“I can’t get comfy,” Lizzie said.
“None of us can,” Ginny replied. “Get used to it.”
“Dear me, you would never know I am the star of a show. This carriage is not big enough.”
“You are too big for it, Lizzie.”
“Well, I never!” The singer settled back into outraged silence.
Ginny looked over at Penelope. “And how are ye faring, my dear?”
“Oh, very well,” Penelope said a little weakly.
Josephine noticed that her cousin’s face was pale. She looked as if she was about to be sick. “Open the window flap, Penny. You need some fresh air.”
“We all do,” Ginny said. “It is very nice of ye to invite us to the country, sir.”
Lord York inclined his head. “I hope you will enjoy your stay, Mrs. Goodchurch.”
“Nice manners he has,” Lizzie commented, winking at Daniel. “That is the best part about lords. That, and the jewelry. You do get nice presents from a nobleman. But I was always more partial to a handsome fellow in livery. Do you remember the duke’s footman, Ginny, the tall one who—”
“Lizzie,” the wardrobe mistress said warningly, “not here.” She pointed to the elderly couple.
“They are fast asleep, Ginny.”
“That does not mean ye can say whatever ye wish. We have two proper young ladies with us as well. They do not need to hear ye talk about footmen.”
“Oh, it won’t hurt them.”
But Lizzie said no more, and soon enough her eyelids fluttered closed. She leaned against Penelope’s plump shoulder, opened her eyes halfway to see if anyone had noticed, and then fell asleep with her mouth open, somehow managing to remain upright.
Ginny’s bright eyes flashed with merriment. “Who’s next? Lord York? Our Jo?”
He sat up quite straight. “Not I.”
“Lord York is too dignified for that,” Jo said. “And I cannot sleep. I feel as if I have not been home for years. It is all so familiar and so dear.”
“So ye don’t miss London then, Jo?”
“No, not yet. But perhaps I will in time.”
“How long did yer brother say ye could stay?”
“I must help my parents settle in, Ginny, and see that they have everything they need. And then Penelope and I will drive round our old haunts and look at the village shops. And Lord York and I plan to visit an old friend.”
“Oh, very nice. Who?” Ginny inquired. “Not that I know anyone in Richmond. Seems dreadful far away to me, even though I know it’s not. But then I am London–born and London–bred.”
“His name is Gus. He is a very large frog who lives under the Richmond bridge.”
“Visiting frogs? I like that.” Ginny laughed. “Ye are a country girl, Jo, and no mistake. Mind she does not fall in the water, Lord York. She might catch cold.”
Lizzie’s eyes opened suddenly. “Catch cold?” she said in a deep, dramatic voice. “Those are fatal words to a singer. Who has a cold?”
“No one, Lizzie. Go back to sleep.”
The singer closed her eyes again.
Ginny cast a curious look at Penelope, who had not said a word but kept her face quite close to the open window, breathing deeply of the fresh country air. “Miss Penelope, are ye all right?”
“Yes,” said Penelope, “quite all right. I was just looking at the sheep. There are so many.”
“My neighbors use them to crop the grass in their parks. Nothing like flocks of sheep to do the job right. And they add a bucolic touch,” Lord York explained.
“Cor,” Ginny said, “imagine keeping sheep just to do the lawn.”
“I have a small flock myself.”
Jo remembered the vast expanse of green velvet lawn that swept down from the great house at Derrydale and felt a little uneasy. Daniel was a second son, to be sure, and worked for his living, but she sometimes forgot that he had grown up with all the trappings of wealth and power.
“How many?” she heard Ginny asking him.
“Six ewes and two lambs.”
“That’s very manageable, for a flock,” said Ginny, as if she knew all about sheep. “Ye wouldn’t want too many.”
“No.” Lord York smiled.
“How big are the lambs?” she asked.
“Big enough to make trouble. They might come over to investigate us when we arrive. Or they might be off with their mothers, grazing.”
“Cor,” Ginny said again, “yer own lambs. How nice. I should like a frisky little lamb.”
