Heaven Sent

by Duncan, Alice

  When he entered the room and saw Callie, sunlight streaming through the window and glinting off her strawberry-blond hair, and Becky curled up cozily in her lap, he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning.

  The feeling lasted approximately fifteen seconds, after which rage engulfed him again, much as if he’d been the victim of spontaneous combustion. “What the devil are you doing?”

  Callie and Becky had both been engrossed in the story of the Pilgrims in Plymouth, and jumped as if the same bolt of lightning that had recently struck Aubrey had then changed direction and struck them.

  “Papal” Becky exclaimed, her blue eyes huge.

  “Mr. Lockhart!”

  Callie looked thunderstruck for about a tenth of a second, before fury overtook her alarm. Her arm went around Becky, and she gave the little girl a comforting hug.

  Aubrey was too shaken to care that he’d frightened his daughter. He resented Callie daring to usurp a position as comforter to Becky. He resented everything about her. He wanted her to go away. When he’d heard Callie reading the same book Anne used to read, and had then seen her in the same chair Anne used to sit in, holding Becky in exactly the same way Anne used to do, all of his common sense had fled. The only thing he wanted from Callie was that she leave his room and his life.

  “Get out of here.” His voice shook with rage. He couldn’t help it.

  “Well!” Callie closed the book with a snap and, lifting Becky in her arms, stood up. “I guess we’d best take our reading elsewhere, sweetheart.”

  “Papa?”

  Becky looked scared. As well she might, Aubrey thought with a sudden jolt of pain. He passed a hand over his face, beginning to understand how irrational his reaction had been, even if it had been unintentional.

  “Becky,” he said, and his voice trembled slightly. “I—I’m sorry, Becky. I—I—”

  “Never mind.” Callie’s smile was as stiff and cold as an icicle. “We’ll find more congenial surroundings, Mr. Lockhart. I’m so sorry we disturbed you.”

  The sarcasm in her voice and manner annoyed Aubrey. He wanted to say something, to further apologize to his daughter, but feared that, if he tried to, he’d shout. He’d already shouted. Shouting wasn’t fair to Becky. He’d really like to shout at Miss Prophet. He’d like to tell her to get the hell out of his house and his life and never come back.

  He was shaking when Callie marched herself and Becky out of his library and closed the door with a hint of a slam behind her. As soon as the room was clear of extraneous females, Aubrey lowered himself into his desk chair, folded his arms on his desk, buried his head in them, and proceeded to call himself as many foul names as he could come up with.

  *****

  Never, in all her born days, had Callie met a more selfish, overbearing, crabby, and touchy specimen of humankind as Mr. Aubrey Lockhart.

  It had taken her a good forty-five minutes to calm Becky down after Aubrey’s tantrum in the library. Whatever had caused him to roar at them like that? Not that it mattered. He had no right—no right at all—to act like that in front of his daughter.

  Callie and Becky had discussed the incident, although Callie’d had to do some prodding to get the little girl to open up. But, blast it all, the child needed to unburden herself.

  The conclusion Becky and she had eventually come to was that Becky’s papa didn’t feel well.

  “ ‘Cause he never yells at me,” Becky said in a tiny, worried voice. “Maybe he’s sick.”

  He’s sick, all right, Callie thought indignantly. She said, “I suppose that’s the answer. Sometimes when people don’t feel well, they get grumpy. I know I do.”

  Becky looked up at her, alarmed. “Do you?”

  With a laugh, Callie reassured her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll never yell at you. Well,” she added with a wink, “not unless you do something really bad.”

  She’d expected Becky to smile, or maybe even laugh a little at her wink, but evidently Aubrey’s tantrum had bothered her a lot. “I won’t,” she said, far too seriously for a child her age. “I promise.”

  Normally, Becky’s reserved, adult behavior would have brought a tear to Callie’s eye. Today, however, it only served to make Callie even angrier and more determined to help the little girl.

  As soon as she thought Becky had recovered enough to be left in the kitchen with Mrs. Granger and a glass of lemonade, Callie went in search of Mr. Lockhart. If it cost her the job she’d only just assumed today, she intended to deliver unto him a large piece of her mind.

