by Jane Ashford
She let her arms fall to her sides and sat straighter, gathering her tattered resolution. It wasn’t Geoffrey’s fault that he hadn’t been taught manners—or any vestige of civilized behavior, apparently. That was the point, wasn’t it? He deserved far better. He must be guided and nurtured. She’d come here to save him, and she was going to do so. Hadn’t she nagged the Phillipsons half to death to make them offer refuge to their grandson? If Lord Furness found out the whole plan was her idea, and that Geoffrey’s grandparents were far from enthusiastic… Well, he could hardly be angrier than he was now.
Jean gripped the coverlet with both hands. He’d been furious. Standing up to him had been like confronting a force of nature. Perhaps he cared about his child after all? She’d be glad of that, naturally. Yet he hadn’t been affectionate with Geoffrey. And the boy had bitten him! What sort of bond was that?
No, Jean was all too familiar with neglectful parents. Geoffrey needed a new home. Probably her host was worried about his reputation and resented being exposed and thwarted. An old adage floated into Jean’s mind. Like father, like son. Did Geoffrey get his wild ways from his parent? A shiver passed through her. With a grimace, she banished it. She’d vowed never to be afraid again, and one blustering earl wasn’t going to cow her. Still less a five-year-old child.
The streaks of red paint on her gown caught Jean’s eye. She’d had to promise the Phillipsons that she’d take care of establishing their grandson once he was in London, seeing that he had the proper attendants. They were far too busy to bother with a child. It had seemed a trivial condition at the time, with her righteous indignation in full flood. Jean’s chocolate-box vision wavered into her mind again, immediately replaced by the naked, whooping reality. But Geoffrey would improve with gentle guidance and plenty of affection. Wouldn’t he? Quite quickly? Jean had no brothers or sisters. Indeed, she’d never had much to do with children of any stripe. Had she made a mistake?
No. Jean pushed off the bed and stood up like a soldier reporting for duty. She knew what it was like to be a miserable child. Memories of cold, dark silence rushed over her, setting her heart pounding and making her mouth dry. With practiced determination, she shoved them away. She’d come here to do the right thing. She would fight, and she would prevail.
Two
Arthur slipped his arms into the evening coat his valet was holding for him and waited while Clayton smoothed it over his shoulders. The mirror told him that they had achieved his customary understated elegance. “What word among the household?” he asked. “What do they say about young Geoffrey?”
Clayton looked thoughtful. The man had been with the earl for more than twenty years, and Arthur valued his canny insights as much as his personal services. “Opinions vary, my lord, depending on how close the person is to the young heir. Concerning the incident today, the general suspicion is that Master Geoffrey was playing a prank. He does not habitually run about the house clad in a tea towel, I gather.”
“That tomahawk was no toy,” Arthur pointed out.
Clayton nodded. “Yet he didn’t actually strike anyone, I understand. Even under, er, provocation. He’s said to be an intelligent child. Apparently, he can read.”
“I should hope so, at five years old. Who taught him, I wonder?”
“People were reluctant to discuss the exact arrangements of the nursery with an outsider,” Clayton said. “Particularly after the housekeeper entered the kitchen.”
“Hmm.”
“Yes, my lord. The head gardener is of the opinion that the boy disguises what he can and can’t do and is devious in bargaining for what he wants.”
“At his age?” Arthur replied. “That would be precocious indeed.”
“The junior kitchen maid believes he is possessed by the devil.”
Arthur laughed. His valet didn’t, but his eyes showed amusement. “It sounds as if he might become a son for a father to be proud of.”
“Lord Furness doesn’t wish to be bothered with the boy,” his valet replied. “Everyone agreed on that. The servants here are expected to manage everything on their own and shoulder the blame for any upsets, while their master shuts himself up in the library. Or goes hurtling across the countryside on a demon of a horse, as the head groom put it.” One who knew Clayton well, which the earl did, could hear a touch of disapproval in his tone.
