Mischief and Manors

by Ashtyn Newbold

  “There will be no need for that.”

  My eyes flew up at the sound of Mrs. Kellaway’s voice. She stood in front of Lizzie at the doorway, her posture straight and her speech eloquent. My spine straightened without consulting me.

  “It is the very least I can do.” She walked over to the writing desk and moved its chair so that it rested across from me, then sat down and smiled warmly.

  “Mrs. Kellaway, this room certainly is beautiful, but my brothers and I are quite accustomed to—lesser accommodations. This is hardly necessary.”

  She shook her head. “I must insist that you have this room. Even if it is not necessary, it is certainly well deserved.”

  I looked down at my lap. I was not used to such treatment. That must have been why it was so difficult to accept. “Well, I thank you.”

  “Oh, you are very welcome.” She smoothed her auburn hair then clasped her hands together and leaned forward eagerly. “Now tell me, what brings you here after so many years? I assumed that my invitation had been ignored or rejected, so you can imagine my delight in seeing you arrive here today.”

  I took a deep breath. “My aunt sent us. She insisted that we see a new piece of England, experience a change of scenery. It was very kind of her.” I smiled with as much cheer as I could manage. It was not a complete lie. I did not want to tell her the true purpose for Aunt Ruth sending us here. There was no reason that Mrs. Kellaway should have to fret about unnecessary matters. It was my problem to resolve.

  “Remind me, what is your aunt’s name?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Ruth Filbee, a widow. My father’s sister.”

  “Oh, yes. We have met.” Her face fell into confusion. “You say she sent you here as an act of kindness?”

  I nodded, upholding my smile with effort.

  “Hmm. How … uncharacteristic of her.”

  I decided it would be best to ignore that. So I just continued smiling like a ninny until I noticed Mrs. Kellaway’s expression turn solemn. She looked down at her hands and wrung them together, turning her knuckles white. Her sudden change of mood surprised me.

  “I do want to apologize sincerely for inviting your parents to visit that day.” She swiped a tear from her lower lashes before it could spill. “Had I not, they might not be … ,” she struggled to finish her sentence.

  I remembered what she had written in her letter about feeling responsible for the accident. A pocket of compassion opened within me. “No, Mrs. Kellaway, you don’t need to apologize; it is not your fault. Please, do not blame yourself.”

  I didn’t know who to blame, and it was something that bothered me everyday. There had to be someone to blame besides my parents. There had to be. They were keen on adventure and unwary of danger and it had taken its toll. I could blame their carelessness, but I could never blame them. And I certainly could not blame Mrs. Kellaway.

  She looked up, seeking reassurance in my eyes. “You don’t blame me?”

  “Of course not.”

  She relaxed visibly, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I cannot convey to you how much those words mean to me.” She exhaled sharply and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Oh, forgive me. I do not normally have tears so readily available.”

  I smiled. There was another reason for me to like her.

  “Do you enjoy living with your aunt?” she asked.

  I hated lying to her, but she was too kind, and I knew she would worry if she knew just how awful it was. I lied only partially once again. “It isn’t home, but it is sufficient. We have what we need.”

  It seemed that she was unable to hide the look of pity she placed on me. “Please know that you and your brothers are welcome to stay here as long as you would like.”

  In all honesty, I wanted to stay forever. This place was beautiful and Mrs. Kellaway was very kind. But my ears captured a slight hint of obligation in her voice. Did she feel obligated to invite us here just because she and my parents were dear friends? “I don’t want to be a burden,” I said in a quiet voice.

  She shook her head. “No, Annette, believe me, I have been hoping that you would come for so long! I wanted you to come.”

  I sighed with relief.

  “How long do you plan on staying?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. “That is … undecided at this point. But my aunt will be sure to send word when she wants us to return. It will likely be a month or two before she calls for us, if that is all right. I do not wish to trespass on your hospitality any longer than necessary.”

