Alyse's voice took on a gleeful tone. "Oh, yes! In a minute she shall be dancing so fast, she'll have to go back to London for a month to rest her old bones."
They giggled.
"Whom are we targeting this time?" Marianna said behind them, attempting to infuse her voice with the appropriate interest.
The girls’ faces swivelled about.
"Smelly old Lady Allen," Eleanor supplied, wrinkling her small nose, but then she brightened. "She doesn't like spiders. She said so!" She clapped happily and pointed to a small earthenware crock they’d stashed under a bench. "So we're going to chase her away with those."
"Oh."
Truth to tell, Marianna did not like Lady Allen any more than the girls seemed to. Even less, more like. The young widow had not been invited to stay at the manor, coming along as a surprise guest of another guest. It was bad form, a breach of manners that might have been overlooked, were Lady Allen any more pleasant than she was.
Lady Allen—who did not like spiders, children, or washing, it seemed—complained about everything. Nothing was good enough—most especially the ABC's. Marianna had quite come to dislike her.
"Well," Marianna whispered, bending toward them conspiratorially, "if you are trying to chase Lady Allen away, I can think of a much better place to deposit the spiders than the ballroom." Which would be a complete disaster, Marianna added to herself.
Alyse and Beatrice traded looks.
"Where?" Eleanor asked.
"Come with me," Marianna said and led the way.
True tried to observe the scene with cool detachment, but as host, he could not avoid being drawn into first one cluster and then another. He resisted participating in their conversations and even listening at all, but he found he could not avoid their bibble-babble entirely without appearing rude. Thank goodness they were none of them addressing him, he thought. But then his luck ran aground.
"I hear from my housekeeper," Squire Gordon finally said, turning to True, "that you are affecting some changes here at the manor, Trowbridge."
"Indeed," said another, "my man Thomas says to me this morning, 'The master's making everyone toe the mark up to Trowbridge Manor.' I could hardly believe it, but now that I see for myself, I am satisfied it is the truth."
True was unaccustomed to such plain speaking outside the docks. It just was not done in Town.
" ‘Pon my honor," Squire Gordon agreed, "it is fine to see the place looked after at last."
Sir Quincy coughed. "Is that corn I see from the lane, planted in your north fields, Trowbridge?"
True nodded.
"Ain't it rather risky to plant there instead of on the flats closer down the valley? I should think the crop will wither up where you put it"
"Aye." Squire Gordon nodded. "I mind your father's steward putting in a crop there that would not grow. Sickly plants. Leggy and pale. A total loss."
True nodded. "I had my brook damned. Diverted a small flow of its water to that field. And my steward suggested the addition of burnt seashell and seaweed." True explained about how the soil was prepared.
"Seashells in the soil?" Sir Quincy said, fingering his snuffbox thoughtfully. "Your steward is rather young, ain't he?"
True nodded. "He has just finished his education."
"Education?"
"Mr. Montescue went to university in Edinburgh."
Bringing any outsider into the neighborhood was bad enough, but a Scot? True waited for the inevitable protest to erupt but was pleasantly surprised. The only remark was made by Squire Gordon, who did not see how a university education qualified a man to manage crops.
"Still," the squire's nephew commented, "the Trowbridge corn is bushy and green, and you cannot find fault with results like that."
Murmurs of agreement and congratulation accompanied nods and a firm handshake or two. True couldn't help feeling a stab of pride for their esteem. He had been putting a great deal of work into the estate, and it felt good to be recognized for it.
But there was something else True found himself enjoying as the conversation went on and the men plied him with questions. They were not just asking his advice about how to bed women, as men usually did. No. They talked of planting, shearing, market conditions, and the proper way to handle squabbles between servants. And they were actually asking True's opinion on these things.
Him! True Sin.
