by Lily George
“Signora did not like to reprimand her. Nor did she want for us to scold her...” The nurse trailed off, shaking her head.
“Well, she is in my house now. In my house, this will not be tolerated. Kellridge is a haven of quiet and peace. Do you understand?”
The maid gave a respectful nod. “I understand. Making Juliet understand is difficult.”
“She shall have to.” He steeled himself to look over at his niece again. She looked so much like Juliana. The same long, black hair, the same heart-shaped face. Her brown eyes must have come from her father, for Juliana’s had been blue. But for those eyes, she could have been his sister. “No more being naughty,” he scolded, frowning at her. “Behave yourself.”
“She doesn’t speak English,” Becky piped up. “Sophia is translating for me.”
“That will never do.” Becky was Juliet’s nursemaid and it was her job to raise Juliet as a proper English lady. Not that he held anything against Sophia, but she was too permissive, and had been made to be so by his sister. Until she was gone, Juliet would continue to look to Sophia for direction and would be allowed to continue slipping back into her old slovenly habits. “She is in England now, and the best way for her to learn English is to only hear and speak it until she finds her way.”
“Yes, sir. I try. My English is rather poor.” Sophia shrugged her shoulders.
“Tell me, you must have family you wish to return to—another job, perhaps?”
Becky gasped and opened her mouth to speak, but he quieted her with a wave of his hand. “Miss Siddons, we only expected Sophia to bring Juliet here. ’Twas my plan all along to have her return to Italy. Raising Juliet is your duty.”
“I do have relatives who miss me and a new job with a different family.” Sophia’s face settled into a blank expression. Perhaps she wouldn’t miss her old charge—or the job of raising her—that sorely. “I thought perhaps you would want me to stay for a while, but since Miss Siddons is here, I may leave when you see fit.”
“I’ll make the arrangements for you to leave tomorrow.” The sooner ’twas done, the better. Becky would have to step up, and Juliet would have to begin learning English and behaving like a little lady. “The yacht will still be anchored at Cleethorpes. I’ll have my man drive you there tomorrow.”
He stooped gingerly and righted the little table. Becky knelt beside him, placing the ornaments back on its smooth surface. He bit back the sudden urge to promise her he knew what he was doing, that he was still in control. There was no need to say it. The results would manifest themselves in but a few days.
“No more.” He gave Juliet the sternest look in his arsenal. “Be a good girl.”
Then he strode out of the room, confidence rising within him. He’d made it through. He’d seen his niece without breaking down. Life wasn’t so bad after all. Despite a carriage accident, troubled niece, and rainy weather, he was still the master of Kellridge.
And, whether he was dealing with a temperamental toddler or a captivating young nursemaid, he was still the master of his emotions.
Chapter Eight
Whatever was she going to do with Juliet? Becky crossed her arms over her chest and considered the matter. The little mantel clock chimed ten o’clock in the morning, and the creature still slept. In fact, she slept with her rosy mouth hanging open, and her tiny bottom in the air, crouched atop the coverlet Mrs. Clairbourne had so hospitably chosen for her. The doll that Becky had restored to a semblance of her former glory had tumbled to the floor at some point in the wee hours of the night. Becky sighed and stooped to pick it up. No harm done. She smoothed the doll’s rumpled curls and tucked her beside her new mistress.
Of course, was it really surprising that Juliet slept so late into the morning, without stirring an inch? She had stayed up well past eleven the night before, pattering into Becky’s room every half hour or so. It was like she couldn’t understand what had occurred in her brief little life. She would peep around Becky’s door, her brown eyes big as saucers. And when Becky would get up, she’d scurry back into her room and dive under the covers. And so it had gone on, until the mite passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Small wonder Juliet was so confused and doubtful. How dreadful to be left alone and then moved about when really she was still a baby. Why, when Mama and Papa had died, Susannah had been there to shelter both Becky and Nan. Moving into Uncle Arthur’s home was the most difficult change she endured, but her elder sister had cared for her and for Nan as tenderly as their mother would have. She didn’t have to travel across an entire ocean and then be dumped unceremoniously into a new and entirely foreign land. And even Sophia had gone, escorted to the maids’ quarters for the night, and then whisked back to Cleethorpes at dawn.