“Who was that lad with the blanket this morning? The one I told you about.”
Clayton nodded again. “There’s something of a mystery about him, my lord. No one would say much. The cook did allow that unconventional people had stepped forward to keep Geoffrey out of his father’s way. The housekeeper silenced her with a look.”
“I see. Well, I’ll find out sooner or later. Clearly, my nephew needs a bit of bothering.”
“That sort of decision is not up to the servants,” Clayton said.
“Of course not. So I’ve taken it on.” Or it had taken him on, the earl thought wryly. He hadn’t anticipated Miss Jean Saunders’s impulsive trip to Somerset, or her demand for possession of Geoffrey. When he’d heard of her departure, and her plan, on one of his regular visits to the Phillipsons, he’d had to scramble to catch up. Fortunately, he had better horses. The young lady was more…forceful than he’d realized.
He’d meant to apply some force, Arthur admitted silently. Nothing else he’d tried had lifted Benjamin from his miasma of grief, so sad to see. However, just now, Arthur felt like a swimmer overtaken by a flash flood. His deep sympathy for the four young men he’d gathered at a table at White’s was carrying him into uncharted waters. Speaking of which… “Did you send off those letters I gave you?” he asked Clayton.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good.”
The valet cleared his throat. Arthur knew the sound of old. “A problem?”
“I observed a stain on Lord Furness’s lapel.” Clayton’s fingers flexed as if he was itching to get his hands on the garment in question.
Arthur hadn’t noticed, but Clayton had a gimlet eye for such things. “My nephew is looking a bit unkempt.” His dress was careless, and he needed a haircut.
“Apparently, his valet left more than a year ago and has not been replaced. Lord Furness is attending himself. A groom is seeing to his boots.”
Here was a situation bound to offend Clayton’s exacting standards, Arthur thought. “I see.”
“Something should be done, my lord.”
“I can’t hire staff in another man’s house.” He had enough on his plate already, Arthur thought.
“I thought I might offer my services. Temporarily.”
“Really, Clayton?” Would Benjamin realize what a favor he was being granted?
“And be on the lookout for someone about the place I could train,” the valet added.
Arthur had a sudden vision of the scene—Benjamin, the immoveable object, wishing to be left to his own untidy devices; Clayton, the irresistible force, insisting on a high degree of polish. This might be another way to jostle Benjamin out of his prolonged funk. “That’s very kind of you, Clayton.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
• • •
In a bedchamber a few doors away, Jean looked down at the only evening gown she’d brought with her, a serviceable coral muslin, now wrinkled from the valise. In this moment, it was a distinct disappointment. She would have liked to sweep downstairs looking stunning, she realized, and she was sorry she hadn’t brought a prettier dress. Which was doltish. She’d packed for a daring rescue, not a country house visit. This was not an occasion for dipping necklines and flattering drapery. Even so, a scene flashed through Jean’s mind—she in her amber silk, floating down the staircase, while the powerful master of this house gazed up at her, dazzled. His blue-gray eyes startled, his lips parted in astonished admiration.
A lock of brown hair sprang out over her brow, dissipating this silly visio
n. She pushed it back with another hairpin. Her thick, curly locks were difficult to manage. They always seemed to have a mind of their own, which did not include smoothly demure styling. Jean hadn’t brought her maid on this brief journey, and she missed Sarah now. The housekeeper had been cordial but firm. She had no one to spare to help Jean dress. The kitchen maid, who had answered the door when their unexpected visitors arrived, was needed by the cook. Indeed, everyone was run off their feet. Jean had gotten the impression of a household teetering on the brink of collapse, barely held together by the housekeeper’s skill and loyalty.
Jean bit her lower lip. She mustn’t get distracted; the state of Furness Hall wasn’t her concern. Her present hosts expected her back to help them with their extensive entertainments during the London season. She was as appreciated there as she was uninvited and unwelcome here. Also, it wasn’t proper to stay without a hostess in residence. She had to fulfill her mission and depart soon.
