Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Little Davina Halbertson,” Lady Josephine said, settling beside Alice on the gig’s bench. “Who would have thought it?”
“Good morning, my lady.” Alice waited while the footman deposited two vast hampers under the seat. “A pleasant day for our outing.”
“One does one’s Christian duty regardless of the weather, Alice, but you are correct. We are blessed to enjoy high summer at its best as the new baron takes up his honors. I venture to say that is not a coincidence. ‘He has made everything beautiful in its time.’”
Alice gave Cerberus—the gentlest soul on four hooves—leave to trot on.
Lady Josephine would fill the morning with homilies, admonitions, and snippets of Scripture, all intended to benefit Alice’s immortal soul.
Her ladyship always meant well—she would assure any audience of that repeatedly—and the morning was so glorious, even Lady Josephine could not dim its splendors.
Though, to Alice, the new baron had sounded as if he were homesick for his countinghouse rather than smitten with Davina. No matter. If the gospel according to her ladyship held that his lordship was much taken with Miss Halbertson, so be it.
“How is your grandpapa, my dear? I heard he was catching forty winks when he should have been sampling the buffet. The elderly have their crotchets, but it’s such a shame when they cease observing the usual conventions even when in company.”
Such a shame when an exhausted steward found some needed rest? “Grandpapa is quite well, thank you. He was up and about at first light, then off to Mr. Cameron’s wheat fields. The crop is coming in nicely.”
“The man is entirely too ancient for his post, as is Eunice Shorer. Mark me on this, a new broom sweeps clean.”
Alice drove on, nodding pleasantly, making polite rejoinders in the few places where Lady Josephine’s discourse allowed room for them.
The birds sang, the sheep and cattle were fat in their pastures, and the sky was a canvas of sparkling Yorkshire blue.
The weekly journey to Farnes Crossing always had the same effect on Alice, a lifting of the spirits, a stubborn
welling of hope.
Despite her ladyship’s diatribes.
Lady Josephine was a formidable woman in many regards.
Tall, matronly, shrewd, and tireless. She was blond going genteelly flaxen, blue-eyed, and soft-spoken in the usual course.
Lady Josephine had coped with much, being the wife and mother of clergymen, and she’d married down.
To her credit, she’d never—in Alice’s hearing—admitted to regrets regarding her choice of spouse.
One nonetheless did not make an enemy of Lady Josephine, and one could never consider her an ally. Grandpapa had observed that Lady Josephine was better suited to ruling in the shires than serving in Mayfair.
The literary allusion was more apt than Grandpapa knew.
“And about your dress, my dear? That pink business you wore last evening?”
“Yes, your ladyship?”
“Time to change the trim. We’ve seen that frock now for many a year, and while one appreciates thrift, and your opportunities for socializing are understandably limited, you must not, even at your age, become complacent about your appearance.”
“No, ma’am. What would you suggest?”
Cerberus trotted past fields and pastures, past two crews scything wheat, and on into the village of Farnes Crossing. All the while, her ladyship held forth about the balance between upholding standards and exhibiting at all times the virtues of modesty, humility, and industry.
“At all times, Alice. Even in the privacy of our thoughts.”
“You are so right, my lady.” Alice turned the horse down a wide lane that led past the local house of worship. A quarter mile later, the lane narrowed, and a high hedge, likely anchored in ancient stone walls, sprang up on the south side of the road.
“You did notice the baron’s interest in our Davina, did you not, Alice?”
“He escorted her down the buffet, and as far as I know, they took their meal together.” Alice had withdrawn to the music room, sitting where she had a good view of the footmen’s stairs. Grandpapa had taken some time to emerge from the depths of the house, but emerge he eventually had.
Mrs. Shorer would have much to say about that come Sunday morning, all of it despairing.
“You have the right of it, my dear. Camden—I must call him Lorne now, mustn’t I?
—Camden sat with Davina for the entire repast and had her smiling for most of it.
I would never accuse my nephew of flirtation, but he did put some roses in Davina’s cheeks.
She’s not who I’d choose to be our next baroness, but she’ll be biddable. Always a fine thing in any female.”
These remarks, about humble thoughts and biddability, were supposedly meant kindly. Alice had learned to ignore them, and yet, on this glorious summer morning, surrounded by sunshine and the bounty of a harvest in progress, ignoring her ladyship’s patter took more effort.
