by Wilma Counts
Irene had told Meghan of the child’s refusing to speak and the probable cause. Meghan’s heart went out to the little girl—and to the parent trying to cope with such a problem.
“Come, darling Joy,” Miss Hamlin called prettily. She held out her free hand to the child. “Come walk with me and your papa. We shall go and see the kitties,” she added, stating the obvious in the deliberately childish voice that some adults thought appropriate in dealing with children.
Joy merely looked at her briefly, then away. She skipped over to her father’s other side and looked up at him questioningly.
He brushed a hand over her curls and said, “Whatever you wish, poppet.”
Joy smiled up at him and returned to the sidelines where she had been previously.
Miss Hamlin smiled flirtatiously and said, “My charms do not seem to work on all your family, Lord Justin.”
He patted her hand on his arm. “Keep trying. She will succumb as have the rest of us.”
Miss Hamlin laughed gaily at this bit of superior witticism, which reinforced Meghan’s view that the man was a consummate flirt. Meghan deliberately turned her attention to the other members of the party. Irene and Robert seemed to be sharing a private joke and Lord Travers and Miss Thompson talked animatedly of their favorite topic—horses. Mr. Layton had gone on ahead.
Suddenly, Meghan felt a presence at her side. She looked down into the grave expression of Joy’s upturned face.
“Good morning, Joy.”
Joy cocked her head and continued to look at Meghan appraisingly. Then she nodded and, shifting her blanket, Joy slipped her small hand into Meghan’s.
Amazed and unsure of her own emotions, Meghan had only one thought in mind. This was a child—a small being—in terrible need and that need must not be refused at this point. She gently squeezed the little girl’s hand and smiled down at her. They walked in companionable silence.
As the group reached the stable, Justin appeared to look around for his daughter. When he saw her clutching the hand of Mrs. Kenwick, he gave a start of surprise that, in turn, brought the attention of the girl on his arm.
“Joy?” He gave Meghan an inquiring glance.
“We are doing very well, thank you, sir.” Meghan gave Joy’s hand another little squeeze just before Joy released her grip to join the other children crowding into a stall that had been given over to two mama cats and their babies.
Meghan mentally shrugged off a look of what seemed resentment in the eyes of Miss Hamlin. Surely the beauty would not expect one to offer rejection to a small child?
Soon the stable was alive with laughter and childish giggles at the wonder of new life. Seven kittens frolicked in loose hay. Four of them, a groomsman said, were about three weeks old and the others about four weeks. He also answered Irene’s concern by assuring her that both mama cats and kittens were used to being handled by people. The kittens were fully as curious as their visitors, though the mother cats appeared more suspicious than curious.
The kittens were a mixture of various colors, attesting to very mixed parentage, Meghan observed. Two were black and white, one a striped gray, two a mixture of gray, brown, black, and ginger, and one was pure white with just a touch of black on one paw. This one seemed most shy, quickly escaping to the side when it was let loose.
Lord Travers and Miss Thompson soon lost interest in watching small humans ooh and ahh over small felines. They and two of the youths—one a younger brother of Miss Thompson—went off to look at horses. The other adults stood watching the commotion in the “kitten” stall, where Miss Hamlin had picked up one of the multicolored kittens in her gloved hands.
“Oh, are they not just the most precious creatures?” she crooned. “Look, Lord Justin, is this one not beautiful?” She held the kitten out to him.
He took a deep breath and turned away slightly. “Yes. It is . . . ah . . . charming.”
“Do you not want to hold it?” she asked, thrusting it toward him again.
“No . . . I . . . ha . . . ha-choo! . . . I do not believe so.” And he sneezed again.
Robert laughed. “I wondered how long you would last, little brother. Are you all right?”
“I . . . ha-choo! I will be if I just avoid handling them.”
“I am so sorry,” Miss Hamlin said. “I had no idea—”
“No, of course not,” Justin said, his eyes watery. “Never mind, now.” He stepped back away from the center of activity, smothering another sneeze.
Meghan had stood silently observing the scene. She sympathized with Justin, for her father had suffered just such an aversion to certain plants. She picked up the gray striped kitten as it tried to escape and cuddled it briefly before turning it over to Irene’s Sarah. She noticed Joy standing aside as well, her eyes agleam with enjoyment. As Joy moved around, her ubiquitous blanket hung down nearly to tops of her shoes, swaying with the child’s every movement. The swishing blanket caught the white kitten’s attention and it batted at this interesting phenomenon with a tiny paw. As soon as Joy became aware of it, her lips widened into the purest, most childlike smile yet that Meghan had seen on her. Joy began teasing the kitten with her trailing blanket and the kitten eagerly followed it. Suddenly, the child giggled aloud.
“Joy?” It was her father’s voice, full of amazement.
The wonder of this moment was interrupted by a loud feminine wail from Miss Hamlin. Everyone’s attention was immediately diverted to the beauty.
“Oh. Oh. It scratched me! Look! I am bleeding!” she cried. She had removed a glove to pet one of the kittens, crooning at it lovingly through pursed lips and altogether presenting a very pretty picture. The kitten had apparently taken exception to being held aloft and attempted to climb down the arm holding it, catching a clawhold wherever it could. Miss Hamlin cried out and dropped the kitten, which scampered away. She held out her wrist and, indeed, there was a scratch on her wrist and it was oozing red.
