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So there was a weakness there somewhere in her religious armor, thought Simon in satisfaction. She didn’t realize he was a master at finding a person’s vulnerability and exploiting it. He’d had to do so to survive. This time, however, he felt no satisfaction. Instead, her discomfort touched something in him. Suddenly he felt protective of her.
He pulled at his cravat, uncomfortable with the notion. All he’d wanted to do was repay her in some way. He’d ended up delving into something deeper that common sense told him was better left buried.
“If you can’t bring yourself to join the company for your amusement, you can always come to make yourself useful, pouring tea or something,” he ended in annoyance. “Think of it as helping me out. After all, you yourself said I needed a pair of ladies to even up the numbers.”
She said quietly, “Very well, I shall come to serve.”
He let out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Miss Breton, you try my patience.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that’s what you wanted. I shall attend your dinner party. Was there something else you required?”
He met her guileless gray eyes, and his frustration dissipated. He said gently, “I didn’t mean my invitation to sound like an order. Let me restate it. Please honor me with your presence. You have done so much for Rebecca already. I wished to express my gratitude to you in some small way, that is all.”
Once again her face flooded with color, although this time not in anger. She seemed embarrassed. “You needn’t feel obligated—I have done nothing extraordinary—”
“Please, Miss Breton, will you honor me with your presence—of your own free will?” The last words were said a bit awkwardly, as he was unused to entreating people. Then he smiled, wanting to tell her not to be afraid, he had faced a lot worse situations than a simple dinner party.
He could see the struggle in her features. Finally, she gave a small nod and looked away.
“Very well.”
After he left, Althea stood by the fire thinking about what her employer had said. Simon’s words had hit their mark, although he probably didn’t realize just how accurately. Did she indeed hide behind her simple gray dresses and pious acts? Why did she feel physically sick at the mere thought of reentering the world she had known all her life? Why was she so afraid of it? She knew it no longer had any power over her. She knew the Lord had set her free of its hypocritical standards.
She thought she had turned her back on it, following a different road the Lord had opened up for her. Had she in fact merely been running away?
If so, her appearance at this dinner party would be her first act of facing down her long-dormant fears.
“‘…And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?’” Althea made her voice speak the words solemnly and prophetically.
Rebecca took up her cue, responding in the queenly voice of Esther. “‘Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day: I also and my maidens will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law: and if I perish, I perish.’” Rebecca caused her puppet queen’s head to bow down on the last word, her fingers bringing the arms together against the queen’s breast.
The two had worked together the previous day fashioning the puppets for a presentation of Esther.
“What wonderful words—‘if I perish, I perish,’” sighed Rebecca, her own hand against her breast.
“It says here that on the third day Esther put on ‘her royal apparel, and stood in the inner court of the king’s house.’ We must fashion a properly royal gown for her,” Althea suggested.
“Oh, yes, a royal purple gown, velvet perhaps, with silk ribbons.”
“That sounds suitable. I shall consult Mrs. Coates about scraps of material.”
“Maybe you could cut up one of my old dresses.”
“I shouldn’t think we need go so far, but perhaps there are some ribbons you no longer use.”
“Oh, I have heaps of things. Let’s look in my cupboard.”
“Very well.” Althea moved to the dressing room adjoining the bedroom. Rebecca was correct. Dozens of dresses were hung up, little kid slippers and boots lined the bottom shelves. Cupboard drawers were piled to the top with petticoats and stockings.
“You could dress a whole neighborhood of children with these clothes,” she said, thinking of all the ragged children in the mission’s neighborhood.
Rebecca laughed. “Look at the green velvet dress. That used to be my favorite. When I was littler.”
Althea pulled out the dress and brought it to Rebecca, who put it up to herself. “I used to wear this to go to my grandmama and grandpapa’s. Now it is too short.”
“It is very pretty. Has it been very long since you went to your grandparents’?”
“No. I went to visit right before you arrived. Abba usually takes me for the holy days and sometimes for Shabbat. Grandmama always has lots of food. Mostly they visit me here, though.”
“Perhaps if you are feeling a little stronger, he can take you again soon.”
Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “And we could put on the puppet show for them!”
