Ellie clung to one of his hands with both of hers and hopped twice. “But—”
“I must,” Jacob repeated, stopping her. He took both of her hands between his, shaking his head sadly. He surreptitiously glanced at the wall clock behind Miss Gibbon’s desk, and on the instant was unnerved to see how quickly the minute hand made its way around the circle. He focused on Ellie once more. “I’ll come again as soon as I can. I promise.”
“But when will that be?”
“I don’t rightly know,” he said, hedging. “As soon as I’m able.”
The little girl sighed. “Will you be away a long time?”
How much time did a four-year-old consider to be “long”? At that age, a fortnight could feel like an eternity.
Jacob looked her straight in the eyes, which were glassy with tears she was clearly trying to be brave by not shedding. Her lower lip trembled, but she was trying to hide that as well. He reached out and smoothed her strawberry-blond waves, fighting to be as brave as she. “I won’t be gone long. I can’t say for sure how many days will pass. It may be quite soon, even.”
He had yet to puzzle out a way to explain to the Millingtons—or the staff—about the situation and his responsibility to Ellie. How could he possibly find a way to explain to a young girl that she was a bastard child, and that therefore his connection to her wouldn’t be looked upon kindly if word reached his employers?
“The family is coming today—any moment, perhaps—and I must be there when they arrive.” He licked his lips, forcing himself to go on. “And while they are here, I won’t have as much time to come visit.”
Ellie opened her mouth to protest, but Jacob shook his head and cut her off. “No, I don’t know what their plans or schedules will be like. But I promise”—he tapped her button nose—“that I’ll come ever so often as I possibly can.”
“Very well.” She sighed with her whole body, making her hair bob and her dress sway as her arms plopped to her sides. The gesture reminded him of the quilt his mother made him when he was but a wee boy, and how, if he grew afraid at night, he rubbed the layers of fabric between his fingers. It wasn’t as effective as being rocked by his Ma, but his quilt offered a comfort that was the next best thing. Now he hoped that the texture of his linen shirt might offer little Ellie some measure of comfort as well.
“Do you think,” Ellie said slowly, still fingering his sleeve, “cook will make her cranberry tarts soon?”
“I’m sure she’ll make something delicious every day. How about this: I’ll bring you some treats every time I visit.”
“Truly?” she said the word soberly, as if determining the veracity of his promise.
“You have my word as a gentleman,” Jacob said with a nod of his head, as if he were a nobleman and she a high-ranking lady.
Ellie grinned broadly, then threw her arms around his neck and squeezed so hard he could scarcely breathe. He didn’t mind the lack of air at all, however; he’d have been happy to die in the embrace of sweet little Ellie, who was as dear to him as anything and anyone.
A surprise, that, he thought as he embraced her in return. He never imagined that a child could own his heart so entirely, that he would sacrifice so much for her based entirely on the simple fact that they shared the same blood.
I must keep her a secret, he thought, not for the first—nor the hundredth—time. If the family learns of her, what will happen to me? To Ellie? How will I pay for her care?
The little girl released his neck, placed a peck on his cheek, and went to Miss Gibbon, who’d called her over.
If word reaches Ivy House, Jacob thought as he watched the supervisor hand Ellie an embroidery swatch, will I lose Sarah? He couldn’t bear to imagine the confusion, and possibly disdain, on her face. Worry over Sarah’s opinion of him, and whether she’d still cared for him, dogged him almost as much as his concerns for Ellie.
Five years ago, when he’d entered the gangly years that straddled boyhood and manhood, he and Sarah had shared a sibling-like affection. They were both too young then to think of matters like boys and girls making eyes at one another. Then, two summers ago, he noticed her as someone more than a peer who wore dresses. And ever since last summer, his feelings for Sarah had blossomed into full-fledged love.
