by Wilma Counts
To bring their show closer to their audience, the puppeteers invited the children to take part. One female member of the troup approached the children with hand puppets fashioned as a fairy godmother and an elf who would grant wishes. She had performed thusly with two small boys and other children eagerly anticipated their turns. Joy sat silent, but her eyes shone as they followed everything. The puppeteer approached Joy.
“Ah, here we have a real princess disguised as an ordinary but very pretty little girl,” the woman said in the tone of the fairy godmother. “Now, what do you suppose such a beauty would wish for?”
“I have no idea,” the elf replied. “We must ask her.”
“Joy can’t talk.” It was young Matthew who spoke up.
“Oh, but she must want to tell me her secret wish,” the fairy godmother said persuasively.
Meghan held her breath hoping the little girl would not be ridiculed. She glanced at Justin seated several places away from her. He seemed to sit straighter and very tense, waiting.
“She don’t talk!” This time it was Wally who explained in an insistent tone.
“She does so!” Sarah assumed a very authoritative manner.
“Joy can talk,” Becky said, clearly defending her cousin. “She talks to the kitten all the time.”
Meghan saw Justin give a start at this. He cast a questioningly look of wonder in Joy’s direction.
The woman puppeteer apparently perceived that she had stumbled into a delicate situation, for she had the elf say, “I am sure the pretty princess will tell us what she wants us to know in her own good time.”
The two puppets then went on to involve other children, seemingly oblivious to the bombshell that exploded behind them.
Four
Justin wanted nothing so much as to jump up and find out immediately if what Sarah and Becky had said was true. Did Joy actually talk, or was it merely like her mumbling in her sleep? He was forced to wait until the puppet show was over. Then the children were herded back to the nursery for a snack before they were prepared for bed.
“Do you think it is possible?” he asked Irene. “Could she really be talking to the kitten? She used to talk to her dolls incessantly.” He could not smother the longing in his voice.
Standing next to Meghan, Irene answered, “Yes, I think it very possible. What do you think, Meghan?”
“I agree.” Meghan gave him an encouraging smile.
My God! When she smiles, she is beautiful, he thought. A man could lose himself in the warmth of her eyes.
Meghan continued, “Perhaps she needs to practice, as it were, with the kitten, before she opens to people again.”
“I hope that is the case,” he said. “I shall go and bid her good night.”
Irene touched his arm. “Justin, do not press her. Allow her to set her own pace.” He saw Meghan nod in agreement.
“I shall try to restrain myself.”
He found Joy and her two cousins attired now in similar white cotton nightdresses. The nursery maid had just finished braiding Sarah’s hair.
“Will you wead us a story, Uncle Jus’in?” Becky pleaded. “Puh-leeze?”
“Would you like that, too, Joy-of-my-life?”
Her eyes glowed as she nodded energetically.
“Very well. A short one. Hop into bed now, all three of you.”
“Four,” Sarah said with a giggle.
“Four?” He looked around in an exaggerated search, which brought more giggles.
“Joy’s kitten,” Sarah explained.
“Ah, yes. The kitten.” He leaned down to tuck his daughter into bed and already felt that tickling sensation that presaged a sneeze. He gave her a quick kiss and stifled the sneeze, then pulled a chair close to the beds and began to read a familiar fairy tale.
He listened carefully, but not once did he hear Joy make a coherent sound. When all three girls were clearly asleep, he closed the book with a sigh and sat staring at his sleeping child. He felt a presence behind him. Robert and Irene had just come in. They looked at him sympathetically.
“Nothing?” Irene asked softly. “We just came to say good night. Too late here, I see.” She patted Justin’s shoulder. “Do not despair. There is progress.”
“Right,” he said with little conviction. He rose and accompanied them back downstairs to the on-going party.
The next day servants hung many of the decorations, including the kissing balls—small ones in the drawing room and foyer and a huge one from the middle beam in the ballroom. Meghan enjoyed tolerant amusement at watching guests be “surprised” under a kissing ball. Then, coming in from a walk with several others, she was herself surprised under the one in the foyer.
