“Yes, he does,” Perdita announced before Cam could frame a reply. She filled his plate and passed it back to him. “I liked his first sermon very much. I like his sister too.”
“Was she the young lady we met with you yesterday when we came to fetch you?” Lucy asked. “How very pretty she is.”
Cam’s pulse skipped a beat at Lucy’s description of Miss Fleming, and prayed she would not reveal just how they’d found her and Perdita. Pembroke prided himself on his daughter’s perfect lady-like behavior and frowned on those women who did not meet his exacting standards. The mere thought of a young unmarried lady riding astride would send him into an apoplectic fit, especially if that young lady was in the company of his future son-in-law’s sister.
Emmaline Pembroke shared her daughter’s fragile beauty, except for the calculating shrewdness in her eyes. Every mother wanted the best match possible for her daughter, and Emmaline was no exception. She would use every device at her command to insure Lucy made the grandest of marriages; one the ton would discuss for years to come.
But she was also careful, and not likely to overplay her hand too soon. Cam could have any woman he wanted for his countess and they both knew it. She might not swoon at the thought of her only daughter riding astride, but would have sternly reprimanded Perdita for such behavior. And she certainly would take Miss Fleming to task for allowing Perdita to do so.
Fortunately, Lucy said no more on yesterday’s unfortunate meeting, and Cam’s eyes sent her silent thanks. “Perhaps Lucy could help Perdita decide on the theme for the Winter Ball,” he said. “I can’t have the local ladies angry with me for not giving them enough time to plan what they will wear.”
“How very kind of you, my lord!” Lady Emmaline declared. “I am quite sure that between the two of them the Winter Ball will have half of London beating a path to the doors of Heart’s Ease. Don’t you agree, my dear Pembroke?”
“Our Lucy can turn her hand to anything,” Pembroke said, smiling broadly at Cam. “Music, painting, even helping to run a household. She does a lot for Lady Pembroke now, don’t you Lucy?”
“Yes, Papa,” Lucy said obediently. Her confident tone was that of a young woman groomed from birth to run a nobleman’s house upon becoming his wife. A perfect lady down to her bones, and one who would never even consider riding astride.
And certainly not one who by any stretch of the imagination would ever look like a Viking princess.
****
“Yes, Miss?” The dark-haired young man peeked cautiously around the half-open cottage door.
“Good afternoon,” Amanda said. “I’m Miss Fleming, from the rectory. Is Mrs. Nichols at home?”
The door moved inward and Amanda heard the murmur of voices. Then the door popped fully open and Hattie Nichols regarded Amanda with open-mouthed astonishment. “Miss Fleming?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Nichols,” Amanda said shyly. “I hope my calling without an invitation is not an inconvenience?”
“N-no, not at all.” The older woman beckoned Amanda to cross the threshold. A welcoming fire crackled in the grate and the aroma of freshly-baked soda bread made Amanda’s stomach rumble. From what she could see, the room was immaculate, giving a lie to Mrs. Tarwater’s claim that Mrs. Nichols’s home was less than clean.
“This here is my grandson, Arthur.” Mrs. Nichols pointed at the young man who had retreated to stand behind a wooden chair in the corner. “Arthur, this is Miss Fleming, the new rector’s sister.”
“I know,” Arthur said sullenly. “I saw her at church last Sunday.” His expression hovered between apprehension and defiance, and his posture suggested he could bolt at any time.
“How do you do, Arthur?” Amanda asked gently.
“Just fine, Miss. Ma, I’m going out to go work with Tinker.” Arthur gave a quick nod in Amanda’s direction and slipped into the back of the cottage.
“What brings you out this way, Miss?” Mrs. Nichols remained by the door. “’Tis a good three miles from the rectory to here. Don’t get many visitors out this way, ‘less them be wantin’ jam or vegetables or such. There weren’t nothing wrong with the jam I made you and the Reverend, were there?”
“No, indeed,” Amanda assured her. “Rather, it was too good and we’ve eaten almost all of it. Thank you for bringing it to us.”
Mrs. Nicolas’s features relaxed. “That’s all right then,” she said, beckoning Amanda forward. “I was just about to have a bit of tea. Got soda bread and fresh churned butter to go with it, too. Could you stay and have some with me?”
