Unaccustomed to having his orders questioned, he narrowed his eyes at the housekeeper. She would never have questioned his father so. “It is.”
At Mrs. Hinkley’s inquisitive look, Edward met Miss Keene’s eyes once more and said glibly, “She is new, you see, and might inadvertently lose her way.”
Wearing capes and gloves, Olivia and Doris followed behind as Andrew and Audrey tore down the path through the wood.
The autumn air was crisp, the wood a colorful fresco of flaming brown and orange beechwood trees, orange-red rowan trees, and the puckered berries of hawthorn. Leaves fell and twirled to the ground, revealing more of the pewter grey branches drop by drop. A pheasant skittered across their path, and from the direction of the river came a dipper’s squeaking call.
As they walked, Dory kept up a cheerful prattle, unhindered by Olivia’s lack of response.
Olivia was still thinking about Lord Bradley’s reluctance to allow her to walk out of view of the manor alone. He had no way of knowing she had decided his estate afforded her a comfortable hideaway—until her mother came for her. She wondered if the schoolmistress at St. Aldwyns had yet received her letter.
A narrow track led from the main path to a clearing, where Olivia was surprised to see a snug stone cottage with a slate roof. A stack of chopped firewood, scratching chickens, penned pigs, and a wispy trail of chimney smoke declared the place lived in, while peeling paint, smeared windows, and one forgotten stocking swaying stiffly on a line bespoke recent neglect. Had they wandered outside the Brightwell estate?
Olivia paused and laid a hand on Dory’s arm. Gesturing toward the place with her free hand, she gave the maid an inquisitive look.
“Oh. That’s the gamekeeper’s lodge,” Dory said.
Olivia pointed to the frayed rope swing hanging listlessly from a tree.
“He hasn’t any children, if that’s what you mean. He lives alone out here and keeps to himself. Best place for him, I say.”
Olivia lifted her brows expectantly.
Dory continued, “A rough old sod, from what I hear, though I have never spoken to the sourpuss. Looks as if he’s lived on Tewksbury mustard his whole life.” She shrugged. “Must be good at his post, though. Cook always has plenty of game. Though I grow tired of hare and snipes myself.”
They walked on, quickening their pace to catch up with Audrey and Andrew.
“Stay to the path, dumplings!” Dory called ahead. To Olivia, she explained, “Never know where that man has laid his traps. And I for one don’t wish to be caught in one.”
Olivia shuddered. Neither did she.
The weather being rough and cold the next morning, Olivia kept the children indoors. She sat with Audrey at the old pianoforte in the corner, helping her reach the correct fingerings, and running her own fingers along the score during the more complicated phrases. Andrew, meanwhile, would not cease running about the nursery, kicking a ball and knocking down Alexander’s wooden horses, making the ten-month-old cry. After a sharp word from Nurse Peale, Andrew picked up a battledore from an umbrella stand in the corner and began swinging the racquet like a cricket bat. He hit a wooden ball across the room, and it clunked against the wall perilously close to Olivia’s head.
Rising from the bench, Olivia walked across the room to Andrew and held out her hand. Looking chastened, he laid the battledore onto it. She went to the umbrella stand, but instead of replacing the racquet, she picked up a second and rummaged around until she found a serviceable shuttlecock. Turning back to the gloomy-faced little boy, she presented him with the racquet and, armed with her own, stood facing him, several yards away.
His face instantly brightened.
She tinged the shuttlecock with a gentle underarm hit that sent the feathered birdie into the air. Andrew swung his battledore so vigorously that he spun a full turn in place, missing the object completely.
“Good heavens,” Nurse Peale grumbled good-naturedly. “I had better remove Master Alexander before he becomes the next poor ‘birdie.’ ” She groaned as she bent over, scooped up the little boy, and took him into her own room.
Andrew picked up the shuttlecock and whacked it back, this time into the toy trunk. But after a few more tries, they were able to keep up a volley of two or three hits before having to stop and retrieve the bird. Audrey looked over at them with interest.
“May I play?”
Olivia nodded.