Her stomach growled, loudly, as it was all too likely to do when she was hungry. Jean suppressed a wince. Her mother had railed at her for this unladylike trait. As if she did it on purpose! She couldn’t help it if some quirk of her constitution punished her for skipping meals. She required regular, substantial fuel, and her body let her know when she didn’t get it. Mama had taken it as a personal insult that Jean never grew plump on this regimen, another transgression to add to her long list.
The gurgling came again. Time to go down to dinner and press on, even if none of this journey was going as she’d intended.
Dinner was not a comfortable meal, but Benjamin didn’t care. He hadn’t invited his two companions, and he didn’t feel obliged to act the cordial host. His uncle made some remarks about the countryside and his journey. Miss Saunders responded, and Benjamin left them to it as he brooded about his disrupted life. All he asked was to be left alone. Was that so unreasonable? Apparently these two intruders thought so.
They didn’t linger at table. Benjamin led them to the library afterward, eager to get this disruption over with and be rid of his guests. They could be off first thing in the morning. Before he left his bed, preferably. As his uncle and Miss Saunders found seats, he rang the bell. His housekeeper and the nursery staff were awaiting the summons. Geoffrey would be in bed by now. Or ought to be, certainly. Had better be.
A timorous nursery maid arrived first, with Mrs. McGinnis close behind her. Benjamin stood to receive them. “Where’s Nanny?” he asked.
“She retired and went to live with her sister in Devon,” answered the housekeeper.
“What? When did that happen?”
“Two years ago.” Mrs. McGinnis’s expression was bland. “I did discuss it with you, my lord. There was the matter of her pension.”
“Oh, right.” Actually, Benjamin didn’t remember. Two years ago had been a bad time for him. “Why didn’t we hire a new nurse?”
“We did. Two. The first didn’t care for the…conditions here. And you dismissed the second.”
“I?” What could Mrs. McGinnis be talking about?
“The third time she tried to consult you about Master Geoffrey, you told her to get out and never come back. She did.”
Was his own housekeeper trying to make him look bad, Benjamin wondered, conscious of Miss Saunders’s disapproving gaze. He’d thought they got along well enough, but Mrs. McGinnis was sounding remarkably dry. He plumbed his memory. “She carped and whined, didn’t she? And sniveled. She told me Geoffrey ought to be locked up.” In his peripheral vision, Miss Saunders moved. Some kind of involuntary twitch, it seemed to Benjamin. “Perhaps Nanny could come back temporarily,” he suggested.
“She’s eighty this year,” his housekeeper replied. “And not too well, I understand.”
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that.” Nanny had been his mother’s nurse and then his. But he hadn’t realized she was quite that old. He turned to the nursery maid. “So you care for Geoffrey now?”
The girl gave a nervous nod.
“Lily took over after Christmas, when our last nursery maid left us,” the housekeeper supplied.
“Said she’d rather scrub floors,” the nursery maid added. “But I thought I could manage. Which I nearly didn’t. And then Tom came along to help.”
“Tom?” There was a charged silence. Benjamin grew even more conscious of his audience. But there was nothing for it; he couldn’t hide the fact that he knew of no Tom on his household staff. “Is that the young man with the blanket from this morning?”
The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, my lord. That was Tom.”
“Tom who? What is his last name?”
Mrs. McGinnis straightened like a soldier facing enemy interrogation. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He doesn’t have any knowledge of his family or their name.”
Benjamin wondered if his uncle was judging him. Miss Saunders undoubtedly was. He could practically feel her disapproval oozing over him. He wanted this finished in short order. “Explain Tom to me,” he demanded. “At once.”
His housekeeper nodded. She looked resolute but not particularly guilty. “Two months ago, Master Geoffrey ran away. We all turned out to search, of course, but we couldn’t find him.”
