Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  She went down the steps leading to the servants’ entrance and said a silent prayer that no one would notice her arrival, especially Betsy, who would likely swoop down on Sarah like a falcon on its prey. If that happened, Betsy would be disappointed that Sarah had returned empty-handed, and Sarah would be unable to maintain her composure long enough to give any explanation for why she’d returned without Jacob or the foodstuffs.

  She slowly twisted the handle, then inched the door open, praying that the squeaky top hinge wouldn’t betray her. Of course, it whined in protest. She slipped through the narrow opening and closed the door tight. Hoping to avoid anyone seeing or calling out to her, she hurried down the corridor on her toes past the kitchen and Mrs. Roach’s room, then turned and slipped through the even smaller corridor that led to the other side of the basement. That was where the small winter kitchen and other rooms were, including the small scullery that was her sleeping quarters.

  Once inside the vacant room, she dropped onto a chair in the corner, and her face fell into her hands. She listened carefully for any indication of someone following her. When, after several seconds, she heard nothing, disappointment spilled out of her in full force. A small, dusty corner of her mind recognized that after this bout of crying, she would have to create a spine of steel for herself and encase her heart in a similar cage to prevent such waves of sadness from ever touching her again. But in this moment, she let out the sadness from being rejected and having her dreams destroyed like a soap bubble popping in the air. Her dreams had been that fragile—and that temporary.

  I just became engaged, and I’m miserable about it. She wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible, but there had also been a time when the greatest minds believed the earth was flat. Discoveries such as the one she’d had today drastically shifted one’s view, like Magellan’s trip around the globe had changed the way the West viewed the entire world. Somehow, someday, she’d find her axis again, and her world would continue to spin as it always had. But for now, the tears flowed freely.

  She became so caught up in her isolated grief that the touch of a cold hand on her arm made her yelp as if a ghost had appeared. Sarah raised her head with a jerk, her breath catching in her throat, only to find Mrs. Roach. The woman had such angular features, from the sharp planes of her cheeks and nose to her bony shoulders and thin neck, that most people assumed she was harsh and unkind. To maintain her authority as housekeeper, she tended to encourage the reputation, often speaking harshly and demanding compliance without question.

  Though Sarah knew Mrs. Roach had a gentle temperament at times, she didn’t know which of the housekeeper’s moods had come with her now. So Sarah sat up straight, wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath, ready for a lecture about failing to buy basic items for the pantry.

  When Mrs. Roach didn’t speak, Sarah tried to explain. “Jacob should be back very soon with everything on the list.” Every word felt forced, but she had to do something to preserve Mrs. Roach’s favorable view of her, if at all possible. Hands clasped in her lap and face lowered to show contrition, Sarah went on, “I apologize for returning early and not staying with him as my chaperone during such a turbulent time in the city. I was unwell.”

  “As I can see.” Mrs. Roach’s voice held no censure at all. In fact, she sounded compassionate.

  In surprise, Sarah looked up to find the housekeeper fetching a stool from the winter kitchen. She moved it near Sarah and sat down—lower than Sarah, which seemed wrong, considering their respective positions in the household. Mrs. Roach clasped her hands in her lap as Sarah had and shook her head.

  “I suppose it was foolish of me to arrange for you and Jacob to have some time together.”

  “What do you—Oh.” Sarah suddenly understood her earlier conversation with Mrs. Roach.

  The housekeeper shrugged. “I’ve long watched the two of you fall in love, and I was so hopeful it would be a match.”

  “It is. He asked for my hand today.”

  Mrs. Roach considered Sarah for a moment. “Then I must have botched the whole of it. I was certain you cared for each other. I am so sorry. You must believe that I had your happiness in mind—yours and Jacob’s. I never would have interfered otherwise.”

  “You have no reason to apologize,” Sarah said, though she didn’t elaborate. Mrs. Roach most certainly had not misunderstood Sarah’s feelings for Jacob, but it seemed they both had misunderstood Jacob’s.

