Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Thursday, Morrigan had the keeping of Anastasia while Her Grace the Second and Her Grace the Third met with some gentlemen from Wareham who were knowledgeable about the supplies and furnishings needed for a proper school.
His Grace had offered the use of the Grange a little ways out from the village for both the school and the teacher’s quarters, so a group of ladies from the village were setting the place to rights.
“Taking this school seriously, they are,” Morrigan commented to Mrs. Carmichael, where the pair sat in the housekeeper’s parlor.
Like the butler, Mrs. Carmichael had her own bedchamber and a parlor she kindly shared with the other female staff.
The cozy space offered a stone hearth, a few chintz-covered upholstered chairs sitting on rag rugs over the flagstone floor, and shelves with various books, including the housekeeping account ledgers.
Now Anastasia was in a drowsy mood, sprawled with legs splayed before the fire, giving Morrigan time to help the housekeeper with mending the linens.
“Their Graces frequently take interest in things other ladies of consequence would consign to the staff,” Mrs. Carmichael agreed in a tone that told Morrigan the housekeeper found that commendable.
She picked up one of the linen napkins from the mending basket and tsked.
“This one is likely ready for the staff table.”
Morrigan could not imagine what the family had done to rip a good portion of one side.
She shook her head and applied herself to the tablecloth in her lap.
At least it was one of the smaller cloths.
Mrs. Carmichael likely had to call in a seamstress when one of the linens capable of covering the fully-open dining table was in need of repair.
“You’ve a fine hand,” the housekeeper commented, watching Morrigan’s needle move. “And a good manner with Their Graces. Have you ever considered being a ladies’ maid?”
The needle slipped, and Morrigan hurriedly pulled it back before she could harm the fine fabric. “Me?”
Mrs. Carmichael smiled. “With Miss Collier having married, Maisy could use some help, at least while Her Grace the First is still with us.”
Miss Collier had been the French maid who had seen to the first duchess. The thought of helping that elegant lady dress and undress made Morrigan’s hand shake anew. Her Grace the First was known to be fair, but exacting, and she had a sense of style Morrigan wasn’t sure she could match.
“Perhaps I could start with Her Grace the Second,” Morrigan suggested. “I already helped Maisy clear out most of her black. It was the only way we could think of to get her to try the lavender the other duchesses bought for her.”
“Very wise,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “Perhaps she’ll want to take you with her when she moves to the vicarage.”
They all knew His Grace had hopes that that would be the outcome of their maneuvering.
Anastasia’s head came up a moment before Morrigan heard voices from the corridor beyond. The pug scrambled to her feet and trotted for the door, tail twirling.
“There she goes,” Morrigan said, setting aside her work to follow.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Carmichael asked as Morrigan passed her.
She wasn’t sure it was her place to say, so she kept moving. In the corridor between the parlor and the kitchen, Sally Bailey was crouching to give Anastasia a bit of biscuit.
“I see you can’t refuse her either,” Morrigan said with a smile.
Sally straightened, cheeks pinking and making her freckles stand out. “She’s so cute! The best part of visiting the manor is getting a chance to pet her.”
“And is there a reason you must visit the manor, Miss Bailey?” Mrs. Carmichael asked, coming up beside Morrigan.
Sally bowed her head and dropped a quick curtsey. “I need to speak to my brother, ma’am.”
“I’m afraid your brother’s duties keep him too busy for idle talk,” Mrs. Carmichael said, and Sally’s blush deepened. Then the housekeeper stepped around Morrigan, face softening. “But if you’d care to wait in my parlor with Anastasia, I’m sure Morrigan can find him.”
Sally’s head came up, and she smiled tentatively. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” She patted her skirts, look hopeful, and Anastasia followed her back into the parlor.
“That was kind of you, Mrs. Carmichael,” Morrigan murmured, watching as the girl perched on one of the chairs, gaze going around the room.
The housekeeper drew in an audible breath. “I remember what it was like to miss your family. I found my way into all sorts of places after Nathan died.” She seemed to recall herself and affixed Morrigan with a look. “Weren’t you supposed to be finding Bailey?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Morrigan said, hiding a grin. She hurried into the family portion of the house.
Mr. Kinsle must be on duty with the duchesses, for Morrigan spotted Bailey at the front door. She located Popsby and sent him to take Bailey’s place.
“Your sister’s waiting in Mrs. Carmichael’s parlor,” she told him, tipping her head down the corridor.
