Chapter 4
Only because Sybilla agreed to look after Becky personally—and Mrs. Duncan agreed to stay over to provide chaperonage—did Mrs. Holden agree to leave her younger daughter behind.
A sigh of relief wracked Seth; he needed Sibby here. Before he could think why, Sibby herself bustled in, all energy and pink cheeked from the cold.
Mrs. Holden heard her, came to the entryway, and grabbed both her hands. “Thank goodness for you, Miss Somer. I don’t know what the shire would do without ye’, that I don’t,” she burst out. “Mr. Caulfield told me ye’ll stay with my Becky, so I can see to my others. I thank you; I truly do.”
Sibby shot Seth a reproachful look. She’d only agreed that she would “look in,” not stay. He felt no guilt for manipulating her. He needed her, and he had promised Mrs. Duncan would be there if she stayed.
The mother gazed at Sibby trustingly and Sibby melted. “Of course, Maud, of course. We’ll take care of your little one,” she said.
Seth cleared his throat. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Duncan. The both of you could use some good hot tea.”
Frank Holden arrived moments later, and in the excitement that followed, a flurry of news, explanations, and concerns, the tea was forgotten.
He announced that he would take his Maudy home, and go back to the shack at dawn for his watch.
Now confident her daughter would be well cared for, Maud Holden wrung Sibby’s hands.
“What will happen with the pageant? My Becky has dreamed of little else.”
Sibby made short work of the concerns, promising the pageant would go on and ordering Holden to help his wife repair the costume.
“We’ll do our best to have her in church for the Christmas Pageant,” Seth added, and with that, they left, Holden carrying the damaged angel wings.
Seth closed the door behind them and leaned against it with a sigh, dreading the reprimand he expected from Sibby.
It didn’t happen. She peered into the surgery. “Where is Becky?”
“She couldn’t stay on my examining table all night. We moved her into the little hospice across the hall that I set up for patients when there is need to keep a close eye on them.”
Sibby glanced up at him skeptically. “I’ve not heard anything about that.”
He tried to control his smile. She had avoided him, but she paid attention to his doings in Astburn. “Becky is the first to use it.”
He opened the door steps away. The space inside, once the bulk of his grandfather’s sundry store, had been made over with three narrow beds, a small table, an equally small cabinet, and a rocking chair.
Two beds were empty; Becky slept peacefully on her back on the bed closest to the door with bricks placed around her injured leg to keep her from moving it, and ice around her knee and next to her ankle.
“We have to take care she doesn’t roll over or move that leg more than needed,” Seth explained.
Sibby nodded, studying the little room and empty beds. “I can stay here, but where do you stay? You said your house. Where exactly is that?”
Seth colored and turned away to light two candle sconces on the wall, keeping his eyes on the task. “It isn’t exactly a house,” he admitted. “I dwell upstairs in my grandfather’s old apartment. For now.” No point in telling her I have an agent searching for a house.
He glanced around to meet her scowl. “Mrs. Duncan will have tea ready by now and supper soon after.”
He quit the room quickly, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure if he dreaded or looked forward to the conversation that he had promised her.
* * *
Coward. Sybilla glared at his retreating back.
She had little time to consider it because Mrs. Duncan came immediately after, bearing the promised tea.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Somer. I’ll be staying over.
” She busied herself arranging a fine cup and teapot on the little table.
“I sent over to the dower house and Ellen brought your things. Wrapper, night rail, and clean linen. Even the book on your bed stand.”
It seemed everyone except Sybilla was certain she was staying at the surgery, even Ellen, her companion, housekeeper and friend.
“I’ll be sleeping in the alcove off the kitchen, right nearby, where the housekeeper bided when Mr. Caulfield was a boy,” Mrs. Duncan went on. “Dinner is almost finished. Now you enjoy your tea and look after our little Becky.”
She was gone before Sybilla could say a word, leaving her to sit in the comfortable old rocker and sip her tea, wondering if Seth planned to come back. She was almost sure he would not an hour later when the door opened and Mrs. Duncan pushed in a laden tea cart.
She was wrong.
Just as Mrs. Duncan pulled the narrow table from the wall, Seth entered carrying two straight-backed chairs.
The housekeeper left them with a tureen of heavenly smelling stew, a loaf of bread warm from the oven, and a jar of pears preserved from summer. Seth lit a candle in a holder and set it to the side of the table before sitting across from her.
He picked up the ladle to serve stew. “How did it go with Sir Whittleby?” he asked, without meeting her eyes.
“You manipulated me without shame, using Maud Holden, Esther Duncan, and Ellen Miller, and, now that you have me here, all you can speak of is Sir Blasted Alfred Whittleby?”
She glared across into his green eyes, once bright with life, now filled with pain. “Not even close,” he rasped. “But I don’t know how to start.”