by Lily George
She missed those calm deliberations. She’d set herself away from them so as not to reveal her feelings for him.
“Very well.”
She shifted her glance to Paul. He was staring down at the garden path, his hands clenched at his side. Did he mean it? A sensation both wonderful and horrible filled her being. Wonderful that she was going home. Horrible that she was leaving Paul behind.
“Thank you.” Now that she’d won the battle, she must be gracious in victory. “Then it is all right if we leave on the morrow? May we have the carriage?”
“Do what you desire,” he replied evenly, through clenched teeth. “I’ll make inquiries of a new nursemaid and return to Kellridge as soon as possible. Until then, I ask that you remain in your position. I do not want the other servants burdened with caring for my niece.”
Becky gave a brief nod, and then bustled over to her charge, now coated in mud and humming to herself. “That’s enough playing, Miss Juliet. You will come with me now,” she asserted, and helped Juliet rise from her place on the garden path. Paul led the way into the house, opening the door for both of them, and waiting patiently as they passed by.
Becky didn’t dare to look at him. If she did, she might fling herself at his feet weeping, or do something outrageous.
Funny that a skirmish so hard-won could leave such a sour taste in her mouth.
Chapter Eighteen
She should be happy.
They were headed home, after all. Three days on their journey now. In another few days, she would be home—no, not home.
Kellridge.
She must stop thinking that Kellridge was her home. It was merely her place of employment until Paul found a new nanny. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the carriage window and tightened her hold on Juliet. Her throat burned as it had for the length of the trip. If only she could press a button or speak a single word that would make them arrive immediately. They were all so travel-weary.
Juliet rested against her, a dead weight. Becky’s arms ached from the strain of holding her, but she didn’t dare change her position. Her charge was sleeping, and that was all that mattered. Becky glanced down at Juliet’s tired little face, her pale complexion and the bags under her eyes. Poor dear thing. She needed rest and a lot of it. They all did, in fact.
She should be happy it was all over, that she’d gotten her way in the end, that she didn’t even have to say goodbye to Paul. Yes, happy—or at least satisfied. But she was neither of these things. She was troubled, and tired, and heartsick over the whole affair.
“If you please, miss, we should be nearing Hinckley soon,” her traveling companion, a maid named Sally, murmured from across the seat. “It’ll be time to change the horses.”
Becky glanced up at the maid. Paul had insisted on sending her along as a helper on the journey, and Becky had acquiesced, afraid of any more scenes. Sally had been quite helpful in pointing out the scenery as they passed, or in estimating their arrivals, but Becky’s throat hurt too much for conversation. “Yes, thank you. I shall awaken Miss Juliet only when we pull into the yard.”
“I daren’t say this, Miss Becky, but you look rather peaked.” Sally quirked her brows in concern. “Are you quite all right?”
“I feel...dreadful.” What a relief to finally say it out loud. “Honestly, I cannot wait to reach Kellridge. How far are we from our final destination?”
“Two days, perhaps less if the roads stay fine.” Sally made a tsking sound under her breath. “I knew you didn’t look well, not from the moment we left town.”
“How do you know so much about the journey?” Becky gazed at Sally in frank curiosity. “It seems like you can gauge every stop along the way.”
“I grew up at Kellridge,” Sally replied. “My sister is still in service there.”
“Oh, is she really? What is her name?” Becky adjusted Juliet just a trifle—perhaps it would make waking her up easier if she tried the process in slow increments.
“Kate. She was Miss Juliana’s maid for ever so long.”
Becky suppressed a start. So Sally was Kate’s confidante, the one who informed her of all her master’s doings in London? Then, of course, Kate had used that information to warn Becky against the one thing she’d done—become a fool over Paul. Her cheeks burned with shame.
“How nice.” She said it because she had to say something. The silence was dragging on far too long.
“You look feverish now.” Sally closed the gap between them and laid her ungloved hand on Becky’s forehead. “I knew it. You’ve got a fever. Well, there’s nothing for it—we shall have to send for a doctor.”
“No, indeed.” Becky jostled Juliet gently. “I can make it to Kellridge, if we’ve really only a few more days to go.”
“Mr. Holmes wouldn’t like it.” Sally pursed her lips. “His orders are that he is to be kept informed of all the goings-on of the households and their servants. If you are ill, we need to send word to him. When we stop at the inn, I shall send a runner back to London.”
“No. Don’t.” Becky’s heart hammered in her chest. She must be able to do something right, even if it just meant making it back to Tansley without further disaster. “There’s no need, for I will be quite well enough to stick to my duties until he finds a new nursemaid. It would only cause undue concern.”
“Your devotion to Miss Juliet is most pleasing,” Sally replied in a gentle tone. “Even so, you must take care of yourself. You’ll be no good to her at all if you allow yourself to sink further and further into illness.”
“I don’t want Mr. Holmes to think I cannot handle this one simple journey,” she admitted. “Please don’t tell him. I beg you—I already feel so inadequate to this task.” To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. If only Susannah were here to advise her. Her eldest sister would know what to do, and would do it briskly and decisively, with no shilly-shallying.
