Under The Wishing Star

by Farr, Diane

  As it turned out, however, she neither tossed nor turned. She fell asleep immediately, slept deeply, and woke feeling refreshed. This seemed so odd, after the previous day’s turbulence, that when she opened her eyes to the clear and sunny morning she wondered briefly if she were dreaming. She felt too marvelous to be awake.

  Perhaps it was foolish, but she could not help feeling that the brilliant sunshine and blue skies were an omen. She must be doing the right thing after all, she thought, or she wouldn’t feel so calm about it. Calm? She felt downright cheerful.

  One of the maids brought chocolate to her and she took it to her window seat, sipping it while drinking in the fresh, clean air. Every nerve in her body seemed to be humming with anticipation. She was actually excited about her new role. She laughed a little, shaking her head. Her life had turned upside down ... again ... and, this time, she was loving it. How strange.

  As she looked out over the landscape, movement caught her eye. Two figures were moving down the grassy hill on the other side of the brook. Good heavens. It was Lord Malcolm and little Sarah, heading toward Crosby Hall. She pulled back from the window, her heart beating a little faster. They must rise early at Larkspur! She set down her chocolate and flew to close her bedroom curtains, calling to the maid for assistance with her toilette. Her new employer must not be allowed to think her a layabout.

  She dressed in record time and ran out to meet them as they were climbing up the rise. Father and daughter both looked up and smiled at her call, and Lord Malcolm returned her wave. Natalie felt her spirits rise even further. She ran lightly toward them, laughing.

  “I thought I was supposed to come to Larkspur, not the other way about. Good morning,” she added, extending her hand.

  Lord Malcolm shook it, smiling. “Good morning. Sarah was up with the chickens today, so I thought we would go exploring.”

  Sarah hopped up and down with excitement. “Are you coming back with us? Miss Whittaker, there’s a river with a little bridge. Papa let me throw a penny in the water for luck.”

  “A halfpenny,” said Malcolm, correcting her. He gave Natalie a crooked grin. “A penny would have bought us more luck than we need.”

  “I’m glad you found the bridge, at any rate,” said Natalie, wondering why his words made her feel so ridiculously happy. She fell into step beside them as they turned back toward Larkspur. “The path to the footbridge is used so seldom, it’s hard to make out in places.”

  “Did you picture us fighting a raging current? Even without the bridge, I might have carried Sarah across and suffered nothing worse than a pair of wet boots.”

  She laughed, wrinkling her nose. “This time of year, I’ll grant you, the brook is not formidable.”

  “Formidable,” whispered Sarah.

  Natalie glanced down at her with interest. It seemed that Sarah was trying the word on for size. She touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Fearsome,” she explained.

  “Like a bear? Could a bear be formidable?”

  “A bear is almost always formidable.”

  Sarah nodded, then gritted her teeth in a ferocious scowl. “Formidable,” she growled, bearlike. Then her brow cleared and she danced away into the grass, humming.

  Natalie said, in a low tone that Sarah would not overhear, “That’s a good sign, I think. She seems to have a natural interest in learning.”

  “Some things, yes,” he said dryly. “Some things, no.”

  She chuckled. “I thought you told me she was different? That sounds like every child in the world.”

  Nevertheless, as they walked, slowing their steps to suit their small companion, Natalie saw a glimmer of what Lord Malcolm had meant by “different.” His daughter gamboled and frisked like a puppy beside them, running ahead and trotting back, dropping on all fours to examine the flowers, dancing in circles, singing nonsense syllables and paying the adults no mind. It was not her energetic behavior that was so unusual, but the utter concentration in her face. Something in her expression gave the impression that she was unaware she was being watched, even though she knew the adults to be with her. Sarah was able, somehow, to utterly exclude them and play as if she were quite alone.

  Natalie supposed it was her job, now, to restrain the little girl, but Lord Malcolm seemed unconcerned about Sarah’s exuberance. He claimed Natalie’s full attention by tucking her hand into his elbow—to steady her steps as they crossed the grass, she reminded herself sternly; a courtesy any man might have shown her; there was no reason to feel so self-conscious about touching him—and focused his smiling blue eyes on her face as if she were the only person in the world. It felt very flattering, but she was amused when she realized it reminded her of Sarah. As they chatted, Natalie saw Sarah’s powers of concentration mirrored in Lord Malcolm, and said so.

