by Jo Ann Brown
A closed carriage awaited them. After assisting the children in, Maris was not surprised when Lord Trelawney held out his hand to help her. His excellent manners compelled him to hand in a woman, even a servant. As her gloved fingers settled on his palm, the layers of leather could not halt the bolt of heat leaping from him to her. She calmed the quiver racing through her and kept her eyes on her feet as she climbed in.
Perhaps Lord Trelawney had not felt the sensation. He sat beside Bertie, facing backward, and began chatting with the children. Maris folded her hands in her lap while she listened to their excited voices.
As the carriage followed the curving road to the moor, the dull rhythm of the beam engine could be heard. “We are not going near the mines, are we?” Maris did not want the children chasing a kite in an area that might be pocked with the entrances to abandoned mines.
“In the opposite direction.”
“Toward Dartmoor?”
He smiled. “Yes, but we will be many miles from the place where the prisoners-of-war are kept.”
“I am glad to hear that.” She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold, as she thought of how narrow their escape had been from the French pirates who tried to capture Porthlowen. Those men were now behind the walls of Dartmoor Prison and would be given no chance to slip away again.
“There is an open field that will be the perfect. As well, there are ancient foundations for the children to explore.”
“Foundations?” Her brows dipped toward each other. “Won’t it be dangerous?”
“Not these. They are at ground level. The walls themselves are no more than two or three feet high. Raymond and I spent many hours as children exploring the circular foundations.”
“When you were older than these children?”
“Yes, but you and I are here to watch them.”
“True. How many of these foundations are there?”
“We found more than a dozen hidden among the gorse and grass. When I asked my father how long they had been there and who built them, he said no one knew for certain.”
“Did he know what they were for?”
“He guessed they were storage or shelters for shepherds whose sheep grazed on the common lands.” Shifting, Arthur gave Bertie space to get on his knees and look out the window. “Father suggested I check the book room and see if there was something there to help me. It took me several days, but I discovered a history of the area written more than two hundred years ago. However, the author was baffled by the foundations, which were considered ancient even then.”
“Have you learned anything else about them?” She put out both arms to keep the twins from sliding off the seat as they knelt like Bertie so they could see outside, as well.
“Only that there are other places in Cornwall with this type of foundation hidden in the weeds. Most are on the moors, not far from the sea. The book’s author was far more intrigued by the old burial barrows and fogous.”
“Fogous? What are those?”
“You will hear people call them fuggy holes, but they are properly called fogou. The word comes from the Cornish for cave. They are underground rooms where food once was stored. But you don’t need to worry. We never found a fogou here.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Not as much as when I was a boy and hoped we could find a tunnel to play in.”
“I am glad there are no tunnels. I am sure at least one of the children would need to be retrieved, and I have no wish to crawl in among spiders and mice and who knows what else.”
Lord Trelawney laughed. “True. If you wish to learn more, Miss Oliver, you are welcome to use our book room.”
“No!”
At her sharp cry, the children stared at her. Lord Trelawney did the same before asking, “What is wrong, Miss Oliver?”
Why hadn’t she thought before she reacted? She could not explain how the idea of entering a book room made her stomach twist. To say that would open the door to other questions and threaten the facade she had created for Maris Oliver, nurse. She could not endure the idea of Lord Trelawney regarding her with disgust, as Lord Bellemore had when he cast her out of the only home she had. Or watch him turn away as Belinda did, as if the sight of her were repulsive.
“I am sorry,” Maris said, having no choice but to devise another lie. “I thought one of the children was going to slip off the seat.”
That explanation satisfied the youngsters, but Lord Trelawney said, “As long as nothing else is wrong...”
“Other than me overreacting, no.” How many more lies could she tell before her tongue turned to stone? But what good had telling the truth done her at Bellemore Court?
The viscount settled against the seat. “Why don’t I have the book brought up to the nursery? When you have finished reading it, I would like to know your opinion.”
“Thank you. I look forward to that.”
“Good.” He glanced out as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Here we are. Or as close as the vehicle can take us. It is a short walk.” He held up his hand. “And before you ask, Miss Oliver, I assure you I am more than capable of walking that distance as well as helping the children fly their kite. However, I would prefer if you don’t tell my family or Mr. Hockbridge I was running about on the end of a kite string.”
Warmth slid up her face when he gave her a conspiratorial smile and a wink.
“This color is charming,” he said, brushing her cheek with his crooked finger.
She should look away, but she melted into his gaze. There was nowhere else she wanted to be and no one else she wanted to be with than him. He was kind. He was amusing. He made her feel as if she were an important part of his world.
As he leaned toward her, she held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Oh, how she wished he would! His finger glided down her cheek to tilt her chin at the perfect angle for his lips to find hers.
Suddenly a small form pushed between them. Bertie! The little boy grabbed the door handle to open it. “Go! Go! Go!” His excited shouts were echoed by the girls.
