Instantly, tears sprang to Callie’s eyes. She suppressed them with ruthless severity. If she gave in to every impulse of a soft nature that she experienced, she’d only turn Becky into a cesspit of self-indulgence. There was a fine line between harsh abandonment and morbid pampering, and she aimed to find and adhere to it. She had to, if she wanted to help Becky.
Monster’s hair had flattened out, although no amount of inner serenity on his part could conceal his overall fluffiness, and he’d begun a tentative, nervous inspection of his surroundings.
Sitting on the desk chair, Callie picked Becky up and plopped her onto her lap. She kept her arms around her. “Let’s just watch him for a minute. If he backs up to any piece of furniture and starts to vibrate, I’ll have to go grab him before he causes any damage.”
The notion that Monster might take it into his idiotic cat’s brain to mark a piece of hand-carved, imported, and undoubtedly wildly expensive Chinese teakwood furniture gave Callie a spasm. She didn’t think he would, as he’d never marked anything at her house. She’s spent many long hours training him to use the sandbox when he’d first moved in with her, as well, so she didn’t anticipate any accidents. The knowledge that life was unpredictable at the best of times, however, and that cats were some of the most unpredictable creatures in it, kept her vigilant.
“Why would he do that?” Becky whispered, keeping her voice low evidently out of respect for the process they were observing.
Callie decided not to spoil the moment by explaining the odd and execrable behavior sometimes exhibited by male cats. Instead, she said seriously, “Sometimes cats just do things like that. It’s not a good habit for them to get in to, so I’ll want to nip it in the bud.”
Becky only nodded again, thank goodness.
After a few minutes, during which Monster didn’t do anything untoward, Callie said, “I think it’s safe now. Would you like to help me unpack my things? I’ve an item or two you might be interested in.”
“Oh, yes, please.”
That the child should be so happy to help her do a job of work touched Callie’s heart. Again. If this kept up, she’d become so attached to Becky she’d never be able to leave this house. The image of an elderly Callie Prophet, hobbling around with a cane and admonishing a grown-up Becky Lockhart to mind her manners made her giggle.
Becky looked at her curiously, but Callie only gave her a big hug.
Chapter Three
Aubrey frowned when he heard Becky’s squeal of delight issue from the room she’d begged he allot to Miss Callida Prophet. Pausing at the door to lean closer and listen, his brow wrinkled.
“Yes indeed, Becky.”
Miss Prophet’s voice, pleasant and with a smile in it, sailed out through the keyhole and into Aubrey’s ear. He decided he liked her voice, although he wasn’t at all sure he liked her. She was too young and too impertinent to be a proper nanny for his Becky.
The voice continued. “Alta, Florence, and I used to live in terror of our aunt Venetia. She’s a very formidable dame.”
“What’s ‘formable’ mean?” Becky wanted to know.
In spite of himself, Aubrey smiled.
“Formidable means that she’s the type of person around whom one always minds one’s manners. She walks like this.”
Aubrey wished he could see what Miss Prophet was doing now, because his daughter went off into shouts of laughter. The sound wrenched his heart. He hadn’t heard Becky laugh like that since before Anne died.
“She walks like my great-aunt Evelyn!” Becky cried, still laughing.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, dear.”
Aubrey had to stifle a chuckle.
“And she talks like this,” Miss Prophet continued, “ ‘None of your uppity ways, miss. Not here in New York, where proper manners prevail.’ ”
Miss Prophet’s voice had taken on the broadest, twangiest, awfullest New York accent Aubrey had ever heard. Again, Becky shrieked with laughter. His own smile broadened.
“Oh, Miss Prophet! My tummy hurts from laughing!”
He could imagine Miss Prophet shaking her head in mock sympathy when she next spoke.
“Well, Miss Becky, if you laughed to Aunt Venetia’s face, she’d have something to say about it. She doesn’t approve of laughter.”
“She doesn’t?”
“No, ma’am. She thinks it’s vulgar to laugh.”
