Brothers are supposed to protect their sisters.
She envisioned Sober Jack rushing in to tackle Drunken Jack, releasing her from strangulation.
Oh, Jack, why did you give yourself over to that bottle? First we lost Father and then you left us…
Tears formed in her eyes and she nearly wiped them away with the rag.
Don’t.
Stop crying.
Turning to a window, she began to vigorously polish the wooden sill.
Outside in the drive, the figures of a man and a horse caught her eye. The man’s back was to her as he put on a hat and then mounted the animal.
Is that…?
She sucked in her breath, incapable of feeling more surprised.
Paul? Paul Midwinter! But he’s…he’s leaving!
Though he was only twenty feet away, there was a stone and glass wall between them. Lydia reached to lift the sash, ready to heave, then realized it was a leaded window and couldn’t be opened.
“Paul!” she called, pounding on the glass. “No, don’t…!”
He was in the saddle now, wheeling around to trot down the drive, his face fully in view.
It is him!
Lydia pounded harder, calling out more loudly, “No! Wait!”
To Lydia’s horror, one of the diamond-shaped panes shifted, loosened from its thick leaden veins. She looked back out the window as the young farmer cantered away.
“What…?” called a voice as someone burst in through the bedroom door. “Are you…?”
Whirling around, Lydia saw Miss Sophia in the doorway. She was frantically looking around the room until her eyes, large with wonder, found Lydia.
“Foote! Are you alright?” she asked, peering around the room again before advancing on Lydia.
“Oh!” Lydia moved in front of the loosened pane and simultaneously glanced out the window.
Paul was gone.
“I…I…”
“What’s happened? Are you hurt?” The baronet’s sister looked Lydia up and down.
“I am so sorry, Miss Sophia. I was startled, I…” Lydia felt her mouth continue to move though nothing came out of it.
“You’re as pale as the moon! What’s happened?”
Stupid!
“Truly, Miss Sophia, I am fine. I saw something…I…I feel quite foolish. Please forgive me.”
The features of the young woman before her settled slightly, though her eyes continued to intently delve into Lydia’s.
“Foote,” she began slowly. “You’ve been crying. No, no, there’s no shame in that…and I won’t press you for answers, but we want you to feel safe here.”
The well-intended words, though based on ignorant assumptions, relieved Lydia.
Breathe, she told herself, dropping her eyes to the ground. She cleared her throat and deliberately stated, “I do appreciate your kindness, Miss Sophia. I am sorry to have disturbed you. I assure you that I am perfectly well.”
There was an uneasy silence and Lydia felt Sophia’s eyes surveying her again.
“Foote,” the words were soft but certain, “if you ever feel anything other than safe here, I hope that you will tell my brother or myself immediately.” Her arm reached out as if to pat Lydia on the shoulder, but dropped back to her side as she seemed to think better of it.
“Thank you, Miss Sophia.”
Lydia faced her until Sophia had gone through and shut the door.
Why didn’t I tell her I was frightened by a mouse? Although, she may have been insulted by the notion that her house is infested…
The window!
Spinning around, Lydia’s eyes fell on the diamonds of glass, all still neatly arranged and leaded together. None had fallen from its place.
Cautiously, she prodded at the few where her hand had beat against them. Two wiggled more easily than the others.
Oh, dear. It’s not visible, but hopefully no one will be pushing on those anytime soon…at least not as long as I’m working here.
She smiled, embarrassed at the recollection of how frantically she had slapped her open palm on the glass and called out.
All of that because of a glimpse of Paul Midwinter! How absurd!
She remembered the last time they had crossed paths on Shinford’s High Street. It was the morning that she had left to come to Whitehall. She had been standing outside Wyndell’s Tea Room, waiting for the coach to arrive when Paul strode past and jauntily tipped his hat.
In response, she had barely nodded, ignoring the smug look on his face, thinking, I can’t believe I kissed you.
