“Did he have a bad dream and ask to sleep with you?” Audrey asked.
Olivia nodded, realizing this was close enough to the truth and likely to assure their hastiest departure.
“There, Audrey, you see? Nothing to fear. Andrew is perfectly well.”
He glanced at her, and Olivia felt her cheeks burn as she pulled the bedclothes higher.
Andrew opened his sleepy eyes and looked from Olivia to his sister and cousin, clearly confused to find himself in the under nurse’s bed.
“You talked in your sleep, Miss Livie!” Andrew said, startling Olivia and their audience as well.
Olivia shook her head, but Andrew insisted, “You did! You said something about a comb and then, ‘I should not have done it. I did not mean to.’ You said that bit twice. What did you not mean to do?”
Olivia was dumbfounded and felt her face flush anew. She dared a glance up at Lord Bradley, knowing he would be displeased.
“Andrew, you must have been dreaming,” Audrey said, stepping into the room. “Miss Keene cannot speak.” She took Andrew’s hand as he climbed out of bed and led him from the room. “You had another of your bad dreams last night, did you not?”
“I did, but—”
“See? That was all it was, then. Miss Keene talking in her sleep? What an imagination you have!”
After the children departed, Lord Bradley paused only long enough to nod curtly before pulling the door closed. Olivia sighed. Next time, she could most definitely not let Andrew share her bed.
On Wednesday morning, Olivia delivered the children to the stable yard for their riding lessons. When she arrived, Lord Bradley was nowhere to be seen, so she and the children went to the far stall and watched Talbot shoe a horse and then looked on as Johnny saddled up the small horse and pony Audrey and Andrew would ride. When a quarter of an hour had passed, and Lord Bradley still had not appeared, Johnny took pity on the antsy children.
“What say you, Miss Livie. These two beasts are raring to go. The horses too.” He winked. “Why don’t I lead them about the yard until Lord Bradley comes?”
Olivia nodded gratefully.
Smiling, Johnny put the horse and pony on leads. The children mounted, all enthusiasm, and the groom led them around the yard in a wide circle. Not as exciting as a ride with their cousin, but at least they were not sitting idle.
A few minutes later, Lord Bradley strode into the stables with the merest glance in Olivia’s direction. He walked to one of the stalls and, over its gate, stroked the long muzzle of his tall black horse.
“Have you and the children been waiting long?” he asked, his gaze still on the horse. She was surprised he would initiate conversation with her.
Since no one was within earshot, Olivia answered quietly, “Not so long.”
He nodded. And as no groom offered to do so for him, he opened the gate and began bridling the horse himself.
She waited, but when he did not scold her for speaking to him, she asked, “Pray what is his name, this beauty of a horse?” That once nearly trampled me to death, she added to herself.
“Guess.” He pressed the bit between the horse’s large teeth, then lifted the leather straps over the regal head and ears.
“Hmm . . .” she mused. “Considering his color, and your general demeanor, I would guess . . . Black.”
“You wound me. Do you think me completely without imagination?”
“It is one’s first impression.” What was she thinking to tease him as she might tease Johnny? Was she so desperate for adult conversation?
Finished with the task, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you like to know what I am imagining right now?”
Throttling me? she thought, but whispered only, “No. Definitely not.”
After the riding lesson, Olivia found herself in the uncomfortable position of walking back to the house beside Lord Bradley as the children, as was their wont, ran ahead. She slowed her pace to fall a respectful distance behind him, as befitted her station. He made no further conversation, and of course, neither did she.
She was startled when Croome rounded the corner of the manor. Evidently, Lord Bradley was startled as well, for he drew up sharply and she nearly collided with him.
“Ah . . . Mr. Croome.” Lord Bradley’s voice seemed suddenly unnatural and unsure. He turned to follow the man’s hard gaze and for a moment, both men regarded her critically. Prompted to fill the awkward silence, Lord Bradley said, “This is . . . that is, you may recall Miss Keene.”
“I recall,” Croome muttered. “I recall I caught ’er snooping where she had no business.”