“I understand.” Sally patted her shoulder with a comforting gesture. “Truly, Mr. Holmes will not think ill of you. He is a kind and generous master—the best in Derbyshire, we all believe.”
There it was again—that divide between the public master and the private man. Wasn’t Sally the one who’d gossiped about all his activities—had warned her own sister about him? “I heard once that he was profligate—the kind of man who might take advantage of a lady.”
“Mr. Holmes? I presume my sister told you a thing or two about him. Nay, she always allows her imagination to get the better of her. He enjoys some of the more reckless pursuits that all the young bucks in his group run with, but he would never do anything truly immoral. He was so changed this time. Perhaps having his niece with him has finally lain to rest that instinct to run wild.” Sally shook her head. “Now, we must come up with a solution.”
“Mr. Holmes wants me to take care of Juliet until he returns with someone to take my place,” Becky admitted. “I am trying to be strong, but in truth, I am not sure I can even manage that. Can you help me? Would you be willing to split the duties with me until I feel better and he comes home?” Becky turned as much as her charge’s weight would allow her, facing Sally squarely. “We can still send word to Mr. Holmes, but we can ask if it would be all right for you to help me with Juliet at Kellridge until I recover. He is so very particular about each servant’s duties—I know he would want to know if we changed things about. Do you think we can do that?”
“Yes, that sounds like a good plan.” Sally gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ve watched you with Miss Juliet and will try to duplicate your efforts. I can send word from the inn to Mr. Holmes about our change in duties until you recover. Are you truly up to two more days’ travel?”
Becky rolled her head back against the seat. Now that she had a plan, something to focus upon beyond her own failures and ill feelings, fresh determination filled her soul. Once she was at Ke
llridge, and able to get over her sickness, she would find a way to extricate herself from her tangled emotions. Until then, she would only care about one thing—making it home in one piece.
“Yes, I shall persevere.”
* * *
“None of these nannies will do.” Paul lounged back in his chair and regarded the employment agent frankly. “These women are decades too old to keep up with my niece.”
“Well, Mr. Holmes, we have only a few young women looking for positions as nursemaids at the moment.” The man rifled through the papers on his desk “This girl Flora might do. She’s eighteen, and has been in service before, serving as a nanny in another gentleman’s family. I can give you a reference. Here, you may read through her recommendations yourself.” The employment agent handed the scrap of foolscap to Paul.
Paul pretended to pore over the document. “Yes, well, she looks fine. I’ll take her. Can she be ready to leave for Derbyshire within a week or so?”
“I’ll have to ask, but I am sure Flora will be most happy to accommodate.” The employment agent held out his hand. “I’ll inform the girl at once, and we shall be in touch.”
“Excellent.” Paul left his card and made his goodbyes, with a distinct sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely this Flora would do as well for him as Becky had. She had more experience, at least with one other family. Perhaps life could ease back into its routine of carefully portioned existence now. He could stay in London for long periods of time again, without worrying about having to help raise his own niece.
Paul strolled along Fleet Street, his head still in the fog in which it had persisted since Becky’s departure half a dozen days before. Row upon row of shops stretched before him, their windows beckoning alluringly in the morning light, yet nothing interested him.
Her words still rang in his ears. “A suitable nursemaid,” she’d pronounced. Very well. Then Flora would fill her place in Juliet’s life. Surely Flora would be willing to work with his niece’s foibles, or to care for her as a mother should. Would Becky even say goodbye? At least Becky was with Juliet for the time being. For a few more days, his niece had the comfort of her presence, the soft music of her voice, the gentle way she had of tilting her head to one side as she listened—
He gave his head a brief shake. Whatever was the matter with him?
He strolled over to a shop window. A cunning little paper theater, complete with paper dolls in colorful costume, lay in opulent display. What a clever plaything for someone as creative as his niece. He would buy it for her and bring it home. She would love it.
He ducked into the shop and purchased the theater, along with a china doll arrayed in a splendid walking costume, and a few jigsaw puzzles. It was high time his niece had some proper toys, he reflected as the shopkeeper’s assistant wrapped his purchases in brown paper and tied them with gold twine. Becky had seen to that too, just like she had everything else since his niece came into his life—making over old toys from the attic so she would have playthings when she arrived.
That was Becky’s way. Such a warm and generous female, so attuned to the needs of everyone around her. Trying so hard to follow the path God had set in her life.
He gave his address to the shopkeeper and quit the store. The packages would be delivered later. In the meanwhile—
In the meanwhile, he would buy Becky a gift.
A parting gift. A thank-you for enduring a difficult few weeks. Why not? Didn’t most employers give a kind of bonus to servants who did well?
He hadn’t bought a gift for a respectable female in years, unless a fellow could count his sisters. What would Becky desire? If he gave her anything consumable, like a gift of a length of cloth, she would turn it into a gown for his niece. Even after she quit his employ, he could see her toiling over a gown for Juliet. That was just her way.
No, he must find something special, and it must be for Becky alone. Something that would show the esteem in which he held her.
