by Wilma Counts
“What?” they all said.
He repeated it.
“Too many syllables,” Lady Elinor protested with a laugh. “I could never master all those vowels! What does it mean?”
“It boils down to something like ‘Willow’s Choice.’ ”
“A tree chose you? There must be a story there,” Mrs. Arthur said with a smile as she finished laying out food and utensils and sat back.
“Oh, yes. A very long story.” He allowed himself a rueful note. “Willow was my wife’s Arapaho name. Actually, her name translated more accurately to something like the Singing Willow of the Evening.”
“How interesting,” Lady Elinor said.
“I’m sorry, my lord, if we intruded,” Mrs. Arthur said.
He glanced at her and smiled, touched by her empathy. Then he shrugged. “Not at all.” He was surprised at the ease with which he had shared even this most trivial information, and at the absence of the pain and regret memories of life with Willow usually conjured. “It was an interesting life,” he added.
“One not many Englishmen can lay claim to,” Mrs. Arthur said.
“No, but few Englishwomen have endured the hardships you must have encountered on the Peninsula campaign,” he said to change the subject.
“Well, it was not so very bad.” She seemed to have picked up on his desire to shift the topic. “The marches between battles were not wholly unlike prolonged picnics. Much more serious, of course, but—still—a very casual way of life.”
A loud scream erupted from the river. Instantly, Jeremy was on his feet and he and Mrs. Arthur ran onto the gravel bar, the footman Thomas right behind them.
Jeremy could not stifle a laugh at the scene that greeted them. Rosie sat in the stream, her legs straight out before her, her skirt billowing up around her. Ned and Cassie stood looking on in awe.
“Are you hurt?” Mrs. Arthur called.
“No,” Rosie said. “Just me dignity, I guess. I slipped. Felt somethin’ on me leg. Scared me and I fell.”
“Probably a minnow,” Jeremy said. “I’ll help you up.”
“I’ll do it, my lord,” Thomas offered, rushing to the rescue.
“You children come out too,” Mrs. Arthur said. “Our lunch is ready.”
Thomas set Rosie on her feet and she and the two children stepped gingerly over the uneven pebbles of the gravel bar and up to the edge of the picnic blanket.
They described the incident to Lady Elinor, who said, “Rosie, you’ll need to remove your wet dress. You’ll catch cold.”
“Oh, my lady! I couldn’t do that.”
“Thomas, there’s another blanket in the carriage. Will you get it, please?” Mrs. Arthur asked.
“Certainly, Mrs. A.” He ran to do so.
Jeremy was struck anew by the easy relationship between Mrs. Arthur and the other servants. Of course, they owed her respect. As housekeeper, she wielded tremendous influence over who was fired and who was hired. But he thought this went far beyond that simple fact of life. They genuinely liked her. Even Wilkins had come around to the point of seeming pleased when Jeremy informed the butler she would be staying beyond the trial period.
Now he was aware of her cajoling Rosie into removing her dress behind the bush—though he and Thomas and Lady Elinor kept up a low conversation and pretended not to listen. Rosie’s part of the discussion was an occasional whimper. Mrs. Arthur alleviated the girl’s offended sensibilities by assuming a practical, no-nonsense tone.
“Put your stockings back on—they will keep your legs warm. Yes, you can keep your drawers on—they’ll dry soon enough. Now here—wrap this blanket around you—just hold it like so. I’ll put your skirt and petticoat in the sun to dry.”
This was followed by a tremulous “thank you” and the two women emerged from behind the bush.
“Papa!” Cassie giggled and pointed at Rosie. She launched into a vowel-ridden commentary in Arapaho.
“Cassie! English, remember? You are being rude,” Jeremy said.
“I’m sorry.”
“What did she say?” Ned asked.
“She said Rosie looks like Chief White Eagle’s favorite wife—who is a very pretty woman, by the way.”
At first Rosie looked uncertain about this comparison, but then she preened a bit. “Why, thank you, Lady Cassandra.”