For Paul had laid down the law, and in no uncertain terms yesterday. Becky suppressed a shiver. His wounds looked so dreadful. And yet—on him, it could be considered romantic. After all, some men could wear scars well. Now, if that horrid cut on his face had been obtained in a more dashing manner—say, perhaps, as the result of a battle over a lady’s honor, or in detaining a highwayman—he could be considered rather handsome.
Well, he hadn’t gotten those wounds from the blade of a villain’s sword. Instead, he had got them from driving at too fast a pace while running away from his rightful duties as an uncle.
She turned from Juliet’s bed. At least he had come to the east wing last night to see Juliet and restore order. He’d made it quite clear that Juliet’s care rested securely in her hands—and her hands alone.
She walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside with one hand. Sunlight streamed in for the first time in days. The roads would still be muddy, but they would begin to dry. Juliet might be more manageable if she had time to run and play outside. After all, she had been playing quite nicely on the beach before she began flicking sand all over everything, including her new nursemaid.
Becky sighed. If only Juliet were a quiet, docile child. She should know then how to handle her very well. She herself had been such a tame girl, so given to flights of fancy. How would she understand the workings of Juliet’s mind? And she couldn’t ask Paul for help. Even if Juliet was the spitting image of her mama, he had, in his usual unambiguous and decided manner, told her that she would be solely responsible for Juliet’s welfare.
She had no idea how to handle someone so strong-willed and obstinate. Why, only Susannah could come close in terms of temperament, and no one ever controlled her eldest sister.
Susannah might just be able to help. She had, after all, practically raised Becky and Nan after their parents died. And her temper, when provoked, was truly awe-inspiring. If anyone could help her find a way to reach her new charge, Susannah could.
Behind her, a plaintive voice called out, “Mama? Sophia?”
Becky steeled herself. Today would be the hardest. After that, each successive day would have to grow easier.
Surely it would.
Wouldn’t it?
“You’re in my care now, chicken, at your uncle Paul’s home.” She turned and gave a bright smile as Juliet pulled herself into an upright position, blinking her wide brown eyes in the sunlight. “It’s stopped raining, and I think the best thing for us is to go outside for a bit. Do you fancy a trip to Goodwin Hall?”
* * *
Becky ran her tongue over her parched lips. She’d been talking nonstop now for nearly an hour. Doing so was the only way she could think to immerse her charge in the English language. She’d repeated the names of objects over and over as they dressed and readied themselves for the brief trip to Goodwin. And it took all her powers of persuasion to coerce Juliet into the landau. Only by pretending her doll wanted to go for a ride—“Doll, doll. See Juliet? This is your doll.”—did she manage to get Juliet to climb in. No doubt the journey across the ocean and then into England had made quite an impression on her tw
o-year-old mind. She wanted no part of any further travel, and even a brief ride provoked her temper.
At least the weather was fine enough today for the top to be opened. And that meant she could distract her charge by pointing and naming everything in sight.
She would be ready for a bracing cup of tea when they reached the hall, though. Being a nursemaid was far more difficult than she had imagined.
As they rounded the bend into the drive that led to the main house, an instantly recognizable rider drew alongside the carriage. “Daniel,” Becky called happily, waving her hand. How nice to see and know people after a week or so of being among unfamiliar faces. In fact, the rush of identification made her fairly giddy.
Foster slowed the landau to a halt and Daniel dismounted, coming over to grasp her hands in his.
“Becky! Susannah will be so pleased to see you.” He looked over at Juliet and his smile wavered the tiniest fraction of a second. “Upon my word, she looks like her mother.”
“Does she?” Becky gave Juliet a kind pat on the shoulder. “I never knew Juliana.”