“Yes, that is an idea. You could write up some invitations, just as your papa has done for his dinner party.” Althea put a finger to her mouth. “I wonder where we can find a puppet theater?”
“Perhaps in my old nursery. That’s where I used to sleep, until I got ill then Abba decided to move me down here. This used to be his bedroom, you know. And Mama used to sleep where you are now sleeping. But that was long ago. I don’t remember that time.”
“I see.” So she and her charge were occupying the master suite. She had wondered at the size and splendor of the rooms and the presence of dressing rooms.
She returned to the dressing room and brought back some ribbons and a dress that looked absurdly small. “There seem to be clothes in here that go back to when you were an infant. I wonder if someone would mind if we cut this one up for the puppets.”
“Oh, I’m sure no one would mind. I shall ask Abba tonight.”
“Who goes over your wardrobe?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. Mrs. Coates, but she hasn’t looked at my clothes in ages. The governess didn’t do anything about clothes.”
Althea considered. “I know some children who haven’t even one good outfit of clothes.”
“Really? Are they the ones at the mission?”
Althea sat back down by Rebecca’s bed. “Yes, and many more that live around it.”
Althea continued telling her about the children at the mission as she drew up some patterns for the queen puppet’s outfit. They had made her out of an old stocking stuffed for a head, sewed to a piece of cloth for body and arms.
“Tommy used to steal fruit from the market.” She spoke as she cut and sewed. “One night, he decided to break into the mission. He must have heard there were all kinds of things in it—food and books, even toys. Well, I hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and I had come downstairs because I was going to fix myself a cup of tea. I heard the sound of shattering glass.”
“Were you frightened?” Rebecca’s gaze was riveted to Althea’s face.
“A little, perhaps. I had known someone eventually would try to break in. You see, the house is in a part of London where there are many poor people.”
“Is it like Mayfair?”
Althea shook her head. “No, not on the outside, at least. The houses are old and haven’t been kept up. Many are boarded up because all the windows have long been broken. At night people shut themselves up because they are afraid of those around them.”
“Why do you live there? Is it because you are poor, too?”
“No, dear. I have great riches.” She smiled. “Like Esther.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Are you a queen?”
Althea laughed. “No, though sometimes I feel like a princess. My riches are invisible most of the time. But even though you cannot see them, they are more precious than all the gold in the world. And so, like Esther who knew God had sent her to help her people, I, too, want to share my riches with those who need them.”
“What are your riches like?”
Althea pursed her lips. “They bring life, for one thing. They bring freedom from fear. They bring joy.”
“How did you get these riches?”
“By believing in God’s goodness.” Althea hesitated. “By believing God looked down from Heaven and saw all the poor people—even some people who seem to be rich, even people who live in palaces—and felt compassion on them because they didn’t have any of these true riches. So, He decided to give them of these riches. He decided to send the very best of Himself to them, and if they received Him, they would receive these true riches.”
Rebecca pulled her coverlet up, excited by the story. “Did it work? Did the people believe?”
“Some did, but others didn’t. Some became so angry they killed the gift God sent.”
“Oh,” breathed Rebecca. “Then what happened?”
“Well, that was many hundreds of years ago. Since then, God has asked those who believe to share the riches with others who haven’t heard. It’s gone on from there. God sent me to that part of London, for example, to show these children and the grownup folks around them how much He loves them and wants them to have these riches.”
“Why did you come here, then? Do people here need these riches, too?”
Althea smiled, touching Rebecca’s cheek. “People everywhere need them. I know God sent me here to meet you and let you know He loves you.”
Rebecca’s thin hand came up to Althea’s. “I’m glad He sent you.” She lay quietly for a little while. “Do you think Papa knows about these riches?”
“I don’t know, dear. Perhaps he doesn’t think he needs them.” She added after a moment, “Sometimes people are afraid to believe in God.”
“Why would they be?”
“I think they believe God might ask them for something, and they are afraid to give it.”
“My grandmama is afraid of God.”
“Is she?”
Rebecca nodded then smiled. “She’s always saying, ‘God forbid’ and ‘The evil eye spare me.’ She puts things around the house and on the doors to ward off the evil eye. I always imagine God’s big eyeball staring at me from the ceiling, looking to see who might be doing something wrong.”
