by Maria Grace
Mrs. Johnstone cleared her throat and gestured toward the stairs. “Pray, allow me to show you upstairs and give you a few minutes of peace before dinner when our little band of miscreants—”
“Mother, please!”
She snorted. “Young men? Is that more satisfactory? Before they pour in, expecting to be fed and cared for.”
Mary glanced through the window—her carriage had not yet left.
“You handled them so brilliantly upon your first meeting, Miss Bennet. I know you will have them well in hand in only a few days. I so desperately need the help. I know it is a great deal to ask of you, but it is only until my daughter arrives. I would not trouble you except that I have no one else I can call upon.” She sighed and everything that might resemble pretense seemed to fall away to reveal a nugget of true distress. “I have no way to repay you except for my deepest thanks for your favor.”
Tempting though it was to call for the carriage, it was even more difficult to turn her back on a soul who truly needed assistance. And there was the matter of the children who would probably suffer without her help as well. The littlest one seemed a dear child.
She sighed, but only a little. “At what time do you serve dinner?”
Was she imagining things, or was that a smile creeping up Mr. Johnstone’s lips?
Chapter 6
Shortly after sunrise, the children in the rooms above Mary’s began to stir. No sound came from the room beside hers, Mrs. Johnstone’s chamber. The matron had a fretful night, with sounds of nightmares and walking the creaky floor filtering through the walls the majority of the nighttime hours. The sighs and groans that accompanied her steps were hardly affectations—Longbourn had taught her what those sounded like. No, Mrs. Johnstone was experiencing something disturbingly real.
Perhaps she suffered with some kind of digestive complaint. It was difficult to tell from the sounds alone, but there might be some way to improve the old woman’s comfort. For now though, it would be best to let her sleep.
Mary dressed quickly and made her way upstairs. A maid paced the halls, as if trying to work up the courage to enter the children’s rooms. Silly child—but in truth the maid was little more than a child herself, only two, maybe three years older than the oldest of the students. No wonder she was apprehensive.
“Where is Mr. Johnstone?” Mary asked.
The maid wrung her hands in her apron. “He was called away early this morning. It seems there was some emergency—the parish is fond of him, you see. They call on him at all hours with all manner of complaints. Sometimes it is most unnecessary, I think. But today I understand someone was close to dying, and he was wanted very much.”
“I see.” Well, that would complicate matters quite nicely, now, would it not?
The reason for his absence made it difficult to object. In truth, it was admirable that he was the sort of vicar people counted upon in trouble. There were not many like that, really. Certainly, Mr. Collins was not that type of man. Somehow it was reassuring Mr. Johnstone was.
Still though, if this sort of thing were apt to happen, he really should have some manner of plan in place to deal with it and not leave things to fall as they would. No wonder Mrs. Johnstone needed help. “What do the boys usually do in the morning?”
The girl scuffed her foot along the carpet. “I cannot be entirely sure, Miss, but I think he takes them into the schoolroom for some kind of reading or lesson before breakfast.”
Well, that would not work. Without knowing specifically their planned lessons, she dared not try to take teaching them upon herself. Asking the boys about their lessons was to invite them to play tricks upon her which no one should have to deal with upon first rising in the morning. Not to mention, it would give them the upper hand, and it was far too early in their relationship to risk that happening.
Mary brushed her hands together and straightened her apron. “Help me get them dressed, then inform the cook I shall have them back at ten o’clock for breakfast. If Mrs. Johnstone should wake while I am out, tell her I have them well in hand and she need only appear below stairs if that is her preference. I would suggest she have a tray in her room this morning and rest as much as she can instead.”
The young maid, wide-eyed and a little awestruck, curtsied. “Yes, miss.”
Was a small demonstration of decisiveness and action really so worthy of admiration? The thought was a bit unsettling.
“Now for the youngsters.” Mary rapped on the door to the first of the rooms and swung it open. Good, it was the three older lads. “Up, up, up. You are to be dressed and waiting for me outside the kitchen in a quarter hour. No time to waste!”
The boys’ beds took up almost all the floor space in the awkward little chamber. A crooked press stood near the window, several drawers half open. Several shirts lay on the floor among the socks and shoes. Tidiness needed to be on her teaching plan if not Mr. Johnstone’s.
“What about our lessons?” Ah yes, her dear little challenger, he would find something to balk at, even if it meant demanding lessons when there were none. Dear young man. “Mr. Johnstone has been called away, so I am taking you out for the morning.”
He snorted a disrespectful little sound—the sort of sound that required immediate and unforgettable attention.
“Very well, if you do not wish to join us, you do not have to. I will have the man meet you outside, and you will chop wood this morning.” She kept her voice pleasant and level.
He pulled himself upright, as dignified as one might be in only a nightshirt. “Excuse me! I am a gentleman’s son. I do not do chores.”
The other two boys tittered behind their hands.
“Then your father has been sorely lax in his duty to you. No gentlemen should be unable to do a task that he requires of another. Are you saying you are too weak to wield an ax?”
“I am not too weak to do anything.” He stamped his bare foot for emphasis.
