Too nervous to do much of anything, Brigit sat at the kitchen table and kept her hands knotted in her lap. Miss Emily set the creamer on the kitchen table next to the simple earthenware teapot and started to stir her cup. “The day I hired you, your speech and mannerisms told me you’d not grown up in a humble village cottage. Plain as could be, you’d known what it was to have a fine education and social exposure. Oddly, though, your hands weren’t the soft, smooth ones of a person of leisure.”
Since the lady of the house posed no direct question, Brigit held her silence.
“Each time I’ve an opening, I ask the dear Lord to bring the right lass to that position. He gave me that sense of rightness about you, Brigit Murphy. I hired you on, but I didn’t pry one bit. No, I didn’t—but I am now.” Miss Emily took a sip of her tea, then softly urged, “Tell me how you came to be here.”
“ ’Tis the same story I’m sure you’ve heard many times over by now. The blight struck, and the famine grew worse.”
“But your family owned the land; they didn’t till it.”
Brigit nodded.
Miss Emily reached across the table and pushed Brigit’s cup and saucer closer. “If a sip of tea cannot soothe you, you’re surely not Irish. Drink up, Lass.”
The sip of tea did give comfort. Brigit smiled.
“I live in a fancy home, Brigit, but ’twasn’t always the case—and, sure as the sun rises, you’ve heard that fact. Fortunes can change just as fast as a tide. ’Tisn’t the surroundings that define who we are; ’tis our hearts.”
Which is why she’s so comfortable sharing tea with me in a humble kitchen instead of her fancy parlor.
“So let the tea loosen your tongue,” Miss Emily said, “and share your heart with me.”
Brigit traced the edge of the saucer with her fingertip to delay answering the personal invitation. “Mum always said there wasn’t such a thing as too much tea, but I doubt she’d shared a children’s tea party ere she made that pronouncement over her next cup.”
“Where’s your family now?”
“Mum and Da live in town.” She lifted her cup and half-whispered, “On Willow Glenn.” Naming the street that teemed with tenements left a sour taste in her mouth so she took a hasty sip.
A beauteous smile brightened Miss Emily’s face. “So you’re not here alone. Have you any brothers or sisters?”
“Nay—just the three of us, there are.” Though Miss Emily treated her with great warmth and Christian kindness, Brigit tried not to pour out all her private business. This woman wasn’t her friend; she was her employer. “God be praised, we all stayed together.”
“Do your parents have enough to eat?”
The tea nearly sloshed over the brim in Brigit’s cup. “That they do, Ma’am, and I thank you kindly for asking.”
“Before I met my husband, about all I could buy was milk; and even then I had to water it down. We near starved.”
“So that’s why Duncan likes milk now.”
Miss Emily gave her a slow smile. “Aye, and it’s sweet you are to understand that fact.”
Miss Emily asked several leading questions, then finally poured herself a second cup of tea and let out a satisfied sigh. “I can see my faith in the dear Lord wasn’t misplaced. Truly, you’re an answer to prayer.” Miss Emily asked Brigit to take on the duty of working with Anna Kathleen and Lily on social skills—conversational abilities, personal grooming, and curbing their hoydenish tendencies.
“Anyone could see you possess the refinement to handle those matters, Brigit, and the responsibility also carries with it an increase in wages.” The grandfather clock chimed from deep within the house. “Now then, since we’ve settled things, I’m supposing we ought to turn in for the night.”
Brigit rinsed out the cups and pot, then barely slept that night because she lay in bed praising the Lord for His generosity and goodness.
❧
“Bad pennies always turn up.”
“I beg your pardon?” Brigit stopped dusting the dainty porcelain statue of a shepherdess on the hallway table. With no one else around, she thought Duncan had addressed his words to her.
He cleared his throat. “I—um—I was trying to recall the old saying, ‘Bad pennies always turn up.’ What of the good pennies?”
She shrugged. “Mayhap some kind soul spent those in a charitable way.”
“Could be.” He walked off, muttering to himself.