  “I’ve been dropping hints to Mr. and Mrs. Millington for weeks now about how you two could live in the cottage at Rosemount, seeing as Mr. Kelly is retiring and will soon be living with his daughter in the country. It seemed to be the perfect situation, and they agreed.”

  “That would be lovely,” Sarah said, grateful that her future wouldn’t necessarily include factory work. “It is perfect for Jacob and for—” She cut herself off before she revealed anything about Ellie.

  “For Jacob, but not for you?” Mrs. Roach tapped her fingers on her knee as she pondered. “Does he have his eye on another girl?”

  In a manner of speaking.

  Could she tell Mrs. Roach about Ellie after Jacob had taken such pains to keep everything about her a secret? Would the association harm him in Mrs. Roach’s estimation? She had tremendous influence with the family, so her opinion mattered deeply. In spite of his secrecy, Sarah couldn’t imagine the kind woman calling for Jacob’s resignation, but she might counsel the Millingtons not to offer him the position of head gardener after all.

  Now that Mr. Huntsman is involved, the truth will come out anyway, Sarah realized. If all goes according to plan, Ellie will be living with us in the cottage. I might as well tell her.

  “His niece is about to be adopted to a couple from Liverpool.”

  “Jacob has a—”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, needing to speak it all now, or she’d never dare to finish. “For him to have custody—she’s an orphan, you see—he must have an income, a home . . . and a wife.”

  “Ah, I see,” Mrs. Roach said. “Have you given him an answer?”

  “I said yes, of course.” Anything else would have been foolish—for her own future, for Jacob’s, and that of an innocent child too. What right did she have to prevent Ellie from being with her family?

  Mrs. Roach stood suddenly. Sarah braced herself for a lecture or instructions for work to do. She received neither.

  “You rest for a spell,” Mrs. Roach said. “I’ll come for you later.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  The housekeeper’s stoic countenance had returned. She nodded and left the scullery—and a befuddled Sarah.

  Chapter Ten

  Jacob returned to Ivy House at a run, hoping the delay caused by Mr. Huntsman wouldn’t get him in trouble. He clutched several parcels wrapped in brown paper and a linen sack holding wax paper packets of pepper and other spices. At the top of the servants’ entrance, he navigated the narrow stairs carefully and balanced the purchases in one arm as he opened the door. Inside, he nudged it closed with his foot, meaning to head straight to the kitchen, but Mrs. Roach blocked the way, arms folded, one eyebrow arched high. His step came up short. Mrs. Roach with folded arms was never a good thing to see. Neither was her arched eyebrow.

  Both at the same time? Something must be horribly wrong. He felt like a lad again, awash with shame and guilt over Thomas’s departure.

  “Here are the items you requested,” Jacob said cheerfully. He held them out. “I apologize for the delay, but I came as fast as I could. And I found good prices. I think you’ll be pleased with how much money is left over.”

  Jacob’s words had as much effect on Mrs. Roach as they would have on a locomotive stopped on the tracks. Her face didn’t change expression at all. Wondering if she hadn’t heard him, he almost repeated the words, but another look at Mrs. Roach made that idea flee. Why was she so upset?

  I returned without Sarah. Of course. That’s what this is about.

  “Is Sarah well?” Jacob asked. He t
ried to peer around Mrs. Roach, unsuccessfully. “She assured me she’d be fine returning on her own. I wouldn’t have left her side if I’d thought otherwise.” He hoped she wouldn’t mention the mythical highwayman. When she didn’t answer, worry snaked up his back. “She’s here, isn’t she?” What if there really was a group of miscreants in the city, looking for women to kidnap?

  “She’s here.”

  “Thank heavens. And she’s well?”

  “Yes. In body.” Mrs. Roach’s words were clipped and curt. Something was wrong with Sarah in spirit, then?

  “What is it?”

  Mrs. Roach nodded toward the kitchen. “Bring the parcels to Betsy, then step outside.”

  “Of course.” He dipped his head in respect.

  She moved to the side to make room, and he scurried into the kitchen, deposited the armful on the wood table by Betsy, and ran out again without so much as a hello to her. He went back out the servants’ entrance to the small area between the door and the stairs. There, he found Mrs. Roach standing with her back to him, her toe tapping impatiently. She must have heard him close the door, because the moment it clicked, she whirled about.

