Heaven Sent

by Duncan, Alice

  “No?” He smiled politely. “You’ll have to explain to me what’s unfair about it.”

  She pinched her lips together. “I shall.”

  “Good. But perhaps we can postpone the discussion until tomorrow. It’s rather late.”

  Drat it. He was right. “Very well.”

  It wasn’t until Becky was retucked in her bed and Callie had retreated, with Monster, to her own room, that she recalled the incident immediately preceding Mrs. Bridgewater’s terrified scream. Now why, she asked herself, had Aubrey Lockhart been knocking at her door? She lay in her bed, trying to relax, and worrying about it for a long time.

  Had he been going to try to seduce her? Callie’s heart shriveled at the thought. She’d never have believed him capable of such a thing. No matter how many things Callie had against Aubrey, they all centered around what she perceived as his abandonment of his daughter. Callie had always until now—and she wasn’t sure about now—believed him to be an upright, moral man with high principles.

  She was feeling quite blue when she finally got to sleep.

  *****

  Mrs. Bridgewater left the Lockhart mansion before breakfast the following morning. When Callie and Becky descended the stairs to eat breakfast before going to church, Becky’s great-aunt was gone. Aubrey sat at the dining table, glancing at a newspaper when the two of them entered the room. He looked up and smiled at Becky. He didn’t seem to notice Callie at all. She sighed, her heart heavy. And yesterday had been such a nice day, too. For the most part.

  “Good morning, Becky. No lasting ill effects from last night’s excitement, I trust?”

  Becky ran up and kissed him on the cheek. He returned her kiss. Callie’s heart squeezed.

  “No, Papa. I went right back to sleep.” She giggled. “Monster looked funny last night, sitting in the corner of Great-Aunt Evelyn’s room.”

  “Indeed.” Aubrey folded the newspaper and laid it beside his plate. Finally, he looked at Callie. “Good morning, Miss Prophet.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Lockhart.” Callie tried not to stare at him.

  She wished to goodness he wasn’t such a handsome man. He always looked so neat and tidy, too. Never overdressed or underdressed, but always appropriately attired, no matter what the day was to hold. This morning, for instance, he was wearing a sober black suit, perfect for church.

  He always attended church, too, which Callie thought was telling. After all, it was a father’s duty example for to set an example for his children. As much as she wanted to criticize him as a father, and often did, she couldn’t lay non-attendance at church at Aubrey’s door.

  It was Mrs. Granger’s custom to lay out breakfast on the sideboard of a Sunday morning. Callie went to the sideboard and picked up a plate. “Would you like some eggs and a biscuit, Becky’?”

  “Yes, please. And bacon, too, Please.”

  “Certainly. There’s some of Mrs. Granger’s good, home-cured bacon right here. One piece or two?”

  “One, please.”

  Callie scooped up a small portion of scrambled eggs, plopped it onto Becky’s plate, and set a biscuit and a piece of bacon next to the eggs. She carried the plate to Becky.

  “Would you like to say grace, Becky?”

  Folding her hands neatly in front of her, Callie bowed her head. Casting a sidelong glance at Aubrey, she saw him roll his eyes, as if he could conceive of nothing more out of character than the hoyden Callie Prophet asking his daughter to say a morning prayer, and she pressed her lips together.

  For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t her fault nothing had ever happened in this mausoleum of a house before she’d arrived in it! When she heard Becky say a perky, “Amen,” she realized she hadn’t listened to a single word of the little girl’s grace.

  Some kind of nanny she was. Feeling grumpy and out of sorts, Callie murmured, “Thank you, dear,” and went back to the sideboard to get her own breakfast.

  It was only when she sat at her customary place at the table that she noticed they were short one family member. She glanced sharply at Aubrey, “Where’s Mrs. Bridgewater?”

  He smiled at her. It was a rather chilly smile, full of teeth and no feeling. “She opted not to dine with us this morning, but to go back to San Francisco as soon as she rose from her bed. I can’t imagine why.”

