“Hello?”
No answer. Sarah released Nora’s hand, tugged one of the wide, plank doors open a crack and peeked inside. Cool, musty air carrying a hint of oiled leather, feed, hay and manure flowed out of the dim interior, tantalizing her and bringing back childhood memories. She and Mary and James had spent many happy hours in their father’s stables. And it had been one of Mr. Buffy’s favorite places. Her lips curved at thought of the huge black dog that had been a gift to her from Justin Randolph. It was the day Justin gave her the puppy she first felt he loved her, and she began to talk that very day. Tears filmed her eyes. Mr. Buffy had been her constant companion for seven years. She had been ten years old when he died. Her smile ebbed. That had been her first experience with grief. She had never wanted another dog.
Sarah pushed away the memory, lifted Nora into her arms in case there should be an unfriendly animal of some sort lurking about, pulled the door wider and stepped inside. “Mr. Quincy?” A low nicker was her only answer. She looked toward the far wall. A dark roan with powerful shoulders extended its neck over the stall door, flared sensitive nostrils, snorted and tossed its head. Clayton Bainbridge’s mount. The shoulder muscles bunched, a hoof thudded against the floor. The roan tossed its head again, stared at her out of dark-brown eyes separated by a white blaze.
“My, you are a beauty.” Sarah kept her voice pitched low and soft. “And I think you know it, too.” The roan’s ears twitched, pricked forward. Its stable mate nickered. Sarah shifted her gaze to the smaller bay with a white star on its face that occupied the next stall. The carriage horse. What had Quincy called her? Sassy. Yes, that was it. “Yes, you are a beauty, too, Sassy.”
She started forward. Nora wiggled, tightened the arm she had wrapped around her neck. Sarah looked at the toddler, who—thumb stuck securely in her little mouth—was staring wide-eyed at the horses. Anger gushed. She kept forgetting the little girl had been kept caged in the nursery before she came. “See the pretty horses, sweetie? They will not hurt you. Shall we go pet them?”
“Horse.” Nora pointed at the stalls, stuck her thumb back in her mouth and squirmed closer.
Sarah gave her a reassuring hug and started toward the smaller bay—stopping as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Heart pounding, her gaze locked on a grain box that sat on the floor along the side wall, she backed toward the doors. Something small and gray darted out of the empty stall beside Sassy’s and ran behind the chest. A rat? She swallowed a scream, stared at the spot where the rat had disappeared and felt behind her for the door.
“Mew.” A tiny gray face with green eyes poked out from behind the box, drew back. “Mew.”
“A kitten!” Sarah laughed and hurried to the grain box, her long skirts sweeping a trail through the dust and bits of hay and straw covering the puncheon floor. She sat Nora down on top of the chest and peered behind it. Four pair of green eyes gleamed up at her. “Oh, Nora, look! There are four baby kittens.”
She reached down. Kittens darted from behind the box and scattered every direction.
“Kitty!” Nora squealed, wiggled to the edge of the chest, flopped over onto her stomach and pushed. Sarah made a grab for her and missed. The toddler landed with a thud on the spotless seat of her white ruffled pantalettes, pushed to her feet and chased after the kitten that had run into the empty stall.
“Wait, sweetie! He will scratch you.” Sarah rushed inside the cubicle, pulled the door shut and stooped to pick up the tiny, spitting and hissing, furry ball of feline fury crouched beneath the manger.
Clayton frowned at the rap on the door. He had told Eldora to turn away any further applicants. “Yes?”
The door opened. Eldora Quincy stepped into the room. “Not wantin’ to bother you, sir, but—” She stopped, glanced toward the window as light flickered through the room and a low rumble sounded in the distance.
Clayton followed her gaze. Raindrops batted at the leaves on the trees, danced on top of the low, stone wall and tapped at the window. “When did it start raining?”
“A bit ago, sir. ’Tis why I come. Miss Randolph and the child…they are still outside.”
“Most likely on the back porch.” He returned to his work of assigning men to the various repair jobs.
“No, sir, I checked.”
