Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Mr. Caddington was a good speaker. Morrigan always left services thinking over what he’d said. Today he’d talked about how they were all servants of God. It was odd to consider His Grace and the duchesses as servants like her, but they all had to answer to their Lord.
Like the other staff who had the afternoon off today, Morrigan had worn her best dress to services, a nice blue wool with a white collar and cuffs so different from her black bombazine work gown.
She’d sat between Dorcus and Hannah, one of the chamber maids, but she had felt Bailey behind her, a steady presence.
And if her mind skipped to what they might do after services, she thought her Heavenly Father wouldn’t be offended. Hadn’t He said to love thy neighbor?
Not that she was in love with Bailey. She admired how hard he worked, she enjoyed his teases, and he wasn’t unkind on the eyes. A girl could do worse than spend more time getting to know him.
He’d dressed in the brown coat and breeches she knew to be his best clothes. With a high hat on his head like a proper gentleman, he was easily one of the tallest fellows in the church. She probably had a little swagger in her step when he offered her his arm as soon as they exited the church.
“Fine day for a stroll, don’t you think?” he asked with a smile.
“Perfect day,” she said, glancing up to where fluffy clouds meandered across the blue of the sky like the fat sheep she glimpsed from the window of the room she shared with Dorcus. The breeze caught at a tendril of her hair, and she tucked it back before setting her hand on his arm.
The village of Tyneham was a long rectangle, with the church at the top, a green down the center, shops along one side, houses on the other, and the road leading to the stone bridge and ultimately the manor beyond.
Mrs. Carmichael said everyone here kept their places neat and tidy because they knew that would please the Duke of Tyneham.
Indeed, Morrigan could spot no chips in the whitewashed paint of the shops or houses and no patches on the thatched roofs.
Every yard had a garden or boxes overflowing with flowers and herbs.
She liked to think that the people just preferred things that way.
“That’s where I grew up,” Bailey said with a nod to one of the cottages closer to the church. “My father was a day laborer, helping on farms and carting things about the village. He fell from a roof when I was eleven and never recovered.”
“Oh, Bailey, I’m so sorry!” She squeezed his arm.
He shrugged. “Mum took in washing, but as soon as I was able, I started working. Our previous minister put in a good word at the manor, and Mr. Starnum, the butler then, hired me to replace the potboy, who had recently been promoted to footman. That was our Mr. Kinsle.”
“And do you hope to follow in his footsteps?” Morrigan asked as they passed a family spreading a cloth on the grass as if preparing for a picnic. “Become butler one day?”
He winked at her. “I wouldn’t say no to the promotion. The butler has his own rooms.”
She’d noticed. And, at least at Tyneham Manor, the butler could keep a wife.
A young lady darted across the green toward them, blue wool skirts flapping, and Bailey drew up.
Like her brother, Sally Bailey had blond hair and brown eyes, but she was a tiny thing, shorter than Morrigan with curves just beginning to show.
Freckles dotting her nose and cheeks proved she spent time out of doors without a bonnet or hat. Morrigan rather liked her for that.
“There you are!” she cried, planting her booted feet in the grass. “I waited for you at the church.”
“Mum didn’t tell you?” Bailey asked. “I sent down a note that I would be late today.” He turned to Morrigan with a smile. “Miss Turner, I think you’ve met my little sister, Sally.”
Morrigan nodded. “I’ve seen you around the manor, Miss Bailey.”
Sally frowned at her. “I don’t know you.”
And didn’t sound as if she wanted to. Morrigan felt as if her dress had pinched too tight across her shoulders.
Bailey shook his head. “Of course you don’t know her. I just introduced you! Miss Turner works at the manor, same as me.” He winked at Morrigan again. “She’s a dog nanny.”
Morrigan couldn’t help smiling at that. “I’m a maid-of-all-work,” she explained to Sally. “That means I do whatever I’m asked, including helping Her Grace the Second with her pet, Anastasia.”
“What fun!” Sally’s frown vanished. “I’ve always wanted a pet, but Mum says it would be too much bother.
” She glanced toward the cottage Bailey had indicated and slumped.
“I should get back. Dinner is at two, Bailey. Don’t be late.
You know how Mum worries. Nice to meet you, Miss Turner. ” She headed home.
“Sorry about that,” Bailey said with a grimace. “Sally’s had a rough time of it. When she was little and Mum was working, I had the watching of her. I might have dropped her on her head a time or two.”
