by L G Rollins
“—blessed to hear her,” he finished.
Quick as that, the whole room stood and began rearranging the furniture. Apparently setting up the room to look like a grand theater was nothing new to them. Every chair, sofa, and seat was made to face one direction. Everyone, except the chair the Duke of Pembroke had yet to leave.
In the commotion, Martha slipped over toward him.
“Will you join us?” she asked.
He didn’t look up from his book, yet his brow dropped all the same.
She moved up closer. “Come now, they are your guests. You shouldn’t ignore them so.”
His gaze flicked to her but immediately returned to his book.
Martha folded her arms. “What would your mother say—”
A female laugh, shrill and unkind, floated to Martha, breaking into her one-sided conversation.
Lady Wilmington flitted over toward her. “Now it’s clear you two are of a very short acquaintance,” she said with a harsh giggle. “Even I know the duke does not care to be spoken to.” Her words turned harder. “Did your governess ever teach you not to speak until you’re spoken to? Or was your father too poor to even afford one?” She took hold of Martha’s arm and began tugging her away. “Please allow me to take care of this interruption for you, Your Grace.”
Martha resisted, but only for a minute. Her fire seemed to quickly die out. After only a moment, she fell into step with Lady Wilmington. She even fought the urge to look back at the duke.
Apparently, everyone else in the room was correct. The Duke of Pembroke was not the man she’d assumed him to be. She’d known he was quiet and often chose silence—hence the moniker. But she’d never thought he would be so reticent, so distant, among his oldest friends. He certainly hadn’t been like that with her. Then again, was it not presumptuous to believe she did know him? She, who was little more than a maid?
Martha moved up beside Lady Fitzroy who gave her a sincere smile as she sat. Martha did her best to return the sentiment, but it was difficult; feeling more than a little abandoned among strangers, her heart was too anxious to feel anything close to joy.
Chapter Thirteen
“Doctor Lock has arrived, miss,” a maid said softly.
Martha quickly stood, but no one in the room full of guests seemed to notice her as she slipped out. Martha shut the door softly behind her, blocking out the sounds of enthusiastic chatter and one of the ladies playing the pianoforte.
Even hurrying up the stairs, she tried to keep her nerves calm. Oh, how she prayed Tim would be all right. Surely, now that he was in a warm house with plenty to eat, he would recover. The door to Tim’s room was slightly ajar when she approached.
Doctor Lock’s deep voice floated out of the room. “And how are you today, my boy?”
Apparently, the doctor had only just arrived. Martha paused for a moment to catch her breath. She had taken the stairs rather more quickly than she should have. She smoothed the front of her dress and then entered.
Doctor Lock gave her a quick nod in greeting and immediately returned to speaking with Tim. “Did you sleep well?”
Tim’s eyes flitted opened for a moment but closed again immediately. “Yes, sir.”
Doctor Lock glanced toward Martha. “Did he, truly?”
“I was with him the first half of the night, and he slept quite well then. Grandfather took watch the second half.” She looked about, but Grandfather wasn’t present. Had he left long ago? Or only after the doctor had arrived? No doubt, he was exhausted and possibly hungry. Still, the thought of him leaving Tim alone made her stomach twist.
Doctor Lock fell silent as he felt Tim’s forehead and checked first one eye and then the other. Martha sank into the large chair beside the bed. Waiting was always so hard, but she knew better than to distract the doctor while he worked. At least the man hadn’t insisted she leave the room or insinuate that she, as a woman, was too ill-suited to understand the situation or offer help.
After several minutes, Doctor Lock stood up straight. He patted Tim softly on the shoulder. “You’re strong, boy. Focus on getting well, and you’ll be just fine.”
What a relief to hear. Martha stood as well and followed Doctor Lock out of the room.
When he turned to face her, there were worry lines about his eyes, and his mouth was pulled tight.
Martha’s stomach sank. “He will be all right, won’t he, doctor?”
Doctor Lock slowly shook his head. “It’s too early to tell. He’s young, and were he any other boy, I would say the chances of him making a full recovery are very good. However . . .”
Tim wasn’t any other boy. He’d been born crippled and fever-prone. He hadn’t gotten seriously ill in over three years, but when he’d been a baby there had been many times her parents had worried he wouldn’t make it through the night. Martha’s mother hadn’t wanted her to worry; she’d never expressly told Martha how sick Tim was. But Martha hadn’t been as ignorant as her mother had perhaps hoped.
“He’s pulled through bad times before,” Martha said. Was she trying to convince Doctor Lock, or simply reassure herself?
Both. Certainly both.
Doctor Lock’s expression didn’t ease. “That he has. And I’m not saying there isn’t hope for him this time. But he was very cold for a very long time the night he was lost. This fever has taken hold far more strongly than many he’s faced in the past.”
Martha’s throat grew thick, and she found she could only nod.
Doctor Lock patted her arm much as he had Tim’s shoulder. When he’d done so before, Martha had passed it off as an expression of confidence that all would turn out well. Now, she wondered if it wasn’t more of an expression of pity.