“Like my papa?”
Aubrey’s smile evaporated abruptly.
A pause preceded Miss Prophet’s next words. Aubrey didn’t know if she was thinking about her answer or hanging something up. “I don’t think your papa disapproves of laughter, Becky. I think he’s just a little sad.”
“His heart hurts,” Becky said. “Like mine.”
“Oh, sweetheart!”
Aubrey’s ears detected a rustling of fabric, from which he gathered that Miss Prophet had picked Becky up and was hugging her. He entertained the nonsensical wish that he were a small boy and could be comforted by such means,
But no such tender mercies were available to him.
Guilt stabbed at his heart when he thought about how unhappy Anne would have been to see him in this pathetic and pitiful state. Worse, she’d be appalled at how shamefully he’d been neglecting Becky.
With a sigh, he went on down the hall to his own room so he could change out of his riding clothes. He’d taken a trip to Santa Angelica to talk to Mr. Wilson about Miss Prophet. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson had given her a sterling character reference, so Aubrey couldn’t dismiss her on that account.
Not that he wanted to dismiss her if Becky liked her. He supposed he ought to give her a chance, even if she was too young, too rash, and too impudent, and didn’t treat him with the proper deference.
Still, it galled him that Miss Callida Prophet didn’t fit a single one of the images he’d formed of how a proper nanny should look and behave. He felt beleaguered by circumstances and very grumpy when he left his room.
******
All of Callie’s clothes had been put away in their proper places. Her underwear had been commented upon by Becky, who didn’t understand why Miss Prophet’s drawers didn’t have frilly lace edgings and elaborately embroidered flowers as her own did.
Callie had explained that when a young lady grew up, especially when she attained employment, she bad, of necessity, to wear clothing that was more sober than frilly. She didn’t mention the fact that she, although not dirt poor, couldn’t afford the fabulously expensive clothing that Becky wore. She also didn’t mention that she would rather see Becky in rags than living with a father who substituted frills for love.
Next, they’d fixed a sandbox for Monster. “Just in case he feels the need,” Callie had told Becky with a wink.
The little girl had giggled merrily. Callie was glad to see her in such a happy frame of mind. And all because somebody who was willing to talk to her and listen to her had come into her life.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t good. It was a crying shame that this little girl’s life should have to be made bright by Callida Prophet, a stranger and a hired nanny. Callie wished she could smack Mr. Aubrey Lockhart about the head and shoulders with some kind of blunt instrument.
She pushed the thought aside and reminded herself of her promise to go easy on Becky’s father. “All right, young lady, let’s just see what your papa has in his library. I’ll bet we can find something or other about New York.”
Becky had been fascinated by Callie’s stories of how she and her sisters used to dread trips to New York to visit their aunt. Callie had played up Aunt Venetia’s sour side, with a prayer to her Maker for forgiveness. She didn’t feel too guilty. Aunt Venetia really could be a beast without half trying, and Callie figured God would commend her for making this child happy, even if doing so involved telling one or two exaggerated tales about her aunt.
“You can show me on the globe where it is,” Becky suggested cheerily.
“I can indeed.” Providing Becky’s papa w
asn’t ensconced in the room, in which case Callie planned to introduce a diversion. She didn’t fancy running into Mr. Aubrey Lockhart until she absolutely had to.
The library door stood open, however, and there was no sign of Aubrey within. Callie heaved a gusty internal sigh. She wasn’t afraid of him; it was only that she didn’t want to tangle with him while she was so blasted mad at him. The longer she remained in Becky’s company, the more firmly she believed the child needed her. More, she needed her father, the big lug.
Becky skipped into the room and darted over to a huge and beautiful globe standing on an ornamental teakwood stand.
“Here’s Papa’s globe. Can you show me New York?”
Callie joined her at the globe. “I certainly can. Can you show me where the United States is?”
Becky was happy to demonstrate her geographical knowledge. Before pointing out the United States, she reeled off the rest of the continents, much to Callie’s delight.
