The Silent Governess(25)

He bowed to Audrey in his best courtly manner, and then took her hand in his and pressed it. “You are most welcome, my dear Audrey.”

When he looked up once more, Judith’s expression had transformed into one of speculative approval. Miss Harrington looked from Judith to him, and appeared not pleased at all.

As the children began to play with the doll’s house, Felix turned to him and asked, “Remember that raft you built, Edward?”

“Sink me, not that old yarn.”

A mischievous sparkle lit Felix’s green eyes. “You see, Miss Harrington, the great Noah here built us a fine raft when we were lads. Big enough to hold the two of us and that terrier—what was its name?”

“I don’t recall.”

“At all events, we put in near the Brightwell Bridge and the current bore us swiftly. Only when we passed the church, there where the river widens, did Edward realize he had neglected to fashion either rudder or oar!”

Self-conscious, Edward chuckled and shook his head.

“But the raft was seaworthy, I admit,” Felix continued. “Took us all the way to the Arlington Mill and would have taken us further had Edward not grabbed hold of a low-lying branch and pulled us into the mill leat.” He eyed his cousin. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“I remember the miller was none too pleased. That I do recall.”

“Whatever happened to that raft, I wonder?” Felix said. “I hope Andrew does not stumble upon it or we should never see that wag pirate again.”

“Don’t fear. I am sure that old thing has gone the way of most everything else I built in those days. Mother quietly disposed of it while I was at Oxford.”

“Never say so! Such a work of art. Although after that excursion, I am quite sure you shan’t have a career in shipbuilding.”

“Nor would I want one.”

Felix leaned back in his chair. “You have no need of a career, of course. It is only I who must find some way to eke out my existence.”

“You make it sound as if you shall have to earn a living from the soil or some such,” Miss Harrington said kindly. “Surely with a degree from Balliol it shall not come to that.”

“No,” he said. “I cannot fancy Felix Bradley, yeoman farmer.”

“Nor I,” Judith said.

“What will you take up?” Miss Harrington asked. “Have you decided?”

“I have not. I have no interest in the church. Detest the thought of fighting in a war. Haven’t a head for the law. . . .”

“Come, now,” Edward said. “You are as clever as the next fellow and will have your degree in due course. There must be something you are interested in.”

“I am interested in a great many things. But none with prodigious remuneration. I suppose I had my heart set on remaining a gentleman, as my father and his father before him.”

“And why not?” Judith said blithely.

“Because, as you well know, Jude, Father left us with very little but debts to live on. Uncle is generous indeed, but I cannot expect him to support a wife and children as well.”

“Wife and children?” Judith straightened, suddenly alert. “My goodness, Felix, are you engaged? I had not the slightest notion you planned to marry soon.”

Her brother flushed deeply. “No. Not engaged. No plans as yet. Only . . . hopes.”

He smiled almost shyly at Miss Harrington. “I have not yet had the good fortune of meeting the perfect woman, as has Edward.”

Miss Harrington’s delicate complexion glowed pink while Edward grew uneasy.

Felix slapped Edward on the shoulder, then added with bravado, “But Edward won’t be the only Bradley to marry well. Upon my soul he won’t.”





Olivia sneaked away to leave the bag of wheat on Croome’s doorstep. As she turned to leave, she saw him bent low at the far edge of the clearing, laying a wreath of yew boughs on the ground. She wondered what he was about but, recalling his temper, decided not to interrupt him.

When she returned to the nursery, she was surprised to find Lord Bradley sitting on the settee beside Alexander and his new blocks.

He looked up when she entered. “I had no notion you could carve as well as sew, Miss Keene. Your talents are legion.”

She frowned and, after glancing about to make certain no one else was in the nursery, whispered, “I am afraid you overestimate me, my lord. I carved nothing. I thought you did.”

“I carved simple numbers and letters on each. And now they have animals carved into them as well. This H block has quite a detailed hound on it.” He picked another block at random from the stack. “And the B has a bird of some type.” He lifted the block toward her. “What do you make out?”

