The Birthday Party

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

It was a seemingly beautiful late Spring day at Worthington Manor. Bright sunshine. Swans in the pond. Gardeners tending to the bright green lawns. Near perfect. The servants were seen carrying party paraphernalia out to the gazebo in the hedge. Oddly they looked confused at best and anxious at worst. Lady Mary was the likely cause as usual. She ordered them about as other servants were stringing banners, setting the table, inflating balloons and setting out the tea service. Before long a string of housemaids arrived looking absolutely terrified. They were bringing the guests…a variety of dolls and stuffed animals. They clustered at the entrance unsure how to proceed. “Well,” Lady Mary snapped, “What are you waiting for? Help the guests to their seats! Chop chop!” The girls glanced at each other, bowing and curtsying, “Yes, M’Lady! Right away, M’Lady!” Each set her toy around the table and exited the gazebo quickly with a bow.

“Now where is Mrs Branson with the cake and biscuits? Everything must be absolutely perfect!” she muttered to herself. Peters, the butler, whispered to one of the young men, who ran off in search of the cook, before he spoke quietly to Lady Mary, “Madam, I have sent one of the footmen to see what is delaying Mrs Branson. Might I ask…when…the…er…festivities are to commence?” She looked at him with stern admiration, “Well, not until after the guest of honor arrives, of course, Peters!” “But of course, M’Lady. How foolish of me. Everything seems to be in order. Is there anything more you require?” “Actually, yes, Peters. Do crank up the gramophone and make sure it can play properly. Her favorite tune is there.”

As she worked her way around the table, checking each place setting, the tinny sounds began to emerge from the player, “All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel…The monkey thought t’was all in fun, Pop! goes the weasel…” Lady Mary hummed along until the record was through, wiping a tear from her eye. Cook was now marching through the hedge entrance with other members of the kitchen staff carrying a beautiful tiered cake and other delectables.

“Oh, Mrs Branson, you HAVE outdone yourself! Have them put the cake on the side table.” she gushed, clasping her hands across her chest. The cook directed her staff with a worried look on her face. She glanced at Peters who surreptitiously shrugged his shoulders and walked towards her. They quietly commiserated while Lady Mary was occupied with opening a locket and smiling wistfully at the picture inside. “Don’t worry, Mrs Branson. Master will be back soon and he will know what to do.” Mrs Branson nodded, glanced briefly over her shoulder before scurrying out of the gazebo with her staff. “But, Mrs Branson, who is this toy party for?” asked a scullery maid. “Never you mind, Emily! Back to the kitchen with you. Those breakfast dishes won’t clean themselves!” But Mrs Branson couldn’t completely mask the fear in her voice.

“Peters! It’s almost time. Kindly have the parcel in the library brought out at once!” “Yes, M’Lady!” and he sent off two footmen to retrieve the box. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was of an awkward size. Lady Mary made one last circuit around the table to make certain all was as she wished. “Yes, perfect! Absolutely perfect. She will be so pleased,” and she wiped away another tear.

Before long, the footmen returned each carrying an end of the oblong parcel. Lady Mary directed them to lay it on an otherwise empty table in the far corner of the gazebo. “Gently! Gently!” she crossed over to them, laid a hand briefly on the unadorned box, paused silently, before commanding over her shoulder, “Leave me!” Peters hesitated and quietly cleared his throat, “Madam, will you…” She abruptly raised her hand, “That is all, Peters, thank you. You may go!” He watched as she stroked the package and sighed, before returning to the manor house to await the Master.

Roger Worthington entered the florist shop. “Good day, your Lordship. How might I help you this fine day.” He smiled perfunctorily at the clerk. “I require a large bouquet of your brightest Spring flowers. It is Abigail’s birthday and I desire something sunny and bright.” “Very good, M’Lord. Are there any specific varieties of flower you had in mind?” “No. Use your judgment, Joseph. Just make the bouquet colorful.”

He gently placed the bouquet on the passenger seat with a sigh. “Yes, perfect.” And pulled away towards home. He drove through the main gate and admired the swans in the pond, but instead of veering right to the manor he steered to the left on the road that drove around the pond to the far corner of the park. He avoided looking directly at the structure as he approached, wishing to hold onto the day’s beauty and hold off the sadness as much as possible. Abigail would have turned eight today. He uttered a small sob and fought back the tears as he pulled up to the family vault.

He took a deep breath to collect himself, dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief before retrieving the bouquet and exiting the vehicle. The gravel crunched stoically as he slowly stepped to the far side and entrance facing the pond. He was surprised to find the gate slightly ajar. “Perhaps some others have already been here to pay her their respects,” he thought as he pulled open the gate with a jarring screech that startled the birds nearby.

Carefully placed narrow windows allowed in enough dim light so no torch was necessary. He passed the coffins of his grandparents, the dried bouquets were wilted and starting to rot. “Best to have the groundskeeper clear those away later,” he thought to himself. Beyond these were his father with a space saved for his mother. His brother who was killed in the Great War was next. He touched the name plate as he always did, “Hello, Charlie. It’s Abby’s birthday again. I hope you’re taking care of her.” He reached the back and turned to the right to where he and his wife will eventually reside and gasped as he saw Abigail’s coffin. The lid had been removed and set aside. He dropped the flowers and ran to the empty coffin…horrified. He turned in the direction of the house. For some reason he felt the need to replace the lid before running from the mausoleum and driving quickly to the front drive.

He encountered Peters waiting for him in the hall. Their eyes met showing mutual understanding of the situation. “Peters, send for Dr Williams at once!” “M’Lord, I’ve already taken the liberty of sending for him. He should be on his way, “ he said checking his pocket watch, “M’Lady is in the gazebo…with the…with her, M’Lord. She has organized a tea party…in…her…honor or memory. Oh, Lord Worthington, I…I do apologize,” as he briefly lost his composure, “Will her Ladyship be alright?”

Roger gave him a somber look and rushed to the gazebo. He saw the party through the opening in the hedge. He could see the toys and his wife and a young girl sitting at the table with her back to him. He knew this would be what he would find, but still was shocked. The weary strains of Pop Goes The Weasel” drifted over to him as he slowly approached. His wife was pouring tea and speaking to the girl as he drew near. The record ended and he stepped in. Lady Mary saw him just as she stood to restart the record and rewind the gramophone.

Over the rhythmic scratching, she smiled at her husband, eyes strangely glassy, but happy, “Roger! You made it in time! Look, darling, it’s your father!” and she moved to greet him.

“Mary! Why! Why did you…again?” And he hugged her to him softly crying.