  “That is wonderful! And you could not trespass even if you wanted to, dear. There is much around here that I am sure you and your brothers will find entertainment in.” She nodded with reassurance. “We have been rather starved for guests around here. We have my parents staying with us for a few weeks, but they are in the village today and won’t be returning until this evening. My husband is away with my eldest son, Edmond, and my daughter, Alice, is visiting a friend at her family’s estate. They should all be returning in a fortnight or so. In the meantime, you and your brothers should get to know the house, the grounds! You will love it here, I am sure of it. Please, don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

  I thanked her with a genuine smile. This visit may be everything my imagination dared to hope for.

  “I have assigned Lizzie to be your maid during your stay,” she said, throwing a glance in Lizzie’s direction.

  I found the thought of having my own maid quite disconcerting. I did not need assistance with every little thing I attempted to do. But it was proper, and if I was going to spend the weeks to come living in this elegant home, I ought to make an attempt at being elegant myself, no matter how excruciating.

  I threw a kind smile in Lizzie’s direction just as a screech split the air from the main floor. I jumped. The screeching carried up the stairs as if the perpetrator of the sound was just outside the room. Mrs. Kellaway leapt to her feet and looked to the door.

  “What was that?” I asked, my voice panicked. Images of my brothers working mischief led by Owen filled my mind.

  “I don’t know.” She cast me a worried glance. “Come with me.” She hurried from the room and I followed, praying that Peter and Charles didn’t have anything to do with it.

  We raced through the hall and down the stairs. The shrieking continued and I cringed as the sounds of mischievous giggling traveled into earshot. Of course. What had they done this time? And on our first day here? I raced ahead of Mrs. Kellaway and followed the sounds. I rounded a corner and found that the giggles were coming from what appeared to be the kitchen.

  I placed my hand on the door handle and heard a particularly loud, wicked giggle followed by a horrified screech. Oh, my. Even I had not comprehended that Charles was capable of sounding that evil.

  I burst through the door, hoping that my interference would tame whatever mischievous rant my brothers were in. If Owen Kellaway had something to do with this, so help me—

  But as soon as I stepped into the room, I stopped in complete perplexity, staring at the scene before me. A short, plump woman—I assumed she was the cook—stood backed into a corner. Peter and Charles stood in front of her, confining her against the wall, each holding a steaming hot pan. Owen was nowhere in sight.

  “We want food!” Peter pleaded. Charles giggled beside him in his wicked way. The cook looked absolutely terrified, pressing a hand against her heaving chest.

  “Now!” Peter ordered, bringing the scalding pan closer to her face. The woman shrieked and Charles giggled.

  I pulled myself from my state of paralysis and ran through the door, apologizing frantically to the woman as I snatched the pans from my brothers’ hands. They turned around, surprised.

  “What are you doing? You cannot do that!” I was trying my hardest to keep my voice below a shout.

  Peter looked down shamefully. “But we’re hungry.”

  “That does not give you reason to torment this woman.” I lowered my
voice only slightly. “If you act this way while you are here, Aunt Ruth will see that your behavior has not improved and she will punish you. Do you understand? I do not want that to happen, so you are going to apologize right now.” I turned to set the pans down and saw Mrs. Kellaway and Owen standing in the doorway. They both wore looks of complete surprise.

  “I am very sorry,” I said, feeling my face grow hot. “I should have told you about their … possible behavior. It usually isn’t this awful.” I glanced at the cook who was clutching her chest and leaning against the wall in relief. I turned to Peter and Charles. “Apologize to her.”

  Charles bunched his sleeves into his hands as he did when he was nervous, and followed Peter to the corner. Peter’s cheeks were ruddy and he hung his head bashfully. I found it amazing that they could go from so mischievous to so shameful this quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” they said together, glancing back at me for approval. I nodded and gestured for them to come to me.

  “Now apologize to Mrs. Kellaway for tormenting her cook.”

  “We are sorry for tormenting your cook,” Peter said quietly.

