Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “Of course, Mrs. Millington.”

  With that, the missus climbed the steps, only half acknowledging the staff as she went—nodding ever so slightly to her left at Mrs. Jones, then her right at Mary and Mr. Lunceford—until she reached the door, which was held by one of the drivers. She walked right inside without another word. Whatever ailment she had, it had distracted her enough to forget that an even number of servants—and two male ones—should have been on the steps.

  Mrs. Millington beckoned for her lady’s maid to follow her inside and up the flight of stairs to her quarters. Sarah held her breath until the women were out of sight and the driver allowed the door to close. She released the breath she was holding, turned about, and sat on a step. The other servants were descending the staircase as well, no doubt to enter around back to the basement.

  Mrs. Roach paused beside Sarah. “Do come in and lie down.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Roach. I’ll be right in.” Sarah sat straighter and smoothed back some wisps of hair that had escaped her bun. After another steadying breath, she stood and ran her hands over her travel-rumpled skirts in an attempt to get rid of the worst wrinkles. Her nerves were alive and well again, jumping about her middle like jackrabbits.

  And if she’d seen correctly, Jacob was in the basement. In a few moments, she’d see him again. Speak to him again.

  She followed slowly, but the servants’ entrance arrived all too soon anyway. She hesitated before going down the steps. Summer had officially arrived. What her future held at the end of the Season remained a mystery. Opening that door would be a step into whatever her future might hold.

  After one more effort at smoothing back her hair, Sarah went down the stairs, crossed to the door, and went inside.

  Chapter Four

  Jacob practically tore off his common-day clothing and dressed in the black suit that was the proper attire of one serving an influential family. His heart raced at how close he’d come to being found out and how lucky he was to have escaped Mrs. Millington’s notice. He’d almost arrived in time, but instead had gotten far too close to being discovered.

  I will never again put Ellie at such risk, he vowed as he faced the warped looking glass above his chest of drawers, trying to make his nervous fingers create a proper bow tie.

  Ellie had been his charge for only a matter of months, and in that time, he’d racked his brain for some way to get her out of the orphanage—better yet, to get her living with him. She should be with family. Cloverfield wasn’t horrible compared to some nightmarish places he’d heard of, but it still had its shabby parts and too many children for the number of adults. While Ellie didn’t go hungry, he wondered whether the food she was given had any value for helping her grow and be healthy.

  He hadn’t found a viable way to take her into his own care, and the longer she remained at Cloverfield, the greater the chance of someone adopting her. What if someone came and took her to Scotland, one of the African colonies, or even India? Her surname would be changed—possibly her Christian name too.

  More likely than not, he’d never see her again.

  I cannot allow that to happen, he thought, reaching for his suit coat and sliding his arms inside. He prayed that the servants from Rosemount wouldn’t say anything to the Millingtons about the neglect of his post today. He didn’t think they would, as none of them would benefit if Jacob were dismissed.

  Sarah would never tell, he thought as he reached for the knob on his bedroom door. It’s thanks to her distracting everyone that no one saw me.

  With his hand outstretched toward the doorknob, he thought of how Sarah and the others awaited him on the other side. How later, if they managed to find some privacy, he’d thank her for what she did out front a moment ago. Thoughts of Sarah send a renewed spike in his heart rate. He always looked forward to summertime, but this year was different.

  Last summer, they’d moved beyond a childhood friendship, and their regard had grown until he found himself unable to picture his future without Sarah in it. The intervening months of letters had been both glorious and tortuous for him. He’d eagerly watched for the post, waiting for her next letter, and when each arrived, he always read it in private for the first time. He carried her letters about with him and reread portions, memorizing the whole until the next one came, and the cycle repeated.

  But what if she no longer cared for him that way? He’d be able to tell simply by looking into her eyes. Sarah had many talents, but telling lies—even silent ones—was not one of them. While he stayed in this room, his fantasy and hopes could remain aloft.

  I can’t move, he thought, staring at his hand on the doorknob.