“Why was I not—”
“It was that time you were in Bath, my lord. We were just about to send for you when Tom turned up with him. He—Tom, that is—had been wandering the countryside, and he came across Geoffrey. He convinced him to return home.”
From the look on the nursery maid’s face, this was a significant feat.
“We found that Geoffrey would listen to young Tom as he would to no one else,” Mrs. McGinnis continued. “They get along a treat. And when I saw that Tom was a cheerful, respectful lad, taking no liberties and offering no back talk, I allowed him to stay on.”
“For months,” Benjamin said. “When you know nothing about him?”
“I know quite a bit about him,” the housekeeper answered. “But mostly I know he’s a good lad. I know he watches out for Master Geoffrey like no one else has been able to do because the child won’t let them.”
“Allowing him to paint himself red and get hold of a tomahawk!” Benjamin pointed out.
“It’s not a question of allowing with that little—” The nursery maid broke off, flushing.
“I did try to speak to you about this, my lord,” said Mrs. McGinnis. “You directed me to manage things as I saw fit and leave you alone. Again.”
Her tone was definitely critical this time, Benjamin thought. And perhaps she had a point, little as he liked hearing it. He ought to have known who was in charge of the nursery. “Let’s have this Tom in and talk to him,” he said.
A few minutes later, the lad came into the library, and Benjamin got a closer look at him. Tom had a homely, round face, friendly blue eyes, and prominent front teeth. Benjamin thought his appearance might improve in a few years, when he grew into his features and the large bones showing in his hands and wrists. The boy was thin, but if Benjamin knew his housekeeper, that was due to rapid growth rather than lack of food. Tom grinned, not looking at all apprehensive.
“Hello, Tom,” said Benjamin.
“Milord. Was you wanting me to move on away from here? Figured you would, sooner or later.” He didn’t sound worried about the prospect, and his smile didn’t waver.
“I wanted to find out a bit more about you,” Benjamin replied. “Mrs. McGinnis says you haven’t given a last name.”
Tom nodded. “Don’t know it. Been on my own since I was small.”
“But what about your parents?” asked Miss Saunders from the sofa at the fireside.
“I don’t recall them, miss. First thing I remember is the streets of Bristol, scrounging about in the garbage tips for food. I’ve thought I might have wandered off a ship at the docks. Or maybe I was born in the workhouse and m
’mother died.”
“No one looked after you?” Miss Saunders appeared horrified.
Tom shrugged, seeming not at all bothered. “It happens, miss.”
“How did you live? How old are you?”
“Somewhere’s about fourteen, miss, best I can reckon.”
“You’re not sure?”
Tom shook his head.
“And you’ve spent all your life alone?” She clenched her hands in her lap, her coppery eyes large with sympathy.
“Oh no, miss. Not at all. I found plenty of places, here and there, as time went on. Got taken in by an orphanage for a bit when I was small. Then I swept floors for a greengrocer. I spent a year at a dame school, doing odd jobs and seeing to the fires and all. The missus taught me to read, and my numbers, too.” He was obviously proud of these accomplishments.
“Didn’t you want to stay there?” Benjamin asked. “Or were you thrown out?”
“No, sir, I was not. The missus wanted me to stay, but I’d learnt all she had to teach me, see. So I went and ran the bellows for a blacksmith a bit of a while. And worked for a fellow who pickled eels. I like to know how things work, see.”
“How did you end up here?” Benjamin asked. He found the lad likable, but he had some ground to make up in oversight of his household.
Tom smiled and nodded as if he was well aware of Benjamin’s thoughts. “I got tired of Bristol, my lord. Seemed noisy and dirty all at once. Also, seems I’ve a yen to move. After a bit, I want someplace new. So one day I just set off south.”
“Walking?” said Miss Saunders. “All this way?”
“Not all at once, miss. I took my time. To see what I could see.” He smiled again.