Melvin Layton laughed and caught her in his arms. “Aha! I have been hoping for just such an opportunity,” he chortled, largely for the benefit of the others. As Travers and Miss Thompson and Justin and Miss Hamlin looked on, Layton kissed Meghan rather thoroughly.
Embarrassed and flustered, she was further disconcerted when she caught a decidedly amused expression on Justin’s face. “We should have warned you about Layton’s wicked ways,” he said.
“I . . . uh . . . yes. You should have,” she agreed with a soft laugh.
The truth was, she had not really minded the kiss. Such was, after all, part of the frivolity of the season. However, this was the first time she had been kissed by a man other than her brother since Burton’s death. She had expected to feel somewhat more than . . . well . . . deflated. She had felt nothing—except warm friendliness.
Then she mentally chastised herself. What more could she possibly want?
In the afternoon the weather turned even colder and it began to rain. Children who were wont to play outdoors were now confined. The overflowing nursery was hard put to contain them. Irene ordered the ballroom arranged for a rollicking game of musical chairs that would involve the children and such adults as might wish to take part.
Justin noted that Miss Hamlin eagerly participated and that she tried to engage Joy in the game. Justin found a seat along the sidelines next to Meghan. Joy leaned against her father’s knee, clutching her blanket-clad kitten. He and Meghan talked amiably about the players, laughing over this one’s clumsiness or that one’s eagerness.
As a new round of play started, Sarah grabbed Joy’s hand. “Come on, Joy,” she pleaded. “It’s fun. You’ll see.”
Joy looked up at Justin as though to ask permission. “Go ahead, little one,” he encouraged, whereupon she thrust the kitten at him and did just that.
He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a series of sneezes. “Oh, we-e-l-l-l . . . I had not quite counted on this, had I?”
“Here. Allow me.” Meghan took the kitten from him and held it in her lap away from him.
“Thank you.” He reached for his handkerchief.
“Did the infusion Mrs. Ferris prepared help you?”
“Yes, it did, surprisingly, because little has helped in the past. She said you suggested some secret ingredient. I thank you.”
She flashed him that devastating smile again. “Willow bark is not much of a secret, but it always helped my father.”
Irene and Robert managed to have themselves eliminated from the game and took seats near Justin and Meghan. A number of other adults had joined the spectators as well.
Soon Joy was eliminated and returned to stand at her father’s side. There was a look of panic in her eyes at not seeing the kitten with him. He pointed to the animal sleeping on Meghan’s lap.
Joy moved to stand between Meghan and Justin and reached to pet the kitten, but made no move to take it. The kitten looked around, its sea-green eyes a striking contrast to its white coat. It yawned, showing small teeth and a pink tongue.
“Your kitten is very pretty, Joy. Does he have a name?” Meghan asked.
Joy looked up at her and nodded. “Don’t tell me,” Meghan said. “Let me guess it. Hmm.” She pretended to think about it very hard. “Maybe its name is Pinky for his pink nose and to
ngue.”
Joy merely shook her head, but her eyes danced at the game.
“Well, then,” Meghan said, leaning her head on her fist in a caricature of intense thought. “It must be . . . White Princess.”
Again Joy shook her head vigorously.
“I know! He is the Black Knight!” Meghan declared in a tone of brilliant discovery.
Joy giggled aloud at this. Justin, who had turned away to talk with Robert, swiveled around in surprise. “No-o,” Joy said in little squeal of utter delight. “ ’Tis Snowflake!”
Justin’s mouth dropped; Irene and Robert looked astonished. Meghan, though, merely hugged Joy to her and said, “Snowflake! What a perfect name. Why did I not think of that?”
“Snow is white, too,” Joy said.
“Yes, it is,” Meghan said.
“Joy?” Justin said softly. “Joy?”
“Yes, Papa?”
