory, he might as well use it. Where was it? Up near Canada. Fargo? No, no, he thought. "Bismarck," he said as soon as it came into his head. "The capital of North Dakota is Bismarck."
"Very good, David," she said, smiling. "Now, what about--"
She was interuppted by the phone on the desk. It was one of the newer models, complete with multiple lines, answering machine, hold functions, and about a gazillion other gadgets that Daphne had no earthly idea how to use. She preferred the black, old-fashioned rotary type that was in her room.
"Hold on a minute, David," she said. "Hello?" she asked into the receiver, hoping that she wouldn't have to push on of those buttons in order to connect the lines.
"This is Quentin Collins," the voice on the other end said irritably. "Who is this I'm speaking to?"
Oh, lord, not Mr. Collins she thought. No doubt he had found out that Elizabeth and Julia had left, and that was why he was calling. She dragged a hand through her brown hair. "This is Miss Harridge, sir," she replied, trying to keep the unease out of her voice. She had a sinking suspicion that she wasn't very successful.
"Why wasn't I notified that Elizabeth was leaving?" the voice had gotten even harder and more irritable. He had most definitely found out Elizabeth had left, and, as the older woman predicted, he didn't like it one bit.
"She had an emergency she had to attend to back in Europe," Daphne said slowly. "There was no time to notify you--"
"Tell David that I'm coming home immediately. Taking the Concord." And with that, the second phone call of the day was ended abruptly.
Daphne stared at the receiver in her
hand. Things could not have
gone worse; Mr. Collins was going
to be home by dinner time, thanks to the Concord, and it was Mrs.
Johnson's day off.
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