More than once, he glanced up to see Mary gazing in his direction. Invariably, she gave a little smile before looking away. He had to admit that what she'd done had worked. He was surprised at the reaction his modified behavior and dress elicited from his guests—and at how their unaccustomed deference made him feel. Throughout his life, the people surrounding him had always regarded him with horrified fascination, never with respect.
Then again, he had never acted respectably before now.
Mary had to have known he would be thunderously angry when he found she'd cornered him, forced him to partake of the ball. And yet she'd lain in wait for him at the front door and faced him down like a leopardess.
He didn't know whether to add "courageous" or "reckless" or "vengeful" to his list first, so he added all three. He glanced up for another look at her, but she was no longer in the same spot. Where is she? He looked about the ballroom, but she wasn’t there. He asked a servant to locate her, and the footman came back with the report that she had been seen slipping out the back door.
True strode outside with narrowed eyes. What the devil was she doing outside at this time of night and during a ball, no less? His eyes lit upon the stable yard. John hadn't shown his face at the ball and was probably hiding out in the stables. True imagined she was probably paying the old man a visit. True excused himself and headed outside.
But no, she wasn't there, either.
True had just turned to go back to the ballroom, when he caught sight of a faint light in an upstairs window. Far below, down on the ground, the ABC's were attempting to hide in the bushes with little success.
True took the back stairs four at a time.
He knocked softly on the door of the appropriate chamber. There was no answer. "Mary?" he whispered. "Mary, I know you are there."
The door opened at once, and she emerged, her finger to her lips. In her hand she had a small earthenware jar. She scurried toward the back stairs and motioned for him to follow, but she stopped before going outside. "Spiders," she whispered, pointing to the crock. "The ABC's were going to use them to chase Lady Allen away, so I put them in her closet drawers."
"You what?" he said incredulously.
"Shhhh ' ... !" She warned him and grimaced. "Believe me, it was better than their original plan."
"Which was?"
"To release the spiders into the ballroom."
"But you discovered the plot in time to stop them."
She nodded.
"Then why," he asked, "did you not simply banish the spiders to the wood and the ABC's to their beds?"
She answered him with two questions of her own: "Pray, would you prefer to know about their nefarious plans before they execute them or after? And wouldn’t you like to see Lady Allen flee?"
He softened his expression and then crooked a deliberately wry smile. "Your logic is impeccable."
She chuckled. "I must say I am relieved you agree. Now ... I must herd the ABC's to bed before anyone discovers them awake. And you," she told him sternly, "must return to your guests."
“ARE WE WUNNING away?" Eleanor asked the next morning as Marianna ushered her and her older sisters out of the house in the predawn stillness.
"No, silly," Alyse answered her. "We're going to go build a house. Right, Marianna?"
"Quite so, darling."
"But we don't know how to build a house," Beatrice said with a yawn, "and I want to go back to sleep."
Marianna hugged the girl. "Sleep will be the furthest thing from your mind when we get to the Smith cottage."
The Smiths were a family whose cottage had burned to the ground the week before
. They lived on Trowbridge land very close to the border Trowbridge shared with the neighboring squire. In fact, they lived so close to Squire Marcus’s house that they all worked for him rather than at Trowbridge Manor, a league’s distance, and they had for years. The Smiths were so a part of the Payneton the next village along the Coast Road, that they’d been all but forgotten in Trowbridge. Indeed, when she’d accompanied Truesdale on his rounds, they hadn’t ever visited the Smiths, but last night she'd learned that folk from all around would converge on the Smiths' place to help them raise a new cottage this day. Marianna thought it a wonderful opportunity for the ABC's to meet some of the local children and to practice their new manners.
"There will be other children to play with and lots of good things to eat," she said, patting the large basket she carried. "I have here fruit pies, meat pies, cheese, and bread." The girls looked hungrily at the basket, all three licking their lips, and Marianna smiled.
