Caroline sighed quite audibly. She tucked herself up against her youngest uncle and turned to face the room. “Mama,” she called to Lady Marion. “Can we play a game?”
“What game?” Marion asked.
Caroline looked back at Charlie.
He shrugged. “A guessing game, perhaps?”
“Please, Mama.” She turned her baleful eyes to Lady Marion. “Please.”
Sarah couldn’t help a chuckle. “How can you resist that sweet face?”
“Alas, I can’t,” Lady Marion said. “If you can convince your uncles to play, Caroline, you are welcome to do so.”
Caroline hopped off the settee and spun about, looking at them all in turn. “You’ll play with me, won’t you? Papa’s boys always play with me.”
“We’re never given a choice,” Charlie tossed out.
Caroline’s gaze stopped on Scott. “Who are you? You aren’t one of Papa’s boys.”
“My name is Scott,” he said. “I live at Sarvol House.” He looked at the dowager. “Does she know where that is?”
“Vaguely, I’m sure.” She smiled at her granddaughter. “He is not one of your father’s brothers, but he is an exemplary gentleman.”
Caroline smiled a little shyly. “Will you play with us?”
“Of course.”
She clasped her hands together and looked back at Lady Marion. “They’ll play with me.” Her gaze shifted to Sarah but did not remain. “Can we play ‘Yes and No’?” Again, the same movement of her eyes, quickly looking at Sarah, then away.
“Of course, sweetie.”
Caroline turned toward her father. “Will you play, Papa?”
“Not today,” he said. “But I will watch.”
Caroline pouted but accepted the answer. “Uncle Flip, will you play?”
Philip bounced Henry on his knee, making faces at the little boy. “Only if Henry can play with me.”
“He can’t hardly talk,” Caroline said, shaking her head.
“I’ll have to do the talking for us, then.” Philip pulled Henry up against him, rocking the boy back and forth with his face pressed beside his.
“Have you thought of something for us to guess?” Caroline asked.
Philip tipped Henry’s head up and down in a nod.
Caroline bounced in place. “Is it a person?”
“Yes,” Philip answered solemnly.
“A girl person?” Charlie jumped in.
“Yes.”
“As old as Grammy?” Caroline asked.
“Your grandmother is not old,” Philip was quick to reply.
“That isn’t a yes or no answer,” Harold said.
“Ah, but it is the correct answer,” Philip said.
Everyone in the room laughed. Even the dowager took the teasing good-naturedly. How Sarah adored this family. One couldn’t help being happy among them. Scott joined in the fun, asking questions of his own. The guesses grew more outlandish, which only made the game that much more entertaining.
In the end, she and Scott spent over an hour with the Jonquils, a longer-than-usual unplanned visit between neighbors. She wished it could have lasted several times as long.
Sitting at her tiny table in her antechamber that evening, taking her very lonely meal, she thought longingly on the estate not too far distant where the loving family were all together, laughing, and happy. Uncle Sarvol had commandeered Scott’s full time and attention the moment they had returned. And she had been, as always, relegated to her rooms. Alone.
Chapter Twelve
Harold guided his pony cart up the narrow lane leading to the vicarage, deep in thought. Philip’s words the day all the brothers had gathered to discuss titles and inheritance weighed on his mind. He had full confidence his brothers would work out the legalities, making certain both estates were well cared for and no one was rendered truly unhappy by the arrangements. Harold’s thoughts were on Sorrel and Philip.
He had called on his sister-in-law that morning on his way out to the abbey ruins and was worried by what he’d seen. She’d been nearly colorless. Her spirits hadn’t been entirely dampened, but she was clearly not well. Philip had been in the room with them through most of the visit, and there was no mistaking his anxiety over Sorrel’s condition.
She was too far from her time for the baby to survive if born now, but no one seeing Sorrel could doubt she was reaching the end of her endurance. There was no foreseeable happy ending, and it was tearing at Harold’s heart.
He’d been at a loss to know what to say. As he often did when feeling out of his depth, he’d quoted what scriptures and sermons he’d thought applicable. What else did he have to offer? But he’d caught sight of Philip’s annoyed expression and had fallen into silence.
He would give it greater thought, think of a more efficacious approach. He didn’t wish to disappoint or fail in his duties. There simply had to be a way of offering comfort that he hadn’t found yet.
He turned toward the vicarage gate, intending to go directly to his study to pore over his sermon. The more he studied it during the week, the less nervous he was on Sundays.
A tiny huddled figure at the gate, however, stopped him. Caroline. What was she doing here? He didn’t see Layton or Marion nearby. They might be inside but certainly would not have left her outside on her own.
He hopped down from the cart and hunched down in front of her. “Sweetie?”
She looked up at him, worry in her big blue eyes, the stain of tears marring her cheeks. “I thought this was your house.”
“It is. Did you come to visit me?”
“I’m lost.” She took a shaky breath. “And I’m scared.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He scooped her up. His forearms were a little sore—he’d climbed longer and harder than he usually did—but she was so tiny and light that she gave him no difficulty. “This is very far from home for you.”