  “Where’s Jacob?” someone called. The authoritative voice easily carried through the thick wood door—Mrs. Roach.

  Friend today or foe?

  “Likely in his quarters,” Mary said between chopping sounds; dinner preparations were already underway. “What d’ya need him for?”

  “The trunks need to be carried inside,” Mrs. Roach said. “I’ll go find him.” A set of firm, heavy footsteps grew louder; she was coming to check his room.

  No point in procrastinating further. Jacob opened the door to see the housekeeper before him with her hand raised, ready to knock. “Why, Mrs. Roach, you’ve arrived,” he said in as cheery a tone as he could muster.

  “Yes, we have,” she said. “Where, pray tell, were you?”

  Jacob tugged the hem of his suit coat. “In my room, is all. Wanted to be sure I looked particularly clean and pressed when Mrs. Millington arrived, so I kept my regular clothes on until the very last minute.” He cocked his head as if listening to the floor above, then put on an expression of worry. He genuinely was concerned about many things, so he didn’t have to pretend on that count. “It appears I’m too late to greet Mrs. Millington.”

  “You are at that,” Mrs. Roach said. “Fortunately for you, Mrs. Millington isn’t well at the moment, so she seems to have forgotten that you weren’t present at her arrival.”

  “Truly?” He’d hoped as much but suddenly needed the confirmation from someone else.

  “Truly.” Mrs. Roach took stock of his appearance, looking him up and down two or three times. “You were getting dressed, you say?” She couldn’t know where he’d been or what he’d been doing, but she did know that his excuse was as thin as vellum.

  He swallowed in spite of the dryness in his mouth. “Indeed I was.” His voice cracked on the last word, though he wasn’t telling a falsehood precisely; he had been dressing just now.

  “Mm-hmm.” She clearly didn’t believe him, but she didn’t demand a better explanation, at least not for the moment.

  He decided to change the subject before she could interrogate him. He seized on what he’d heard from his room. “Are there any trunks needing to be brought in?” he asked, heading for the outside door. He was vaguely aware of Mrs. Roach thanking him, but he didn’t hear her clearly because the whole world around him narrowed into a small tunnel where outside sights and noises were fuzzy and indistinct.

  For there, in the doorway with the fading afternoon light behind her, stood none other than Sarah.

  My sweet Sarah.

  Was she his, though?

  As he neared, his step slowed to a stop. Her cheeks had flushed pink, and her pink lips were curved into a perfect bow, though she hadn’t yet raised her gaze to meet his. “Sarah.” He wanted to say more, but her name was all that came out. Yet if she cared for him as much as he cared for her, she might hear his love and devotion even in her name.

  She blinked once, twice, and then her eyes shifted from the floor and tracked upward to his face. “Jacob.” Her smile widened, and her entire face lit up from the inside.

  She cares. I’m certain of it.

  From behind, Mrs. Roach cleared her throat in an obvious attempt to get their attention. Jacob glanced over his shoulder at her. “I need to carry in some trunks,” he told Sarah.

  “I’m happy to help,” she said, but quickly l
eaned to the side to see Mrs. Roach and added, “if that’s acceptable to you, of course. If you have other work for me to do, I’ll stay inside.”

  Mrs. Roach’s iron line of a mouth softened. “Go,” she said. “But don’t take long. The basement needs a good scrubbing if we’re to survive the summer in it.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Roach.” Sarah turned about and went back out the door.

  Jacob followed behind. She had crossed the small courtyard and was heading up the stairs when he caught up and grasped her hand from below. She visibly started and looked back, but then squeezed his hand in response and continued to the sidewalk, the two of them climbing the stairs hand in hand. When Sarah reached the street level, Jacob released her hand. Best if none of the family or servants witnessed affection between them.

  Sarah seemed to intuitively know why he’d let go, because she clasped her hands together casually and began talking in an airy tone as they walked to the front of the town house.

