An Earl Like No Other

by Wilma Counts

  Once they were outside, Ned eagerly proved to the two females that he had mastered the maze. Leaving the children to run through it again—and again—Kate joined Lady Elinor at the wicker lawn furniture to read a day-old newspaper.

  “Labor unrest. The price of bread. Nothing changes much, does it?” Lady Elinor sighed.

  Before Kate could reply, Ned appeared before her with Lady Cassandra right behind him. “We’re tired of the maze,” he complained.

  “Hmm. All right. Would you like to do something really useful?”

  “What?” He sounded skeptical.

  “Grass is crowding out the good plants in the herb garden. Could the two of you pull the grass? Then use the bucket and dipper to water the good plants?”

  “I guess so.” Ned sounded reluctant, but the two children dashed off to this new venture.

  “Just the blades of grass, now,” Kate called after them.

  “That was tricky of you,” Lady Elinor said with a chuckle.

  “One uses what one has,” Kate said airily as she picked up the paper again. She had chosen the herb garden because it was directly on the other side of the hedge behind which she and Lady Elinor sat. She could easily keep track of the two youngsters even as she and Lady Elinor read and talked—sometimes over mild squabbles and giggles on the other side.

  From the crest of the hill, Jeremy paused to drink in the scene of his home. He loved this view across a small dale. It had been this picture, especially, that had come to him on the rare occasions when he’d felt truly homesick during those years in North America. When his older brothers were alive, it would never have occurred to him to feel such a rush of possessive pride and fierce longing to keep hold of all this. His struggles of the last year had only intensified his will to hang on. The crisis with the mill and the mine were not wholly resolved by any means. Thirty years of neglect could not be corrected in a matter of months. What they really required was a huge infusion of money to modernize equipment. And always there was what Jeremy invariably thought of as “the Mortimer debt.” He sighed. So much uncertainty . . .

  His attention was diverted by a carriage in front of the entrance to Kenrick Hall. Even at this distance, he recognized the Mortimer vehicle and saw the figure of Miss Cranstan emerge and climb the steps. He’d forgot this was her half-day off! The carriage moved on, and Jeremy breathed a silent thank-you that he would avoid any of its other passengers.

  Thirty minutes later, his horse having gone lame, Jeremy was walking down his own driveway, leading his mount. His mind was preoccupied with tending to his horse and finding a nice, cool drink for himself. As he approached the back gardens on the way to the stable, he heard loud voices and urgent cries. He started to run.

  “You vile, vile little animal!” Nurse Cranstan was screaming. “Just look at you! Covered in mud! You’ll never be anything but a little savage!” She jerked at Cassie’s arm, causing the child to stumble and fall.

  Before Jeremy could reach them and intervene, Ned jumped to help the fallen Cassie. “You leave her alone!” he shouted.

  “Vermin.” Cranstan slapped the boy; he howled in surprise and pain.

  At this point, the boy’s mother rounded the end of the hedge and grabbed at a very startled Nurse Cranstan. “How dare you strike my child!”

  Cranstan tried to push the infuriated mother away from her. Mrs. Arthur pushed back and Nurse Cranstan slipped, landing on her bottom in a large puddle of mud with a loud yelp and dragging Mrs. Arthur down with her.

  “Why, you—” The nurse struggled to rise, but kept slipping.

  Mrs. Arthur found better purchase and scrambled to her feet, looking as ready for battle as a mama bear protecting her cub.

  “Here! What’s going on here?” Jeremy shouted.

  All eyes turned on him, horror in the nurse’s eyes, chagrin in the housekeeper’s, and mere surprise in the children’s. A babble of voices erupted as they all responded at once.

  “Papa!”

  “We were just—”

  “The children have been—”

  “Help me up, please.”

  He extended a hand to Nurse Cranstan and was rewarded with a handful of mud. Now that he knew no one was injured, he wanted to laugh at the whole farcical situation, but thought better of any mirth. “One at a time,” he ordered. He pointed at the nurse. “You first.”