Pennies. Brigit smiled to herself. She’d been waiting for Duncan to leave so she could go clean his chamber. Last night, Miss Emily assigned her the responsibility of regularly tidying his chamber. Nothing specific was said, but Brigit gathered Miss Emily had caught wind of Trudy’s infatuation and wisely chose to place distance between Duncan and the giddy maid.
The sheets smelled like fresh air. The scent filled the room as Brigit snapped the sheet to unfold across Duncan’s bared mattress. She smoothed it, tucked in the corners, and swiftly added the top sheet and covers. Crisp cases on the pillows, curtains drawn open, and water exchanged from his washbowl, and she’d gotten a fine start on her chores for the day.
Arms full of sheets, she headed into the hallway and ran smack into Duncan. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Sir.”
He braced her elbows and frowned. “Aren’t you working awfully hard?”
Brigit wrinkled her nose. “Not at all. Sprucing up a home is a constant thing, but Miss Emily is diligent to keep matters well in hand. Besides, Mum always said hard work ne’er hurt a body.”
“Hmpf.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Sir—”
He turned loose of her and peered over her shoulder into his room. “Are you done now?”
“Not quite. I’m to salt-sweep the carpeting; but if you’d rather, I can come back after I’ve done a few other chores.”
Duncan pushed past her and scowled at the beautiful green-and-gold Turkish carpeting in his room. “It looks perfectly fine. There’s no need for you to tend the flooring.”
What man worried over the details of housekeeping? Baffled and also torn by allegiance to Miss Emily, Brigit moistened her lips and murmured, “I’ll check with the mistress.”
“I’ll talk with Emily. If you wait a moment, I’ll give you something to place in Timothy’s room. He asked to study star navigation, and I have a few charts. . . .”
Mindful of propriety, Brigit stayed outside the chamber as Duncan went in. She watched Duncan cross the room with his self-assured stride. He stopped at his desk and reached for the key in the lock, then froze.
Duncan turned around. “There were tiny golden hearts dangling from this key.”
“Perhaps they fell off.”
He stepped back so he could survey the carpeting. His scowl evaporated. He stooped and grabbed what looked to be short, thin red cords with a trio of hearts. “Here we are.”
“Now aren’t those pretty wee things!”
“Aye, and I’m glad they’re not lost. Many a year ago they belonged to my sister Anna—God rest her soul. Em and I plan to give them to her namesake someday. In the meantime, I’m to keep them out of sight. Last night I decided since little Anna Kathleen wouldn’t be in my chamber, I could put them on my keys and enjoy them myself for a time.”
“I’m sorry you lost your sister.”
“Did I hear my name?” Miss Emily came down the hall.
“Aye.” Duncan grinned at his sister. “Anna’s three golden hearts fell off the key, but they’re found.”
“Good!” Miss Emily beamed. “Timothy said you’d promised him navigational star charts. I thought to take them to the library instead of his room. Titus is curious, but he’ll crumple the edges. Best we think to unfurl them on a table downstairs.”
“Fine.” Duncan lifted his chin in an unconsciously imperious move. “Brigit, I’ll take the charts below. You may leave.”
❧
Duncan waited until the maid was out of earshot, then gave Emily a thunderous look. “Do you need more funds to run the
household?”
“Why, no. John is quite generous. What makes you ask such a thing?”
“You’re working Brigit too hard.”
Emily gave him a withering look. “Now, our Duncan—”
“Don’t you ‘Now’ me. That lass is underfoot no matter where I go. She said you’d ordered her to salt-sweep my carpeting.”
“I did.”
“It doesn’t need it!”
Emily smiled at him in her I’ll-be-patient-with-you way. “I won’t let things get filthy ere I see to them. Maintaining a smooth home means doing things on a routine. ’Tis time for your carpeting to be either beaten or swept. The salt will brighten the colors, but if you’d rather have all the furniture moved so Brigit can beat—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
Emily hitched her shoulder. “Then ’twill be salt-swept.”
