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what they wish, but that Henry Livingston is one of the most handsome young men I’ve ever seen.”
    Maggie couldn’t decide whether or not to be amused at Gertrude’s overt adoration. Since Maggie had met Henry first, she felt a strange claim to him.
    “Surely, you must agree!” Gertrude looked up at Maggie with glassy, gray eyes. She playfully tugged on the braid that curved around her pronounced ear.
    “I found him to be very adequate looking,” Maggie mumbled. “But wasn’t the whole episode peculiar? Do you think it could be true? That his father knew Grandmother Catharine and Aunt Margaret.”
    Gertrude shrugged. “What difference does it make if Henry’s father knew our family?”
    “Grandfather Clement seemed to think it made one. Otherwise, why would he so adamantly insist that there was no connection between us and the Livingstons?”
    “It just seems like a lot of nonsense. A waste of a perfectly good evening,” Gertrude said, sounding like her father, Uncle William.
    After getting undressed, Gertrude sat on the bed and pulled the covers over her tiny legs.
    “Maggie?”
    “Yes?”
    “Why does Grandfather Clement call his poem a trifle?”
    Maggie shook her head, not knowing the answer. But then she remembered the mushrooms and whispered, “I believe he finds it to be poisonous.”
    Gertrude squinted her eyes in a questioning manner, but she eventually just shrugged before turning over on her side.
    Maggie couldn’t imagine going to sleep; her head was buzzing with too many questions. She didn’t understand why Henry hadn’t mentioned anything that morning. He had been inquisitive, but nothing that alluded to his intention of paying Chelsea Manor and Grandfather Clement a visit.
    Feeling restless, Maggie pulled on the trousers that had yet to be returned to Louis and quietly left the bedroom. The adults were still downstairs, no doubt discussing what had transpired earlier. And Maggie wanted to listen.
    Maggie snuck down to the main floor, but paused at the bottom of the staircase so those in the Great Room wouldn’t see her through the open doors. With her back pressed to the wall, Maggie slipped through the foyer and then ducked into the dining room where everyone had enjoyed the Christmas Eve dinner. In the corner there was a doorway that led to a narrow passage near the kitchen pantry. Beyond the kitchen was the small dining area and a backroom with a cot.
    Grandfather Clement occasionally would request a servant to spend the night, watching over the Manor. But even with the night’s unusual visitor, all the servants had been allowed to return to their nearby housing for the remainder of Christmas Eve.
    Maggie peeked through the crack of the door separating the dining area and the Great Room. Only Grandfather Clement’s children had stayed behind after the others had gone to bed, and they were now gathered around the fireplace having a rather serious discussion.
    “This is a complete and utter waste of time,” Uncle William huffed, pacing in front of the mantel. “If that Sidney Livingston had visited Mother, I surely would remember it.”
    Mary sighed. “How many times must we tell you, William? You had yet to be born.”
    “I believe Sidney stopped coming around sometime after William’s birth,” Uncle Benjamin recalled.
    “Even as a baby William had the ability to chase people away,” Uncle CF joked.
    Nobody else found the comment amusing and Uncle William looked downright enraged.
    “Then why didn’t either of you say anything when Henry was here?” Uncle William snapped.
    “Because I wasn’t sure to trust my own memory,” Uncle Benjamin defended. “I was five years old at the time. Mary was just four.” He nodded toward his sister.
    “CF was just a toddler,” Mary added. “Margaret was…” She trailed off.
    “Margaret was about eight,” Uncle Benjamin continued. “I believe Sidney was closest to her. And to Mother, of course.”
    “What do you say, Clement