Since her return to the country, she had corresponded regularly with long letters, ones he read and reread often. His letters in return were much shorter, as he didn’t have as much practice learning to write. She had far more experience in both reading and writing, thanks to Mrs. Roach teaching her over the years. He worried that his letters, painstakingly written one misspelled word at a time, were awkward and stilted and that his script was illegible.
Many times, he’d wanted to write about how he felt about her, but he never found the words or the courage.
The same applied to telling her about Ellie. He hadn’t dared breathe—or write—a word on either subject. He suspected—hoped—that Sarah returned his feelings, but would she still view him the same way if she knew about Ellie?
And if the Millingtons discovered the information, and learned that Sarah knew but hadn’t told them of it, he wouldn’t be the only one losing a position. He couldn’t risk telling Sarah—for her sake as much as anyone’s.
As the date of her arrival had approached, he’d done everything in his power to convince himself that protecting Sarah was the one and only reason he didn’t mention his niece. Until his sister Oona’s tragic pregnancy, and more recently, her death, he would have thought poorly of someone in the very situation he now found himself in.
I cannot bear the idea of Sarah looking at me differently.
From the door, he watched Ellie walk slowly and deliberately to a chair across the room. She sat and scowled at her sampler before taking the needle and beginning to stitch, her lips screwed up to one side as she concentrated.
In the distance, he heard cathedral bells ringing, and he was jolted out of his reverie back to the urgency of the moment. He raised an arm and caught Ellie’s eye, waving his goodbye before hurrying out of the room, down the stairs, and outside. Once on the sidewalk, he gripped his hat in one hand so it wouldn’t fly off and then ran as fast as he could, dodging buggies and horses—nearly getting trampled a few times—as he prayed he’d get back to Ivy House before Mrs. Millington and her entourage did.
Chapter Three
Sarah never failed to be surprised by her own reaction to the journey. Without fail, Mrs. Millington insisted on a punishing pace, one that jostled Sarah and made even her young bones and joints ache. A trip that would take most people two easy days was therefore accomplished in one. Sarah often wondered where the eagerness to arrive stemmed from, seeing as Ivy House was so much smaller than Rosemount. She guessed the eagerness might be the anticipation of balls and other social events that, by virtue of living in the country, one didn’t have access to during the cooler months. Every year, Sarah silently pleaded with the heavens that Mrs. Millington would take more stops, perhaps spend a night at an inn instead of merely switching horses at one. At the very least, she wished they’d slow down so the servants weren’t bruised and aching by the time they arrived.
Yet in spite of the miserable journey, the moment they entered the city proper, any wish for a slower trip vanished for Sarah, along with complaints of aches and fatigue. A thrill replaced all of that. Curtain pulled aside once more, she took in every sight and sound. Even with the window closed, the smells of the city surrounded her—so different from the countryside. Others turned their noses up at the smells, saying they were from factory smoke and such, but she spent plenty of time around grass and trees and flowers during the rest of the year. These smells meant she’d arrived in the city.
Though her time here would largely be spent cleaning and scrubbing, it would also include strolls in the city and visits to pubs, where she would be able to catch up with summer friends, sing songs, and have bread pudding that was considered too simplistic for Betsy to make for the Millingtons, but whi
ch Sarah found divine. It was probably too common to be served to the family, but the sweetness of each bite made Sarah’s heart happy. It was the taste of London—a city bustling with more people than she could count, living their lives and doing things she could only dream of.
Such a change from the country, where they lived in relative isolation. When she did see others, they mostly consisted of other rich families, and if she was fortunate, their servants.
But here, one could find people of all classes and backgrounds. Sometimes she meandered the narrow cobbled streets, imagining what it would be like to go into the shops and buy pretty hats, dresses, shoes, and jewelry. She hadn’t much money, so if she spent any, it was generally at a bakery, buying an inexpensive sweet bun or pastry. Other times, she walked across one of the bridges spanning the Thames, stopping at the midpoint to lean over and watch the water rushing by or leaning back against the railing to watch people as she ate her treat. She loved watching mothers pushing prams. Newspaper boys. Workers going to or coming from the factories. A small girl selling flowers. Street musicians. Children heading to school. And so much more.
