“Mr. Mayfield requests you meet him in the dog yard.”
Julia was wonderfully surprised at the request. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” As she stepped away from the table, however, a rush of concern washed through her. What if there had been complications with the puppies? Surely he would have said as much when they crossed paths in the nursery, but she did not know the man anywhere well enough to know. For all she knew, his quiet hulking mood as she’d told Marjorie good night was due to his anger with her. She could be turned out before the night was through if he chose to.
“I hope all is well with Bumbleberry,” Mrs. Allen said, looking concerned. “If you need me, I shall be in my office finishing the daily log.”
Julia wanted to retrieve her shawl before she went out into the cool evening, but she was anxious about keeping Mr. Mayfield waiting. That same anxiety would likely keep her warm enough that she would not miss the shawl.
Mr. Mayfield was in the shed with the door open, sitting on the stool Julia had used during the whelping, though he’d moved it closer to the doorway. Julia dared not presume to let herself in without invitation.
“Mrs. Allen said you wanted to see me, Mr. Mayfield.”
“Yes, please come in.” He did not look at her.
She swallowed and stepped inside the shed, having to cross closely enough to smell the day on him, which was not altogether unpleasant. But then she didn’t mind the smell of the dog yard either, so she might be a strange female. As soon as she’d passed him, her eyes focused on the whelping box. A lantern hanging from the hook showed Bumbleberry resting on her side, a mass of squirming black-and-white pups fighting for milk. Julia smiled down at the little miracles.
“All of them survived delivery,” Mr. Mayfield said from behind her. “Bumbleberry did very well.”
He did not scold her, and Julia felt she could breathe a little easier. “I am so glad. May I pet her?” She glanced back at him, and he held her eyes a moment with an expression she could not read before he looked back at the dam.
“If she will let you.”
Julia moved closer to Bumbleberry and squatted down so she could rub the dam’s head, tentatively at first. Some mother dogs were anxious about humans getting too close to their puppies, but Bumbleberry nuzzled into Julia’s hand. Julia spoke in a soft, nearly reverent voice. “Well done, Bumbleberry. What an accomplishment.” She counted the puppies—eight in total. Only two more had been delivered after she’d returned to the house with Marjorie.
“She was early,” Mr. Mayfield said.
“First litters are unpredictable,” Julia said, wanting to scoop up all the puppies at once. “The pups seem full term.” One was smaller than the others and, after moving slowly to make sure Bumbleberry would not mind, she moved it closer to Bumbleberry’s head, where he would get more attention. Julia then shifted the other puppies around so they were more evenly distributed.
“Queenie has had two litters since I acquired her, and both were on the predicted day.”
Mr. Mayfield leaned forward on the stool with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked comfortable and . . . handsome, though Julia looked away as soon as she admitted the thought and tried to forget that she’d noticed.
“My father’s best dam, Guinness, always delivered four or five days early.”
“And it was not a concern for your father?”
Julia shook her head, liking that she had the answers he wanted. “So long as the puppies were healthy, he did not concern himself, but he kept a whelping journal, in addition to his own stud book. Over time, he could predict when a dam would deliver with frightening accuracy. He once skipped church because he was sure that a dam would deliver before noon. She always seemed to go into labor in the mornings, and her deliveries were fast. When we returned from services, there were five puppies waiting for us.”
“Remarkable.”
“Yes, he was.”
Mr. Mayfield was silent for several seconds, watching her, and Julia, feeling suddenly exposed, looked away.
“Your father—was his whelping area similar to this one?”
Julia shifted into a sitting position, careful to keep her ankles covered as she adjusted her skirts. “My father was a bit unconventional. The dams always whelped in a back room of our house.” She kept scratching Bumbleberry’s head but looked up at Mr. Mayfield, who reacted with raised eyebrows.
“Inside your house?”
She felt like a bumpkin and looked back at the pups so he would not see her embarrassment. “Papa was a working man and did not want to risk the dam being alone. He would brag that our survival rate was exceptionally high because of this attention, which was a difficult point to argue.” She looked around the shed. “This place, however, is perfectly situated for the task.”
Mr. Mayfield nodded distractedly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m grateful you were able to get her to come inside—and set up the shed—though I apologize that you had to do so.”
That reminded Julia of something. “I understand that Gregory is being replaced?”
Mr. Mayfield’s jaw tightened. “Yes. I was in town today to find another handler.”
“Ah,” she said instead of asking additional questions. Cook had said Mr. Mayfield had no tolerance for dissident behavior. Julia wasn’t entirely sure what actions would fall into such a category, but it must have been something extreme for Mr. Mayfield to turn Gregory out with two whelpings so close together. Queenie was due in a few weeks.
Julia looked around the shed, but then remembered the dog brush was in the outside pen. The new mother deserved a little pampering. “May I fetch Bumbleberry’s brush? I have been brushing her when I visit in the mornings and would like to continue the routine as best I can tonight.”
“You have been brushing her?”
“Oh, should I have asked your permission?”
