by Jen Turano
“How can a housekeeper not know how to cook?”
“Have you employed many housekeepers here at Glory Manor?”
“Well, no.”
She smiled. “That explains it, then. You see, most houses that have the wherewithal to employ housekeepers also have the wherewithal to employ cooks. That is why I’ve never been required, or even asked, to cook for a family before.”
“I have the wherewithal to employ a cook, but it took every negotiating skill I possess to get my aunt to even agree to bring on a housekeeper.”
Isadora began squeezing water out of a skirt that was most assuredly ruined. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were incapable of paying a cook, Mr. MacKenzie. I was simply trying to explain why I’ve never been required to cook. The houses I’m accustomed to organizing have all had large staffs, something I assumed would be the case at a country estate named Glory Manor.”
“What’s your idea of a large staff?”
“The usual, I expect—a butler, housekeeper, a wide assortment of maids, numerous footmen, and then grooms and stable masters to look after the horses.”
“Besides the housekeeping position, we only employ a few men to help with the animals.”
She tilted her head. “Which does explain why you’d want a housekeeper comfortable with fixing meals.”
“And you’re not comfortable with that?”
“I’m not what anyone would call proficient in the kitchen, and that’s not false modesty on my part.” She swiped her sleeve over her spectacles, smearing a touch of mud over the glass in the process. Lowering her hand, she peered through the now-murky lenses, finding Ian watching her closely. “Should I assume you’ve already decided I’m not right for the job?”
To her surprise, Ian shook his head. “You may not be fully qualified for the type of housekeeping position we need here, but I do have another position available, one that does not involve cooking but merely taking care of a few children—four, to be exact.”
“You have four children?”
He shook his head. “They’re not mine and have only recently come to live at Glory Manor, much to my surprise.”
“How is it possible you were surprised to find four children living at your home?”
“This is my aunt and uncle’s home.”
“But you live here?”
“Occasionally, although I mostly only visit these—”
“Swim!”
“Oh no, not again,” Ian exclaimed right as a little girl with red hair plaited in two messy braids ran into view, her chubby little legs carrying her toward the opposite side of the pond, her clothing apparently having been abandoned somewhere along the way since she was completely naked.
“Daisy, no!” Ian shouted as he turned and raced back into the pond, diving through the water and then swimming for the other side, his strong strokes no match for the determined child now racing for the water. The little girl darted to the right, then to the left before she launched herself into the air, hitting the water a second later with a gleeful shriek right before she disappeared under the water.
Without hesitating, Isadora dove into the water as well, knowing there was little chance Ian would have seen where the child had entered the water since he’d been swimming furiously toward a spot the child was no longer near. She made it all of ten strokes before realizing she’d made a very grave mistake.
The heaviness of her clothing was beginning to suck her underneath the water, and her skirt was tangling around her legs, making it next to impossible to kick herself back up to the surface.
Before she knew it, she was dropping through the water like a stone, descending foot after foot with alarming speed.
When she finally reached the bottom of the pond, she was almost out of air, so planting her feet as firmly as she could on the squishy pond floor, she pushed off from the floor with every bit of strength she had left, her efforts all for naught when she jolted to an abrupt stop.
The reason for the stop became immediately clear.
Her skirt was caught on something she couldn’t see through the murky water, and no matter how hard she tugged, she couldn’t get free.
As her lungs continued to protest their lack of air, panic swept over her when the thought sprang to mind that she was not going to be able to free herself in time.
Stars began to form behind her eyes, but then a hand suddenly wrapped around her arm and began tugging her upward, that hand disappearing when she didn’t move more than a few inches.
As darkness began to take hold, Isadora felt something sharp against her hip and then she felt a lovely sense of weightlessness that allowed her to begin moving upward.
Wondering if she’d be greeted by her grandparents when she reached heaven’s gate, a place she was convinced she was about to enter, her wondering came to a rapid end when bright light almost blinded her, and then . . . she drifted back into lovely darkness . . . until . . .
Air was suddenly pushing into her lungs, the source of that air coming from something placed over her lips, something that felt surprisingly supple and . . .
“Come on, Mrs. Delmont, you can do this. Breathe.”
Additional air filled her lungs as Isadora realized that air was coming directly out of someone’s mouth but . . . that couldn’t be right . . . unless . . .
Further contemplation was abruptly pushed aside when water that was swishing around inside her began rising up her throat. Jerking her head to the right, which effectively left behind the lips she thought might have been attached to hers, she coughed up what felt like half the pond, gasping for breath.
“I thought she was a goner for certain.”
“She was underwater for a really long time.”
“Was you kissing her, Mr. Ian, because you thought she was dead and you were sayin’ good-bye to her, but now that she’s not dead and you were kissing her, you’re gonna marry her?”
“I wasn’t kissing her, Henry,” Isadora heard Ian say. “I was trying to get her to breathe, and there’s no need to call me Mr. Ian. Ian will do just fine.”
“It sure did look like kissing to me,” another voice chimed in, this one belonging to a girl. “And my mama used to always tell me that if you kissed a boy, you was gonna have to marry that boy, so you’d better be sure you liked him. Do you think that lady likes you, mister?”