“I’d be delighted,” Amanda said. “But first, might I explain the reason for my visit?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Nicolas folded her hands and waited.
Amanda took the large basket from over her arm and gave it to her hostess. “I was inspecting the church linens and found that two of the altar cloths have somehow become torn. They’re rather long rips, and I’m not very good with a needle or else I would do the repairs myself. Those handkerchiefs you brought me were so fine, I hoped you might mend the linens. Stephen will pay you, of course.”
“Me? You want me to mend the church’s linens?” Mrs. Nichols’s mouth fell open again. “Mrs. Hopewell always does the sewing for the church. She’s on the Altar Guild, and I’m not. She’s the one you want, not me.”
“But I’ve not seen her work,” Amanda said. “I’d much rather you mend them, unless you’re too busy.”
Satisfaction gleamed in Mrs. Nicholas’s eyes. “I’d be pleased to make the repairs, Miss,” she said, then placed the basket on a small sideboard. “Sit you down on that sofa there, and we’ll have tea. Let me have your coat.”
When they were seated and Mrs. Nichols had served them, Amanda asked, “How is your dog, Sadie? How many puppies did she have?”
“Six,” Mrs. Nichols said proudly. “Them’s all doing fine. I’m taking them to First Monday market to sell come January, after they’re weaned. Border Collie pups is a good thing, even if them only watch out fer ye, and not herd nothing.”
“And all your other dogs? Tell me about them.”
There’s just Sadie and Tinker—him who sired her pups,” Mrs. Nichols said. “Just them two.”
“Oh,” Amanda said. “I thought—”
She let her words trail away, but Mrs. Nichols’s eyes narrowed. “That Cecily Tarwater told ye I’ve a pack of dogs running around the house, didn’t she?” she demanded. “Tried to say my house weren’t clean?”
“Yes,” Amanda admitted, “she did.”
Mrs. Nichols shook her head. “You best watch your step, around Mrs. Tarwater and Mrs. Baker, Miss,” she warned. “Mrs. Hopewell too. You don’t want to make no enemies out of them. They’re as mean and spiteful as a brood of vipers, they are. They don’t like me, and if they knowed you’d called on me, they’d not be happy.”
“But why don’t they like you?”
A grin of delight lit up Mrs. Nichols’s features. “’Cause my son beat Mrs. Baker’s son in the earl’s annual Christmas sleigh race ten years ago,” she said. “Put her noise right out of joint ‘cause my Billy won the twenty pound prize. T’weren’t the money, but everyone thought ‘cause ‘er son’s horse cost so much, it’d win. But my Caesar—that’s the horse’s name, Miss—left ‘em all behind. ‘Course now, he’s got a touch of the rheumatism, but he can still run like the wind when he has a mind.”
“It seems that the ladies of the Altar Guild like to have their own way,” Amanda said.
“That’s sure as Gospel,” Mrs. Nichols agreed with a nod.
“Like I said, you best not be seen too much with me. Don’t want no trouble for you or your brother.”
“The earl gave Stephen his living, not Mrs. Tarwater, Mrs. Baker or Mrs. Hopewell,” Amanda said crisply. “As long as the earl is satisfied, that’s all that matters.”
“If you say so, Miss.” Mrs. Nichols sounded doubtful. “But if they’d spread rumors about my house being dirty, they’d probably fi
nd reason to find fault with you.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Amanda said. “I shall be friends with whoever I choose. Shall we be friends?”
Satisfaction sparkled in the woman’s eyes. “Thank you, Miss. I’d like that.”
They chatted for several more minutes about her dogs and Amanda told her about Hamish. Mrs. Nichols shared one or two bits of harmless gossip and Amanda found herself laughing at the descriptions.
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Amanda drank her remaining tea and put her cup aside. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“The earl, now, he’s a fair man,” Mrs. Nichols said unexpectedly. “Couldn’t ask for no better, him and his father, and his father before him. Lord Cameron’s a bit stiff sometimes, but he’s fair and takes good care of Lady Perdita.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Amanda said slowly. Under his haughty manner, St. Cloud had a heart—at least where his sister was concerned. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Huntingdown? Something that my brother might need to know?”
