by Sue Barr
Cruel words and not for the first time she’d had to ask forgiveness for thinking such unchristian like thoughts toward her own sister. A sister who didn’t deserve her anger or uncalled for criticism.
“I am so glad we have this moment of peace together.” Impulsively, she reached out and grabbed Mary’s hand. “At times I feel we are strangers living under the same roof.”
Clearly surprised, Mary withdrew her hand and sipped her tea. Kitty worried she’d offended her elder sister. About to apologize, she stopped when Mary spoke in a soft voice.
“I too am glad for this moment of respite. We do not get very many of them in our house, what with Mama and all her nervous fluttering.”
“Mary! I think that is the most uncharitable thing you’ve ever said,” she teased with a small laugh. Mary’s smile faltered and she grabbed her sister’s hand again. “I am not censuring you. I happen to agree with you. Our parents are intractable.”
“Recalcitrant.”
“Pertinacious.”
Both girls giggled, the warmest sounds of sisterly affection the walls of Longbourn had heard in a great while. In time their laughter ceased although the good will lingered.
“Papa would be quite pleased at our grasp of the English language, but I for one do not wish him to know I read quite extensively. As long as he thinks I am the silliest girl in all of England, he leaves me alone.” Kitty took a tiny bite of her scone.
“Papa would be surprised to know how many books I have borrowed from the lending library. I am particularly fond of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe.”
“You have read The Mysteries of Udolpho?” Kitty couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“Yes, and Lord Byron.”
“How can Papa and Mama not know of this?”
“Why do you think I cart Fordyce’s Sermons with me wherever I go?”
“What does Fordyce’s Sermons have to do with you reading The Mysteries of Udolpho?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“You are talking to the sister who single handily kept Lydia’s assignations with Wickham in Meryton quiet for months.”
“There is that. Not a shining example, but I trust you.” Mary stood. “I shall be right back.”
What in the world was Mary up to, and what did it have to do with the boring tome of Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women. Oh no. Did she intend to read from the voluminous book?
Forgive me Lord, but I really, really do not want a sermon this early in the morning.
Mary slipped back into the room with the Fordyce’s thick volume cradled in her arms. Kitty placed her cup and empty plate on the nightstand by her bed, then shifted – with only one small wince – to make room for her sister. Mary quickly sat on the edge of the counterpane and with furtive glance toward the door, opened the book.
At first Kitty could only stare in astonishment. The book had been hollowed out and nestled within lay a novel borrowed from the lending library.
“Mary, you are a genius.” She began to laugh and then had to stop as pain sliced through her side. “Oh, laughing hurts, and that is too bad because this is worthy of a good chuckle.”
“You won’t tell Mama and Papa?”
“Never. However, if I get the chance, may I share this with Lizzy and Jane?”
“Let me think on that. I am not willing to shed my dour personality just yet.”
“Regardless, your secret is safe with me.”
Marveled at how much she enjoyed Mary’s company, Kitty spent the next half hour talking about books and music with a sister who before had been more of a stranger than family. Their visit was brought short by the call of their mother, looking for Mary.
“It seems since you are indisposed, I am the one she has to rely on.” Mary quietly gathered their dishes onto the tray. Before opening the door, she turned to face Kitty. “I am very glad you weren’t more seriously hurt. I do not know what I will do when I am the only sister left at Longbourn.”
“I am not going anywhere for a long time. There are no eligible men in Hertfordshire and when we visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in London, we never visit families who have marriage minded sons.”
Mary lifted an eyebrow at Kitty’s impassioned statement.
“There may be no eligible men in Meryton, but there is definitely a man interested in you Catherine Eleanor Bennet. Lord George Kerr.” With that she opened the door and left to find their mother.
Kitty lay back on her pillows and fixed her gaze on the rivulets of water trickling down her window pane. Dare she hope that a dashing gentleman, a noble man to be exact, held some regard for her.
Stuff and nonsense. She was gently bred, but his family would never tolerate the second son of a Duke to marry a girl with such low connections, even if she were a gentleman’s daughter. They would expect him to marry a Lady. Someone whose family was great and ancient.
Her heart pinched a little at the thought she’d never stand a chance with the dashing rogue. Even if he did ask to court her, she’d have to decline. Once he knew her secret he’d never wish to speak with her again. No, she would die a spinster and he would find a lovely young lady of quality to be his bride.
How lucky that woman would be. Life with him would be exciting, of that she was sure and hoped whoever he chose for a bride was up for the adventure.
***
George urged Buttons on. The rain had not let up since they’d departed the inn early that morning, but with his mother’s estate only a few miles away it seemed such a shame to stop now. Besides, one couldn’t get any wetter than the two of them were right at that moment. They passed beneath a large tree and a cascade of rainwater poured off the branches. Rivers of ice cold liquid sluiced past his collar and swept down his back. He revised his previous thought. He could become wetter.
“Just a few more miles, Buttons. I promise some dry oats and a nice blanket to keep you warm.” He patted the horse’s neck, which shook out his mane by way of reply, spraying George’s face with even more moisture.
