Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  Susan Rogers, Maggie’s daughter and a woman he’d known since she’d been in short dresses and braids, broke away from the crowd, strolling over to join him. She sent him a cheeky grin. “And if the thought of compensating us is bothering you, rest assured there’s no need for you to trouble yourself about that. You’ve made purchases from almost every shop owner in town, buying lovely cuts of beef to serve tomorrow, as well as purchasing buckets and buckets of paint to get the house looking grand again.” She turned and nodded to a young woman Ian hadn’t noticed before, who was standing with Violet and Primrose, holding their hands.

  “You’re also now responsible for the wage my cousin, Miss Olive Perkins, is earning. Izzie hired her to look after the children while she’s been busy seeing to other matters on the farm.”

  “Izzie hired Miss Perkins to look after the children?”

  Susan nodded. “She did, but . . .” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “There’s no need for that panic in your eyes. Contrary to your belief, there’s not one eligible young lady in town who wants to take your name and all the social nastiness that will apparently come with it.” She grinned. “That means you can stop fretting that all of us are out to attract your notice. We’re not, although do take comfort in knowing we still find you charming—as well as handsome, of course.”

  Having no idea what to say to that, even as he felt a little unbalanced finding out that what he’d held to be true for so long seemed nothing of the sort, Ian managed to summon up a smile, right as Aunt Birdie gave his arm a squeeze.

  “I should probably mention that you’re now paying Olive a somewhat generous salary, although not as generous as what Izzie was originally going to offer her.” Aunt Birdie’s eyes began twinkling. “Bless her heart, Izzie thought offering Olive ten dollars a day might be taken as insulting until I stepped in and told her that most governesses expect a mere twenty-five dollars a month. I almost had to scrape Izzie off the floor, she was so taken aback. That’s why I then decided you’d be fine with paying Olive thirty dollars a month, while having two full days off a week.”

  Not having the heart to tell his aunt that was a rather steep wage to pay Olive, Ian opened his mouth to ask where Izzie was, unable to deny that he was somewhat disappointed she’d not rushed out to welcome him home yet. His question got lost, though, when Daisy suddenly came barreling out of the house, Henry by her side. She stopped on the porch, caught sight of him, then was running as fast as her little legs would carry her, holding up her arms and then jumping right into his when she reached him.

  She completely stole his heart again when she planted a wet kiss on his cheek, rearing back a second later to beam at him. “Missed you.”

  Placing a kiss on Daisy’s cheek, he smiled. “I missed you too.”

  “Look, new frock,” she said, pointing to the frock in question. “Daisies on it.”

  “It does have daisies on it, and you look quite beautiful in it, and . . .” He looked her over. “You’re clean.”

  As Daisy nodded, Ian turned to Aunt Birdie. “I think Miss Perkins is going to be worth every bit of that thirty dollars since she seems to have achieved what I thought was going to be impossible—getting the children in the bath.”

  “Izzie got them into the bath,” Aunt Birdie corrected. “She used the lure of shopping as a wonderful incentive. Amos then whittled the children some small boats to be used in the bath, and they’ve not given us a lick of trouble when bath time rolls around. In fact, they’ve been asking for a bath every night, even though Izzie told them bathing twice a week would suffice.”

  “It’s a dog!” Henry suddenly yelled, racing past him with a “Hello, Ian,” before he was greeted by Sparky. Sparky began yipping and wagging his tail, and if Ian wasn’t mistaken, it was love at first sight for both of them.

  “Boys do need a dog.” Aunt Birdie sent a fond smile Henry’s way before she looked back at Ian. “I’m anxious to learn how you found him, but that tale will need to wait for just a bit. We’re currently in the process of cleaning out the sitting room so we can paint it.”

  “I’d be more than happy to help,” Ian said, setting Daisy down. She immediately raced off to join her brother and Sparky.