  The door to the library was closed. Callie suspected he was in there, wallowing in self-pity. She drew herself up as straight as she could, sucked in a deep breath, mentally uttered a prayer for strength, and rapped sharply on the door.

  Immediately a sound of creaking hinges came to her, as if someone had been startled into sitting up suddenly. She hoped so. The man badly needed startling.

  “Who is it?”

  He sounded fretful. So be it. Callie was feeling rather fretful herself. Without answering, she turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and walked into the room. She was pleased to see that Mr. Lockhart hadn’t anticipated such a daring gesture from a member of his staff. When he saw who had dared invade his privacy, he scowled at her, but Callie just scowled right back.

  “Mr. Lockhart,” she said in her steeliest voice, “we need to talk about Becky.”

  He didn’t stand as a gentleman should, but continued to sit sprawled in his chair, glowering for all he was worth, which was a good deal. This lapse in manners was not lost on Callie.

  “What about Becky?” he barked, his voice full of anger and annoyance.

  No quantity of barks was going to prevent Callie from fulfilling what she perceived as her duty. “You upset her terribly when you shouted at us earlier. It has taken me all this time to soothe her poor nerves.”

  "Hmm.”

  She pressed her lips together in fury before opening them again. “It’s all very well for you to say ‘Hmm,’ Mr. Lockhart, but the fact is that your daughter is in a very fragile state right now. In case it’s slipped your mind, she lost her mother a mere year ago.

  His glower deepened. “In case it’s slipped my mind?”

  Callie lifted her chin. “Yes. And in case it’s slipped your mind as well, your daughter is only six years old. I understand that you prefer to languish in your own selfish grief and ignore hers, but you’ve hired me to care for her, and I shan’t put up with anyone, even you, undermining my job.”

  “You shan’t put up with it?” he goggled, incredulous.

  As well he might. Callie could hardly credit herself with this stroke of boldness. She made a conscious effort to relax her hands, which had balled into fists. She knew her cheeks must be flaming, because she was burning with rage.

  “No,” she declared stoutly. “I shall not. In the few months I’ve known Becky, I’ve become very fond of her, sir. She’s a darling, dear child, and she doesn’t deserve such a father as you.”

  “Why, you—” Aubrey started to rise from his chair.

  Callie trampled over whatever he’d been going to say, sensing that if she didn’t get it out now, she might never have another chance. “I say that,” she continued brutally, “not because I believe you don’t love your daughter, but because I know your late wife would be horrified to see you neglect her as you are doing.”

  “My late wife,” he said, and Callie could see his clenched teeth, “was a saint. You have no business to refer to her at all, young woman, and I won’t permit—”

  “Yes,” Callie said, again interrupting, “I know. Your late wife was universally esteemed and admired. She was a woman of great love and humanity. It’s a pity that she didn’t instill some of the same qualities in you while she had the chance. It may be too late to redeem you, but I still won’t allow you to bully my charge while I’m in your employ.”

  He’d risen to his feet and now towered over Callie. She wanted to shrink back and scuttle ou
t of the room, but she wouldn’t allow her fear of Aubrey’s anger to overcome her mission. Becky needed her, and, more importantly, Becky needed Aubrey. As dramatic as it sounded, Callie perceived this confrontation as something of a battle for Becky’s life.

  “And what makes you think you’re going to remain in my employ after this act of impudence, Miss Prophet?”

  Callie had feared it would come to this. She supposed it was better that it happen now rather than after she’d been in the house long enough for Becky to form an even deeper attachment to her.

  She took another deep breath and said another quick mental prayer before she started to speak. “I believe I shall stay in your employ, Mr. Lockhart, because however much you don’t like me or want me here, you and your daughter need me. Although you have chosen to have nothing to do with your daughter—a rather blockheaded move if you ask me— you’ve evidently noticed that she needs someone upon whom she can rely. And that someone is me. So the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: either take care of your daughter by yourself, or keep me—someone your daughter trusts and cares about—as her nanny. Becky and I get along too well for you to dismiss me out of pique.”

