Chapter Three
Elspeth stood outside the nursery door, blinking hard and wiping her eyes until she was sure most of the traces of sadness had been eradicated from her face. She did not know whether the boys had heard the punishment she’d just received; she certainly hoped not. For despite what the dreadful Mr. Harker said, she would not have them see her as a strong adult they could rely on, and not just another member of the nursery subject to the same punishment they themselves were subject to.
She opened the door slowly to find the boys on the floor playing with a set of wooden farm animals.
“No, no, Harry!” The older of the boys took one of the animals from where his little brother had perched it on top of a trunk and put it back in a pen fashioned from blocks. “The goat goes in the fence!”
But Harry was undeterred. Plucking the toy away from his older brother he put it back where it had originally been. “Not the goats down the lane! I’ve seen them in trees!”
“Fibber.” Colin scowled at his brother. “Goats can’t climb trees.”
“Actually they can.” Elspeth smiled and walked over, settling herself on the floor beside her charges. “Back home I’ve seen goats sleeping on the roofs of houses. One once fell through a hole into my friend’s kitchen.”
“Really?” Harry’s eyes grew wide. But Colin looked more skeptical.
“How did the goat get on the roof?” His hand reached for the wooden goat but this time he didn’t take it from the trunk, and instead rearranged it slightly.
“Well, my friend Fiona’s father used to park his cart up by the house. The goat simply jumped from the cart to the top of the house.”
Colin shook his head. “Even if you put a cart by our house a goat couldn’t get on the roof.” He paused, glowering. He looked very much like his father – angry and inflexible. Elspeth offered another gentle smile.
“Ah, this is true. But your mistake is assuming that all houses are as grand as this one. In my country, the houses are made of stone and are very, very low. And grass grows on the rooftops. Or they are layered with straw. So it’s easy to see why a goat might like to sleep on top of them.”
“A house with a grass roof!” Harry began to laugh as if this were the funniest thing he had ever heard.
“Sounds like lodging for rabbits,” Colin said, casting his younger brother a look that suggested he did not approve of silliness.
“We stayed snug as rabbits,” said Elspeth, and then leaned in to Harry, whispering. “Until goats fell through the roof.” Harry erupted into more laughter and Colin regarded them with a glare that carried just the hint of jealousy.
“Good,” Elspeth thought to herself. “Let him see that his nurse can be fun. Let him see that if he doesn’t thaw, Harry will have all that fun to himself.”
Elspeth forced herself to turn her attention to Harry, occasionally casting glances to Colin, who was now holding a toy horse.
“Did you ever have a horse on the roof?”
Elspeth rewarded the interaction with a smile. “No, Colin, we did not,” she said. “But my father once let me bring a one in the house.”
“He let you have a horse in the house?” Colin raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said your house was small.”
“It wasn’t a full sized horse. It was a baby one – a baby pony, actually – that had fallen into the bog and gotten soaked. We took it in to warm it up. My ma fed it hot peppermint tea.”
Now Colin was laughing, too. “A pony having tea in the house? Are you from some magical land?”
“Aye. It’s called Scotland,” Elspeth rose, extending a hand to each boy. “And if you’ll be good lads and take your baths then I shall tell you some fairie stories from my homeland. Would you like that?”
“No.” Harry was now playing the obstinate role. “Fairies are for girls.”
“You clearly know nothing of fairies then,” Elspeth said. “If you think they are flitty, flowery things then you’ll be surprised to learn that they come in all shapes and sizes and can be quite naughty and even dangerous.”
“Really? Tell us more!” Harry was jumping up and down, and even Colin looked interested.
“Not until your bath,” Elspeth said. “James has already drawn the water for you.”
***
Harker did not speak to Elspeth when he came in to preside over his son’s prayers, but she did not care. After the unjustified harshness, eliciting a few smile from Colin and Harry felt like something of a victory over their father’s excessive stoicism.
As she turned and shut the door she saw him standing there, watching his children’s recitation in stone-faced silence. She waited until after the door had shut with a soft click to gently shake her head in confusion. Elspeth knew it must be difficult for her employer, raising two small sons without the company of a wife he must have loved very much. But it seemed to her for their sakes – as well as his own - that he would seek to find some measure of happiness in their delightful company.
But it was not for her to say, and behind the nursery door Clifford Harker listened to the word “amen” uttered in unison and bade his son’s a curt good night.
“Papa?”
The voice of his younger son was timid, for Harry knew well that once the lamp was out it was time for sleep.
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you believe in fairies?”
“No. Not at all. Why do you ask?”
“Because Elsp—our nurse, I mean, she says they are real.” The child’s blue eyes looked at his father from over the top of the quilt covering him, the quilt made by his mother.
“Yes,” added Colin. “And she said some of them are naughty, and that they tip over cows milk and others are nice and leave coins for poor families.”
“Rubbish,” Harker spat. “I’ll speak to her at once about telling lies.”
“They aren’t lies; they’re stories.” Harry sounded close to tears. “And I like them. Please don’t be angry with Nurse. She’s nice to us, and smells good.”