“Yes. Only her eyes are brown, where her mother’s were blue. Small wonder Paul was in such a haste to take his leave. Juliana’s death hit him hard, you know.” Daniel leaned forward, his normally open countenance clouded. “Is he all right? We heard about the accident.”
“He seems to be better. He was up and about yesterday.” No need to elaborate on exactly why he’d been on his feet so soon after his accident. She was in no mood to regale her brother-in-law with tales of her ineptitude as a nursemaid. However, Daniel’s comment did raise the very question that had bothered her since she took her post. Why was Paul so terribly upset about Juliana? Her passing must be a shock—that was understandable. Yet his stubborn refusal to be more than a mere fixture in his niece’s life was incongruous with his need to maintain control over Kellridge. In short, his motive remained a mystery, but she couldn’t ask Daniel why. Certainly not in front of Juliet. Even if she didn’t speak English yet and wouldn’t understand their conversation, some things were just in poor taste.
“I am sure he will be leaving for London, then. As soon as the carriage is fixed.” Daniel shrugged and turned back to his horse. “Are you looking for Susannah? She’s up with the tenants. They’re planning a sewing bee, you know.”
“Will I disturb them if I head that way?” Becky cast an uneasy glance at her charge. So far, she was playing with her doll so intently, muttering to her in a language that sounded unlike Italian or English—a Juliet-language. What if she had another temper tantrum?
“Not at all. Susannah has been worried about you. She won’t say so, of course, but I can see it in her eyes.” Daniel swung himself into the saddle and waved. “I’m off to ride fences. Take care, Becky.”
She gave the directions to the tenants’ homes to Foster and settled back in her seat. As they rolled and bounced along the gravel roads that led to the hall, she mulled over the mystery that was Paul Holmes—so ordered and meticulous in some ways, so overblown in others. Why was he such a contradiction of so many extremes? If he were romantic, well, then it might be the result of a broken heart. Paul was no romantic. He had not the soul of a poet.
The landau pulled up and stopped at the tenants’ village. Becky stood. There—she would recognize Susannah’s bright auburn hair anywhere. She was, of course, handing out directions to a group of people, sending them running in all directions.
“Susannah!” Becky waved her arms.
“Becky.” Susannah walked, with her usual brisk speed, over to the carriage. “I am so glad to see you. Nan and I have been worried.”
“No need to worry.” Becky indicated her charge with a wave of her hand. “I have come to ask your advice.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
As her sister spoke, a group of tenant children began to cluster around the carriage. Some ran their fingers down the smooth sides of the wooden wheels, while others simply stared. Juliet tucked her doll more tightly to her chest and looked away.
“They’re just impressed with the landau,” Susannah explained, helping Becky to alight from the carriage. “Paul always has kept an excellent livery stable of his own. Don’t worry, they won’t damage anything.”
As Becky hit the still muddy earth, she reached a hand up to Juliet. Juliet remained fixed in her seat, her eyes turned toward the carriage floor.
“Juliet, come.” Becky injected as much lightness into her voice as she could. Juliet remained fixed in her seat.
“Run along, now, children.” Susannah shooed them away with a flick of her hand. “Go tell the others that we will start the sewing bee in a moment.”
As the children dispersed, the tension that seemed coiled within Juliet faded. She hugged her doll to her chest as Becky boosted her out of the seat. Then Juliet clutched tight to her skirts, hiding her face against Becky’s leg.
“She only speaks Italian,” Becky explained, after an unsuccessful attempt to break free of Juliet’s viselike grip. “And stubborn as a mule. That’s why I came to you.”
“Well, I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed at what you’re insinuating.” Susannah crouched down to Juliet’s level and gave her a smile—the kind of smile that could persuade a hesitant customer to purchase a bonnet. “Why, she’s a lovely little girl. You need to get her out of that cheap black sateen though. It’s entirely unsuitable.”
