Donal retreated a step. “I understand. If you will—”
“I beg you to be forgiving when you meet him.” She picked up her skirts and walked passed Donal, leaving him to trail behind her.
He escaped into the warmth of the afternoon, his thoughts a muddle of contrary images. He readily envisioned Cordelia’s face in its customary expression of firm and uncompromising determination, as it had been when he first met her, and yet just now it had revealed both chagrin and vulnerability. When she dealt with Donal, Ivy or the servants, her manner was anything but meek, yet with Sir Geoffrey she had been deferential, even ingratiating.
Mistreated animals often reacted to abuse in one of two vastly different ways: they either broke and became trembling, neurotic shadows, or they turned viciously against those who hurt them. But humans could be disturbingly complex. Donal had always enjoyed an excellent relationship with his parents, but he could remember an earlier time when those who had the care of him had ignored and mistreated him. Ivy had suffered in filth and poverty, yet she had emerged from her ordeal with unexpected strength. Cordelia had lost a husband and a sister. Was that all she had lost?
As Donal made his way back to the menagerie, he had the disquieting feeling that the bars of an unseen and very human cage were closing more and more tightly about him.
CHAPTER NINE
CORDELIA, THEODORA AND IVY emerged from the milliner’s salon, carrying their latest treasures carefully wrapped in tissue and ribbon. John the footman, laden with bundles and boxes filled with bonnets, stockings, gloves, shawls, stays, and underclothing, collected at various shops throughout the very busy morning, stood ready to carry them back to the carriage waiting down the street. Cordelia thanked him and sent him on his way.
“I’m hungry,” Ivy announced, her gaze darting up and down the lane in search of a likely inn or street vendor. “May we eat now?”
Theodora covered her mouth with her hand and met Cordelia’s gaze, amused by the girl’s antics. Cordelia shook her head and smiled ruefully. It was not that she didn’t appreciate Ivy’s high spirits; indeed, during the week since Ivy’s arrival it had been as if sunshine incarnate had entered Edgecott’s gloomy halls, and Cordelia had often arisen from her bed with a long-forgotten excitement fluttering in her chest.
Ivy was like a South American hummingbird, Cordelia thought—never still for an instant, moody one moment and vivacious the next, always poised to dash hither and thither as the urge struck her. Every day had been filled with new surprises as Ivy reveled in her new life of abundance, and even the small things Cordelia most took for granted acquired a fresh and joyful luster. The house was redolent with the scent of wildflowers Ivy collected by the river; meals became stimulating affairs dominated by Ivy’s incessantly curious questions; the library with its vast collection of books was transformed into a land of endless adventure. Cordelia even caught old Croome hiding a grin when Ivy swept through the hallways.
In some ways Ivy was still the child she had for years pretended to be. Cordelia had expected her to be excited about the shopping trip, and the girl had certainly found much of interest in Gloucester. But Ivy had soon grown bored with the ordeal of holding still while the milliner’s assistants poked, prodded and measured her for the array of gowns she must have in her new life. Her mood had become increasingly restive, and Cordelia was reminded that soon she must begin to teach the wild girl how to be a lady.
She grasped Ivy’s sleeve, preventing her from racing up the street like a greyhound after a lure. “Do you remember what we discussed?” she asked. “If you remain calm and cooperative, we will have a pleasant luncheon at the inn.”
Ivy pulled a face. “I thought I would have new dresses today,” she said, “but all we did was wait while them morts stuck pins in my knickers. That ain’t no fun at—”
“Language, my dear,” Cordelia reminded her. “I know you can do better than that.”
“Oi can if Oi wants to,” Ivy said airily. “Donal never orders me about the way you do.”
“Dr. Fleming still thinks of you as a child, Ivy, but I have much higher expectations.”
The girl snorted. “’E knows I ain’t no kid.”
“Your behavior at this moment might convince him otherwise.”
A flicker of distress crossed Ivy’s face. “You said you’d make me into a lady!”