“Ah, it’s just a little scratch,” Jason said dismissively.
“But it hurts,” Miss Hamlin whimpered.
Justin dipped his handkerchief into a nearby bucket, squeezed excess water from it, and handed it to the injured woman. “Here. This is cool and should take out the sting.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” she said.
It was, Meghan thought, a thank-you worthy of a slain dragon at the very least.
“I think it is time we returned to the house,” Irene said, “and left these babies with their mamas.”
There was some protest from her own children, but she soon had the whole lot of them herded toward the house. Meghan noticed that Joy had gathered up her blanket and walked along with the other children while her father commiserated with the wounded Miss Hamlin.
“I do hope I do not contract a fever,” the young woman was saying. “One can have a terrible illness from such animals, you know.”
“I think you need have no such fear of these,” he reassured her.
“It is just that it would be such a shame when I have anticipated this holiday so very, very much.”
Meghan, again walking behind the rest, saw Miss Hamlin look up and bat her long lashes at Lord Justin, but she could not see his face for a reaction to this bit of transparency. Meghan herself could not hide a small snicker of amusement, which she attempted to smother with a cough.
“I agree,” said a voice at her elbow. She looked into the twinkling hazel eyes of Mr. Layton. “She is doing it a bit brown,” he explained.
“Well—I—” Meghan was embarrassed at having her own thoughts so easily read by another.
“Never mind. Justin can take care of himself. Lord knows the Hamlin chit has been trying hard enough. Ever since her come-out this last Season.”
“I am not sure—” Meghan started, but Layton talked right over her.
“ ’Course he ain’t tumbled yet, but she sets great store by that Hamlin-Wingate thing, you know? She must think it worked twice in one generation, it oughta work again.”
He grinned. “ ’Course it ain’t. But ’tis interesting, what?”
She kept her expression bland, but she knew her amusement shone in her eyes as she looked at him and said sternly, “Nevertheless—”
“Quite right. Quite right. We shall discuss the weather.” He held out his hand as though testing for rain. “Fine day. Cold, but dry. Just right for early December, do you not agree?”
She laughed and agreed and they returned to the house in pleasant camaraderie. She had, of course, known Mr. Layton for some years as an acquaintance of her husband. In the last couple of days, she had begun to see him in his own light and found him to be an amiable and amusing fellow.
Justin would have liked to spend the next few hours with his daughter. Other than sobs when she had fallen or a cry of fear when a huge black dog had growled at her in the park, that little giggle was the first sound he had heard from his child in months, though her nurse had told him she sometimes cried out in her sleep. Still, none of this pointed to real communication.
And what was that bit of business with her taking Meghan’s hand? She had clearly refused Georgiana’s. Even Irene had had difficulty establishing contact with his daughter. He remembered how Meghan had treated the little girls in the nursery. Obviously, the woman had a way with children that Miss Hamlin did not have. Well, anyone—anyone—who might help Joy would incur her father’s undying gratitude.
As the children were taken above stairs, Miss Hamlin had commanded his—indeed, everyone’s—notice. Lady Hamlin had been properly solicitous of her daughter’s wound. Thereafter, Justin’s attention had been diverted by his brother’s request that Justin make up a party to go hunting in the afternoon. So, he had spent much of the rest of the day chasing rabbits.
That evening when he went to say good night to Joy he saw no change in her. She clung to him lovingly and she nodded or shook her head as he asked her about her doll and the adventure of the day. But his little chatterbox of the past said not a word.
Having returned to the adult company, he sat in the drawing room later with a number of other guests. Some had already said their good nights and retired. Those who remained sat around in quiet conversation, sipping brandy or mulled wine. Irene came into the room and spoke during a lull in his discussion with Travers and Miss Thompson.
“Justin, may I have a word with you?” She gestured to a seat in an alcove formed by a large bay window.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
“I have just come from the nursery.”
“Is something amiss there?”
“Hmm. Not precisely. Nurse discovered one of the kittens from the stable in Joy’s bed.”
“Wha-at?”
“A kitten. That white one. Seems she wrapped it in her blanket and carried it back with her.”
“That little minx.”
Irene smiled. “Nurse wants to know what to do—return the kitten to the stables or what?”
Justin ran his hand through his hair. “Is the kitten old enough to be away from its mother?”
“I think so. Yes. It is from one of the older of the two litters.”
“Will her having the kitten there create havoc among the nursery set?”
“Probably not,” Irene said. “We have had other animals there from time to time—fish, a turtle, even a baby squirrel in a cage last summer. Joy seems willing to share.”
“Well, then . . .” He shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I think it might help Joy. And I wonder we did not consider it ourselves. In any event, a kitten in the nursery will do no harm.”
“Easy for you to say,” Justin said. “I cannot look forward to a fit of sneezing every time my daughter approaches with her new friend!”
Irene gave him a sympathetic smile. “Mrs. Ferris is a marvel with herbs and such. Perhaps she has a potion that will help you.”