“They grow up quickly, Mrs. Goodchurch.”
“I expect ye’re right.”
The traveling party fell into a companionable silence as more miles passed by. Ginny exclaimed over the scenery; Jo kept an eye on Penelope; Penelope took deep breaths; and the Shys snored peacefully. Lizzie sat bolt upright with her eyes closed and her mouth open, looking like a magnificent, redheaded statue that was being transported to a new site.
Lord York gave Jo a warm look and a slight smile when he thought that no one would see. And before too long, they had arrived.
Jo helped Penelope down and climbed back in herself. The carriage would continue on to Richmond and leave the older Shys at The Elms.
“Be brave,” she whispered in her cousin’s ear.
“I shall.” Penelope patted her hand.
Mrs. Shy waved good-bye, still seeming rather piqued at Penelope. Jo could hardly blame her. Mr. Shy slept on.
Tom Higgins pulled up behind them in the theater’s wagon and began to unload the luggage. He took particular care to drop Lizzie’s portmanteau on her foot when she came to claim it.
Ginny noticed and put a restraining hand on Lizzie’s arm. “Now, now, ye are not in the theater. Behave.”
Tom assisted the Shys’s maid down to the ground and then helped her into the carriage. She sat next to old Mrs. Shy, looking timidly at the façade of the grand house.
“Our house is much smaller, Sarah,” Jo said.
“Oh. Very good, miss. I cannot imagine cleaning such a big house as that.”
“They have a housekeeper and many servants. No one person has to do it all.”
“Yes, miss.”
Once the Shys were ready, the coachman signaled the horses to go. And soon they were rolling back down the drive and over roads that Josephine knew well.
“How does it feel to be home, Jo?” her mother asked. The old lady covered a yawn, but she stayed awake.
“Oh, Mama, I feel as if I have been away for a hundred years, not just months. It is the oddest sensation.”
“Well, the seasons changed while you were gone. I suppose that accounts for it.”
“Perhaps,” said Jo.
“Spring was cold and muddy and the damned trees took forever to leaf out,” her father said in his forthright way. “But summer seems to be making up for it.”
The glorious day was suffused with sunshine and the blue heavens seemed limitless. Cowslips and poppies made bright dots in the hayfields, and cows drowsed in the shade of the big trees at the corners of the hedgerows.
Everything seemed to be right where her imagination would have put it. Jo was enchanted.
They arrived in the village shortly after teatime, rattling over the five arches of the Richmond bridge and on to the inn. Joshua, the old family servant, was waiting outside the inn yard to meet them and transfer their luggage into the dogcart. He raised his shaggy eyebrows when the carriage came to a stop beside him.
Jo opened the door and looked out. “Joshua!”
His face broke into a smile framed with deep wrinkles. “Miss! Ye have come home!”
“Yes, at last.” She turned back into the carriage to speak to her mother. “Would you mind very much if I went with Joshua? There is so much that I want to see.”
“The dogcart is not the most elegant conveyance, Jo.”
Her father laughed. “Let the girl do what she wants. How often do they come home once they have left the nest, Mrs. Shy?”
&nb
sp; “Hmph, not often enough. But then we were in Bath and the nest was empty. Go, go. Joshua will enjoy the company.”
Jo jumped down. The old servant greeted her warmly and took her trunk from the coachman. When he put it in the back of the dogcart, the pony jingled his harness bells and looked her way, hoping for a treat.
“Buttercup!” She stroked his nose and he took a step toward her. “No, I haven’t got a treat. It’s no use nuzzling my pocket.”
“Aye, our Miss Shy is a London lady now, Buttercup. No carrots in her pockets.”
“Does he still nip, Joshua?”
“Yes, miss, but he fancies the parson’s rump these days. I think Buttercup is a Dissenter.”
Josephine laughed. It was wonderful, utterly wonderful, to be home again.