“This one’s Asia,” the little girl said in a teacherish voice. “This is where most of my papa’s business comes from. In China. See? This is China. Over here’s India. He gets pretty things from India, too. He imports tea from both places.”
“I see.” Callie nodded soberly, although inside she was smiling.
“And this big one is ‘Stralia. It’s a big island, Papa says.”
“I see.”
“Papa says the English people used to send their criminals there.” Becky shuddered eloquently. “1 wouldn’t like to live there with all those criminals.”
“No, indeed.” Callie didn’t spoil Becky’s moment by telling her that lots of the original settlers in the United States were deemed criminals by their British judges.
“And here’s Europe. That’s where Mama’s ans’ters are from. Right here. In Wales.”
“My goodness. That’s very interesting, Becky. Do you know where your papa’s ancestors came from?”
Becky nodded with vigor. “Yes. They came from another part of the same country. That’s England. It’s another big island, Papa used to say.”
“Ah. The same place the criminals came from.”
Becky looked up at her, shocked. “My papa isn’t—”
Callie mentally smacked herself for being sarcastic about Becky’s father in front of her. “Of course, he isn’t a criminal.” She made sure she sounded both positive and jolly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Still gazing up at her and looking puzzled, Becky said, “You mean it was a joke?”
A joke? “Well, sort of, although it wasn’t a very good one. What I meant was that it wasn’t only criminals who came from England, Becky. My own ancestors came from the same region. I think they originated in Scotland.”
Becky’s air of puzzlement didn’t abate. “Where’s that?”
Glad to change the subject, Callie showed her where Scotland was. “See? It’s very close to England and Wales. They’re neighbors.”
“Oh. There are lots of countries close together there, huh?”
“There surely are. Do you know any of the other continents?”
“I know them all.” The little girl sounded proud of her knowledge. Callie didn’t begrudge her that; the poor thing needed to feel good about something.
“Can you show me?”
Nodding, Becky turned the globe. Callie noticed that she was very careful with it. Curious, because she’d also noticed that Becky mentioned her papa with regard to these geography lessons, she asked, “Was it your papa who told you where all the continents are, Becky?”
Becky nodded again. “Yes. He used to hold me on his lap and show me all the countries, too, He taught me lots.”
“Ah. I see,”
So. Mr. Remote hadn’t always been such an old poop. Interesting.
“See? Here’s Africa.” Becky pointed. “People used to capture the natives and sell them to other people for slaves.”
“That was very bad.”
“Yes. That’s what Papa said. He used to say slavery is one of the worse evils mankind ever thought up.”
In spite of the dreadful topic, Callie smiled. She could almost hear Aubrey’s voice coming out of his little girl’s mouth. She jumped at the opportunity to mend a fence, too.
“Your papa’s right, Becky. Slavery is a great evil.”
Becky nodded solemnly. “And here’s Antarctica.” She enunciated the difficult word slowly. “It’s cold down there.”
“Yes indeed.”
“And where’s the last continent, Becky?”
“Here!” Becky pointed her finger at it. “America! That’s where we live.”
“We sure do. Can you find Santa Angelica on the globe?”
Becky shook her head. “No. Papa said Santa Angelica is too small to show up on the globe. But it’s about here.” She pointed again. And she was right.
Callie was impressed. “Right you are. You’re a smart girl, Becky.”
“Papa said so, too.”
It was almost always Papa used to say, Callie realized. She sighed. “Here, sweetheart, let me show you about where my aunt lives. New York City’s a lot bigger than Santa Angelica, but I don’t think it’s big enough to show up on the globe, either. The world’s a very big place. Here it is. This is where my aunt Venetia lives.”
“That’s way over on the other side of the country.” Becky sounded surprised.
“It’s a long way away. Three thousand miles, or thereabouts.”
“That’s a real long way.”
“It sure is. And after you travel all that way, you have to see Aunt Venetia.” Callie wrinkled her nose, and Becky giggled.