“So I did. And when we receive your dresses, you will find the thought of ladylike behavior much easier to bear.”
With one of her lightning-swift changes of mood, Ivy whirled round and round with her arms outflung. “I shall be beautiful,” she sang, spinning in a dizzy circle. Suddenly she stopped, facing Cordelia. “I shall be beautiful, shall I not?”
Cordelia smiled and cupped Ivy’s cheek. “You are already the loveliest girl of my acquaintance.”
Ivy kissed her hand. “And when I am dressed up properly, then Donal will notice me.”
Cordelia felt a chill of inexplicable alarm. “Donal is your friend. He speaks to you often….”
“But he doesn’t look at me. Not the way he looks at you.”
Cordelia swallowed her astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen you two every day at dinner. He watches you all the time…and sometimes you look at him, as if…” She frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s really why you brought me to Edgecott…so you could have Donal.”
Suddenly weak at the knees, Cordelia took a fresh grip on Ivy’s arm and walked her around the corner into an alley where they would not be overheard.
“Ivy,” Cordelia said, catching the girl’s downcast eyes, “is that what you truly believe?”
Ivy fidgeted, shuffling her feet. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think I don’t want you?”
“I…” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m afraid.”
Cordelia enfolded the girl in her arms. “You must not ever, ever think that I do not want you just for yourself, my dear…for the very wonderful person you are.”
“But why?”
“Why?” She stroked Ivy’s hair away from her face. “I, too, have been lonely, my dear.”
“You? But you always have so much to do, at Edgecott, in the village, even in London—”
“Yes,” Cordelia admitted. “I am often very busy with my work. But Edgecott has been too quiet, too staid in many ways. I had not realized just how stifling it had become until you arrived. Or how happy your presence makes me.”
“You…you really mean it?”
“I never lie, my dear…it is one of my guiding principles.” She set Ivy back and gripped her shoulders. “I knew when we first met that your true home would be at Edgecott, with me and Theodora. You must never doubt it.”
Ivy hugged her fiercely. “And you won’t let Donal go away?”
That again. Cordelia stifled a sigh. “Dr. Fleming and I agreed that he should accompany you to Gloucestershire so that the change of scene would not seem so difficult for you. It is true that I asked him to treat my animals, but that was only a secondary reason for his coming.”
“If I can prove I’m a real lady, will he stay?”
“I cannot speak for him…”
“You don’t care if he leaves Edgecott.”
A hard lump lodged at the base of Cordelia’s throat. “I am quite certain that Dr. Fleming has his own plans for his future. But I very much regret if I have given you any cause to believe that I have…inappropriate feelings for Dr. Fleming, or that such feelings in any way motivated my request that you make your home here.”
Ivy sniffed. “You really like me?”
“I like you very much, my dear. And I hope you will come to like me.”
Ivy rubbed at her face with her arm, and Cordelia produced a handkerchief. She felt unreasonably emotional herself. Perhaps it was because Ivy had so grievously misconstrued her reasons for bringing the girl to Edgecott. And Cordelia had very much set her heart on helping this young lady reach her potential as a woman and
a member of society.
But if she looked beyond the obvious explanations for her discomposure, she was equally disturbed that Ivy had claimed to recognize some attachment between Cordelia and Dr. Fleming that simply did not exist. Indeed, the very thought of it was preposterous, an intemperate fancy of a romantic young girl’s imagination.
Shaking off her lingering unease, Cordelia smiled and reached in her reticule for the small box she had carefully wrapped that morning. “I have something for you, my dear. I had thought to give it to you tonight, but—”
“A present? For me?” Ivy asked, grinning.
Cordelia presented the box on her open palm. With eager fingers Ivy undid the ribbons and wrapping, lifting the cover with a gasp of delight.
“A chain!” she said. “A silver chain. How pretty it is.”
“For your pendant,” Cordelia said. “I think it is past time to retire that ancient leather cord, don’t you?”