“Eldora, Miss Randolph is perfectly capable of caring for the child. She will come in when—” Lightning flashed, thunder growled. The image of Sarah’s frightened face during the last storm popped into his head. Clayton frowned, looked up. “The pagoda?” It was a foolish question. He knew the answer before his housekeeper shook her head no. He fought the urge to rise and go search. The child was safe in her care, and Sarah Randolph was not his concern. “Have Quincy look in the stable, perhaps she took refuge there.”
“Mr. Quincy went to the farm early this morning.”
“Then send Lucy!”
Eldora started at the snap in his voice, gave him a curious look. “Lucy has been home these last two days tendin’ her sick family. An’ I’ve food on the stove and in the oven needs watching. ’Tis almost supper time. That child is goin’ to get almighty hungry.” She turned with a swish of her long, gray skirt and left the room. He could hear her shuffling down the hall toward the kitchen.
How could footsteps convey disgust? Eldora’s clearly did. Clayton shoved his chair back and lurched to his feet. So much for avoiding Sarah Randolph and the child! He peered out the windows, scanned the front and side yards. Lightning flashed. Rain poured down. He snatched an umbrella from the brass stand by the front door and ran down the hall to check the backyard and stable.
Sarah caught her breath at the glint of lightning, brushed at the dust clinging to Nora’s frock and plucked bits of hay from the toddler’s golden curls. How was she going to get Nora to the house? She had delayed as long as she could, hoping the storm would move on. Instead it was growing more intense. She gave the hem of the long skirt of her gown a vigorous shake. Dust flew. Nora sneezed. “Sorry, sweetie.”
Her voice shook. Sarah took a breath to gain some control, pushed at her mussed hair with her trembling hands. Thank goodness Nora was too little to guess she was terrified.
Lightning seared across the darkening sky, threw its light in the window. Thunder cracked. Sarah jerked. The roan snorted, tossed his head and thudded his hoof against the stall floor. The bay shifted position. Clearly, the horses were sensing her fear. She had to leave. Right now.
“Time to go, Nora.”
The little girl shook her head, tightened her grip on the ball of fluff in her lap. “Kitty.”
“We will come play with the kitty tomorrow. But now we have to go get cleaned up for dinner. Your tummy is getting hungry.”
“And my mouf.”
“Yes. And your mouth.” Sarah settled the toddler’s sunbonnet in place, tied the strings and took the purring kitten from her lap. “I do not want you to get wet in the rain so I am going to run really fast.” She lifted Nora into her arms, gathered every bit of courage she possessed, walked to the door, slipped it open and waited. She would go after the next flash of lightning and, hopefully, reach the house before it came again.
Lightning streaked against the darkened sky. “Hold on tight, Nora!” Heart pounding, Sarah bent forward to cover the toddler with her body, leaped outside, kicked the door closed and ran, terror driving her every step.
They were not in the backyard. Clayton lowered the umbrella to block the slanting, wind-driven rain from his face and opened the garden gate. If they were not in the stable—He refused the worry trying to squirm its way into his thoughts and broke into a loping run toward the carriage house. Something hard slammed into his chest just below his breastbone.
“Ugh!” The breath burst from his lungs. He dropped the umbrella, grabbed his assailant by the shoulders. Sarah Randolph lifted her head, stared up at him out of eyes wide with fear. Her shoulders trembled beneath his hands. He tightened his grip, felt something squirm between them and glanced
down.
The child lifted her bonnet-clad head and giggled. “We runned fast!”
Lightning rent the darkness. Sarah jerked, shuddered.
Clayton picked up the umbrella, slipped his arm about her shoulders and guided her through the gate and up the path.
Light splashed across the glistening brick. He looked up. Mrs. Quincy stood at the top of the steps holding a lantern to light their way. “You all right, Sarah?”
Wisps of wet hair brushed his hand as Sarah looked up and nodded. “Yes. W-we are fine.”
A gust of wind tugged at the umbrella, blew the rain beneath the porch roof. The lantern light flickered as the housekeeper stepped back. Sarah went rigid beneath his arm, her steps faltered as they reached the porch. Clayton stole a look at her face, glanced at his housekeeper. “Eldora, take the child.”