“Well,” Mrs. Nichols said thoughtfully. “It would be nice to have a school for the tenants’ children.”
Amanda blinked. “You mean there isn’t a school?” she asked. “But how do the children learn to read and write?”
Mrs. Nichols shrugged. “They don’t, most times. The gentry’s got governesses livin’ in their houses and when their boys is old enough, they go away to them big fancy schools. But the tenants’ children ain’t got one of their own. Be nice if they could at least learn to read the Bible a bit. Most times they go into service or work on the land. Not much call to read and write in those jobs.”
“No, I suppose not.” Amanda paused and asked, “Do you read, Mrs. Nichols?”
“Yes, Miss, I do,” her hostess said proudly. “Enough so’s I taught my own children how. Them’s got good jobs ‘cause of it. Taught Arthur too. He used to help Sexton Reid at All Souls before—”
She stopped, and began to gather up the cups and plates. “I can send some soda bread home for your brother if you think he’d like it, Miss.” Anger had tightened her features, but her voice was carefully neutral.
“He’d like it. What happened at All Souls, Mrs. Nichols?” Amanda asked. “Why isn’t Arthur helping Sexton Reid anymore?”
“’Cause Mrs. Tarwater and her friends convinced Mr. Smythe that a tenant’s grandson didn’t need to be working at All Souls,” Mrs. Nichols said bitterly. “They’ve got fancy ideas and said it would make the church look bad, though they tried to say—or they got their husbands to say—All Souls couldn’t afford to pay ‘em both. Arthur weren’t paid much, and he did a lot of heavy lifting and polishing for Sexton Reid. Sexton Reid was gonna talk to Mr. Smythe about Arthur training to be verger one day after Verger Hawkins retires, but after the vestry did what they did, Sexton Reid didn’t bother. Nearly broke Arthur’s heart. He loves All Souls and would do anything for it. It’s all I can do to make him come to church with me now. That’s why he was unfriendly-like to you.”
“I see,” Amanda said quietly. It seemed the triumvirate of Tarwater, Baker and Hopewell was more powerful than she thought. She would have to be careful. “Thank you for the tea. Now I have two friends in Huntingdown—you and Lady Perdita.”
“I’m proud to name you friend, Miss,” Mrs. Nichols said, handing Amanda the napkin-wrapped soda bread.
Outside, as she climbed into the wagon, Amanda said, “Just bring the linens by the church when you’re finished.”
“I’ll do that, Miss,” Mrs. Nichols called from the doorway. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Driving home, Amanda mulled over what Mrs. Nichols told her about the Altar Guild. Hopefully, Amanda would find a way to work with them. Already, Stephen loved All Souls, and Amanda would not let her outspokenness cost him his living.
But she would not curtail her new friendship with Mrs. Nichols. A friend was a friend, and Amanda would not let the Altar Guild choose her friends for her. If they proved to be like the ladies at the other churches, she would need all the friends she could get.
But first, she would talk to Stephen about starting a Sunday school for the tenants’ children.
Chapter Six
“It’s outrageous! Asking Hattie Nichols to mend the altar linens instead of me. That’s my job on the Altar Guild! It always has been!” Grace Hopewell—who at the moment did not live up to her first name—actually stamped her foot.
“What does it matter who mends the altar linens as long as they are mended?” Cam asked, putting aside Heart’s Ease quarterly accounts.
“Hattie Nichols is not on the Altar Guild,” Mrs. Hopewell fumed, “as if such a thing was possible! She’s a tenant’s widow.” Her expression suggested that even saying the word ‘tenant’ gave her a particular pain. “Who does Miss Fleming think she is?”
“If I recall, Mrs. Nichols once sewed for my mother,” Cam said coldly, ignoring her question about Miss Fleming. “Would you suggest that the late Countess of St. Cloud would have a less than superior seamstress sew for her?”
A bright red flooded Mrs. Hopewell’s cheeks. “Of course not, my lord, but Miss Fleming had the audacity to ask Hattie without a word to me, or anyone else on the Guild! Since when does the rector’s sister have authority over the Altar Guild?”
“I suggest you take this up with Miss Fleming or the rector.” Cam picked up the accounts again. “Is there anything else you need from me, Mrs. Hopewell?”
Mrs. Hopewell’s mouth tightened. “No, my lord.”
