The Heir to Evercrest Hall

by Andrea M. Theobald

  “That is a preposterous accusation. How dare you speak ill of my aunt!” He had resigned his modesty, placing his hands on either side of the bath, ready to hoist himself out. “I think it is because you are jealous, that is why!”

  “What, me jealous?” I laughed, but it was the truth. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just telling you what I overheard.”

  “The marriage will proceed. No one will prevent it, especially you! And for your information, I find Miss Dorchester an attractive young lady, a little too reserved for my liking; nevertheless, she is pleasant enough, and not feisty and argumentative like a certain creature I know.” He looked me up and down with distaste.

  “Huh! You are not in love with Miss Dorchester, are you?”

  “It is none of your beeswax whether I am or whether I am not.” Davenport sat back in the bath, grabbed the soap, and lathered a large sponge before vigorously applying it to his arms and shoulders. The overpowering fragrance was exactly the same that was in the governess’ room the other night.

  “You don’t love her, but you are in love!”

  Davenport dropped the soap and pointed the sponge at me, “You know what? You are an audacious creature.”

  “You can’t deny it, can you?” I smiled. “Your uncle knows you are smitten with another; I overheard him telling your aunt, and I heard him say she is a village girl.”

  “That’s a load of hogs wash; my uncle is still away in Africa.”

  “Well, if it isn’t your uncle, it is somebody else, and that means your aunt is having intercourse with another man!”

  “If it wasn’t for you being a female, I would thump you right here and now.”

  Ignoring his threat I continued, “Oh, and guess what?”

  “Don’t ask me that silly question.” Davenport scraped around for his soap, and his face was crimson.

  “I’ll also tell you that your aunt and uncle, that is if he is your uncle, are both in cahoots with the cattle rustlers, or what’s left of them!”

  He sat still like a statue with the soap in his grasp. He glared at me. “Damned liar; you are trying to poison me against my aunt. Is this what you resort to, because you can’t bear the thought of me marrying another?” He sniggered and rubbed his sponge viciously against the soap.

  I climbed to my feet, and yelled, “I was in the secret passage. I heard them speaking in her bedchamber, just like I heard the conversation between her and Mr. Dorchester while you took the fine young ladies”—I said sarcastically with my hands on my hips—“about your humble little garden. You are nothing but an asset in their eyes. You are an heir who is losing his wealth and his right to choose what he does with his life to utter criminals!”

  “I have heard enough, now leave!” Davenport yelled, absentmindedly pointing his sponge toward the doors leading to his bedchamber.

  I snatched up his fluffy towel, which had been draped neatly over a chair, and launched it heavily into his face. I wanted to scream, “You fool, you fool,” not caring to shut the wall panel back into place. Why couldn’t he see he was making a huge mistake marrying a girl he didn’t love? It didn’t matter about the answer. He did not return upstairs to give me a piece of his mind as I’d hoped. The remainder of the wakeful part of the night was consumed with what had happened in the last few hours; accompanied by the ache in my abdomen where my attacker had punched.

  »»•««

  Between the tedium of staying upstairs, there were the highlights when little Alby reached a milestone. His inherited self-determination had him moving about like a caterpillar on his belly much sooner than the average baby. A new routine had been introduced by the lady of the house also, which I always looked forward to, and that was taking the little one out on fine days during luncheon, and when it was safe to avoid people. If anyone happened to approach us, thanks to my mistress’ instruction, I already had an answer—the baby belonged to Lady Charlotte’s relative, who had taken ill. I was able to take little Alby out in the perambulator for a walk about the garden. Sometimes, Millie accompanied me; if not, I would walk about the flowers and inhale the beautiful scents. I wondered what flower was Miss Dorchester’s favorite; should I have known, I would have secretly uprooted one and left it to die somewhere she might frequent, which was often. My jealousy got the better of me, thanks to Millie’s information morsels, now Davenport and his bride spent a lot of time in each other’s company. To show his commitment, after the night of my rude intrusion, he did not make his nocturnal upstairs appearances anymore.