  She stepped forward, stunned. I cringed. If there was anything that could make her reconsider allowing us to stay, it was this. To my surprise, she mustered up a smile. “I forgive you, but please do not do it again.”

  Charles nodded, then after a pause, said, “Do we still get food?” His question earned a laugh from both Owen and Mrs. Kellaway.

  “I thought you were unwell,” Owen teased.

  Charles patted his belly, his lips upturned in a smile. “I got better.”

  Owen laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes, it appears you did. Let us give Cook a break and I will find something for you boys to eat.”

  “No,” I protested, bringing Owen’s gaze to me. “I will do it.”

  He came a step closer with a grin. “I believe I was the first to claim the honor.”

  I glared at him. Why did he have to give me so many reasons to glare?

  Mrs. Kellaway interrupted before I could respond. “Owen.” She stared at him harshly. “Allow Miss Downing to prepare their food if that is what she wishes. She is our guest.”

  “Why not a compromise? We could do it together,” he suggested, throwing me a cajoling smile. “It is such a difficult task, after all.”

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” his mother said, shifting her eyes to me.

  There was no polite way to refuse, so I mumbled, “Very well,” in a tone that I was sure gave Owen satisfaction. I wanted to scrape the grin off his face.

  Owen was talking to my brothers, but Mrs. Kellaway pulled my attention from them, grasping my arm gently. Her voice was just a whisper. “I heard you mention something concerning your aunt.”

  So she had heard me. Should I confide in her? I liked her immensely, and it seemed that she would do all she could to improve my brothers’ behavior. Perhaps telling her would be a thing of positive consequence.

  I took a slow breath. “I told you a bit of a lie upstairs,” I confessed. “The true reason our aunt sent us here is because she was overwhelmed with my brothers’ behavior. She told me if they did not return well-behaved she would send them to an orphanage in Scotland.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth.

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Kellaway’s face twisted with concern. “I daresay I have plenty of experience in the matter of improving impish behavior.” I thought I saw her eyes flicker to Owen. “We can certainly sort this out. Not to worry. We will not have them falling short to endure the heartache of an orphanage.” She shook her head swiftly. “I always knew there was something off in that woman’s head. But Peter and Charles will meet her requirements before you leave here. Somehow.”

  “They must,” I agreed glumly. “And I am going to do everything I can to ensure that they do.”

  She was looking heavenward as if searching for an idea. Then suddenly, her face lit up and she turned abruptly. “Owen, come here!” She waved him over and turned to me excitedly. “I know precisely what they need. They need a gentleman to guide them. Your father was a great man and it is a shame they didn’t have the privilege of knowing him. But, he is their father, so within your brothers there must be great men—boys—too. They need only a bit of assistance from a gentleman to bring those good, well-behaved boys to light.”

  I did not like where this was going.

  Mrs. Kellaway spoke again, this time to her son. “Owen, I need to ask you a favor. I need you to allot a portion of your time to assisting Peter and Charles in becoming little gentlemen. It should not be very difficult; they seem to adore you already. Your example alone should be enough, but please take this seriously.”

  I winced. I certainly did not like where this was going.

  Owen surprised me by keeping a serious expression. “Of course. But their behavior is not so unheard of, is it?”

  “Well, there is a reason for improvement Miss Downing may reveal to you if she wishes,” Mrs. Kellaway said.

  I hardly heard her. Why had I not kept this to myself? Now I had burdened Owen and he would likely torture me ceaselessly for it. I very nearly threw him a glare right in front of Mrs. Kellaway. He must have a motive that was undisclosed. Surely he was not agreeing to help only out of the goodness of his heart.

  “I will do everything I can,” Owen said in a firm voice.

  “Wonderful!”

  I frowned and decided that Mrs. Kellaway said wonderful far too much.