  Aubrey roared, “Out of pique?”

  Unflinching, outwardly—inwardly she’d, flinched into a quivering ball of anxiety—Callie said, “Yes. Out of pique. You know you’re doing your child a great disservice in ignoring her as you’ve been doing all these months. That’s why you hired me in the first place. If you dismiss me now, you will be doing it for your own selfish reasons and disregarding Becky’s welfare. I don’t believe even you would sink to that depth.”

  She saw his chest expand with the lungful of air he drew in. He had a rather impressive physique, if one were in a mood to admire such things. Callie decided to ponder Aubrey’s physique later. She stared straight back at him, daring him by her posture and her glittering eyes—at least she hoped they were glittering—to deny that what she’d just said was the truth.

  He didn’t. Instead, after standing for several seconds in a pose reminiscent of a great Indian on the warpath, he Jet his breath out slowly. Callie had no illusion that he’d calmed down though—it was clear from the dour look on his face that he was still as mad as finders. “Get out of my library, Miss Prophet.” His speech was measured, as if he were trying hard not to yell. “For the sake of my daughter, I won’t fire you this time,” placing special emphasis on the this. “But I warn you, I don’t tolerate impertinence from my hired help.”

  “Of course not.” Callie had to take a pretty deep breath herself. She didn’t really want to say what she aimed to say next, but felt it would be to Becky’s benefit to do so. Therefore, although it cost her an internal pang, she said, “And I didn’t mean this chat—”

  “Chat?” Aubrey snorted.

  Callie chose to ignore his outburst. “I didn’t mean it to be impertinent. You need to understand that when you yell at Becky for what seems to her no reason at all, you upset her.” She went on, wondering if she was right. “I know that you your daughter and want only what’s best for her.”

  He nodded. She took some encouragement from that and continued her speech. “Therefore, if you will think before you yell in the future, I believe it would be best for Becky.”

  He said nothing.

  She waited.

  He said nothing some more.

  Taking this as a sign that she’d best not push her luck, Callie decided to do something she rarely did unless she was in the presence of her formidable aunt Venetia. She curtsied.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart. I shan’t disturb you any longer.”

  Callie thought he said, “Good,” as she headed for the door, but she wasn’t positive. And she sure as anything wasn’t going to ask him if he’d spoken.

  Chapter Four

  Aubrey stood, quaking and staring at the library door, for several minutes after Callie Prophet exited the room.

  How dare she? How dare she scold him about how he treated his own daughter? He couldn’t believe she’d done such a thing. The vicious-tongued witch. He wasn’t sure if he was more furious because she’d dared to enter his sanctum and challenge him about his behavior or because she was right. Suddenly all the rage evaporated and he slumped into his chair, deflated as a pricked balloon.

  “Damn it, she is right,” he muttered to the empty room.

  He’d known it all along but, until Miss Callie Prophet barged into his life, no one had challenged him about his deplorable abandonment of his child. Aubrey loved Becky with all his heart, but, without Anne there to help him, he had no clue as to how to deal with Becky. Anne had been the one who’d bridged communications between himself and his child.

  Dash it, he was a man. Men weren’t supposed to rear children by themselves. That’s why he’d hired the impossible Miss Prophet to begin with. Damn her.

  Oh, he knew his reaction to seeing and hearing them in that chair had been illogical. But when he’d discovered them in the same chair Anne used to sit in, reading the book Anne used to read from, he’d undergone such a powerful wrench of agony he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Not, of course, that his reason justified his shouting at Becky. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t mind hollering at Miss Prophet for hours at a time, but Becky didn’t deserve such treatment from the only parent she had left.

  He was still brooding when Figgins sounded the gong to call the household to dinner. Aubrey had told Mrs. Granger before he’d hired Callie that the nanny was to be treated as a member of the household and would, accordingly, take meals with them in the dining room. He presumed the ever-efficient Mrs. Granger had communicated this message to Callie already, damn it, so there was probably no way he could avoid her. He dreaded seeing Callie at dinner and having to pretend everything was rosy between them.