Maris was unsure if she or Lord Trelawney or both of them pulled back, as if the thread tying them together had severed. She began to laugh. She could not halt herself, especially when the viscount joined in along with the children, who had no idea why they were laughing. In truth, it was beyond ludicrous a little boy should act as her conscience, reminding her of her place, which was not in the viscount’s arms.
He soon would be marrying another woman. Maris could not forget again, no matter how much her lips yearned to feel his against them.
Chapter Seven
Circular foundations were scattered across the field, some on one side of a low ridge, the rest on the other. Each circle was approximately eight feet across, and a break in the wall marked a doorway. Grass had grown over most of the stones. Dried with the coming of winter, the blades crackled underfoot.
Bertie, Lulu and Molly ran to the first foundation. They raced in and out, chasing each other and laughing. They did not pause before they did the same in a second circle, then a third. As the girls moved to a fourth, Bertie climbed up the stone to stand on top. He raised his hands high as he jumped up and down.
Maris let them play with childish abandon. They might scrape a knee or a hand if they fell, but the walls were too low for them to hurt themselves more.
She entered the first circle and saw stones set into the earth in the center. Two bowls were cut into them, the right size for a pestle. She wondered if that was the purpose of the stone depressions.
“Can you feel it?” Lord Trelawney asked as he approached. He carried the kite and spindle of string.
“What?”
“The weight of time on this place. If the book I read is right, people were living here around the time of Jesus’s birth and maybe before. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the stones could tell us what they have witnessed through the millennia?”
Maris stepped out of the open-sided foundation. “I never imagined you to be a romantic about st
ones.”
He set his foot on top of a low wall and rested his elbow on his knee. Watching Bertie dance along a nearby circle while the girls clapped to the tune he sang, the viscount said, “Not stones, Miss Oliver, but the people who placed them there. I am curious how they lived here, where they came from and why they left.”
“We may never know.”
Lulu ran over to Lord Trelawney. “Up kite?”
“You should not interrupt,” Maris said, squatting so her eyes were level with the little girl’s, “when others are talking. You must wait and take your turn.”
She nodded. Barely a second passed before she asked, “Wuwu’s turn?”
Maris could not keep from smiling as she heard Lord Trelawney try to conceal his laughter, turning it into an inelegant snort.
“Yes, Lulu,” she said. “It is your turn.”
Lulu spun to look at the viscount. “Up kite?”
“Go to the top of the hill past the stones,” he said, gesturing beyond the foundations. “We shall fly it there.”
Cheering, Lulu ran to the others. They sped up the small hill.
As she walked with Lord Trelawney, Maris was surprised when he asked, “How do you make Lulu feel listened to when she does not want to listen?” He stopped, so Maris did, too. “How do you offer a child comfort with such ease?”
“Simply remember how your parents comforted you. Learn from what they did right and from what they did wrong. Try to do as well and try to do better.”
His brows shot up. “So simple?”
“Yes. If you would like my advice—”
“I do.”
She began to walk toward the children, not wanting him to see her face after he had said the words he would repeat when he took Lady Gwendolyn for his wife. “No two situations and no two children are alike. What do you know about Lady Gwendolyn’s children?”
“There are two. A girl and a boy, I believe.”
“You don’t know the games they play?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know their ages?”
“They are young like our children, but beyond that I don’t know.”
Maris’s heart danced foolishly at his words. Saying “our children” was no more than a turn of a phrase.
Calming her rapid heartbeat, she asked, “Do you know their names?”
“No.” His expression was half smile, half grimace. “It would seem I know nothing about them.”
“You know more than you think. You spent time with Lady Gwendolyn from an early age, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And her husband? Did I hear you met him when you both were at school?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing.
“If you knew Lady Gwendolyn and Mr. Cranford as children, remember how they acted then. Chances are good the children have similar temperaments.”
“But what if they are different?”
“Listen to your heart. Go with your instincts. When Lulu looks unhappy, you can either give her a hug or do something to cheer her.”
“And there lies my problem. What do I do?”
“Speak bolstering words.”
“As I would to anyone?”
Maris laughed in spite of herself. “Yes. However, you must keep your response simple, so the child will understand you are offering solace. You must be sincere in what you say and do.”
“I have no intention of being false with the children.” He frowned at her. “I have no use for lies or liars.”
Somehow pushing thoughts of her own lies aside, she said, “I am glad to hear that. Children have an uncanny sense of knowing when we are not honest with them.” That was true, but these youngsters had not guessed she was not the nurse she portrayed. Or maybe they did not care, because they were happy to be loved.
“Maybe we should have the children help us discover where they came from then.”
She bent to pick a late-blooming flower. Twirling the stem between her fingers, she said, “Someone knows the truth.”
“I would like to know it, too. Not only for the children’s sakes but for my sister’s. Carrie is attached to the baby.”