  “I’ll leave the matter in your hands then, Owen. Treat it as you will.” Then she turned to leave the room, but stopped to speak a last time. “Dinner will be in two hours, so prepare just a small portion for the boys. Do so quickly; the servants will need to begin dinner preparations. My parents will be returning shortly, so change for dinner and meet in the drawing room as soon as you are finished here.”

  I watched helplessly as the door swung shut behind Mrs. Kellaway. I spied Owen out of the corner of my eye. He had turned around and was walking to a table to join my brothers.

  “Come now, Annette. I thought you were the one who insisted on doing this,” I heard him say, feigning impatience in his teasing way.

  In all likelihood, any other lady would have melted under his teasing, and that was probably what he expected. He had already told me that I was unlike any other lady, so I planned to prove that in the best way I knew how.

  I whirled around. “Call me Miss Downing,” I snapped. “And first, I want to know how you plan on assisting my brothers with improving their behavior.”

  He leaned against the table and folded his arms. “I plan to keep them on two very short leashes and bring them with me everywhere I go, letting them bask continuously in the glory of my presence.”

  I rolled my eyes. Could he ever be serious? I walked over and stood behind my brothers, giving Owen an exasperated look. “What do you plan on doing?” I repeated, unamused.

  He chuckled. “What? Can you not imagine me pulling them along on leashes?”

  I considered his wry grin. “Actually, I can.”

  “Then you must have some I can borrow.”

  I cast him a pointed glance. “No, whether you believe it or not, I am not that barbaric.”

  He laughed before finally responding seriously. “Why is their behavior in such desperate need of improvement?”

  My lips pressed together. I knew he would attempt to breach that subject. I shrugged. “Our aunt wishes that they become well-behaved.”

  He watched me carefully and folded his arms across his chest. “Is that why she sent you here?”

  I dropped my gaze. “Well—yes. But they can do it. I am sure of it.” I glanced up at him again, carefully.

  He appeared to be deep in thought, but didn’t pry any further. Instead he asked, “How are their dinner manners?”

  “Quite awful, actually.” I looked down at my brothers who were grinning at each other, sharing quiet giggles.

  “Then we can begin tonight at dinn
er,” he said in a nonchalant voice. Before I could speak again, he returned his attention to my brothers. “What are you hungry for?” He turned to rummage in the cupboard behind him. “Bread, pears, oranges, and oh … ,” he grinned slyly, “sweet biscuits.”

  “Yes!” they exclaimed in unison, both sets of blue eyes lit brightly.

  “I thought so.” Owen grabbed the bag the biscuits were stored in. He looked at me expectantly with that teasing glint in his eye. “Are you going to help me?”

  Again, I rolled my eyes. I walked over and snatched the bag from him. “It is a terrible shame that you cannot open a bag without assistance,” I said, tearing the top open, pulling two biscuits from inside, and handing them to Peter and Charles.

  Owen grinned at me and took the bag, removing a biscuit for himself, then extended the bag to me. “Would you like one?”

  At his offer I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning. They did look delicious. I was about to accept, but then my stomach growled loudly in its own response.

  Owen’s eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and amusement. “I will assume that you want one.” He chuckled, taking a biscuit from the bag. My face burned with embarrassment. He handed it to me and then paused, staring with concern at my face. “What’s wrong? You seem disappointed.”

  I looked up in confusion. What would I have to be disappointed about?

  He spoke again and I sensed his mischievous side returning with full force. “Oh, I see.” He nodded in realization. “You wished for me to feed it to you.”

  I gasped in protest.

  “I’m sorry, Annette, but that would be a bit strange in front of your brothers, would it not? Please, don’t misunderstand, I would love to feed you, but let us save it for another time.” He grinned mischievously.

  Surely he expected a blush, but my face remained cool, which I was quite proud of. “No. Let us not.”

  His face contorted to such a look of complete—and rather false—disappointment at my rejection that an unwelcome laugh escaped me. I immediately regretted it.

  “Finally I have earned a laugh!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air as if it was the greatest accomplishment he could have made.