“Then don’t have her change linens and dust, too.” To escape Emily’s calculating look, Duncan turned to rummage through his desk. “I may have been but a scrap of a lad, but I remember all too well how exhausted you were from cleaning before John brought us here. I thought you’d kept sensitive to not overworking anyone else as you’d been.”
“Has Brigit said anything to you? Complained—”
“Not a word,” he interrupted. “It’s just that everywhere I go, she’s right under my nose. I don’t see you working any of the other maids that much.”
“Brigit is well educated. The children love her, and I have her work with them more as a result.”
“That might account for a portion—but not enough.”
Emily let out a choppy sigh. “Very well. I’m keeping Trudy and Lee working together. Trudy’s developed an infatuation for you, so I took pity on you and—”
Duncan lifted his hand. “Enough said. After she leapt into my arms from the stairs, I’ve taken to avoiding her like the plague. And since we’re on the subject, Em, I insist you cease playing Cupid. I won’t stand for it.”
“We’ve always been a social family. I’m not about to stop having people over because you’re marriage-shy.”
“You’re not just having ‘people’ over; you’re bringing in eligible women. I’m not fooled for a minute.”
“The women’s circle sews together every other Tuesday.”
He snorted. “What about that gaggle you had in last week?”
Emily gave him an exasperated look. “If you had any manners, you wouldn’t refer to that. MayEllen Reece is in confinement, and we all wanted to celebrate the coming little blessing.”
“I might grant you that one, but every other day you have a lass here for a meal. Em, don’t prevaricate. It’s as if you toss out birdseed and every last goose and henwit in the county takes a turn pecking at our table.”
She muffled a sound he couldn’t quite interpret. To be sure, she looked displeased. “I have the perfect name for your vessel. Based on the way you’re acting, it should be called the Recalcitrant.”
“I’m not recalcitrant; I’m independent. When I determine I’m ready to wed, I’ll do my own choosing. I’ll court a woman with common sense and a kind heart. Until then, Em, cut it out.”
“There’s nothing in the world wrong with my letting you have a look at who’s out there.”
“You’re wasting your energy. By the time I’m ready to wed, every last one of these lasses will be married and have a babe or two.” He gave his sister a hug, then decided he’d made his point and it wouldn’t hurt to praise her a little. “I know your motive is good. I’m thankful you have a happy marriage, and it’s endearing to know you want the same for me. When I’m ready, I promise, you’ll be the first to meet my girl.”
Emily beamed up at him. She stood on tiptoe and patted his cheek. Duncan felt a spurt of relief. He’d finally gotten through to her. He smiled.
“Duncan, boy-o. You’re in the right of it. I will be the first to meet your girl. That’s why I’ll have to introduce the two of you!” Emily twisted from his hold and hummed as she walked away.
It wasn’t until she started down the stairs that Duncan identified the tune: “The Time I’ve Lost in Wooing.”
Late that night, when Duncan climbed into bed, he caught himself ironing his hand over the crisp sheet. He pulled his hand back and growled under his breath. That pretty Irish maid with the beguiling blue eyes had changed this linen and smoothed it in place so nary a wrinkle marred the surface. She’d plumped his pillow, too. He took it, turned it over, and thumped it for no reason whatsoever.
No matter where he turned, there were women. He’d grown accustomed to living at sea, being surrounded by men. Even in the close quarters of a ship, men understood how their crewmates needed solitude and space. Here on land where room abounded, women clumped together and clucked over every little thing. It could drive a man daft.
The last thing Duncan wanted was to come into his chamber and have thoughts of that maid, Brigit, haunt him. Her quick wit, bright eyes, and attention to detail left her all too perceptive—not that he had anything to hide; but she’d been here, fussing at Emily’s insistence. She’d straightened his things, dusted his bookshelves, and even left the faintest hint of citrus behind. Was it lemon and beeswax polish, or did she wear lemon verbena?
That did it. He was an orderly man. He kept his cabin on his vessel clean, and he could jolly well make his bed at home. He’d tell Emily not to have Brigit in here again.
Seven
“So that’s how it’s to be for now.”
Brigit bit her lip and nodded.
