Chapter 4 #2
“Ye say that because ye once lived in a fine house that was full of paintings, Eunice,” Doreen countered.
“But until Miss Genevieve took me to that gallery, I scarcely knew such pretty things existed. Miss Genevieve wants the children to see that there’s more to the world than what they’ll find here—like great ships and angels and battles and such. ”
“Angels indeed,” huffed Eunice, watching as her oatcakes began to brown and crisp. “Flyin’ about half-naked with their bare bosoms out for all the world to see—it’s plain disgraceful, to my way of thinking, and certainly not a fitting sight for children.”
“How many children does Miss MacPhail have?” asked Haydon curiously.
“There’s six of them now, including Jack,” replied Doreen. “Three boys and three girls.”
“Are any of them actually hers?” Although Genevieve was unmarried and exuded an aura of sexual innocence, it occurred to Haydon that she could still be the mother of at least one of her brood.
Oliver’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Well, lad, if ye’d ask her that question she’d tell ye flat that they are all hers, and make no mistake about it. But if ye’re askin’ how many of them has she actually borne, the answer is none of them.”
“She might as well have borne Jamie,” observed Eunice, banging a plate with three golden oatcakes and a wedge of cheese before Haydon. “She’s cared for him since he was but hours old.”
“Aye, and a fine job she’s done of it too,” declared Doreen loyally. “If not for her, the poor lad would be dead—and no one would have cared a whit.”
Haydon cut himself a chunk of cheese and balanced it on a warm oatcake. “Why is that?”
“Jamie is the bastard of Miss Genevieve’s dead father, Viscount Brynley, and one of his maids,” explained Oliver. “No one here cares about a maid’s bastard.”
“Surely Genevieve’s father cared,” Haydon protested.
“He was dead long before the bairn arrived,” replied Eunice. “I suppose had he lived, he might have made provisions for poor Cora and wee James.”
“Or he might have just turned her out with a few quid and told her it wasn’t his problem,” Doreen countered angrily.
“Men can be all pretty words and kisses when they’re tryin’ to find their way under a lass’s skirts, but they start singin’ a different tune quick enough the minute they discover they’ve left somethin’ growin’ in there. ”
“A pretty thing, Cora was,” reflected Eunice, “with hair like fire and laughing eyes. I was working for Lord Dunbar then, and I used to see her sometimes down at the market. ’Tis no surprise the viscount took her to his bed.”
“I expect ’twas a bit of a surprise for Miss Genevieve’s stepmother to discover that her maid was carryin’ her husband’s bairn after he died,” mused Doreen. “Tossed Cora out on her ear, she did, with nothing but a swollen belly and the clothes on her back.”
“’Twas quite a scandal at the time,” said Eunice, laying more cakes on the griddle.
“Everyone in Inveraray could talk of nothing else. Of course, no respectable household would take the poor lass in. And so she left. Most folk thought she had family that she could go to, but if she did, they dinna let her stay, for a few weeks later she was back again, round as a melon with no work and no money. And then she stole some apples and a bun, and she was sentenced to two months in jail.”
Haydon paused in his eating, appalled. “They put a pregnant girl in jail for stealing some apples?”
“Makes ye wonder about what they call justice, don’t it, laddie?” Oliver shook his head in disgust.
“What happened then?”
“Well, Cora knew Miss Genevieve had a soft heart, and so she sent word to her,” continued Eunice. “And when Miss Genevieve went, Cora begged her forgiveness, and asked her if she could see it in her heart to take the bairn when it was born.”
“How could Genevieve take the child if she was dependent upon her stepmother’s charity?” wondered Haydon.
“She couldn’t. And that’s what she told poor Cora.
Miss Genevieve was scarcely eighteen years old at the time, and was betrothed to the Earl of Linton.
Her father had arranged the match afore he died, and because he believed her future was secure, he hadn’t taken the precaution of leavin’ her any money.
He did give her this house an’ a few paintings and such—perhaps in the hope that they might be passed down to his future grandchildren.
Miss Genevieve’s stepmother got all the money. ”
“Miss Genevieve told Cora that the minute she got out of jail she would help her to find a position,” said Oliver, who was now hacking Doreen’s carrots into uneven chunks. “And then Cora would be able to work and look after the bairn herself.”