“She smells like Mother.” Colin’s voice was barely audible.
Clifford Harker felt his heart twist. He’d put a cake of his late wife’s soap in the room with the tub for Elspeth. It had not occurred to him that either of the boys would remember the scent.
He looked away in case his children caught sight of his pained expression by the dim light of the candle he carried.
“She’s not your mother,” he said gruffly.
“We know,” Colin said. “She just smells like her. And she tells good stories. We had fun with her.”
A rebuke sprang to Clifford Harker’s lips, but he bit it back. They were just children after all, and were doing nothing wrong by appreciating kindness showed to them by another person. Elspeth had obviously been warm to them in a manner which he hadn’t been – couldn’t be. He knew he should be glad for them, but part of him seethed with rage. The girl was a servant. She’d been instructed to tend to the children’s needs and nothing more. And again she had defied him.
Or had she?
Clifford Harker snuffed out the candle and bade his children a final good night before walking out into the hall. He leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes. He imagined for a moment he could open them and have everything back to the way it was before Caroline’s death, back when he knew where everything stood. He had a obedient wife, three healthy sons and a thriving business. The only time he was angry was when faced with inconveniences he realized now were trivial.
Now he was was plagued by feelings of anger. And guilt. Anger at God for allowing his wife and son to die and guilt for being angry. He wasn’t the only one in the community who had suffered a loss. Caroline and his baby son were but two victims of illness that lay in the churchyard.
But he also felt guilt over losing control of the situation, and often at night he would lay in bed retracing the steps of his life and wondering what he could have done to better protect his wife and son. Perhaps if he’d taken his family
and fled when the first signs of sickness hit the village. Even if he himself had stayed, he should have sent Caroline and the boys. Or perhaps he should have forbidden her from mingling with the general population, from serving the sick as she was wont to do, from attending church where the person next to her possibly passed the illness to her through an innocent touch or a shared hymnal.
Never again would he lose control. Never again. He squared his jaw and made the vow again that he’d made over and over since Caroline’s death: to stay in charge, to be aware, to never again let his family down. It was, he believed, his weakness that had allowed this to happen. He’d been too indulgent with Caroline; he’d allowed her to mingle with people against his better judgment. And one of them had infected her and he and his surviving sons were suffering as a result. But never again. He’d no longer let the emotional urge to indulge bring turmoil into his family.
He looked over at Elspeth’s door, now wondering if he’d done the right thing by letting her in. Who knows what maladies she carried with her from that foreign land. She seemed healthy enough, and even if she carried no physical illness the risk existed that she would infect the children with Forgetfulness. He frowned as he thought of the fairy stories she’d told his sons. Nonsense. Fanciful nonsense. How long before such frivolity drove the memories of Caroline from the boys’ minds? How long before her face replaced the face of their sainted mother whenever they longed to feel a bit of maternal affection?
He could not let that happen, and thought he’d make it clear to Elspeth where she stood. Apparently he had not. But that was something Clifford decided he would have to remedy, and soon. But not tonight. Tonight he would sleep. Or try to, at least. Like laughter, slumber had not come easily to him since Caroline’s death.
***
Elspeth was up before dawn, determined to prepare Colin and Harry a hot breakfast. She’d been told that cooking would be part of her duties and wondered how much preparation her employer had put into meals before she came. An examination of the pantry indicated very little. There were a few staples, but not what she would expect for a wealthy family.
By the time the first light was coming through the window, the kitchen was filled with the scent of eggs, ham and fresh apple tart. Elspeth was just coming back inside with a pitcher of milk James had gotten from the cow when she saw Clifford Harker standing in the kitchen doorway.
She curtseyed immediately. “Master,” she said.
He didn’t reply, and instead walked into the room and lifted the lids of the cookware to examine her offerings. Elspeth watched from the corner of her eye, noticing that her employer’s bored, sleepy expression did not change. She tried not to take it personally; when the children came down for breakfast their joy would be obvious. That was all that mattered.
“Apple tart? For breakfast?”
She jumped at the sound of his accusatory tone.
“The apples were in the barrel, and would have been overripe by this afternoon. I saw no need to waste them, and my breakfast tarts are not overly sweet.” She lifted a lid and tested the ham. “Boys need fruit. You are fortunate to have a good crop. In my country…”
“I do not care to converse,” he said curtly.
Elspeth felt her face flame red with indignation.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said.
“As well you should.”
He said nothing for a moment, but Elspeth could feel his eyes on her back, watching her every move. Finally she could take it no more and turned to face him.
“Have I so displeased you?”
Now it was his turn to be shocked. She knew he would see the statement as impertinent, and he did. For a moment he considered setting down on a stool and beating her bottom hard with the bread board, and then decided to answer her question instead.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes you have. I regret bringing you here.”
Elspeth sighed and put the spoon she was holding gently on the table. “And in what manner have I offended you?”