  Some of the pleasure left his expression. “You are right, of course.” His eyes shifted to Sarah, filled with trouble now. “She has inherited some of my temperament. And some of her mother’s.”

  Natalie was surprised at the sobering effect her light words had had. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

  He seemed about to answer her when Sarah, down the hill ahead of them, suddenly tripped and went face-down in the grass. With an exclamation, Natalie ran toward the little girl. Sarah lay so still and silent, she was afraid for a moment that the child had been hurt.

  Lord Malcolm reached Sarah at the same instant she did. He reached down and gently turned her over. Sarah’s eyes were wide open, but filled with fear. “Am I all right, Papa?” she whispered.

  “That’s for you to say. Do you hurt anywhere?”

  She seemed to think for a moment, as if taking inventory. “No.”

  “Can you sit up?”

  Another pause. “Yes.” She still did not move.

  “Then pray do so.”

  Sarah obediently sat up.

  “What happened?” asked Natalie.

  Sarah’s eyes turned to her. They still seemed unnaturally wide, as if the little girl were straining to see through darkness. “I fell in the grass.”

  “Yes, sweetheart, but why?”

  Fear flickered across Sarah’s face, and something that looked like shame. “I don’t know. Did I tear my stockings?”

  Natalie inspected them. She had been struck yesterday by how expensively Sarah was dressed, and her clothing today was equally fine. The stockings, she noted, were silk. Was that why she was anxious about them? “No, my dear. A little grass stain at the knee, but nothing torn.”

  “Come,” said Lord Malcolm roughly. He seemed once more to be hiding strong emotion. He extended his hand, and Sarah took it. He pulled her to her feet. “Are you able to walk?”

  “Yes, Papa.” She looked anxiously up at him. “Papa, I did not tear my stockings.”

  “So I heard. Stay beside us from now on, and let’s see if we can get you home with no more mishaps.”

  Sarah hung her head and said something inaudible. Natalie bent down to hear her. “What did you say, sweetheart?”

  Sarah’s eyes met hers, filled with shame and distress. “Must I sit in the corner when we get home?”

  Natalie was startled. She straightened, looking at Lord Malcolm for guidance. He was frowning at Sarah, evidently as perturbed as she was by Sarah’s expectation of punishment. “I don’t think you need sit in the corner,” said Natalie gently.

  “Will you put me back in leading strings?”

  “Certainly not. You are far too old for leading strings.”

  Sarah looked relieved. Natalie tried again to catch Lord Malcolm’s eye, but he was still frowning in an abstracted way at the top of Sarah’s head. She took Sarah’s other hand and, together, they walked sedately back to Larkspur. Sarah made no attempt to pull away. The high-spirited child who had frolicked around them had vanished; her affect was now completely subdued.

  There was an odd dynamic operating in this family. Natalie could not put her finger on it. Whatever it was, it definitely muted the happiness she had
felt earlier this morning. There was something deeply troubling about Sarah’s quirks and fears, and she was also at a loss to understand the abrupt shifts in Lord Malcolm’s mood. At times he grinned and teased like a boy, and at other times he had a haunted look, as if he would never smile again.

  Was he still grieving for his lost Catherine? She could think of no other explanation. But what of Sarah? She did not believe, as Lord Malcolm claimed, that Sarah was grieving for a loss suffered three years ago. She was too young.

  When they reached Larkspur, Natalie took Sarah upstairs so Nurse could change her stockings. Nurse took the opportunity to draw Natalie aside for a moment. “There’s somethin’ amiss with the child,” said Nurse, looking grim. “She spilled her milk at breakfast and flinched as if she thought I would strike her.”

  “Yes,” said Natalie in a low tone. “She expects to be punished at every turn. Mrs. Thorpe must have been a worse tyrant than Lord Malcolm knew.”

  Nurse looked skeptical. “From what you told me, the woman was only with them for a few months. How could she break the wee thing’s spirit in such a short time?”