Fatigue perhaps, or the aftereffects of two glasses of punch.
“And here we are!” Lady Josephine said as Alice drew Cerberus up before a solid fieldstone edifice built on spare, classical lines.
Sheep nibbled at the grass flanking the drive, the fountain was dry, and the front terrace was adorned by exactly two pots of red salvia.
A stately maple on each side of the house cast the yard in dappled shade, and no less than eight chimneys adorned the roof.
Not depressing, but not exactly a temple to cheerful abundance either.
“They’re here!” A high, childish voice piped from inside the house. “The ladyships are here!”
Alice climbed down and assisted Lady Josephine to descend.
A wizened little gnome who answered to the name Archibald shuffled around from the side of the house.
Alice had never learned whether Archibald was a surname or patronym, and because the fellow was stone-deaf, the distinction mattered little.
He tugged his cap at Lady Josephine and took the horse by the bridle. “Come along, horse.”
“You’ll bring the hampers?” Lady Josephine called, but Archibald either did not hear her or did not regard the question, which she’d been posing nigh weekly for years, worth answering.
“We mustn’t keep the little dears waiting,” Lady Josephine said, squaring her shoulders.
“I believe it’s my week to review the menus and expenditures, which leaves you the pleasure of hearing the girls recite.
Try to be encouraging, especially to those of limited understanding. Their situation is not their doing.”
Another kindly barb. Her ladyship was in good form. “I will do my best, your ladyship.”
“See that you do.” Lady Josephine swept up the walk, stepping over the threshold without pausing, because the door opened from within as if by magic. The older girl serving as porter curtseyed politely to her ladyship, and Alice followed at a respectful distance.
Five minutes later, she was surrounded by laughing, chattering, happy little girls, two of them giggling for every one trying to shush her companions.
They wore identical plain gray dresses with identical white pinafores tied in identically tidy bows at the back, and yet, Alice knew them each by name, age, and detailed biography.
“Did you bring a story, Miss Alice?” Gabriella asked. She was a study in contrasts. Flaming-red hair and a nimble mind, but careful with her words and shy of manner.
“Miss Alice always brings a story.” Jeanine, three years Gabriella’s junior and infinitely more accomplished at wheedling, batted big blue eyes at Alice. “I like the one about the lion with the thorn in his paw. When I grow up, I shall have pet lions.”
“When you grow up,” Mary said, “you will have sore knees because you shall become a housemaid like the rest of us.” Mary was the voice of harsh reality among the older girls, a dark-haired, restless soul always looking out the window unless she was called upon to recite.
She was smart and quick-witted, which might allow her to advance in the domestic ranks—or might get her sacked.
“A housemaid has an important job,” Alice said, mindful that her words could be repeated to Lady Josephine. “If she is diligent in her duties, she has security, honorable work, a wage, and the respect of all who know her.”
The habit of delivering sermons must be contagious, though Alice winced at the thought of any of these children becoming housemaids. The work was grueling in many households, the wage a pittance, and respect in very short supply. Even a housemaid’s safety was far from guaranteed.
“But did you bring us a story?” Jeanine asked, making a grab for Alice’s hand. “Please say you did, Miss Alice.”
Silence fell, though the answer would be the same as it always had been. “Of course, and I would be delighted to read it to you, but first, I must hear your verses.” The headmistress, Mrs. Dumfries, had established that sequence, and Alice deviated from it at her peril.
Mary sent Alice a disgusted look, which stung more than all of Lady Josephine’s thoughtless lectures and scriptural poison darts, but what did a girl without means or family expect to have in life besides a post in service?
To foster dreams of ease or hopes of domestic bliss in such children would have been unkind. And yet, one could read them stories. David and Goliath, for example, or Daniel in the lion’s den.
“Verses now, stories later,” Alice said. “Gabriella, might you start us off?”
Gabriella, a walking good example, produced eight flawless verses of Proverbs, admonishing all to cling to wisdom and eschew the temptations offered by sinful men.
Mary came next with more exhortations, then Jeanine, little Penelope, and the irrepressibly boisterous Lizzy, followed by several others.
Alice listened to them from the comfort of the rocking chair in the corner of the room, grateful as always for the most joyous and heartbreaking hour of her week.