  During one of these midday strolls, on a particularly hot autumn’s day, I ventured to the extremity of the garden, toward the tree park that gave us shelter from the sun. I sat at a bench seat and rocked the perambulator back and forth until Alby drifted to sleep. I was about to close my eyes and enjoy the fresh scent of blooms when voices came from the trees somewhere behind. Covertly, I left my charge sleeping peacefully and stole my way along to the nearest tree trunk. I had to duck backward and peek about the tree to view the two people standing face-to-face.

  I could not mistake that the man whose back faced me was Davenport, but I could not identify who his companion was. I gathered she was his bride-to-be, for Davenport’s arm rose and remained there for a moment, indicating he was touching her face in an affectionate manner. I braced myself to control the flood of jealousy coursing its way through my veins, expecting him to do the very act I dreaded so much, and that was to plant a kiss on her lips. Instead, horror replaced the jealousy as he pulled her into his arms, and I saw in full-view her full lips, mouthing, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  A loud scream from behind me reflected how I felt. I bolted back to the baby to find him crimson-faced and banging his fists and legs about. Not stopping to tend to him, I sped back to the house as fast as the perambulator’s little wheels would roll, knowing Davenport and she would have seen me, and that he would be fixated on confronting me later. Oh, how I wished in that moment that I had never come to Evercrest. More vehemently, I wished I’d never met the heir.

  The baby’s carriage was left with Sally without as much as a thank you on my behalf. I hardly noticed little Alby looking at me with big blue eyes as I hurried up the servant stairs. My thoughts were wrapped up about the young woman with Davenport. The sickening blow was that she wasn’t Miss Dorchester, but she was the village girl who had been seen downstairs, the one Albert was supposedly smitten with. To think I mistook her visit as wanting to pass a message on to me from my aunt. I was livid and humiliated that she was the one, and not me who he was in love with!

  Charlotte took me by surprise where she stood, looking out the nursery window. She turned to face me and smiled warmly, which did nothing to sooth the tempest raging in my mind. “I have noticed that you are doing exceptionally well with the little one,” she said pleasantly.

  “Thank you, milady,” I said, trying to sound composed as my lungs heaved like a racehorse. Had she seen me running along the garden path with the perambulator going faster than was permitted? At least the motion had settled the screaming baby.

  “I have purposely sent Millie away to do other chores, because…well, she is not a maid I can entrust with certain information. It is you that I wish to speak with alone.” I watched as she glanced out the window. “I sense that you are someone I can trust. Just look at the little one…” Charlotte glanced briefly over her shoulder at the baby in my arms, who tried to reach for my hair. “Do you know what I believe, Smithers?”

  “Sorry I don’t, milady.” I involuntarily shuddered.

  “I believe babies, just like animals, are very perceptive when it comes to people, meaning he trusts you, therefore, I should do the same.”

  “Why, that would be an honor if you did, milady,” I lied.

  Charlotte sat and angled her body in the window seat. She clasped her hands and fixated on a view that could have been one thousand miles away. I, meanwhile, admired the profile of her face—the straight nose, the perfectly defin
ed lips, set in an oval face.

  “The child’s name is Simeon. It is not a name that belongs to the Davenport family. It was a name of the mother’s choosing.”

  “It’s a lovely name,” I said.

  As if Charlotte hadn’t heard my comment she continued. “The mother…well, I can’t tell you her name just yet. The reason that she can’t be with the child”—I secretly mused, Is it because she’s a vagrant?—“is because she is confined to a hospital. She has not coped since the birth, why I have personally put in place permanent care for the mother, for as long as she lives.” Charlotte cleared her throat.

  “That is sad,” I said impulsively, shocked at the thought that the mother of the little baby, who gurgled happily up at me in my arms, might never recover from an ailment I wasn’t game to ask.

  She turned her icy eyes to me. “The father knows of the child’s existence.”