Why so different now? she considered. I suppose it was the sight of a familiar face in a moment of profound loneliness. Ha! To regard Paul Midwinter as a beacon of light in a time of darkness!
Lydia began to polish the wooden sill of the next window, glad to be able to laugh at herself.
But why did he come? I’ve never noted a farmer on Whitehall’s grounds before. It can’t be coincidence that the one farmer to come here is all the way from Shinford…
Jarred to reality, Lydia dropped the rag
Mama! Something’s happened to Mama and he came to tell me!
She hurried out of the bedroom, fragmentedly thinking, Who would have answered the door? Did he go to the front or have the sense to go to the side?
Instinct pointed her in the direction of the kitchen. As she descended the main staircase, Smith was hurrying up it, clearly busy with her own duties.
“You can’t possibly be finished with the spare rooms,” she chastised over her shoulder. “Time is short.”
Lydia made no reply and hurried on.
I won’t be asking her if she knows why he was here. Perhaps Glaser saw him in the yard. Yes, he might know. But where is Glaser?
Heading to the garden, she cut through the kitchen.
“Ah, here she is now,” Ploughman said, looking up from peeling potatoes.
“She’s not to have it till the day’s work is done,” Cook said, surly.
Lydia looked at Ploughman, questioningly.
What? What is it?
The older woman mouthed something and pointed at the far counter. There, a white rectangle of paper was propped up against a bowl of unshelled peas.
A letter!
Lydia rushed to it.
“It’s for later.” Cook growled, glaring out from under her coarse, colorless eyebrows, and then turned her glowering face toward Ploughman who continued to peel potatoes with calm dignity.
No pig with a wooden spoon is going to keep me from my letter!
Lydia rushed forward and grabbed it from its place, quickly moving out of Cook’s reach, though the woman made no physical motion to stop her.
Staring at the envelope, she recognized her mother’s writing. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, which eased Lydia’s mind considerably.
So she’s alright?
Ah…perhaps she heard he would be passing here so she asked him to deliver this to save a penny.
It was not unusual for farmers to travel afar occasionally. At times, Lydia’s father had gone long distances for business dealings.
With the letter in her hand, she headed back to the bedroom she’d been cleaning, and was startled when she caught sight of herself in the little mirror by the door.
A bit of polish on my nose! My hair askew and this horrible little mob-cap! She smiled. Paul would have galloped away faster had he caught sight of me!
Wishing for His Top Hat
~ Jonathan
“No. Don’t pull the bat ‘round the back of you,” Jonathan called across the lawn. “Come on, then. Stand the way I showed you last time.”
Elliott’s shoulders sagged, the bat nearly falling out of his hands.
He hates this, Jonathan knew. But I leave for school day after tomorrow and he really needs the practice. He’ll be truly miserable if he gets to Heath and can’t hit. Why must so much depend on the crack of a bat on a ball?
“Alr
ight now, Elliott, here it comes.” He drew his arm back, ready to bowl the ball toward his brother.
The little boy dropped the bat altogether and began to run toward Jonathan, pointing and calling, “Who’s that?”
Looking behind him, Jonathan saw a horse and rider cantering down the driveway away from the house toward the main road. He wondered the same thing as he examined the man, who had slowed to a trot as he passed.
Dressed in work clothes, the rider was young and broad-shouldered. A wide-brimmed hat was pulled low on the crown of his head. He sat the horse well, the reins slack in his right hand.
“Hullo!” he called, touching his left hand to the brim of his hat and nodding at the Clydes.
Jonathan suddenly longed to be on Achilles’ back, wearing his top hat to return the cavalier greeting. Instead, he dipped his bare head, seeing in the same moment that the fellow had kicked his horse into a gallop, and disappeared down the drive in a cloud of dust.
So you know how to ride a horse. Congratulations to you.
“Who was that?” Elliott asked breathlessly.
“I’ve no idea,” Jonathan replied, dryly. “A farmer, by the looks of him.”