“I needed to see her.” Caroline wrapped her arms around Harold’s neck, tucking herself up against him.
“Whom did you need to see?” He rocked her a little in his arms, troubled by the continued catch in her words and breaths.
“The lady who played with us.”
He thought a minute, trying to sort it out. The answer struck him quite suddenly. “Miss Sarvol?”
She made a noise of confirmation.
“Did you go looking for her alone?” he asked.
“Mama is with Papa because he is sad.”
Why was Layton sad? Harold shook off the question. Caroline’s situation needed addressing first.
“Do they know you went on this outing?”
“No.” The poor girl sounded so very miserable.
“Does your nursery maid?”
“No.”
Her absence had likely been noticed by now, and he would wager the household was frantic. “We had best go back to the Meadows, sweetie. They will all be very worried.”
“Please, Harry. I need to talk to the lady. I need to go see her.”
“I’m certain your mama would take you to see her.”
Caroline held more tightly to him. “Please. Please. I need to go.”
He could not countenance leaving Layton and Marion to worry over their daughter, but Caroline’s franticness was unmistakable. Something about seeing Sarah was of paramount importance to her, and she would likely run off again in an attempt to make the visit if he didn’t help her now.
“I am going to ask Mrs. Dalton to go to the Meadows to tell your mama and papa that you are spending the afternoon with your favorite uncle.”
She kept her arms around his neck but leaned back a little to look up at him. How long before she would be too grown for him to hold her this way?
“Am I your favorite niece?” she asked.
He smiled. “I have two nieces now, dear
.”
“I have seven uncles.”
Harold laughed. That quick wit was a Jonquil trait. The girl was her father’s daughter, for certain.
Harold held tight to her as he walked through the gate and up to the door of the vicarage. She tucked herself up against him once more, so trusting and affectionate.
Mrs. Dalton was in the kitchen when they stepped inside. “What’s this?” she asked, her gaze settling quickly on Caroline.
“Don’t tell her I broke the rules,” Caroline whispered.
He patted her back. “Would you be so good as to take word to Farland Meadows that Caroline is with me and that I will bring her home after we’ve had a little adventure together.”
Mrs. Dalton nodded. “If you’re to have an adventure, you’d best eat something first. I’ve made meat pies.”
“Meat pies? You’re a saint, Mrs. Dalton.” His stomach rumbled loudly, agreeing with his assessment.
“I know well your love of meat pies. If I ever needed to bribe you to do something, I’d bake dozens and dozens of them.”
“And I would accept.” Harold looked to his armful. “Would you like a pie, sweetie?”
She nodded. He set her on her feet, and she approached the worktable. Mrs. Dalton offered a reassuring smile and motioned to the tray of pies. “Wrap three in a napkin: one for yourself and two for your uncle.”
“Two?” Caroline’s eyes went wide.
“He loves meat pies, to the point I sometimes worry about him.”
Caroline’s lips twitched a little. “We could bring him meat pies at the church on Sundays. He would like that.”
Mrs. Dalton nodded solemnly. “He’d stand at the pulpit, eating, and forget all about us.”
“And I wouldn’t share,” Harold tossed in. “And your uncle Flip would cry because he loves meat pies too, but he wouldn’t have any, and I wouldn’t even feel sorry for him.”
Caroline giggled, then set earnestly to work selecting their traveling food.
Mrs. Dalton moved to Harold’s side. In a low voice, she said, “One of those meat pies was your lunch for tomorrow. The pantry’s a bit low on supplies.”
Harold nodded. They were always a bit low on foodstuffs. “We’ll think of something. We always do.”
“Soup again,” she said. “I can make that stretch.”
“I’m sorry you have to. If you worked for anyone else, you’d know some ease instead of this struggle.”
Mrs. Dalton looked a little offended. “I’ve a talent for this type of struggle. I’m good at it.”
“I know you are, and I am deeply grateful for you.”
She accepted the combined compliment and apology with a nod. “Is there anything else I ought to convey to Mr. Jonquil and Lady Marion?”
“Tell them Caroline is safe, and I will explain it all when I bring her home later today.”
She nodded firmly and left without further comment or delay. Mrs. Dalton could be depended on.
“Shall we take the pony cart?” Harold kept his tone light and excited. The Meadows was a good distance from the vicarage. Caroline had likely been wandering for quite some time and was, no doubt, worn thin.
She nodded. “We can eat our pies in the cart.”
“An excellent plan.”
It proved a little tricky to eat and direct the pony at the same time, but by keeping his pace slow, he managed it. They were well fed and whole when they arrived at Sarvol House.
His very simple pony cart looked rather out of place in front of the stately façade of the large house. The fact that feeding his little niece meant he himself would be hungry the next day only emphasized his lowered situation. He did his best to keep the state of his income and stability hidden. Humility was a virtue a vicar ought to embrace, but being humiliated seemed to him to take the experience a bit beyond the mark. Other clergymen managed to not starve on their small incomes; he would find a way as well.
He lifted Caroline to the ground, then took her little hand in his. The butler answered the door after a moment.
“Mr. Jonquil and Miss Jonquil for Miss Sarvol, please,” Harold said, supplying the butler with his card.