“Her entire wardrobe needs work,” Becky admitted. Funny that Paul’s niece’s clothing was both lacking and unbefitting a child of her age when his family was so wealthy. Almost as though her parents sought to bedeck her as a miniature adult, rather than as someone her age should dress. “I shall start on that with help from some of the other servants, if I can persuade Paul to allow them to take on additional duties.”
Susannah cast a wary eye at Foster, who had turned in his seat and was facing away from them to give a modicum of privacy, but could still probably hear every word. “Bring her into Ann’s cottage. We can chat and have tea for a moment before I start supervising the sewing bee.”
Walking with Juliet attached to her leg was akin to playing at a three-legged race. Becky stumbled and tripped her way into the tenant’s cottage, which was cheerful and bright and empty of all humanity. That was good. No matter what happened, she would not give in to tears when telling Susannah of life at Kellridge. If she weakened, at least no one else would be hanging about to witness her feebleness.
“Not only does she not speak English,” Becky gasped as she managed to make it to the kitchen table, “but her temper is formidable, and her will strong as iron. She won’t eat a healthy amount of food, she sleeps outside her covers—which in and of itself is rare, for you cannot imagine how difficult it is to persuade her to have a lie-down at all. And Paul refuses to help, for he says it’s all my responsibility.”
Juliet plunked herself down on the dirt floor of the cottage, the corner of Becky’s skirt still wadded tightly in her hand.
“And he’s quite right, too. You accepted the position, and with it, all the difficulties as well as the freedom it gives you.” Susannah took a kettle off the hearth and busied herself preparing tea. “I know this must be a challenge for you, but we’ve been through worse—much worse—before.”
“Yes, but I feel so alone.” That was the whole of the problem, right there. That was why Paul’s insistence on staying clear of the matter stung so deeply. “Always when we faced trials or tribulations, we faced them together. I have no one to help me, and I am so overwhelmed. Juliet is different than I expected her to be. I wanted a calm and docile child.”
“Don’t deride her temperament.” Susannah set a steaming, fragrant cup of tea before her. “A strong-willed child can be a blessing in disguise. After all, she will never be easily led—and that could prove valuable if she ever falls in with a fast crowd.”
Becky took a cautious sip of her tea. Amazing how a cozy cup with her sister always seemed to set matters right. “I suppose that is true.”
“As for her temper—well, she will have to learn to control it. If you establish calm and order into her life, she may not give vent to her bad humor so often. Make sure she has appropriate play clothes. Establish her mealtimes and make her eat regular, wholesome meals. And beginning a proper bedtime is essential.” Susannah rested her elbows on the table and blew gently on her tea. “Children crave schedules and practice. I didn’t know Juliana at all, of course. From what I understand, given what Daniel has told me, I assume Juliet’s life with her parents was pandemonium?”
Juliet rose from her position on the floor and pushed Becky back from the table. Her small sticky hands tugged and pulled at Becky until she launched herself into a comfortable position in Becky’s lap.
Becky’s heart leaped in her breast and she glanced over at her sister. “Dare I hope she is softening toward me?” She squeezed her charge lightly but if Juliet felt it, she showed no sign. She merely sat, one finger in her mouth, staring straight ahead.
“She might be. Give her time. There’s been a great deal of upheaval in her life at such an impressionable age.” Susannah gave her an encouraging smile, one that lit her gray-green eyes with hope. “And you should bring her to our morning Bible study this Sunday. You aren’t in this alone. Daniel and I, and even Nan, want you to succeed. As you know, the tenants and their children come, and we worship together each Sabbath. I am certain that being around other children would be good for Juliet, and seeing family might be good for you. And if ever a child needed the Lord’s teachings in her life, Juliet does.”
* * *
“Absolutely not.” Paul shoved himself away from his desk and stood, facing Becky. Once again, her eyes widened into pools of disappointment. Hadn’t they already played this scene several times before? It felt all too familiar to be in this position, defending his stance on how things were run at Kellridge while Becky tried to interfere.