Chapter Thirteen
Her parents settled back into life at The Elms, and the new maid-of-all-work proved satisfactory. Jo returned to Derrydale, walking the last half mile on foot after saying good-bye to Joshua and treating Buttercup, who had brought her there in the dogcart, to a very large carrot.
She entered through the front portal. There was no other word for the great carved doors that swung open with scarcely a creak.
The hall was made of marble and rather chilly. She looked about. There seemed to be no one at home. But considering the vast size of the house, it was possible that they were simply in another wing.
Still, she had expected servants. Jo saw a brass bell upon a table and rang it. It made a dreadful loud noise but no one appeared. She rang it again. At last a very old butler shuffled forth from behind a marble pillar, in no hurry. She saw that he wore carpet slippers that had been embroidered long ago with a now unreadable monogram.
He nodded almost imperceptibly to Jo and crossed the marble floor to her, peering into her face with an expression of comical puzzlement. Then he broke into a wrinkled smile.
“Why, it is Miss Shy. How many years has it been, my dear?”
“Upton?” She recognized him at last. Upton had been old when Daniel was a boy and now he was very, very old. “How nice to see you.”
“Lord York said to expect you. I am afraid I fell asleep with the cat in my lap. Dot does not like to be disturbed once she has settled down. But then she is old, like me.”
“You don’t mean Little Dot? Daniel had a kitten by that name.”
“Yes, miss. She is Big Dot now. Likes to eat, she does.”
“May I see her?”
Upton’s half-closed eyelids rose just a fraction higher. “Yes, if you wish. Lord York gave no particular instructions as to your arrival. Come with me, please.”
He shuffled back in the direction he had come from and Jo shortened her free stride so as not to overtake him. They went through a door that led to the house servants’ quarters, and Jo saw a rocking chair still rocking slightly, as if its occupant had just gotten up.
“Here is Dot, enjoying the sun.”
He shuffled to a basket woven of soft reeds and lined with cloth, which had been placed on the windowsill. It was full of cat: an enormous white cat with a large black dot on her side and black ears.
“She goes from my lap to the basket and back to my lap.” Upton stroked the cat’s head and she began to purr, turning her head to rub against the old man’s hand.
“It is Dot, just as I remember her!” Jo was delighted to see Daniel’s pet. “And who is this?” She pointed to an old mastiff of great size sleeping in a corner, his white muzzle propped upon one gigantic paw.
“That is Caesar.”
The mastiff opened one eye and looked at her, and shut it again.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Shy? I think the others have gone out to the woods to look for …” He paused to think and stroked the cat’s head again.
“Yes, Upton? What are they looking for?”
“Mushrooms,” he said at last, “I believe it was mushrooms.”
“I see … Well then, I will have a cup of tea. Thank you.”
Upton moved to a table that held an enameled tray decorated with shepherdesses and rotund little sheep. “Mrs. Nottingate has just brought it.” He lifted the lid of the white china teapot and let the fragrant steam escape. “It has steeped sufficiently.”
“There are two cups. Were you expecting someone?” Jo asked politely.
“No, miss. The cook always puts two cups on the tray. One is for me and one is for Dot. Mrs. Nottingate’s little joke.” He smiled creakily.
He poured out the tea and indicated a small plate that held buttered scones. “Scone, miss?”
“No, thank you, Upton. Where shall I sit?”
“The armchair is comfy.”
She looked before she sat down just to make sure it did not hold a sleeping animal. Upton brought her tea. The cup clattered slightly against the saucer.
“Thank you.”
He returned to his rocking chair with a cup in one hand and a scone in the other.
Dot pricked up her ears and shifted inside the basket, putting one paw over the side.
“Stay where you are, you naughty beast,” Upton said to the cat. “I’ll not have you upsetting my tea and nibbling at my breakfast.” He smiled at Jo. “Loves butter, she does.”
They sat for a long while in companionable silence, sipping tea. The cat’s purr deepened as she went back to sleep, whiskers twitching, her furry bulk rising and falling with each breath.