Sarah stiffened. “I will care for Nora.”
“’Tis only till you get into some dry togs, Sarah.” The housekeeper sat the lantern on the bench and reached for the toddler. “Well, Miss Nora, what have you been up to?”
Nora leaned into Eldora’s arms. “Me play with kitty. See horsy. And we runned fast!”
“Did you, now? That’s just fine. Why don’t you tell me all about it whilst I give you some supper.” Eldora shielded the little girl with her broad body and waddled into the house.
Lightning sizzled, a brilliant yellow spear streaking to earth. Thunder cracked.
Sarah gasped, broke from his grasp and dashed for the door. She made it halfway across the porch before she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“Sarah!” Clayton threw the umbrella and rushed to her side. She shook her head, pushed feebly at his chest when he reached for her. He ignored her protest, lifted her into his arms and strode to the door. The howling wind blew her hair loose from its restraint, whipped it across his face. The lantern banged against the back of the bench.
Sarah shuddered, tried to speak.
He shook his head, carried her into the library and lowered her to the settee. “Stay here! I have to get the lantern before it breaks and starts a fire.” He ran outside, grabbed the lantern and rushed back. Sarah was sitting up, her wet hair spilling over her shoulders, a red cord in her trembling hands. Her face was the color of plaster. She winced and bit down on her lower lip as lightning flashed.
Clayton hurried to the windows and closed the shutters, then walked over and stood in front of her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and looked up. He had never seen such fright on a person’s face. He did not understand it, was helpless to take it from her. Could not even take her in his arms to comfort her. He jammed his hands into his pockets to resist the temptation. “Why did you not stay in the carriage house? Surely you knew I would come for you?” His concern made the words come out sharper than he intended. Color rushed into Sarah’s face. She rose and faced him, shaking, her shoulders squared, the red cord dangling from one fisted hand.
“And why would I think you would care enough to come for us, Mr. Bainbridge? You will not even look at your daughter! And, as you refuse to allow her in your presence, how would you know we were missing? We could have been trapped in that carriage house all night!” Her chin lifted, she looked straight into his eyes, her own wide and shadowed. “I confess, had I been alone, that would have been my choice rather than go out in the storm. But Nora is my charge and I am not so selfish as to put my fear above her needs. Now, if you will excuse me, I must change out of these wet clothes. Good evening, Mr. Bainbridge.” She whipped her long skirts to the side, stepped around him and hurried from the room.
Clayton stood silent and watched her leave, every fiber of his being screaming to go after her. He walked to the table by the door, picked up the lantern, opened the side and lowered the wick. The light sputtered and died. Darkness closed around him. He hung the lantern on its peg by the door, turned and walked out into the hall. There was no sound of Sarah’s passing, not even her footsteps overhead. Only the storm—and solitude.
He drew his gaze from the stairs, set his mind against the sting of her indictment against him and walked down the hall toward his study. What Sarah had said was true—and the reasons did not matter. Explaining would not change anything. Things were as they had to be.
Chapter Twelve
Sarah hung her wet dress over the edge of the bathtub, grabbed a towel and rubbed at her dripping hair. Rain pounded on the roof, thunder grumbled. She shuddered, dropped the towel, pulled on her new blue gown and willed her trembling fingers to fasten the fabric-covered buttons that paraded from the prim collar to the narrow vee at the waist. How ironic that the dresses had been delivered when she would not be needing them. After her display of cowardice this evening, it was unlikely Clayton Bainbridge would trust her to care for his daughter—even if he did not love the child.
But for him to dismiss her would be unfair. It was his fault she had collapsed. Her legs would not have gone all weak and wobbly if he had not told Eldora to take Nora from her. Having to care for the toddler had given her the strength to face her fear. And when that strength was not required, her knees had given way.
Sarah frowned and shook out her long skirt over her petticoat. If she were summoned, what defense could she offer Clayton Bainbridge? She could hardly tell him the truth—that strong emotions struck her in the knees, a silly weakness she had been plagued with since childhood. That would only further undermine his trust of her reliability. Nor did it explain why she had attacked him that way. She should have held her tongue instead of lashing out at him. But the man was so incredibly frustrating! And he had challenged her when she was most vulnerable. The storm—
Lightning glinted between the closed slats of the shutters.