“Excellent. Then you will be chopping firewood this morning until breakfast.”
“Excuse me, miss. What shall the rest of us be doing?” The brown-haired, brown-eyed boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“We shall be walking the grounds and examining the flora and fauna we find. Now get yourselves ready.” She nodded sharply and closed the door behind her.
The younger boys were less talkative but more in need of assistance getting dressed. Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before she and the maid gathered them up and led them outside the kitchen. The air was still cool and dewy in the shadow of the cottage, ideal conditions for a brisk morning walk. They whispered among themselves, reveling in the novelty of the situation.
Mary chewed her lip. Hopefully, she was making the right choices.
The older boys tumbled out from the kitchen door, with just enough pushing and shoving to demonstrate their energies as the longcase clock struck the quarter hour.
The maid rushed to fetch the man who soon ambled along behind her. The gap-toothed grin he tried to hide suggested that particular young man had been a thorn in his side before.
Mary pointed to the oldest boy. “Charles.”
“Mr. Mullen.” He stuck out his chest.
Now was not the time to roll her eyes.
The younger boys snickered. “We call him Charlie.”
He turned on them with a snarl. “She may call me Mr. Mullen.”
“No, if anything you are master, not mister, and even that you have not earned.” She balanced her hands on her hips.
A gasp washed across her audience.
His lip curled back, and he pointed at the young maid. “She calls me—”
“Do not think you are above me, for you are not. My father is master of his own estate. If you wish to be called Master Mullen, you will earn the privilege by behaving like a gentleman which I have yet to observe.” She turned to the man. “Take Charlie to the wood pile and have him chop firewood until breakfast.”
“I am no servant. I will not.” He folded hi
s arms over his chest and stomped both feet.
She strode toward him with slow measured steps and stopped a foot from him. “You will do what you are told. You will chop wood. The only question is whether you will do it without being caned.”
Behind her, the boys gasped.
“You would not dare. You cannot. You are a woman.” His voice was full of bravado, but one eye twitched.
“What has that to do with anything? I have been given charge of you. That is all that need concern you.” She smiled with just the corner of her lips—an expression not intended to express pleasure.
“You would not dare. I am bigger than you.” Charlie rose to tiptoes to prove the fact.
Mary glanced at the man servant. “I am sure he would be willing to assist me.”
“Indeed I am, miss. He’s been asking for it for a week full. It’d be my pleasure.” He bounced his fist off his other palm, the slapping sounds a touch menacing.
“I shall give you one last chance to choose. Would you prefer to chop wood with or without the cane?”
Charlie snorted and stomped and muttered something that sounded like “without” under his breath. The man grabbed him by the arm and half-led, half-dragged him toward the woodpile.
“Did you really mean it, miss?” The older, brown-haired boy’s eyes were wide, maybe even a little frightened.
She crouched to his eye level. “I always say what I mean and mean what I say. Do not ever mistake that. I would like to avoid such a to-do again. But do not ever try me. You will find it is a very bad idea.”
He gulped and nodded. “My name is Thomas and that—” he pointed to the little blond, freckled boy, “is my brother Nate.”
The rest crowded around her and introduced themselves again: David, Richard, and Alexander—all as polite and gentlemanly as they could muster. They had done so at dinner last night, but perhaps this whole incident had driven that from their minds. No need to remind them of that. They were motivated to good behavior now, and it should be rewarded.
“Excellent. Now that we all know each other, we shall begin our walk.” She dismissed the maid and led the boys toward the fields.
Without Charles, the group’s demeanor seemed to change. They were pleasant, curious, and energetic, tumbling over each other with questions about everything they saw around them in the fields and woods. Many of those inquiries she could answer, but some she promised they would look up later in the day in the books from Mr. Johnstone’s library.
Hopefully he had the necessary books, otherwise—well, she would sort that matter out then.
“Look! I see Mr. Johnstone.” David’s red hair bounced as he pointed to a tall figure striding up the road.
All the children ran for him, talking over each other trying to be the first to tell him the wonder of what had happened that morning. He stopped, marshalled them into a semblance of order, and heard the story out. Mary stood at a distance, listening and watching his reactions.
When the boys had finished, Mr. Johnstone instructed them to gather all the different leaves they could find. They would work on identifying them during their lessons after breakfast. At his dismissal, they dashed off like a pack of puppies turned loose in a field. Finally, Mr. Johnstone approached her, an odd question on his face.
Mary looked past him, not at him. “Your mother had a restless and difficult night last night. I wanted to let her rest this morning.”
He nodded, chewing his lower lip. “The local apothecary has been unable to offer her any relief. I am working to have a surgeon see her.”
“Have you a copy of Buchan’s Domestic Medicine? I might be able to find some help for her there.”
He looked aside. “I inherited the library from an uncle not very long ago. I am rather embarrassed to say, I do not know the extent of it. But consider yourself welcome to any of it you wish to use.”
“And catalogue it in the process, I expect?” She cocked her head.
