Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Forty-Four

Constance poured tea into Martha Banfield's cup and then into her sister Florence's. The three of them were sitting in a parlor (the manor had several) with warm sunlight streaming in the enormous windows illuminating the honey colored floors. They talked about the engagement, and Constance had been quite nervous. She never entertained guests without Gran, but the butler had appeared with tea and the sisters had started chatting almost at once and Constance had a little thrill because she was being a hostess; the hostess of Carnsley Manor, and she wasn't totally bungling it.

"I'm afraid mother may become a nuisance to you," Martha said, taking a sip from the blue and white china cup. Constance thought the pattern was called delft and everything matched; the cups, the saucers, the sugar bowl, even the creamer. None of it was chipped.

"You haven't met my mother. Let me assure you, yours will not be a nuisance," Constance said.

"That's kind of you to say," Florence said. "But ours may feel a bit more claim over Hugh than you would expect from neighbors."

"It's just that her heart broke when his mother left and she sort of made it her mission to take care of him," Martha said. "And he and Hannah were always around, even before. All of us grew up together, wild, running all over the estate."

Constance smiled. "Then I am in her debt."

The girls smiled and Constance felt she had passed some kind of test.

Florence had a charming dimple on one side and they both looked so sweet in their floral dresses that Constance was inclined to like them. Though there was still that niggling unease in the back of her mind. These are Hugh's people, she told herself. Good people.

"Well, she has already contacted every shopkeeper in our village, and probably neighboring villages, to be ready for the wedding orders once Hannah arrives with the final plans. She has everyone in the family and on the estate on the lookout for very specific flowers for your bouquet," Florence said.

"And flowers for your hair," Martha cut in. "For our hair, the tables." She looked at her sister. "I never realized how much mother loves flowers until just this moment."

"You've never noticed how there are always fresh bouquets everywhere. Our cottage isn't that big." Florence looked at Constance and blushed as if Constance would suddenly realize they weren't in the same social class.

"The house I grew up in was literally falling down around our ears," Constance said. "And I was always too tired to even think about things like fresh flowers." She looked at the arrangement in the ceramic water pitcher next to the tea tray. "I would be grateful for her expertise. Does your mother do the bouquets for the Manor?"

"She used to," Florence said.

"She did?" Martha said.

"You were so young when Hugh's mother left," Florence said. "You probably don't remember. She did them for a while after Lady Connor left, but their father surely didn't care about that sort of thing."

A lump formed in Constance's throat. Poor Hugh, what must that have done to him?

"I would appreciate any advice or help your mother wants to give for the wedding, or being the mistress here. I'm afraid I didn't grow up with the tutelage someone running this home probably should have." She squirmed a little. That was information she could have kept to herself.

"Oh lovely, she'll be so pleased." Florence said, beaming. "She really believes in the language of flowers and knows what things pair well together."

Constance breathed out. "And your advice as well, on anything really. I—I've not much experience. Hannah is probably the first real friend I've had."