by Irene Estep
Nan, in a chair near the hearth, worked on Claresta’s discarded needlepoint project--a dragon. For some strange reason she had given the beast light blue eyes which did not suit the fire-breathing beast a’tall. Nan went about changing the color to a more appropriate sooty shade.
The somber oak paneling and shelves of undisturbed books lining the walls of the library reflected the general mood of the pair for the past several days. However, Nan took the list making as the first sign of positive activity her dear Claresta had shown since the American disappeared.
Claresta lifted her head and brushed her lips lightly with the end of the feather quill. She starred out the window for several minutes, then said, "What do you think of engaging a Bow Street Runner, Nan?"
Nan made a miss-stitch, giving the dragon’s one eye a humorous arch. She barely resisted the urge to snort at Claresta’s suggestion as she plucked at the misapplied thread. She hated to see the disappointed gel throw good money after bad. "What other options have you?"
Claresta glanced down at her list. "Marry my cousin, take up residence in a country cottage and live off the fund left me by my grandfather, or jump off the London Bridge."
Nan chortled. "No harm to setting Bow Street after him, I suppose."
She had been trying to make Claresta see reason without dampening her spirits further but did not think it prudent to discourage all hope. Claresta had set her sights on marrying the American, and the stubborn miss wasn’t likely to change her mind without solid evidence of the scoundrel’s worthlessness. Perhaps a Runner could produce such proof, but Nan thought it unlikely they would restore the bridegroom prospect to Claresta anytime soon.
There was one person who could have put the dear gel’s mind to rest, and if Nan ever set eyes on that senile butler, Shipley, again, she’d give him an earful. She was about to state her sentiments on the servant’s disloyalty when a scratch came at the door.
Cook stepped into the library with a damp ladle in her hand and a frown upon her corpulent face. "’Tis a young urchin at the kitchen door begging to see ye, miss."
"Good heavens, can’t you see Miss Huntington is busy?" Nan admonished. "Feed the orphan as you do all the others that exhaust our pantry and send the wretch on his way."
"Aye, I fed the lass, I did, and I’m not ashamed of it," Cook sniffed. Claresta’s servants were not of the demure sort, and Mrs. Clover spoke without fear of reprimand. "She didn’ ask for Miss Huntington right off. ‘Twas Lord Norwood she be wantin’ a word with."
"Lord Norwood?" Claresta knew every servant in her household by now must have heard the story of the handsome gentleman she’d had to dinner a fortnight ago. How could they not, when Nan’s blistering tongue seared her at every turn over the misjudged affair? Yet Claresta was reluctant to own up that the gentleman had taken her money, her servant, and worse, her father’s jewelry, and disappeared.
"Aye," Cook said. "I told the lass no such lord ‘twas on the premises. But, even so, the gel persists to hang ‘bout. Been shivering and hovering on the stoop for nigh over an hour, she has. Said she ain’t going to budge ‘til she sees the man of the house. No gents here, I say. What with Shipley done gone off to who knows where, and that Scots rabble not to be found when you needs ‘em, ‘twas the God’s truth. Kept me ladle handy, just so--should the sprite be up to godless works, you know. Told her I would fetch the lady of the house if I could, then she was to leave. ‘Twas my last word on the matter."
Nan laid down her needlework and started to make a rebuttal, but Claresta stayed her with a raised hand. "I should have told you, Mrs. Clover, that I gave Douglas the night off. I will see what the child wants."
The familiar aroma of beef broth, tangy spices, and fresh baked bread assailed Claresta’s nostrils as she entered the kitchen. Since childhood, she associated this area of the house with warmth and comfort. Mrs. Clover had been with the family almost as long as Nan. Claresta’s childhood shenanigans never produced more than a harsh reprimand from Nan. But afterwards, all teary-eyed, she would seek out Mrs. Clover for a liberal dose of gingerbread and an affectionate pat on the head.
Claresta smiled as she watched the robust cook stir the contents of the large pot extended over the open range. Cook never did catch on to her ruse. She opened the back door and peered out into the darkness.