His eyebrows drew together. “I would not think to impose upon you so. The fact you are here and already a great help to my mother is more than I can thank you for.”
Her cheeks burned as she ducked her face away.
“Forgive me.” He gestured for them to walk. It would not be wise to linger too long out here and not be at the vicarage when the boys returned. “It was brutish of me to forget my mother had invited you to visit with us. I can only imagine how it must have appeared to you yesterday.” He scuffed his toes into the dirt as he walked.
“I have been met with more conventional greetings, I must say.” She scanned the horizon for the children—it was far easier than looking at him.
He laughed, that deep warm laugh, the one she had been sorely missing. “You are incredibly gracious, Miss Bennet. Here I deserve a sound tongue lashing, and yet you only hint at the severity of my transgression.”
“Sometimes it is best to leave as much as possible to the imagination.” She sneaked a tiny glance at him.
“It is an interesting strategy.” He stepped a little closer to her so their shoulders almost touched as they walked. “The boys seem impressed by the way you have managed Charlie.”
“There is a great deal yet to be seen.” She shook her head and chewed the inside of her cheek. “I have found it is best in these cases to quickly establish oneself in charge. My aunt has several sons. One fancies himself the master of the house, second only to his father. It requires a strong hand to manage him.”
“It would seem you have learned the lesson well.”
“That sort of victory is not won in a single day. I have no doubt young Charles will continue to challenge me for some time to come.”
“No doubt. Still though, my mother has truly been at her wits end with him. He is the one who drove her to write to you—I was not comfortable imposing upon you so, but she was so desperate and so certain you would be able to come and make things right. I do not know how to thank you. It was no small thing to ask of you.” He caught her gaze so powerfully she could not turn away.
Had anyone ever said such a thing to her—especially when so deeply felt? It was strange and rather wonderful if she allowed herself to dwell on it. Perhaps she should not. It seemed ephemeral and a little dangerous.
“Would you tell me more about the boys and about your school day and plans for instruction? I think I will be better able to help you if I know more about what you are doing.”
“Yes, of course, that is wise.” He smiled that gentle approving smile he had and offered her his arm.
Yes, the decision she had made to stay had been a good one.
A fortnight flew past with the household falling into an easy rhythm that emerged out of the initial disarray. It had felt forward to intrude so, but both Johnstones seemed to want—at times even relished—her advice. While they did not take every one of her suggestions—that would have been uncomfortable in and of itself—they did listen and implement the recommendations she felt most strongly about.
In even this short time, the boys seemed calmer, for lack of a better way to describe it. They maintained all the boyish energy children of their age were apt to have, but it felt better focused and more manageable. And when it was not, well, the wood rack outside was well-filled now.
Thankfully, they had never driven her to the point of using a cane. The boys would face enough of that sort of thing when they entered public school. Was it really necessary to begin now? Could she bring herself to do that if pushed to it? Hopefully they would not drive her to the point when they would all find out.
After breakfast, Mr. Johnstone took his scholars to the schoolroom and Mary and Mrs. Johnstone sat in the morning room over tea and toast, going over the menus and market list for the coming week. Feeding so many ravenous boys required more careful planning than meals at Longbourn ever had. Heavens, it was difficult to believe how much they could eat and still claim to be hungry! A good, solid pudding and plenty of potatoes were indispensable at every meal. Thankfully, the budget provided eno
ugh—barely enough—to accomplish their goals.
The maid almost tripped as she dashed into the morning room, breathless and perturbed.
“Madam?” She curtsied through her stumble. “Were you expecting callers this morning?”
“No, did they give you a card?” Mrs. Johnstone handed her list to Mary.
“No, they said their boy is here. Mullen was their name.”
“Oh, gracious, the Mullens! They had written to us and said they would be calling, but I am entirely certain they did not give a date!” Mrs. Johnstone jumped to her feet.
Mary’s heart thundered against her ribs. If Charles gave his parents a bad report, how might that reflect upon the school and the Johnstones?
“They wish to see their boy. Immediately, they said. They do not appear to be the kind who will be very patient.” The maid wrung her hands in her apron.
“Show them to the parlor, and I will get the child.” Mrs. Johnstone glanced at Mary. “I will manage this. You need not worry about greeting company.” The statement sounded more like an order than a suggestion. She hurried off after the maid.
Pretty sunshine and a delicate, fresh breeze did nothing to suit the ominous mood that descended with Mrs. Johnstone’s departure. Mary rose and paced between the table and window, dodging the fluttering curtains. The room was only large enough to permit a few steps before she had to turn around and go in the other direction—hardly a satisfying way to work off her nervous energies.
What sort of parents were these, coming all the way to see their child so soon after school had started? That alone was odd. Unless there were illness or some other calamity to befall the establishment, the expense and inconvenience would make visiting inopportune at the least.
Charles was a handful, to be sure, but he did not seem a spiteful child. Still, if he should see the means by which to gain the upper-hand in the matter, he would probably not be slow on seizing it. What kind of trouble could he cause for the entire establishment? If his parents knew the other students’ parents, he could poison them all with a few well-chosen words.