“Then I wish you a pleasant afternoon,” Cam said. “Oakley will show you out.”
Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Mrs. Hopewell curtsied, muttered her farewell and left, banging the door behind her.
“Women,” Cam announced to the room. “Why do they choose to pick battles over such nonsense?” He supposed after he and Lucy married, she would take her place on the Altar Guild. Imagining Lucy directing the haughty Mrs. Tarwater and Mrs. Baker, made him laugh. Lucy would not care who mended the church linens.
But why would Miss Fleming have not mended the linens herself? Surely she had some skills with a needle? Perhaps she was too busy perfecting her horseback riding skills to bother. Images of her stepping from the mist at their first meeting, and then later galloping toward him like a Fury on horseback, flooded his brain.
Damn, why did his heart suddenly bang against his ribs in such an alarming manner? Amanda Fleming, an attractive woman? A beautiful woman? Ridiculous!
A brisk knock sounded from the other side of the door, and grateful for the interruption, Cam pushed the accounts aside again. “Come in,” he called.
The door opened and the object of his thoughts burst into the room, clutching a shawl-wrapped bundle to her chest. Oakley followed, his brows knit together. Cam rose at once. “Miss Fleming?”
“It’s Hamish,” she gasped. “I was coming to invite Perdita to tea this afternoon. A rabbit ran in front of us and he-he-.” A sob broke her voice and for a moment she did not speak.
“It would appear, my lord, that Miss Fleming’s dog ran in front of one of our wagons. Quinn from the stables was returning from the village with foodstuffs,” Oakley interjected. “He has been warned about driving too fast along the road to Heart’s Ease. At least he had the presence of mind to bring Miss Fleming here.”
“You were walking to Heart’s Ease from the rectory?” Cam asked. “But it’s two miles from here!” He vaguely recalled being forced by a female friend to read a still rather new novel in which the heroine walked three miles through the country to visit an ailing sister, enchanting the hero with her windblown appearance.
“Stephen is paying calls on a new parishioner who lives in Fairfax,” Miss Fleming gulped. “He took the wagon and since it was such a beautiful day I decided to…” her voice faltered again.
“Put Hamish on the desk,” Cam ordered. “Let’s have a look at him.”
Miss Fleming came forward a
nd carefully put her bundle on Cam’s desk. She peeled back the shawl and the Scottie cried out in pain, his eyes wide and frightened.
“Well, at least he’s alive.” Cam blew out a sigh of relief.
“But he’s injured!” Miss Fleming cried. “Who takes care of injured animals in these parts? The farrier?”
“The closest farrier is six miles from here,” Cam said. “Do you think Hamish would be more comfortable in your arms or in a basket with a blanket?”
Miss Fleming bit her lip. “He’d want me to hold him. Why would he need to be in a basket?”
“Because we’re going to take him to Hattie Nichols’s cottage,” Cam told her. “If there’s anyone who knows how to take care of dogs, injured or not, it’s her.”
He looked past her at Oakley. “Tell Quinn to bring the cart back ’round, would you please, Oakley?”
“He’s waiting outside, my lord. I think he knew you’d want him.”
“At least he’s showing some sense.” As gently as he could, Cam wrapped Hamish in the blanket and gave him to Miss Fleming.
He led her from the room and outside to the porch. At the foot of the steps, a tearful Quinn waited beside the cart with its lone horse.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said, tears choking his voice. “I didn’t see your dog, honest I didn’t. He just ran right in front of me.”
“Hamish can’t resist the temptation to chase rabbits,” Miss Fleming said as Cam guided her down the steps. Beneath his gloved hand, she trembled. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm.”
Cam saw Quinn give him a fear-filled glance. “I’m sorry, my lord,” the young man said.
“Let us be grateful it wasn’t a child, Quinn,” Cam said sternly after helping Miss Fleming up onto the back seat. “You’ve been warned about driving too fast, haven’t you?”
Quinn lowered his head. “Yes, my lord. I was just thinking ‘bout how grand it would be to take part in the holiday race.”
“Well, you can practice your skills and get us to Mrs. Hattie Nichols’s cottage as quickly and safely as you can. And take the back roads. Do you think you can do that?”
Christmas is in the Air Page 16