British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  “I was working with the colt again in the pasture just beyond the fence,” Oliver explained. “I heard the shouting and came to investigate.”

  “Do you need help, Uncle Oliver?” Franklin asked.

  Oliver gave Helen an inquiring glance. “Do you mind if Franklin joins me for an hour or two?”

  “Not at all.” To Helen’s amazement, Franklin talked animatedly until he and Oliver disappeared around a hedge. “Does Franklin often help your uncle?” she asked.

  Avril shook her head. “He doesn’t help anyone, ever. But he likes horses.”

  Helen smiled while threading one daisy’s stem through another. This day was a tremendous answer to prayer, even to prayers she had never dared utter.

  “I like playing in the garden, Cousin Helen. May we play here every day?” Patsy tucked dandelions among Helen’s braids.

  Helen felt as if her chest might burst with the fullness of joy. “Aye, every sunny day!”

  Avril chuckled. “You’re making God happy again,” she said. “You make Uncle Oliver smile. I wonder if you can make Father smile. He hasn’t smiled much since our mother died.”

  Helen touched the girl’s slender arm. “I can’t make anyone smile, Avril. Only God can put joy into people’s hearts.”

  Avril shook her head. “I still think He uses you to do it, Cousin Helen.”

  Chapter 4

  Sleep well, children.” Helen kissed each child in turn. The girls returned her hugs, but Franklin endured his kiss and hug stoically. After blowing out the candles, Helen closed the nursery door and leaned against it. Tonight her room seemed friendlier, even though shadows flickered in every corner. The day’s sunshine, flowers, and fresh air lingered within Helen’s soul.

  A heavy knock at her chamber door brought her back to the present with a start. “Master Cyril has returned. He requests your presence in his drawing room.” It was Gretel’s voice.

  “Cyril has returned?” The man must have sneaked into his house like a thief, Helen decided. Although now that she thought about it, there had been unusual commotion in the house while she prepared the children for bed. “He wants to meet me tonight?”

  “He awaits you now.”

  “I shall come presently.” With trembling hands Helen smoothed her hair—picking out a few wilted dandelions—inspected her face, removed her apron, and straightened her skirts. At last her questions about Cyril Biddlesham would be answered.

  She opened her chamber door to find Gretel waiting. By the light of the housekeeper’s candle, the two women traversed a long hallway past the stairwell, past rows of Biddlesham family portraits, to the other wing of the house. Gretel rapped on a door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow Helen’s entry.

  The chamber was well lighted, although smoke and a sickly-sweet odor filled the air. As Helen entered, her cousin rose from a chair, then bowed over her hand. “Well met, Cousin Helen.” Looking down from his considerable height, he smiled, crinkling his blue eyes. A pointed beard concealed his chin while his cheeks were clean-shaven. Dark hair curled softly on his shoulders with one beribboned lock hanging upon his broad chest. The froth of lace edging his falling band collar and the gold brocade of his doublet merely emphasized his air of romantic masculinity.

  “Cousin Cyril,” Helen murmured. She saw a remarkable resemblance to Avril in his countenance. Absorbed in her examination of his features, she forgot to remove her hand from his grasp. One of his brows lifted, and his moustache twitched.

  A rumbling growl stopped Helen’s breath. Turning her face toward the fireplace, she beheld the mastiff of her nightmares standing on the hearth. Its dripping flews quivered to reveal ivory tusks.

  “Down, boy. Cousin Helen is family.” Cyril patted her stiffened shoulder. “Never fear; Diocletian will not harm you. Reach out to him.”

  Helen could not move. Hackles bristling along a spine the height of Helen’s waist, the dog held her in a fixed stare.

  “Are you deaf, child? Show the dog that you do not fear him, or he will despise you.”

  “But I do f–f–fear …,” Helen faltered.

  “Nonsense. A nobler beast than Diocletian never lived. Reach out your hand and touch him.”

  Silently claiming every protection promise in Scripture, Helen obeyed. As soon as her fingers stroked his head, Diocletian relaxed. His heavy tail wagged, and his ears drooped.

  Thank You, Lord.

