Chapter 36
Lillian braided her fingers together, unbraided them, and braided them the other way. For the thousandth time that day, she wished she had learned how to crochet or knit. But she did not know how to do either one. The afternoon dragged on wearily. She was tired of lying in bed, especially in the darkened room. The shadows seemed to suck all the life out of the day.
Occasionally she could hear doors opening and closing, people talking, but always too far away to hear the conversation. Late in the afternoon, a horn blew. There was the sound of footsteps, and the sounds of many doors opening and closing, then a dog baying.
But through it all, no one came to tell her what was going on. She was nearly at the point of climbing out of bed and going to see for herself what was happening, when Martha Louisa came in. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked as if she had been crying.
“What is it? What has happened?” Lillian exclaimed.
“Oh, lad, where to begin. Tim Rowe, have you met Tim Rowe?”
Lillian shook her head. “Well, he raises dogs. Best trackin’ an’ huntin’ dogs in the county, maybe even in all of England. The duke has a passel of ‘em an’ swears by ‘em.” In her excitement, Martha Louisa’s broad country accent became even broader.
“Well, he volunteered last night to see if he could find out how the fire got started. I guess he thought to see if he could track ‘un ‘fore the snow got too deep. But the duke found him ‘most buried in the snow, wid his dogs all around him. Oh, Miss, it is awful, awful! Just an hour or two more an’ he woulda been dead of the cold, an’ all his dog wid ‘im.” The usually imperturbable Martha Louisa burst into tears.
The distraught maid pulled up the skirt of her apron and buried her face in it and sobbed like a child for just a moment or two. Then she emerged, her nose and eyes red, and mopped at the moisture flowing down her face. “I’m sorry Miss Doyle. I do not know what has come over me. This awful weather, and everyone sick. Now, a man I’ve known all my life nearly killed. Death comes pretty easy to country folk. Teams run away, hunting accidents, young men get taken aways for soldiers, but this . . . this is something else altogether. Someone did this on purpose, they did.”
Lillian reached out a hand to Martha Louisa. “Something tells me that this gentleman meant something to you, and that this comes very close to your heart.”
Martha Louisa clasped Lillian’s hand. “We grew up together. He was best friends with my older brother, the one who went to war and never came home. Tim Rowe and I stepped out together a time or two. It didn’t come to nothin’. I had my eye on workin’ at the castle, an’ he wanted to breed those ever-lastin’ dogs. I don’ have nothin’ against dogs, Miss Doyle, but he had them ever’ where. It would have been an ever lastin’ chore tryin’ to clean up after ‘em.”
“He didn’t have a kennel for them?”
“Not then, he didn’t. The last time he came courtin’, he had two pockets full o’ pups an’ tha bitch that whelped ‘m trailin’ along after ‘im. I guess he thought I’d like ‘un. We sat, an’ we talked a while, then I says, ‘I gotta go home an’ pack.’ An’ he says, ‘You goin’ somewhere Martha Louisa?’ An’ I says, ‘I’m goin’ up to tha castle for to be a maid.’ That was nigh on ten years ago, no, longer’n’ that, cause the late Duchess hired me on ta help wid tha boys, and here they are great young’uns an she gone to a watery death, poor sweet soul.” Martha Louisa wiped her eyes again.
“Oh, Martha Louisa. Did you care for him?”
“I did an’ I didn’t. Not much choice in a village this size. Nigh on ever’ one else is a brother or a cousin, or too old or too young. Most o’ the village thought we’d hitch up, an’ I guess he thought so too, though he never asked me. I thought I was over it long ago, but I guess you just don’t ever quite get past it.” She wiped her eyes again. “Like I said, death comes often to country folk. But it ain’t usually cause someone hits you over the head and leaves you to freeze in the snow.”
Lillian forebore mentioning that such deaths often came to soldiers, since Martha Louisa had mentioned a brother. Instead she said, “How is he?”
“The physician says all he needs is rest an’ quiet. He’s down there flirtin’ with the Widow Avery who is well nigh old enough to be his mother. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but he near died and now he’s actin’ like a complete mooncalf.”
Lillian bit her lip. It wouldn’t do to laugh, but it was plain as anything that Martha Louisa was still carrying a torch for her spurned lover. “If he is well enough to be flirting, then it is likely he will recover,” she said gently, holding Martha’s work-roughened hand in both her slender, delicate hands.
Martha gentle squeezed Lillian’s hand back. “That’s just almost exactly what the Duke said.” She gave Lillian a watery smile.
The thought of Sebastian tugged at Lillian’s heart. How was he doing? Was he working himself to death trying to look after everyone? Aloud she said, “Did the Widow Avery flirt back?”
“Now that I think on it, no. She treated him just as she did when she was the teacher at Dame School. She told him that he needed to eat up his broth, drink that nasty tea, and he could only have a cookie if the physician said he could.”