“Yes, well. She has entered into service now. Helping with my young cousins.”
Croome scorched her with a glare, but she doused it with an icy one of her own. For she remembered him as well, somewhere he had no business.
He looked away first and turned to Lord Bradley. “There’s a polecat lurkin’ about the place. I plan to set a trap for him, unless you prefer to leave him be. Keep the rats down, polecats do, but terrible destructive for game.”
“I see. Well, whatever you think best, Mr. Croome. Father has always trusted your wisdom in these affairs.”
Olivia studied Lord Bradley, perplexed. He was like a nervous schoolboy before an exacting headmaster.
Croome nodded and lurched away in his slightly limping gait, and they both turned to watch as the gamekeeper disappeared into the wood.
“You are still afraid of him,” Olivia ventured quietly. “Has he ever harmed you?”
“No.” He expelled a puff of breath. “Foolish, is it not? I think it has to do with my father. When I was a lad, he always seemed to stand closer to me whenever Croome was about.”
How odd, Olivia thought. Aloud she said, “I wonder if Lord Brightwell knows something unsavory about the man’s character.” To herself she added, Or about his dealings with poachers?
“I don’t know,” Lord Bradley admitted. “But perhaps I shall ask him when he returns.”
She was once again tempted to tell Lord Bradley where she had first seen Croome, but hesitated. She knew it would lead to more questions she was not prepared to answer.
Late in the afternoon, when Olivia went down to the kitchen for the nursery dinner tray, the kitchen maids were sitting on low stools, plucking feathers from a basketful of small birds. Seeing her stare, Mrs. Moore explained. “Grouse from the gamekeeper. Grouse pie will make for a nice change, will it not? Our neighbor George Linton filled our larder with partridges from his estate, and everyone is sick to death of them.”
Mrs. Moore added a dish of suet dumplings to the nursery tray, then looked up at Olivia. “Have you met our Mr. Croome?”
Olivia gave a slight nod, which traveled into her shoulders as a shudder.
“Afraid of the man, are you? I shouldn’t wonder. Looks a fright most days, doesn’t he?”
Olivia nodded her agreement.
Mrs. Moore clucked her tongue. “He’s as thin as I’ve ever seen him. What must he eat, I wonder? I doubt he’s had a decent meal in years.”
Olivia wondered at the sympathy in her tone. Of course she had been at Brightwell Court long enough to realize Mrs. Moore could not stand the thought of anyone going hungry.
“And too proud to take a meal with us,” one of the kitchen maids piped up.
“Hush, Edith, and keep to your plucking,” Mrs. Moore said. “Has his own house and fire ring, hasn’t he? Not in service like the rest of us.”
Mrs. Moore sighed. “And me with two perfectly good partridge pasties and no one to eat them.” She lifted woeful eyes from the pasties to Olivia and back again.
No . . . Olivia thought, and slowly, emphatically, shook her head.
Sukey accompanied her as far as the narrow track but refused to go further. Swallowing, Olivia gripped the packet more tightly and stepped into the clearing.
Croome sat on the lodge stoop, stroking a long knife over a sharpening stone. When she stepped into the clearing, he jerked
his head up.
“What do you want?” Croome’s wiry brows formed an angry V over narrowed eyes. “Nothing to snoop around here for.”
She recalled Mrs. Moore’s admonition. “Don’t let him see yourfear. Worse than the predators he keeps out of the wood, he is, when he smells weakness.”
He stared at her, and it was all she could do not to look away from the venom in his eyes.
Suddenly his gaze targeted the packet in her hands. “Whatever that is, you can take it right back with you. I don’t need yer charity.”
She lifted her chin and held out the paper-wrapped package upon which Mrs. Moore had written its contents: Hashed Partridge Pasty.
His scowl deepened to one of disgust, and Olivia was stunned when he rose and snatched the packet from her and threw it maliciously into the pigpen. The packet split open and the pasties spilled out, soon surrounded and disappearing under the grunting work of pigs.