The young beggar she found pacing impatiently along the rear portico stepped into the light drifting out from the doorway. Instead of the child Claresta expected, the urchin turned out to be a young girl of around fifteen or sixteen. What’s more, she was the young’un Claresta saw draped around Lord Norwood’s neck the first time she set eyes on the miscreant. She asked stiffly, "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"
The waif’s narrow, sharp chin shot up, and her deep-set, dark gaze settled on Claresta. "Came to see Lord Norwood, ma’am. Got somethin’ of his and thought he might part with a few shillin’ to get it back, if you get my meanin’. I reckon he ain’t here though, or himself bein’ a man of some honor and all, he would of come to me."
The girl’s words stung Claresta more than she wished. Was the man a bounder, as well as a gallows-bait wastrel? Even if she never set eyes on him again, she hoped the former was not true. Perhaps, he had told the truth about being fleeced. Come to think of it, she might have considered why a man would go into a tavern and order a meal without the funds to pay. Had her mind not been so set upon her own mission at the time, she may have taken this more sensible view of the situation. The girl must have stolen some trinket of Lockwood’s and thought it valuable enough to barter back to him.
"Lord Norwood is a friend of mine," Claresta said. "Perhaps if you tell me what you have to offer, I can deal in his stead."
"Don’t suppose that would be right, miss, not without his lordship’s permission and all."
Honor among thieves, Claresta thought. But she could see the girl obviously needed the money badly, for the poor wretch was a mess. There were at least a dozen frayed holes in her faded blue cape, and that was only in the side that Claresta could see. And the child’s feet must be near to freezing in those thin little slippers. Claresta invited the girl inside and was surprised when she refused.
"’Tis right kind of you, ma’am, but I got me brother to think of. ‘Course, should you see fit to spare a couple of blankets to keep ‘im warm for the night, I’d be right grateful."
The girl cast a look over her shoulder. Claresta peeked out the door and saw the small boy huddled in the shadows near the steps. The child was trembling so badly, she did not think it was caused only by the cold weather. "Is your brother ill?"
"Yes, miss, but we don’ aim to be no bother. I can fetch coal for the blankets, or sweep the--I say, ma’am, you ought not touch--"
It was too late for warnings, for Claresta having already rushed down the steps, pressed a hand to the boy’s brow.
"Why, he is burning with fever. The damp weather will give him his death for certain. You must come inside right this minute." Claresta wasn’t taking any argument and, as she led the boy up the steps, she censured the sister for not taking better care of the lad. "The blankets will give him little protection against the night’s dampness. The ague would worsen for sure."
"B-But, ma’am--"
She saw the girl’s cheeks go pale and added, "What the child needs is warm clothes and rest. There is a cozy room right next to the kitchen that no one uses. Mrs. Clover will brew up some of her willow bark tea. Why, we shall have the lad put to rights in no time . . ."
Claresta’s words trailed off when she removed the lad’s cap, and now in the light of the kitchen, saw the large red splotches on his face.
"Measles, ma’am. I tried to warn you," the girl said.
Nan, who stood close by taking the scene in, snorted. "Warnings are wasted on the likes of Miss Huntington, child. I daresay, me and her dear Papa warned her often enough about every rag-tag stray, grubby dog and mangy kitten she toted home as a child. Would she listen? No, no, not this o
ne, not even when she gets herself bit by one of the mongrels. A grown woman should have more sense. Reckon she’ll not see the dawning until she’s bit and bled by every lickspittle what has a Banbury tale to recount. No offense lass, but I speak what I see."
Claresta, busy wiping the sick child’s brow with a damp cloth, patiently waited for Nan to wind down, then said, "Goodness, no one would accuse you of being afraid to speak your piece with honesty, Nan. At least, as you view it. But, in truth, there is naught for you to be fussing about in this instance. As you well know, I had the measles when I was but eight. There’s no danger to my person. Nor to yours, I daresay, since I remember you telling Papa you could stay by my bedside night and day because you had the same ailment as a child yourself. Now if you don’t have any other foibles from my past to weary our guests with, I implore you to make rooms ready for their stay."