“His name’s Ian,” the boy named Henry said. “And his last name isn’t Alderson like Aunt Birdie or Uncle Amos, it’s MacKenzie, and he lived here from when he was my age until he done grew up.”
“Aunt Birdie says she’s gonna see about having us live here until we grow up too,” the girl said. “And since you was just kissing that lady, Ian, I bet she’ll come live with us here after the two of you get married and all.”
Isadora’s eyes flew open, and she discovered numerous faces peering down at her, four of those faces belonging to children, one of whom, she was relieved to discover, was the small girl who’d jumped into the pond.
“We’re not getting married,” she finally rasped as she coughed again and grimaced at the brackish taste in her mouth. “Although I am curious as to why you were kissing me.”
Ian frowned even as he pulled open one of her eyes, peered into it, then did the same with her other eye. “I wasn’t kissing you, Mrs. Delmont, I was trying to revive you. I once saw a man trying to bring around another man by breathing for him. And after I got you back to shore and noticed you weren’t breathing, that’s the first thing to spring to mind, and thankfully, it worked.”
Ignoring the fact that her lips were tingling, assuredly so because his lips had only recently been pressed against them, Isadora pushed herself to a sitting position. “And did that man recover as well?”
“I do believe he did.” He lifted his head and smiled at the children. “Why don’t all of you take Daisy to the water pump, get her cleaned up a bit, and then perhaps see if she remembers where she abandoned her clothes?”
“Daisy don’t like the water f
rom the water pump,” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Perhaps a bath would be more inviting,” Isadora said, her suggestion having the curious effect of the children looking at her in what could only be described as horror right before they bolted away, leaving her and Ian alone.
Isadora frowned. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”
Ian frowned as well as he considered the retreating children before he looked back to her. “Indeed, but since I’m not overly familiar with these children, I’m afraid I have no ready explanation regarding their unexpected flight.”
“Perhaps we should go after them to discern what it was I said that apparently offended them.”
“An excellent suggestion to be sure, and one that suggests you’re more familiar with children than I am.”
Before she could contradict that, Uncle Amos came splashing out of the pond, holding a dripping piece of fabric in his hand.
“Thought you might like to be reunited with this,” he said, holding out the piece of fabric. “I think it’s part of your skirt.”
Glancing down, she felt heat flood her face when her gaze settled on legs that were barely covered by her petticoats and the ragged remains of what had once been a rather drab skirt.
“Sorry about that,” Ian said with a nod to her legs. “Your skirt was snagged on a branch at the bottom of the pond.” He pulled a wicked-looking knife from the waistband of his trousers. “Lucky I had this on me to cut you free, but I’m afraid your skirt is probably beyond repair.”
“I have other skirts in my trunk, and if someone could fetch that trunk for me, I’d appreciate it. I’m hardly making a good impression dressed in my petticoats.”
Ian sent her a rueful smile. “Since I’m the one responsible for your current predicament, I don’t think you have to worry about the type of impression you’re making.”
His smile sent additional heat traveling to her cheeks, but she was suddenly distracted from his smile when she caught a glimpse of her hand and noticed what seemed to be red bumps on it.
“How peculiar,” she said, turning her hand from side to side as she looked it over.
Kneeling beside her, Ian took hold of her hand, studying it for a brief moment before he lifted his head. “I was hoping you’d be spared this after we got you washed off.”
“What do you mean?”
“Unfortunately, you seem to be unusually susceptible to poison ivy and are already showing some symptoms from your encounter with the plant.” His eyes widened as he peered at her face.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“We’d best get you up to the house” was all he said to that.
She soon found herself in his arms again, held against a chest she couldn’t appreciate as much this time, the reason for the lack of appreciation all due to the unfortunate reality that she was beginning to itch . . . quite dreadfully.
Chapter 9
THREE DAYS LATER
“I’m beginning to think arming Mrs. Delmont with a cowbell might not have been the most brilliant of ideas,” Ian said, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen as the clang of the cowbell echoed through the ceiling directly above his head.
Aunt Birdie looked up from where she’d been sorting through cookie cutters at the kitchen table. “She does seem to enjoy ringing the bell, but since my hearing isn’t what it used to be, it doesn’t bother me in the least. And because I don’t want to suffer another lecture from you about overexerting myself, I’ve become quite adept at ignoring the clanging instead of going upstairs to see what Mrs. Delmont needs.”
Knowing his aunt grew overly tired whenever she tried to climb stairs, while also knowing she wasn’t bothered by any of the many lectures he’d given her since her accident, Ian settled for sending her a smile as he glanced at the ceiling again. “Don’t you find it curious that a woman intent on procuring a housekeeping position seems to have little reluctance in making so many demands?”
“There’s something curious about Mrs. Delmont, there’s no question about that,” Aunt Birdie said. “Not that I’ve had much contact with her, but she’s surprisingly refined for a woman in service. I would imagine there’s an intriguing story there, but what that story is, I couldn’t hazard a guess.”