  Miss Cranstan’s attempt to look dignified was belied by mud on her gown and face. She had also lost some hairpins; she pushed hair off her face, thus leaving another streak of mud. Belligerence and apprehension vied in her tone. “This, my lord, is what comes of allowing your daughter to associate with the lower orders. The child, as you can clearly see, regressed to her heathen ways the moment my back was turned. And it is all this woman’s fault. She encourages children to be out of control.”

  Jeremy felt his lips tighten, but before he could formulate a response, the nurse rushed on.

  “Mrs. Arthur was to look after Lady Cassandra. My half-day off, you know. She assured me you wouldn’t mind—”

  “No, I—”

  “But, look at her ladyship. Just look! She isn’t even wearing the garments I personally dressed her in this morning!”

  “She needed play clothes—not ribbons and lace!” Mrs. Arthur said.

  “And what would you know about rearing a child of the ton?” the nurse barked.

  A deep flush suffused the housekeeper’s face, but Jeremy did not allow her the explosion he saw coming. “Ladies, enough! I’ll send for each of you separately when we’ve all cleaned ourselves.”

  Seeing that the altercation had attracted the attention of several other staff members, he ordered his horse taken to the stable, picked up his daughter, and carried her into the house. When he set her down in the kitchen, he chuckled at the sight she presented.

  “You have streaks of mud on both cheeks,” he said.

  “It’s war paint, Papa. I was showing Ned—”

  “You were going to war with Miss Cranstan?”

  She giggled. “No, Papa!” Her expression became serious, apprehensive. “Are you angry, Papa?”

  “Not with you, Cassie. Not with you.”

  “Papa?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Papa, what’s a sabbage? Miss Cranstan said—”

  “Never mind what she said.” He managed to control his anger. “She was upset. She didn’t mean to say that.”

  “Oh. It’s a naughty word?”

  He seized on this. “Sort of.” He motioned to the maid Rosie, who hovered nearby. “Take her up to the nursery and clean her up, then take her to the drawing room where I’ll ask Lady Elinor to sit with her. But do not trouble Cranstan with her.”

  “Yes, my lord. Come along, my lady.” Rosie took a grubby little hand in her own.

  A half hour later, Kate dutifully reported to the library. Apprehensive, she scarcely dared to breathe freely. This altercation with Nurse Cranstan after her own lapse in behavior in the stillroom might well be cause for dismissal. Lord Kenrick stood in front of French doors that opened onto a slate patio. The light behind him, she could not read his expression. He motioned to the set of barrel chairs and they both sat.

  “What was that all about?” he demanded without preamble.

  “What she said, for the most part.” Kate explained her volunteering to look after Lady Cassandra so Nurse Cranstan could keep her engagement with the Mortimer women. “I—uh—perhaps overstepped with the change in clothing. And I should have foreseen that children would find playing in mud hard to resist.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture, “But they were having fun and children are washable—”

  “As are adults,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “Are you—are you going to dismiss me, my lord?” She voiced her immediate concern. After all, Miss Cranstan had been in the earl’s employ much longer than one Mrs. Arthur!

  “Dismiss you? Whatever for?”

  “Well, we did agree on a trial period and it’s alm
ost up and I don’t think Miss Cranstan likes me and she is an important member of the staff and—”

  “Hold on,” he interrupted. “You’re jumping to conclusions—again.” He held her gaze and grinned. “Are you always so impetuous?”

  She felt herself blushing, for she knew he was remembering—as she was—her response to his kiss. “I—I—sometimes. I guess.”

  He stood and extended his hand as he said, “For the record: no, I am not dismissing you.” His grin broadened. “At least not today.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief,” she said in the same light vein he had used. She smiled, grasped the hand he extended, and rose from the chair. There was an arrested moment between them, then he released her hand and she moved toward the door. But, she thought, it truly was a relief. She had been sorely afraid—worried for two days. And now this. Few employers could tolerate friction among upper staff members. Perhaps his lordship would be able to smooth things over and she could school herself to a more tolerant attitude toward Cranstan—or at least avoid her as much as possible.