Jo looked at the somnolent Dot with a smile as she sipped her tea. Then she looked out the window. There were people walking at the edge of the distant woods. Surely one was Lizzie. The tall redhead stood out a mile away.
“There are the others.”
“Hmmm?”
“My friends, and Lord York.” She nodded toward the window.
Upton peered at it. “I will take your word for it, my dear.” He had finished his tea and scone, and he set the cup aside. The sun had reached the rocking chair and he closed his eyes, rocking to and fro.
The clink of china awakened Dot, who looked at the old man and seized her chance. She jumped out of the basket, landing with a thud upon the floor, and then jumped into his lap. He did not even open his eyes.
After a minute or two, Jo set down her own cup very quietly. She might as well go out to meet the others.
On tiptoe, she left the butler’s room and went back into the marble hall, wondering how she might get out. There seemed to be no end of doors and they might lead anywhere.
She chose a likely one and opened it. Drat, a closet. It held boots. Musty, mildewed boots that had been carefully put away at least a decade ago. There were cricket bats and other sporting gear, and an angler’s net on a pole. A large spider had taken up residence in the middle of the net. Jo shivered a little and hastily shut the door.
She opened another.
This was a small room with a window. Well, at least she was a little closer to the outside. She considered climbing out the window and decided against it. Undoubtedly it had not been opened for some time.
The room was a jumble of furniture and miscellaneous items that had once been too good to discard or burn, and were now too brittle or decrepit to use. Someone in a hurry had simply stuffed everything in and left it there, probably years ago.
Jo closed the door. She looked around and counted ten others in various places, but there was no telling which one might lead outside. She decided to stand in the middle of the marble floor, close her eyes, stretch out a hand, spin, and then open whichever door her finger pointed to.
First she looked up. The dome that crowned the marble entry hall was painted with angels riding clouds. They looked down at her with beatific smiles.
She looked around. No one would see her. The house was quite still. She could not hear Upton’s rocking chair and was sure he was sound asleep.
Jo closed her eyes and began to spin. She stopped and went to the door she pointed to, opening it wide.
Another closet, quite empty.
Perhaps she ought to go out the fro
nt and simply walk around, but the wings of the house went on for some distance and she would never remember her way through the outbuildings and garden of botanical rarities.
She closed her eyes and spun again. When she stopped, a strong hand clasped hers. Jo opened her eyes wide, feeling very foolish indeed.
“Daniel!”
“Hello, Jo. Whatever are you doing?”
“Trying to find a way out.”
“With your eyes closed?” He laughed at her and let go of her hand to chuck her under the chin. “You are a funny one.”
She could not blame him for laughing. She looked down and saw that he was carrying his muddy boots. No wonder she had not heard him enter or walk over to her.
“There are so many doors and none of them seems to go anywhere. Spinning around and pointing seemed as good a way as any to pick one.”
“I see. Well, allow me to show you the way.” He took her arm but stayed where he was, not seeming to be in any hurry.
“Were you with the others?”
He nodded. “Yes, we were gathering mushrooms.”
“Upton told me.”
“Ah, I am glad he came out to welcome you. He does not always hear the bell. Did you see Dot?”
“Yes, and Caesar. But Dot is no longer little.”
Daniel smiled. “Too much butter. Upton spoils her dreadfully. Shall we go?”
“Lead on, my lord.”
He guided her to a corridor that she had not noticed. It was narrow and they could not quite walk side by side without his thigh brushing hers. She rather liked the feeling and did not pull away.
“I don’t remember this.”
“Of course not. Upton never let my friends play in the hall and you were not here very often. Terence and I went in and out by the kitchen door around the back.”
“Ah.”
They came to the door at the end of the corridor and Lord York opened it with his free hand.
“There they are.”
The little party of mushroom gatherers was coming over a rise. They were closer than they had been when Jo had seen them through the kitchen window but not that close.
“Lizzie was afraid they would be lost without me, but I went ahead. Ginny is fearless and even Lizzie can spot a house the size of this one. And your cousin is not a missish sort.”
Lisa Noeli Page 13