At that, Lillian did laugh. “I think she has him pegged for what he is. Martha Louisa, does he ever ask you about walking out with him?”
“Well, once or twice he has.” The maid colored up and ducked her head.
“Here is just a thought. Next time he asks you, why don’t you walk out with him on your free afternoon? I don’t doubt that you’ve grown a little in the last ten or more years, and I will bet that he has, too.”
“Miss Doyle, you are an amazingly wise woman.”
“Me? Hardly that. But I do watch people. They can surprise you sometimes.”
Martha Louisa took out a handkerchief, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “That they can. I must say, to see him laying there like that, it gave me quite a turn, it did.”
There came a soft tap at the door. Martha Louisa shook out her apron, tucked the handkerchief in her pocket and opened it. “Your Grace! Come in.”
“She’s awake?”
“She is,” Lillian replied, “And utterly bored out of my mind. Please, come tell me what is happening. How are the boys? It frets me not to be earning my salary.”
“You shall, I promise you. They are recovering far faster than you are, and they are driving Mr. Stableman and Mr. Gardener quite out of their minds. They will be quite happy to hand them back to your tutelage.”
“They are already at their lessons?”
“Oh, dear no. It is much too soon for that. We do not want either of them coming down with brain fever. But they are beyond bored, and Nick went so far as to say that the only books Mr. Gardener could read are baby books.”
Lillian’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “I hope you nipped that in the bud.”
“Of course I did. But I have an idea that would make things easier on the staff, as well. Providing Miss Louisa thinks you are well enough.”
“Depends on what it is,” Martha Louisa said, mustering up some of her usual acerbity.
“I thought perhaps the four of us could have dinner together in the schoolroom. Afterward, I could read to all of you.”
“As long as you put a screen in front of the fire, an’ don’t put any candles right on the table. We are still being careful of Miss Doyle’s eyes since she did have those awful headaches and kept dreamin’ about fire.”
“I think the boys have much the same rules, since they are also restricted from reading.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Your Grace,” Lillian’s eyes shone with anticipation. “And perhaps Martha Louisa, Mr. Stableman and Mr. Gardener could join us. Oh, and that fellow who nearly lost his life in the snow, if he is well enough to make it up to the schoolroom.”
“Are you sure about that?” Sebastian asked. “I understand the usual staff who are here all the time, but Mr. Tim Rowe?”
“I have heard so much about him that I am quite intrigued, and so is Martha Louisa.”
Sebastian looked at her a moment, then glanced at Martha Louisa, who had blushed red as a peony. “Oh.” Then “O-oh,” he made two syllables of the second “oh.” “Why, of course. I’ll have to check with Dr. Gavril, but I’m sure he will find it unexceptional.”
“No dogs, though,” Martha Louisa said firmly. “This is a sick room.”
“No dogs whatsoever,” Sebastian promised. “They are all in the kennels with my dogs, being taken care of by Mr. Benjamin Rowe.”
Chapter 37
Dr. Gavril chuckled when he heard of the evening plans. “The sly old dog. No doubt by now he is wishing to look up his assailant for a second head knocking. As for the rest of your charges, Miss Doyle and your brothers are less likely to get into the kind of mischief that will hurt their eyes and strain their brains if they are kept amused.”
“I’ll be sure to select something light. Perhaps the Nun’s Priest’s Tale from Chaucer. The boys have not heard it, but it is always fairly amusing even if one has heard it before.”
“That’s the one with Chanticleer and the Fox, is it not?”
“It is.”
“The very thing indeed.”
“You are not planning to prescribe some noxious tea, are you?”
“Oh, dear no. One cup of the medicinal tea per day for everyone in the village. It has the happy circumstance of growing wild hereabouts, and being easy to find even under the snow.”
“And I always thought mullein a noxious weed that indicated poor ground.”
“Oh, it does show that the soil is lacking in fertility. But the plant itself is a medical treasure house. I have used it for everything from bee stings to scrofula, with good effect.”
“How very interesting,” Sebastian said. “All the same, I am relieved that we will be expected to drink it only once per day. I trust we can expect no side effects from it?”
“Only those associated with good health, such as being able to breathe more freely and for a cessation of itchy rashes.”
“Ah. Now all comes clear. Well, I’ll be glad for spring to come when we can have a more varied diet.”
“As to that,” Dr. Gavril said soberly. “I don’t suppose you have any scurvy grass growing in the orangeries?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. But you might ask Mr. Timony. He will know, or know which gardeners to ask.”
“Well, that is good. Otherwise, I was going to suggest that we begin sprouting some radishes.”
“Sprouting radishes?”
“Yes, indeed, Your Grace. The Orientals have done it for centuries, and Captain Cook made it a constant practice on his ships. It keeps scurvy at bay. Then if we could add some fatty fish to the people’s diet, it would be perfect.”
“Fatty fish? At this season?”
