by Jo Ann Brown
“Yes, but beyond the polite and prim conversation at formal events, you will find people speak plainly. The goal is never to hurt another’s feelings.” She smiled. “I did not think you would be insulted by my comment.”
“Quite to the contrary.” He motioned for her to lead the way into the passage. “You must have known the situation was dire when I came begging for assistance. Maybe you did not realize how dire.”
Caroline decided silence was the best answer. The house was a disaster. As they walked along the corridor, she kept up a steady patter about cleaning and airing the draperies and rugs and the need to get all the cobwebs out of the corners of the intricate crown molding. She had no idea how many servants worked at Warrick Hall. As they toured the ground floor, she saw a butler and a cook, but two old retainers would not be enough to bring the house to a suitable state to receive guests. She was about to say that when she heard a skittering as she and Lord Warrick entered another room.
“You will need to do something about the mice,” she said. “Many women are frightened of rodents, no matter how small.”
“They don’t seem to bother you.”
“Not during the daylight. I would not appreciate waking up to the sight of one of them crossing my room, but that will not happen if their numbers are lowered. The best way is to bring cats from your outbuildings into the house. A good mouser will rid a home of vermin very quickly, especially if you make sure there is a fresh bowl of milk available as a treat.”
“A dandy idea.” He halted, putting his hand on a table hidden beneath a cloth. When a cloud of dust rose from the spot he had touched, he shook his hand clean. “I assume there are cats around, because I have not seen many mice in the stable. However, I have not seen any cats, either.”
“Your uncle used to complain there were more of them here than fish in the sea. I am sure we can find a couple to bring into the house.”
“Shall we look now?”
Caroline was about to say she needed to return to Cothaire, but halted when chiming came from a short-case clock hanging on the wall. In spite of the dust, Lord Warrick’s butler must have kept it wound.
“I can stay a bit longer,” she said, more pleased than she expected to be that she could help Lord Warrick with this small task. “I want to be at Cothaire when Joy wakes from her nap. She is peevish with teething.”
“It should not take too long to recruit a cat for mousing duty.”
Lord Warrick showed her the way to the stable. It was, she noticed, one of the few outbuildings with a door. The stable was in better condition than the house, but only slightly.
When they entered, the three horses inside stirred and regarded them with curiosity before returning to munching their oats. The space was surprisingly large and had as many cobwebs as Warrick Hall. Faint sunlight came from windows in the hayloft overhead.
A lad rushed out of a room beyond the stalls. “My lord, what may I do for you?” He put his fingers to his forelock as if tipping a cap as he glanced from Lord Warrick to her. “Shall I have the carriage readied?”
The baron stiffened. What an odd reaction to a commonplace question!
Then she wondered if she had seen something that was not there. Lord Warrick’s voice was unchanged. “That is not necessary, Howell. Have you seen any cats about?”
“Cats?” The lad nodded, eager to please. “There are always some about. Do you want me to try to find some and bring them to you?”
“No, just point us in the right direction.”
He looked toward steps at the far end of the stable. “They seem to gather in the lower haymow.”
“Thank you.” Lord Warrick offered his arm to Caroline, surprising her.
When she put her gloved hand on his coat sleeve, her fingers sparked as if she had grabbed a bolt of lightning. She almost jerked her hand away. Somehow, she kept her fingers on his sleeve, so she did not call attention to her reaction. If he felt it as well, she saw no sign, because his smile did not waver.
Bits of hay crunched beneath Caroline’s boots, releasing the aroma of dried grass to mix with the ancient dust dancing in the sunlight. She wondered how long it would be before the new stable at Cothaire smelled like this instead of freshly cut wood and paint.
Comparing this stable with Cothaire’s kept her from thinking about how Lord Warrick’s greatcoat brushed against her legs on each step. She could not ignore his masculine scent. She told herself she found that fragrance intoxicating because she had not stood close to a man other than her father or brothers since John’s death.
When the baron withdrew his arm to allow her to precede him up a trio of stone steps, regret flooded her. She chided herself. A lack of sleep after trying to soothe Joy most of last night was no reason to act witless today. Lord Warrick was a gentleman to offer his arm, and he was being polite stepping aside to let her go first.
But, for those few moments, it had been pleasant to be on the arm of a man again.
Stop it! She turned the scold into a prayer for good sense. She was no longer a young miss who blushed and tittered whenever a man stood beside her.
Caroline looked around the haymow, which was almost full. When she saw a bright ray of sunlight aimed at the stone floor to her right, she headed in that direction. Cats, whether they lived in a barn or in a house, always sought out a sunny spot for a nap. She smiled when she saw a half dozen felines stretched out in the warmth.
As she approached, they scattered except for one, which arched and hissed. She smiled and squatted an arm’s length from the calico. She held out her hand as she murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Miss Cat.”
The animal snarled again, her white, black and brown hair standing on edge.
Behind her, Caroline heard Lord Warrick say, “Be careful. She will scratch you. Step aside, and give her a chance to escape.”
