Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Seven

“S he doesn’t have a last name. I spent an entire day calling her by the wrong name, and now what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t even have a last name!” Daniel paced in front of his sister-in-law, his body tight, his hands searching for something to do as he alternately clenched them or fiddled with his watch. The idea of a woman without a last name was so appalling to him that he’d rushed from the castle rather than vent his anger anywhere around Miss…er…Li-Na.

Nessie pursed her lips as her gaze watched him cross and recross the parlor. They were in her private room at the inn where she and her sons were residing while the manor home was repaired. It was a plain room with sturdy floors and hard chairs. But she seemed comfortable enough, as did her son, Joseph, where he sat in the corner playing blocks. Daniel, on the other hand, paced about the room.

“Why don’t you ask her what she wants to be called? You can’t really be blamed for not knowing her name if she doesn’t tell you it.”

Daniel paused and frowned at the woman. “Yes, of course, I will ask her. I was too angry at the time to worry about…” He dropped his hands on his hips. “Nessie, that’s not at all what I’m angry about.”

“Forgive me. What exactly is the difficulty?”

“She doesn’t act like a person. She’s always standing with her head bowed and her hands clasped.”

“Of course, she does. She’s a servant! Really, Daniel, you seem remarkably unsettled.”

“I assure you, no servant of mine has ever acted like a statue.”

“Well, you’re unusually free with your people. It’s one of the more unsettling things about you. I blame your travels.”

He sighed. Yes, he knew that any odd aspect in his personality was blamed on his travels. No one thought that perhaps he travelled because Cornwall was especially stifling to a younger son. “I’m aware that Peder thought it wasn’t respectable.”

His sister-in-law waved that aside. “It isn’t respectable, but Peder also pointed out that you provide work for those normally unfit for service.” She glanced to the side of the room where her eight-year-old son Joseph organized blocks in a long straight row. He was the sweetest boy Daniel had ever known, but there was no denying he was different. He had soft, flat features and his intelligence did not match his peers’. Even now at eight years old, he did not speak beyond a grunt or whistle. He was nonetheless loved by all, most especially his mother, though she clearly worried what was to become of him.

“About Joseph—” Daniel began, but Nessie obviously didn’t want to talk about him. She interrupted as if she’d never stopped speaking.

“Peder used to ask me how anyone different was supposed to survive. Was Mrs. Hocking to starve just because she doesn’t know how to smile? They started calling her a witch just because she cursed out the steward for cheating her on her pigs. But you hired her and now she’s got money to feed her boys.” She lifted her chin. “Peder appreciated your foibles, and so do I, now.”

Damned by faint praise. Daniel was used to being compared unfavorably to his brother. God knew he’d never been as fun or flashy as his brother. At least, not until he’d escaped England in search of his own fortune. That was when he’d discovered there was so much more to the world than Cornwall. Still, it was reassuring to know that his late brother appreciated him, and nice to hear his sister-in-law echo the sentiment. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of family love, but he would take it and be grateful.

“Thank you, Nessie.”

“Now stop fussing. You’ve finally gotten a proper servant. You should be grateful.”

“This is well beyond proper behavior, Nessie. She folds her hands and stands like this.” He mimicked her statue-like attitude.

“Excellent behavior.”

“No, it’s not!” He huffed. “I’ve been served in palaces, dined with the Pope, even—”

“Yes, yes, I know. But you’ve also crossed swampland up to your neck, slept in jungles with insects the size of a fist, and ridden a camel.” It was clear that last one was the most outlandish in her opinion. “What you consider commonplace is most assuredly not.”

He couldn’t argue with her there, but it still aggravated him that Miss Li-Na acted as if she were a beaten dog. He found it deplorable to treat an animal in such a fashion. He thought it a high crime for a woman to be so debased.

“It’s wrong,” he said flatly.

Nessie shrugged. “She’s Chinese. What do we know of their customs?”

“She’s an artist. A painter of such amazing works.” He shook his head. How could someone so cowed create the works he’d seen?

“An artist? Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a woman.”

And here he returned to a familiar argument among the buyers and purveyors of art. “That has nothing to do with anything. Nessie, you’re embroidering new seat covers right now. What is that but art?”

“It’s decoration for furniture. That’s not—”

He stomped over to her work. “It’s a design of your own making. It’s a flower that looks to be moving even though it’s stitched down. It’s art.”

She sniffed as she put the fabric down. “I told you, it’s a chair. To replace what was lost when the roof collapsed.” She lifted her chin and repeated what she had been taught as if the vicar himself were moving her mouth. “Women make babies. We make homes and families. We teach the next generation. That is the natural order of things.”

“Nessie, that’s natural for you. It’s not natural for everyone.”

The woman pointed her finger straight at him. “And if your new Chinese servant stands like a statue and doesn’t want to paint, then that’s what is natural for her.”