“So. Would you like to see if your papa has any books about New York or the eastern part of the United States?”
“Oh, yes!”
The excitement in Becky’s voice made Callie happy. She was glad she’d applied and been accepted for this position. She might be a poor substitute for Becky’s mother, but she was somebody, and it was already a great pleasure to pay attention to Becky Lockhart, who was a darling.
Callie and Becky searched the shelves. There were scads of books, some of which were novels. Callie presumed they’d been read and loved by Anne Lockhart and suppressed another sigh for Becky’s loss. As she looked, Callie came across a shelf low to the floor that contained books written for children.
“Oh, look here, Becky. Here’s a big picture book about the Pilgrims. That will probably tell us a lot about the people who settled in New York and thereabouts.”
“I know about the Pilgrims.”
Trying to sound casual, Callie said, “Did your papa tell you about them?”
Becky shook her head. “Mama used to read to me out of that book. It’s all about the Pilgrims and early settlers.” She delivered the last sentence in her teacher’s voice.
Oh, dear. “Urn, would you like me to find another book, sweetheart?” Above all things, Callie didn’t want to stir up feelings of loss in her new charge. Becky’d had more than enough unhappiness to cope with lately.
“No. I like that book.”
Studying her face, Callie decided Becky was telling the truth. The little girl even looked pleased that they’d be revisiting an old friend of a book.
“Good. Then let’s sit over here by this window. I’ll pull the curtain back for light.”
Scampering over to the curtains behind a big, overstuffed chair, Becky pulled them back for Callie. “This is where Mama and I used to sit when she read to me.”
Settling herself in the chair—which was every bit as comfortable as it looked—Callie patted her lap. “Want to sit here, Becky? Or you can sit on the arm of the chair if you’d rather.”
If Mr. Lockhart ever found out she’d invited his daughter to squash his expensive furniture, he’d probably pitch a fit, she thought nastily. Then she took herself to task. Evidently he hadn’t always been such a prune. According to the driblets of information Becky had let fall today, he’d actually been more or less human, once upon a time.
Ignoring the arm of the chair, Becky scrambled up onto Callie’s lap. “I like the one about the Indians and Jamestown,” she told Callie as she climbed.
“Jamestown was in what is now the state of Virginia, but if you’d like we could start there and work our way up to New York.”
“Good. I’d like that.”
“All right, then, we’ll start with Jamestown.” After consulting the index, Callie turned to page twenty-three, and started reading in a dramatic voice, “‘The first permanent British settlement was established in 1607. The coming of settlers to the New World, however, was not without dire incident. During their first hard winter, the citizens of Jamestown, in the Colony of Virginia . . .’ ”
******
Aubrey felt gloomy as he descended the stairs, intending to visit his library and do some work before he resumed brooding about his miserable life. He wished he could get over this. Not that he’d ever truly get over losing Anne. Such a thing was impossible. But he could certainly use a little spirit and joy in his life.
For two years now, he’d felt as if God had ripped his heart right out of his body. The wound refused to heal, and he was tired of it. Although he hated to admit it, he believed that perhaps he’d done his daughter a favor by hiring the rambunctious Miss Prophet. At least Becky’s new nanny had made his little girl laugh.
“Which is a damned sight more than you’ve been able to do for the past couple of years,” he lectured himself. “You ought to thank the impertinent busybody.”
He reached his library and put a hand on the knob, then stopped still because he heard Callie’s voice. Frowning, irked that she’d invaded his brooding room, he listened.
“ ‘After stopping in Amsterdam for several months, the British Pilgrims set sail for the Americas, landing in what came to be called Plymouth, in Massachusetts, in 1620.’ ”
Aubrey’s heart stopped for a second, then started careening in his chest. A rage as red as blood rushed over him and receded into an icy lump. He’d heard those same words often in the past, but he’d never expected to hear them again. Hearing them now, read by Miss Callida Prophet, made him want to hit something.
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