  If he’d had his wits about him when he’d considered hiring a nanny, he’d have made arrangements for the nanny and Becky to dine in the nursery together. That’s the way most affluent families went about mealtimes. But Anne hadn’t had any use for traditions that estranged her from her daughter and so the Lockharts had always dined together as a family. Even after Anne’s death, Aubrey had taken his meals with his daughter. They’d been strange, strained affairs, since he felt awkward around Becky, but he hadn’t had the heart to banish her from the dining room because of his own deficiencies.

  He’d hoped a nice nanny would assume the role of facilitator between father and daughter. But, dash it all, Becky’s’ nanny wasn’t supposed to have been Callie Prophet. Becky’s nanny was supposed to have been a kindhearted, elderly lady with gray hair, false teeth, and a hearing trumpet.

  Aubrey sighed as he shrugged into his jacket, straightened his cravat, and headed for the dining room. He felt rather as he imagined a convicted murderer might as he trudged to the gallows.

  Miss Prophet and Becky were waiting for him in the sitting room leading into the dining room. He forced himself to smile at the two of them, although his smile for Becky was much easier than the one he drummed up for Miss Prophet.

  She, damn her impudence, gazed with serene complacency at him and smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world, Becky, rather tentatively, Aubrey thought, said, “G-good evening, Papa. Mrs. Granger fixed chicken and dumplings for us tonight.”

  “Ah,” said Aubrey as he tugged one of her braids, “your favorite, I believe.”

  The tension seemed to vanish from Becky’s small body, and she grinned like the imp she could be—or used to be, when her mother was alive. “Oh, yes! I love chicken and dumplings. I asked Mrs. Granger to fix it special, for Miss Prophet.”

  Aubrey glanced at Callie. “Indeed.”

  Callie said, “Indeed. Good evening, Mr. Lockhart.”

  “Good evening.”

  If the world were a just place, thought Aubrey, Miss Callida Prophet would be an ugly, bucktoothed, weak-chinned, gangly specimen of womanhood, and well past her prime. As he’d been made aware of long ago, however, the world was f
ar from just, and she wasn’t any of those things.

  In reality, Callie Prophet was a lovely young woman—well, to look at, he silently amended. Her personality was another matter. If, Aubrey brooded unhappily, one were merely to look at her, one might judge her to be a cheerful girl with a friendly personality to match her bright eyes and gleaming blond hair.

  Oh, but life could be a cruel deceiver sometimes, as Aubrey well knew. He had railed at God more than once for the many unkindnesses He had visited upon him. And Becky.

  Dash it, there he went again, forgetting about his daughter, and the struggles she had gone through as well. After holding a chair for Callie, Aubrey did the same for Becky, and tipped her a wink at the same time. She goggled up at him, and he had to fight a frown. Good God, was the poor child so unused to her father’s jolly side that she perceived his wink as something rare and unseemly?

  Well, and why shouldn’t she? he instantly thought. He’d been mooning around the house like a lost soul for a year and more.

  Hell’s bells. As Aubrey sat at the head of the table gazing at his beautiful daughter, he was swamped with a sudden sense of hopelessness. He wanted so badly to reach out to her, to heal the damage he had inflicted upon her tender psyche, but he had no idea where, let alone how. to start. Aubrey sighed inwardly as another thought hit him, Although it pained him to admit it, he was honestly glad that he hadn’t dismissed Miss Prophet when she’d lectured him. If he had, he’d have made Becky even more unhappy than she already was, and that would have been ghastly,

  “Would you like me to say grace, Papa?”

  His daughter’s trilling voice dragged Aubrey out of the pit of despair he’d managed to get stuck in. He glanced at her and forced another smile, “That would be very good of you, Becky.”

  It touched his heart when his little daughter obediently folded her hands, bowed her head, and said in her sweet, piping voice, “Thank you, God, for our chicken and dumplings. And thank you for sending Miss Prophet to live with us. God bless Mama in heaven, and Papa, and Miss Prophet. And Mrs. Granger,” she added in something of a rush, leading Aubrey to understand she’d only just then realized she ought to bless the lady who’d cooked the food. “And thank you, God, for letting the Pilgrims come to America. Amen.”