“God’s Word tells us to ‘fear God,’ but I think the meaning is a little different from the one your grandmama has taken.”
“How do you mean?”
Althea pondered how best to explain it. “Think of how you feel about your papa. You love him?”
Rebecca nodded.
“And you know he loves you?”
A more vigorous nod.
“You respect him?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You respect him because you love him, isn’t that so, and not the other way around? You don’t love him because you respect him.”
Rebecca thought about it. “You mean, I respect him because of my love for him, and not that my love comes because I respect him?”
“Exactly. Now, do you fear your papa?”
Rebecca giggled. “No, I’m not afraid of him!”
“Have you ever seen him angry?”
Rebecca screwed up her face. “I don’t remember. Oh, yes, once. I was little and I went down to the library and heard him talking to the footman. I had opened the door and could hear him. He was angry at the footman, but I don’t know about what.”
“Was he shouting at him?”
“No, he wasn’t shouting, but I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t being very nice to him.”
Althea could imagine the cutting remarks. “Were you afraid of your father then?”
“I wasn’t afraid of him for my sake but for the footman’s. I remember thinking I would never want him to talk to me like that.”
“So, in that sense you fear your father. You know he is capable of being angry, but you wouldn’t want that anger turned toward you.”
Rebecca nodded. “That’s right. Is that how it is with God?”
“Yes. He is our Heavenly Father. Because we love Him, we don’t want to anger Him. But it’s not because we are afraid of Him. It is because we love Him so much.”
“Oh,” Rebecca breathed in wonder.
Althea plumped the girl’s pillow and smoothed her coverlet. “Why don’t you take a little nap? We can continue with our puppets later.” At the girl’s nod, Althea stepped away, picking up the scraps. She stood a moment, watching her charge. Oh, Lord, she prayed, heal her, let her laugh and run and jump like those children at the mission.
The following week passed quickly with puppets in the mornings and dinner party preparations in the afternoons. Althea dug up a puppet theater in the nursery and had it brought down to Rebecca’s bedroom. One afternoon after luncheon, they put on a performance for Simon.
Mrs. Coates began to thaw towards Althea as she perceived Althea’s knowledge in matters of etiquette. She yielded more and more of the preparations to Althea’s management. Under Althea’s gentle persuasion a thorough housecleaning was begun. Curtains and carpets that hadn’t been moved in years were taken out and shaken, floors mopped and waxed, dust covers removed from unused rooms. With Mrs. Coates as an intermediary between herself and Cook, Althea made sure orders for food were placed in time for the event.
Althea knew a dinner party could make or break a host, and the quality of the table was crucial. She surmised from the talk of the servants that this was Simon’s first foray into the world of entertaining. She imagined that with his star rising in Parliament it was important for him to mingle in society. Althea threw herself into the preparations, vowing to do her best to make the party a success.
She didn’t know what to do about her own attendance, and the day was drawing near. She had no evening clothes, and decided finally to use her brown merino. She made sure it was clean and reserved for that evening. She had mentioned the dinner party to her brother on one of his quick visits during a trip to London. He didn’t share her misgivings about attending, but rather applauded Simon for insisting upon it.
On the afternoon of the dinner party, Althea finally escaped for a walk in Hyde Park. It had been several afternoons since she had been able to spare the time. The raw March wind felt refreshing against her face. She walked briskly along the Serpentine for an hour, then made her way back home. The house was still when she entered. She noted with satisfaction the gleaming entrance and the smell of beeswax. A vase of fresh orchids had been placed on a side table. She removed her cloak and prepared to ascend the staircase. Then she hesitated, her cloak over her arm.
Bracing herself, telling herself she had nothing to fear, she decided to go down to the servants’ quarters and check for herself that preparations were fully under way in the kitchen. Mrs. Coates had assured her that Cook had everything under control, but Althea hadn’t yet seen for herself.
She pushed open the door, and a group of servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. They were all grouped around the long table where they usually dined. Something didn’t seem right. The only one sitting was Mrs. Bentwood, who wasn’t so much sitting as slumped over the table.
“What is the matter?” Althea ventured farther into the servants’ domain. “Is anything wrong with Cook?”