“Don’t forget, at that time, Miss Genevieve was young and had scarce notion of what life was like for those not of her station,” explained Doreen, anxious to defend her mistress for her ignorance.
“Nor had she any ken of how much work a bairn could be. She probably thought it would just sleep all day while Cora did a few easy chores.”
“But when Miss Genevieve went next to visit her, she discovered that poor Cora had died in her cell while birthin’ the bairn.
” Oliver paused in his chopping. “The warder told her the bastard was a sickly runt that would not last through the night, which would save them the trouble of sendin’ it to the orphanage, where it would just die anyway.
Miss Genevieve demanded to see the bairn.
When they brought him out, she took wee Jamie in her arms and said, ‘This is my brother and I’m takin’ him home,’ just like that.
” Oliver’s wrinkled face beamed with pleasure, as if he could just imagine Genevieve doing such a thing.
“What did her betrothed think of that?” wondered Haydon.
“At first he thought she must be suffering from some sort of woman’s ailment that had made her touched in the head,” scoffed Doreen.
“Thought she was just grievin’ over her father’s death.
Brought in a doctor all the way from Edinburgh to examine her and make her right again.
After a week the doctor presented his lordship with a huge bill, and told him there was nothin’ wrong with his betrothed except, like most new mothers, she was very tired. ”
Eunice chuckled. “He even insisted the earl consider hiring someone straightaway to help her with the bairn, since she seemed to know nothing whatsoever about caring for bairns, other than what he had shown her.”
Haydon found himself smiling. From the moment she had appeared in his cell like an outraged angel, he had known Genevieve was a woman of unusual strength and conviction.
Even so, for a gently bred, inexperienced girl with no apparent income to take in a bastard baby in the face of both her stepmother’s and her betrothed’s opposition demonstrated remarkable compassion and courage. “And did the earl hire someone?”
“No.” Oliver’s expression grew dark. “The miserable swine broke their engagement and walked away. Told everyone that she had gone off her head and he wasn’t to blame for whatever might become of her.”
“Then the viscountess packed up and left as well,” added Doreen. “Which was the best thing, except that she took all of Miss Genevieve’s father’s money with her and dismissed the remaining servants, leavin’ Miss Genevieve with nothing but this old house and a pile of debt.”
“’Twas hard on her, that first year,” said Eunice, placing a fresh batch of oatcakes before Haydon.
“Living all alone in this house, with no one to help her or show her how to care for a bairn. The folk who used to pretend they were her friends stopped callin’ upon her or inviting her to their parties and such, because they didn’t want to be tainted with the scandal.
Until I finally came to live here, the poor lass was just barely managing, all by herself. ”
“How did you come to be employed here?” asked Haydon.
“Well now, I’m afraid that was another bit of a scandal.
” Eunice’s plump cheeks, already pink from the warmth of the fire, reddened with embarrassment.
“Miss Genevieve had heard that I was about to be released from the prison, ye see, after servin’ time for stealing a brooch from my former employer, Lord Dunbar. ”
“Because they wouldna pay her a decent wage so she could put some quid aside for when she was too old to work,” interjected Doreen, wanting to make it clear that Eunice had had a very good reason to steal.
“Instead they expected to her slave for them from morning ’til night, and then when they’d no more use for her they would toss her onto the street like an old rag without so much as a thank e. ”
“Miss Genevieve bundled up Jamie and went down to the prison and asked if she could speak to me,” continued Eunice, smiling affectionately at Doreen.
“Very sweet and polite she was, not at all like all the other rich folk I had known. And after we had talked a while, she asked me if I had any plans for when I got out of prison. I told her I hadn’t, but ’twas certain no one would hire me, as I was guilty of stealin’ from my former employer and therefore would forever be considered a dangerous criminal and untrustworthy.
And she asked if I might consider coming to live with her and Jamie, and said she hoped I would, because they really needed my help to get along.
Made it sound as if I would be granting her a wonderful boon.
Said she couldn’t pay me much, but that I would have a warm roof over my head and good food to eat, and if I ever needed more of anything I only had to ask her and she would see if she could provide it.
And here I am, thankin’ the good Lord each and every day that he sent Miss Genevieve to me, because if he hadn’t, I dinna know what would have become of me.
” She fished an enormous handkerchief out of her apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes, then trumpeted her nose noisily into it.