Authors: Janet Woods
Mr Fleet raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah yes … Polly would be a good choice. I was going to suggest her myself.’
The initial suggestion had come from the coach driver who had educated her with a few bits of gossip when they’d stopped. He’d told her Polly was pleasant and obliging.
A comfortable-looking woman with a big smile stepped forward. ‘I looked after young Edward when he was in his cradle, and just before they went off on their travels. He would have grown a fair bit since then, I reckon.’
‘And now there are two of them,’ Clementine said.
‘Poor motherless little orphans,’ Polly said, and tears tracked down her cheeks.
Clementine put a stop to such maudlin thinking. ‘The children have much to be thankful for and we must dwell on the positive rather than the negative. With Mr Fleet’s permission you may show me the nursery, if you wouldn’t mind, Polly. I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than sort out domestic matters.’
She followed Polly up the stairs into the nursery, leaving her employer to talk over arrangements with Mr Bolton and the key house staff. There were two adjoining rooms for the children and a playroom that would double as a classroom once they were settled in. Across the hall was a sizeable room for a nursery maid.
‘Shall I have your luggage brought up, Miss Morris?’
‘We’ll wait and see what arrangements are made by the housekeeper. I rather think that the nursery room will be allocated to you, Polly.’
A wide smile sped across her face. ‘It will be an improvement on the one I’ve got now. It’s as small as a dog’s belly button.’
Mrs Ogden bustled in to assert her position. ‘Polly, I’ve spoken to the master and he’s agreed that you’re to have the nursery maid’s room, as is right and proper. The children will be unsettled to start with and may need attention during the night.’ She sniffed, as though she regarded Clementine as an upstart. ‘The master said you can have the guest room underneath, Miss Morris, so you’re not too far away if you’re needed, though I’m sure Polly can manage the children by herself.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Ogden, but Polly and I are quite capable of organizing the children and the nursery routine between us.’
Mrs Ogden shrugged. ‘Very well, Miss Morris. I’ve told the men to bring your trunks up if that’s all right with you. Polly, you’ve got nothing to do until the children arrive, but don’t think you’re going to laze around doing nothing. Your new position doesn’t start until the children are here, so you can make Miss Morris’s bed and unpack her trunks, and then the nursery can be scrubbed nice and clean. The bed linen will need washing too.’
Clementine sighed at having created so much extra work for them. ‘Can I be of help?’
‘Dear me no! The master was quite adamant that you’re to be regarded with as much respect as if you were the mistress of the house.’ She hesitated, and then said. ‘It seems odd, with you being so young.’
The same notion had occurred to her several times. ‘The decision to hire me doesn’t seem odd to Mr Fleet, and that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes, Miss Morris.’
‘Good. When you go down, perhaps you’d serve some refreshment in the drawing room. It’s been a long journey from London and I expect Mr Fleet would welcome something … and so would I.’
Her employer smiled wearily at her when she entered the drawing room, leaving Polly to arrange their domain. ‘How are you coping?’
‘Better than you, I think, sir. The housekeeper appears to feel threatened.’
‘She got on well with Alice … my late sister-in-law. I expect she regards you as an upstart. Would you like me to speak to her?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t. Mrs Ogden has had the rug pulled from under her feet, and I can understand that. She will learn to live with it in time. I don’t want the staff thinking they can run to you with every little complaint.’
‘I admit that would be tedious.’ He ran a hand over the prickles on his chin and he sighed. ‘I apologize for my appearance. I’m in desperate need of a shave. I must go and seek out Evan, though I expect he’s tidying himself up first.’
‘You do look a little piratical. I’m equally dusty from the journey. Let’s have some refreshment before we do anything else. That cake looks delicious.’
‘Yes … we have an excellent cook here,’ he said with a smile.
It was a week before Clementine settled in and the staff had grown used to her. Mrs Ogden thawed once she realized that Clementine’s presence didn’t put her own position in jeopardy. By his actions, Zachariah had made clear to all that her status was almost equal to his own. She took breakfast and dinner at the same table as him, and used the drawing room.
He looked pained at the times she questioned this arrangement, and said, ‘You must grow used to it.’
Toys, books and other amusements appeared, as though Polly had raided the attic.
A basket of clothing for each of the children was delivered and unpacked. Clementine held up a miniature gown of white muslin with blue ribbons. ‘I had a similar gown when I was small, only my ribbons were green.’
Zachariah smiled, saying a little wistfully one day over breakfast, ‘I wonder if Iris will look like her mother. There’s a portrait of Alice with Gabe that was completed just after they wed. Would you like to see it after we’ve eaten?’