She cringed, feeling the sting of her offering being rejected, even if Mrs. Moore had been the one to suggest it. Hashed partridge was considered a delicacy—a rare treat for any man. How ungrateful he was. How rude.
She had kept his secret and, against her better judgment, had allowed Mrs. Moore to persuade her to offer a gift. Well, she had done all she would to repay him for her rescue. All the way back to the manor, she fumed. She was done with the man. Croome could starve to death, and good riddance!
Chapter 12
Avoid as much as possible being alone with the other sex:
as the greatest mischiefs happen from small circumstances.
—SAMUEL & SARAH ADAMS, THE COMPLETE SERVANT
The next morning, Olivia went downstairs to find Mrs. Hinkley, bearing a note Nurse Peale had dictated while she’d had her hands full with Alexander. The note requested the procurement of an ivory ring, and in the meantime, a crust of stale bread for the fussy, teething child to chew.
Olivia found the housekeeper sitting at the small desk in her parlor, bent over a lined book. She looked up when Olivia entered, and groaned. “I have spent the better part of three hours on the household accounts and cannot balance this ledger. Mr. Walters will want an accounting of every shilling tomorrow, and I cannot find where I have gone wrong.”
Olivia bit her lip. Dared she offer? She touched a finger to her chest.
“You want to give it a go?” Mrs. Hinkley huffed a laugh. “Do you know anything about household accounts?”
Olivia lifted her shoulders, fluttered a hand.
Mrs. Hinkley rose. “Well, I suppose there is nothing confidential about how many rashers of bacon and pounds of sugar we buy or how much we pay the coal merchant.”
She hovered behind the chair until Olivia shooed her gently away.
“Oh, very well. But if you don’t find my error in half an hour, I shall have to try again.”
Ten minutes later, Olivia rapped her knuckles against the desk. Mrs. Hinkley rose sprightly from the settee and hurried over. “Did you find something?”
Olivia nodded and pointed to an incorrect subtotal. She lifted a scrap of paper with the reworked sum.
“Bless me, you’re right! How did I miss it?”
Olivia smiled and rose from the chair.
Still staring at the figures and shaking her head, Mrs. Hinkley said, “Sometimes a pair of fresh eyes is all that is needed, I suppose.” Then she looked up at Olivia once more. “If you would not mind keeping this between us . . . ?”
Olivia nodded. She had no desire to tell a soul. She did not want anyone asking her how she came to know so much about account books.
She belatedly handed over Nurse Peale’s note. Mrs. Hinkley skimmed it and sent Olivia down to the kitchen for the bread, promising to purchase the ring as soon as possible. Several minutes later, Olivia returned to the nursery with the crust of bread, only to have Miss Peale look at it blankly and say she was not hungry.
That afternoon, Edward was meeting in the study with his father’s clerk when movement out on the lawn drew his attention. He paused in his dictation to Walters to look out the window. Miss Keene was outside, a red scarf tied across her eyes and bonnet, her arms outstretched in a game of hoodman blind. His young cousins, bundled head to toe, ran around her, evading her grasp. The children were laughing and calling out. Miss Keene was turning, her skirts and cape twirling about her, a wide smile lighting her face. He felt his own mouth turn up in response. He knew he should not find her attractive, but he did. He wished he knew if he could trust her. He thought of Sybil Harrington, whom his father hoped he would marry, with her classic features and rich dowry. She was more beautiful than any under nurse, surely.
Andrew ran too close, and Miss Keene grabbed him around his middle and lifted him, spinning him around and around until his hat flew to the ground. Andrew laughed with glee, the sound of it carrying through the glass. Miss Keene set him down and pulled down the blindfold. She mussed Andrew’s hair affectionately before picking up his hat and replacing it on his head. Audrey joined them, sliding her gloved hand into Miss Keene’s.
“Shall I repeat the last sentence, my lord?” the clerk asked.
“Hmm?” Edward murmured, returning to the business at hand. “Oh, yes please, Walters, if you would.”