They waited in the entryway while their card was delivered.
“Papa sometimes sends a footman to the door with his card when we visit people,” Caroline said. “So does Flip. Why do they do that?”
“Because it is easier and more convenient,” he said. “But I do not have a footman, so I hand over the card myself and wait.”
“Oh.” She looked around the entryway, curious but quiet.
Harold hadn’t been inside Sarvol House in several years, and it had changed. The walls were a more garish color, the portraits far older than what had once hung there. He couldn’t help comparing it to the feel of the Lampton Park drawing room. That space was enormous and might easily feel cold and rejecting, but the soft palette and the inclusion of family items, chief among them the family portrait, made the space inviting, unlike this.
Long moments passed. Harold wasn’t certain why Sarah hadn’t responded yet. He had intentionally included Caroline in his request to see her, knowing she was more likely to be at home for his sweet little niece than for him.
Caroline was growing antsy beside him, her brow pulling in concern.
“Do not fret, sweetie,” he said. “I am certain Miss Sarvol will be delighted to see you if she is able.”
It was not the butler who returned, however, but the housekeeper. Odd.
“Forgive the delay,” she said. “Miss Sarvol does wish to see you both, but there is some difficulty in arranging for a place where she might do so.”
He had never heard of that particular impediment arising in this situation. “We certainly do not require the formality of the drawing room if it is unavailable. The sitting room or library or even the back terrace will be sufficient, I assure you.”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Mr. Sarvol does not permit her the use of—” She cut off her explanation, seeming to remember it was bad form for a servant to speak ill of the master of the house. “It is unusual, but would you be willing to be received in Miss Sarvol’s private sitting room? Having Miss Jonquil with you will address the intimacy of the setting. We could, of course, supply a maid to sit in the room if you prefer there be one.”
He shook his head. “I believe Miss Jonquil’s presence will be enough, provided the door is left open.”
The housekeeper looked immediately relieved. Clearly, Mr. Sarvol’s stinginess when it came to the use of public rooms did not meet with her approval. “This way, please.”
She led them into the large entry hall, then motioned to a doorway to the right. They followed her through it and into a dim, narrow stairwell. Why were they being brought to Sarah’s sitting room via the servants’ stairs?
At the top were only two doors, one of them ajar. The housekeeper stood beside it, a clear indication that it was their destination. Caroline’s grip on Harold’s hand grew tighter. This visit was important to her, but it also clearly made her nervous.
They stepped through the door and into the smallest sitting room Harold had ever seen in a grand house like this one. He would wager the housekeeper herself had a larger receiving area. The room held mismatched furniture serving a variety of functions, everything from a writing desk to a worktable to a small bookshelf. An unusual space.
Sarah stood in the middle of the room. Her welcoming gaze settled very quickly on Caroline. “I am so pleased you came to see me. I have only the one chair, though, so we will have to ask your uncle to stand during our visit.”
Both Sarah and Caroline looked to him. “I believe I am equal to the challenge,” he said with a dip of his head.
Sarah smiled. He’d always liked her smile.
“Caroline was most anxious to see you,” Harold said. “I do not know if
she would prefer to do so in private.” He looked to his niece, willing to step from the room while they spoke if that was her preference.
But she shook her head. “Don’t leave, please.”
“Of course not, poppet.”
Caroline took a breath and slipped her hand from his. With short, measured steps, she moved closer to where Sarah stood watching and waiting. The poor girl appeared to be shaking. What had her so very nervous?
“Would it help if we sat?” Sarah offered. “I can move the chair to the window, and you can sit on the sill.”
Caroline nodded silently. The adjustment was made. Harold lifted Caroline onto the sill. Sarah sat in the chair, facing her.
“Did you wish to simply talk, dear, or was there something in particular on your mind?” Sarah asked gently.
Caroline watched her, worry tugging at her features. Tears began to pool in her eyes.
Sarah glanced at Harold. All he could do was shrug. He hadn’t the first idea what was weighing so much on the little girl’s mind and heart.
Sarah took one of Caroline’s hands in hers. “You needn’t be afraid to ask me anything, sweetheart. And you can tell me whatever might be on your mind. If you want to simply sit here, that is fine as well. And you may do so anytime you wish.”
Caroline studied Sarah, an earnestness in her little face. She clearly wished to believe she could press forward with whatever she’d come to say. Sarah, however, was not well-known to her.
Harold slipped beside Caroline and set his arm lightly about her shoulders. They were both facing Sarah now. “You can trust Miss Sarvol, Caroline. I give you my word.”
Caroline took a deep breath. She swallowed audibly. “Are you—?” Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper.
Harold gave her a quick squeeze.
“Are you my mother?” Caroline asked.
Of all the things she might have asked, that had never occurred to Harold. Caroline’s mother had died when she was an infant. He was certain Caroline knew as much.
“Your mother?” Sarah repeated gently.
Caroline pulled a miniature from the pocket of her blue spencer, one slightly too big for her little hands. She showed it to Harold. “Papa said this is my mother. And it’s her.” She motioned to Sarah.
The Heart of a Vicar Page 12