They walked along companionably, the girls exploring here and there, but never ranging too far away from Marianna, until she noticed that they were lagging quite far behind her. When she looked back to check on them, the three had their heads together. It appeared as though Alyse were whispering something, and, as Marianna watched, Beatrice and Eleanor both flicked furtive glances in her direction. Beatrice nudged Alyse, who looked up and smiled, and then all three girls ran to catch up with Marianna.
Beatrice, easily the boldest of the three sisters, laid a hand on Marianna's sleeve. "Marianna, we—"
"Miss Marianna," Alyse corrected her.
"Miss Marianna ... we want to tell you about our names now. About why C and D are missing."
Marianna made a little ‘O’ with her mouth and nodded. "Very well."
Beatrice held Alyse's hand and Alyse took Eleanor's. Then Beatrice said, "We had two more sisters, Cassandra and Delilah. Baby sisters. Twins. But they died."
Marianna waited for them to say more, but they had lapsed into a hesitant silence.
“Any that made you sad?” she prompted.
Alyse's gaze dropped to the dry, rocky lane. "No. We did it. Made them die."
Beatrice refused to drop her gaze and looked Marianna steadily in the eye, but her chin quivered as she said, "We wanted the babies to be boys, and we asked our mother to give them back to the angels. We wanted her to trade them for two boy babies."
"But all they got was me," Eleanor said miserably. "I'm s'posed to be two boys!" She began to cry. "They didn’t want me!"
Alyse and Beatrice exchanged guilty looks and then they began to cry, too. Marianna knelt and gathered the three of them into her arms. "Oh, my poor beauties ... !" She rocked them together in her lap as tears cascaded down their cheeks. "Alyse and Beatrice, darlings, you had nothing to do with your sisters' deaths." Gently, she reassured them. "You cannot wish a baby dead. Only good wishes come true. Did you not know that?” She hugged them even tighter. “And, Eleanor, dearest, your sisters love you. They would not trade you for a dozen fine boys now." Alyse and Beatrice wailed their agreement and cried even harder.
For a moment, Marianna hesitated. She could handle this one of two ways: comfort them to the best of her ability or chuck them under the chin and tell them to buck up. Neither of them were acceptable. The one risked the girls becoming even more attached to her than they were, and the other would hurt their feelings and perhaps damage them. It seemed Marianna had a choice; she could hurt them now or hurt them later.
In the end, Marianna rocked backward, landing hard on her bottom right there in the middle of the lane, and she held the girls as they sobbed into her bodice and skirt. According to Truesdale, they hadn't cried when their parents died. Certainly they hadn't mentioned it to her, not once. But now that the floodgates of their tears had opened, their anguish seemed to come from a deep place, a hidden well of sorrow, and she suspected it had more to do with the loss of their parents than it did their baby sisters. Whatever the reason, Marianna made no attempt to stanch their tears. She held them, stroking their hair and crooning softly to them, inventing a lullaby about all five ABC's playing together in Dreamland.
In truth, she felt tears pricking her own eyes. She would exit the girls' lives very soon. She had become attached to them quickly, and she'd been attempting to console herself with the thought that she would help them all she could while she was there—and with the idea that perhaps they would not slip from her life forever. One or all of them might still marry within the ton. If that happened, then Marianna could renew her acquaintance with the sisters. But that would be years from now, and Marianna was all too aware that her time with them as children was coming to an end. It saddened her, and as the girls quieted and she kissed them and cleaned their faces, she pondered why it should. After all, she had not formed such an attachment to any of her charges at Lady Marchman's School for Young Ladies. Certainly she had cared for them, but she did not mourn their absence from her life as she knew she would the ABC's.'
As the sun rose higher, its rays turned the dewy spiderwebs that dotted the lane into festoons of diamonds. Beatrice soon complained of her feet growing tired. The Smiths' place was halfway to the next village, perhaps a league's distance and quite a trek for the little ones, but Marianna soon turned their journey into a game and a lesson at the same time, challenging the girls to see how many different sorts of plants they could spot. They were soon absorbed in the game and ambled happily along, picking wildflowers and chattering about playing with the other children, apparently quite carefree. Marianna wished she could be as unconcerned as they.