  “I assumed as much, dear, although we’ve been very fortunate to have the support of everyone in town since you’ve been gone.” Her smile suddenly faded as her lips thinned. “But I suppose I should rephrase that and say almost everyone in town. Hank’s apparently been telling some large fibs of late. He actually told everyone that I didn’t want company out here at Glory Manor, which was ridiculous and has me questioning what his motive could have been for spreading such a lie.”

  Ian took Aunt Birdie’s hand. “As I told Uncle Amos, after the mysterious disappearance of Sparky, I have some suspicions about what might be happening at Glory Manor too. But before I get into that . . .” He turned his attention to Mr. John Gillespie, Anna’s husband, who was only now joining the crowd, wiping a paintbrush with an old rag. “I want to thank you, John, as well as all the other men who’ve been seeing after the farm.”

  John waved that aside. “You would have done the same for any of us. We didn’t give coming out here a second thought after we learned all the animals had gone missing and then learned there’d been other suspicious happenings out here. There’s no need for you to feel as if any of us have been doing something remarkable. You’re a neighbor. Neighbors are simply helped when they’re in need.”

  Just like that, everything Ian thought he knew about the world shifted. He’d been so determined to become accepted into the highest levels of Pittsburgh society and business that he’d neglected to realize what was truly important.

  Family was important, as well as friends, and these people from Canonsburg had proven without a doubt that they were true friends to Glory Manor.

  He highly doubted most of his friends in Pittsburgh would have gone out of their way to protect an elderly couple, four children, and an unusual housekeeper simply because there was an assumed threat to them. No, his friends in Pittsburgh would have needed clear proof that something was amiss, and then there was every chance they’d only go so far as to hire men to watch over the farm, unwilling to put themselves out and personally do the job.

  He nodded to John. “You’re right, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for your help.”

  John smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, but don’t think we’re done helping just yet. The ladies have decided we’re painting every room inside, which we’re just getting around to today, now that we have more hands to help with the painting since most of the animals that went missing have been recovered.”

  With all the chaos his arrival had caused, Ian had forgotten all about the missing animals. “You say most of them have been recovered?”

  “All but Mavis,” Aunt Birdie said. “She’s still out there somewhere, which is where Izzie is, if you’ve been wondering. She’s been very successful with finding the missing animals. Seems to have a knack for locating them.”

  Ian frowned. “Is she out there on her own?”

  “She’s on Clyde, and she’s got Buttercup, as well as Amos’s rifle.”

  His eyes widened. “She’s out there with nothing but a horse, a cow, and a rifle with no bullets?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Aunt Birdie turned a fond smile on Uncle Amos, who was showing Henry and Daisy how Sparky liked to fetch sticks. “Amos knew exactly where I’d hidden the bullets.”

  “And you thought it wise to provide a woman who’d gotten herself stuck in the wringer of a washing machine with a rifle and bullets?”

  Aunt Birdie waved that aside. “Since Izzie was more than forthcoming about her less-than-proficient housekeeping skills, I had no reason to doubt her when she told me she knew how to handle a rifle.”

  “But who taught her how to shoot?”

  “That’s something you’ll need to ask Izzie, although I would suggest you ask her other questions as well, such as why she t
ook a housekeeper position, or . . . well, I could go on and on. You’re a bright boy. You’ll figure out what needs to be asked.”

  “Is there something—or somethings—you’re not telling me?”

  “Of course, but since I’m not at liberty to disclose the conversations I’ve had with Izzie, it’ll be up to you to discover more about her, including who taught her to shoot.” She patted his cheek. “She told me she was going to head toward Glory Gully. Buttercup’s been leading her in that direction over the past few days, which has Izzie convinced that’s where Mavis will eventually be found.”

  “Buttercup’s been leading the search for the animals?”

  “Surprisingly enough, she’s a very good tracker, but perhaps you should have Sparky go with you. I imagine he’ll be able to find Buttercup and Clyde if you ask him to.” With that, Aunt Birdie patted his cheek again, nudged him in the direction of his horse, and began walking for the house.