He ducked into a jewelry shop. Surely he could find something worthy of Rebecca Siddons in here.
The shopkeeper snapped to attention at his approach. “May I help you, sir?”
“Yes. I need a gift for a young lady. An extraordinary young lady.” Paul drummed his fingertips on the counter. “Something truly fine, and unlike what you would see most women wearing about town.”
The shopkeeper beetled his brows. “Well, we do have some very nice bracelets, or perhaps some earrings?”
Paul shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. She’s not showy in that way. I want something she can wear that is both dazzling and modest, for that’s what she is.”
The shopkeeper’s mouth quirked. “Dazzling and modest? That’s rather a singular combination.”
“Yes, she is truly a rare creature. With violet eyes.” Paul heaved a sigh.
“Violet, you say? Well then, might I suggest amethysts?” The shopkeeper laid a piece of velvet upon the counter, and then draped a necklace over it. “This is a pendant necklace, the kind a lady wears in the evening. Three large amethysts surrounded by diamonds, and a smaller, rounder amethyst pendant beneath each, also surrounded by diamonds.”
Paul gazed at the necklace as it winked in the light. Becky did have a very graceful neck, and these stones would set off the color of her eyes to perfection. This was a proper thank-you. This was the kind of gift a woman could wear with pride and hand down to her daughter someday. That thought was almost as pleasing as the necklace itself. “Yes. This will do nicely.”
“If I may say so, sir, your wife will love it. These jewels were mined in Russia and are quite the finest of their type,” the shopkeeper announced.
“Wife?” Paul echoed. “She’s not—”
“Beg pardon, sir. I had no idea.” Rapid color filled the shopkeeper’s face. “Most men don’t buy things this fine for women who aren’t their wives.”
Paul suppressed a groan. “This particular lady merits these jewels.”
The shopkeeper merely gave a circumspect nod. “Of course, sir. Shall I have it sent round to your residence?”
Paul shook his head. For some reason, he needed to have that necklace with him. “No, I am going home now. I’ll just take it with me.”
The shopkeeper bustled about, tucking the necklace into a leather box and wrapping the parcel. The vague, uneasy feeling that had hovered about Paul this entire morning simply would not abate. Even purchasing these gifts, fun though it was, did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. When would he see Becky again? When would he hear Juliet’s burbling little laugh? London was deadly dull without them.
He tucked the parcel into his jacket pocket and strode home in the grips of preoccupation. Why even stay in London if it was no longer amusing? Once he had tried to flee Kellridge and the very company he now craved, for the dubious delights of town. Now those indulgences were an anathema to him. He missed Becky’s stimulating conversation, her kindness—and if a fellow were to own it, she was downright decorative. Yes—the sunshine of her company and the beauty of her person was what he longed for, and now he would be denied them the rest of his days. Becky was leaving him, and the certainty of it made his stomach drop like a stone. He desired Kellridge, Tansley Village and Becky’s fair companionship, and not another day in the stuffy old townhome in Mayfair.
As he opened the garden gate, Edmunds strode out onto the portico. “If you please, sir, a message just came by runner. From Sally, as she was traveling back to Kellridge.”
“Sally?” He quickened his pace and snatched the missive from Edmunds’s gloved hands.
Dear Mr. Holmes—
Miss Siddons is quite unwell. She is aware that she promised to stay on as Miss Juliet’s nursemaid, but she is too ill to continue in her position. I am quite happy to help care for Miss Juliet until Miss Siddons has recovered, or until you return with a new nursemai
d.
Your servant,
Sally Baker
Paul read the letter three times through. Perhaps he could squeeze more meaning from the letter if he read it again and again. But no. All he knew was that Becky was ill and unable to continue caring for Juliet.
Becky would never cease caring for Juliet unless she was terribly sick.
Stark terror seized hold of Paul as he crumpled the letter in his hands. Becky was dying. She had to be. She would never shirk her duties as long as she was well. That headache she had complained of—why hadn’t he called for a doctor? Why had he let her return to Tansley alone? This was his fault entirely.
“I am leaving for home at once,” he pronounced firmly, his voice sounding quite unlike his own. “I’m going to ride out. Have a horse ready for me in less than a quarter of an hour.”
“Sir—” Edmunds sputtered. “Surely a carriage—”
“I haven’t time for a carriage.” His heart hammered against his rib cage. He must see Becky again.
Edmunds nodded, rubbing his hands together briskly. “An emergency, I suspect.”
“Of the worst kind.” A fellow couldn’t stand still at a moment like this. He paced up and down the portico. “I will send word as soon as I am home. Never mind giving orders to the stable—I’ll ready things myself. There’s an employment agency sending round a new girl to take care of Miss Juliet. Tell them that I have no need for her services any longer.”
“Of course,” Edmunds replied. “I shall handle the matter, sir. There was a parcel dropped off earlier from a toy shop. Shall I...?”
“Bring that over to the stable. Those are gifts for Miss Juliet. I’ll carry them in a saddlebag.” Paul jumped off the portico and strode back round toward the stables. “Hurry!” he called.