Chapter 11 #2
Harriet kept her excitement and sadness from her face with difficulty, focusing on her sketching instead of Phoebe. It is the most I have heard her say. How long had it been since she had spoken?
“It is a trick I use when I want to remember things.” She pointed to the pot she had just begun to draw. “This is to represent the cook, I believe she is Mrs. Hawthorne?”
Phoebe nodded, moving even closer. Her eyes flitted between Harriet and the pencil and paper, a hungry look in them. Harriet paused, tapping the pencil against her mouth as she tried to think of something to represent one of the maids.
“What do you think I should draw for Emily?” Harriet canted her head towards Phoebe.
“...a mouse?” Phoebe’s cheeks flushed and she gave Harriet a shy smile, eyes going to the floor and then back to Harriet.
“Because she is quiet?” Harriet returned the smile.
Phoebe nodded, her fingers twitching on the table.
“Would you like to help me?” Harriet gently pushed a paper and pencil towards the girl. “It is much more fun with company.”
Phoebe hesitated, but even as she did, Harriet could see her fingers creeping towards the pencil. She began to sketch a mouse, and said, “What reminds you of Bramley – the first footman?”
Phoebe pursed her lips and began to draw something long and spindly. Her strokes were nervous at first, but as Harriet watched, the nervous expression left the girl’s face, replaced by a quiet focus.
She puzzled at the drawing for a moment before she realized that Phoebe was drawing a silver birch tree. Harriet’s smile broadened. “Is that because he has silver hair?”
Phoebe nodded, not looking up from her paper. As they continued to sketch together, Harriet found she stopped having to prompt the girl. Her eyes sparkled and she started drawing things and holding them up to Harriet, getting her to guess who the drawing was supposed to represent.
Harriet’s heart swelled impossible as Phoebe grew steadily more excited. When was the last time she just did something for the joy of it? Phoebe let out a giggle when Harriet drew a hedgehog to represent the butler, and something clicked inside of her.
She looked out the window and saw Phoebe follow her gaze. “Have you ever played touch?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“It is rather simple.” Harriet stood up and dusted off her dress.
“One of us starts as the chaser, and her job is to touch one of the others. She will count to ten and close her eyes, and we will hide, when she finds us, we run and if she catches us then we become the chaser and will repeat the game again. It is great fun.”
“Your Grace, Lady Phoebe has not yet finished her reading. His Grace will not be pleased if her studies are disrupted.”
“Let me worry about the Duke.” Harriet shook out her shoulders. “Children need more in their life than duty and responsibility. Laughter is just as important as learning. And it is a lovely day outside.”
Mrs. Morton looked unconvinced, though she hid it well. Harriet sighed. “If the Duke takes umbrage with this, I shall bear the full responsibility. Now, let us go outside. Come on, Phoebe.”
Without thinking Harriet held her hand out to Phoebe who took it. The child’s hand was slightly clammy in the way that children’s hands often are, but Harriet did not mind. She beamed at Phoebe and then Lucy who had an equally large grin on her face and they went into the gardens.
Mrs. Morton followed along behind them, and though she did not do anything so untoward as mutter under her breath, Harriet knew that the woman was less than impressed with this turn of events.
She is your first priority. That was what Theodore had told her, and that is what she would do. He was the one who had told her that he needed someone to care for Phoebe.
“Now, who shall be the chaser to start?” Harriet asked.
“I do not mind,” Lucy offered, covering her eyes with her hands. “One.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened and she tugged Harriet away from Lucy. They hid behind a tree, each stifling a giggle. Harriet’s heart felt lighter than it had in months.
“There you are!” Lucy exclaimed, lunging towards them.
Phoebe squeaked and sprinted away, smiling broadly. Harriet ducked around the tree and out of Lucy’s reach, running in the opposite direction.
Lucy gave chase, and Harriet watched as Phoebe weaved between bushes, stumbling and tripping but not falling. The smile on her face only broadened and she let out a delighted giggle.
The sound was high and girlish, full of joy and wonder. It made the garden come alive. And soon Harriet was laughing too. She looked at Mrs. Morton and saw the barest hint of a smile on her face as Lucy caught Phoebe in her arms and tickled her.
Harriet moved towards the older woman. “Are you sure you do not want to join in? I find it is always more fun with more people.”
Mrs. Morton hesitated, looking at Phoebe who was grinning at her, hair awry and a streak of dirt on her face. “Oh… Very well. But I refuse to be the chaser.”
“I think it was Lady Phoebe’s turn anyway, Mama.” Lucy beamed at the girl.
Phoebe nodded and covered her eyes. “One.”
Harriet and the other women darted away, not so far that it would be difficult for Phoebe to find them, but enough that they were just about out of ear shot. Lucy had joined Harriet as they hid behind a tree, her mother had moved to the opposite end of the garden.
“I do not think I have heard her laugh like that in months.” Lucy put a hand on her chest, her cheeks red with exertion. “Or smile.”
“She has a lovely laugh.” Harriet felt her heart soar as Phoebe laughed again, having spotted Mrs. Morton hiding. “Your mother is far more nimble than I expected.”
The governess had managed to dodge away from Phoebe and moved with far more speed than Harriet would have expected a woman her age to exhibit. I only hope I am so agile.
“Mama may act like the sternest of headmistresses, but in truth, she is an old softie. As soon as she saw Lady Phoebe smile, I knew she would want to be a part of it.” Lucy grinned. “She loves that girl, though she rarely shows it. She sees her potential, we all do. She could be a fine young lady.”
“I am sure she will be.” Harriet spotted Phoebe coming towards them and beckoned for Lucy to move slightly. “It is nice to see her so alive.”
“You have reached her in a way which none of us has been able to.” Lucy wrung her hands.
“It is hard to reach a child if there is no room for joy or laughter.” Harriet glanced towards the windows of Irondale Hall, thinking of the stretches of empty corridor.
“The Duke only wants what is best for her.” Lucy bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder before adding. “If I might speak freely, Your Grace?”
“Of course.” Harriet had one eye on Phoebe who was now being chased by Mrs. Morton and laughing delightedly.
“I can tell that His Grace cares deeply for Phoebe, and she cares for him as well. He is her only family, but neither of them seems to know how to talk to one another. They do not know how to show each other that they care. It seems to me he wants to try and so does she, but…” Lucy trailed off.
“Neither of them knows how to reach the other?” Harriet offered.
“Exactly and –” Lucy was cut off as Phoebe appeared, lunging towards them. “Found you!”
The words were nothing more than drawing-room volume. Harriet suspected that, for Phoebe, they were a cry of glee.
They scattered, but Harriet felt a touch against her thigh and stopped moving. As she closed her eyes and heard the telltale sound of a giggling child trying to stifle their own laughter, she thought of what Lucy had said.
He wants to try and so does she. She pictured Theodore in her mind, the stoic way he carried himself. Catherine’s words came back to her.
“Perhaps I am what they need.” Harriet whispered to herself.
It felt odd to say aloud, but it filled her with a sense of purpose she had never experienced. One way or another, she would mend the bridge between the Duke and his niece.