The next day, members of the enlarged household at Everleigh were engaged in a variety of activities—some in organized entertainments and others wandering about on their own. Meghan, who had once been a frequent guest, had gone to the kitchen, where she found not only the cook, but several kitchen maids and the housekeeper. Mrs. Ferris concentrated on stirring the strong-smelling contents of a pot sitting on a very modern cooker.
“Hello, Mrs. Peevey,” she greeted the cook.
“Why, hello, Mrs. Kenwick. Heard you was here an’ wondered if you would make it back to visit with the likes of us.” The cook was a plump woman of middle years.
“You know very well I would not miss an opportunity to wheedle yet another recipe from one of England’s best cooks.”
“Ah, now—” Mrs. Peevey looked only slightly embarrassed at the praise. “An’ which dish would it be this time?”
“That rabbit stew we had for lunch was delicious,” Meghan said.
“Ah, yes. The secret there is slow cooking and a special sauce I have from a friend over in Worcestershire.”
“Will your friend allow you to share?”
“Of course—but only with the likes of you. All cooks appreciate people who know good food.”
Suddenly Meghan was aware that she recognized the odor emanating from the pot on the cooker. Mrs. Peevey noticed her awareness and said, “Mrs. Ferris is stirring up a special herbal remedy.”
Mrs. Ferris turned and nodded. “Thought we had some on hand, but the bottle was empty.”
“It smells very like an infusion my mother used to make for my father. He suffered from an aversion to certain plants in the spring.”
“This might be similar. ’Tis for Master Justin,” Mrs. Ferris said.
“Lord Justin,” Mrs. Peevey corrected with a laugh and explained to Meghan, “Some of us still think of the marquis and his brother as little boys.”
“Sweet lads they were—both of them,” Mrs. Ferris said. “I hope this infusion helps his lordship. He never could be comfortable around cats.”
“But neither can he deny his daughter anything she wants. And Nurse says she won’t be separated from that little kitten.” Mrs. Peevey’s tone was full of indulgent goodwill for both the father and the daughter.
Meghan discussed with Mrs. Ferris the ingredients for such an infusion while Mrs. Peevey wrote out the stew recipe for her. She finally left the kitchen with yet another view of Justin Wingate as a caring father—a role these two apparently found to be totally natural for him. Well, she supposed it to be possible—if not wholly probable—for the man to be both a rake and a good father.
Later, Meghan joined a number of ladies in the morning room who were busily weaving branches of greenery into long garlands to be strung around the ballroom. Several of the younger women, including Miss Hamlin, giggled and chatted as they fashioned kissing balls of mistletoe and holly. These would be hung in strategic locations in the public rooms of the house.
The morning room was on the ground floor and opened through French doors onto a terrace and a garden beyond. Despite the cold of the December morning, the doors were slightly open to allow in the fresh air. The buzz of conversation in the room was accompanied by squeals of delight from the garden, where the children played a lively game of blindman’s buff. Occasionally a mother would go to the door to check on a child, though Meghan knew at least three nursery maids accompanied the little people.
As she rose to replenish her supply of boughs from a pile on a table in the center, Meghan glanced out toward the game in the garden. They were having such fun! She felt a twinge of longing as she imagined a certain little boy added to the group. She shook herself and looked for Joy. There she was—off to the side again, completely absorbed in the kitten in her arms. Meghan could not hear the individual words, but she saw Becky approach and obviously invite Joy to join the game. Instead, the two little girls went off to sit on the steps leading down to the garden. Becky, a
pparently chattering enough for the two of them, frequently reached to pet the kitten that Joy freely shared.
“What has captured your interest so?” Irene had come to stand next to Meghan.
“Those two little charmers.” Meghan gestured at Becky and Joy.
“I have watched them in the nursery. The other children are remarkably protective of Joy, but it is Becky who seems to be her interpreter, as it were.”
“Joy appears to be very attached to the kitten.”
“Yes.” Irene sighed. “Let us hope that little kitten will help bring our Joy back to us.”
That evening a special entertainment was planned to include the children. A certain family in the village made their living by presenting puppet shows at market fairs in the months of good weather.
“They winter here and have kindly presented their show to us during the Christmas season for the last four years,” Irene explained in announcing the presentation.
Adults who might have demurred at such a childish entertainment were quickly disabused of their attitude by others who had seen the show previously. In the event, children and adults alike poured into the ballroom, which had been turned into a temporary theater. Children sat on the floor and low benches in front of the puppet theater; adult guests occupied straight-backed chairs behind them; the rest of the audience consisted of as many servants as could be spared from their posts.
The play fare ranged from the farcical comedy of Punch and Judy to fairy tales and more sophisticated satires. One of the latter dealt with Napoleon in exile, ruling his “empire”—a barren island some six miles wide and ten miles long. Another had the audience in embarrassed stitches as a puppet prince regent was bested by his flighty wife, the out-of-royal-favor princess of Wales.
Meghan was thoroughly enjoying both the show itself and the children’s delight in it. It occurred to her that this was perhaps the first time since Stephen’s death that she had been able to enjoy watching children have fun. Yes, there was nostalgia, but not the devastating despair that customarily assailed her.