  “Does his fiancée know?” I blurted.

  Charlotte remained as poised as a rock while quietly studying my face. She glanced back out the window. “Miss Dorchester is a most affable young lady. It pleases me that she and her parents are prepared to welcome Simeon, in spite of him being illegitimate. Miss Dorchester told me she loves children and looks forward to bringing forth many.” Charlotte smiled, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as if she were the groom’s actual mother. She looked my way, and for a brief moment, I thought I captured a glint of mockery in her eyes. Perhaps it was my jealousy playing tricks with my logic; the fact of the matter was that it was no longer Miss Dorchester I disliked, but my childhood friend.

  “I suppose they will have another nursemaid?” I said, trying to conceal the hopefulness in my voice. I couldn’t bear to be a nursemaid for Albert Davenport.

  “You are the only one who can handle the child; therefore, your position as a nursery maid is guaranteed for as long as you desire to remain as one. I have already put in a good word to Albert’s fiancée and her mother, advising them that you are a young lady I approve of for the care of young children.” With that said, Charlotte arose to her feet and left me without further acknowledgment.

  “Not if I can help it,” I whispered beneath my breath.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I didn’t see Millie much now that she was busy with her duties. I dined upstairs, but my surprising companion who frequented the nursery was Charlotte. As if to show her gratefulness for me being a nursemaid, she brought me some dresses to try on.

  “Seeing you are looking after one of noble blood, you must wear something decent.”

  None of the dresses were what I expected a servant to ever wear, apart from a governess if one could ever call a governess a servant. When I hesitantly dressed into one at Charlotte’s request, she remarked how stunning I looked, though she said it best that I wore the dowdier ones than the dress that I had on, reserving it for special occasions, such as going to the city. Charlotte even hinted that there would be a day when I could go there for a treat, which excited me because never had I ever remembered going to a place bigger than a village, and this would prepare me for the life I would live one day.

  The following morning, under instruction, I dressed in a so-called dowdy dress with sweeping maroon velvet fabric, frilly lace at the low-plunging neckline, and at the cuffs. Charlotte had organized with a lady to have my hair done up in ringlets. She had told her, “For the fun of dressing up this one time.”

  I returned upstairs, looked in the long dress mirror of the nursery, and was pleasantly surprised to see a becoming woman looking back at me with large eyes. My brown hair rested as large spirals in the groove of my neck and shoulder, and my complexion seemed to glow.

  Charlotte found me, and after looking me up and down without comment, she handed me a letter. “Give this to the postman when you see him. I shall stay here and spend some time with the child.”

  “I’ll do so at once, milady!” Only when I left the nursery did I glance down at the envelope. It was addressed to a Miss J. Collier.

  I hurried down the servant stairwell. A maid stomping up the stairs with a hot water can stopped in her tracks and stared with a startled expression.

  “Hello,” I said.

  The maid did a curtsey and replied, “Good morning, Miss India.”

  At first, I had to catch my breath. I realized that the dim-lighting of the candles must have played tricks with the woman’s vision. Without correcting her, I wallowed in the wonderful feeling of influence over one as equal as me in station, nodded with a smile and continued leisurely past. She wasn’t the only one I was to surprise. In the foyer, I saw the butler pushing the heavy entrance doors together. He did one of his girlish-mannered half-spins about, stopped in his tracks, and with his hand to his heart, let out a small cry.

  “Good morning, Gregory,” I said with a posh voice. As a servant, I knew one was always to address him as Mr. Gregory; instead, I walked boldly up to him, wondering if he could identify me as Millie’s co-worker up close, and thrust the letter at him. “This is for the postman.”

  “You…you only just missed him, my lady.” The butler was right. I could hear the sound of hoofs and wheels moving away rapidly. “If you would like, your humble servant will deliver your correspondence to him tomorrow, that is…if you wish, my lady?”