Sarah shivered, tugged her quilted robe on over the dress, pulled it close about her for warmth and crossed to the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess. She brushed it out, gathered it loosely at the nape of her neck and secured it with the blue ribbon edged in the same demure scallops that graced her gown’s collar and hem. Her hair would dry faster falling free, and her hands were trembling too hard to manage her normal hairstyle. She was having enough difficulty tying the ribbon.
A rush of tears blurred her reflection. Would she ever again tie a ribbon in Nora’s golden curls? If she were dismissed, who would care for the toddler? Eldora was too busy. And Lucy was home caring for her family—may have herself succumbed to the sickness going around.
The tears overflowed. Sarah wiped them from her cheeks, turned from the mirror and pulled on her shoes, concentrating on the activity as a defense against the thought she did not want to entertain. But it hung there in the dark recesses of her mind, refusing to be denied. What if Lucy came back and brought the sickness to Nora? What if—No!
Sarah jolted to her feet. She would not think that. She would not! And she would not worry about being dismissed. She still had tonight. And perhaps Clayton would be too busy meeting his deadline for the repairs on the canal to think about replacing her. That would give her until July to prove her competency. Oh! And he needed her for the excursion trip in July.
Sarah grabbed on to the hope, hurried to her bedroom, tossed her robe onto the bed and opened the door to the winder stairs. Light from the kitchen lit the staircase. A smile trembled on her lips. Eldora must have opened the door at the bottom of the staircase to listen for her. And she had thought the housekeeper so harsh and uncaring. She started down the stairs, paused as Nora’s baby voice floated up from below. “A horsy is big! Kitties are little. They scratch.”
How endearing. Sarah’s throat tightened. She cleared away the lump and started down the steep spiral, being quiet so she could hear Nora’s conversation with Eldora.
“They do?”
“Uh-huh. See?”
The thought of Nora’s pudgy little hand being held out for Eldora’s inspection brought the lump came back to her throat. Sarah swallowed hard.
“My, my! That looks serious. Why don’t you eat your last bite of
peas like a good girl whilst I baste this roast, then I’ll fetch my beeswax salve. That will fix you right up.”
Sarah wiped away tears. Trust Eldora to have what was needed. If only she had a salve to heal a broken heart. Or an elixir one could take for a paralyzing fear. But no one could cure those ills. Not even time had lessened their grip on her, though loving Nora helped. Caring for the little girl had turned into a blessing.
Sarah caught her breath, tightened her grip on the railing. She had to keep her nanny post. She simply had to! But what could she do to secure it? Not even an apology could take back her rash words. Oh, she hated storms. And darkness. And fear. Why could she not simply be safe? And why could little Nora not be loved? What sort of God allowed such cruelty?
Her chest tightened, ached. Sarah blew out her breath, hid her trembling hands in the folds of her long skirts, counted to ten and stepped out into the kitchen.
Clayton shoved the last of the blueprints he would need for tomorrow into his leather pouch and crossed to the door. His work was finished and the study was crowding in on him. More accurately, his thoughts were crowding him. Dinner had been a nightmare of forcing food down his throat while trying to ignore the sound of Sarah’s voice in the kitchen. And that glimpse he had caught of her carrying the child up the stairs—
Clayton broke off the thought and yanked the door open. He needed to move. His long strides swallowed the length of the hall, made short work of the library. He lit the lantern from a taper in a wall sconce, opened the back door and stepped out on the porch. Rain drummed overhead, ran off the eaves and splashed on the ground. So much for a walk. At least out here he had space around him.
He set the lantern on the table, leaned on the railing and stared out into the stormy darkness trying to empty his memory of the way Sarah Randolph had felt in his arms—of that one fleeting instant of trust he had seen in her eyes when she had looked up at him. He knew, better than anyone, he did not deserve a woman’s trust. Deborah had trusted him and his weakness had killed her.
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