The afternoon mishap had little effect on anyone’s appetite. Roast chicken, savory cheese scones, fresh baby carrots, and strawberry tarts disappeared in a flash. Afterwards, the children happily went about finding and picking wildflowers, promising not to stray out of sight. Relishing a feeling of lazy contentment, free of worldly concerns, Jeremy stretched out on the blanket near his aunt. Buzzing insects and an occasional birdcall lulled his senses. Rosie and Thomas sat off to the side talking softly; Mrs. Arthur was finishing the last of her tart.
“Well, done, Mrs. Arthur,” Jeremy said.
“My compliments as well,” Lady Elinor said.
“Mrs. Jenkins did the food,” Mrs. Arthur said.
Lady Elinor heaved a comfortable sigh. “Such a very pleasant day—Rosie’s little contretemps notwithstanding. Thank you, nephew, for letting me be part of it.”
“And how could I not?” he responded. “You, dear aunt, are part of the Kenrick package.”
“Mrs. A,” Thomas said shyly as the housekeeper brushed crumbs from her skirt, “would you play for us?”
“Of course—that is, if it is everyone’s wish.” She held Jeremy’s gaze.
“The guitar is yours?” he asked, feeling foolish.
“Yes. I learned to play on the Peninsula.”
“You are a woman full of surprises, are you not?” Rising to a more erect position, he scarcely noticed a momentary look of apprehension in her expression. “And did you play for the great Wellington himself?” he teased.
“Only once,” she said.
“Oh. Well, then . . .” He gestured to Thomas, who ran to the carriage to retrieve the instrument.
Mrs. Arthur took it, strummed a few times, adjusted the tuning, and paused. “What shall it be?” she asked.
“ ‘Barbara Allen,’ ” Rosie suggested.
Jeremy prepared himself for a rather ordinary amateur rendition of one of England’s oldest and best-loved ballads. What he heard astounded him. Her voice was basically a sweet contralto, but she demonstrated—effortlessly—both range and control. She handled the instrument with ease and expertise. Jeremy was himself an accomplished musician; he had played the pianoforte since he was ten and had furthered his musical education during his years at Oxford. He knew a masterful performance when he heard one. And this certainly was such.
He listened raptly, as did the others. They all applauded vigorously when the last note faded. She launched into a happier comic ballad that had them all smiling and clapping their hands in tune. The children, who had rejoined them, took special glee in this one, as she directed specific lines to them.
“Do Papa’s song,” her son begged.
“Oh, but it is so sad,” she protested.
“Pleeease?” He stretched the word out to three syllables.
She shrugged and said to the others, “This is a Portuguese ballad of tragic love—rather like Romeo and Juliet. A haunting song of loss, personal and devastating. My husband liked this one very much.” She smiled sadly at her son.
She sang in Portuguese, so the words were meaningless to her immediate audience, but her voice and the music crept into their very souls. Jeremy was profoundly moved by the music, recalling losses he had experienced in his own life. He observed that the two servants and his aunt were equally moved: the women had tears in their eyes. Even the children were sobered.
She allowed the last note to hang in the air before saying, “I told you it was sad.”
“But very beautiful.” Lady Elinor said. “Very beautiful.”
“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Arthur. You are a woman full of surprises. Where did you learn to sing like that?” He held her gaze for a long m
oment and this time he saw it. Was that anxiety, perhaps fear, in her eyes?
She shrugged. “Here and there. The family circle, you know. All girls learn to sing.”
Not like that, he told himself. Not like that. That voice had a very good coach at some point, but he kept this thought to himself.
Feeling faintly apprehensive, Kate busied herself with the task of gathering up the picnic paraphernalia. After a moment, Lord Kenrick rose and said, “The sun is getting quite low. Come, Thomas, let’s see to the team.”
“Rosie,” Kate said, “your skirt may be dry enough to wear now.”
Rosie checked the skirt and pronounced it damp but wearable. She put the dress back on and returned to help Kate finish gathering things together. By the time the men brought the team and carriage around, all was readied.
“This has been a most delightful day,” Lady Elinor said as Lord Kenrick helped her into the carriage. “I do thank each and every one of you.”