“No, not at all. I am only surprised I had not noticed.” He seemed a bit disappointed in himself. “I shall get it for you.”
After he left, she took a breath and let it out, though her heart continued to race. Would she ever feel comfortable around the man?
He returned, brush in hand, and approached her, still seated next to Bumbleberry. As he crossed the shed, Bumbleberry lifted her head and thrust her muzzle forward, growling low in her throat.
Julia startled, but put her hand on the dam’s head. “It is all right, Bumbleberry,” she soothed, stroking the dog’s head until Bumbleberry laid back down, though she did not take her eyes off Mr. Mayfield. Julia looked up at her employer, who had stepped back and looked concerned by the aggressive reaction. “She’s exhausted, that is all.”
“She has not let me near her since you left us. She nipped at me earlier.”
“Oh.” Julia did not know what else to say. She stood and crossed the small room to him. He held out the brush to her by the bristles, and she took hold of the handle.
Bumbleberry continued to stare intently at Mr. Mayfield, her body tense.
“Yet she responds to you just fine,” he said, sounding as though he took Bumbleberry’s rejection as a personal failing.
“You have only had Bumbleberry a few months,” Julia reminded him, shifting her weight from one foot to another. It was strange to be offering reassurance to a man. Never mind that this man was her employer and had said more words to her in the last few minutes than he had in over a week. “My father always felt that new mothers responded better to women.” She shrugged, embarrassed to put herself above Mr. Mayfield in any way.
She had told him in that first interview that her father had felt she had a gift with dogs. After regretting having said it then, she certainly wasn’t going to say it again. But she believed it was true all the same. Dogs were usually calm with her, wanting her attention, willing to be obedient.
She returned to Bumbleberry’s side and began brushing the d
am’s head and shoulders. The dog relaxed; the puppies were beginning to still.
“I’ll have Jacob put a fire in the stove to ensure they stay warm overnight,” Mr. Mayfield said.
“That is a wise idea.”
He left, and Julia continued to brush out Bumbleberry’s coat. At one point, Bumbleberry rolled onto her back, scattering the puppies. Julia laughed while helping the dam find a better position and then replaced the puppies.
When Jacob arrived, he asked her about the whelping, and she explained what had happened, careful not to make herself sound overly heroic, though it was a very flattering story for her part.
“Brilliant,” he said, smiling at her. “Mr. Mayfield surely appreciates your willingness to assist.”
Julia felt her cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”
After Jacob tended to his task and left, she adjusted the damper so as to keep the shed from getting too warm. After staying as long as she felt she could—though she’d gladly stay all night if the rest of the household would not think her completely addled to do so—she said good night to Bumbleberry and let herself out, taking the lantern with her. She closed the door and turned to find Mr. Mayfield leaning against the exterior wall of the shed. She stumbled back a step.
Mr. Mayfield took the lantern from her hand without a word, then turned and moved toward the house. Julia walked an appropriate distance behind him, but once they had left the dog yard, she realized he had slowed. Was he angry with her? Did he want her to catch up with him?
“You talk to Bumbleberry as though she can understand you,” Mr. Mayfield said when she was nearly beside him.
“She can understand me,” Julia said. “Or at least, she can understand my tone. A calm manner is the first step towards a calm dog.”
They took a few more steps in silence.
“How old where you when you watched your first whelping?”
“Six.”
“Six!” His tone was judgmental and surprised and perhaps even disgusted. “Was it not a disturbing thing to witness?”
She swallowed, her confidence waning as it so easily did with him. “Well, yes, but only because the dam had a seizure. She and two pups did not make it. I ended up having to help my father, and it was . . . extremely intense.”
“Good heavens.”
“I have no regrets,” Julia said, turning towards him so he would see the truth of it. “Yes, it was difficult, but I am not scarred by it. My father helped me come to terms with the loss, and most whelpings since have seemed quite easy in comparison.”
He was quiet another moment. “How many whelpings have you been involved with?”
“A dozen or so, though it has been years.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “Did not participating in such things raise . . . delicate questions?”
“Certainly.” She made sure her tone remained level. The biological processes of reproduction did not embarrass her, though talking to him about it did. “My father answered my questions appropriately for my age.”
“I see.”
They continued in silence until they reached the kitchen door. When he stopped, so did she. “I appreciate your help today, Miss Julia.”
“I was glad to do it, though I think Bumbleberry is a natural.” She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted his thanks and validation until that moment. “Caring for my father’s pack was one of the greatest joys of my life, and today was a wonderful reminder of those years.”
“He passed away when you were young.” Not a question—she’d told him as much when they had first met in the broom closet of Mr. Hastings’s office.
“I was thirteen,” Julia said, realizing Papa had been gone longer than he had been in her life. “I’ve had little interaction with dogs since.”
Mr. Mayfield gave her a thoughtful look. “I have never known a woman interested in canine husbandry.”
She turned her head to smile at him. “Well, neither have I.”
The slightest smile quirked the edge of his mouth in return, and her chest warmed to know she was the cause of it.