“She would have fled before if that was her choice. She must have a litter hidden in the hay behind her.” She rose and edged forward, then around the hissing cat. It raced away only a few feet before turning to glare at Caroline, who had not given chase as the cat had hoped. Bending, she shifted the hay and smiled as she heard small mews.
A pair of heads popped up, curious about the noise. One was black with a white blaze on its nose. The other was a gray tiger. They bounced out, ready for battle, though they could not be more than two months old.
“This one seems bold enough.” Lord Warrick picked up the black-and-white kitten. As he balanced it on his hands, the kitten batted tiny paws at him and gave a warning growl.
She scooped up the other kitten who began to purr as loudly as a cat twice her size. “A mother cat and two kittens will be perfect, assuming the mother cat can be caught. These kittens are the right age for her to teach them to catch prey. While they learn, they will be ridding your house of vermin and insects.”
“I will have Howell bring the mother cat to the house, but will she stay?”
“You may have to keep them in a box for a few days, but if you provide food and water and milk, she will realize quickly she is better off in the house. Cats are smart that way.” She stroked the satiny fur on the kitten’s head. “What are you going to name them?”
“Name them? Do they need names?”
“How will they know to come when you call for them?” Smiling, she asked, “Did you never have a cat or dog?”
He shook his head. “My mother said cats made her sneeze, and dogs eat too much.”
Caroline turned away to pat the tiger kitten, not wanting him to see her shock. It was easy to forget Lord Warrick’s upbringing had been different from her own. She thought of the rumors she had heard. How could Maban Warrick hoard his fortune at Warrick Hall and allow his brother’s family to struggle in poverty?
“What name would you suggest?” he asked.
“Something simple.
” She saw the mother cat skulking toward them and her kittens. “Mam is the Cornish word for mother. How about that for the calico?”
“Good. What about this bold black-and-white kitten?”
“He appears ready to chase the mice already, so Helhwur would be a good name. It means hunter.”
“And the tiger? What is the Cornish word for tiger?”
She laughed. “Tiger.”
“I think we can do something better than that.”
“Tegen would be a good name for her, because the word means pretty thing.”
He rubbed the kitten’s head. “Would you like that name, Tegen?” A tiny pink tongue brushed his wrist, and he chuckled. “I will take that as a yes.”
She watched as he continued talking to the kittens as if they could comprehend every word he spoke. His hands, calloused from his work at the mine, were gentle on the kittens. Exactly as they had been with the children. Lord Warrick would be a caring and loving father. A twinge of envy twisted her heart at the thought of him holding his own son and teasing him as he had Gil.
Envy was an ugly emotion, but she could not pretend she did not feel it. She was envious of Lord Warrick and his future wife and their children. How many nights had she silently cried herself to sleep, knowing she had failed—again!—to give John a child? He had tried to act as if being childless did not bother him, but she could not forget how often he spoke, in the months after they were first wed, of the family they would have together.
She had to leave before the tears burning her throat reached her eyes. Telling Lord Warrick she needed to hurry to Cothaire, she handed him the tiger kitten. She rushed through the stable, even though she knew she could never escape her greatest failure.
Chapter Four
On Sunday morning, Caroline looked up from adjusting Gil’s shirt and smiled as she heard hurried footsteps on the main staircase. Arthur’s wife, Maris, chased Bertie, another little boy rescued from the boat.
“Slower, Bertie!” Maris called, putting up her hand to resettle the bonnet perched on her golden hair. Caroline’s new sister-in-law was lovely, both inside and out, and Arthur had been unable to resist falling in love with her.
Catching the little boy as he tried to stop beside Gil and skidded past instead, Caroline chuckled. “You need a strong set of reins on this colt, Maris.”
“I agree.” She picked up Bertie and hugged him. “That might help me keep track of him.”
“Look for Arthur, and you will find Bertie.” The child spent every possible moment with her brother. “Oh! I almost forgot. Baricoat told me a letter arrived for Arthur this morning. I suggested he wait to deliver it until you two were ready for church. I know Arthur arrived home late last night. I thought he might want to sleep a bit later this morning.”
Maris looked up, her face taut. “How do you know he came in late?”
“Joy is teething.” She adjusted the sleeping baby in her arms. “I was up most of the night walking the floor with her, and I happened to be by the window when Arthur rode in. Is everything well?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Caroline hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious about how Maris had tensed at the mention of Arthur being out late. The Trelawneys were accustomed to Arthur, in his role as their father’s eyes and ears, being out at all hours as he traveled from one tenant farm to another. Perhaps it was a sore point between the newlyweds, but that made no sense. Maris had been as aware as the rest of them of the long hours Arthur kept.
Rather than ask the question taunting her, Caroline said, “I wanted to remind you that any help you need from me, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you.” Maris’s smile returned, and the conversation turned to the children, who discussed who would sit on which seat in the family’s carriage.