“See? I told you you’d love it,” her nephew said.
She caressed his chin and said quietly, but with a laugh, “Jeremy, dear, no one likes an I-told-you-so.”
Kate smiled at this and on the return journey tried to keep up her end of casual conversation with Lady Elinor, but found her mind repeating his lordship’s question: “Where did you learn to sing like that?”
Could he tell she had had superior training? Her father had been an unforgiving tyrant, showing little affection to any of his children, but he recognized talent when he saw it and insisted that it be nurtured. No, a few folk songs could not reveal so much. It was not as though she had been warbling operatic arias. She dismissed the worry and fell to agreeing with Lady Elinor about what a wonderful day it had been.
As they approached Kenrick Hall, a traveling coach was pulling up to the door. Lord Kenrick stopped behind it, turned his own reins over to Thomas, and jumped down to help his passengers alight. A tall man emerged from the other vehicle and called out, “Jeremy! Oh, I say! Perfect timing, eh?”
Kate felt herself freeze inside.
No! This couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
She kept her head down, foolishly hoping her mobcap afforded some cover, and instructed Rosie to take the children up to the nursery.
“Both of them?” Rosie asked.
“For the moment. I shall come for Ned as soon as I can.” She could not just desert Lady Elinor.
“Bobby!” Lord Kenrick grasped his brother’s outstretched hand, then enclosed him in a bear hug. “I did not expect you until next week!”
“You know how government works—its clocks have different timing mechanisms than those of ordinary folk.” Robert Chilton looked over his brother’s shoulder and spied their aunt. “Aunt Elinor! You are still the most beautiful girl in Yorkshire!”
“Oh, go on with you, you honey-tongued devil, you.” She hugged him and Kate saw tears on her cheeks.
Kate tried desperately to make herself least seen, but Robert Chilton spied her and took a step toward her.
“What the—? Kate? Kate, is that you? By Jove! Lady Arthur! I never thought to see you here!”
CHAPTER 11
Kate’s mind was in a whirl. Robert faced her; Lord Kenrick was slightly in front of her, his eyes focused on his brother.
Lord Kenrick’s brows shot upwards. “Lady Arthur?”
Kate tried to convey her sense of urgency with a warning look to Robert even as she answered Lord Kenrick in a light tone. “Oh, pay that no mind, my lord. It was a silly game we played on the Peninsula. You must know how utterly bored soldiers can get—even officers.” She shook her finger at Robert. “And you must know these games do not play well at home where imaginary titles are frowned upon.”
Robert’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Imagi—. Oh. Right. I was just so surprised to see you.”
“And I, you, Captain Chilton,” she said. “It is a real pleasure and I do hope we will have an opportunity later to catch each other up. Right now you must be anxious to renew your acquaintance with your family.”
Another gentleman emerged from the traveling coach and Robert quickly introduced him as Captain Ralph Clemson. “He joined the regiment just in time for that little dustup at Waterloo,” Robert explained and made the man known to his brother and his aunt. He then turned to Kate, who was holding her breath against another faux pas that could bring down her house of cards. “Unfortunately, Clemson, you missed knowing our ‘Angel of the Forty-sixth.’ ”
“Mrs. Arthur. I am the housekeeper here at Kenrick Hall,” Kate offered, with a brief curtsy and a glance at Robert to be sure he had absorbed her name and position.
“Pleasure.” Clemson nodded in her direction.
Wilkins and a footman appeared to help with the luggage.
“We should move indoors,” Lord Kenrick said, offering his arm to his aunt. “I am sure Mrs. Arthur will see to some refreshments for us.”
“Yes, my lord.” Kate was glad to make her escape, but also worried that Robert might let something slip before she could talk with him. And what might Captain Clemson know of the Angel of the 46th?
She saw to it that refreshments were taken to the drawing room and that a suitable supper would appear in due time. It was a point of pride with her that Lord Kenrick’s household not be found deficient on any score. Trying not to allow herself to become obsessed with worry, she kept very busy for the entire evening.
