I’ve been trying to think of something to post that might cheer us up a bit. I know I certainly need it. I immediately thought of Hembry Castle, my Downton Abbey inspired novel set in Victorian England, since it’s my funniest novel, or so I’ve been told. I’ll leave it to you to judge.

Here’s Chapter 3. Enjoy.

* * * * *

In south-central England near the River Enborne are the North Hampshire Downs where the chalk hills rise and the green land rolls and the coral-colored field poppies, pink orchids, and yellow buttercups sprout haphazardly around grazing sheep and a startled deer or two. If you listen, you can hear skylarks singing and woodpeckers pecking in the plentiful trees. If you’re traveling from London, you’ll pass first through Slough, then the tall-tree woods of Bracknell Forest, and further on you’ll pass villages like Woolton Hill, Burghclere, and Highclere within the surrounding region of Staton. In the sprawling countryside of the North Downs you’ll find the village of Hembry. You’ll know you’re in Hembry when a farmer, or the postmaster, or the vicar tips his hat to you. As you continue into the village, the cottages bid you welcome with open doors and fires at every hearth. You’ll pass the plots of land cultivated by the tenant farmers, and the farmers’ families will wave as you pass. 

Over there is the village pub, the Staton Arms, and over there is the post office—the center of village life where everyone congregates, most to gossip, others to insist gossiping is wrong though they may have overheard a tidbit or two they feel obliged to share. If you want to know what Mrs. Montrey said to Mrs. Kents about the burgundy dress with the embossed sleeves and the blooming flower at the high collar that Lady Staton wore at the latest village fête—the one held only a month before the 8th Earl died—then you should stay close to the post office. According to Mrs. Montrey, her ladyship’s dress featured the newest fashion—a protruding bustle at the back—and how does one ever sit in such a contraption, Mrs. Montrey wondered? When you’ve had your fill of village chatter, you’ll cross the common square where the afore mentioned fête is held and arrive near the stone church, the sun-bleached one commissioned by the first Earl of Staton. And there, on the highest hill, is Hembry Castle. 

In 1596, Blackfriar’s Theater opened in London, Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice was performed for the first time, and Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth named Horace Meriwether the first Earl of Staton for his role alongside the Earls of Essex and Nottingham when British forces destroyed 32 Spanish ships and captured the city of Cádiz. Immediately, on the vast gift of land Her Majesty most graciously bestowed upon him, the new Earl began building a home worthy of his title. He was lucky, Horace Staton, formerly Meriwether, since he began his life as your lordship with wealth—his family had made their fortune as shipbuilders in Southampton—and his country seat was impressive from day one. The house had changed quite a lot over nearly three centuries. The castle’s fortifications—the stone walls, the keep at the center, the towers on the four corners, the outer curtain wall—were knocked down by the fourth Earl when he became convinced that the first Earl’s fear of barbarian attack was largely overrated. Now, the Countess’ Garden is built over what used to be the moat. Now, the castle features had largely disappeared, though a fragment or two could be found in the parklands so the name Hembry Castle remained. 

Edward Ellis admired everything he saw as he walked at his usual brisk pace through the village of Hembry. He enjoyed wandering the winding roads, nodding at the friendly, curious faces, laughing at the gossip in the post office, watching the sheep loiter, and admiring the green patchwork farms dotting the landscape. You could hire a wagon (driver included) to take you up the hill, but Edward preferred to walk. It gave him a chance to take in the country scenery along with the quiet calm that can only be found in nature and birdsong—two things Edward missed when he was in London. He was born and had spent the first half of his life in Hampshire, in Portsmouth, and he loved the sweeping hills of the northern part of the county as much as he loved the southern coastline. It was a steep climb toward the castle, but Edward didn’t mind. He loved the green pastures that stretched as far as he could see, and the closer he came to the great house, the more clear its features became, the more he was struck by its steadfast stance, like a patient parent watching over its children. 

On the outskirts of the grounds were the follies, the decorative mock castles (more reminders of the house’s earliest incarnation), and the Greek temple façades, which made Edward chuckle with their extravagant uselessness. He passed the rotunda and the statues from Ancient Greece and Rome, added to the family’s collection by previous Earls. He stopped to admire the rainbow spray of colors in the Baroque-style Countess’ Garden, then walked the tree-lined avenue toward the house. He marveled at the dignity of the old place, how the sand-colored limestone blended gracefully into the green hills, the winding river, even the sky above. The exterior of the castle was as eccentric as some of the Earls who had lived inside. The pitched roof pointed skyward with seventeenth century gables while the south-facing exterior was designed in the Palladian style by renown architect William Kent. Edward paused to admire the Corinthian columns, the cornices, the triangular Tympanum above the entrance. He stepped toward the door, changed his mind, and walked down the slope to the other side.