“Oh, Joy.” He reached for her, tears in his eyes. “You are talking. Oh, thank God! You are talking.” He hugged her fiercely and kissed her cheek.
“Yes, Papa.” She put a small hand on either side of his face.
“But why now—so suddenly after all this time?” he asked wonderingly over her head.
“The lady said I should,” Joy explained matter-of-factly.
“The lady?” He stared at Meghan as though she were a miracle worker, but she seemed mystified.
“No, Papa. Not Auntie Meg. The one in white last night.”
“In white—last night—?” he repeated dumbly.
“She sat on my bed. She came from Mama and she said I could speak, that it would not hurt Mama anymore.”
“Lady Aetherada?” Irene asked softly.
“Did the lady do or say anything else?” Justin asked seriously.
“She straightened my blankets,” Joy said.
“Definitely her ladyship,” Irene said, keeping her voice low for only the immediate group. “What else did she say, darling?”
“I-I can’t tell,” Joy said. “ ’Tis a secret. And I must not say it yet.”
“Very well, my sweet.” Justin hugged her again. “A lady keeps her word.”
Joy pushed herself off his lap, took her kitten from Meghan, and went off to join Becky and another little girl. The children seemed only momentarily surprised when Joy spoke to them. Very soon she was but one of several in a babbling, laughing group.
Justin turned to Meghan. “I have no idea how you did it, but thank you. Thank you.”
She looked baffled and glanced from him to Irene and Robert. “But I did nothing. Nothing. It was this lady—Lady—”
“Aetherada,” Irene supplied.
“What a strange name,” Meghan said. “I have not met her, have I?”
“No-o. I think not.” Irene’s eyes twinkled.
“You had better tell her, my dear,” Robert said.
“Promise you will not laugh or be shocked,” Irene demanded.
“I promise—I think.” Meghan’s voice conveyed amused trepidation.
Justin caught her eye and winked at her.
“Well, you see,” Irene began, “the Lady Aetherada is our resident ghost.”
“Your ghost. Of course. I should have known.”
“Sarcasm does not become you, my dear,” Irene said with a laugh. “No. Truly. She was the third marchioness and she shows herself only to children.”
“Though she occasionally upsets the housekeeping staff,” her husband added.
Meghan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You are serious!”
“Yes, they are,” Justin said.
“And she reveals herself only to children? How extraordinary.”
Irene took a seat next to Meghan. “Family legend has it that Lady Aetherada lost a child of six or seven years when the holding was sacked by Vikings. She grieved terribly and later died in childbirth. Now when Everleigh children need her, she appears to help them through a time of difficulty.”
“That is a wonderful story,” Meghan said, “but you realize that as a family legend it may have imbedded itself in Joy’s imagination.”
Justin grinned at his brother. “This lady is a skeptic.” He looked at Meghan. “Most people would take that view, but, personally, I do not care quite how it came about. I am just thankful to the lady that Joy is speaking again.”
“Yes,” Irene said, “though I suppose it would be best not to noise the how of it about too much.”
“I agree,” Meghan said. “I, like Joy, will respect the lady’s secret.”
Meghan was somewhat taken aback by the story of a ghost who protected children. However, something had happened to break through Joy’s wall of silence and that had to be all to the good. In the days that followed, Joy laughed and played as vigorously as the other children. She no longer relegated herself to the sidelines. A stranger happening on the scene would have observed nothing unusual.
When the children were involved with adult guests, Joy seemed to gravitate toward Meghan. Outdoors, she would walk near or with Meghan and voluntarily take Meghan’s hand. Indoors, Joy always sought a seat near Meghan and tended to sit closer than necessary. It was if the child needed—desperately needed—the simple human contact.
Yet she was clearly a much-loved child. Her father doted on her, picking her up, nuzzling her, caressing. He could not seem to be near her without touching her. Irene did not discriminate among the children when she was passing out hugs. Nor did Robert.