It was late before Jeremy had any time alone with his brother. Lady Elinor had excused herself immediately after the evening meal, saying she had had a long day. The gentlemen then sat for a long while at the dining table over port and brandy, sharing stories of their separate adventures of several years and on two continents. At first, Jeremy had privately wondered about the sort of person an adult Robert might have become. After all, his younger brother had been a mere schoolboy when Jeremy had seen him last. He was pleased to find his doubts were groundless. The three men established an easy rapport and talked for a long while before Captain Clemson politely left the two Chilton brothers to cap the evening.
Jeremy and Robert moved into the family drawing room and were ensconced in comfortable chairs, their last drinks in hand when Jeremy turned to the topic that had niggled at the fringes of his consciousness since that scene at his brother’s arrival.
“So—Bobby. You knew my housekeeper in the Peninsula.”
“Jeremy, I haven’t been Bobby in over a decade,” his brother protested. “And I think our sister has been Margaret lo! these many years, though I did enjoy twitting her about ‘Mags’ when I visited.” He had mentioned earlier his visiting the Talbots.
“All right. Robert. I shall try to remember.” Jeremy suspected the younger man deliberately avoided the question, and he was not inclined to allow that. “Mrs. Arthur? The Peninsula?”
“Ah, yes. Kate. We called her the Angel of the Forty-sixth. That little woman showed more courage and fortitude during the entire campaign than any six fighting men!”
“Is that so?”
“Saved lives too. Some women—especially officers’ wives—complained and carried on. But Kate—she helped the medical people. I know of at least three fellows who would not be treading the earth today but for her.”
“Is that so?” Jeremy said again, trying to be encouraging.
“That is so,” Robert said firmly and sipped his drink. “She saved my arm! Blasted surgeon wanted to lop it off here.” He pointed to a spot above his right elbow. “Kate persuaded him to wait. She cleaned the wound herself, applied poultices and such for over a week. So . . . I’m here, and I’m still right-handed. Thanks to her.”
“Impressive. But what do you know of her background?”
“What do you know?” Robert parried.
“Well, I admit to knowing precious little. I was desperate, you see.” He explained the circumstances of hiring Mrs. Arthur. “I trusted Phillips. I trusted her, in fact, but as I look back on it, I had little real information. She
is a soldier’s widow; she was forthright about her son; she did not mind removing to Yorkshire; she came from the South of England; and she’s done an exemplary job since she came here. Oh, and she worked for a duke. So—what can you tell me about her?”
“She worked for—”
“For a duke.”
Jeremy watched an unreadable flurry of thoughts and emotions flit across his brother’s expression before Robert looked away.
After a long pause, Robert said, “She comes from Cornwall—or Surrey. I forget which. Father was a country squire and a high stickler. Disowned her when she married against his wishes. Husband’s family disowned him too, but he was able to buy a commission.” There was another pause. “That’s about all I can tell you.”
“Can or will?” Jeremy suspected there was more—much more—that Robert could tell him.
Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “At the moment, can. I owe her too much not to respect her privacy.”
Jeremy smiled, torn between admiring his brother’s loyalty to a friend and his own intense curiosity. “I can accept that. Mind you, I am not satisfied—far from it, in fact—but I respect your position.” He decided to let the matter drop for now. “So, you’ve seen the inimitable Maggie—uh, Margaret—and her lot. Have you seen your mother?”
“Oh, yes. Clemson and I stopped in Bath a few days before coming up here.” Robert drained his glass and waved away Jeremy’s offer of a refill. “Mother is, as you can imagine, not best pleased with you.”
“I know. I have a note from her every few weeks or so telling me that Bath is just not London. I offered her the dower house here, but she said, ‘Society in Bath is decidedly inferior, but society in Yorkshire is nonexistent!’ ”
“That’s my mama.” Robert sported an understanding grin.
“To be perfectly honest, Robert, I had to let the London house. If certain other ventures don’t go well, I am likely to lose it anyway. Hell and damnation! I’m in real danger of losing everything. Amelia will still have her fortune, though, and she can live comfortably forever in Bath. Your grandfather knew what he was about in negotiating her marriage settlements with our father.”