  He gingerly extended his long skeletal fingers out to clasp the envelope, only for me to snatch it closely to the bare portion of my chest. “No! I shall wait until tomorrow and deliver it to him personally.”

  “Can I be of any further assistance, my lady?”

  “No, thank you, Gregory. You are free to go.” I waved a dismissive hand.

  “As you wish, my lady,” said Gregory, bowing from the hip. He disappeared without a sound.

  I placed the envelope in my bodice for safe keeping. At least I could hold the promise to Charlotte of fulfilling her request even if it was to be a day later. A little time on hand, I decided to make a detour by heading through the gallery. The pictures I wanted to look upon were the family. I stood before the three paintings, the one of the late Lord Davenport, and the one of his beautiful wife, hanging rightfully beside him. Below the couple was the painting of the two children together. It was India I took a special interest in. I wondered how she would look now, because in many ways, her features and mine were identical. From what I could recall from my childhood, when I was about the same age as she was in the painting, my bone structure and hers were similar, and my hair—before I had had the drastic nit treatment—had been the same shade of brown, although her hair was straight and mine was wavy.

  I looked shyly into the ever-analytical eyes of India’s brother. The uncanny feeling that he could read my mind just from a painting made me shiver. Unable to suppress the words from escaping my lips, I said aloud, “I have lost you again.”

  The sound of fast-approaching footsteps came from the direction of the rotunda. To my astonishment it was Davenport. I looked back at the paintings, embarrassed to be caught downstairs by him.

  “India, you are back!” The wide grin on his face faded instantly, and the open arms ready to embrace his sister quickly dropped to his sides. “Why, is that you, Miss Smithers?” His face was incredulous.

  “Good morning, sir.” I struggled to keep my voice steady.

  “You look…” He walked up to me and his eyes twinkled.

  “Strange!” I answered.

  “Not in the least, Miss Smithers. You look…splendid.” He delicately grabbed one of my hands and bowed forward to kiss the back of it. A wave of heat rose to my face when he straightened and bore down a radiant smile. “Please, Miss Smithers, do me the great honor of accompanying me for a walk outside.” He hooked his arm about mine, not waiting for an answer.

  “No, no really, I ought to be going back upstairs.” I was suddenly reminded of his embrace with Jenny and the feeling of wanting to vomit. He is charming to all the girls, Maria, don’t fall under his spell.

  “My dear young woman, you will die from lack of oxygen i
f you remain cooped up there all day. Besides, I desire your company, and seeing it is a pleasant enough morning, what better time to spend it than in the company of a beautiful woman.”

  “But, sir, her ladyship is…” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks again.

  “Don’t worry about her! She is not the boss, I am. Now stop protesting. I want to show you about the gardens.”

  He led me through the main front doors that Gregory, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air, held opened for us. We walked rather hurriedly about the front of the house; instead of going into the main gardens, and in full view of the nursery window, we made a detour to the other side of the house.

  If I had been someone like Vera, I might’ve qualified in saying my dress possessed magical properties. Davenport, remarkably, acted unlike himself as he talked nonstop about mundane topics, such as the weather, the leaves in the park changing color, and the church fete coming up. He pointed with delight at some flowering shrubs, making me wonder if he had done the same routine with his fiancée while the whole time betraying her for the village harlot. I listened and nodded, and frequently looked over my shoulder at the house, as he spoke about the number of staff he had in service. We continued past a couple of gardeners, who greeted us warmly, and then we passed through a white archway that led us deep into the thick cover of the shrubbery. No sooner had we done so, Davenport stopped in his tracks and tugged my arm so I faced him. A frown had replaced his smile.

  “Explain to me why you are dressed up in my sister’s clothing?”

  “Lady Charlotte suggested I wear this,” I retorted. “She wanted the nursemaid to look suitably dressed—”

  “Nursemaids never dress up like this!” Davenport said with a snarl.

  “I didn’t know they belonged to your sister.”

  “So, you helped yourself to her wardrobe, got caught, and now you are lying to save face!”