The driver turned a corner, and there, at the end of a long row of town houses, stood one with stately stairs, a bright blue door, and a polished bronze knocker. Lining the steps on either side were servants awaiting their arrival. A zip of nervousness shot through Sarah’s stomach. Her hand went to her middle as her heart seemed to leap into her throat. She let the curtain fall, closed her eyes, and tried to breathe.
In another moment, I’ll see Jacob.
That should have been a happy thought. And it was, but mingled with that happiness were also a number of other emotions, tying her middle in knots. Would Jacob still care for her only in the way they’d confessed last summer? Through their correspondence, her admiration had moved far beyond what she’d felt in August. She loved Jacob now.
But what if he no longer cared for her in the small way he had before, and instead had moved on to admiring other, prettier girls? She’d enjoyed his letters and writing her own in return, but his missives tended to be shorter than hers, and, of course, they lacked the kinds of things that typically said what he thought and felt—the tone of his voice, the quirk in his smile, the sparkle in his eye when he teased her. His scrawl never could have conveyed any of those things, no matter how eloquent a writer he was. And he was certainly not an eloquent writer. All the more reason for her eagerness to see him—talk to him—again. Finally, they would be able to converse in person about more than books and newspapers. Perhaps pick up where they’d left off.
Over the last several months, they’d avoided the topic of their feelings for each other, save for a brief mention in his last letter: It will be so good to see you again.
That was all he’d written about her impending arrival. Sarah would have given her eyeteeth to see and hear him speak those words so she’d know what they meant.
Please be more than brotherly kindness.
He’d long since lost any aura of being a brother for her.
The driver called to the horses. The clip-clop of their hooves slowed, and the carriage gradually rolled to a stop. Sarah took a deep breath to brace herself. The driver opened their carriage door, completely blocking her view. All she could see was Mrs. Millington, already alighted from her carriage, the governess following behind, struggling to comfort and cajole the children into behaving for their mother just a moment longer.
“Be very good,” she told them in a high-pitched voice, “and when we’re upstairs in the nursery, I’ll show you a special toy that’s waiting for you there.”
“What kind of toy?” young Caroline asked doubtfully. Her little brother sucked on his thumb, then pulled it out when Miss Leavey gave him a chastising look.
“It’s a surprise. You must behave to find out.” The governess glanced at Mrs. Millington, who didn’t seem to notice her children’s words or behavior. Miss Leavey visibly relaxed.
When Mrs. Millington reached the base of the stairs, Sarah could no longer avoid noting the servants of Ivy House lining the sides. They were all wearing clean, freshly pressed clothes as they stood at attention, ready to welcome their mistress and accommodate any request. On one side stood Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper. On the other were Mary, the cook, and a stair above her, Mr. Lunceford, who served as Mr. Millington’s valet.
No Jacob. As the only full-time male servant at Ivy House, his absence would be glaring. Why would he miss one of the most important moments of the year?
Mrs. Roach had already exited the carriage, and now Betsy blocked the view, straining to move her ample self from the bench through the door. Sarah couldn’t bear to have the sight of the servants withheld from her any longer. Every second Betsy took, Sarah held in a cry of impatience.
Had she seen correctly? Was Jacob not on the stairs at all? Had he raced out to his spot during the few seconds she couldn’t see the steps? If not, where was he? He couldn’t have been dismissed unless it had happened in the last week, since he posted his last letter.
At long last, Betsy pushed through the door and reached the ground. Sarah could see again. She removed herself from the bench, took the driver’s offered hand, and alighted as quickly as possible. Her lower back and knees ached from standing so suddenly, but she paid them no heed, instead craning her neck around those ahead of her and counted the servants on the steps.
