by Jo Ann Brown
A door opened almost in Arthur’s face, and he jumped aside. Carrie looked out and hastily apologized.
“No need,” he said with a smile, as he glanced down at the baby she held. By her side, Gil clutched tightly onto her skirt. “After a lifetime in this house, I should know better than to walk close to the doors on this corridor.” He did not want to admit he had been lost in a sweet fantasy of Miss Oliver. Without the distraction of the children.
Carrie asked, “Going out again with our young friends?”
“Yes.” He was glad his sister had no inkling what he was thinking. “Miss Oliver thought taking them for a walk along the headland would be a good outing.”
“You should heed her. She knows a lot about children.” Carrie’s smile wobbled as her gaze grew distant. “And on many other topics, as well.”
“Such as?”
His sister blinked before asking, “Such as what?”
“You mentioned Miss Oliver is an expert on subjects other than children.”
“She may be, but I cannot tell you a specific one.” Carrie shifted the baby, who had begun to whimper. “But she is a patient listener when I ask her the same questions time and again.”
“Most likely she is accustomed to doing so for the children.”
Laughing, she said, “I never thought of that.” The baby began crying. “Excuse us, Arthur. We were on the way to the kitchen for a feeding, and I have learned if I delay getting Joy to the wet nurse, my ears will suffer.”
“Then by all means, do not let me keep you.” He swept his arm in a courtly bow as he stepped out of her way. “Gil, would you like to come with me and Miss Oliver and the other children?”
“Who?”
“Maris, sweetheart,” Carrie said. Over his head, she added, “He doesn’t recognize her surname.”
Arthur nodded, realizing he had never heard the children address her as anything but Maris. How different from the stern woman who had presided over the nursery when they were young! She was Nurse Broderick, a mouthful for a child to pronounce, so they had usually avoided using her name.
“Would you like to come with me and Maris?” Arthur smiled as he spoke her name casually.
“My baby,” Gil replied, grabbing Carrie’s skirt with his other hand.
“He wants to stay with Joy,” she said.
“I understood.” Anything else he might have added went unsaid when the baby let out a piercing cry, echoed by Gil.
Carrie calmed the little boy and tried to do the same with Joy. She hurried away at the best pace Gil’s legs could manage.
Arthur followed, but went in the opposite direction when the hallway branched. He paused when he saw a footman going about his duties.
“Venton,” he called.
“Yes, my lord?”
He asked the footman to explore the attics and search for the baby wagon. If Venton found it, he should send it to one of the carpenters working on the stable. Once it was checked for stability and repaired, it should be painted before Carrie was informed it was available for her use.
After Venton assured him he would make his best effort, Arthur went downstairs. He heard the children’s eager voices before he saw them gathered at one side of the great staircase. The twins wore bright red coats he remembered Susanna wearing. Bertie’s navy one might have belonged to Arthur or his brother.
Miss Oliver wore her unflattering gray bonnet and coat. He imagined her in clothing as bright as the little girls’, tones that would complement her coloring, then halted himself. Thinking in that direction was wrong for a man about to ask another woman to be his wife.
“Are you ready to leave, my lord?” Miss Oliver asked.
He should tell her no. Tell her he had changed his mind. If he did, her lovely emerald eyes would fill with dozens of questions he was not sure he could answer and still protect the secrets he must hide.
“Whenever you are, Miss Oliver.”
She picked up a large basket he had not noticed. Hooking her arm through the handle, she offered her hands to the children. The twins each grabbed one, but Bertie ran to Arthur.
“I friend of the bear,” he announced.
With a laugh, Arthur took the boy’s small hand. “That you are, Bertie.”
The little boy chattered nonstop as they went out to where a small pony cart waited along with his horse. After helping the children into the cart, Arthur held out his hand to Miss Oliver. She accepted his help up onto the seat, then set the basket on her lap.
As he took the reins from the stable boy and handed them to her, he asked, “What do you have in that basket?”
“A surprise for the children.”
“And for me?”
She smiled, and he wished he could persuade her to keep wearing the expression. It lit her face and glowed in her eyes. “If you would like, I can keep it a surprise for you, too.”
“I am not fond of surprises.”
“Neither am I.” The light went out of her eyes as if someone had blown out a candle. She looked away.
What was she trying to hide from him? She reacted like this at the oddest times. Perhaps if he took note of when she did, he might see a pattern. For now, he was baffled. He prayed God would ease her pain and send her someone to help, even if it was not him. That thought sent a sharp pain into his gut, though he knew he should concentrate on his duties to the estate and as a courier.
He swung into the saddle. A tightness in his ankle reminded him to be careful. He walked his horse alongside the pony cart and toward the gate.
As she did each time she drew away, Miss Oliver remained silent for several minutes, then began talking as if nothing had occurred. She steered the cart to the base of the headland. There, she lifted the children out of the cart and settled the basket once again on her arm. She told the little ones to climb the hill and calmed their excitement so they did not rush and hurt themselves.