Ivy quickly untied the thong about her neck, slipped the pendant free and, with Cordelia’s help, attached it to the silver chain. She was nearly hopping with excitement as Cordelia fixed the clasp.
“How do I look?” she asked, twirling about on her toes.
“Like a very elegant young lady,” Cordelia said. She laughed softly, taking joy in Ivy’s pleasure. “Would it suit you to have our luncheon now?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Cordelia.”
For the remainder of the afternoon, Ivy determinedly applied herself to behaving exactly as Cordelia would wish. Cordelia was immensely gratified by the small but telling victory. She lived by the doctrine that any problem could be solved with steadfastness, compassion and common sense. Once again her philosophy had been proven correct.
But that didn’t mean she could relax her vigilance. Ivy’s education was just beginning. And Cordelia knew that she must take special care from now on never to give Ivy—or Donal—any reason to doubt her complete disinterest in the doctor as anything but a temporary employee and Ivy’s onetime guardian.
DONAL HAD BEEN UP before dawn as was his custom, and so he had dressed and arrived at the house well in advance of breakfast. A sleepy footman directed him to the kitchen, where Mrs. Jelbert was just baking the day’s bread and brewing coffee for Sir Geoffrey. Donal accepted a mug of the beverage and set off on his usual brisk walk around the park and past the menagerie, returning at last to his own humble cottage.
His first glimpse of his lodgings at Edgecott had been on the day after his and Ivy’s arrival, when Perkins, the head groundskeeper, had led him to a cluster of cottages just over a low hill from the menagerie. A pair of scullery maids with an array of buckets, mops and other cleaning implements were leaving as Perkins and Donal approached. Two other maids and a footman in the uniforms of the house stood ready with linens, rolled carpets, a washstand, and sundry other amenities.
Donal had understood that it would do little good to protest that he had no need of such luxuries. Cordelia would not have listened. So he had accepted the gift with good grace and set about making himself worthy of his keep.
Every day for the past week he had spent each morning with the animals in the menagerie, treating their minor ailments and doing what he could to abate their discontent and the general malaise of captivity. The work was frustrating, for he knew there was a limit to what he might achieve under the circumstances, yet he formed a bond with the animals that he believed was of some small benefit to both them and him.
In the late afternoons, after luncheon at the house—when he all too often found himself inexplicably gazing at Cordelia like a veritable mooncalf—he rambled among the wolds or visited the local villages and farms where he observed numerous examples of Cordelia’s admirable work among the yeomen and cottagers of the parish.
It was clear that she was deeply respected by the parishioners, regardless of station or profession; the curate praised her Christian charity, farmwives spoke enthusiastically of the school Mrs. Hardcastle supported, and shopkeepers in the village practically fell over themselves to extol the value of her patronage. A prosperous squire, whose carriage horse Donal examined on the road several miles outside Edgecott, was happy to confide that Edgecott itself would be in a sorry state indeed if not for Mrs. Hardcastle’s management; the reclusive Sir Geoffrey was hopeless at such matters and left the administration of his estate and fortune in her capable hands.
After hearing such laudatory accounts Donal generally looked forward to his evening meetings with Cordelia, though he despaired of his foolish attachment to her company. This evening was no different. He climbed the hill overlooking the carriage drive, watching for the ladies’ return from Gloucester. He remembered how they had looked when they departed that morning: Ivy appearing very grown-up in her long, full skirts and with her dark tresses drawn up close to her head, Cordelia sitting erect in her seat, her face a little flushed by the wind, every hair in perfect order. Even from a distance she exuded a unique and particular force of will.
God alone knew how long they would be at their shopping; if they were anything like Lady Eden, they might even choose to remain in town overnight. Donal shook his head with an indulgent smile and descended the hill. He had meant to visit the stables and kennels for the past several days, and there seemed no better opportunity than the present. He set off at a brisk stride for the stable block behind the house and gardens.
Halfway there he was stopped by an importunate bark from the direction of the manor. He waited for Sir Reginald to catch up, and the spaniel fell into a companionable trot beside him.
