by Karen Kirst
*
Hannah changed the subject because it was necessary. For those few moments, she had grown entirely too fond of John. She needed to focus on an external problem, such as finding the book, in order to maintain her composure. She was offering advice to a man who was hurt, and he had been hurting for some time. She was doing what any decent person would do when confronted with the same display of anguish. He was not seeking her out for any reason other than the simple, driving need to speak to someone, and quickly. She just happened to be that person.
“The only place I haven’t searched is over there, in the far right corner,” he replied huskily. He pointed over at a tall wooden shelf.
“Very well.” She managed to say it in a brisk enough tone, belying her trembling knees. “Fetch a ladder.”
He brought over a small flight of oak steps that latched on to the front of the shelf. “How clever,” she remarked. Now she could stand up and search without fear of tipping over.
“Yes, the entire library was redone a few years before Mother passed away.” He stood, one booted foot on the bottom of the steps. “A master carpenter came in and designed everything so it would fit just so.”
“Well, it’s lovely.” Her heart hammered in her chest. For some reason, having him that close to her was more unnerving than when they held hands just a few minutes before. She must stop this nonsense, for John Reed had made it quite clear he had no interest in her beyond employment. If she didn’t keep a close rein on her sensibilities, she’d become as dramatic as Becky, expecting a white knight to fall at her feet every time she left the house. “Here.” She handed down a book.
“What’s this?” He took the leather-bound volume and blew on it, sending a cloud of dust up toward the ceiling. “Well, that shows where the maids have been careless.”
“I didn’t see any writing on the spine, so you must read through it while I continue to peruse the shelves,” she ordered. She kicked out gently with the toe of her slipper, pointing toward the nearby table. “Over there, if you please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, taking the book over to the oaken table as ordered.
She turned her attention back to the shelf. There were many leather-bound books up here, of varying sizes and states of repair. They were bound distinctly, without the usual gold lettering that graced the other books nearby. They must be unique, perhaps for a specific purpose.
“What is it?” she called. If he could figure out the subject of that book, perhaps they would have a better notion of what the rest contained.
“It’s Mother’s handwriting.” His voice was entirely bereft of its usual joking tone. “It appears to be her journal.”
Hannah turned so suddenly that she had to grip the shelf to keep from falling. “Are you certain?”
“I could not be mistaken in this.” He looked up at her, his face drawn and pale. “I must confess, I cannot read it just now.”
“No, no, of course not,” she replied quickly. “Leave it there for now. If that is a handwritten book of your mother’s, then we must at least be in the right area of the library. For you see, all these books are bound differently than the rest.” She picked another one off the shelf and leaned her full weight against the wood frame for support. Thus balanced, she flipped it open. “This is a ledger book from a long time ago, judging by the yellowing of the pages.”
“So if the breeding book is in here, it’s probably on that shelf.” He put his mother’s diary aside and moved swiftly back over to the set of steps. “Hand them to me. We’ll bring each one down. The maids need to dust up there anyway.”
Hannah began passing each volume down to him, and he placed them on the table. When the shelf was finally cleared, a mountain of books awaited their inspection. As he helped her down, Hannah grew conscious of the vast amount of dust covering her hands and apron. Well, there was nothing to do about that now. She would have to clean up later.
John divided the pile of books into two halves, and they each began reading through the stacks. Ledgers, account books, different books of lists—the Reed family certainly kept a clear record of everything that happened on the estate. This was likely one of the reasons why everything ran so smoothly, unlike, for example, her brother-in-law Daniel’s estate. Goodwin Hall had been in complete disarray from the moment he stepped across the threshold, and it was Susannah who finally helped him to bring the entire estate back in order. Yet the book she sought was nowhere in this vast pile of information.
“Aha!” John crowed, holding a book bound in green leather aloft. “And here it is.”
Curiosity compelled her to rush over to his side. He flipped open the book, which was wide and flat, with large, smooth pages. Each page was marked with rectangles connected with lines, and within each rectangle a name had been written. This was a complete record of all the breeding of the stock at Grant Park, for generations past. “How fascinating.”
“It is rather.” He turned to a page listing the breeding of collie dogs at the Park. “Here is the information we need.”
“Why do you need to know all these generations of dogs?” She shrugged. “What difference will it make?”
“I suppose Davis is thinking that we can prove our pedigrees go back for many years, and that we have always had the finest dogs in the county.” He closed the book and looked over at her. Why did her heart persist in fluttering every time he looked her way? She was behaving in a ridiculous fashion. “Perhaps that will help establish our position as the place to purchase dogs.”
“Of course.” She nodded. Now that they had found what he sought, there was no need for her to remain in the library with him. “I really should go back to work now.”
“I am sorry I kept you from it so long,” he replied. Then he seized her hand and kissed it, dust and all. “Thank you.”
“Why?” she gasped, resisting the urge to clasp her hands to her chest. It was a chivalrous gesture that any gentleman would make, and certainly nothing special for her.