“I guess I deserved that, making you plod along muddy side roads. I know you like the more traveled path, but I could not take the chance of anyone recognizing me.” He looked around at the surrounding fields, turning a verdant green from the much-needed watering. Given the severity of the storm, he probably could have taken the main road. Only a fool, or an ex-spy on a mission, would be out and about in this foul weather.
He’d much rather be back at Longbourn, teasing the pretty Miss Catherine. He thought back to their short ride yesterday. At first, she’d held herself stiff, fighting the pain from her ribs, but at his urging she allowed herself to rest against his chest and he’d found the experience satisfying. It was as though she belonged there, next to his heart.
He couldn’t stop from smiling at the irony of his situation. So many ambitious young ladies attempted to catch his interest, willing to disregard his unwarranted reputation as a rogue, all for the chance of being related to a Duke. Notwithstanding that if anything happened to his brother, Maxwell, he’d be the sixth Duke of Adborough.
All their arts and allurements were for naught, as an unassuming miss from the middle of Hertfordshire might claim the prize as her own. He recalled how trim her waist felt when he lifted her onto Buttons and even though covered by mud and weeds, her skin carried a light scent of lavender. If not for her injuries, he’d have made the ride last a little longer just so he could hold her in his arms.
Finally, he reached the road leading to his mother’s estate, Keswick Manor. Buttons nickered at the familiar terrain.
“There she is, boy. One more mile and then—”
With an agitated whinny, Buttons suddenly reared, unseating George who promptly landed in the ditch filled with water. He fully expected the horse to bolt, but all his patient training kept the handsome steed close, albeit a little skittish by whatever spooked him.
George pulled himself from the water and scrambled onto the road, snagging Buttons’ halter in case he changed his mind an
d decided to make a break for Keswick Manor.
“What is it, boy? What has got you all fired up?” He spoke in a soothing voice and ran an experienced hand over the horse’s flesh, checking to make sure there wasn’t some unseen injury. He paused when his fingers ran across a small welt on Buttons’ right hind quarters. At that exact moment he felt a sharp sting on his neck.
“What the…?”
His hand flew up to swat whatever had bit him. Within his peripheral vision he caught sight of a boy, seated in a tree by the side of the road. He pretended he hadn’t seen the little blighter and spoke to the horse in a louder than normal voice.
“Well, there must be some wasps out now that the rain has stopped. I hope they don’t interfere with my digging for gold.”
As he suspected, the boy lowered the device he’d used to sling tiny rocks, clearly intrigued by the thought of gold. Thank goodness it hadn’t been anything more sinister. His mental musings about Miss Catherine had dulled his senses. Had this been France, he’d be dead.
He swung up into the saddle and flicked the reins. Buttons obliged by moving off at a slow walk. Now that he was aware of the child, George clearly heard him clambering out of the tree and trying to follow in the rain-soaked underbrush. The boy was going to become very wet.
Good.
George continued past the drive to Keswick Manor and headed for the small house where their groundskeeper took lodging. He stopped in front of a small barn, slid off Buttons and tied him to a post. He then strode around to the back of the house and waited for the lad. He didn’t have to wait long. No more than five minutes passed before he heard shuffling behind the stone fence that encircled the small yard and garden.
When he judged the boy was passing by his location, he stood and with a quick hand reached over the low fence and grabbed him by the shirt collar.
“Oi. Wot do you want wif me?”
The grimy faced urchin kicked and wiggled in vain.
“I would like to know why you attempted to injure my horse.”
“I dunno wot yer yabberin’ about.”
George hauled the boy over the fence and plunked him down, keeping a firm hand on his neck.
“You launched a rock and hit my horse on his flank, which I know you thought was funny as I fell arse over tea kettle,” – the boy sniggered – “but what if the horse landed into a rut and broke his leg.”
“I never thought of that.” The boy stopped struggling and lowered his head. “Wot you gonna do wif me?”
George paused and thought about his options. By the amount of filth encrusted on the child there was a good chance he didn’t have caring parents. Or at least parents who could afford to keep their children clean. He seemed slightly malnourished, given how George could feel fragile bones through the threadbare shirt.
No, the punishment had to fitting, yet fair.
“What is your name?”
“Phillip.” The boy dared to glance up at George.
“That is a good strong name. One you can live up to.” George glanced toward Keswick Manor. “I have a task you can do which is quite fitting for the crime.”
At the word ‘crime’ the boy began to squirm again. George tightened his grip, trying not to bruise the frail child. “Settle down, Phillip. I am not turning you over to the magistrate.”
The young lad stopped struggling.
“Seeing as you nearly caused irreparable harm to my horse, I believe I shall have you water, feed and care for him while I’m here in Cambridgeshire.”
“I cain’t feed yer ‘orse. Ain’t got no money fer that.”
“I shall provide everything you require. Your job is to take care of Buttons.”
“Buttons?”
Phillip grinned, showing a gap between some of his teeth, which made George think he was only about eight or nine years old. At least that was how old he’d been when all he had to show for a smile was his two front teeth and nothing on either side.
“Yes, my horse’s name is Buttons. Are we in accord you will look after him?”
“I dunno. I’m supposed to help me mum and there ain’t no pay lookin after yer ‘orse.”