Maris opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She did not want to say anything disrespectful of Lady Caroline, who had let her loving heart welcome Joy into it. And Gil’s as well, because the little boy was spending more and more time with her and “his baby.”
“Go ahead,” the viscount said, as he paused out of earshot of the children, who were running around the top of the hill as they flew imaginary kites. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“What we both are thinking. I should be trying to find out who put the children in the boat and why.”
“I was not thinking that.”
“You should have been.” He handed her the kite and began to unreel a length of the string from the spindle. “Nobody is going to come to Cothaire, knock on the door and give us the information.”
She looked at him directly for the first time since they had started up the hill. “Captain Nesbitt and his men asked throughout the villages along the shore. They learned nothing.”
“Then I need to ask questions elsewhere.” Lord Trelawney reached up to pat his coat, then lowered his hand. Without saying another word, he took the kite and strode to where the children were bouncing about like drops of oil sizzling on a hot pan.
Maris followed and let herself be caught up in the children’s high spirits. Her smile grew as the children guided the kite through the sky with the viscount’s help. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in her.
Happiness.
When had she last been happy? No, she would not think of that. She wanted to wrap herself in the contentment of watching Bertie holding the string with Lord Trelawney, while the twins danced about in anticipation of their turn. Unbidden, her feet drew her closer to the quartet, who shouted instructions at each other and laughed and watched the kite flit toward the clouds.
“Maris fly kite!” shouted Bertie. “Maris fly kite. Maris fly kite.”
The other two took up the chant, running to grab her hands and pull her toward Lord Trelawney.
When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes asked the question she had avoided answering for the past week: Why had she panicked last time? She could not satisfy his curiosity without explaining the truth, but she could keep that dark time in her life from overshadowing the day’s joy.
“Step aside,” she ordered in mock gruffness. “It is time for the ladies to show you gentlemen how a kite should be flown.”
Bowing from the waist, the viscount held out the taut string. “As you wish.”
Bertie copied his motion before passing the string to Lulu and Molly. They grabbed it in front of where Maris held it.
Letting more string unroll, Maris sent the kite even higher. The girls squealed, too excited to keep holding on. They ran to follow as the kite dipped and rocked on the breezes above them. She drew it away from the darker clouds, and they chased it like eager kittens after a mouse.
The youngsters were beginning to flag as the first raindrop fell on Maris’s upturned face. She pulled the kite down, fighting to control it, while more drops struck her. She called to the children to come to her.
“Lord Trelawney, could you help?” she asked when the kite, caught on a gust, tried to tear itself from her hand. The string scorched her palm. She got no answer, so she raised her voice. “Lord Trelawney!”
“Arthur gone,” said Bertie.
Gone? Where was he?
She scanned the open field, but could not see him. Had he returned to the carriage when the sky darkened? He would not leave them in the storm.
Busily wrapping the string around the spindle, she thanked Molly, who brought the lifeless kite to her after it hit the ground. The raindrops seemed as big as coins, and the children complained when they were struck. She hurried them down the hill. The dry grass was growing slippery as more rain fell.
Where was Lord Trelawney?
A motion caught her eye. There he was! She smiled, realizing he must have been investigating a stone foundation. As fascinated as he was by them, he probably had not even noticed the clouds overhead had thickened. He bent close to the stones. As he straightened, she saw something small and white flutter to the ground.
He turned to wave to them, then glanced skyward. “Hurry! We are going to be soaked if we don’t get inside.”
Rushing with the children to where he stood, she thanked him when he took the kite and spindle. He urged the children to run to the carriage.
As they obeyed, he said, “You, too, Miss Oliver! Hurry!”
“You dropped this.” Maris bent and picked up the white item. A folded page sealed with green wax.
He whirled, looked at what she held out, and seized it. Her shock at how he had snatched it from her hand must have been visible because he said, “I will say my thanks, Miss Oliver, when we are in the carriage. Hurry!”
This time she did. By the time she had the children seated, Lord Trelawney was behind her. He tossed the kite to Bertie and picked her up by the waist. He set her in the vehicle, swung in himself and called to the coachee to get them to Cothaire with all possible speed.
The horses were whipped up so fast that Maris fell onto the seat. A sharp snap and the rip of fabric along with the children’s horrified howls warned her that she had sat on the kite. She shifted enough so she could pull the pieces from beneath her.
Lulu burst into tears, followed by the other two. Maris spent the ride consoling them and promising to build another kite soon. Their sobs eased as the carriage halted by Cothaire’s front door.
Lord Trelawney jumped down and lifted the children out. The door opened, offering them sanctuary from lightning striking the cove. Thunder threatened her ears as Maris climbed out.
“Leave the kite,” the viscount ordered when she reached for it.
“The children will want—”
“Leave it!”
Rain burst from the sky as if a dam had collapsed. Instantly she was soaked.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house as the driver shouted to the horses to go, so they could get out of the storm, as well.