by Amy Corwin
“I hope so.” Hugh accompanied him to the door. “I have had my differences with her, but dammit, she took care of Lionel after our mother died. I may not have chosen her, myself, but she remained with us and gave up her own interests to do so.” He thought about Helen. “She is a good woman. Decent. She has given us her best.”
“Then we shall return the favor and give her our best.” Gaunt turned back to eye him with a sympathetic look. “But I would prepare myself, if I were you, to accept she may have decided she has finally had enough.”
“Whatever the truth, I will weather it.” Hugh shut the door behind the inquiry agent and leaned against it.
Despite his assertion, he was not quite as prepared to believe his aunt tried to murder him as he claimed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“ … he makes himself otherwise useful in the steward’s room ….” —The Complete Servant
Two days after his conversation with Helen, Edward was still trying to find an opportunity to sneak upstairs and search for her necklace. Miss Leigh had stolen it, and he was going to get it back.
Unfortunately, while everyone seemed happy to assign him an excessive number of jobs, not one of the tasks provided an excuse to go to the second floor. He even offered to help the maids with their dusting. They laughed, ruffled his hair, and sent him to see the cook.
Cook had an endless supply of potatoes she needed to be peeled. Edward was heartily sick of the business. His hands were chapped and raw with permanent brown stains on the knuckles from the gritty dirt, not to mention the cut where he had almost removed his thumb instead of a potato eye. He did not think he ever wanted to see another vegetable as long as he lived.
He detested them.
After finishing another huge mound, Edward escaped the house. He had no destination in mind and initially sprinted towards the stables. Perhaps he could hide there and play with the black-and-white cat which haunted the place. As he approached the wide double door, he caught sight of the head groom.
“This will never do,” he thought. If the groom caught him, he would be given another unpleasant task, such as mucking out the stables.
The servants at Ormsby were a shiftless lot. They always seemed to have dozens of nasty jobs they deliberately left undone in order to thrust them upon him the first chance they got.
Angling away, he went around the front of the house to avoid the sharp eyes of the groom who had taken up a position leaning against the stable door, chewing on an apple. As Edward approached the curved driveway, a carriage pulled up to the door.
Edward paused. Who was visiting now? Now that the last of the guests had finally departed this morning, the only person in the house, other than the servants, was Miss Leigh. He could not imagine who could possibly want to visit such a dried-up, crotchety old woman.
A black skirt flapped out of the carriage door. A booted foot stepped out. Next, he caught a glimpse of a black-gloved hand holding the edges of a heavy, black-and-green plaid shawl.
He recognized that shawl and dodged behind the square shape of a boxwood. Peering round the bush, he watched with horror as Aunt Ester and Aunt Elvira descended with awful majesty from the carriage. The two women looked like a pair of gray-haired witches, dressed entirely in black except for their plaid travelling shawls.
In a frightening exhibition of black magic, Aunt Ester's head lifted. She appeared to sniff the air before looking around her. Edward flopped to the ground, terrified that she had caught the scent of young boy and knew he was there.
Sweating, he risked another peek. The two women stopped halfway up the stairs. They glanced around again and then put their heads together to whisper. Then Aunt Ester pointed in Edward's direction. His heart pounded. He squirmed backwards on his belly. He should have kept running. He would have been at sea by now if he had followed through with his original plan instead of allowing Miss Helen to drag him with her.
Another man ruined by a pretty face.
But he could not abandon Miss Helen. She needed him. What was he going to do?
Getting to his knees, he crawled rapidly round the corner of the house. When he got out of sight of the groom and the women loitering at the front door, he got up and sprinted to the side door. He dived through and headed down the short, dim passageway to the workroom.
A hand gripped his shoulder. His panic exploded his last, logical thought.
“Ow!” he yelled, twisting away. He raised his fists, only to find Miss Helen's beautiful — but surprised — face staring at him.
“Ned,” she said, holding out a hand. “What's wrong?”
“You startled me, that’s all.” He glanced past her. Thankfully, she was alone.
She smiled and as always, it lit up her beautiful face. He stared at her, suddenly shy and tongue-tied.
“Cook sent me —”
“Not more potatoes! Please!”
Her laughter bubbled up. To his pleased surprise and embarrassment, she gave him a quick hug and smoothed back the wayward lock hanging over his forehead.
“No, dear. No more potatoes. She sent me to tell you there is a plate of scones and honey awaiting some young man who did a yeoman's job on a bushel of vegetables.”
He let out a deep breath. Then he straightened his shoulders before holding out his hand, proud of his wounds in the line of duty. “I deserve it, too, I nearly cut my thumb off.”
“Are you all right?” She grabbed his hand and examined it with satisfyingly appalled exclamations.
“It's not as bad as it looks,” he told her manfully. He graciously allowed her to wipe it clean with her handkerchief before he pulled his hand out of her soft palm. “Miss Helen, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What are those women doing here?” he blurted out.
When she stared at him, her large blue eyes wide with surprise, he shuffled from one foot to the other and glanced away.
“What women?”
“Them as just arrived. I saw them at the front door.”