“Two against one won’t be fair,” Andrew complained.
“Then I shall have to join you.” The deep voice startled Olivia. She had not even noticed Lord Bradley standing in the partially open doorway. She hoped their tromping about had not disturbed him. But she thought he looked pleased or at least amused.
“Have you another battledore?” he asked, removing his coat.
Olivia found two more racquets, handing Audrey the sound one and her cousin the one with two tears.
He regarded it with a dubious expression, but murmured only, “Perfect.”
The game commenced with much whooping and chasing. Olivia could barely reconcile this smiling, playful man with the haughty Lord Bradley she usually encountered.
“My, my, does this not bring back memories.”
Olivia turned. Mrs. Howe now stood in the threshold, arms crossed beneath her bosom, a dimple beside her pink lips.
“Hello, Judith.” Lord Bradley gave her a little bow, rendered less ceremonious in shirt sleeves.
She shook her head, amusement and annoyance sparking in her round china-blue eyes. “George Linton called. Hodges could not find you.”
Lord Bradley leapt to return one of Andrew’s wild shots. “Sorry.”
“You are not the least bit sorry, and you know it.”
He reached high and managed to bring one down from near the ceiling. The man had the wingspan of a crane.
“Do you remember how you, Felix, and I used to play in this very room,” Judith asked. “With George Linton or even your father making up the fourth?”
He nodded, distracted by the game.
One of Audrey’s shots went wide to the wall, and in reaching it Olivia stepped near to Mrs. Howe. Impulsively, she held out the battledore and shuttlecock.
The woman hesitated, looking down at her black-and-white-striped walking dress. “No thank you, I am not really—”
“Oh, come, Jude,” Lord Bradley teased. “You are not in your dotage yet.”
“Play with us. Do!” Audrey urged.
Judith Howe grinned. “Oh, very well. But if I muss my hair, and Dubois scolds me, it shall be on your head.”
“You are on my side, Mamma,” Andrew called.
Olivia watched for a few moments, and felt an odd emptiness steal over her as the game commenced without her.
Olivia was crossing the entry hall Friday afternoon when a young man sailed through the front doors, removing his greatcoat.
“Take this for me, will you?”
Olivia looked around and, seeing no sign of Osborn or Mr. Hodges, gingerly took the heavy coat from him. Beneath it, he wore a coat of blue velvet over a brightly patterned waistcoat, pantaloons, and tall boots. The youthful dandy had light reddish gold hair. Titian hair, she believed it was called, and green eyes. Eyes which lit upon closer inspection of her person. “And who are you?” He smiled. “I am quite certain I have never seen you before.”
Olivia craned her head around, but there was no one about to help her.
“What is wrong, my dear—speechless? I never knew I could be quite so intimidating. I find I rather like the notion.”
He appeared to be younger than she was, perhaps only nineteen or twenty, but possessed confidence, or at least bravado, beyond his years.
“Not that intimidating you was my intention.” He leaned near. “I make it my business to know all of the maids, and I should dearly like to know you. Your name, my sweet?”
Olivia looked at him, brows high.
“Quite right. How rude of me. I am Felix Bradley, Judith Howe’s bro
ther and Lord Brightwell’s nephew. And you are . . . ?”
Olivia could barely believe this expressive, brightly clad young man was Lord Bradley’s cousin. But then . . . She let the thought go unfinished. From her pocket, she withdrew the small card upon which she had written her name, for just such an occasion.
“Love notes already? How delightful.” He squinted at her script. “Lydia?”
She shook her head, amused. She found his friendly smile and elfin green eyes charming.
He looked once more. “Lilly?”
She wiggled her hand, signaling, close enough. He straightened and smiled again. Olivia noticed he was tall and thin—not as tall as Lord Bradley but appearing so due to his narrow frame. His features were fine, patrician even.
“Mr. Bradley! I did not hear you arrive.” Mrs. Hinkley bustled across the hall and discreetly put a hand on Olivia’s back and nudged her toward the staircase. “Lord Brightwell is abroad, as you know. Shall I have Hodges announce you to Lord Bradley?”