Mrs. Jones, one. Mary, two. Mr. Lunceford, three. Where was Jacob? Could he be out on an errand for Mr. Millington? That seemed unlikely; the tradition of all servants being present to welcome the missus wouldn’t be abandoned based on the need to fetch the bootblacking or some such.
A thread of worry wove through her chest. Jacob could be ill. He could have gotten into an accident of some kind. He could have fallen into the Thames and drowned.
A movement at the next cross street, just past the town house, caught Sarah’s eye. A figure darted across the street, hunched over as if trying to hide. Someone male—aside from a swiftness that wasn’t possible in skirts, the figure clearly wore trousers. The moment was over before she’d comprehended that, but now she studied the person crouched behind a shrub. She could just make out the top of his head, which appeared to have dark hair, though with the shadows of the waning day, she couldn’t be sure. She felt fairly confident that he wore a pale shirt and dark trousers.
“Sarah, are you well?” Betsy’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You look peaked. Do you need to lie down for a spell? I’m sure I can warm up some broth for you.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said with a smile. “But I’m quite well, or as well as anyone can be after a long day’s drive.”
Mrs. Roach noticed the interchange and turned back, one eyebrow arched. “Are you feverish? Does your head ache?” Her tone might have sounded terse to an outsider, but Sarah knew her well enough to recognize genuine concern.
“Neither, but thank you, Mrs. Roach. I’m just a little tired, is all.”
With both Mrs. Roach and Betsy satisfied, they headed for the town house, and Sarah followed. The drivers unloaded the trunks, and soon they would be taking the carriages to the stable house, where the horses would be unhitched.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah couldn’t help but pay close to attention the mysterious person behind the shrub. He lifted his head just enough to see over the top—and Sarah stifled a gasp.
Jacob! What was he doing hiding behind a hedge of boxwood?
He caught her eye, and his own widened a bit. He lifted a finger to his lips, then ducked into his hiding place once more.
“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Mrs. Roach said again. “You’re even paler than a moment ago.”
Everyone turned to stare at her now, including Mrs. Millington—something Sarah was suddenly grateful for, as it meant no one would see the hedge or the person hiding behind it. She’d never before sought attention from the family—rather, the opposite. Most of the time, if someone had cause to think of her at all, it was because
she’d failed to adequately sweep the cinders from yesterday’s fires or forgotten a chore altogether.
But now, Sarah hoped everyone would notice her and her alone so Jacob could safely escape detection. She prayed that Mrs. Millington wouldn’t notice his absence on the stairs at all, and instead simply march up them, climb the stairs to her quarters, and collapse on her bed with a list of complaints. Sarah would be happy to endure a solid day of such demands if it meant no complaints were leveled at him.
When Sarah didn’t answer immediately, her mind caught up in a confusing mix of thoughts and emotions, like two storms colliding over a field, Mrs. Millington lifted her chin and walked toward Sarah. The act was both a relief and terrifying. Sarah clasped her hands together to keep their trembling unnoticed.
“You look peaked,” Mrs. Millington said as if she were the first to voice the opinion. With a highly unprecedented act, she reached out and pressed the back of her hand to Sarah’s forehead. “No fever. Take a short nap and some cod liver oil, and then report to Mrs. Roach.”
Sarah dipped her head and bobbed at the knee. “Yes, ma’am.”
A blur to the side moved from the shrub, crossed the street, and disappeared from view to the rear of Ivy House. Sarah breathed out with relief. Jacob could easily get inside through the servants’ entrance and quickly get himself presentable. Almost on the instant he’d vanished from view, Mrs. Millington turned to the stairs again.
Jacob must have a good reason to be late, she thought. He wasn’t the kind to foolishly lose track of time. She not only knew Jacob; she loved him.
Mrs. Millington tested her own forehead with the back of her hand. “Perhaps I’ve caught a touch of something from the exposure to the air today.” She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “I must lie down. Mrs. Roach, please bring my supper to me in my room. I haven’t the strength to go down to the dining room.”
Summer Holiday Page 18