“I will go speak with His Grace,” Doctor Lock said, taking a step away, “and then I must check in at the vicarage.”
Gracious. The vicarage. The church house. She had failed to do her cleaning that morning. Oh, no. Mrs. Gale had made it quite clear if she ever skipped a morning or even showed up late again, she would be let go.
“After that,” Doctor Lock continued, “I expect to be at home the rest of the day should I be needed.”
“Yes, thank you, sir.” Martha did her best not to allow her sudden panic to show through. This wasn’t a matter she cared for the doctor, good though he was, to know of.
What was she to do now? Mrs. Gale had no doubt already decided to let her go. Could she persuade the woman otherwise? Perhaps if she went over there right now? As soon as she could find Grandfather and ask him to sit with Tim until she returned, that is.
Martha was alone in the hallway. Heavens, she had completely missed Doctor Lock taking his leave. Well, if he had noticed her distraction, he probably believed it was due to Tim’s illness. Martha bit down on her bottom lip; did she dare leave Tim, even with Grandfather? Doctor Lock didn’t seem to think he was going to slip away soon. Surely she could get to the church house, beg for another chance, and get back before anything happened.
She would have to chance it. His Grace was proving very benevolent in allowing them to stay. But for how long? They had not discussed a longterm arrangement. And with the way he had treated his guests earlier, she couldn’t be certain how quickly he would grow weary of their presence. Eventually, Martha and her little family would have to return to their cold rented rooms and small meals. When that time came, she needed to know she could count on a little extra coin from the vicar.
It didn’t take long to find Grandfather. He’d only gone to his own bedchamber to lie down for a bit. When Martha explained what she needed to do, he quickly agreed to return to Tim’s room.
Not twenty minutes after Doctor Lock had left, Martha donned her pelisse and walked out of Stonewell Castle. The sun was bright today, but it did little to warm her. Blessedly, the walk to the church house was not long.
Martha hurried up to the church house door and pulled it open. She moved from one room to the next and found Mrs. Gale in a small, dark room. The stern old woman
didn’t look around as Martha walked in but continued to dust a bookshelf full of what looked like ancient tomes. Probably church records.
There was a brief moment of silence. Martha nervously fingered her skirt. How did one beg for a second chance at a job? She wasn’t at all sure. Her governess had taught her the finer points of executing a curtsy, had her practice drawing and painting, and several other things. But never something like this.
“Mrs. Gale.” Martha could stand the silence no longer. “I have come to apologize for being late today.”
“I believe I was quite clear on what you could expect if you didn’t show.”
“But I am here. Just late.”
“Makes no difference to me if you’re late or don’t come at all. I still have to do the work you would have been given.”
“Please, Mrs. Gale—”
The old woman lifted a hand, silencing Martha. Lowering the duster, she slowly turned around. “Good day, Miss Cratchit. And goodbye.”
“No, please.” Martha hurried forward. “You must understand. My brother took frightfully ill last night. I have only just come from speaking with Doctor Lock about him.”
“I see.”
“If you only give me another chance, I promise I will never be late again.” She desperately needed this job. How else would they afford warmth and food? If begging was what it would take, she wasn’t too prideful for such a thing.
Mrs. Gale appeared to be thinking it over. Her brow was still low, but her lips moved from side to side. Did Martha dare hope that was a good thing?
“Very well,” Mrs. Gale said at length. “I will give you a second chance. However, to make up for you not helping out today, you will not be paid for the work you didn’t do this morning, nor the work you will do tomorrow and the next day.”
Martha’s heart sank. Three whole days less of pay, and she’d still have to work for two of them.
“If you can follow through on such an agreement,” Mrs. Gale said, watching her closely, “then I’ll know you’re serious. Then I’ll know you’re committed to this. I can’t afford having anyone who isn’t committed.”
As much as Martha didn’t want to agree to such terms—losing three days’ worth of pay would be no small thing—she could see Mrs. Gale’s reasoning. Moreover, they were staying at Stonewell Castle for the time being. It didn’t make their rent any less, but at least there was a bit of heat and food they could save on.
Martha nodded. “I can agree to those terms.”
“Good. I will see you early tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha turned to leave. How was it possible to feel both relieved and disheartened at the same time? She was going to be able to keep her position—that was a huge weight off her shoulders. At the same time, Mrs. Gale seemed not the least bit concerned for Tim. Suppose he turned ill some morning when she was supposed to be working?
For the time being, while at Stonewell Castle, they were all right. There would be food, and there would be warmth. But it wouldn’t last forever.
Questions filled Martha’s mind. Would Tim improve? How long would it take? Would his illness prevent her from working? How long would the duke allow them to stay?
The only thing she knew for certain was that her future had never been so unsure nor had peace been so hard to hold on to.
Two days later, Martha walked through Stonewell Castle, grateful to have disentangled herself from Lady Fitzroy’s long story about her childhood but also needing a short break from sitting beside Tim. At least he’d opened his eyes for a few minutes earlier that day. Now, if only she could coax a bit of color back into his cheeks.
“Good evening.”