  “Jacob Croft, are you, or are you not, in love with Sarah Jenkins?”

  “Am I—what?” The question took him so off guard that he couldn’t think straight. Why was Mrs. Roach, of all people, asking him such a question?

  “And did you, or did you not,” she went on, pacing around him in a tight circle, “propose marriage to her not an hour ago?”

  How did she know that? She walked around him like a tiger circling its prey. He did his best to find his voice—and something to say. “I should have discussed the matter with you and Mr. Millington first, of course. I apolo—”

  Mrs. Roach spun to face him, cutting off his words. When she spoke next, she wagged a finger. “And did you, or did you not, make this proposal because it was a convenient solution to an external problem?”

  “Well, if you put it that way . . .” He didn’t complete the sentence.

  “Hmm?” Apparently, Mrs. Roach expected him to.

  “Yes,” he said, half expecting demons to rain down on him for whatever evil he’d perpetrated. “I suppose I did.”

  “Men are nothing but dolts.” The housekeeper’s hands rose in disbelief and then fell to her sides with a slap. “This is why I have never married and will never marry.”

  Was she jealous that he’d proposed to Sarah? Surely Mrs. Roach didn’t want a proposal from someone three decades her junior, did she?

  “I don’t understand,” Jacob said.

  “Of course you don’t.” She hmphed and then folded her arms—this time, to his relief, without the eyebrow. “You also didn’t answer my first question.”

  From the moment he’d returned from the market, she’d had Jacob’s mind spinning, and it had only spun faster with every passing moment. He couldn’t have remembered her first question if pirates had demanded it of him.

  At his look of confusion, Mrs. Roach rolled her eyes. “Are you,” she said slowly, emphasizing each syllable, “or are you not, in love with her?”

  His gaze flitted toward the door and back again. Would answering truthfully hurt Sarah in some way? He eyed Mrs. Roach, whose brows threatened to go up again.

  She knows. She already knows, so I must tell the truth.

  “Yes,” he said, and then he had to wipe beads of sweat from his upper lip. “I am very much in love with her.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” Mrs. Roach sighed with something like relief, which served only to confuse him further. “Now to fix this ridiculous mess you’ve created.”

  “This mess?” What all did she know? Had she seen him hiding behind the shrub? “Do you mean the trouble with Ellie?”

  At that, any attempt at long-suffering left Mrs. Roach’s person. “I assume that is the name of your niece?”

  “Y-yes.” How big was this mess if Mrs. Roach knew so much? What did the Millingtons know?

  “She is the external problem I referred to. She is not the mess you’ve created.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice, this time speaking in a gentle tone. “You are a good man, Jacob. A dolt, yes, but as men go, a good one.”

  “Thank you.” It came out sounding like a question.

  “Coming from me, that is high praise indeed,” Mrs. Roach said, and he had no doubt she spoke the truth. “But as a man, you do not realize what you have done this afternoon regarding a kind, equally good young woman who is most decidedly in love with you too.”

  His heart leapt in his chest. “Sarah?”

  “Of course Sarah.” Another huff. “Dolts. Every one of them,” she said to the air.

  “I hoped she might care for me. I suspected she did, but I didn’t know for sure. Today, there was a moment when . . .” He cleared his throat, opting to skip the part about kissing Sarah and how wonderful it was. “Then Mr. Huntsman arrived—”

  “After which you proposed without saying a word about your preexisting love for her. Did you give her any indication that you would have proposed at a later date regardless of the situation with your niece?”

  “I . . .” The spinning in Jacob’s head slowed, stopped, and resolved into a clear picture of the situation Mrs. Roach painted. He ran a hand through his hair. “I am a dolt.”

  “As I said,” Mrs. Roach replied with an utterly matter-of-fact tone. “But the situation may yet be salvaged.”

  “How? The matter with my niece is urgent, and now Sarah believes that the only reason I want to marry her is Ellie.”