In truth, she was apprehensive over how the four of them might be received at the Smiths' place. The ABC’s’ reputation for mischief was not restricted to the Trowbridge staff. What if the other children shunned them? Or—worse—what if the other children were not allowed to play with the girls at all?
Then the thought occurred to Marianna that their parents might shun her, too. They were not of the ton, after all. They had no hope of ever attaining that level of social status. Would they be jealous of Marianna? Or would they feel her so far above their social station that they would not interact with her at all? She had already decided that she would fold up her sleeves and help wherever she could, but would they let her? Would she be welcome? Or would she find herself walking back home the same hour she had arrived? And how would she explain that to the ABC's? Poor darlings! As up in the boughs as they were with the prospect of playing with other children, they would be crushed if they had to turn and go home.
SHE NEEDN’T HAVE worried.
While she did receive several curious and several more incredulous glances upon her arrival, an hour later she had already kneaded bread, sliced apples, plucked chickens, and scoured a kettle. And the ABC’s were happily playing with the other children.
Almost a dozen families had come to help. The children played while the men worked on the cottage and the women worked to prepare a grand meal. By the time the first course of the cottage walls was built, Marianna was hard at work watching the children, who with their rambunctious cavorting had already caused several accidents even before she arrived with the ABC's. Soon, Marianna had them sorted into teams of five, and she organized a day of contests, both physical and mental. The ABC's were quick to suggest a wildflower identification contest. Marianna laughed and agreed, sharing a covert smile with the ABC's, who hastened to let their new teammates in on their secret. Everyone was having a grand time.
Until True Sin showed up.
Chapter Fifteen
“MY
lord!” called a stout woman not much older than True. She wiped her floury hands on her napkin and nervously tucked back an errant wisp of brown hair as she hurried up the lane to greet him." 'Tis a pleasure to receive you, though I am afraid we're not ready to receive you properly. We've been living in our barn since the fire, and it's not fit for—for entertaining company." The woman was clearly distressed.
True slid from his saddle and looked more carefully at he
r. "Eliza? Eliza Church?"
Her raised eyebrows declared her surprise. "You remember my name, my lord? It's been so long. Why, the last time you saw me, you weren't nothing but a—"
"A spoiled and cruel whelp?"
"'Upon my word!"
"Well ... it is true, is it not?"
She looked at him with suspicion. "I'm Mrs. Smith now. Married Thomas the year before you left."
"Thomas, the boy my father whipped on more than one occasion for stealing apples from the Trowbridge orchards?"
"That's the one. But he's changed!" she blurted.
"So have I," True said earnestly.
"That's what I heard, but—"
"But you did not believe it?"
She looked down at her hands, clearly unwilling to answer him. "Is there something you need, my lord? Something I can help you with?"
"I was hoping there was something I could help you with, Mrs. Smith." He took from his saddlebag a hammer and hefted it experimentally. "I've never built a house, but I've seven years of repairing ships behind me, and I'm no stranger to wood. Do you think your husband could use another pair of hands?"
Her eyes grew round before she smiled back at him and said, "Yes, my lord, I do believe he could, at that."
True pulled his brown felt hat from his pocket and placed it on his head. As usual, he wasn't wearing a coat. He followed Mrs. Smith up the lane toward the new home site.
She clucked to herself, "My, my! If this ain't the day for surprises!"
"There have been others?" True asked.
"Beggin' your lordship's pardon, but ... but first her and now you? Well ... none of us would have fancied it, never."
"Her?"
"Your lady, my lord." Mrs. Smith pointed toward the west meadow, where True was amazed to see Marianna herding at least a score of children about like a loving sheepdog. He squinted. Were those the ABC's in one of the little groups clustered about her? It was difficult to tell, for the children were all giggling at something Marianna was saying and clutching each other for support.
Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) Page 18