  “How much rain did you have in the city over the spring?” A flash in her eyes as they locked his said that she was playing a part for the benefit of listening ears.

  “We had quite a wet spring, even by English standards.”

  They continued talking in that vein until they reached the front of the house—a public street where they couldn’t be accused of being truly alone. What luck to be with Sarah—just Sarah—for even a few moments so soon. He had so much to tell her, to talk about, to discuss. And when they weren’t talking, he wanted to hold her hand, gaze at the stars in silence, and maybe, if he dared, press a kiss to her lips and declare his feelings.

  With these thoughts and more rattling about in his head, they reached the trunks. Sarah sat atop one, and he strode up the front steps of the town house and opened the front door so they could carry the trunks through.

  As he turned to Sarah, her brows were knit together quizzically. “Where were you coming from before?” She nodded in the direction of the shrub he’d hidden behind.

  “I . . .” Jacob worried his lower lip, pressed both lips together into a half-smile, half-scowl, and folded his arms, all the while staring at the shrub in the distance.

  “Come now, Jacob,” she said with a laugh. She swatted his shoulder playfully. “It’s me. I’ve known you since before you dared that boy to steal Mrs. Millington’s key to the tea box.”

  “You’ve known me as long as anyone else here,” he agreed.

  She’d never known Thomas, not really, but she’d heard others talk about the servant boy who’d worked next door until shortly after Sarah arrived as a maid. Thomas and Jacob used to get into quite a bit of mischief.

  One summer, they undertook a game wherein one challenged the other to do something they both knew they oughtn’t. If the dare was completed, the victor got to choose a new challenge for the other. The dares became more and more outrageous, until Jacob dared Thomas to steal the key to the Millington tea box. The latter rightfully objected; in that box were stored the most expensive tea leaves from India. Once leaves were removed, they were used over and over by the family, until they were too weak to be satisfactory. Then they were then sent downstairs for the servants to use for their tea until they lost all flavor.

  Even now, Jacob often wondered just how expensive tea leaves were. The rigor with which the leaves were steeped for every last bit of flavor, along with the intensity with which the key was protected, indicated that tea might be worth its weight in gold.

  Thomas had been caught red-handed. He wasn’t allowed to plead his case, but from what Jacob knew, he never attempted to implicate his fellow accomplice. The Foster family next door dismissed Thomas the next week, and he was never seen near Ivy House again. Jacob had wondered more than once what happened to Thomas after that and what his own fate would have been if he’d failed at one of Thomas’s silly dares instead of the other way around.

  Now, standing before Sarah, he almost wished she’d challenged him to a dare rather than what she’d actually asked of him. He loved Sarah, so he couldn’t tell her about Ellie.

  I can’t hurt someone else I care for—someone I love, Jacob thought.

  Loving Sarah meant protecting her from harm. Protecting her meant ensuring that her reputation would never be tarnished as his might yet be. Jacob had seen grown women lose their stations and reputations, and with them, any chance for future employment or marriage. He’d seen young women who had no family to turn to, who, to survive, resorted to . . .

  No. He would not think on that. It was too horrible to contemplate.

  “Come, Jacob. Tell me all about your adventures in the big city.” Sarah crossed her ankles like a lady in a rather dramatic fashion, looking at him impishly all the while, her head cocked to one side. The effect completely undid any illusion of etiquette.

  “Adventures in the city?” Jacob said airily, heading down the steps toward her. “What silly novels have you been reading to put such stuff and nonsense into your head?”

  “You know full well that I’m not talking about books.” She leaned toward him, speaking conspiratorially. “You can trust me, of all people. I won’t be shocked and horrified, no matter what scandalous things you’ve been up to.” She waggled her eyebrows and placed one open hand on her chest as if showing the type of shock others might feel. Her teasing tone said so much—that she was happy, but also that she didn’t believe for one moment that Jacob could have done anything untoward, let alone nefarious.

  Yet the fact remained that he was tied by blood to an illegitimate child, one he’d do everything in his power to care for.