Jemima was the newest housemaid at Hembry Castle, and she screamed in a manner most unbecoming when she dropped a silver tea service and sent the pieces clattering to the floor. Fortunately, the empty pot bounced so there was only a splash of tea that she and Ruth, another housemaid, had to wipe away. They giggled nervously as they glanced for the housekeeper, but when they realized Jemima’s clumsiness had passed unnoticed, their giggles became laughter. 

“You’re a lucky one,” Ruth said as she wiped away the remnants of her ladyship’s tea. “If that pot had been full it would have been a disaster to clean up.”

“At my last place the butler could hear anything from anywhere in the house, though it was a much smaller house, of course. He loved to dock our wages for time wasted, and he was such a mean old brute he would have considered this time wasted.”

“Housemaids are under the housekeeper’s orders.”

“Supposed to be,” said Jemima. “The butler and the housekeeper were always arguing about his ordering her staff around.”

Ruth gathered the tea things and set them back on the tray. “You don’t need to worry about that here.” She winked at the cook, Mrs. Lainie Graham, who had come to see what all the racket was. “Our butler and housekeeper get along quite well.” 

“Most of the time,” Mrs. Graham said.

Ruth carried the tray and Jemima followed with the wet cloths, setting them down in the washing sink in the scullery. Mrs. Graham was so busy with the pigeon pie for that afternoon’s luncheon—slicing the ham, melting the butter, beating the eggs, and laying the puff pastry over the mixture in the baking dish—that she hadn’t noticed the girls admiring her work.

“Something smells good,” Ruth said. 

“The family’s having a few guests for luncheon,” Mrs. Graham explained.

“I thought they were still in mourning,” said Jemima.

Mrs. Graham wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s nothing fancy, her ladyship said. Just some friends of his lordship and Mr. Frederick’s for a simple meal. Her ladyship isn’t very happy about it, I gathered, but his lordship said his father liked to have friends nearby and he wouldn’t have wanted the family sitting around like wet sacks feeling sad all day.” 

“His lordship never did like mourning,” Ruth said. “God bless him in Heaven. I do miss him.” 

“Who is ‘her ladyship?’” Jemima asked. “His lordship never married.”

“He isn’t married yet,” said Mrs. Graham, “though I fear he may be soon enough. Since there’s no wife, his mother remains Countess for now.”

Ruth leaned closer to the cook. “Is his lordship going to speak out?”

“There’s been some chatter about Lady Lily Carter-Marsh as the next Countess of Staton, but I don’t think anything is settled yet. I don’t think it will ever be settled for him, poor soul.” She checked her menu, then stirred the suet and candied peel for the baked plum pudding. She shook her wooden spoon at Jemima. “You should hear the rumors they spread about his lordship. Mr. Lannow, Lord Tilling’s valet, told us. They like to say his lordship is quite the ladies’ man. Of course his lordship doesn’t help matters, traipsing off to who-knows-where with his band of merry men like he’s Robin Hood, disappearing for weeks at a time. His lordship is suspected of having female companionship in London, if you know what I mean. That’s why he disappears as often as he does, they say, to visit her in Covent Garden. They say he sends her money too.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “They say there’s a child. But you listen to me—there’s no truth in that.” She winked at the plum pudding as she pressed the mixture into the baking pan. 

“Mr. Lannow should know what his lordship is up to,” said Ruth. “After all, his lordship and Lord Tilling are friends.” 

“What else did Mr. Lannow say?” asked Jemima.

“That his lordship goes about with the Prince of Wales.”

“I don’t know,” said Ruth. “His lordship doesn’t seem the type to involve himself with such a crowd. His other friends like Mr. Hough aren’t from aristocratic families.”

Jemima spun across the kitchen floor, her hands out as though she were dancing with a gentleman. “His lordship is so handsome, isn’t he? His eyes are a little small, and his face a little long, but there’s something about him that makes him so pleasant to look at. He has such a nice smile. Is he as kind as he seems?” Jemima swooned at the thought. “He asked my name my first day. I don’t think my last employers knew my name the whole year I worked for them.”  

“Yes, he is every bit as kind as he seems,” said Ruth. “His brother, Mr. Frederick, seems much the same, though the goodness must have skipped over Mr. Jerrold. He’s too much like his mother.” Ruth pressed her hands over her own mouth, stopping herself from saying more, though the downstairs walls stood stoic as ever, used to such gossip. 

“Rachel said she was dusting the sitting room this morning when she heard his lordship and her ladyship arguing,” Jemima said. “Rachel said her ladyship told his lordship she wants him married by the end of the Season.”

“She’s been saying that for five-and-twenty years,” said Mrs. Graham. 