"’Tis not just yourself I was worrying over," Nan sniffed effusively, "but the rest of the household."
Other than the stable hands, who rarely ventured inside, the rest of the household consisted of Claresta’s personal dresser, two housemaids, Douglas, Nan and Mrs. Clover. The latter stood nearby and recalled her experience with the spotted disease.
"’Twas sixteen meself when me whole family come down with ‘em, one by one. Nursed eight brothers and sisters through, I did." Mrs. Clover added to reassure the girl who looked pale as paper and stared wide-eyed at her, "All of ‘em still hail and hearty, too, they is."
"There, you have it," Claresta said to Nan. "And I see no reason the others cannot just stay away from the sick room until the boy is well."
"Gor!" The girl shuddered as Nan left the room to do her mistress’s bidding, grumbling though she was. However, the straightforward opinions of the housekeeper she could understand. She turned to Miss Huntington and asked suspiciously, for she wasn’t used to being treated so generously without cost, "What is it you want from me, miss?"
"Want? Why, I want naught but for your brother to get well."
The girl saw the spark of fire in the lady’s eyes and realized she was sincerely offended. This was the second time in as many weeks that she and her brother had been treated decently by their betters without them expecting anything in return. "I don’ know what to say."
"Just say you’ll do no less than Mrs. Clover did for her siblings and care for your brother until he’s well."
"That I will." The girl, still awed, asked, "Are you from America, too, miss? Though I must say you don’ sound a bit drawlish like my lord. But ain’t never had no English nob do us a good turn afore."
Claresta bristled at the mention of the handsome colonial’s generosity, something she had no experience of. But it was a sad state of affairs that the English did not take better care of their own. "I’m a countrywoman bred and born."
"Well, I’ll pay you back, miss. We Farrell’s don’t take no charity."
Claresta wondered if unfortunates always gave willy-nilly promises. A certain gent made the same rash covenant and failed her. It wasn’t the money she was out that piqued her, however.
Instead of dwelling on her own problems Claresta chose to see to the youngsters’ immediate needs. After Nan announced the rooms were ready, Claresta ordered Cook to prepare a tray and bring it to the boy’s room. Then she introduced herself and the two servants and asked their Christian names.
"Junice and Charles, ma’am," the girl said. "Most folks just call us Juny and Charlie."
The boy swayed, and Claresta caught the child before he toppled forward. "Well, Juny, we should get your brother to bed."
In the sick room, Nan and Claresta helped to dress the small boy in a clean nightshirt borrowed from one of the younger stable hands. Lastly, after Nan removed the boy’s tattered boots and trousers and assisted him upon the bed, she gasped in shock.
Claresta was equally appalled when she saw the scars marring the child’s legs and feet and demanded to know, "How did this happen?"
The girl took a step back, a frightened look spread across her face. "Please do not call the magistrate, miss."
"The magistrate? Did someone do this deliberate?"
"Charlie was a ch-chimney sweep, ma’am. T-The man he was apprenticed to forced my brother to-to go down sometimes with the fires still banked."
Claresta closed her eyes for a moment to absorb what the girl’s words indicated. She had never believed the tales of small children being lowered into chimney’s that were oft times in use to clear away debris blocking the ventilation. She had a visual image of the boy’s lungs filling with smoke. Lamenting her ignorance, she felt something should be done to stop this sort of atrocity from happening in future.
"The magistrate should be called," she said.
"No! They’ll take him back. They’ll take him back and kill him this time." Juny began crying.
Nan and Claresta exchanged a glance, and the housekeeper placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders. "There, there, child. Miss Huntington would do naught to hurt the boy."
"Are you saying the authorities have made Charlie return to the same apprenticeship on previous occasions?" Claresta could not believe such incompetence.
Juny twisted out of the housekeeper’s embrace. "Don’ matter none who they give him to. They all be the same."
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her chin, then nudged her brother who’d already fallen to sleep and ordered him to get up and get dressed. Charlie looked as if he, too, may start crying.
Claresta placed a hand on the boy’s shoulders to stay him. "I promise I won’t summon the magistrate. But, my dear," she said kindly, "I’d like to know more about these people who would use children in such a despicable manner."