Olivia stuffed the red scarf into her cape pocket. She covered her eyes with her hands, then pointed toward the outbuildings.
“She wants to play hide-and-seek!” Andrew shouted.
Olivia nodded with a wry grin. She was becoming quite adept at charades.
“I am weary of childish games,” Audrey grumbled.
“Come on, Aud,” her brother urged. “I’ll even seek first. Ready, steady, go!”
Giving in, Audrey ran off in the direction of the garden. Olivia followed more sedately, too self-conscious to run without the children at her side.
While Andrew counted, Olivia searched this way and that for a new hiding spot.
Johnny Ross stepped out of the stables, polish and brush in hand. “Here!” he called, waving her over. “I know a place those ankle-biters will never find you.”
She hurried toward the groom, and when she smiled at him, his fair face broke into a blushing grin. “This way, miss.”
Olivia followed him into the stables. There, he pushed at a section of wood walling that was actually a well-hidden door to a small closet.
“Don’t use this anymore, not since the tack room was added.”
Olivia stepped into the dark room, expecting Johnny to close the door from the outside. Instead, he stepped in after her and pulled the door shut against his back.
She felt suddenly ill at ease. She took a step toward the door, but he moved as well, blocking her path.
“You’re a prime article,” he whispered, gripping her waist. “A real beauty.”
Olivia tried to pry his hands away. His grasp remained firm. By slim shafts of light filtering through cracks in the wall, she saw him lean his face toward hers. She turned her head so that his damp lips found only a bit of cheek and ear.
“Livie!” Andrew called from somewhere nearby. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Olivia pushed Johnny away with all her strength and hurried out the door and into the stable yard, wincing in the bright sunlight. In a moment she could see, but dreaded what she saw.
Mrs. Hinkley.
The housekeeper’s eyes slowly assessed her burning face.
Olivia looked away first.
Andrew, unaware of the awkward scene, explained. “Mrs. Hinkley came looking for you, so I said she could help me find you.”
“I appreciate your assistance, Master Andrew,” Mrs. Hinkley said dryly.
Johnny stepped out from the dim stables. Olivia darted a glance at him, then at Mrs. Hinkley. The older woman looked from one to the other. Olivia knew the shrewd housekeeper would not miss their guilty expressions.
“Might I steal you from your game, Livie?” she asked, all placid nonchalance. “Lord Bradley would like a word.”
Olivia swallowed, but a ball of dread seemed lodged in her throat as she silently followed.
Lord Bradley sat behind his desk in a blue coat and white cravat, his golden hair brushed neatly forward. The strong lines of his face were set. His pale blue eyes stared, unwavering.
Once Mrs. Hinkley had closed the study door and her footfalls had retreated down the corridor, Olivia said stiffly, “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Please sit down,” Lord Bradley’s voice was formal and firm. He entwined his long fingers on the polished desktop. “I have learnt of your recent activities and must say I am surprised.”
“It was nothing, really,” she stammered, cheeks heating at the thought of being caught coming out of a closet with the groom. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing? Come, Miss Keene, the whole staff is talking about it. Why, I witnessed your activities myself this morning from this very window.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped. “Did you indeed?”
“Quite. Mrs. Howe is very impressed, and I must say I am as well.” He paused. “I see I am making you uncomfortable.” His tone softened; his eyes as well. “I simply asked you here to thank you for taking on the care of the children so admirably—going far beyond the duties of an under nurse. It is much appreciated, especially as they are without a governess at present.” He picked up a letter from his desk and handed it to her. “And, to give you this.”
The letter was addressed to her, and she was surprised to find the seal unbroken—he had not read it. She unfolded the single page and skimmed its contents. The brief letter was written in the arthritic hand of an older woman.
Miss Keene,
We are not seeking to hire anyone at this time. Nor has anyone called here inquiring after you.
Sincerely,
Miss Kirby, Proprietress
The Girls’ Seminary,
St. Aldwyns
The curt reply held no warm remembrance or even acknowledgment of a former friendship with her mother. Had her mother put too much stock in the acquaintance?
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