Jemima curtseyed, dipping toward the floor in the manner of a great lady. “I should be most happy to marry his lordship.”

Mrs. Graham threw her flour-covered dishtowel into the air. “The likes of you, married to the Earl of Staton! Whoever heard of such a thing?” 

Jemima stood with some difficulty from her curtsey and straightened her apron. “Why isn’t he married already? Has his heart been broken? Is he pining over someone?”

“Who knows what goes on in other people’s hearts?” said Mrs. Graham. 

Ruth leaned toward the cook. “I know that smirk, Mrs. Graham. You look that way whenever you know something other people don’t. What do you know?”

“I get the meals around here prepared on time. More than that, I don’t know.”  

Ruth peeked into the servants’ hall where the footmen Henry and Colin sat at the table drinking tea and eating sandwiches. She sighed as though she wanted to join them. “Come Jemima. We have a lot more to get through today.”

They were startled by a knock at the downstairs door. Outside Jemima found a good-looking young man of average height and slim build with chocolate-brown hair that fell over large hazel eyes, more gold than brown or green, that seemed to take in everything at once. The young man smiled. 

“Good afternoon. I’m here to see my grandparents.”

“Grandparents?” Jemima glanced into the hallway. “There’s no grandparents here, sir.”

Jingling keys grew louder. “I believe here comes a grandparent as we speak,” the young man said. 

Mrs. Mary Ellis, the housekeeper at Hembry Castle, appeared. Edward Ellis took his grandmother’s hands with the greatest affection. 

“What are you doing down here?” Mrs. Ellis asked. “You’re a guest today. You should have used the front door.” 

“I wanted to see you and Grandfather before I went up.” 

Mrs. Ellis kissed her grandson’s cheek. “You look so handsome today, Neddie, but a little thin. Aren’t you eating? Don’t they pay you at that newspaper? Heaven knows you work hard enough for them.”

“They pay me well enough, Grandmother, and yes, I’m eating.” He sniffed the air. “If luncheon tastes as good as it smells, I’ll be eating plenty.”

Mrs. Ellis opened the door wider so Edward could step inside. “Come in and sit down. I pressed and ironed the clothing you sent ahead and they’re laying out in my sitting room, though you have time for tea and a chat before you change. Jemima, close your mouth and tell Mrs. Graham my grandson is here. Ask her to send Frannie with some tea.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Ellis.” Jemima smiled at Edward as though she agreed with the housekeeper—her grandson was looking rather handsome that day. A stern look from Mrs. Ellis and the maid scurried away. 

“Is she new?” Edward asked. “I don’t remember her.”

When Mrs. Ellis entered the servants’ hall the footmen stood until she acknowledged them. She gestured for Edward to sit at the table. 

“As a matter of fact, she is new. She’s never worked in a manor like this before, so she has a lot to learn.” Mrs. Ellis looked at the whitewashed walls decorated with paintings of Queen Victoria in various stages of her life—from young ingénue to fleshy widow. The sunlight cast pink-yellow shadows on the wall, leaving the tea-drinking footmen under two spotlights as though they were on the stage. It was, Edward noticed, the only color in the room. “I can’t complain, though. I know what those first months in a big house are like. I remember when I first came to Hembry more than 40 years ago. I was lucky that my sister would watch your father when I couldn’t have him down here.” Edward shrugged, and his grandmother didn’t press him. “Fortunately for me, your grandfather had already been here some time so I had an easy enough adjustment. But there’s so much to learn in a big house like this.”

“And you learned it quickly, my dear.” 

Edward marveled at how his grandparents hardly changed as the years passed. Augustus Ellis, butler for one of the most respected families in England, was a medium-statured man like his grandson, his slim frame hunched forward, Edward guessed, from his perpetual downward-looking stance, as though he were always trying to sneak up on something that needed improving upon, his round, wire-rimmed spectacles dipping from the tip of his nose. Edward’s grandmother had grown stouter through the years, and her hair was more white than gold now, but she still had that motherly smile that put everyone at their ease. With the appearance of Mr. Ellis the footmen stood, and again, after acknowledgement, they sat.    

Edward nodded at the footmen. “Being in service is similar to calisthenics, isn’t it? Sitting and standing, sitting and standing.” 

Henry Horrocks, the peacock of a first footman, was about to respond though he stopped after a swift kick under the table from Colin Pratt. 

“Yes, it is, sir,” Colin answered. 

Clattering was heard from the kitchen, and then Mrs. Graham bustled into the servants’ hall with a tray of tea and cakes. “Ned! Let me have a look at you.” She put the tray on the table, then her hands on her hips as she squinted at Edward. She was a tall, broad woman, Lainie Graham, with her sharp eyes and dark hair swept haphazardly under her cook’s cap. She nodded with approval at what she saw. She poured some tea and handed Edward the cup and saucer. 