Bailey sighed as he followed Morrigan toward the back of the house. “Causing trouble, is she?”
“Not as long as none of the family comes upon her,” Morrigan assured him. “Mrs. Carmichael allowed her to wait today, but I doubt the lady expects to share her space very often with someone not of the house.”
“I’ll speak to Sally,” Bailey promised. He ran his hand back through his hair. “I know she’s lonely sitting with Mum every day, but she can’t keep coming up to see me like this. It could mean my job.”
“Here.” Morrigan pulled him up short. “You’ve made a mess of yourself. Mr. Kinsle will take you to task if he sees you. Hunch down.”
He bent his knees, and she quickly ran her fingers through his hair to smooth it, trying not to marvel overly much at its silkiness.
She pulled back to find him staring at her, and the tenderness in the look set her hand to falling.
“What?” she asked, the word coming out breathless.
He straightened, but he kept his gaze on her. “Just wondering if you’d let me return the favor.”
Her fingers flew to her cap. “Did I dislodge it again?”
He smiled softly. “No.” He reached out and touched one of her curls. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away.
Footsteps coming toward them made her jerk back. “Go! Neither of us wants to be caught looking like a moon-struck calf.”
With a chuckle, Bailey loped for the kitchen. Morrigan ducked into the servants stairs, but even the chillier air there could not cool the warmth inside her.
* * *
Two larger carriages and a gig stopped by the vicarage on Friday to collect Hugh, Pip, and King Saul.
Mr. Warden and Her Grace the First were seated in the gig.
Hugh didn’t mind in the least that he and his charges were put into one of the larger vehicles.
As he knew from his ride to Tyneham, this carriage was lined with blue velvet, the plump cushions and squabs at their backs designed for comfort.
And best of all, he, Pip, and King Saul were given the honor of traveling with Georgie and Oliver while the duke, Sophia, one of the maids, and Sir Winfred rode in the other carriage.
The maid, Morrigan, sat in with Georgie, so propriety was satisfied.
A bit of shuffling ensued as to positions, but Hugh quickly found himself seated next to Georgie on one side of the coach with the maid and the two boys on the other.
Anastasia and King Saul wiggled about each other for a moment on the floor between the seats, until Georgie took her pet up on her lap, and Saul settled at Hugh’s feet.
“Pip, this is Oliver,” Georgie supplied as the coach set off from the village. “He is the son of Mr. Warden, who is renovating the manor.”
Pip’s brows came together, but Hugh thought it was more over a word he didn’t know than dislike of the other boy.
“Mr. Warden is doing a very good job of fixing up the duke’s home,” Hugh clarified.
Pip’s brows cleared. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”
Oliver leaned forward and tilted his head around Morrigan to regard Pip. “And you. Do you like to draw?”
“Can’t say as I’ve had much call,” Pip allowed.
Now Oliver frowned.
Hugh tried to think of something the two boys had in common. The loss of a mother was hardly the same—Pip’s had abandoned him. Oliver’s had died of an illness.
“I believe you mentioned you like birds, Pip,” Georgie put in.
He had? Hugh didn’t recall the boy talking about birds during their time together in London or here in Tyneham, but Pip’s face brightened as it did when he seized on an idea.
“Clever little fellows, ain’t they?” he enthused. “And they can escape whenever they like.”
Freedom. The ability to determine their own course. Small wonder Pip liked them.
Oliver’s frown cleared. “They are clever! And they come in so many different colors and shapes. Her Grace the First taught me about them. I saw a pheasant when I was out walking just the other day.”
“That’s a new one on me,” Pip said. “Leastwise, I’ve heard of rich folk eating them, but I’ve never seen one strutting about. What we mostly had were rooks and mallards where I lived.”
“I saw a mallard in London once,” Oliver said. “In Hyde Park.”
“Hyde Park.” Pip sighed longingly. “I walked those lanes many a time.”
Morrigan met Hugh’s eyes and tipped her head at Pip. Hugh nodded.
“Here, give over,” she told Oliver, and the two switched places so the boys could ride side by side.
“Nicely done,” Hugh murmured to Georgie as the coach rumbled along the valley that ran east and west out of Tyneham.
“They are both dears,” Georgie said. “I knew they’d make friends.”
The two boys continued to chatter as the coach passed fields rich with new growth and divided by thick hedgerows beginning to blossom with tiny white stars.
Georgie pointed out swallows skimming over the crops and swooping higher in the cloudless sky, and soon Pip wasn’t the only one gazing out the window.