  Callie huffed.

  Aubrey continued, “John has taken her to the train station. She was complaining of a headache at the time.”

  “Oh.” A stab of guilt smote Callie. She knew last night’s fiasco was all her fault—and hated knowing it. Nevertheless, she knew how to set an example as well as Mr. Perfect Lockhart, so she said, “I’m very sorry I allowed Monster to get away from me last night. I trust Mrs. Bridgewater won’t suffer any lasting ill effects from the excitement.” She opted not to mention the bite.

  A giggle from Becky surprised both of them. They turned to look at the little girl who grinned broadly. “I’m glad Monster bit her,” she announced. “She’s mean, and I don’t like her.”

  Callie didn’t know what to say to that. When she looked at Aubrey, hoping for some kind of guidance, she saw he wasn’t helping at all, In point of fact, he was grinning back at his daughter.

  This was no way to teach a child proper behavior. Unfortunately, Callie agreed with Becky on the Bilgewater issue. “Well,” she temporized, “I should have kept better tabs on Monster.”

  “I don’t know. It might have done Mrs. Bridgewater some good. I know it did me some good.”

  Callie blinked at Aubrey, unable to believe her ears.

  “Me, too!” Becky said, and she giggled again. “It was funny, him sneaking in there and biting her on the ear.”

  Turning her head, Callie blinked at Becky.

  “Sometimes it pays to be a cat,” Aubrey said then, in a meditative sort of voice. “I mean, you can’t get away with biting people on the ear if you’re a human, can you?”

  “No.” Becky went off into a peal of laughter.

  Callie, deciding there was no point in joining this conversation, muttered, “And some people call me unruly.”

  “They do, don’t they?” Aubrey’s grin was so devilish, Callie blushed.

  *****

  Aubrey managed to be polite to all the inquisitive matrons he encountered after church and was proud of himself. He didn’t feel polite.

  Every time another mother greeted him, often with her stiff and stuffy husband at her side, he wanted to snap and snarl. He wondered if Monster had felt this same lion-on-the- prowl sensation in his gut when he’d stalked into Bilgewater’s room last night, seeking prey. Aubrey’s innards were heaving and twisting and giving him a terrible time, and the truth was that he wished he could bite every single damned one of those mothers on the ear. And their damned husbands and children, too.

  Damn Callie Prophet and her damned birthday party. This morning he felt like a specimen in a science laboratory—a butterfly pinned to black velvet, perhaps. He got the feeling that every Santa Angelican in church was talking about him behind his back. He’d managed to hold himself aloof from Santa Angelica society before yesterday’s blasted party. Today he felt like fresh meat.

  Perhaps because he intended to ask Callie to marry him as soon as he got the opportunity, he was particularly sensitive to atmosphere. In truth, his nerves were skipping like drops of water on a sizzling skillet.

  He was probably only being fanciful. He did his best to appear nonchalant as hordes of his neighbors, most of whom had never spoken to him before today, came up to shake his hand and thank him for entertaining their children the previous day. He even remembered to smile most of the time. He felt like a limp rag when the Lockhart contingent finally escaped from the throng.

  Both Callie and Mrs. Granger seemed to think the heightened interest in him was a good thing. Aubrey wanted to yell at them for it.

  “It’s so nice that you’re getting to know the citizens of Santa Angelica, Mr. Lockhart,” Callie said, and Aubrey could hear the satisfacti
on in her voice.

  “Indeed, it is,” agreed Mrs. Granger, who also sounded cheerful.

  “This will put the last of the rumors to rest,” said Figgins.

  Rumors? Aubrey, who was driving the wagon since Mrs. Bridgewater had taken the traveling coach, turned to stare at Figgins.

  Delilah, who didn’t seem to notice his shocked expression, said, “Well, you know, it’s only because people make up stories when they don’t know the truth.”

  “True, true. It’s better that folks know the truth.” Mrs. Granger’s voice was a model of complacency.

  It was Callie who finally laughed at him, as if she couldn’t resist another second longer. Aubrey frowned at her.