“If you need my help in any way, I am happy to do so. Good night, Mr. Mayfield. Congratulations on a very fine litter.”
She reached for the door.
“I found a new man to help with the dogs,” he said quickly. She turned back, but he was looking at the ground, his shoe smoothing out the ground at his feet. “He will begin training on Friday, and I hope he will be able to take over the bulk of the care by the end of the next week, but he does not have the experience I would have liked.”
Why was he telling her this? She didn’t mind, she even liked it, but it was out of character from the man she’d known so far. Not that she knew him. Not really. “I am glad the situation was managed so quickly.”
He looked up but said nothing for several awkward seconds. Then he cleared his throat and spoke quickly. “Would you be willing to assist me with Bumbleberry? I can manage caring for the other dogs with some help from the groom until the new handler starts, but I want Bumbleberry to be comfortable, and . . . she is not comfortable with me. It should only require the basics: food, water, and brushing. Checking on her and the puppies a few times a day. I hope in a week or so she will be less . . . particular.”
Julia opened her mouth to say she would absolutely love to help, then paused. She thought for a moment, and, after a few seconds, she was glad she’d restrained her quick response. “May the girls assist me?”
He did not wince physically but she felt sure he did inside.
“They love spending time with the dogs and seem excited to be involved with something you enjoy so much. Additionally, I am uncomfortable leaving them while I perform the necessary tasks for Bumbleberry.” Colleen would likely be the one who would need to step in for her, and she obviously resented the responsibility.
Mr. Mayfield weighed her request for so long that she nearly rescinded it, but then he spoke.
“I do not want them involved in any . . . delicate tasks.” What he meant was that he did not want them to have the same advanced education Julia had received when she was young.
“Of course.”
“Then, yes, they may. And thank you. If you would be so good as to meet me in the dog yard at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll show you what you need to know.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, then reached forward to open the door for her.
She smiled, feeling shy about him offering such courtesy, but he smiled back, and though their eyes connected as she passed him in the doorway, she looked away as soon as she realized it. He stepped in behind her and closed the door, then headed toward the family portion of the house.
She watched him go before giving in to the bubble of joy rising up in her chest. He had recognized her efforts! He had asked her to help with the new puppies! He would allow the girls to participate! She would dance all the way to her room, if she were the dancing type. Which she wasn’t, but if she’d ever felt like dancing it was now.
“You best watch yourself.”
She looked up to see Colleen standing in the shadows of the hallway that led to the servants’ rooms.
“Pardon?” Julia asked, swallowing her joy.
“Mr. Mayfield will turn you out at the slightest provocation.”
“Provocation?” Julia pulled her eyebrows together. Provoking of what?
“He’s no tolerance for dalliances between staff, and he won’t be entertainin’ advances from the likes of you.”
Advances? Julia’s face immediately turned hot, which she realized might look as though she were guilty of such expectations. “I can assure you I have no such intentions, Colleen. I am here to care for Leah and Marjorie. And he has asked that I help with the new litter.”
Colleen narrowed her eyes, bright blue glinting from her overall rigid expression. “He on
ly hired you because the crones did not work out. No other reason.”
Crones? “I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” Julia said, confused and offended.
“His first pick was cruel to Leah, and the second had another place by the time he had turned out the first. He even asked a woman from church, but she be leaving for a London position next month. You were his very last option.”
Julia swallowed, stung that her suspicion had been proven true, but did not know what to say. She was unused to being so determinedly disliked.
“You best watch yourself,” Colleen said again, then turned back to the hallway.
Julia reviewed the maid’s words as she took the servants’ staircase to the third level. Did Colleen think Julia had designs on Mr. Mayfield, her employer? Did Mr. Mayfield have a history of inappropriate relations with previous staff and Colleen’s words were a warning? Julia was not naïve enough to believe such liaisons did not happen in aristocratic households, but she had never been the recipient of an untoward advance, and Mr. Mayfield had never been anything other than completely appropriate.
There was only enough space in her small room off the nursery for a narrow bed, a mismatched wardrobe, and a vanity with basin. She had to stand to take down her hair, and then washed her face by the light of the oil lamp. She slid beneath the cool sheets and closed her eyes against Colleen’s warning, knowing that in the hours ahead she would be reviewing every interaction she’d had with Mr. Mayfield to be sure that nothing she had done or said could be misconstrued by anyone.
Peter
Uncle Elliott,” Peter said as he came into the drawing room, adjusting his cuff. He’d changed his coat and boots in order to be presentable for his uncle’s unexpected visit. Uncle Elliott had sent a message, but Peter had not read it until after running the hounds in the rain that morning. The men had not spoken since the awkward parting in Elliott’s study nearly a month ago now, but Peter bore no ill will and wanted this meeting to be a positive one. “What a pleasure it is to see you. What brings you to Elsing?”
“Oh, I was in the area and thought I would stop in and see how you are getting on.” The men clasped hands.
Promises and Primroses Page 9