  “Very well,” Sarah said, hopping off the trunk and smoothing her skirts. “If you weren’t returning from an adventure, what run-of-the-mill, tedious errand were you on when you happened to find a shrub standing in your way?”

  The more she pressed, the more he didn’t want to speak of Cloverfield or Ellie. But he also knew Sarah; a dog would sooner let loose a fresh bone than Sarah would let loose a topic she was bent on hearing about.

  He forced nonchalance into his voice. “I will simply have to keep your curiosity piqued,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in return. “I understand that keeping ladies guessing is something modern men do.” On his way to the far side of the trunk, he added over his shoulder, “Perhaps I’ll tell you all about it . . . at the end of summer.” With his back to her, he scrubbed one hand down his face. His chin was stubbly; if Mrs. Millington had seen him unshaven, she would have noticed and promptly gone into an apoplectic fit.

  “Promise?” Sarah asked. “Promise to tell me before summer’s end?”

  He turned and fully took in the sight of her. The early evening sun glowed from behind, breaking through her hair like a halo. How could he lie to an angel?

  “We’ll see,” he said. Much of the bravado had left his voice, but he tried to summon a portion of it. “Let’s get these trunks inside before I find some horrible challenge for you to do.” He instantly regretted returning to the topic she’d referred to.

  “I’m intrigued.” Judging by her tone, Sarah hadn’t noticed that the sails of his confidence had gone flat. She leaned down and gripped the leather handle of the trunk. “What kind of horrible things would you challenge me to?”

  Marry me. Go to America with me, where we can start a new life together. If the two of them had been to this point in their relationship when she’d arrived a year ago, he might have been tempted to playfully state those challenges last summer. But then Oona had died. And he’d been charged with caring for Ellie.

  So he wouldn’t be challenging Sarah to marry and leave the country. Besides, she had enough of a stubborn streak that she might very well have agreed right away, perhaps pretending she didn’t really care. Her beautiful eyes betrayed her—a fact for which he would be forever grateful to the heavens and whatever angels watched over him. She cared, yes. But did she love him?

  No matter. He couldn’t throw down the gauntlet. Not now. Not until he could support Ellie and, he hoped, not lose Sa
rah in the process.

  He reached down for the handle on his side of the trunk. “Ready?”

  “No.” Sarah released her side and put her hands on her hips. “I’m still waiting to hear about what kinds of challenges you have in mind.”

  Despite himself, he smiled, and when he looked at her, it widened. A warmth washed over him. Oh, how he loved her.

  “I’ll think on it,” he said, his voice half teasing, half as serious as life and death. “Someone as special as yourself requires a unique kind of challenge.”

  “I think I’m flattered.” The statement held a note of question in it. She chuckled, gripped the handle, and together they hefted the trunk up the stairs and into the foyer.

  With every step, Jacob felt his very soul at war with itself as his loyalties and his heart were being torn in two by Sarah and Ellie. They both owned his heart, though in different ways.

  His future was at the mercy of a young woman and a young girl. What would he do when his loyalties conflicted?

  He and Sarah set the trunk down on one side of the hall, then went back outside. They made two more trips with the other trunks. The conversation had quieted, and Jacob didn’t try to breathe life back into it. He couldn’t, not when he remained mired in worries. With the last trunk inside, Sarah sent him a smile and a wave before heading to the far end of the hall and down the servants’ staircase to the basement.

  He watched her retreat, wondering how he could possibly navigate the summer months without losing either Ellie or Sarah.

  Or, worse, losing both.

  Chapter Five

  The day after their arrival at Ivy House, Sarah churned butter in the corner of the kitchen when Mrs. Roach entered, a notepad and pencil in hand.

  “Anything missing from the pantry?” she asked Betsy.

  “Of course,” Betsy said, chopping onions at the table. “Every year I send a list ahead, but Mary always forgets something or other.” The words were true, though they came out a bit harsh.