“You didn’t need to do this yourself, Mrs. Graham,” Edward said. “You should have sent one of the maids.” 

“I wanted to see you before you disappeared upstairs.” 

Edward sipped his tea. “You don’t have to stay, any of you. I know you’re busy.”

“I think everything is settled for the moment,” said Mr. Ellis. “I wanted a moment to speak to you before you went upstairs, Edward. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“It sounds serious, Grandfather.” 

“Not too serious, I hope. But I do want you to know that Mr. Frederick discovered that you’re my grandson because I told him so. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but I realize now it may have been a lapse of judgment on my part. If I did wrong, I apologize.”

“If I weren’t your grandson, then apologies may be in order, but as it stands…”

“Thank you, Edward, though I feel I ought to explain. I knew Mr. Frederick had agreed to take over the editorial duties at the Daily Observer, and in a burst of pride I blurted out the fact that you worked at that same paper.” Mr. Ellis gave a hard stare in the direction of the footmen, both of whom appeared not to notice anything but the tea cups in their hands. “I’m very proud of the work I’ve done for this family, Edward.”

“As you should be, Grandfather.”

“Your grandmother and I have put our all into Hembry Castle, and we consider it an honor to be in service for such a respectable family. And yet I understand how a young man like yourself, who has chosen a different path in life, might not want it known by his employer that his grandparents are in service for said employer’s family. You needn’t acknowledge me in front of the others upstairs. In fact, it wouldn’t be proper if you did.”

“Grandfather, as you carry off every fine detail of this luncheon to perfection, as you always do, I’ll point to you and say loudly enough for everyone in the castle to hear, ‘That great man is my grandfather. I learned my work ethic from him. I learned how to work hard, take pride in my work, and always perform to the best of my ability from him, and from my grandmother as well.’”

“Thank you, Edward, though I don’t know how well the family will take to such a display of familiarity between us.” He nodded, his butler’s duties overtaking his family feelings. “Now if you’ll excuse me. Henry and Colin, I believe luncheon should be attended to?”

The footmen marched single-file up the stairs. “Henry and Colin will get everything in order,” said Mr. Ellis, “but I should be there to supervise.” 

“Of course, Grandfather.”

“Perhaps you should reenter at the front door. You’re an invited guest of Mr. Frederick’s, after all.”

“Mr. Meriwether is perfectly aware that I’m your grandson. I doubt he’d be the least surprised to see me coming from down here.”

Mrs. Ellis looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “You ought to change, Neddie.”

Edward disappeared into his grandmother’s sitting room, emerging a quarter of an hour later in his freshly pressed coat and trousers, wing collar shirt, and blue and green plaid waistcoat. Mrs. Ellis tied her grandson’s cravat into a fancy-style knot, then reached into her apron, pulled out two repoussé cuff links, and slid them into place. “Your grandfather and I thought these would look nice.”

“Are these Grandfather’s?” 

“They were a present from the 8th Earl. We know it’s only luncheon, but still, how often do you dine with the family?”

Edward admired the gold at his wrists. “Thank you, Grandmother. I look as fine as the Earl of Staton.”

Mrs. Ellis led Edward to the staircase. “Are you ready?”

“You sound like I’m about to be sacrificed to the lions.” 

“There’s a whole other world up there, Neddie, one I hardly understand and I’ve been here a long time. You already know Mr. Frederick is a good man, and his lordship is much the same. Her ladyship is…her ladyship is…”

“I’ve heard she’s quite deaf.” 

Mrs. Ellis turned her sternest expression onto Jemima, who was yanked into the kitchen by a disembodied arm.

“Is she deaf?” Edward asked. “I thought it was more of a selective hearing.”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Just remember that Mr. Frederick wants you here, his lordship is happy to have you, and that’s all you need to know. Your grandfather will be there to help you.”

“Will I need help, do you think? After all, I have eaten luncheon before. Perhaps not upstairs, but I am familiar with the meal. Will I be dragged away by my ear for using the wrong fork or for speaking to someone on my left when the Countess is looking to her right? Besides, I thought luncheon wasn’t as formal as dinner.” Edward brightened. “Will Miss Meriwether be there?”

“Do you know Miss Meriwether?”

“I met her briefly at the newspaper office.”

Mrs. Ellis eyed her grandson with the observant look he inherited from her. “Yes, Miss Daphne will be joining you for luncheon. I understand her ladyship has big plans for Miss Daphne.”

“I’m sure she does.” 

Mrs. Ellis pointed at the staircase. “All right, then. Up you go.”

“I feel like I’m being dropped down the rabbit hole.” 

“In this case Wonderland is upstairs.”

Edward grinned as he climbed toward the Wonderland of Hembry Castle.