“Do you find the house to your liking, Sir Reginald?” he asked.
The dog cocked his head up at Donal and wagged his tail.
“Doubtless it is no more than you were used to with your former human companion.”
The dog’s sadness reached Donal briefly, and then Sir Reginald sent a much more joyful message.
“I am glad that you are happy with Ivy,” Donal said. “There will be many times in future that she will look to you for comfort. The world can be a harsh place for young people, especially of her sex.”
Sir Reginald gave fervent agreement, for he was well familiar with the tales of the three street curs who had come with Ivy to Yorkshire. He whined.
“No. You need never fear that Ivy will return to that life. But it is up to you to remind her how much she stands to gain if she strives for happiness here, where she has so many advantages.”
The spaniel paused, sat on his haunches, and regarded Donal severely. Donal squatted beside him.
“Yes. It is true that I hope to leave England within the next few months. But it is not that I wish to be rid of Ivy, or leave you and the other animals. Someday I will return, but…”
The spaniel shot him a reproachful look.
“No, I would never give up our conversations, Reggie…not even for all the gold in England. Come along, now.”
Sighing deeply, the dog accepted Donal’s reassurance and dashed ahead toward the stables. Donal reached them a few minutes later.
The stables were large and, like everything else at Edgecott, kept spotlessly clean. Stable boys were at work mucking out stalls or polishing tack, and grooms exercised a pair of handsome bay thoroughbreds. A dozen more horses, including a fat pony and several ladies’ hacks, occupied the roomy stalls.
Donal breathed in the air of contentment with a smile. He returned the grooms’greetings and walked along the stalls, acknowledging each occupant. Twelve large, elegant heads pushed over the partitions, nostrils flaring and ears pricked forward. The shaggy pony snorted and danced to show how clever he was. The other horses laughed at him, but gently. There was no hostility or rivalry here, only a calm good fellowship.
Donal soon perceived the source of the general serenity. Though equine memories were far from precise, and consisted more of disjointed images and feelings rather than sequential facts, he was able to discover that one person more than any other framed the horses’ tranquil thoughts: Cordelia Hardca
stle.
The pony remembered how he had been taken away from a man who had beaten him when he could not pull a loaded cart that would have foundered a draught horse. One of the hacks, a quiet mare who was simply no longer beautiful, had been bound for the knackers when Cordelia rescued her. Almost every horse had a similar story to tell, and even those that had been purchased under more ordinary circumstances had fond feelings for Cordelia and the sugar lumps she brought nearly every day.
The stable cats, who kept carefully out of Sir Reginald’s way, found the warm stalls a paradise of plentiful food and stroking hands. Donal toured the kennels behind the stables and judged them to be in a similar happy state. The dogs there had plentiful space to run, and a goodly number of them had also been saved from dog fighters, injury or starvation.
It was impossible to come away from a visit with the domestic animals of Edgecott and think of Cordelia as anything but a saint. For a while Donal drifted along in a golden glow of admiration, but eventually his thoughts turned again to the residents of the menagerie.
As much as Cordelia loved her four-footed dependents, she saw no real difference between the horses, dogs and cats and their wilder brethren. Somehow he must explain that the suffering of the menagerie inmates had little to do with physical sickness and was in every way the result of their captivity, benevolent though it might be.
Making her understand, however, would be neither an easy nor pleasant task. His first attempt at broaching the subject had not met with any great success. As he wandered about the kennels and pondered how he might try again, he heard a high-pitched squeal of rage from the stables, accompanied by the frenzied emotions of a horse in distress. He raced from the kennels into the stableyard to find a groom struggling with a rearing stallion, its lethal hooves cutting the air like scythes.
He was suddenly hurled back in time to his first days as a child at Hartsmere, when he had seen the man known as Hartley Shaw gentle a similar horse with a simple touch and a few soft words. Shaw had been far more than the wandering laborer he’d pretended to be; he was Donal’s own Fane father in disguise, come to reclaim the half-mortal son he had lost.
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