“Why would a farmer come here?” Elliott’s eyes lit up. “Are we going to keep cows now?”
Yes, what business would a farmer have here? Jonathan wondered.
“No.”
“Pigs then?” Elliott persisted.
Jonathan laughed.
Suddenly, the little boy was running back toward Whitehall whence the man had just come.
“Elliott!” Jonathan called, but only once as the boy’s figure rounded the bend.
Well, it’s not as if I was eager to practice cricket today either…and the Lady hasn’t said he’s off to school this autumn.
He walked to where Elliott had left the bat in the long grass.
What’s she waiting for? I was at Heath by this age, wasn’t I?
Assured he had all the equipment, he headed back to the house himself. He felt a pang of irritation as his mind settled back on the mysterious rider.
But why should I dislike a stranger so?
Well, I suppose it’s because he seemed so…sure of himself.
But what’s the crime in that? I’ve encountered a number of fine men who are low-born. In fact, he thought hard for a moment, how many fine men do I know who are high-born?
He considered the fellows he knew from Heath.
But none of them are men, he reasoned. However, I’ve met many of their fathers and uncles and such while visiting their homes.
Hmm…With whom was I particularly impressed? Anyone?
Whitehall came into view.
Hodges’ father is a decent fellow. A bit dull, but respectable nevertheless.
Widdy’s father is amusing, but a lush.
He recalled the man at meals, always clutching an empty glass and calling out for another bottle.
Visions of his schoolmasters filled his mind as he ascended the steps to the front door.
Headmaster Grimes might be thought of as admirable, but what class would he be considered a part of?
Bah! What does it matter?
“Oh, here you are!” Sophia turned to face him as he came in.
Elliott was pulling on her sleeve.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Elly! Jonathan, I must speak with you. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Elliott, go check the stables for pigs then!”
His face lit with expectation, Elliott raced out the front door and down the steps.
“Mind where you tread!” Jonathan called after him. Chuckling, he asked his sister, “What’s the matter?”
She drew close to him and looked around cautiously. In a low voice, she began, “I’m worried something’s happened to Foote.”
“What?” Jonathan asked, caught completely off guard.
“I was in my room this morning when I heard someone yelling and pounding from inside one of the spare rooms. I nearly ran for you, but then remembered you and Elliott had gone out. So I rushed in myself.”
Sophia paused.
“So…?” Jonathan urged.
“Well, once there, I saw no one but Foote. She looked frightened–I think she’d been crying.”
“Was it her yelling?”
Sophia nodded vigorously. “Yes! Something like, ‘No! Wait! Don’t!’”
Feeling sick, Jonathan grabbed Sophia by the shoulders. “You’re certain she was alone?”
“Yes, yes. I looked all around the room. Jonathan, you’re hurting me.” She shrugged out of his grasp. “I didn’t think you’d react quite like…where are you going?”
Jonathan was up the stairs in a few seconds, calling over his shoulder, “Where is she now?”
“I…uh…don’t…” Sophia replied, hurrying to catch up to him.
The siblings rushed down the hallway toward the spare rooms.
“That’s where she was, though I don’t know…” Sophia pointed at the door of the room next to her own bedroom.
Jonathan pushed through the door and strode in, strength and something akin to anger coursing through his limbs.
There was Foote, oddly enough sitting on the floor, looking small, her legs drawn close to her body, her skirt and apron tucked neatly around them. A creased sheet of paper was in her hands. With a look of surprise, she jumped up to a standing position.
“Are you alright?” Jonathan asked, moving hastily toward her.
“Me?” she asked, looking around the room.
“Yes. Are you alright?” Jonathan inquired again, peering at her intently.
“Yes, of course, sir.” She looked from Jonathan to Sophia and back to Jonathan. “Oh, are you wondering about…earlier?”
“Well, yes. Sophia said you were yelling, ‘No!’ and ‘Don’t!’ so naturally I thought...” Jonathan broke off.