Clifford Harker’s expression didn’t change save for a slight flaring of his nostrils. “My children are being raised in the church. I do not care for your attempts to introduce your pagan superstitions to them.”
“I’m certain I don’t know of what you speak,” she replied quietly, feeling a stir of fear in her stomach.
“Those ridiculous fairy stories,” he said impatiently. “Superstitions cloaked in childish fancy…”
“Did their mother never tell them fairy stories?” Elspeth had asked the question before she could stop herself.
“It is not your concern what Caroline did!” He yelled the words, the force of his anger causing Elspeth to jump. “And if she did, they were simply stories. She never told them they were real!”
“Yes she did.”
Both Elspeth and Clifford Harker turned to see Colin standing in the kitchen, looking with concern from one face to the other. Elspeth heart lurched with sympathy; he’d obviously heard his father’s raised voice.
“She told us that there was a fairy in the garden named Mary Bell. She used to let us leave milk out for her.” Colin smiled at the memory. “I remember. I didn’t know there were boy fairies until she told us.” He pointed at Elspeth.
Elspeth wanted very much to smile at Colin’s innocent defense of her, but she was afraid to do so. Instead she held her breath, worried that the child’s contradiction of his father would bring retribution.
“Thank you, Colin.” His father turned to him. “That will be all. Please go fetch your brother for breakfast.”
The child left, leaving the two adults alone.
“Already weaving a spell about my children,” he said, shaking his head.
“I have only showed them kindness,” she said. “Would you rather I not? For I cannot perform duties with your sons without doing so. Their sweet natures will not allow it. Surely as your father you can see…”
But he held up his hand, and she silenced herself, knowing how he hated her assumptions.
“Do not test me, Elspeth,” he said.
“I am not,” she said, and now her voice was quaking and she could not stop the tears that came. She was confused by this man, and terrified of him. He hated her for caring for his sons but not being their mother, then he hated her more for acting maternal. She was being set up for failure.
“Shall I leave?” she asked.
He put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window, as if considering the question.
“No,” he said. “No. I need help with my children. I simply….”
“May I?” She took a small step forward, her small hands spread in supplication. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she dared speak in his stead.
“You are missing your wife. I am an intruder, even if I am an invited one. You would not have me here if you didn’t need the help. You loved your wife and still feel her presence.” She paused. “So do I.”
Harker put his head in his hands. “Don’t!”
“I mean no disrespect,” Elspeth said, taking another step towards him. “I just want you to know she will not be forgotten. My mother died when I was about the age of your boys. My grandmother and aunt raised me, but I never forgot my dear mama. I never will…” She took yet another step forwards. “Your boys need a bit of whimsy, a hug, someone to tuck them in. It will not diminish their mother’s memory to have someone come in to give these things to them. It honors it by acknowledging its importance.”
Clifford Harker ran his hand through his hair, suddenly looking confused and older than his years. Elspeth suddenly wondered how long it had been since the master of the house had slept, and what demons plagued him in the night. She felt a surge of sympathy for him, but that feeling dissipated when he again faced her with a stern expression.
“A mother’s sweet endearments indeed,” he said. “The boy had that once upon a time. But that was taken from them. They will have to learn that God’s ways are not to be explained, and that some children enjoy
childhoods while others see theirs die with their mothers. My wife is gone, and with her the little touches of a mother’s love. It cannot be replaced, and I will not have you trying to do that. As I told you before, you are here to meet their needs and nothing more. Any attempt to ingratiate yourself into this household beyond your servant’s role will be met with punishment. Is that understood, or do I need to enforce that point now with the lash?”
“If you are asking me to tend to them with coldness then I cannot obey you,” Elspeth said. “You ask too much.”
The sound of approaching feet came towards the kitchen, and Harker ordered them back upstairs. “Go back to your room and do not come back down until I call,” he roared to his sons. Then he turned to Elspeth. “As for you, apparently you need a harsher lesson than what you’ve received so far.”
Chapter Four
She was infuriating. Simply infuriating. As Clifford Harker pushed the servant girl down the hall ahead of him, he reminded himself that what he was doing was for her own good, for his own good, for his family’s own good.
It did not matter to him whether she felt justified in defying him. All that mattered was that she’d declared her intention to do just that. And for Clifford Harker, a declaration of intent to disobey was tantamount to committing the act itself. And when that declaration came from a diminutive servant – a female at that – swift action was called for.
“Sir. Master. I beg of you…” Elspeth turned to him as he shoved her into the study, her hands spread out in a renewed gesture of supplication. “I am not a bad person. I am not naturally disobedient. I only meant to…”
“Silence!” He roared the word, and Elspeth flinched but did not jump so this time. She’d now declared Clifford Harker a tyrant, in her mind at least, and was not going to give him the satisfaction of reducing her to tears. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what she knew was to come. Begging, she now understood, would be of no use. Fate had delivered her into the hands of a cold and stern master. She would be beaten and likely beaten again. Elspeth hoped that a show of stoicism in the face of punishment would make her appear less vulnerable and reduce the chance of further beatings.
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