  “Now come and sit across from me here before you topple to the floor.” Cyril indicated a second carved oak chair. “Tales of your endeavors have already reached mine ears. Is it true that you applied soap to my son?” Cyril took a clay pipe from the mantelshelf, sucked on it, and puffed smoke.

  Trying not to cough, Helen settled into the chair. “Aye, cousin.”

  “You must possess more fortitude than is now in evidence. Although, it is true, Franklin is a weakly child.” A melancholy expression filled Cyril’s eyes. “His brother was robust and intelligent, a true Biddlesham. If illness can take a boy like my Joseph, I hold little hope that the others will survive to become adults. However, I am thankful you have come to take charge of them while they live. Since your father was a man of the cloth, I’m sure you will help prepare their souls for eternity.”

  Helen scooted forward on the chair until her feet touched the floor. “I see no reason why your children should not live to maturity, barring some unforeseen illness. I shall certainly strive to train them in godly ways and guide them into all truth. They are intelligent, resourceful children, especially Franklin. I believe that—”

  Cyril continued as if she had not spoken. “For some reason, we have always had difficulty keeping a nurse or governess in our employ longer than the requisite year. Perhaps the problem is our remote location …” His voice trailed off, and he sucked on the pipe again.

  Helen dared to break the silence. “I believe it would benefit Franklin to be oft in your company. The boy craves the guidance of a man. I will bring the children to call upon you each day at whatever time you choose.”

  Cyril puffed for a full minute before replying. “I have no desire to attend my offspring every day. It would, perhaps, be advisable for me to observe their progress each week. Let us say you bring them to me here in my drawing room for a brief interview each Saturday evening. I do wish to see them tomorrow morning, however, to inspect the progress you have made during my absence. I plan to marry soon; I am newly betrothed to the widow of a wool merchant from Ipswich. Courtship and business will demand the majority of my time in these coming months.”

  “You—you plan to marry? You never wrote of this intent …”

  Cyril’s lips twitched. “I was unaware of it myself until last week. The bewitching creature has convinced me that man was not meant to be alone.”

  “I see.” Concern for the children filled Helen’s thoughts. Would the “bewitching creature” make a good stepmother?

  Movement at her side startled Helen. Pressing one hand to her heart, she stared down into beseeching eyes. Diocletian laid his black muzzle upon her skirt, leaving streaks of drool upon the fabric. In her peripheral vision Helen saw his tail waving, but she could not lift her gaze from the dog’s face.

  “Hmm.” Cyril sounded mildly pleased. “You have found favor in Diocletian’s eyes—a rare honor. He must recognize a relative; there is a Biddlesham look about you. I dimly recall your mother, my aunt. She lived here until her marriage—a comely woman. Your father was a diminutive, bookish sort. Her acceptance of his suit puzzled the family. But then, in neither a vicar nor a governess is height a requirement.” A sardonic smile curled his moustache.

  Helen laid a trembling hand on the dog’s head and saw the thick tail increase its tempo. A pink tongue, nearly as large as Helen’s hand, swiped over the dog’s lips and nose. The head on Helen’s lap felt as heavy as Patsy’s entire body. Although the hair on Diocletian’s head was rough, his ears were warm velvet.

  Perhaps her cousin was right and this dog named for a
cruel Roman posed no threat. It was difficult to believe that a body so large, possessed of such teeth, could contain a gentle heart.

  She spoke quietly. “My parents loved each other deeply—”

  “Your parents married late in life.” Cyril dropped into his chair and stretched his long legs toward the hearth. Firelight reflected from his forehead. Helen now noticed his receding hairline and the lines framing his mouth and eyes. She heard the creak of stays whenever he moved.

  “And I was their only child. We had a happy home in Wyttlethorpe parish. My father was schoolmaster as well as vicar, so I received an excellent education.”

  “The quality of your letters told me as much. I trust you will pass on that education to my progeny as long as you are in my employ. I do not wish them to attend the school in Biddlesham Fen village. It has been my observation that congregating in masses brings on illness. My apothecary advises keeping the children apart from others of their age and feeding large quantities of white meats.”