And she never once looked in Arthur’s direction, not even when he offered her his arm.
With a sigh, he lashed his horse’s reins to the cart and followed the others up the hill. The twisting path was steep, but the children clambered up with ease. He watched where he stepped and did not realize how far he had fallen behind until, from higher on the hill, Miss Oliver called for the children to pause.
She hurried down to him. “This is too much, my lord.”
“For you?”
“No, for you. Perhaps you should not be climbing like this when you are still limping.”
“Allow me to decide what my own limits are, Miss Oliver.”
Again she looked away, and he knew his tone had been too sharp. Her shoulders hunched as if she feared a beating. Who had treated her appallingly? Everything about her spoke of a gentle birth and rearing, but too often she acted like a kitten that had been kicked aside too many times. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“Anything,” he replied.
His quiet answer brought her eyes up, and he saw shock in them. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. When he offered his arm again, she put her fingers lightly on his sleeve. She said nothing as they followed the children up the slope.
As Arthur had expected, the wind at the top of the hill tried to pry his hat from his head. The children ran about, their arms outstretched like tiny birds ready to take flight for the first time.
Miss Oliver stepped away from him to get a better hold on the basket, which rocked in the wind. “I can see why it was suggested I bring the children here.”
“Who suggested that?” he asked, eager to keep her talking.
She counted off on her fingers. “Lady Caroline. Baricoat. Three of the footmen.”
“That is quite a consensus.”
“And an accurate one. It is beautiful here.” Her eyes glittered like twin gems as she turned to take in the expanse of sea and land. “In one direction, it is as wild as the first day God created the world. When I look in the other, the village, the church and Cothaire show how the land has been tamed.�
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Arthur followed her gaze, trying to see the view as she did. Below to the left, the inner crag curved in to protect the harbor from storms. Yet the dual cliffs, facing each other like folded arms, created dangerous currents with every tide. Water shot with a thud out of a tunnel in the outer cliff. The sound and the eddies had fascinated him when he was a boy. In truth, they intrigued him still.
“Is that a beam engine I hear?” Miss Oliver asked.
He strained his ears. There! Beneath the pulse of the waves, he heard the deep, rhythmic sound of a beam engine. He shaded his eyes and looked inland toward the mines scattered across Lord Warrick’s estate. Arthur could see smoke coming from the chimney of a beam house. Coal powered the steam turbines moving the great beam that pumped water from the earth so miners could dig more deeply into the seams of tin.
“You have keen hearing,” he said.
“A handy trait when I need to keep track of active children. Catching a whispered scheme can allow me to put a halt to the mischief before it starts.”
“We often said Mother had the ears of a bat and the eyes of an owl. She seemed to hear us no matter how quiet we were, and I would have sworn she could see in every direction at once.”
Miss Oliver faced him. “You miss her very much, don’t you?”
“There are some wounds no amount of time can heal.”
“Was she more like Lady Caroline or Lady Susanna?”
“Carrie. Susanna inherited many of Father’s characteristics, such as his excellent financial sense. Carrie is more maternal.” Arthur laughed shortly. “Though after seeing Susanna with the twins, I may have to rethink my appraisal. I sometimes wonder how different our lives would have unfolded if Mother had not died close to the same time Carrie’s husband did. Mother was both a force to be reckoned with and a gentle spirit who brightened every room she entered. A light went out of our lives, but I know it is waiting for us when we rejoin her in heaven.”
He told Miss Oliver a story he had not related in many years, of how his mother had chided him for eating all the jam one day, and how he had struggled to keep his stomach from erupting before the scold was done. When the nurse laughed, he realized how correct Carrie was. Miss Oliver had a true gift for listening to others.
“Thank you,” he said when their laughter faded away.
“For what?”
“For listening while I prattled like a chatterbox. I don’t do it often.”
Her smile warmed him to his toes. “You should. You are a good storyteller.”
He was astonished how her words pleased him. Compliments he received usually had to do with how smoothly he solved problems for others on the estate. He could not recall the last time someone had praised him for something personal.
Because you never share personal things, chided a small voice within him. You have become so anxious not to reveal your work with Gwendolyn you cannot speak of anything in your heart.
He could not argue with that voice.
“Look, Arthur!” Bertie tugged on his greatcoat. “Ship!”
Shielding his eyes, Arthur saw sails close to the horizon. He picked up the boy so he could see more easily past the rocks at the edge of the hill.
“Cap’s?” asked the twin he was sure was Lulu.
Miss Oliver confirmed his guess when she smiled and said, “Lulu, be patient. One of these days, Cap will come back to Porthlowen.”
“Soon?”
“Very soon.”
The child’s disappointment was clear on her face. Arthur felt compelled to comfort her, but he had no idea how. Later, he must speak with Miss Oliver about the best ways to offer solace to an unhappy child.
He realized he was getting his first lesson when Miss Oliver knelt and drew some items out from under the cloth tucked into the top of her basket. As she placed them on the ground in front of the children, who crowded around to see, she kept her hands on slender sticks and fabric so the breeze did not send them skittering away.