  “I don’t know,” said Natalie, troubled. “Sarah is more sensitive, perhaps, than most.”

  Nurse’s skeptical expression deepened. “Hmpf. At any rate, I’ll change her stockings. It’s a miracle they weren’t ruined. Silk! Pure silk. Most unsuitable for a child her age.”

  “Why is she wearing silk stockings? Did you let her choose them?”

  Nurse snorted. “She has nothing else. Would you believe it? I unpacked for the mite, and she has pair after pair of silk stockings. Not a woolen nor a cotton pair among ‘em. And as for her little frocks and hats and boots and such—tsk! Never seen anything to equal it. You should see her nightgown; the trim alone is worth a month’s wages to the likes of me. I know Mechlin lace when I see it. Real lace, on a scrap of muslin the child will outgrow within a year!” She shook her head in dour disapproval.

  “How odd,” said Natalie, feeling a twinge of unease. Then she rallied. “But, after all, Lord Malcolm is a wealthy man. Why shouldn’t he buy the best for his only child?”

  “Waste is waste, if you ask me.” Nurse looked sharply at her. “You be careful, Natalie.”

  “I?” To her vexation, she felt a guilty blush stealing across her face. “It has naught to do with me.”

  “Hmpf. Just you remind yourself of that from time to time.”

  With that cryptic utterance, Nurse bustled off to take charge of Sarah. Natalie watched her go, tapping her foot in annoyance. She hadn’t meant to fire up in defense of Lord Malcolm. It had just happened. She didn’t need Nurse, or anyone else, to remind her that it was none of her business. And Nurse was a fine one to talk! Hadn’t she just expressed her opinion in no uncertain terms? Why shouldn’t Natalie do the same?

  Be careful, indeed! She was in no danger. No danger at all.

  Chapter 8

  Malcolm knocked softly before opening the nursery door. One end of the large room had been set up as a makeshift classroom, and Sarah was seated at a low table with Natalie bending over her shoulder, watching her draw. The pencil looked enormous clutched in Sarah’s small fingers. She held it very carefully, moving it slowly and with great precision. Natalie looked up when Malcolm entered, but Sarah neither blinked nor budged. Every fiber of her tiny being was focused on guiding the pencil.

  Natalie’s eyes met his, and her face lit with that phenomenal smile of hers. If she could bottle that smile, she’d make a fortune. She looked different—softer, somehow. Prettier. Then he had it: this was the first time he had seen her hatless.

  Her hair was the warmest of browns, and wonderfully thick. She had piled it neatly atop her head in a complicated arrangement involving a knot at the back and two plaits laid along her hairline, framing her face. The style was both flattering and feminine, but it looked to Malcolm like she had gone to a deal of trouble for nothing. No amount of ruthless plaiting and stuffing and tying was going to tame those curls. Three or four rebellious tendrils had popped loose already and were coiling naughtily against the slender column of her neck.

  She lifted a finger to her lips to signal silence, flashed the smile again, and returned to her work. He had no objection to remaining silent. Of course, he could have told her it made little difference to Sarah. When she focused on a task—or a game, for that matter—nothing short of a trumpet blast would distract her.

  He quietly closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall, watching them. Natalie had placed a flower on the table before his daughter. Sarah was evidently attempting to sketch its likeness. From the look of contained excitement on Natalie’s face, it appeared that whatever Sarah was doing, it struck her as important.

  “Sarah, that is excellent!” she exclaimed at last. Sarah made no reply; it was doubtful she had even heard. She was still putting the finishing touches on her masterpiece. Natalie looked at Malcolm. “You did not tell me how talented your daughter is.”

  “Is she?” Malcolm crossed the room to stand beside them. He looked over Sarah’s other shoulder. On the paper before her was a pencil drawing of what was, unmistakably, a daisy. Several of the lines were blurred where Sarah’s sleeve had rubbed against them, and others were slightly crooked. Some of the lines wavered where she had drawn them too slowly. Still, a daisy it definitely was. “It’s a daisy, all right and tight,” he agreed.

  “It’s not just a daisy,” said Natalie indignantly. She pointed at the flower lying before Sarah. “It is this daisy.”