  Whistling for Sparky, Ian swung into the saddle and turned Rumor toward Glory Gully, anticipation flowing through him at the thought of seeing Izzie, a woman he was quickly realizing was far more than she seemed.

  Chapter 24

  “I completely understand why you’re in a bit of a snit, Mavis, having been undiscovered for the past few days,” Isadora began, waving an apple chunk Mavis’s way in a desperate attempt to get the cow moving. “But you’ve really no one to blame but yourself for that troubling situation. I’ve been scouring Glory Manor for what feels like months looking for you. How was I to know you’d be agile enough to get yourself down here?” She gestured to the gorge they were in.

  Mavis turned and lowered her head, resuming what she’d been doing when Isadora had finally located the last missing cow—eating dandelions.

  Isadora blew out a breath and stuck her hand into the pocket of the trousers she’d borrowed from Uncle Amos, finding them far more practical when searching for missing livestock than any of the ill-fitting skirts Mr. Godkin had packed for her. Fishing out the list of suggestions Uncle Amos had given her to coerce what he’d admitted was their most ornery cow, she looked it over, shaking her head when she got to the one suggestion she’d yet to put into play.

  “Just remember, it is your fault that I have to resort to singing to get you to move.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, and relieved that at least there was only a horse and a cow watching her—well, two cows, since Buttercup stood at the top of the gorge—Isadora began belting out the first song that came to her: “A Rollicking Band of Pirates We” from The Pirates of Penzance.

  A flock of birds suddenly burst out of a tree, causing her to jump. Her singing, or what she passed for singing, was evidently so horrible that they’d decided to abandon their cozy tree and find comfort elsewhere.

  When her voice began to wobble over a particularly difficult note, she stopped singing, disappointment flowing through her when she realized the cow hadn’t budged so much as a single inch.

  “That’s an interesting approach to get Mavis to cooperate.”

  Swinging around, Isadora found Ian making his way into the gorge, having nowhere near the difficulty she’d had with the steep incline. For a moment, she simply savored the sight of him.

  He was dressed in business attire, complete with dark jacket, waistcoat, dark trousers, and a necktie, although the necktie was untied and merely dangling from either side of his neck. His hat was missing, which allowed her to appreciate the many burnished shades of his brown hair, and . . .

  She shook herself when she realized she had no business savoring the sight of her employer, even if he was the most attractive and . . .

  “What was that you were singing?” Ian asked, making it to the bottom of the gorge and striding her way, which reminded her that now was not exactly the moment to descend into a state of savoring.

  “You weren’t listening to me long, were you?”

  Ian flashed a grin, that grin having immediate thoughts of savoring popping back to mind again.

  “I think I heard you from the moment you began.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would have been difficult for me not to hear such dulcet tones or miss the birds flying rapidly out of the gully.”

  She frowned. “I thought this was a gorge.”

  “Gully, gorge, they’re rather similar, but you’re currently standing in Glory Gully, named by me when I was eight years old. I used to come here often as a boy, spending hours wading through that stream over there, looking for fish, turtles, and salamanders.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a salamander.”

  “You haven’t really lived until you’ve held a salamander, although they are somewhat slimy.”

  She arched a brow. “Do you think I’m the type to turn squeamish over a little matter of sliminess?”

  “Before I left for Pittsburgh, I would have said yes. But now . . .” He considered her for a long moment. “I’m not so certain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ian shrugged. “I was only expecting you to be capable of keeping Glory Manor standing, but you’ve evidently done so much more—and impressed me in the process.”

  Her cheeks began to heat, that situation not helped when Ian stepped closer to her.

  “What are you wearing, and . . .” He gestured to her hair. “Who did your hair, and . . . where are your spectacles?”