  “Milk and eggs?” Helen translated the term in puzzlement. “What benefit does he hope to acquire from such diet?”

  “Their good health.” Cyril puffed rapidly at his pipe. “Have a care; I do not relish being questioned, cousin.” Giving her a sidelong glance, he suddenly asked, “Have you seen our haunting spirit?”

  Helen’s blood ran cold. “Did you say …?” Her spine stiffened. “Nonsense. I do not believe in ghosts.”

  “Be that as it may, an apparition walks the grounds of Biddlesham Hall. Some say the specter is my grandfather who walked every evening in the gardens. Since he is your ancestor as well, he might appear to you.” A glitter in Cyril’s eye told Helen that he baited her.

  “Taunt me not with spectral tales. I am no child to be tormented so.”

  He grinned. “You seem a veritable infant, with those trusting eyes and dimpled cheeks.”

  “I am twenty-eight years of age and no babe,” Helen snapped.

  His eyes flashed sparks. “And I say you are a child. I warned you not to question me. Have done with you!” With a dismissing wave, he slumped back in his chair and puffed smoke.

  Helen slid from beneath the mastiff’s jowls. “Good even, Cousin Cyril.”

  He glowered into the fire. “Sleep well, cousin.”

  The dog escorted Helen to the door. Although she recognized the acceptance in his drooping eyes, the animal’s presence made her knees go weak. “Good even, Diocletian,” she murmured, reaching out to give his broad head a farewell pat. You, at least, are a gentleman. Who behaved like a child just now? Not I and not you.

  “Take the dog down to the kitchen when you go,” Cyril ordered without turning around.

  After shooting a glare at her lounging cousin’s back, Helen ventured to touch the dog’s head once more. “Come, Diocletian.”

  The mastiff’s head and tail lifted, and he rushed into the hallway, nearly knocking Helen off her feet. She heard soft laughter from the drawing room as she pulled the door shut. The passage was dark and silent, lighted only by an occasional wall sconce. Although she knew that men’s disembodied spirits did not walk the earth—such a thing was entirely unbiblical—Helen found that her imagination had a will of its own. Lifting her chin, she swallowed her panic and trotted past all those closed doors toward the stairwell.

  The dog waited at the back door when Helen caught up with him. “Here you are,” she gasped. Diocletian was reassuringly solid and alive beneath her hands. He willingly escorted her to the out-buildings, waiting politely while she opened the doors.

  A roaring fire warmed the kitchen. Cook lounged at the table with both feet on a bench. He gave her a glance, then looked again from Helen to the dog. He exclaimed something unintelligible as his feet hit the floor, and Helen wondered if the man might be foreign.

  “Does the dog stay with you, Cook?” Helen asked.

  “But the dog … We are to keep the dog away from you since he makes you swoon! How is it that you walk with him so calm?”

  “My cousin introduced me to Diocletian tonight.” Helen patted the dog once more, feeling pride in her accomplishment.

  “Ah.” Cook still looked mystified. “Master Oliver will not believe me when I tell him.” His jowls flopped as he shook his head.

  “You say the dog made me swoon? I do not recall …” Helen wrinkled her brow in the effort to remember.

  “ ’twas the night you came. Master Oliver caught and carried you away. No one else was to touch! Romantic, eh? All the servants talk about how he watches over the little governess and defends you from harm. Always he keeps to himself, but now he finds reason to be near you. A good man he is for a good woman. It gives him shame that King James stole away his lands.” Glancing furtively about, Cook crossed himself and winked soberly at Helen.

  Smiling to hide her confusion, Helen excused herself and backed out the door.

  Once in her chamber, she prepared for bed, panting from her frenzied run up the dark stairs. When her dress and petticoats lay in a heap on the floor, she splashed her face and neck with water from the basin, then rubbed her face with a towel. “I wish Cousin Cyril cared more for his children. I had parents who adored me—a blessing I would not trade for any amount of wealth or beauty. Perhaps his new wife will be the mother for which Patsy prays. Lord, I must trust You to provide for these children.”

  She paced across the room while taking down her abundant hair. Her candle flickered. Helen stopped and stared until the flame straightened.