“The ladies who just arrived,” she corrected him in an absent-minded way. Her face cleared and she smiled. “Oh, those ladies! They are Miss Leigh's sisters.” Her expression grew serious. “Miss Leigh is ill, very ill. I'm just glad they are here to comfort her after the terrible news about her nephew.”
“If she died, you'd get your necklace back, wouldn't you?” Edward asked philosophically. “And I can’t imagine those scarecrows would comfort anyone. She'll probably take one look at Aunt Esther and die on the spot.”
“What did you say?” Helen asked in a sharp voice.
He stepped back and eyed her warily. “Huh?”
“You said, ‘Aunt Esther’.”
“Did I?” He glanced over her shoulder with his best blank expression. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see her staring at him, her brows crinkled.
“You did! What did you mean by that?”
“I didn't! And if I did, I just misspoke. I call all older women 'aunt'. It's polite.”
“You don’t call me 'aunt'.”
“You're not that old.”
Miss Helen covered her mouth with her hand, but he could tell she was laughing. Her eyes crinkled and shone with mirth, and her voice bubbled when she said, “You said, 'Aunt Esther'. How did you know her name? Are you related to her?”
“I have no relationship with her whatsoever,” he stated with perfect honesty. “Is that her name?”
“I have no notion. However, I would not be at all surprised. Ned, what are you hiding? And tell me the truth, this time. I promise you will not get into trouble.”
“You'll just tell them.”
She gripped his shoulders and searched his face. The serious, sympathetic look in her eyes almost made him burst into tears and throw himself into her arms. She would help him, he knew it.
“I will not tell, Ned. I will not do anything you don’t want me to do. Just tell me the truth.”
Despite his resolution, he
could not resist the entreaty of a pretty woman. Many of his heroes suffered from the same weakness. That chap Paris, for example. He had also fallen in love with a Helen and look at all the trouble that caused at Troy.
He glanced around, his gaze finally dropping to his shoes. They were covered with grit and dirt, and a blade of grass was caught between his sole and toe. Using his left foot, he scraped at the grass until he dislodged it. If he did not answer, maybe she would forget.
“Ned?” she prompted.
“I might have said that.” He stared over her shoulder, doing his best to appear unconcerned. After all, it was not as if he were lying.
“You did say that.”
He eyed her with disfavor. “Are you sure? Because I don't remember saying 'Aunt Esther'.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I know, you thought I said 'Aunt Esther' but what I really said was 'they'll pester her' and make Miss Leigh more ill than she is already. A bunch of old, frowning women would make anyone sick — even die.”
“You did not.”
The uncertainty in her voice made him widen his eyes a bit more in honest earnestness. He nodded his head. “I did. You just misunderstood me. It happens a lot.”
“I'm sure it does,” she replied with a note in her voice that shook his confidence in her gullibility. Her blue eyes twinkled, despite the extravagant frown drawing down the corners of her mouth. “When one is a talented storyteller, one must expect to be misunderstood. Frequently.”
Some instinct warned him to remain silent. He nodded and tried to look wise and mature beyond his years.
“However,” she continued, “I am not sure that you are exactly an orphan without a family.”
“I am an orphan. My mother and father are dead. I swear it.”
“Don’t fret. I believe that part of your story. I am just not sure that you are entirely without a family. Perhaps you have an aunt or two?”
“A lot of boys have aunts.”
“And I am sure your aunts are worried about you.”
“You're wrong,” he insisted. That was the truth. “There isn't a soul alive who cares two pence about me.”
Miss Helen looped an arm round his shoulders and gave him a tight hug. He pressed his face into her shoulder and breathed in the scent of soap and sunshine. To his embarrassment, his eyes stung with unshed tears. He twisted out of her grip and wiped his face in the crook of his arm.
He had to be a man, he reminded himself. Sailors never cried.
“We all care about you, Ned. Cook, Mr. Caswell and I all care.” She gripped his shoulders and stared into his face.
The strong urge to cry choked him again. He fisted his hands at his sides and kept his face still, barely breathing until the feeling passed. Then he nodded and cleared his throat. “I just need to get back to London so I can pay my respects to Admiral Nelson’s grave and board my ship.”
“I think you need to stay here, Ned. Mr. Caswell will see you safe. And I really think you might speak to Miss Leigh's sisters. Just to let them know you are here. And well.”
For some reason, he was struck with a reluctance to lie to her. So instead of making a promise he didn’t want to keep, he slowly nodded his head again.
To his surprise, she brushed his hair off his forehead and pressed a warm, soft kiss there.
“Do not worry, Ned. It will be fine.”
“Yes, Miss,” he replied as she turned to leave.
He watched her go and resolved then and there that he had to get her necklace back for her, no matter what. Before he ran away.
If he could just get Miss Leigh out of her room.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“A soft and courteous demeanour will best entitle her to esteem and respect.” —The Complete Servant
Helen left Ned in the workroom and returned upstairs, unsure what to think. After speaking to him, she had the distinct impression that he knew Miss Leigh's sisters.
There had to be a way to ask if they knew a little boy named Ned Brown, without inappropriately pushing herself forward. She had never realized how difficult it was to be properly invisible as a servant, while still obtaining much-needed information. It would be so much easier if she could just ask.