  He looked from the drawing to the daisy and back again. A daisy was a daisy, as far as he could see. “This daisy,” he repeated, at a loss. “Very good.”

  Natalie gave a little choke of laughter. “Do you not see? Look here. And here.” She pointed at a section of the daisy where one petal had a broken tip, and at a place on the stem where someone had evidently bent the thing until it creased. Sure enough, Sarah had faithfully replicated both the fold on the stem and the torn petal. Amazement dawned in him. His little daughter had observed details that had escaped his adult eye, details that set this particular daisy apart from its fellows. It was ridiculous, he supposed, to feel proud of her for such an insignificant accomplishment ... at least, he supposed it was an insignificant accomplishment ... but pride swelled his heart anyway.

  Natalie touched Sarah’s shoulder. “Sarah, that is very good work.”

  Sarah’s eyes seemed to come back into focus. She set down her pencil and gave Natalie a shy smile. “I like to draw.”

  Mrs. Bigalow appeared in the doorway that led to Sarah’s bedchamber. “Beg pardon,” she said mildly, “but the kitchen has sent up Sarah’s luncheon.”

  “Then she must eat it,” said Malcolm promptly. “Miss Whittaker, will you join me on the veranda?”

  She looked a little surprised, but pleased. “Certainly, my lord.” He offered his arm and she took it, allowing him to lead her downstairs and out to the shady end of the veranda. A light repast had been set out for them on a table set for two. He made a mental note to thank Mrs. Howatch; the food and the setting looked very inviting.

  Natalie exclaimed when she saw it. “A picnic! How fashionable.”

  He pulled out a chair for her, smiling. “Well, to be strictly fashionable, we would have to sit on the grass. But my ambition was not to be modish; I simply wanted to be private with you. And I thought you would decline an invitation to eat alone with me in the dining room.”

  She gave a little spurt of laughter. “Quite right,” she agreed, sitting where he bade her. “Although I don’t know why you would doubt your ability to persuade me. You have had little difficulty thus far in convincing me to do outrageous things.”

  “I dare not assume that my luck will hold.”

  “I see. Very wise.” Her eyes twinkled. “Ladies are taught, you know, to avoid going behind closed doors with single gentlemen.”

  “So I have found.” He sat across from her and shook out his napkin. “Now that I ha
ve disarmed you by bringing you out of doors, tell me how your morning went.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I am so pleased with your Sarah!”

  She launched into an enthusiastic recital of Sarah’s accomplishments. Bracing himself against the disappointment he feared was inevitable, he leaned back in his chair and listened, watching her expressive face.

  He expected praise, of course; she would view it as her duty to find something positive to say. But Natalie seemed to be going far beyond the call of duty. As she listed all the evidence she had discovered of Sarah’s quick mind and creativity, ticking the points off on her fingers, she fairly glowed with sincerity. There was no false note, no evasion. Her praise was lavish and obviously genuine. It was like a miracle. Emotion rose in him as he listened. He found he had to look away, clearing his throat to hide it.

  Her lilting voice continued, seeming unaware of the effect her words were having. “What is more important, I think, than her skill at reading and drawing is the pleasure she takes in them. A child who genuinely enjoys learning will be easy to teach.”

  Malcolm cleared his throat again. “You are confirming my own impressions.” He looked back at her, a wry smile twisting his features. “Until this moment, however, I believed that my natural partiality had blinded me. You are the first person I have met whose opinion marches with mine. In fact, I have it on the authority of the most prominent physician in the midlands that Sarah is feeble-minded.”

  Natalie’s eyes widened in shock. “No. How can that be? Sarah’s intelligence must be obvious to anyone who spends five minutes with her.”

  He regarded her in cynical amusement. “The only thing obvious about Sarah, from what I can gather, is her eccentricity.” He felt a familiar tightness in his chest as unpleasant memories clamored for his attention. He looked away to avoid her eyes. “It is her oddness, not her cleverness, that strikes most people.”

  When she did not reply at once, he glanced back at her. She was frowning absently at her plate. “Well?” he said challengingly. “You can’t have spent a morning with her and not noticed it.”