“No need, Mrs. H. I shall just pop up and see my sister.”
“Very good, sir. The Chinese room is ready for you as always.”
Olivia walked toward the stairs as directed, feeling Mrs. Hinkley’s actions were more protection than rebuke. She could still hear their conversation over the padding of her slippers on the marble floor.
“Who is the new girl? Most unusual.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hinkley said with evident nonchalance, “that is Livie, new to us since your last visit.”
“Livie. Ah.”
“You realized she is mute, of course.”
“Mute? Really?” He spoke casually, as though Olivia were already absent—or deaf.
She felt his eyes on her back as she climbed the stairs.
“Come to think of it, she did not speak a word. Yet I could have sworn she had the most beautiful voice.”
Chapter 11
If any one happens to drop the slipper in passing it,
she must pay a forfeit.
—MRS. CHILD, THE GIRL’S OWN BOOK
Later that afternoon, Olivia sat beside Audrey as she read aloud from Peter the Great, following along and occasionally touching her fingertip to a word the girl had skipped over or mispronounced.
If Audrey did not know the meaning of a word, Olivia would help her locate the definition in one of the volumes of Johnson’s dictionary.
Bang. The nursery door hit the wall, startling them all. Andrew dropped his top and shouted, “Uncle Felix!”
Audrey squealed and jumped up from the settee, book forgotten. Both children ran to the man at the door.
“Hello, you ankle-biters,” Felix Bradley teased. He patted his pockets and withdrew a peppermint for each of them. “Sweets for the sweet.” His gaze sought and held Olivia’s over their heads. He waved away their thanks. “I know my visits would not signify in the least were I not to bring you something.”
He looked over at Olivia once more. “What is your new nurse tormenting you with?” He strolled to the settee and picked up the book. “Plague me. I remember this one. Devilish boring.” He grinned at her censorious look. “Upon my soul, it was. Now. Who’s for a game of hunt the slipper?”
His suggestion was met with cheers, and the children quickly cleared the toys from the worn circular carpet before the nursery hearth. Olivia rose to move the large wooden rocking horse, but Felix Bradley quickly came to her aid, stepping near and saying quietly, “Allow me, lovely Livie. And that is difficult to say, lovely Livie is, though I realize you shall have to take my word for it. I practiced saying it all the way up here.”
She shook her head at his foolishness but could not help grinning.
Movement caught her eye, and she glanced over as a second figure appeared in the doorway. Lord Bradley stood, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He looked from Felix to her and back again, seemingly annoyed to see his cousin standing so near to her. She felt defensive—she had not initiated the proximity. Still, she took a self-conscious step away.
“Felix. I am surprised to see you here.”
“Are you? In the nursery, or in general?”
“Both, I suppose. Your term does not end for several weeks.”
“That’s right. Just before Christmas. I am only visiting. You do not mind, I trust?”
Lord Bradley regarded him speculatively, before his shoulders lifted slightly and his lips pulled down in a gesture of detached nonchalance.
“Come, Cousin Edward, do play with us,” Audrey beseeched. “We haven’t enough players for a proper game. And Nurse Peale says she is too old to sit on the floor.”
“And what game are we playing?” he asked, eyes fixed on Felix.
“Hunt the slipper,” Andrew answered. “Livie has never played it. Can you imagine?”
Lord Bradley feigned shock. “I cannot.”
“Miss Livie, you are to stand in the center and try to guess which of us has the shoe,” Audrey explained. “We shall use one of my doll shoes, for a real shoe would be too easily seen with so few players.”
Andrew looked up at her soberly. “You are to say, ‘Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe. Get it done by half past two.’ But as you cannot speak, we shall say it for you.”
Olivia dipped her head in appreciation.
“Whoever is caught with the slipper becomes the hunter, and pays a forfeit,” Audrey explained. “One must sing a song, or dance, or tell a secret, or perform some trick.”
“And, if anyone drops the slipper whilst passing it,” Andrew added, “she must pay a forfeit as well.”
“Why do you say ‘she’?” Audrey demanded. “I shall not drop it.”
