Davish, have you, darling?”
“No,” Priscilla Triggs said softly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Davish.”
Priscilla Triggs was a short, slightly built woman, who seemed dwarfed by everyone around her. She wore a dark purple dress of plain material, embellished with only a trim of beads, and an older purple and black full crown lace bonnet, which she seemed reluctant to take off. Her hair was still dark red and she had pale, freckled skin. Yet Mrs. Triggs seemed older than she was, which was probably late forties. She stood with a slight stoop to her shoulder and had sad eyes that she raised with visible effort. She stood in stark contrast next to her vibrant husband.
“Please to meet you, ma’am,” I said.
“When Sir Arthur was in Missouri, Miss Davish here was his right hand,” Lieutenant Triggs explained. “And his left!”
“She probably knows as much about the battles of Westport as you or I do now, Morgan,” Sir Arthur added.
“I wouldn’t doubt it. Priscilla, you should see her fingers fly over that typewriter of hers, like the rapid fire of the enemy line.”
“You’re Sir Arthur’s secretary then, Miss Davish?” Mrs. Triggs said.
“Yes, ma’am. I assisted when he was writing an article on the battles of Westport. That’s when I met your husband.”
As the men exchanged pleasantries, I watched Mrs. Triggs. Her eyes were cast down during the entire conversation.
“Shall I show them to their rooms so they may freshen up before dinner, sir?” William Finch suggested after several minutes of us standing in the hall. Sir Arthur was already discussing his newest project with Lieutenant Triggs and, as usual, had forgotten all about his guests’ comfort.
“Of course, of course. I’ll meet you in the library when you’re ready.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Sir Arthur, I’m in no need of a break. After hours on the train, I’m like a private who’s been flicking weevils into the fire just for something to do. I’m intrigued by your new book and would relish some stimulating conversation.” Sir Arthur’s eyes lit up. I could see why they had continued their friendship. “If that’s all right with you, darling?” Lieutenant Triggs said to his wife.
“Yes, but I think I will lie down.”
“Hattie, see to anything Mrs. Triggs may need,” Sir Arthur said as the lieutenant kissed his wife on the cheek. The two men began their conversation where they’d left off and walked toward the library, us women completely forgotten. William picked up Mrs. Triggs’s suitcases and bag.
“If you’d follow me, ma’am.”
“I’d like a glass of water before I go up, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Triggs said. William dropped the bags with a thud.
“One moment, please.” William disappeared down the hall. Mrs. Triggs gave me a pained smile, then walked over to the Albert Bierstadt painting Forest Stream hanging on the wall. She studied the large, tumbled moss-covered boulders beside the still pool in silence for several moments.
“Oh, how I envy you, Miss Davish,” she said, without turning around.
I was taken by surprise and didn’t know what to say. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. William returned with the glass of water. She turned, drank the entire contents of the glass without taking a breath, and then handed it back to the butler.
“Thank you,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward her. I stiffened at her familiarity. She leaned into me and said, “I know we’ll get along just fine, Miss Davish. Morgan has nothing but praise for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. William and I exchanged puzzled glances.
“Oh, do call me Priscilla,” she said. “And I’ll call you Hattie.” She squeezed my arm to punctuate our new acquaintance.
“If you’d follow me now, ma’am,” William said. We started up the staircase. Priscilla walked beside me, with her hand on my arm, almost as if climbing the stairs took too much
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