“She’s not mentioned anything to me about what she was doing before she arrived at Glory Manor.”
“Have you asked her any questions about that?”
Ian smiled. “Well, no. I haven’t had the heart to interrogate her, not with how pathetic she looks covered in a rash that was oozing somewhat dreadfully yesterday.”
“I imagine the oozing is what’s keeping her confined to her room.”
“Then let us hope it has run its course. Perhaps then she’ll feel comfortable leaving her room, which should have the ringing of the cowbell coming to an end.”
Aunt Birdie set aside a cookie cutter. “You have no one to blame but yourself for the cowbell situation. You did give the bell to her, but with the best of intentions, of course, after you realized her voice was going raspy from calling out so often for assistance. Frankly, you can also shoulder some of the blame for her demanding ways.”
“How do you figure that one?”
Aunt Birdie arched a brow. “Have you not taken it upon yourself to read to her every night?”
Knowing his aunt would read far too much into his decision to spend time reading to Mrs. Delmont in the evenings if he allowed her to think on it too much, Ian shrugged. “You must realize that I’ve only done so to try and distract her from her itching.”
“Or you’ve done so because you find her intriguing.”
“Or I find myself finally having an excuse to delve into a Jane Austen novel,” he countered, which earned him a smile from his aunt.
“Jane did pen some lovely stories, but I fear your good intentions of trying to distract Mrs. Delmont are allowing a familiarity to grow between you. I’m sure she’s not been employed in a household before that would encourage that type of familiarity, and that might be exactly why she seems to have no qualms about making demands.”
The bell took that moment to clang again, but before Ian could even think about seeing what Mrs. Delmont needed now, he glanced out the screen door, frowning when he noticed Buttercup, along with three other cows, ambling across the lawn toward the farmhouse. “Looks like you’re about to get some visitors, but how do you imagine all those cows got out of the barn?”
Aunt Birdie craned her neck. “Buttercup is a most intelligent cow. I would guess she somehow managed to open the gate and the other three cows followed her.” She suddenly looked a touch guilty. “Buttercup must have let them know that I always keep a bucket of apples by the back door to hand out as treats.”
“It’s little wonder all the animals on the farm have been making so many escapes, what with you giving them treats.” Ian bit back a grin when his aunt looked guiltier than ever. “You do realize that Uncle Amos believes someone keeps letting all his animals free on purpose, don’t you?”
Aunt Birdie frowned. “I’ve not given a single treat to any other animal except Buttercup.”
“Good to know.” He turned back to the door when the cows began mooing in a rather anticipatory manner. “Because I know you’ll get up from your chair the moment I leave the kitchen to dole out some treats, I’ll do it for you this time. But you’re going to have to stop with the treats before utter chaos descends upon the farm.”
Aunt Birdie muttered something noncommittal under her breath that left him grinning as he picked up the bucket of apples and headed out the door. He was greeted with additional moos from Buttercup, Minnie, Esmeralda, and a cow he thought Uncle Amos might have named Thomasina. “This is not going to become a habit,” he told them, handing out apples all around before he strode back into the house, ignoring the mournful moos that followed him inside.
Setting the bucket on the counter directly beside the basket of eggs he’d recently collected from the henhouse, he gla
nced to the ceiling again as fresh clangs of the cowbell rang out.
“Aren’t you going to see what Mrs. Delmont wants?” Aunt Birdie asked after he, instead of leaving the kitchen, washed his hands in the sink, then wet a towel and wiped from his face some of the grime that he’d acquired while he’d been working on the farm.
“I’ll look in on her in a moment, although I can’t imagine what she could possibly need now. I’ve already taken her a lunch tray, changed the linens on her bed, and given her an entire box of Arm and Hammer soda so she could make new paste to slather over her rash.”
Hanging the towel on a rack beside the sink, Ian walked across the kitchen and sat down next to his aunt. “I haven’t told her this, but she’s looking somewhat frightful today, what with the way the paste cracks when it dries. She keeps demanding a mirror, but that’s one demand I’m not going to appease.”
“Maybe you should give Mrs. Delmont a mirror so she can take stock of the damage.”
Ian shuddered. “The first night she was here, she descended into a state of hysterics after she caught a glimpse of herself. It took me almost an hour to convince her she wasn’t going to be permanently disfigured.”
Aunt Birdie picked up a cookie cutter shaped like a sheep, moving it to a pile she’d begun assembling to her right. “From what little I saw of her when you carried her into the house when she first arrived, I got the impression she might be a very beautiful woman. In my experience, beautiful women always find it most distressing when their beauty goes missing.”
“Given her dreadful spectacles, I’m not certain Mrs. Delmont is one of those women who puts much stock in beauty. The ladies I mingle with in Pittsburgh society wouldn’t be caught dead wearing spectacles, let alone ones that are less than fashionable.” He plucked an apple from the basket sitting in the middle of the table. Picking up a knife, he began cutting the apple into slices. “But speaking of Pittsburgh, I will need to attend to some business matters there soon. I’ve been considering officially offering Mrs. Delmont a position, although I’ve also been considering placing another advertisement in the papers and starting from scratch.”