  Having completely forgotten that she’d abandoned her spectacles in her pocket after they’d begun annoying her and after she’d gotten far enough away from the farmhouse that she felt safe abandoning her disguise, Isadora retrieved her spectacles from her pocket. She winced when she noticed the frames were rather bent—probably because she’d sat on them at some point. Knowing they’d hardly fit properly until she could straighten them out again, she returned them to her pocket and summoned up a smile. “Did I ever mention to you that I don’t always need glasses?”

  “Because your eyesight occasionally improves on its own?”

  “Exactly,” she said, pretending she didn’t see Ian send her an honest-to-goodness rolling of his eyes. “As for what I’m wearing,” she continued, hoping she could successfully distract him from the questions he would most assuredly ask her about her eyesight, “these pants are a loan from Uncle Amos.” She gave a flourish of a hand to the trousers. “We’re of a like size, and I must say, there’s something to this trouser business. They’re far more comfortable than I imagined, and I now understand why my friend Beatrix enjoys donning them every now and again when she’s . . . well, there’s no need to bore you with the antics of my friend,” Isadora hurried to finish, calling herself every sort of ridiculous for allowing herself to slip and mention Beatrix in front of Ian. “As for my hair, Miss Perkins is amazing when it comes to braiding, and she’s been teaching Primrose different techniques. Primrose insisted on practicing on me this morning after breakfast.” She gave the two braids hanging over her shoulders a tug. “What do you think?”

  “It’s becoming, although you look about fifteen years old,” Ian said before he turned to Mavis. “Should I assume she wasn’t moved enough by your spirited rendition of whatever that was you were singing to turn cooperative?”

  “I’m afraid not, but just so you know, I was only singing because Uncle Amos wrote down that I might have to resort to singing if none of his other suggestions worked.”

  “I would have thought your serenading would have done the trick of getting her on her way, if only to put some distance between her and your . . .” Ian stopped talking and winced.

  “Were you just about to say my awful singing?”

  “Of course not. You have . . . a most unusual voice, but tell me this, what were you attempting to sing?”

  “Are you familiar with The Pirates of Penzance?”

  “I am, and should I assume you were singing one of the songs from that play?”

  “You couldn’t tell it was ‘A Rollicking Band of Pirates We’?”

  “Perhaps you should sing it again. I was quite
a distance away, and I’m sure that’s why I couldn’t tell what song it was.”

  She didn’t bother to correct her slumping shoulders. “You don’t need to humor me. I know I’m a horrible singer.”

  “But you apparently know how to paint,” Ian said, his words reminding her that he really was a charming sort. “Aunt Birdie told me about the flowers you wanted to paint on the outside of the house, and while she didn’t want you to paint those there, she’s offered you the walls in the sitting room. That must mean you’re very good at painting flowers.”

  Her shoulders slumped another inch. “I’m rubbish at painting. Aunt Birdie was merely being kind.”

  Ian moved to stand beside Mavis, giving the cow a pat, one Mavis ignored as she continued eating dandelions. “Aunt Birdie told me you said you’re good at shooting a rifle.”

  “I am, but that’s not exactly a talent expected of a lady, and one I’ve never admitted to having, especially not within earshot of my mother.”

  “Who taught you how to shoot?”

  Isadora wrinkled her nose. “By the overly innocent tone your voice has taken, may I assume you’ve been talking further with Aunt Birdie?”

  He smiled. “I have, but she, being a loyal sort, didn’t disclose much about you, other than to suggest I ask you some questions.”

  “That was certain to leave you curious about me and annoyingly shrewd on her part.” A sigh escaped her. “What questions did she suggest you ask me?”

  “Who taught you to shoot and why you need a housekeeping position. I have to admit, though, that the question I want to ask you most is this—was there ever a Mr. Delmont?”

  She refused to allow her shoulders to slip so much as another inch. “As I told Aunt Birdie, I’m not good with subterfuge, nor am I comfortable lying to you since you were kind enough to allow me to stay at Glory Manor.” She drew in a breath and forced the next words out of her mouth. “I’ve never been married. I simply assumed the title of missus so that I wouldn’t immediately be shown the door while trying to secure a position of employment.”