At first Meghan was disconcerted by Joy’s obvious preference for her. Was she not determined to withhold herself from excessive involvement with children? Moreover, Justin seemed slightly embarrassed by his daughter’s behavior, and Miss Hamlin, who had tried so hard to befriend Justin’s child, was downright resentful.
It took Joy almost no time at all to wriggle her way into Meghan’s heart. Meghan found herself welcoming the child with a smile and looking forward to seeing her. Whenever Joy came to stand at Meghan’s knee, Meghan readily lifted the little girl onto her lap, with no regard for what such action did to freshly ironed muslin.
One afternoon Meghan stepped into the library to find Justin the only other person in the room. He appeared to be absorbed in some papers at his brother’s huge mahogany desk.
“Oh! I beg your pardon,” she said. “I merely came for a book, but I can return later.”
“No. No. Come ahead. Truth to tell, I would welcome a distraction.” He rose and came from behind the desk. “May I help you find something?”
“Robert told me he had a copy of Chapman’s translation of The Iliad.”
Justin’s brows lifted in surprise. “The Iliad?”
“Yes. The Iliad. Oh, please do not tell me you are one of those gentlemen who think women should never read anything more serious than a fashion magazine.” Like my late husband, she thought bitterly, but she did not say so aloud.
His brow lifted even higher. “No. Not at all. However, I must admit that few women have asked me lately for copies of Greek epics.” He paused. “Few men have either, for that matter.”
She laughed. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
“You refer to the poem by that fellow Keats, I take it?”
“Yes!” She was delighted to find another familiar with this poet whom she had but lately discovered. “ ‘Much have I traveled in realms of gold—’ ”
“ ‘Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold,’ ” He finished the lines for her, and then added, “And have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Traveled much in the ancient world?”
She shook her head regretfully. “I have never been off this ‘sceptered isle.’ But now that things are truly settled on the Continent, I hope to see a bit of it.”
“I am sure you will enjoy it,” he said politely as he pursued the search for the book she wanted. “Ah, here it is.”
As she took the volume, their fingers touched. She looked into his clear blue eyes and felt a tremor run through her. “Thank you,�
� she murmured and turned to leave.
“Uh . . . Mrs. Kenwick.”
She turned back.
“Meghan, that is.” He smiled. “I wanted to thank you for being so kind to Joy.”
“One could scarcely be otherwise to Joy.”
“Still, I would suspect that you might find her attentions somewhat . . . uh . . . less than welcome, shall we say?”
“Why ever would you suspect that?” she asked, surprised.
“Well. . .” He ran his hand through his hair and shifted from one foot to another. Incongruously, Meghan recalled Stephen’s doing the same thing when he was uncomfortable. She smiled at the memory. “Well,” he went on, “Irene said you were reluctant to be too involved with the children and I thought . . .” His voice trailed off in obvious embarrassment.
“Well, don’t think.” It came out more sharply than she intended. “I mean, Joy is a very sweet little girl. How could anyone have the heart to hurt her?”
He grinned. “Quite naturally, I share that sentiment. All the same, I do thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” She held his gaze for a moment, then added softly, “In the end, I may be thanking you.”
Now what on earth had she meant by that? she asked herself as the door clicked shut behind her. Somehow her mind always seemed to become befuddled around that man.
Five
Justin was aware of Joy’s seeking out Mrs. Kenwick, but he did not understand it, for Meghan did not seem to encourage her in any way. Neither did she reject the child’s overtures—and for that he was grateful.
Their discussion of the poet Keats had startled him. He recalled Kenwick’s complaints about his wife, but so far he had seen none of the narrowminded pedantry Burton had laid at her doorstep. In truth, that bit of repartee, along with her quick response on the “madness” quotation earlier—brief as they both were—had brought to mind some of his discussions with Layton.
This, in turn, brought to mind his observing Layton seek out the widow several times. He frowned at this thought. Was Layton actually pursuing Mrs. Kenwick? And if so, to what end? And why should it matter to him?