“There now,” Miss Emily crooned. “Duncan’s in a foul mood, and ’tisn’t your doing. ’Tis mine, truth be told. Aye, that it is. I’ve crowded a few too many lasses about him, and he’s needing his chamber to be a refuge.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Your position is safe here, Brigit. I’m delighted with you. So let’s discuss your duties for today.”
Brigit listened and diligently carried out each assigned task. The Newcombs ran an odd home—the help worked only a half day on Sundays, and they each had another day off during the week. In addition, each of them also had one evening off on a weekly basis. Tonight she’d go visit Da and Mum. That thought warmed her as she collected the laundry and delivered it to the laundress.
When she entered through the kitchen, Cook flashed her a smile. “I just took inventory of the pantry, and I’m needing to rearrange things. A handful of girls are due in tomorrow to help me with canning. Have the other maids told you about this?”
“No. I’m willing to help. I’m not precisely sure what to do with those orange things, though.”
“Pumpkins.” Cook smiled at her. “They make a wondrous custard or pie.” She flapped her hand back and forth. “But that’s neither here nor there at this moment. I’m going to have Trudy and Lee wash out jars for me. Goodhew put crates in the pantry, and you’ll go help me sort through the jars.”
“What are the crates for?”
“Why, Miss Emily sends a crate of jars to the staff’s families along with flour, sugar, and such so they’ll have the essentials for holiday baking. It’s a household tradition. She does it once a season—autumn, Christmas, Easter, and summer.”
Brigit stared at Cook in astonishment.
Cook tugged her into the spacious pantry and whispered, “Miss Emily was practically starved to death when Mr. John found her. She’d given her portion of food to Duncan and their sister Anna. Anna—bless her soul—made it through birthing Timothy, but she was just too weak. The very first thing Miss Emily did as mistress of Newcomb House was to come into this pantry and make boxes for the maids’ families. Now where shall we begin?”
Brigit looked around at the countless tins, sacks, barrels, and jars. Shelves, cupboards, and bins filled the large, square room. Canned apricots sat at eye level on the nearest shelf. “Oh, Mum loves apricots,” she blurted out.
Cook laughed. “Then help yourself. While you’re at it, put a pair of jars in the next crate for my s
ister.”
“Glory be,” Brigit said slowly. “The dear Lord’s in heaven, and He’s reaching down to provide for us.”
❧
He had no one to blame but himself. He’d taken Emily to task for overworking Brigit, so now Emily had the maid taking the girls to Newcomb Shipping’s warehouse for an afternoon of hunting through the bolts of fabric. They were to select flannels for the women’s sewing circle to make blankets and nightgowns for the local orphanage.
The girls would be underfoot at the house with the autumn canning, so the excursion made perfect sense. All in all, the plan should work out beautifully—except for the fact that John had an appointment, so Em decided Duncan could drop them off on his way to the dock and pick them up later.
So here he had June standing between his legs as he drove the carriage, and Brigit sat beside him with Julie on her lap. Anna Kathleen and Lily took up the other seat, much to his relief. Until they were seated and others were out of range, his nieces practically killed anyone who ventured close with their parasols. He’d have to talk to Em about teaching the girls to handle those dumb things better, else they’d blind someone.
As the carriage rolled down the main tree-lined street in town, another carriage stopped alongside his. Opal and her mother were riding along with Prudence and another woman. He couldn’t very well ignore them, so he tipped his hat.
June asked loudly, “Uncle Duncan, which one of them is Fortune Hunter?”
The outraged expressions and sounds coming from that conveyance made it clear all of the women heard June’s question.
“June, the name is Fortuna, Darling.” Brigit’s words rang out. “Fortuna was an imaginary name for the dolly. It means to be blessed or lucky. We all need to look for the blessings in our lives.”
Grateful for Brigit’s quick thinking and diplomatic solution to the sticky situation, Duncan nodded, then smiled at June. “And you want to be a blessing to others.”
“Is that why we’re getting ’terial for the orphan babies?”
“Yes,” he answered.
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