  “Oh, don’t look so grumpy,” she told him. She held Becky on her lap. The two of them made a lovely picture, with Callie in sober brown, and Becky in buttery yellow. Callie and Becky didn’t look a bit alike, but they went well together, if one were only looking. Aubrey looked a lot. “There weren’t any bad rumors,” Callie went on to say. “People mostly talked about how sad it was about Mrs. Lockhart.”

  “I see.” Aubrey still didn’t like it. It wasn’t pleasant to learn that one had been a topic of idle conversation among one’s neighbors for months without knowing about it.

  “But now that the mothers have met you and understand that you’re only human, I’m sure their curiosity will be satisfied.”

  “Good God.” This sounded dire to him. Whatever would happen when the townspeople learned that he and Callie were going to be married?

  If, of course, she agreed to marry him.

  But why wouldn’t she? She’d be fixed for life if she married him, and would never have to worry about money again. Aubrey wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t really thought about it much and had never asked, but he suspected Callie might have had a difficult time making ends meet after her parents’ decease. Why else would she have secured employment at the post office?

  It was all he could do to sit through dinner at noon that day. He knew the food was good because Mrs. Granger was a superb cook and her Sunday dinners were always wonderful, but he couldn’t taste a thing,

  Offhand, Aubrey couldn’t recall another single time in his life when he’d been as nervous about some impending event as he was about his impending proposal to Callie Prophet.

  *****

  Callie brooded about why Aubrey had knocked at her door the night before all through the sermon that Sunday morning. She wanted to keep her mind on the sermon, but it was boring, and so she brooded. After church, outside events occurred to keep her occupied, thank heaven.

  Fortunately, she had Becky to care for, so she wasn’t able to fret much. When, however, Aubrey asked if she could please come to his office for a chat after dinner, she almost fainted. She wondered if he was going to reveal the reason he’d come to her door last night. One second, she hoped he would; the next second, she hoped he wouldn’t. If he made an improper proposition to her, she supposed she’d have to leave his employ. She wasn’t sure she could bear doing that.

  Drat Aubrey Lockhart! The man was a fiend.

  Unless, of course, he wasn’t. For all Callie knew, he was going to propose another jaunt to San Francisco. to visit Anne’s relations.

  Callie wished her nerves would settle down. This was awful. “Of course, Mr. Lockhart. I’ll be there as soon I take Becky upstairs for her nap.”

  Aubrey nodded and left for his office. Callie watched his back until Becky claimed her focus.

  “Do I have to take a nap, Miss Prophet?”

  Forcing herself to pay attention to the little girl, Callie smiled at her. “You ask me the same question every day, Becky, and every day I give you the same answer.”

  “I know it, but I’m seven now.”

  “My dear, I’m almost twenty-seven, and I’d love to be able to take a nap every afternoon,” Callie said. She swept Becky up from the floor and into her arms, and was pleased when Becky laughed with surprise.

  “When I grow up, I’m never going to take a nap,” she announced.

  “Pooh. I don’t believe it. Grown-ups always want to take naps.”

  “How come?”

  Carrying her charge up the staircase, Callie sighed. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I guess it has something to do with responsibilities or something.” And worry. Worry could tire a person out. Callie knew it for a certified fact.

  Her footsteps dragged when she left Becky to her nap and went downstairs. She paused before Aubrey’s office door in order to collect her wits, straighten her skirt, pat her hair, take a deep breath for strength, utter a brief silent prayer, and knocked.

  “Miss Prophet?” Aubrey’s voice sounded as anxious as Callie felt. Oh, dear, what did this mean?

  “Yes,” she said. “It is I.”

  “Please, come in.”