He didn’t respond. There wasn’t any point. Nessie saw the world in one way, and he in another. She never believed his tales of women who threw spears as well as the men. Or women who managed their own money while the men waited for handouts. And though she deplored the accusation of witchcraft against anyone, he had heard her wonder how Joseph had come to be cursed.

That was not the way he viewed the world, but she was set in her beliefs. Meanwhile, Nessie turned her attention to her youngest son.

“Leave the blocks, Joseph. It’s time for nuncheon.”

Her son ignored her. Indeed, he might have been deaf for all the reaction he gave.

“Do you stay to dine with us?” Nessie asked Daniel.

“What? Oh, no. I need to repair the fence along the Mellin farm. Bob is still laid up and there’s no one to do the work.”

Nessie pursed her lips. “Doesn’t Anne have family? A brother or some such to help her?”

“Not that she’ll ask for help.”

“You can’t be doing the work of the own tenants every day. People will think you’re doing something with Anne and that won’t help her at all.”

He was aware. But if he didn’t do the work, the family might very well starve.

Meanwhile Nessie turned and spoke firmly to her son. “Joseph. It’s time now. Leave the blocks and come here.”

Daniel winced. They both knew what was coming next. Joseph didn’t change tasks easily. He had to be warned several times what was coming, and then he usually threw a fit when forced to leave one activity for another.

“Where’s Nanny?” he asked. Nessie was a small-boned woman with delicate features. And though Joseph was only eight, he could kick like a mule. Nanny had the sturdier frame and the thicker muscles to deal with a violent child.

“She has Stefan at the manor to help with the horses.”

Stefan was horse-mad for sure.

“Joseph had a very bad day yesterday, and I thought to give them a break.”

“Very good of you.” This time he took the harder tone with the boy. “Joseph. Put down the blocks. Your mother called you.”

Nothing.

Nessie sighed. “That’s it,” she said. “He gets three warnings, then we must intervene.” And so she did. “Come along, Joseph. It’s time to eat.”

“Let me do it,” Daniel said as he crossed to the boy, but Nessie held out her hand.

“No. It’s best if I do.” She leaned down and picked up her child. “Come along, Joseph.”

The explosion was immediate and more violent than Daniel remembered. The child arched his back and screamed as if he’d been stabbed. The shriek was piercing, and Daniel jolted in shock. Not so Nessie, who must be used to it. She grabbed hold of the boy around the waist. Easy to do since the child had gone as rigid as a board. She lifted him up with a strength belied by her small size, and she held him firmly for all that he sounded like he was being murdered.

“You’re all right, Joseph,” she kept saying. She grunted when he kicked her. “You’re all right.”

Daniel reached out, trying to help, but Nessie shook her head and twisted away from him. “It’s best—” She coughed as another kick connected to her ribs. “If only one person. Touches him.”

What could he do but stand back with his hands outstretched just in case? But Nessie appeared to be well able to handle her child. She flashed him a wan smile as she held her son despite his violent fit and then she headed toward the door. Belatedly realizing her destination, Daniel rushed to open the door for her. She waited with the still-wailing child while he stepped back to allow her room to move. And then she left, all the while talking in a near monotone to her son.

“You’re all right, Joseph. We’re going to eat now.”

The screaming continued for a good five minutes while Daniel stood in the parlor and listened with growing dismay. They had all hoped for more from Joseph. It was impossible not to see that he didn’t crawl or walk at the same time as normal boys. He did eventually learn all those things, but at eight years old, he still walked with a stiff-legged motion that did not appear natural. Most damning of all was that the child didn’t talk. At best, he spoke vowels interspersed with grunts. It broke Daniel’s heart, and he knew it had pained his brother to no end, but it was Nessie who took it the hardest. Her son was not right, as they said, and what was she to do about it, especially having just lost her husband?

If there was anything to do, Daniel would happily do it. If money, medicine, or special tutoring would cure his nephew, he would certainly find it. Indeed, promises of a cure had sparked several of his travels, but none of them had worked.

So Joseph grew as well as he could, and everyone else did what they could. Unfortunately, time continued for the rest of the world. His older brother would soon be heading to Eton. That would not be an option for Joseph when it was his turn. Which left it to the children’s male guardian—himself—to determine what would be done for the boy. What could be done.

But in this he felt as helpless as he did with Anne Mellin. He couldn’t force the woman to throw out her husband no matter how much pain the man caused. He couldn’t force Joseph to grow as a boy ought. And he couldn’t force Miss Li-Na to express her God-given talent to paint.

Damnation! He was the son of an earl, a wealthy man accepted into the highest societies in the world. But here in his home, he felt as powerless as a newborn kitten. And that made him angry enough to go shove heavy rocks back into place along Bob Mellin’s fence.