Juny could see no harm in that. She had witnessed the ladies of gentle birth come and go over the years, helping the poor just enough to flaunt their charitable good deeds. Miss Huntington might be sincere and believe she could right the wrongs done to the Town’s burgeoning poor, but Juny was not so naive. "I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know, miss."
If Juny’s voice sounded a little too condescending, Claresta chose to ignore it. For the first time in months her mind was directed on someone else’s problems. She could not give up her first objective, to save her grandfather’s company, of course, but it felt good to have something else to dwell upon for a change. She must do something to improve the plight of the orphaned children who were apprenticed out as climbing boys to such unconscionable tradesmen.
"Very good, then," Claresta said. "As soon as your brother is on the mend, I am certain Mrs. Clover could use some help in the kitchen."
If she did not give the girl a job, Claresta feared the pair would take flight as soon as Charlie was on the mend. When the girl seemed more pleased than appalled by the idea of working for her keep and thanked her profusely, Claresta knew she had made a wise decision.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Claresta received a message from Norwood Manor written by Lady Norwood. The Dowager informed her that Lord Norwood had taken ill.
I do not wish to cause you undue alarm, and the fever has finally broken, so I do believe he will recover. However, he may be confined for a while until he regains his vitality.
Lord Norwood has spoken glowingly of you, Miss Huntington, telling me of your hand in saving him from an indelicate situation. Since he’s had so little time to form any other new acquaintances, I hoped you would like to extend your generosity and pay your sick friend a visit in the country.
The accommodations, I regret to say, will be a bit rustic, and the entertainment underdone for one used to the bustle of Town life. However, Lord Norwood’s valet--who mentioned his former position with your household--assures me that his former mistress is quite "Top of the Trees and wont to make do in improbable situations. So there you have it, the assurance that my audacity to impose upon you is not without reason.
Since the manor runs rather bare bones at present, I encourage you, Miss Huntington, to bring alon
g any number of servants or escorts to see to your comfort as I wish your stay at Norwood Manor to be as enjoyable as possible.
In closing, as if Claresta’s acceptance of the invitation had already been accepted, the dowager urged Miss Huntington to make haste and wished her a safe journey.
"Well, the pity," Nan chortled after Claresta finished reading her the contents of the letter. "There’s been talk that Lady Norwood’s been courting her dotage since the old earl passed. Thick as sponge pudding, she is, thinking you shall traipse off to the country to do her bidding."
"I’m going," Claresta stated as though Nan had not just informed her the invitation came from a member of the ton who’d clearly become incapacitated to such a degree as to overlook proper etiquette.
Nan recovered her less than servile tongue and insisted, "’Tis impossible. There is the sick orphan boy to see to, and then duties to arrange for his sister, not to mention the other matters that require my attention. Why the gardener would run tame if I did not oversee the spring planting, and the carpenter is coming to repair the terrace railing."
"I quite agree your duties are overwhelming, and you are much needed here."
"And you, too, my dear. However shall the business run without you?" Nan asked, knowing the gel’s duties at the company would prevent Claresta from making the uncivilized excursion more easily than her pointing out any improprieties such a venture entailed.
"You’re right, Nan. I must send for Edwin at once." Claresta snatched up a piece of stationary and rang for Douglas. She also sent a missive to Mr. Thurmond, for she must be fully prepared for acceptance of her proposal by Lord Norwood as soon as he was well again.
She no longer considered the man a clunch, for he must be very shrewd to have fooled the Dowager Norwood so easily. But then, Nan had said the old lady was in her dotage, so perhaps it had not been such a great accomplishment. Claresta decided to hold judgment until she could more readily evaluate the situation. But, at all events, she would ask him to cut line and tell the old lady the truth once the marriage contract was signed. Certainly there would be no need to carry on the farce then. It didn’t seem fair to take advantage of the old lady, Claresta thought, discounting the fact she intended to take advantage of Lockwood in a similar manner. The difference, she consoled herself, was Lockwood would receive fair compensation for his troubles, and no one would be left heartbroken as a result of her folly.