  She was about to do just that when the door opened, startling her, and causing her to jump about a foot into the air and sending her heart ricocheting around in her chest. Slamming a hand over it in hopes of settling it down, she felt herself blush,

  “I beg your pardon,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said at the same time. He recovered first. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She waved his apology away. “Oh, no, it’s not your fault.” It was her fault for being as nervous as a native facing a charging hippo, although she didn’t add that part.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he repeated. “Please, come in. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Discuss with her? Perhaps that meant he wasn’t going to fire her. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to get rid of Monster, though. Not only would it break her heart and Becky’s heart to be parted from the idiotic cat, but Callie had a feeling Monster would object. When cats objected to being moved from one location to another, they seemed to have an uncanny knack of returning to the first location. She wasn’t sure Aubrey would understand that as the nature of cats, but would blame the cat’s return on her.

  Oh, Lord, there she went again: borrowing trouble. She came up with a smile and entered the room. “Certainly, Mr. Lockhart.”

  “Please, take a seat.” He went to sit in the big chair behind his desk.

  He looked terribly official when he did that, but Callie tried not to think about it. “Yes, Mr. Lockhart?”

  Aubrey cleared his throat, slightly alarming Callie, who took it as a sign that his nerves weren’t as settled as they generally were. All sorts of horrible reasons for his being nervous flickered through her mind in the second she had to think before he spoke.

  “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things recently, Miss Prophet.”

  Callie’s mind went blank instantly. She stared at him, unable to come up with anything to say to this comment.

  Aubrey began drumming his fingers on his gleaming teakwood desk. “As you well know, life here at the Lockhart home has undergone many unpleasant changes in the last year or two.”

  “Er . . . Yes.” The drumming of his fingers made her nerves skip.

  “You seem to be getting along quite well as Becky’s nanny.”

  Why had he suddenly changed the subject? “Urn . . . Thank you.” It occurred to her that she ought to say something more, so she tacked on, “Becky is a darling child.”

  A brief smile visited his handsome features. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?” She swallowed.

  “Yes.” Suddenly Aubrey shoved his chair back and stood, making Callie jump in her chair. Clasping his hands behind his back, he began pacing in a circle before the window.

  Watching him, Callie wished she could do that, too. It might help calm her down if she could move around. Unfortunately, she was the nanny, and he was the boss, and she had to sit still until he was finished with her.

  “Becky seems to be much happier lately than she was before you came to work here.”

  “Oh?” Relief flooded Callie
so fast, it nearly washed her out of her chair. Perhaps he wasn’t going to fire her or make her get rid of Monster.

  “Indeed. She seems to have taken a shine to you.”

  “Oh—”

  He held up a hand as if to ward off further comment, a gesture that was totally unnecessary since Callie had run out of words earlier in the day and hadn’t found any since.

  “I know, I know,” Aubrey went on, “I didn’t believe you were the right person for the job at first, but you’ve proved me wrong.”

  She had? Good heavens.

  “I had originally believed an older woman would be best for Becky, but I can see now that you’re the right person for the job. You’re young and have enough energy to keep up with a small, active little girl.”

  That was nice, she supposed. “Thank you.”

  He brushed her thanks away. “No need to thank me. I’m only reporting my observations.”

  “I see.”

  He turned and looked at her sharply. “Oh, yes. I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while, Miss Prophet.”

  Obviously. Callie nodded. The thought crossed her mind that Mr. Lockhart might have suffered some sort of fit that had affected his mind and left him babbling. She banished it at once, sensing that a fit wasn’t the present problem.

  “When I added everything together, I decided perhaps a change was in order.”

  Whatever was he talking about? “Oh?”

  “Indeed. Because, you know, one has to think of one’s child as well as one’s self when deciding these things.”

  “Oh.”

  “So it occurred to me that perhaps this might be an appropriate action on my part.”

  “I see,” said Callie, who didn’t.

  “It really only makes sense. After all, you’re already here in the household and you seem to get along with everyone. Indeed, it seems to me that the entire staff has begun to defer to you.” Looking as if he were worried that this last comment might be construed by the eager-to-find-fault Callie, Aubrey hastened to add, “Which is good.” He flashed her a smile.

  She didn’t respond with an answering smile. If her expression told the truth, it would be one of total befuddlement.