Puck had just finished chopping four huge onions and her eyes were red and burning. She felt no need to reply to something she’d heard many times.
“Go tell Nicky that lunch won’t ready be until one thirty. I hope he’s not upset by it being late.” By the time she finished, Mrs. Aiken’s voice was a purr. She adored Nicky. The son she’d never had.
Grateful to get out of the kitchen, Puck slid off the stool, went into the long hall, then up the old stairs toward the drawing room. When she heard music, she stopped and leaned against the wall to listen. Nicky was in there with his friend Byon, who was playing the piano. It was a tune she’d never heard before. Byon was a talented musician and a writer of very clever plays. He was oh so creative and everyone liked him. Well, maybe not everyone.
The music stopped.
“That was beautiful,” Nicky said. “I especially like the chorus. What about the lyrics?”
“Haven’t made them up yet,” Byon said. “What do you think they should be?”
“About love, of course. What else is there?”
“A contract?”
Nicky didn’t laugh. “You haven’t heard from them about your play?”
“Nothing,” Byon said. “I think I should write another one. Something lighter and easier.”
“But I like the other one,” Nicky said. “Lovers who never get together.”
“People want a happy ending.”
“That’s so plebeian,” Nicky said. “Not at all like real life.”
“I agree,” Byon said. “Love that is never achieved. Speaking of which, where is our darling Diana?”
Nicky scoffed. “With my darling father, of course.”
At that absurdity, the two men laughed, and in the hall, Puck smiled. She knew they saw nothing “darling” about Nicky’s father. She didn’t think there was going to be any more music so she stepped into the drawing room. The two men were by the piano, their heads close together as they looked at the sheets of music.
Byon was the first to see her. “Ah, the elusive Puck. Illusion personified. And what can we do for you today my little waif?”
Puck could never tell if what he said was a compliment or if he was making fun of her. But then, most people felt that way about Byon’s little quips. Whichever it was, they made Puck smile. “Lunch is late today. At one thirty.”
“Let me guess,” Byon said. “She is cooking something special for her beloved Nicky.”
“Scallops with butter,” Puck said.
“How prosaic,” Byon said. “How simple. How divine. Tell me, is the butter browned? Clarified? Or is it dropped into a skillet in its raw state?”
Nicky spoke before Puck could. “I believe Mrs. Aiken measures butter rather than sauces it. The scallops will be immersed in cups of it. Am I right?” He winked at Puck.
She couldn’t help but laugh—which was the objective of the men. Her funny little laugh delighted them.
“Oh,” Byon said, “to find an actress who could duplicate that sound! I would write a play about it.”
“And call it The Sound of Angels,” Nicky said.
“Perfect,” Byon said.
Puck could feel her face turning red, but she was pleased by their attention.
Byon turned to Nicky. “Where did I see those pashminas? In a cupboard somewhere, I believe.”
“Yellow sitting room.” Nicky’s eyes were alight. “We can use them for staging.” He turned to Puck. “Get them and bring them down. They’re in the bottom of the big walnut armoire.”
She started for the door.
“Puck!” Nicky said. “If you see Nadine, avoid her. Her father is here.” He waved his hand. “They’re...you know.”
“Talking,” Byon said with a laugh. They all knew that was a euphemism for arguing.
Puck hurried up the stairs to the yellow sitting room. It was small but it was very nice—thanks to Nadine. Or more correctly, to her father. Puck tried not to look at Oxley Manor too closely, but it was easy to see how shabby it was. Flaking ceilings, peeling wallpaper, furniture with the stuffing exposed. Clive, the estate manager, said that next year the roof had to be repaired, but no one knew where the money for that was going to come from.
Nadine’s father was rich. Byon made fun of the man’s accent and his bad table manners, but the cars he sold had paid for the old piano to be tuned. And he’d paid for the remodel of a bedroom and sitting room for his precious daughter to use when she stayed at Oxley Manor. He said that the ratty place reminded him too much of where he’d grown up. “I’ve come too far to put my daughter through that,” he said.
The yellow sitting room was lovely and Puck enjoyed tiptoeing across the silk rug. The big armoire was on the far side. She opened it and there in the bottom were the pretty shawls that Byon and Nicky wanted. As she reached for them, she heard voices.
Feeling panicky, Puck looked around for a way to escape unseen. There was no outlet. Without further thought, she stepped into the armoire, on top of the shawls. Unfortunately, they tilted and an edge kept the door from closing all the way. She tried to put herself into the far corner, out of sight.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Nadine said as she entered the room.
“It’s not enough,” her father said in his rough voice, his heavy Suffolk accent making him almost unintelligible.
“I majored in art history—at your request. All in anticipation of becoming a lady.”
“And what have you done with your fine education? You brought in that odious girly-boy, Byon.”
“He’s creative, fun. With a father like Nicky’s, we need fun.”
“And you introduced them to that boring little Willa. I think Bertram is trying to marry Nicky to her.”
“Makes sense as she is aristocracy and her family has money. More importantly, she’s our friend.”
Mr. Howland held out a thick wad of cash. “Here. Take this.”
“You’re giving me money?” Nadine sounded disgusted.
“I want you to pay that horseman to give you riding lessons.”
“Absolutely not!” Nadine said. “I don’t like horses and I despise that man. He laughs at us. He thinks we’re all absurd.”
“You are,” Mr. Howland growled. “None of you know what work is. But ladies ride horses so you need to learn.”
“So I can marry Nicky,” Nadine said tiredly.