Chapter 7
The next morning, Anne went down to the stillroom again. This time to prepare a headache remedy for Miss Fitzjohn and a bottle of peppermint water for Lady Celia’s upset stomach.
She began by grinding willow bark and blessed thistle with mortar and pestle.
Through the workroom’s high window, she glimpsed Dr. Finch coming down the outside kitchen stairs. She heard the door open in the nearby passage, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway, a bunch of purple blossoms and cheery daisy-like flowers in hand.
He held them out to her.
Surprised by the offering, Anne hesitated. Was he carrying on with Rosa and now flirting with her as well? Belatedly, she stepped forward to accept them.
“Thank you. They’re . . . pretty.”
For a moment he stared at her in mild confusion, then his expression cleared. “Oh! I’m not . . . I mean, they are not . . . It’s just chamomile and lavender. To help Lady Celia. I thought I’d contribute to your efforts down here.”
“Oh. Of course.” Anne’s face flamed at her presumption. How foolish he must think her!
Clearly noticing her unease, he groaned. “I’m an idiot.”
“No, I am. I knew they were medicinal. I don’t know why I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
No doubt to ease their mutual embarrassment, he said, “Well, I’m sure you already know chamomile makes a soothing tea and aids with inflammation.
Also, lavender-scented bed linen is said to aid sleep.
I thought we might try a few additional remedies and perhaps in time cut back on her nightly laudanum. ”
“I see, yes. Very considerate. Thank you again.” She picked up the pestle and looked down into the mortar to hide her blush. She continued grinding until his footsteps retreated and the herbs were all but dust.
Later that morning, Lady Celia asked Anne to take Louie for a walk—one of her new duties, apparently. Anne didn’t mind. She liked dogs, and she liked the out-of-doors.
Anne clipped a lead to his collar and took him downstairs and outside for a walk around the extensive grounds—down stone steps, over manicured lawns, past trees, gardens, and a few outbuildings.
She glanced up and noticed Lady Celia’s small balcony overlooking one side of the house and the gravel drive and wondered if she ever used it.
On her way back, Anne heard strange sounds and familiar voices and followed them.
Rounding the corner of the house, she heard more distinctly the thwack of arrows striking targets and the companionable conversation between Colonel Paine and Miss Fitzjohn as they practiced with good-natured competitiveness.
Two archery targets were mounted on straw bales and set up on the side lawn near the woodshed, where the equipment was apparently kept.
While his cousins shot, Mr. Dalby was reclining on a nearby bench, looking sleepy or perhaps the worse for too much drink the night before.
Between shots, Colonel Paine pulled arrows from a quiver staked into the ground at his feet.
Katherine retrieved hers from a hip quiver hanging from a belt at her waist. They took turns nocking arrows into position, taking aim, and releasing, both of them hitting quite close to the center of their respective targets.
Thwang. Fuhht. One by one the arrows flew into the targets with a snap.
Anne was not surprised to see the colonel’s skill but was impressed that Miss Fitzjohn’s seemed to equal his. Anne had seen her practice alone, but this was the first time she’d seen her compete with someone.
Jasper looked over and noticed her. “Ah, Miss Loveday.” He raised a hand in greeting. “Have any archery experience?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Come and have a go.”
“That’s all right. I’ll just watch for a few minutes before I take the dog in.”
“Try one arrow.”
“Oh, very well.” Anne walked over, handed Louie’s lead to Mr. Dalby without a word, and then joined Jasper, who extended his bow to her. He showed her how to hold it and how to position the arrow.
“Now, pull the bowstring back.”
Anne tried but could not do so. “Goodness! This is harder than I would have thought.”
“Don’t feel too bad,” Miss Fitzjohn said. “I could not do it either when I first began. I was sure Jasper would give up on me as a pupil before I finally mastered it.”
“That was years ago, Kat, and now your skill surpasses mine.”
“I’ve had more time to practice while you were away fighting wars.”
He winced at that but made no reply, once again focusing on Anne. “Try once more,” Jasper encouraged her. “I’ll help you.”
He stood beside her and placed his hand beneath hers on the grip. He reached around her and helped her pull the bowstring.
“Elbow up, like this.”
Anne felt her neck heat, self-conscious with him standing at her back. Quite close.
Mr. Dalby teased, “If that’s how it’s done, perhaps I ought to take up the sport just so I might teach young ladies.”
“I think you’ve taught enough ladies as it is,” Jasper muttered.
“Never enough.”
Finally, with Jasper’s help, Anne managed to pull back the string, aim, and release. The arrow flew a few yards in a weak arc before falling to the grass far short of the target.
Mr. Dalby clapped languidly. “Bravo.”
Embarrassed, Anne handed back the bow to Colonel Paine. “Thank you. Now I shall leave it to the experts.”
The garden gate opened, and a broad-shouldered man entered. He seemed familiar but Anne didn’t immediately recognize him.
“If it isn’t Albert, my dear brother-in-law,” Jude Dalby drawled. “Miss me already?”
The man strode in his direction, but first bowed to Katherine Fitzjohn, removing his hat as he did so, which revealed fair, slightly receding hair and an attractive face. “Miss.”
“Mr. Palling.” Katherine inclined her head. “A pleasure to see you as always. You know Colonel Paine, I believe. And this is Miss Loveday.”
“Ah! Anne Loveday, of course. Haven’t seen you in years. A pleasure. You are well, I hope?”
“I am, thank you.”
Mr. Palling turned back to Mr. Dalby. “Came to find you. You were supposed to oversee the transfer of wool to the dyehouse today. Remember?”