Olivia walked near and took the block from his outstretched hand, examining the skillful carving. To her, it looked very like a partridge.

The thought of animals brought the old gamekeeper to mind. “You don’t think Mr. Croome . . . ?”

“I would be exceedingly surprised.”

Olivia nodded. So would she.

Lord Bradley rose and cleared his throat. “Well, thank you again for all your assistance.” He withdrew a folded bank note and extended it toward her. “Here is a little something for your trouble.”

She ought to have been grateful but instead felt oddly deflated to be offered payment for what had been an act of friendship. To be reminded once more of the true nature of their relationship—that she was simply another servant in his employ.

“No thank you,” she said, and turned away.

Olivia spent the afternoon helping the children fill Christmas boxes for the servants, which they would disperse on Boxing Day tomorrow. Then she took Audrey and Andrew down to the dining room, where the family gathered for Christmas dinner at the early hour of four o’clock.

After the meal, all of the servants were invited in to share a glass and toast the season. How strange it felt to stand in the dining room with Mrs. Moore, Doris, Johnny, and the others, as invited guests. Croome was not among them. Nor did anyone seem to miss him.

Audrey and Andrew sang carols once more, this time without accompaniment. As they sang, Olivia felt Johnny’s eyes on her but did not look his way. She did peek at Doris, who winked at her. Martha, she noticed, watched the children with tears in her eyes.

When they finished, the menservants dipped into their coat pockets, and the women into their apron pockets, and the children collected the proffered coins. Perhaps seeing her confusion, Mrs. Moore leaned close and explained in a whisper that this money would later be given to the poor. Olivia wished she had known. She would have brought down one of her last remaining coins, still tacked inside the little purse. Olivia hoped her mother did not miss the money. Did her mother miss her?

This was the first Christmas the two of them had spent apart, but Olivia feared it only the beginning of many lonely Christmases to come.

Where was she?

Olivia lifted her glass to her mouth. She had no taste for wine, but she hoped the action would conceal the trembling of her lips.





Chapter 16




In your manner to your servants, be firm and kind,

without being familiar.

Never converse familiarly with them, unless on business,

or on some point connected with their improvement.

—SAMUEL & SARAH ADAMS, THE COMPLETE SERVANT

Twelfth-night festivities over, guests gone, and the house quiet once more, Edward sat down to enjoy his coffee and newspaper in peace. Hodges came in as stealthily as ever and held the letter tray before him.

Edward picked up the single piece of post and thanked the butler, who disappeared as silently as he had come. Glancing at the letter, Edward recognized the handwriting and noted the unfamiliar postal markings. The ink was smeared, but he believed it read, Roma.

Across the table, Judith eyed the letter over her teacup. “How exotic-looking. Who is it from?”

“Father.”

Nibbling daintily at her toasted muffin, Judith regarded him with eager eyes. “I do hope they are enjoying their time abroad.”

He hoped it wasn’t bad news. With hands suddenly damp and clumsy, he broke the sealing wax and unfolded the letter.





My dear Edward,

I am grieved to inform you that your mother has left us—left her suffering and this world for brighter shores. She died peacefully in her sleep, with me holding her hand. I am returning home directly and should arrive by the tenth, God and tides willing.

Your loving father

BRIGHTWELL





A spear of grief pierced him. His mother . . . gone. Had she been frightened of dying . . . or accepting of her fate? Thank God she had died peacefully, and with her husband by her side.

Some adolescent part of him was relieved to have been spared the sight of his mother’s death, but the nobler part of his heart wished he had been there. To have heard any last words she might have said to him. To have told her he loved her. No matter the past. No matter what. To say, “Until we meet again.”

He recalled their tender parting as she left for Italy. How glad he was that he had kissed her cheek and bid her a fond farewell, not guessing it would be their last. Almighty God, he prayed, please comfort my father.

“Edward?” Judith asked. “What is it?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Lady Brightwell has died.”

Judith’s hand flew to her heart. “Oh, Edward! I am sorry.” She leapt to her feet and stepped around the table, laying a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and pressed it with his own.