What a sad state of affairs that a child had to worry about bringing money home for the family.
“What would you say if I paid you a half guinea for a job well done.”
“A half guinea?” Phillip squeaked out, his eyes wide.
“For a job well done,” George stressed. “You must do a good job in order to receive the full amount.”
He already knew he’d pay the boy a half guinea even if the job was incomplete, but Phillip didn’t need to know that.
“I can help you hunt fer gold.”
George had to swallow a laugh. He’d forgotten about mentioning gold, clearly Phillip had not. Smart lad.
“I am not here for gold. That was a ruse to entice you behind the house.”
“You talk pretty fancy fer a git.”
George crouched down so he could look Phillip face to face.
“Take care how you speak to me, Master Phillip. This ‘git’ is the one who will pay you a good wage for honest labor.” Assured he had Phillip’s complete attention, he rose to his feet. “We shall settle Buttons and then you can commence with the job at hand.”
He’d decided to sleep in the rooms above the stable for the duration of his stay. The head groomsmen, Mr. Bryant wouldn’t tell a soul who he really was and he could pose as his nephew. There was too much risk of being seen and recognized trying to enter and leave Keswick Manor.
“Fer ‘ow long?” Phillip asked as they turned in the direction of the stable.
“I shall be here for a week. I have not seen my uncle for a few years and we have much to discuss.”
“Yer Mr. Bryant’s nephew?”
“Aye.” George slipped into a bit Yorkshire slang. It wouldn’t do for a common laborer to talk like a Duke’s well-educated son.
“I never knew ‘e had family.”
“Ye know most people ‘round ‘ere, doncha Phillip.”
“Aye. Me mum works for Viscount Stanhope and sees all sorts of grand people.”
“She does? What about your father?” he managed to ask in a calm voice. His mind raced with various scenarios at the mention of Stanhope. He could use Phillip to gain entrance to the manor, or maybe his mother might impart secrets. The possibilities were endless.
“Me da is dead.”
They’d reached Buttons and Phillip, without being asked, untied the reins and began leading the horse toward the stable. George was impressed by the way this young boy instinctively knew what to do and do it well. If Phillip continued in this vein, he’d speak with Mr. Bryant and see if the boy could do small jobs to supplement the family’s income.
“Who stays with you? If your ma works at Creighton Castle, she must live there.”
Phillip hunched his shoulders, his head hanging low and George knew the answer. His heart tightened at the thought of this young boy fending for himself. Not saying another word, he followed Phillip into the stable and directed him to an empty stall.
“There’s some oats in the bag over there, take this pail and fill it while I remove the saddle.”
He’d slung the saddle over a bench and was in the process of removing the blanket by the time Phillip returned. The boy held the pail for Buttons, gently stroking his forelock. George watched him in contemplative silence and decided to try a different tac.
“Do I need to worry you’ll abandon me ‘orse to take care of things at ‘ome? I know what it’s like t’have brothers and sisters depend on you.”
“Only got one sister.” Phillip kept his head down.
“Good on ya then. Someone who can cook and take care of the house.”
“Sally can’t cook.”
“What? How does she expect to marry and have children of her own?”
“She’s only four.”
“Four!”
Phillip dropped the pail and made to run. George snagged him b
y the midsection and held tight as once again the lad squirmed and wiggled. Buttons danced away from the two of them, then lowered his head and ate the remaining oats out of the pail, unaided.
“Stop this at once! I will not harm you.”
The boy stopped wriggling. A weight of sadness settled about George’s shoulders at the realization of how much responsibility lay on this young lad. He set Phillip on his feet and with gentle hands, turned him around.
“Take me to your sister.”
“Cain’t do that.”
“And why not?” George felt a niggling of headache begin behind his eyes at the introduction of another delay. This day was not going forward as planned. He was soaked to the bone, standing in the stable of his mother’s estate, arguing with an intractable child.
“Me mum gave ‘er to Mrs. Puddicombe, ‘cuz she threatened to call the magistrate.”
“Phillip, I am sorry. Where do you stay?”
“‘Ere and there.”
George had a sneaking suspicion ‘here and there’ was any place which sheltered him from the rain or snow.
“Does Mrs. Puddicombe take care of you as well?”
“Nah, Mrs. Puddicombe says me mum can only afford to send money for Sally.” Phillip stood as tall as he could and looked George straight in the eye. “I can look after meself and when I’m old enough, I’m going to take Sally away from ‘ere.”
For a moment, George met his defiant stare and then nodded.
“I believe you, Phillip. Come on, let us get Buttons bedded down. You start your job first thing in the morning.”
He handed Phillip a brush and showed him how to groom a horse properly. While the boy was busy with his new task, George headed for the second floor and checked out the state of the rooms. All of them had comfortable iron beds with a minimum of furniture. There was a time when every room housed a junior groomsman, but with his mother residing at Adborough Hall, there was no need for the extra staff.
Descending the stairs, he heard Mr. Bryant.
“You, boy. What are you doing with ‘is Lordship’s ‘orse?”
George bounded down the stairs and answered before Phillip could speak.
“Uncle John. How are you?”