Was it time to dispose of Miss Caswell and let Miss Helen Archer return to claim the necklace? Miss Archer could ask about Ned. She could prevent undue worry and concern.
When she slipped into Miss Leigh's room, she discovered the two visiting ladies sitting stiffly in wooden chairs next to Miss Leigh's bed.
“Helen!” Miss Leigh called sharply. “Where have you been?”
“The kitchen, Miss Leigh. May I bring you a tray of tea?”
“Yes and be quick about it. My sisters are parched after their journey. And when you've done that, make sure their rooms are properly aired and their things put away.”
Helen bit back her question about Miss Leigh's recovery. If she wanted tea, then she had to be feeling stronger. Certainly, she’d lost some of the grayness in her face, although her eyes were still sunken in deep blue-black pits and her thin lips had an unhealthy purplish hue.
Her black-clad sisters stared at her with undisguised dislike on their long faces. Upon closer inspection, Helen was not so shocked at Ned's description of them. They perfectly fitted the image of witches, despite their lack of a black cat twining round their bony ankles. Both women wore an air of haughty disapproval, emphasized by their stick-like figures and their thick, gray eyebrows pinched into a perpetual frown. Even she felt sheepish and cowardly in their presence.
She could imagine their combined effect upon a small boy.
“Yes, ma'am.” She turned swiftly and escaped, closing the door behind her. She could wait to ask them about Ned Brown for a few hours. Or days.
The ladies kept Helen busy for the rest of the day and late into the night. They were forever requesting pots of tea which they allowed to grow cold, only to demand she freshen them. Even Miss Leigh grew exhausted with their constant chatter and insistence that she get up every few hours and walk in order to revive her flagging spirits.
They refused to see that the exercise did not hasten Miss Leigh's return to health. Instead, it seemed to drain the remaining energy from her. By midnight, Helen seriously considered risking her position by insisting they stop torturing the sick woman. Helen arranged the covers over Miss Leigh and eyed the two spinsters, working up the courage to speak.
“Go to bed,” Miss Leigh rasped. “You must be exhausted after your trip.”
“Not at all,” Miss Elvira, the older lady said. She had several large moles on her face and was undoubtedly the plainest of the sisters.
Helen eyed her. She would cheerfully pull her bodily out of her chair and shove her out of the room, if she was not so sure it would upset Miss Leigh.
Or perhaps it would not upset her.
“You must be tired,” Miss Leigh insisted. “It is after midnight. You should retire. I certainly intend to sleep. There is no point in remaining.”
“We will take turns sitting with you,” Miss Esther said, inflating and deflating her cheeks several times. The strange habit gave her the appearance of a fish gulping air, except that she kept her mouth primly pursed.
Miss Elvira nodded. “I shall take the first watch.” She patted her sister's hand with such an offensively proprietary air that Helen twitched the covers up over Miss Leigh's arms.
After a surprised and oddly grateful glance from Miss Leigh, Helen stepped back, trying very hard to keep her mouth shut.
“No!” Miss Leigh coughed before waving vaguely in Helen's direction. “I have a maid. She will sit with me.”
“A maid!” Miss Esther gave a derisive snort and puffed her cheeks rapidly.
“She will bring you pots of chocolate. To your rooms. To help you relax before bed,” Miss Leigh said, a desperate note in her tired voice.
Helen clenched her hands. Leave! Can you not see you’re wearing Miss Leigh right down to the bone? They would make her
even more sick if they did not leave and allow her to rest.
“Very well. If you insist. You were always stubborn, Eloise,” Esther said severely as she rose. She smoothed her black skirts. “It is not a pleasant trait.”
“Good night.” Miss Leigh sighed with relief.
Limp with relief herself, Helen rushed to the door and opened it for them. She followed the two ladies out and waited until they went to their rooms before she hurried down to the kitchen for their bribes of hot chocolate. To ensure their co-operation, she even added a few small cakes to each tray. If the surfeit of sugar did not satisfy them, she did not know what would.
To Helen's surprise, when she finally returned to Miss Leigh, she was told to go to bed. Miss Leigh's wan face worried Helen, but she could hardly argue.
“I will leave the door open, Miss Leigh. You have but to call and I will return instantly.” She glanced around uneasily.
When she spied a small copper bell on a ribbon, she picked it up and placed it on the bed next to Miss Leigh's hand.
“What are you doing?” Miss Leigh asked crossly, shaking her wrist when Helen looped the ribbon around it.
“If you are uncomfortable or need anything at all, you have only to lift your wrist. The bell will ring, and I will know you need me.”
Miss Leigh shook her wrist experimentally and grinned at the light tinkling noise. “It is a good thought, Helen. Now leave me in peace.”
“Sleep well.” In a last burst of efficiency, Helen also went to the door and turned the key in the lock. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Just to make sure you get a good night's sleep.”
Miss Leigh stared at her, her thin lips trembling. Then, in a soft voice, she spoke words Helen never expected to hear. “Thank you — and ….” She paused for a moment. She cleared her throat. “I'm sorry, Helen. Do not leave. Please.”
“I can stay in your room. Do not worry.”