“You always do.”
“Do not.”
While Olivia stood, the others sat on the floor—Audrey, Andrew, Becky, Felix, and Lord Bradley. She was surprised by his affability in joining the game. Evidently he was very fond of his young cousins.
The five sat, knees raised, in a boxy circle, and made a great show of passing the shoe under the tent of their bent legs. All fisted their hands and mimed the act of passing, trying to make the guessing more difficult. Still, they made a very small circle and Olivia was sure Andrew held the shoe, but then he passed it so quickly she could not be sure. A mischievous light gleamed in Felix’s eyes.
She pointed to him with a suppressed smile.
He held forth empty hands and winked.
Olivia next guessed Audrey and, correct, was instructed to trade places with the girl—who had been seated directly beside Lord Bradley. Swallowing, Olivia sat down gingerly, careful to avoid grazing his knee with her own, and to keep her skirts tucked about her.
Audrey performed a pirouette for her forfeit, then lost no time in beginning another round, chanting, “Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe. Get it done by half past two.”
Andrew passed the shoe to Lord Bradley, who reached for her hand to pass the shoe into hers. Olivia feared her palm would be damp with nerves at being so close to him. When his fingertips touched her palms she started, fumbled the shoe, and it fell to the floor.
“Now you’ve done it, Livie!” Felix said. “Got to pay your forfeit.”
“Pay a forfeit, pay a forfeit!” Andrew chimed.
Olivia’s heart pounded. She wiped her damp palms along the hem of her gown as it wrapped around her ankles. What should she do? What could she do?
She arose and stepped to the pianoforte and there played a few bars of one of Mozart’s piano concertos, the festive “Turkish March” she had learnt at Miss Cresswell’s. Afterward, she bowed with a flourish and reclaimed her spot on the floor.
Everybody clapped in delight except Lord Bradley. He merely stared. Had she overstepped by playing the pianoforte meant for the children’s use?
Apparently she had, for he rose, smoothed his coat, and apologized to his cousins. “Forgive me, but I have forgotten an appointment with Father’s clerk.”
How foolish she felt, how chastened. The children groaned, but Felix watched him go as silently
as she.
Olivia awoke, cold. Her small room had no fire of its own, but drew warmth from the hearth in the adjacent sleeping chamber. And that fire had no doubt smoldered to ash hours ago. She pulled her bedclothes over her head, attempting to warm herself and return to sleep. She heard something and stilled, ceasing to even shiver as she listened. Her door creaked slowly open, and Olivia sat upright, heart pounding.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw a figure tiptoeing into her room. A small figure.
Andrew.
“I had a bad dream,” he muttered and audibly shivered.
Olivia turned down her bedclothes, and he immediately climbed in beside her. She realized she should return him to his own bed and find him an extra blanket, or rouse Becky to stoke the fire and warm another bed stone. Instead, she pulled the blankets up under his chin and asked God to send him sweet dreams. Andrew curled into her side with a little sigh, falling to sleep within seconds. Ah, well . . . she would rise early and carry him back to his bed.
Stroking his hair, Olivia wondered if this was what it felt like to be someone’s mother—to possess the sweet, satisfying power to comfort and console. She wondered, too, if she would ever have children of her own. Considering she was unmarried at nearly five and twenty, it seemed unlikely. She thought fleetingly of the sole young man who had ever courted her and squelched the icy doubts that followed. Instead, she put her arm around Andrew, relishing his warmth, his nearness, and the sunny smell of his freshly washed hair as she drifted to sleep.
In the morning, Olivia awoke with Andrew still beside her and the discomfiting feeling of being watched.
She glanced toward her door and saw that it was still open from Andrew’s entrance the night before. She gasped, startled to see Lord Bradley and Audrey in the threshold, peering at them. She jerked the bedclothes up over her thin nightdress.
“Forgive us,” Lord Bradley murmured, averting his eyes. “Audrey was concerned when she could not find Andrew.”
Olivia opened her mouth to defend herself, but remembered in time not to speak.
The Silent Governess Page 9