Foote looked down and exhaled, seemingly embarrassed. “I…truly, nothing happened. I simply…I saw someone out the window in the drive and it startled me…and he started to leave, so I called out to him.”
The farmer!
“Did he…Did he do anything…?” The words stuck in Jonathan’s dry throat.
“No! He never even saw me. He climbed on his horse and…and he left…without a word…” Foote looked out the window as her voice trailed off.
“So you recognized the man?” Jonathan asked. His heart rate was just starting to slow from its reverberating pounding.
“Yes. His family has a farm near Hill…near where I live. He left this letter for me with Cook.” She lifted the paper in her hand.
Jonathan regarded her wistful face as she gazed outside.
She’s fond of him…fond of that stupid, galloping fool. He must have come to see her and been turned away by Smith at the door, so he hastily wrote her a letter and left it.
“Well…all is well, then…but I…that is,” Jonathan felt increasingly foolish as each word tumbled out, “if you ever were to feel in danger, I hope that you would…that is…”
Clearing his throat gruffly, Jonathan’s jaw ached with tension. “I…I want to ensure that you are safe and all is well with you.”
Foote met his gaze, her eyes soft, and said slowly, “I do appreciate that, sir.”
She looked away, reaching up to smooth her hair.
“Very well,” he murmured.
I’ll let you get back to swooning over your love letter.
He turned on slightly shaky legs and left.
Idiot! he chastised himself while starting down the hallway. He heard Sophia close the door behind them and her footsteps as she caught up to him.
Agh!
The urge to hit something surged down his arms, but he put the energy into distancing himself from Foote.
“I suppose it wasn’t as bad as I initially thought,” said Sophia as she tried to walk alongside him.
“You suppose? It was a big upset over nothing,” he said acidly over his shoulder.
“Wel
l, I thought you ought to know.” She sounded hurt, her voice low. “Jonathan, she was genuinely distressed. If you had heard…if you had seen her…You just…you don’t understand…”
He halted in his steps, nearly causing Sophia to run into him.
“I understand perfectly,” he said, tilting his head to glower at her. “Our silly parlor maid is hysterically besotted with some boorish lout of a farmer.”
Sophia scoffed angrily and said in the voice she used to correct Elliott, “That is hardly fair!”
Jonathan shrugged, his hands outstretched. “I wish them much happiness in their future life together.”
Folding her arms across her chest, his sister replied, “How very good of you. Noble, in fact.”
Throwing him a final sour look, she stalked out of the foyer, saying, “Honestly, I can’t understand why you’re so angry.”
Alone, Jonathan stood for a moment, his jaw still aching. Realizing that his hands were clenched into fists, he consciously opened them and took a couple of deep breaths.
She’s a maid, he told himself.
She’s just a maid.
Mothering Elliott
~ Lydia
The day of the Lady’s departure for London was unusually warm for autumn. Wisps of fine hair stuck to the damp nape of Lydia’s neck as she stood by the carriage with Ploughman and Glaser.
Cook crunched along the gravel drive toward the group with her own small bag.
“Where’s the wagon?” she asked, the sides of her florid face glistening.
Glaser answered, “The Lady wants to leave it behind.”
“Leave it behind? But what of all the luggage--and where will Smith and myself sit?”
“Most of the luggage is already inside the carriage and the Lady says you and Smith are to ride on the perch with me.”
He winked at the woman.
“What?” Cook’s face was a mixture of anger and confusion.
The Lady thinks all three can fit on the perch together? Stupid woman! Lydia tightened her throat, telling herself, You can laugh about it all you want once the carriage is gone, but not now.
Lydia willed herself not to examine Cook’s generous hindquarters though they were directly in front of her. Glaser’s twitching face did nothing to help Lydia in her endeavor to maintain composure.
The front door opened and Lady Clyde and Miss Sophia exited, followed by Hardy and Smith, who were carrying even more luggage. Elliott came last of all, hanging onto the doorjamb.