“Was I? Slipped my mind. Took care of it for me, I trust, brother?”
“No. It’s your responsibility, brother.”
Anne sensed the tension and even animosity between the two and wondered why. Was it only because Mr. Dalby had failed in his responsibilities, or was there more to it?
Jude Dalby gave him a sour smile. “Very well. Give me ten minutes.”
She saw Katherine send Mr. Palling an apologetic look and mouth, Sorry.
When the man had gone, Mr. Dalby said acidly, “No one told me having an interest in a mill would be so very amusing.” He frowned at Katherine. “And you need not fawn over him, Kat. He is hardly your equal.”
“I didn’t fawn. And what are you talking about? You married his sister.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Katherine challenged. “Are we not all equal in God’s sight?”
“Best not let your mother hear you say that. She’d remind you that you are the daughter of the great Sir Herbert Fitzjohn. Whereas I am only a nephew.”
Katherine sniffed. “In any case, I don’t like to see you shirk your duty.”
“No pity for a widower?”
“Not any longer.”
He rose with a groan and handed Anne the lead. “Very well. I’m going, I’m going.”
Realizing she had shirked her own duty long enough, Anne returned to the house with Louie.
That evening, after delivering Lady Celia’s dinner, Anne visited the water closet and then went down to the kitchen for her own meal.
Mrs. Pratt was just sitting down with a bowl of chicken-and-leek soup and invited Anne to join her.
Anne agreed and sat near her to enjoy delicious soup and bread and pleasant conversation.
The woman had been with the family for many years.
She told Anne she had known Miss Katherine and her cousins since they were children, as she’d worked her way from kitchen maid to cook and now cook-housekeeper.
On her way back upstairs, Anne saw Mr. Dalby and Katherine in the parlour, dressed for dinner. Mr. Dalby asked, “Where is Jasper?”
“Having his dinner on a tray with Mamma,” Katherine told him.
Anne paused, surprised by that news. He must have gone into Lady Celia’s room just after Anne left it.
“Why?” Mr. Dalby asked.
“Said he wanted to discuss something with her. Maybe he’s thinking of selling out.”
“I doubt that. Told me he’s being dishonorably discharged, which means he’ll have no commission to sell. Instead he’ll be cashiered in disgrace.”
“Oh no. What did he do?”
“Something about a duel, I gather. Probably shot someone in a fit of pique, knowing that hothead.”
“I can’t believe that. Jasper is not violent.”
“Not to you, perhaps. But when we were lads, he was quick to mete out physical justice if he disliked something I did. Bad temper, that one. Probably loved being in the army. Ordering soldiers about. Killing people.”
“Don’t say that. Jasper has always been honorable.”
“Not anymore, at least according to the British Army.”
Anne tiptoed away and up the stairs. Learning Jasper was having dinner with Lady Celia—and perhaps a delicate conversation as well—she decided not to intrude. She let herself in through Sir Herbert’s room, intending to wait in the dressing room until he departed.
She’d left the door to Lady Celia’s room ajar, as was her habit, and so unintentionally overheard some of their conversation.
Lady Celia said, “Jude mentioned it, by the way, so no need to beat about the bush.”
The colonel swore under his breath. “Should have known he could not keep his mouth shut.”
“What did you do?”
“You will think me a coward, as you have never been one to suffer fools gladly.”
“No. But I rule the roost here, and woe to anyone who challenges my authority. Last I looked, you did not rule the British Army.”
“As my superior officer never let me forget.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He sighed. “Very well. I . . .”
As curious as she was, Anne slowly and quietly closed the door to give penitent and confessor their privacy.
Whatever he’d done, she hoped it wasn’t as bad as Mr. Dalby had said.
When Jasper finally left, Anne let herself into Lady Celia’s room and found her feeding a few choice morsels to Louie, who was sitting on his haunches next to her on the bed.
“I do hope you ate some of your dinner yourself, my lady. You need to keep up your strength.”
“Received some bad news and lost my appetite. Tired me out too.” Lady Celia leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“I am sorry to hear that,” Anne said. Sorrier than Lady Celia knew.
Anne carried the woman’s dinner tray into the passage and set it on the small table there. She quietly closed the door and inserted the goose feather into the keyhole as a signal for visitors to stay away while the woman rested.
As Anne straightened, whispers reached her from somewhere nearby. Leaving the tray where it was, she tiptoed to the top of the stairs and peered down. There at the next landing stood Rosa and Dr. Finch, talking in terse whispers. Both appeared agitated, perhaps even angry.
Curiosity and suspicion flickered. What were those two arguing about now?
The housemaid, Jane, came up the stairs and the two quickly stepped apart. Rosa said, a bit louder than necessary, “Yes, thank you, Doctor, I shall be sure to pass along your instructions to the nurse.”
“Uh . . . very good, Miss Stark.”
After the housemaid passed, the two shared a long look, then Rosa turned away. He took her arm, but she jerked free and followed the maid upstairs.
Anne retreated to Lady Celia’s door and picked up the tray. When Jane offered to take it down for her, Anne thanked the maid and watched as Rosa walked toward her own door.
“Good evening, Rosa.”
“Miss Anne.”
She waited, but Rosa apparently had no instructions to pass along to her. Anne had not really expected she would.
Concerned, Anne walked over and lowered her voice, “Rosa, is Dr. Finch . . . pressuring you, or making unwanted advances?”
The girl burst out laughing. “Pressuring me, yes. Advances, no!” She continued into her room and shut the door without explaining.