He placed the breeding book next to his mother’s diary. “I never could have had the courage to do this without you. With your help, I have found the heart and the soul of Grant Park.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Some of the poison had eased out of his existence since the hour he and Sid spent in the library. He didn’t have the courage to read Mother’s journal just yet. No, that would have to come later. Instead, John sat, poring over the breeding book in the comfort of his study while Sid and her assistants worked in the next room. He could just make out the hum of activity as they created Jane’s wardrobe, and the sound of it soothed him. It was rather like the roar of the distant surf when he’d stayed in Liverpool one summer with friends. Somehow, too, it was pleasant to know that Sid was right nearby, and available—albeit grudgingly at times—for conversation.
He turned the page. Here was the entry for Bah and Cleo, and there was Madge, listed with several of her siblings, long since sold. He traced the smooth, heavy paper with his finger, drawing the line down from one generation to the next. Beside him, in her basket, Molly snored in her sleep. He glanced over, smiling at her. After a morning gamboling with her brothers and sisters, she was completely worn-out.
In the next room, he overheard Sid talking to one of the maids, and he remembered his promise. Was she making clothes for herself, as well? He closed the book and rose, taking care not to waken Molly as he walked past her basket and into the workroom.
“I say, Sid,” he demanded as he strode in, “what about your frocks?”
Sid glanced up, her mouth full of pins. “Hmm?”
“Your frocks. Are any of these girls making dresses for you?” He turned to Amelia and Lucinda. “What are you working on now?”
“I am trimming Miss Jane’s riding habit,” Lucinda replied with a curtsy.
“I am working on one of her toques.” Amelia was already sitting in a chair, so she gave him a respectful nod.
“What on earth is a toque?” Women’s clothes
were something altogether different. It was a good thing indeed that he had asked Sid to take charge.
“A type of bonnet, sir.” Amelia held up her handiwork, which was a velvet bonnet. What made it a toque instead of a bonnet? In plain terms, it was merely a hat.
“So what are you working on, Sid, if these two girls are working on Jane’s clothing?” He turned to her.
She straightened and removed the pins from her mouth. “A shot-silk ball gown. The hem must be done very fine or else the silk can rend.”
He nodded with approval. “And this you intend to wear when you accompany Jane in London?”
“No.” She stood back and tilted her head, giving her work the critical glance he’d come to recognize as an artist would assess her art. “This is for Jane, of course.”
“So, when are you making your wardrobe? That is most important, too, Sid. You must think about what you might want.” He, too, surveyed the gown. It was very pretty. Too bad Sid wasn’t going to have the chance to wear it, for she would look quite fetching in something as elegant as that.
“I really haven’t time,” Sid protested. “We have so many dresses and hats to make for Jane, and I must have each one done to my approval.”
He rocked back on his heels. “So you need more help.”
“Why, no, of course not.” Sid flushed a becoming shade of pink and looked over at the two maids. “They are working their fingers to the bone. I don’t want you to think we are being lazy.”
“No, I am quite aware of that. I hear the buzz of activity every day for hours through the doors of my study.” He nodded to the two maids to let them know that he wasn’t considering their work shoddy. “Jane’s wardrobe, in and of itself, is an overwhelming enough task. We must bring in reinforcements if we are to get her work done and allow you the time to make your own clothes. I could bring in a few more servants if that would help. Or, perhaps you would rather have people you’ve already worked with? We could bring in your helpers from the millinery shop in Tansley.”
“There is very little for them to do,” Sid admitted with a sigh. “But closing the shop could well mean the end of my business there for good.”
“When do you return to Tansley?” He really didn’t want her to go, of course, but it was part of their bargain.
“I had hoped to return at the end of this week, provided you approve.”
“Leaving at the end of a week? Why? Didn’t you go at the beginning last time?” Time had passed so quickly since her last visit. He should let her go, of course, but still it seemed like she had just returned. But she was right. It had been a fortnight. Somehow, having her gone at the end of the week was less tolerable than having her gone during the week. Saturdays and Sundays were so very slow at Grant Park. Her absence would seem interminable.
“I did, but if I go to Tansley before the Sabbath, I can visit with my sisters and enjoy Bible study at Goodwin Hall.” She was paying attention to the hem of the ball gown as though the world depended on her complete concentration. “I miss having that.”
“Oh, of course.” Sid felt none of his conflict when it came to the Lord. After Mother died, he just didn’t like the thought of a higher being in control of his life, or of anyone else’s. To be perfectly frank, he was mad at God. Jane shared none of his antipathy and, in fact, had grown in her personal devotion over the years, traveling to the church in Crich every few weeks for worship. It made for a lengthy journey, but she always returned full of purpose and more serene in countenance than before she left.
Now his lack of faith was proving to be a sort of wedge between himself and Sid, for she was planning a trip around it, and without her at Grant Park the weekend would simply drag by. He couldn’t prevent her from going, though. She asked so little of him as it was.