  “If you follow my every instruction to the letter, you just might repair the damage done to Sarah’s heart—and you’ll save your niece too.”

  “Truly?”

  “There are no guarantees, but I’d say the odds are quite good.” The arch returned. “Are you willing to do as I say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you follow my every instruction?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll do anything you say.” Fear of losing Sarah altogether consumed him. He’d thought she knew he loved her, that he’d made the fact perfectly clear. He just hadn’t known how she felt. Instead of making sure she knew, he’d bumbled the entire situation.

  Mrs. Roach headed for the door and called over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

  He followed as obediently as a puppy, feeling about as manly as one, down the corridor and across the connecting passage to the other half of the basement. A pit formed in his middle as he realized they were headed to the small scullery. To Sarah.

  “I’m not ready to speak to her right this moment,” he said to Mrs. Roach’s retreating figure, though he kept up a few steps behind. “Won’t you tell me what to say and do?”

  “Of course.”

  “Privately, I mean.”

  “Hardly.” Mrs. Roach slowed her step to cast a disparaging look over her shoulder before continuing down the hall. “You said you would follow my—”

  “Every instruction,” Jacob filled in. “And I will. I apologize.”

  Whatever she has planned, please work, he prayed, looking at the ceiling.

  At the scullery doorway, Mrs. Roach strode right in. Jacob held back in the hallway, unsure what her plans were. But she waved him in impatiently, so somehow he stumbled across the threshold. He was aware of Sarah sitting on the other side of the room but felt too ashamed to look directly at her. He studied the cracks in the floor. Mrs. Roach, however, had no such compunctions.

  “Look up, Jacob,” she ordered. “No woman wants a man who can’t hold his head up.”

  He lifted his chin and looked right at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  That’s when he looked at Sarah—really looked at her—and realized that her pretty face was stained with tears. His initial instinct was to hurry over and comfort her, but with Mrs. Roach at his side, he didn’t dare. Even so, her name slipped from his tight throat. “Sarah?”

  She looked at him hopefully, but then lowered her face. Mrs. Roach, he noted
, did not criticize Sarah for not holding her head up straight.

  He leaned toward the housekeeper and whispered uneasily, “What do I do now?” Moments ago, he thought he would need to place faith in whatever methods Mrs. Roach decided to employ. Now he wanted any instruction from her at all. Something. Anything.

  Instead of answering him, she turned to Sarah. “Come,” she said, waving her over.

  Sarah hesitantly stood from her seat and approached, each step more unsure than the last, until she stopped at Mrs. Roach’s other side.

  Mrs. Roach looked from her to him and back again. She nodded. “I’m glad we’re all here together to discuss a most important matter.”

  Oh, heavens, Jacob thought. What is she going to say? Don’t say I’m a dolt. Not to Sarah.

  “As it so happens,” Mrs. Roach said, clasping her hands together, “Mr. Kelly is readying himself to retire. He’s the gardener at Rosemount.” The last was directed as Jacob, as Sarah already knew every servant at the estate. But what did this sudden turn of topic have to do with anything?

  “Ma’am?” Jacob managed.

  “In fact, several months ago, Mr. Kelly informed the family of his plans to live with his sister in the country, although he’s stayed on until now, of course.” The housekeeper continued as if Jacob hadn’t spoken. He and Sarah exchanged puzzled glances. “Of course, finding a replacement takes time, and the Millington family doesn’t view such things as permanent staff replacements lightly.”

  Sarah threw another confused look at Jacob. “Of—of course not.”

  “Indeed not,” Mrs. Roach said, as if she were discussing something obvious. “So it makes perfect sense that I’ve been actively looking for a replacement for some time—someone who could take on the position and work hard, someone who respects the family and is loyal to them. Of course, that person would live in the cottage Mr. Kelly has occupied for the last twenty years.” She looked at Jacob and then at Sarah as if she was about to say something of particular import. “While Mr. Kelly never married, I know from discussions with Mrs. Millington that she and her husband would prefer his replacement to have a wife, and they would raise their family in the cottage at Rosemount.”