  Miss Cranstan stood in the hall as Kate emerged. In the interest of toleration, Kate gave her a tight little nod of recognition—and received a frigid stare in response.

  Jeremy stood behind his desk as Nurse Cranstan entered the room. He gestured to a straight-backed chair in front of the desk for her and, when she had taken it, he sat himself and folded his hands over a letter lying on the blotter.

  “I see you’ve already spoken with the housekeeper,” she said nervously. “I do hope that woman has not twisted the truth out of all semblance of proportion.”

  “Mrs. Arthur essentially corroborated what you said outside earlier.”

  “She did?”

  “She did.”

  Miss Cranstan seemed to relax. “Well, then. You know, my lord, I simply do the best I can.”

  “I am sure you believe that,” he said, “but I am letting you go.”

  “Letting me—” Anger flashed in her eyes and two red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “So! She did fill your head full of lies about me. Women like that. Flit themselves in front of a man and he loses all sense of what is right and proper.”

  “Miss Cranstan. You forget yourself. This has nothing to do with Mrs. Arthur or anything you may imagine she said. It is entirely about your own behavior.”

  “My behavior?” Her voice rose and Jeremy feared she might become apoplectic. “My behavior?”

  “Yours. I specifically asked that you create a freer atmosphere for my daughter and that you respect her as a person by not using abusive language with her. Yet that is precisely what I happened upon this afternoon.”

  “I admit I lost my temper, my lord,” she said more contritely, “and I do apologize, but that woman simply should not be allowed to gainsay her betters. You must see that.” She ended on a plaintive note.

  He raised a hand. “Again. It is not about Mrs. Arthur.” He lifted the letter from his desk. “I have written you a letter of recommendation. I have not laid out any objections. It simply says you worked here and gave satisfactory service in the physical care of your charge.”

  “If it was so satisfactory—”

  He interrupted her, his voice hard. “I cannot—I will not risk having my child—or any child for which I have any degree of responsibility—treated as you treated those two today. I’ve included a bank draft for your wages to the end of the quarter. Cuthbertson will drive you to the coaching inn tomorrow—or anywhere else you want to go within a day’s drive.” He rose and walked around the desk to hand her the letter. “I expect you to be gone from this house by this time tomorrow.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Her voice, stiff and icy, seemed threatening. “I am quite sure you will live to regret this decision.”

  “I sincerely doubt it, but I wish you well.”

  The next day he was not surprised to learn that Miss Cranstan had had Cuthbertson drive her to the Mortimer estate.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Are you sure that is a good idea?” Lady Elinor asked when Jeremy told her at breakfast the next morning of his plan to take the housekeeper and her son along on a picnic with him and Cassie.

  He shrugged. “Why would it not be?”

  “Oh, come Jeremy! You know such a thing cannot be kept a secret.”

  “Why should it be a secret? There’s nothing immoral or improper about a simple picnic!”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse, my boy? You know very well you’ll set tongues wagging throughout three or four neighborhoods if just the four of you go off in the woods alone. That—on top of your dismissing the Cranstan woman—why, the gossip mongers will be fairly salivating!”

  “Well, let them.” He was annoyed, but he knew his aunt had a point. “I promised Cassie—”

  “I know. And one should keep promises made to a child.”

  “One should keep promises, period.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “I have it!” he interrupted. A teasing grin showed in his voice. “You must accompany us.”

  “I must—Jeremy, have you lost your wits?”

  “Why not? You’d enjoy it. I know you would. We can take a maid and a footman, too, to help you. Three extra adults should quell any undue gossip.”

  “Oh, Jeremy—” she protested, but he could tell she welcomed the idea. “I would not want to be a burden—”

  “Impossible—and it’s settled. Tomorrow—weather permitting.”

  The weather cooperated, so five adults and two eager children set off for a picnic the next day in an open carriage. Lord Kenrick and the footman, Thomas, occupied the driver’s seat, the others rode in the back with food and other essentials, including a somewhat battered guitar that Jeremy assumed belonged to the footman. The maid who accompanied them was Rosie, who was being rewarded for temporarily taking over the duties of the nursery maid.