“Ah, well. It was a thought.”
“A kindly one, I think. I will ask Mr. Evans to see if we have any fish oil put by. Mrs. Blanchard is usually forethoughtful in these matters.”
“Mrs. Blanchard. Of course, the housekeeper. I should have thought. I will ask her certainly.”
Then Dr. Gavril went off chuckling to himself about sly dog keepers, and sly old dogs.
Sebastian stared after him before turning upstairs to the schoolroom. When he arrived, Martha Louisa already had preparations for the dinner party well underway. She had assembled wingback chairs for each of the convalescents, and comfortable upholstered chairs for everyone else. A shady screen was ready to block the light from the fireplace and the candles were sconce with frosted globes. She had even created a low centerpiece of Christmas greens, complete with little holly berries and a sprig of mistletoe.
“Quite charming,” Sebastian complimented her. “And we have Dr. Gavril’s conditional approval. You have already taken care of part of it, and I shall endeavor to keep the entertainment light and suitable for all ages.”
“What story shall we hear tonight, Your Grace?”
“The Nun’s Priest’s Tale.”
“Chanticleer and the Fox?”
“The very same.”
“I trust you will leave off the moral of the story, and that you will ;ahem; change the wording for parts of it?”
“Have no fear, Martha Louisa. I have selected a translation that is meant for school children. It will offend no one’s sensibilities.”
“Well that is a relief, Your Grace. The late Duchess wanted all us maids to be able to read and speak proper. That story was one o’ the ones she used to teach us. I declare, I never blushed so over the printed word in my life.”
Sebastian made a mental note not to introduce any French novels to the household, and to avoid reading any of the other Canterbury Tales, for the story of Chanticleer and the Fox was one of the more presentable of the narrations.
Then Martha Louisa surprised him. “Perhaps you could read from that book that Miss Doyle has been reading to the boys. It is Arabian Tale or Arabian Adventures or some such. You could ask her where she left off.”
“If we have time after Chanticleer and the Fox, I certainly shall. I would otherwise have turned to Aesop’s Fables but I believe that Mr. Stableman and Mr. Gardener have read it cover to cover over the last week.”
The dinner party was a rousing success. It turned out that both Miss Doyle and the twins were familiar with Chaucer, which caused Martha Louisa to blush over her presumption. But the story of the vain rooster was well received, nonetheless. The suggestion that they continue reading the adventures of Sinbad was hailed enthusiastically, and they passed a very pleasant evening.
Later, as he was tucking the twins into their beds, Nick asked, “You like Miss Doyle, don’t you, Seb?”
“Why, yes, I do,” Sebastian said, surprised into honesty.
“Why don’t you ask her to marry you, then?”
“She’s not a peer, is she, Seb?” Luke asked shrewdly, displaying an understanding that had not yet graced Nick’s awareness.
“She does not say that she is, Luke, but I have my suspicions that she is something other than a commoner. But regardless of her social standing, I have asked her if she would marry me.”
“What did she say?” Nick asked.
“She said she would give me an answer on Twelfth Night.”
“Twelfth Night…Why that is very soon, is it not?” Luke asked.
“Very soon. And now I wonder if I should give her more time, because she has been so very ill. I do not want to pressure her.”
Nick thought it over for a few minutes. “I like her a lot,” he said, “but we really don’t know very much about her, do we?”
“I think we know the important things,” Sebastian answered. “But since I do have the two of you to consider, I have sent a letter to my lawyer in London to check into her past.”
“What if she has changed her name? How would your lawyer know who she is?”
“That is a very good point, and I think that is really why the constable is here, not because she was nearly abducted. I think Miss Doyle might be in some kind of trouble, but she does not trust me enough to let me help her.”
Nick looked a little troubled. “Seb, Martha Louisa told Mr. Stableman that Miss Doyle had been calling out to someone named Charles in her sleep. And she kept telling him, ‘I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t.’ That doesn’t sound good, does it?”
“That could mean all kinds of things, Nick. We should not think the worst until we can ask her. She has been far too ill to trouble her with such things.”
“But wouldn’t it make her feel better to confess?” Luke asked. “It always makes me feel better.”
“Not if you are afraid you will lose something very dear to you,” Sebastian answered. “Then it can be very hard to own up to the truth.”
Nick thought for a few minutes. “I think we could write our own fable out of this,” he said. “But it is hard to do that when we haven’t made it to the end of the story yet.�
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“That we have not,” Sebastian returned. “I am finding it hard to wait for Twelfth Night for my answer, and I might have to wait even longer. But for tonight, the two of you need to go to sleep. I want to check with Martha Louisa and see if Miss Doyle has survived the dinner party without any danger of relapse.”
When he finally had the boys settled, he was pleasantly surprised to find Lillian still sitting by the fire with a folded cloth over her eyes. “There you are,” she said. “They must have been difficult to settle down tonight.”
The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 19