“Oh, Bailey, you didn’t!” Morrigan caught his grin too late, then bumped her shoulder against him. “Tease! I’m sure your sister is a fine young lady, once you get to know her.”
“I’d like you to get to know her,” he said, sobering. “My mum too. And I’d like to get to know all about you. Do you have brothers and sisters back in London?”
“Seven.” She chuckled as his brows climbed. “My sister Anne is the oldest, then me, then Laura, Katie, Ciara, Becca, and Teeny, short for Christina.”
“All girls?”
She nodded. “Da wanted a son, but he never got one before he left us.”
“How old were you when he died?” he asked, tone commiserating.
“Oh, he didn’t die,” Morrigan said as they set off once more down the green.
“He just left. Like your mum, mine took in washing and sewing and squeezed us into one bedroom so she could board out the second. Anne went into service as soon as she could, and, when I was old enough, she brought me with her. Mrs. Carmichael arranged for some of my pay to be given to them in London.”
He nodded. “I support Mum and Sally the same way. Our mother’s back was paining her after lugging tubs of laundry about. I didn’t want her to have to do that anymore. My funds keep them well enough.”
Dorcus had made it sound like they were destitute. Morrigan wasn’t sure how much a footman was paid at Tyneham, but with his room and board taken care of, Bailey could likely give most of his wages to his family.
He was a good son, caring for his mother. She felt a pang about hers, so far away in London with its crowded streets and noise. But an exalted dog nanny didn’t get her own parlor or bedchamber even at Tyneham Manor. Morrigan could never have brought her mum, much less the rest of the family, home.
She stopped, pulling Bailey up short.
“What?” he asked, squaring his shoulders and glancing around as if he thought he’d have to defend her against pirates.
“I just realized,” Morrigan said. “This is home now.”
And it was in part because of the man at her side.
* * *
Hugh sent his regrets to Mrs. Pierce about dinner. He could hardly bring Pip with him on such short notice. And the boy needed a bath and new clothes before he would ever be good company.
He might also need another lesson on manners.
As Pip sat in the vicarage kitchen with a glass of apple cider and the remains of the oatmeal Mrs. Hallet had left for breakfast, Hugh couldn’t help thinking about the first time he’d seen the boy in the matron’s room at the Bateman Home for Boys.
Pip had put his back against one of the white walls, feet shifting on the black and white tiles of the floor, face florid and arms akimbo.
“I need to leave!” he’d scolded Mrs. Crenshaw. “Who knows how far me mum has got while you lot dithered about?”
His mother had surrendered him that morning, his clothes dirty and worn through in places, his hair matted.
Like many of the women who brought their children to the Bateman Home, she’d known just enough to sign her name on a piece of paper releasing him into the matron’s custody.
But the haunted look in her eyes as she’d backed to the door would stay with Hugh forever.
He’d been visiting that day and had been called in to help deal with the unruly child.
“When she returns for you, she’ll expect to find you here,” Hugh had told him. “London is huge. If you wander about, you might never find each other.”
Pip had reluctantly agreed to stay. But his mother had never returned.
She must have known she couldn’t care for him, not the way the Bateman Home could.
That’s why most mothers relinquished their sons, despite some in Society’s insistence that the women merely wanted to return to their immoral ways unfettered.
Regardless, Pip had been determined to escape.
“Though this in’it a bad place to wait,” he’d told Hugh the second month of his residence. “The beds are warm. I’m fed. I have mates. I have you. I’m just working on a plan. Then, I’ll go.”
Apparently, Hugh’s move to Tyneham had put that plan into action.
“You need a wife,” Pip said now after downing the last of the cider. “Someone who cooks better than this. The porridge was lumpy.”
“That was all that remained of a perfectly fine breakfast,” Hugh informed him. “Normally, my housekeeper would have left me a delicious cold dinner as well, but I thought I would be dining out.”
Pip shrugged, though his gaze veered away. “You go, then. I’ll find a way to keep busy.”
Hugh was not about to leave the boy alone in the vicarage, not until he was certain Pip wouldn’t steal anything else. “There’s bread, cheese, and jam in the larder. When we’re hungry, we can make do.”
Pip tapped his forehead. “Now you’re thinkin’, guvnor. What about a game of cards to pass the time?”