  Jeremy drove to a spot on the Kenrill River he remembered from his childhood. It was as he had seen it in memory a thousand times: idyllic. Under an oak tree a large patch of grass sloped gently down to the water’s edge, from which a gravel bar jutted into shallow water. He drank in the blend of fungal odors of woods, grass, and solid earth.

  “What a beautiful spot,” Mrs. Arthur said as the carriage came to a stop. “A huge oak tree, warm sun sparkling on the water, just enough shade. It’s perfect!”

  Jeremy cast an appreciative glance her way, sure her inventory of the site was primarily for his aunt’s benefit. While he and Thomas took care of the horses, Mrs. Arthur and Rosie spread blankets and pillows, and made Lady Elinor comfortable. Leaving Thomas to finish with the team, Jeremy, carrying the picnic basket, strolled toward the women. Ned and Cassie had their heads together in earnest discussion.

  “Ask them,” Ned said.

  “No. You ask.”

  “No, you do it.”

  “Ask what?” Jeremy demanded as he set the basket down.

  They both spoke at once. “Can we go in the water?”

  “May we,” Jeremy corrected automatically.

  “May we—pleeease?” Both children bounced up and down in anticipation.

  Jeremy looked at Mrs. Arthur, an eyebrow raised in question.

  “Is it dangerous?” she asked.

  “No. It’s only ankle deep for about twenty feet out. Probably a bit cold at first.”

  “I could go with them,” Rosie offered eagerly.

  Mrs. Arthur nodded. “All right, then.”

  Quickly, before capricious adults could change their minds, the two children plopped down on the edge of the blanket to remove their shoes and stockings. Ned, wearing the short pants customary for a boy his age, was ready in a flash and jumped up.

  “Wait for Cassie—Lady Cassandra—and Rosie,” his mother said, helping the little girl remove her footwear, roll her pantaloons up to her knees, and tuck the hem of her dress into her belt, as Rosie, in a show of proper modesty, performed these same tasks for herself behind the meager screen of a
low bush.

  When the chaos of Rosie and two children racing into the chilly water had subsided, Mrs. Arthur said, “I’m sorry, my lord. I am so used to hearing Ned chatter about Cassie, you see.”

  “Never mind. She can be Cassie for the day, at least. Honorifics seem a bit silly for children.” He sat on the edge of the blanket, his knees drawn up.

  “Ah, but they do serve a purpose,” his aunt put in.

  “And that is—” he said.

  “They maintain decorum,” Mrs. Arthur said, pausing momentarily in the process of laying out food. “Rather like the use of ranks in the military.”

  Lady Elinor nodded. “Precisely.”

  “But people with military ranks are adults,” he argued. “The natives in America have a more sensible solution.”

  “What?” Both women spoke at once.

  “One can have one name as a child and quite another as an adult. The adult name is often earned—for a skill or an act of bravery.”

  “Such as?” Lady Elinor said.

  “Basket Woman was skilled at weaving baskets from river weeds and willows. Buffalo Killer is obvious. And Thomas here,” he added with a gesture as the footman approached, “might be called He Who Laughs.”

  “And did you have an Indian name?” his aunt asked.

  “Uh, yes . . .” He gave a sheepish grin; how had he allowed this conversation to take such a turn?

  “Well. What was it?” Lady Elinor demanded.

  “I—it’s not important,” he said.

  “Nonetheless, I should like to know what it was,” his aunt pursued. “And I am sure Mrs. Arthur is interested also.”

  “Oh, yes.” His housekeeper’s grin at his obvious embarrassment was as wide as that of the nodding footman.

  “You’re ganging up on me,” he protested. “Even Thomas has joined you, betraying his sex.”

  Thomas’s grin widened and Lady Elinor said, “Come, my boy. Out with it.”

  He sighed. “All right.” He lowered himself to a reclining position and rattled off the name in the Arapaho language.