  Ashamed of her inordinate alarm, she heaved a sigh. “As if darkness could harm me. Lord, why must I be so fearful? ‘I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears,’ ” she quoted. “You did enable me to overcome my fears many times today, Lord Jesus. There was the tree—although Oliver in effect had to carry me down, I don’t believe he realized the extent of my fear. And I actually befriended a dog! Only You could provide such courage. Cousin Cyril did not appreciate the magnitude of my victory, but You do.”

  Instead of picturing her handsome cousin, Helen dwelt upon memories of Oliver’s rugged face. Smiling, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and stroked its length. “I wonder if Oliver would like my hair. It isn’t a pretty color, but it is soft.” Warmth invaded her body and heart.

  Leaning over, she braided her hair into a thick rope. “Oliver said I was the best thing to come here in many years.” Not a particularly romantic statement, to be sure, but at the moment any positive remark from Oliver nourished her runaway fancy. “The servants say he watches over me.”

  A breeze from her open window made Helen shiver. After tying off the braid, she hurried to her bed and pulled back the quilt. Something dark lay upon the white ticking. Helen paused with one foot lifted. Teetering, she fell forward with hands braced on either side of the invading object.

  At close range she beheld four outstretched legs, empty eye sockets, and a gaping mouth. A scream caught in her throat. Everything went dark except for that ghastly gray nightmare. She could not shift her gaze. Her body seemed frozen except for the throbbing beat in her ears.

  At last she caught a gasping breath and flung herself away from the bed. Huddled on the floor with both arms wrapped around her folded legs, she rocked back and forth, whimpering. As her mind began to clear, her lips whispered psalms. “ ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me … The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’ ”

  Wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, Helen took a deep breath. “Certainly not of a toad. The creature has been dead for eons, from the look of it.” She clambered to her feet, tripping on the edge of her smock. Her gaze avoided the bed. “But what shall I do now?”

  A handkerchief provided her deliverance. Averting her eyes as much as possible, she gripped one of the toad’s stiff legs with the folded cloth, carried it to the open window, and dropped it, handkerchief and all
. The handkerchief unfurled and floated down like a falling leaf. Helen leaned over the sill but could see nothing of the toad in the bushes far below.

  Stars glittered overhead, and nocturnal creatures chirped. Helen wished she were not afraid of the dark, for the gardens appeared enchanting by starlight. Spirals of mist drifted across the lawns and lurked behind hedges. In a few short weeks, the trellises and fences would be cloaked with sweetbriar and blooming vines, and the heady perfume of jasmine might rise even to Helen’s window.

  A dark figure near the lavender hedge caught Helen’s attention. She recalled no bush or statue in that location. Craning her neck and squinting, she leaned farther out. Her hand slipped, and she gave a little cry before ducking back inside. How foolish I am! she berated herself while waiting for her heart to stop its thundering. Come morning, I shall be able to see the statue clearly instead of breaking my neck while trying to see in the dark.

  A chilly wind made her reach to close the window. Her hand stopped short. Her widening eyes searched the lavender hedge in vain. The dark figure was gone.

  Seconds later she was huddled beneath her quilt in the middle of the bed. The breeze caused by her wild rush had extinguished her candle, leaving Helen to shiver in complete darkness.

  Chapter 5

  As dawn lit the eastern horizon, Helen pulled her dress over her head, bound her hair, and donned a cap and shawl. After scooping up her Bible, she marched downstairs with eyes straight ahead, determined not to run like a rabbit from invisible predators lurking in dark corners of the house.

  She lifted the bar and opened the back door. Gray morning light touched her face. Smoke trickled from the kitchen chimney—Cook must already be at work. Helen stepped outside into a wonderland of silvery mist, dewy grass, and sleeping flowers. A spiderweb shimmered between two shrubs, its weaver waiting patiently for the sun to awaken a prospective meal.

  Helen searched the back of the house for her bedchamber window, then hurried to hunt through the bushes below it for her handkerchief. The square of white cambric was nowhere to be seen. Might a bird have carried it away? There had been no wind last night. She searched behind and beneath the topiary hedges to no avail.