The duke’s deep voice made her smile. Her first day in the castle, the way the duke had treated his friends had given her pause, and she’d wondered if she’d misjudged his true nature. But now, just a few days later, she wondered if the opposite was true—if the duke she had conversed with at the church, that had comforted her outside Tim’s room, was the truer reflection of the man. Still, he was so often brooding, and seemed to barely tolerate his guests; it was hard to know what to make of him.
Slowly she turned toward him and curtsied. “Your Grace.”
He huffed at her display of formality.
“What?” she pressed. “You don’t wish for me to treat you as the others do?”
“Certainly not.” He fell into step beside her.
A bit of heat warmed her cheeks. What was she to make of that? Nothing, that’s what. She was a title-less woman with no dowry, struggling under reduced circumstances. He was a duke. They could hardly be from more different stations if she were a scullery maid from the kitchen.
“How is your brother?” he asked at length.
“The same.”
He glanced at her sideways, clearly willing for her to continue.
“It isn’t particularly bad news,” she said. “I just wish I had more good news by now. Doctor Lock still isn’t sure . . .” She couldn’t finish.
The duke seemed to understand regardless.
They walked on in silence. Martha clasped her hands together in front of her; Tim would pull through, wouldn’t he? She could only pray at this point.
Hugh paused and held his arm out to her. “Care for a distraction?”
Martha’s shoulders relaxed as she reached out and took his arm. “That sounds perfect.”
He turned them down a hallway to their left and then to their right. They came out in a wide corridor with a wall of windows on one side and more portraits than Martha had ever seen in her lifetime along the other.
“Gracious.” She moved up to a large painting of a man in lace ruffles, a powdered wig, and a jacket trimmed with gold. Next to him was the likeness of a woman, sitting most stiffly, in a brown and burgundy riding habit. “Are you related to all of these fine individuals?”
“Yes,” he said, moving up beside her. “Some directly, others indirectly.”
What would that be like, to pass by one’s ancestors whenever one chose to? To still be able to look upon their faces? She knew a moment of disappointment; she had no likenesses of either of her parents.
Martha moved down the corridor, looking over names and expressions. Some were soft, others were stern, many held an air of clear superiority. She’d expect nothing less from a ducal family.
They stopped before a large portrait of a man with two hunting dogs sitting obediently near his feet. The plaque read, Lord Thomas De Ath, second son of the Twelfth Duke of Pembroke.
“My uncle,” the duke said. “He was inordinately f-f-fond of his full name.”
Martha looked at the name more closely. His Grace had mentioned his surname when they had first introduced themselves to one another, but she’d never really thought about it.
“Your surname is death?” she asked, turning toward him.
The duke laughed. It was deep and full, and it made Martha’s heart flip. “I scared more than one adversary with that knowledge as a youth.”
With his large stature, intimidating glower, and the surname of death—she could well imagine. Unfortunately, she was learning that he still scared most people away, purposely or otherwise. He held the world at arm’s length.
“Well,” she said, giving him her sauciest smile, “you aren’t going to scare me away.”
“I know,” he said with a grunt. “I tried. I’ve never known someone to be so insistent that they wax a church pew.”
She laughed and looped her arm through his as they began walking once more. “Admit it. You’re glad I did.”
“I’m a duke. I d-d-don’t have to admit anything.”
But his stormy blue eyes were alight—and that was enough of an admission for her.
Chapter Fourteen
Hugh stomped up the stairs. It had been a horridly trying day so far, and it was barely past noon. Lady Wilmington and her daughter had sat on either side of him at breakfast and refused to allow him a moment’s peace.
How much longer were his guests planning on staying? Two weeks, was it? Surely there wasn’t a full two weeks remaining.
The sound of soft singing caused him to pause. He felt drawn in by the sound, as though a siren had risen out of the mythological books in his study and taken up residence down this very hall. He moved quietly, drawing nearer the voice.
While Shepherds watched their flocks by night,
all seated on the ground,
The Angel of the Lord came down,
and Glory shone around
Fear not, said he, for mighty dread
had seized their troubled mind
Glad Tidings of great Joy I bring
to you, and all Mankind.
Hugh peered into the room. Martha sat in the rocking chair he’d had the housekeeper bring down from the nursery. The small boy, Tim, was on her lap.
To you, in David’s town, this day
is born, of David’s line,
The Savior, who is Christ the Lord;
and this shall be the sign:
The heav’nly Babe you there shall find
to human view displayed
All meanly wrapt in swathing bands,
and in a manger laid.
Even spying just around the edge of the door frame, Hugh could see the boy was pale. Doctor Lock had been by nearly every day since Hugh had brought the Cratchit family to Stonewell Castle. Tim had not grown any worse since that first night, but neither did he seem to be improving.
His guests had asked about Martha during breakfast, and he’d made the simple excuse that she usually cared to sleep late due to her late nights watching over her brother. If only that were true, and she wasn’t still waking up early in the dark hours of the morning to clean the church house.
Her brother’s health weighed heavily on Martha. Perhaps he ought to walk in, speak with her, and make sure she was all right.
Thus spake the Seraph, and forthwith