Arthur came down the steps, looking refreshed. He greeted Caroline with a kiss on the cheek and teased the boys, so the children were giggling as they went out to the waiting carriage. Swinging the boys inside, he gave his new wife a loving smile before he handed her into the vehicle.
Nothing seemed amiss, but Caroline could not shake the feeling something was.
* * *
“May I?”
Caroline put down the prayer book she had been helping Gil hold and smiled at Lord Warrick’s flushed face. From the cold or his obvious rushing, or was he blushing as every eye in the sanctuary was aimed at him? His greatcoat had fallen open, and she noticed his waistcoat was covered with dust and grime. Had he come from the mines?
From the pew across the aisle, Charity Thorburn scowled in their direction. The woman seldom smiled, and she seemed happiest when she was finding fault with others. Caroline had learned to ignore her petty comments. Mrs. Thorburn had always been prickly, but since her husband’s death, her bad temper had taken a turn for the worse.
“When they are late, most people remain at the back of the church,” Caroline could not resist saying to Lord Warrick with a smile.
“I thought, by now, you would have known I don’t do things the proper way. Besides, there was not any room there.” He gestured toward the pew where she sat with the children and asked again, “May I?”
“Of course.” She edged aside, continuing to bounce Joy on her knee.
Letting the prayer book drop with a thump on to the wooden pew, Gil scrambled over her lap and sat between her and the baron. He began to tell Lord Warrick about everything that had happened that morning, his voice rising with his excitement.
Caroline put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Remember? As quiet as a church mouse, Gil. Parson Raymond is about to begin the service.”
The little boy nestled against her side, and she put her other arm around him. It was easier to cuddle him now that Joy was able to sit up on her own. She thanked God as she had every day since the children were brought ashore. There had been an emptiness in the Trelawney family since the deaths of her mother and her husband. Six small children helped fill that void.
Toby, the boy they guessed was the oldest, was perched on her sister-in-law Elisabeth’s lap. He had recently begun to call Elisabeth mama and announced he wanted to be a parson like his “papa.” The twin girls who sat on either side of her sister, Susanna, were about a year younger, and they were blossoming in the care of Susanna and her husband. The irrepressible Bertie was close to Toby’s age, and the only time Caroline ever saw him sit still was in church.
Lord, I know I should not ask for You to let the children remain with us because there must be families missing them. You have a plan for them as You do for each of us. I cannot help hoping that plan includes the children staying with us a while longer.
She murmured a silent, “Amen,” before turning her attention to the verse Raymond had chosen for the service.
He read from the eighteenth Psalm: “For who is God save the Lord? Or who is a rock save our God? It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect.”
Bending her head to hide her smile, she knew her brother could not have chosen a more apt verse that morning. Her heart felt more at ease by the time they stood to sing a final hymn at the end of the service.
“Talk now?” asked Gil before her brother had time to step from the raised pulpit.
“Yes,” she said with a chuckle. “But talk while you put on your coat.”
Gil picked it up and frowned when it was upside down. He tried turning it, but now he had it inside out and upside down.
“Let me help you, young man.” Lord Warrick winked over Gil’s head at her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Neither Lord Warrick nor Gil heard her reply because they were chatting again. Gil was very anxious about whether it would snow soon or not. As the baron answered him, explaining about wind currents and storm clouds, the little boy listened in fascination. Some
how, Lord Warrick made the information simple enough for a child but did not sound as if he were talking condescendingly to Gil.
Putting Gil’s hat in place, the baron said, “Now it is Lady Caroline’s turn.” He lifted her coat from the pew and held it up for her to put her arms through the sleeves. As she did, he said more softly, “I do have a few manners.”
“More than a few.” She hoped he had not felt her quiver as his warm breath caressed her nape. “Thank you.” She edged away as far as she could in the narrow space between the pews.
“And thank you for letting me sit with you and the children.” He stepped into the aisle, which was emptying quickly as the parishioners went out the door. “I was late because I foolishly decided to go into the attic to see what might be available for making the house ready for my family.”
“What did you find?” she asked as she halted Joy from tearing a page from the prayer book and stuffing it in her mouth as she did with everything.
“A jumble extraordinaire. Crates and furniture and luggage and trash in no visible order. The truth is I have no idea where to begin. I moved dozens of boxes and trunks, but didn’t make a dent in what has been tossed any which way into the attic. I wonder how many generations have left their castoffs up there and forgot about them.”
She laughed as she put Joy’s new light blue coat on the baby. “Mother insisted every year that we go through the attic and discard anything with no further use. We despised being up there in the heat, because it was hot even in the spring. Did you find anything you can use?”
“Not yet, but I found stacks of wool blankets. I counted more than a score of boxes of woolen blankets before I stopped. Even if I had two beds set up in every bedroom, there would be enough to put five on each bed. Most had moth holes, but a good number of the blankets are still thick.” He hesitated, then said, “I need your opinion about what might be a contentious issue. You know the stubborn Cornish better than I do.”
“Because I am one of them.”