“While you are in Tansley,” he continued, “do you want to bring back your two workers so that they can begin working on your clothing? I would be happy to pay them, of course. We’ve plenty of room here, as well.”
“I hesitate to close my shop completely.” Sid put the garment aside and faced him. “Do you mind if we talk about this someplace else? Amelia and Lucinda grow bored with our chatter, I am sure.”
The two girls smiled demurely and he gave himself a mental kick. He felt so at ease around Sid that it was difficult to remember any kind of hierarchy existed between them, or with the women she worked with.
“Come, we’ll discuss this elsewhere.” He offered her his elbow.
Once they were safely in the hallway, Sid spoke up. “I worry that the girls will think I don’t like their work if I bring other workers in, and I do not feel comfortable closing the shop,” she confided. “Business is terribly slow, but I will lose what little foothold I have if I bring my workers here.”
He nodded. Her shop was important to her, and her decisions always seemed to gather around what was best for it, even if what was best for it didn’t necessarily improve her own life. “I have an idea. What if you took the items you need with you to Tansley, and then you can have them work on your garments while you are gone? If business is as slow as you say, it might be for the best to keep them busy in some form or fashion.”
“I suppose I could.” Sid bit her lip in a distracted fashion. “Or I could have them make some of Jane’s things while I work on my own. That might be better. I’ve never had anyone else sew for me. My sisters and I have always made our own clothing.”
“Then it’s settled. Take whatever you like with you, and that way you’ll have time to sew for yourself.” He paused before the library. “Shall we return to our respective jobs, then? I am working with Davis this afternoon, and there are a few things I must attend to before I have any fun.”
“Work before pleasure?” Sid fixed him with a dazzling smile. “That sounds woefully unlike you, Reed. Weren’t you the one who lived only for amusement?”
He blinked a little, blinded by the brightness of her expression. “True, true.” He began leading her back to the workroom. “On the other hand, I am beginning to enjoy work as much as play. If my friends in London knew, they would be horrified.”
She laughed. Sid had such a sparkling laugh, one that he heard all too rarely from her. “Indeed.”
“Yet you are the one who never stops working to enjoy herself,” he went on. “That laugh of yours, for example. I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you laugh. But like your dancing, you were born to laugh. Why do you indulge yourself so little?”
“From as long as I can remember, I’ve had to work.” She said the words slowly, pensively, as though she had never really spoken of it before. “You see, when Father and Mother died, we went to live with our uncle Arthur. He was a wasteful old codger, one who went through our fortune like water. I worked because I had to, in order to survive. I also had to balance my two sisters. Becky was such a hopeless romantic, and Susannah had such a hot temper. So I had to be the one who was practical, for I had to think for three poor young women. There really wasn’t much opportunity for dancing, although we used to laugh a lot when we were all together.”
“So, essentially, you have had to live for others.” Just like she had to change her name to please Susannah. He stopped just short of the workroom door. “You’ve never had much of a chance to do anything for yourself.”
“I don’t think I have, though I haven’t considered it much before.” She withdrew her arm from his and placed her hand on the door latch. “I believe this position has given me more freedom than I have ever enjoyed. Thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary,” he protested. “It does leave me curious, though. If you could do anything, this afternoon for example, what would you do?”
Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her reply. “I don’t know. I suppose I like to sketch, though I don’t often have time to unless it’s for work.”
“Come with me, then,” he offered. Sid had worked so hard that she deserved an afternoon of fun. “When I go visit Davis, you can bring
your sketch pad and draw the puppies. That could be fun, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “It could be.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll fetch you after luncheon.” With that, he let himself back into his study, a feeling of happiness settling over him. He was giving her a small gift, in return for her help with the books. It was the very least he could do.
*
Hannah knelt in the straw, her sketch pad in her lap. The puppies rolled about, yipping and biting at one another while Madge, their mother, looked proudly on. Davis and Reed continued their quiet conversation over in one corner of the barn. It was a jolly pastoral scene, and the sights and smells of the barn relaxed her. She began to sketch with short, sure strokes.
As she worked, her mind drifted. She would have time to make her own gowns, and they would have to be more than serviceable. In fact, if she really was to accompany Jane in society to any degree, she must look as fashionable as any other young lady. Of course, she must remember her place. It would never do to try to outshine Jane, and besides, she wasn’t as lovely as Jane even on her best day. All the same, she must try harder to look au courant.
What kind of dresses would she need or even want? There was a fine blue cotton lawn that would go well enough with her complexion. Perhaps she could make it up into a day dress and knit a shawl to go with it in a lighter shade of blue. That would look very fine, and there was still a rough straw bonnet at the shop in Tansley that she could pair with the blue cotton. It would make an excellent walking costume.
She finished sketching Madge and turned her attention back to the pups. She chuckled softly to herself as they barked and tumbled, playing at being fierce, big dogs. It was difficult to even capture their movements, so quickly did they scamper.
Reed, hearing her laughter, nodded to Davis and came over. “What’s so funny?”