Chapter 7 #2
She glanced at her mother, but Susanna carefully avoided her gaze. Why should she give him a tour of Tyemorn?
Riona sat, waiting until James finished breakfast amid the fluttering of four females. Abigail had joined them, evidently preferring to tend to their guest than to dust the upstairs rooms. With her was the young man who’d accompanied James to Tyemorn.
Riona waved him to her side of the table, smiling her welcome.
“Did you sleep well, Rory?” she asked.
“I did.” He looked, however, as if he wished to be anywhere but here.
Abigail served him, then turned her attention back to James.
Riona could understand why they fawned over him. He was charming and handsome, smiling his thanks for each task done for him. His cup was filled twice, and his plate would have been replenished as well if Cook had her way. But he shook his head, smiling his refusal.
Rory acted as if all this fluttering attention was nothing out of the ordinary, as if James received the lion’s share of female adulation as a natural course of events.
Impatient, Riona finally stood and walked to the door, waiting for James to notice her.
He finally looked in her direction again, then back at Rory. The younger man nodded, finished up his breakfast, and stood.
“No,” Susanna said hastily before the three of them could leave the kitchen. “I mean, would you allow Rory to remain here?” She looked pleadingly at the young man. “I could use the services of a stalwart lad.” She smiled again, the expression holding an edge of desperation to it.
A glance between James and the young man ended in Rory’s shrug.
“Then I’ll leave you here,” James said, and held the door open for Riona.
“The curtains in the parlor,” Susanna abruptly said. “I’ve long been wishing to clean them properly. Rory, it’s too big a chore for Abigail. Could you assist her, please?”
The young man nodded, looking as bemused as the young maid. After they’d left the room, Polly turned to her.
“Well, what do we do now?” Polly asked, having been apprised of Susanna’s plans the night before.
“Worry about Mrs. Parker. I have never seen a more curious or intrusive woman.”
“Can’t you simply dismiss her?”
Susanna looked askance at Polly. “According to the terms of our agreement, she will remain until both marriages are celebrated.”
“Do you not mind Maureen marrying an Englishman?”
“Who am I to stand in the way of true love, Polly?”
Polly snorted, a thoroughly rude gesture, and even Cook smiled.
“You’d do everything in your power to change her mind if you thought he wasn’t good enough for her,” Polly said, a decade of service giving her the freedom to speak the truth. “Is that why you invited James to stay?”
Susanna nodded in rueful agreement. “Do you think I’m wrong to want someone better for Riona? Did you see the way they acted toward each other?”
“Riona hardly said a word, and James didn’t notice her.”
“Exactly,” she said brightly.
“What are you going to do about Harold?”
“I’m not exactly certain,” she said, having come to no clear resolution of the problem. If Harold could be convinced to give up his suit, the situation would be perfect, of course. But she frankly doubted that he would, given the size of Riona’s fortune. Something, however, would have to be done.
Polly shook her head. “Mrs. Parker won’t be happy with your plan. What are you going to do about her?”
She sighed heavily and shook her head. “It’s a pity she can’t be ill. The woman feels every draft and every chill. How odd that she’s never truly sick.”
“She could be,” Polly said.
Susanna glanced at the woman who’d become her friend over the years. “Are you suggesting that I poison her?” she asked, shocked.
“A simple matter of a few herbs brewed in a tea. It would be enough to make her ill for a few days, that’s all.”
“And where did you acquire this knowledge?”
Polly shook her head, meaning that the answer wasn’t going to be forthcoming. Susanna glanced from Polly to Cook, wondering if the other woman had passed on this wisdom. If so, was it altogether a good thing to have a woman with such talents acting as her cook?
“Perhaps it would be better if we considered other alternatives for the moment,” she said, banishing the thought of that option.
“My dear Mrs. Parker,” Susanna said, entering the woman’s bedchamber a few moments later, “how are you faring this morning?” Placing the breakfast tray down at the foot of the bed, she went to the window and drew back the curtains.
“The day promises to be a sunny one, if a bit chilly for this time of year. I’ve heard my share of coughs this morning and cannot but wonder if the weather is responsible for it.
My own throat seems a bit sore as well.”
Mrs. Parker raised herself up on one elbow, blinking at her like a mole. “I slept as well as can be expected in this dreadful air, Mrs. McKinsey.”
“You do look the worse for the night,” Susanna said, peering around the bed hangings. Over her thinning hair Mrs. Parker wore a huge yellow lace cap with deep flounces, making it appear as if a large flower were sitting up in the middle of the commodious feather bed.
“Are you feverish?” she asked, picking up the tray. “I do hope not. I’ve heard that once this cough gets in the lungs it takes a few days to expel it.”
“I do not feel ill,” Mrs. Parker said.
Susanna reached out and touched Mrs. Parker’s cheek lightly with her knuckles. Shaking her head from side to side, she sighed heavily as if worried.
“I’m sure you’re correct,” Susanna said, placing the tray on the bedside table. She deliberately did not look in the other woman’s direction. “It is just that you look a trifle pale. Have you any joint pain? Or difficulty rising?”
Mrs. Parker was, generously put, a large woman, and the bed was absurdly soft. A thin person would have to push his way through the mountain of feathers. Mrs. Parker must be forced to roll to the edge and simply fall to the floor.
“Now that you speak of it,” Mrs. Parker said, frowning, “I have had some pain in my joints of late. I’ve taken it to be the Scottish air.”
Susanna smoothed her face of any expression.
Mrs. Parker conveniently forgot that she was an inhabitant of the country and the widow of a Scot.
In fact, in all the time she’d known the woman, Susanna had yet to hear of her departed, but evidently not lamented, husband.
But the older woman never let it be forgotten that she was London born and bred.
Some in Edinburgh might conveniently forget that antipathy had existed between the countries for centuries, but here in the country, memories were longer.
“I cannot think that this air is good for one’s lungs. And I did ask you to ensure there was no draft in my chamber.”
“I am sorry that there is not another room for your use. But I would be happy to close the curtains so that you might rest for a while.”
“I’m certain I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Parker said, leaning back against the pillows and tucking into her breakfast.
“Perhaps it would be better if you remained in your chamber today,” Susanna suggested.
“Nonsense,” the other woman replied, looking up from her sausages. “A good breakfast, a brisk walk, and I’ll be as good as new.”
“I have a restorative tea that will do wonders to fight off the ague. May I send it up?”
“That would be wise, I suppose.”
Susanna nodded, her hand on the door. Looking back at the older woman, she wondered if she were destined to hell for her actions. Praying that God would understand her motives, she went in search of Polly and the herbal potion.