The children asked questions as Miss Oliver added a spindle of twine to the pile, but Arthur knew what she was planning. He watched as her nimble fingers put the pieces together. When she was finished, she held up a kite. In abrupt silence, the children stared at it, giving her a chance to explain what it was and what it could do.
She rose gracefully. “Shall we try to get our kite to fly?”
The children cheered in excitement and begged to be first.
Seeing the indecision on her face, because she did not want to choose one child over the others, Arthur admired anew how careful she was to keep the tots happy and show them they were loved.
He reached for the kite. “Let’s go!”
“I think not.” Miss Oliver put her arm in front of him. “Mr. Hockbridge would not be pleased to see you running about.”
“I assure you I am fine.” He held out his hand in a silent command for her to give the toy to him. When she did not move, he said, “If you don’t mind, Miss Oliver...”
“But I do. I shan’t have you harm yourself again because you refuse to see sense.”
“Quite the contrary. I do not intend to chance injuring my leg anew.” He held out his hand. “The kite, if you please, Miss Oliver.”
For a long moment, he thought she would not give it to him; then, without a word, she held it out.
“Thank you,” he said, as he took it and looked at the children. “First we run.” At an easy trot that spared his ankle, he held up the kite. The wind caught it immediately, and it soared up into the sky.
“Look! Arthur flies kite!” shouted Bertie.
Arthur chuckled, amused by how the little boy treated him with respect, yet acted as if Arthur were his big brother. When had he last come outside to enjoy the day and do something as frivolous as flying a kite? Regret battered his heart when he realized he could not answer the question. It had been far too long since he had done anything but his duty.
Squeals of delight filled the afternoon. The children danced around, clapping while the kite dipped and rose on the breeze. Arthur gave each one a chance to hold on to the string with him. He had them stand in front of him while he held the twine with one hand and the child with the other. He laughed along with their giggles.
“Shall we give Miss Oliver a turn?” he asked, then corrected himself. “Shall Maris have a turn?”
Color rose on Miss Oliver’s cheeks as he spoke her given name, but she shook her head. “I am happy to watch.”
“Nonsense.” He refused to let her stand aside and not be part of the fun. Drawing the kite with him, he walked to where she stood.
“Very well,” she said, and he suspected she was eager to hold the kite’s string, too.
“Are you ready?”
She laughed and reached for the taut string. “I think I am as ready as I ever shall be.”
Instead of handing it to her, he raised his arms and brought them down on either side of her, so they both could hold the kite. Just as he had with the children.
But her reaction was completely different. She ducked under his arm and backed away, then looked at him, aghast. Her eyes were wide and her face ashen. Her fingers gripping her cloak shook so hard he could see that from more than an arm’s length away.
“What is wrong?” he asked, confused.
“I must— That is, we must— The children...” She moved away and gathered the youngsters, telling them it was time to leave. They protested as she herded them ahead of her down the path toward the cart.
Arthur collected the basket and drew in the kite. That slowed him so much that Miss Oliver had finished placing the children in the cart by the time he was halfway down the hill. It was even tougher on his ankle to descend than to climb.
“Miss Oliver?” he called.
He would have thought she did not hear him, except she glanced in his direction as she climbed onto the front seat and picked up the reins. When she raised them to give the command for the horse to go, the children started yelling.
He c
ould not hear their words, but they pointed at his horse tied to the back. She stopped the cart and got out. Untying his mount, she waited until he reached the bottom of the slope. Then she handed him the reins without meeting his gaze.
“Miss Oliver—”
“If you will excuse us, my lord, it is time for the children to return to the house.” She added nothing more as she hurried to the cart and climbed up.
She drove past him. The children waved to him, but she did not look back.
With a halfhearted wave to the youngsters, Arthur remained where he was. What good would it do to give chase and ask her why she had abruptly changed right in front of his eyes? Her laughter had become fright, but what had scared her?
Chapter Six
“My lord, this arrived for you.” No hint of emotion colored Goodwin’s voice.
Even so, Arthur whirled in his desk chair and stood. A hot sting ran along his leg from his ankle to his knee. He needed to take care, even after more than a week, not to jostle his leg or move it quickly.
Could it be a message at last from Gwendolyn?
The past week had been interminable. Not because he waited for Gwendolyn’s answer. Not because he had no chance to seek information about Cranny’s murder. In fact, Arthur had given far too little thought to his courier duties or his friend since the kite-flying outing. His thoughts were focused on why Miss Oliver had sped away with the children.
Getting an answer from her had proved as impossible as accepting that he had overdone it and set his recovery back. He had seen Miss Oliver on occasion in the house. The closest he had been to her was when she sat in the pew opposite his at church on Sunday. Every time he had aimed a surreptitious glance in her direction, she looked elsewhere. She had participated in the service, but he saw none of the heartfelt enthusiasm she showed with the children. That startled him, and he wondered why she seemed to draw into herself rather than reach out to the community under the church’s roof.