She nodded.
It was hanging on the study wall, a room that was the domain of the master of the house. It was a gloomy and unwelcoming place. There was a similarity between the brothers. Gabriel had a more careless, rakish look to him and was smiling, but there was something insincere about it. The brothers had the same blue eyes, but where Zachariah’s glance was direct and sometimes disconcerting, Gabriel’s eyes were slightly hooded and seemed to have shifted sideways at the moment the stroke of the brush was applied.
Alice was pert, petite and pretty. Also blue-eyed, her gaze was fixed on her husband with an expression of adoration mixed with mischief.
‘How sad for the children that their parents died,’ she murmured.
He gazed down at her. ‘We’ve all experienced such sadness in our lives, including you. I doubt if circumstance makes the grief any less.’
‘I doubt that too. Would you mind if I moved the painting on to the nursery wall in the day room? It might comfort the children if they think their parents are watching over them.’
He nodded, ‘I’ll move it myself.’
‘Thank you. Nothing will be familiar to them and it will be hard for them to adjust, but at least they’ll have that.’
‘You seem to know a lot about children.’
‘I’ve seen them come and go at the workhouse. You’re a nice man, Mr Fleet, and I expect you’ll turn out to be a good father to your brother’s children once you get used to each other.’
He had that surprised look on his face again. ‘I haven’t had much to do with children, and I’m terrified. Fathering is beyond my capabilities, I fear. I was thinking of buying them a gift … a sort of bribe. Can you suggest something suitable?’
‘Perhaps a dog might be just the thing. It will give them something living to love and be responsible for.’
‘Of course! It’s settled then. They shall have a dog apiece … a perfect substitute for parents, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t think that, and you’re making a mockery of me.’
‘Not of you, Clementine, because the children’s parents didn’t possess a responsible bone in their bodies while they lived. This must be the ultimate betrayal, to leave two children alone and penniless when they deserved more.’
‘You’re being too hard on them. Your brother and his wife didn’t expect to die, and the children’s poverty is merely a consequence of it. You have the means to give them a future.’
‘You’re mistaking me for a saint. In fact, it has just occurred to me that you are a romanticist.’
‘While you are a cynic,’ she retorted.
‘Hmmm … it could be an accurate assessment at this moment. Actually, I feel more than a little angry on behalf of the children.’
‘Anger is wasted on the dead.’
She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through his unruly hair and soothe the tension and anger from his brow. It was the only thing about him that seemed to be revealed. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Why not when you’re right? Anger must be mastered, not fed. The truth is, my brother made a mess of his life and, as usual, left it to me to sort out. I resent it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
She drew in a deep breath. You will sort out the mess, no doubt. As for resentment, the children might come to resent it too.’
‘Why should they?’
‘Children react as their emotions demand. They might resent you for being alive while the father and mother they loved are dead.’
‘Why should they react to something so illogical?’
‘Because children act on instinct rather than reason; didn’t you?’
He laughed. ‘See … you have taught me something already. Would you have me emulate my brother? I have no intention of doing so.’
‘You wouldn’t be able to replace him, Zachariah, but Edward and Iris could grow to respect you as much as you came to respect John Beck. Would you want to change places with Gabe?’
He gazed at her, his smile coming and going. ‘I would prefer to manage my own life than the remnants of my brother’s. You called me Zachariah.’
‘I know … but you invited me to when we first met.’
‘And you got on your high horse and you refused.’
‘I thought the horse might prove to be too high to dismount from easily, so I changed to a lower horse before I became stiff with my own pride.’
He laughed. ‘It was a ruse to divert my threatened bout of self-pity, wasn’t it?’
‘If so, it worked. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Would I change places with Gabe? Of course not; life is already too short.’ He placed a finger over her mouth when she opened it. ‘There, there, Miss Clementine, let us not argue, but dance around each other until one of us trips over their own cleverness and falls off the carousel.’
‘I’ll try and catch you before you suffer injury.’
‘And I’ll probably squash you flat. By the way, you look lovely dressed as a lady … and you were right … nobody would be able to tell that you were plucked out of a workhouse. As for the children, I’m sure they’ll adore you.’
The thought gave her a thrill of apprehension. What if they grew to love her – would she be able to leave them when the year was up? Would she even want to?
She shrugged. She doubted if she’d be given a choice …
A month passed before word arrived – four long weeks in which Clementine tried to hide her anxiety. Her employer remained calm. He wasn’t a man who worried unnecessarily or flustered easily, it seemed.
She settled into the house, and while Zachariah spent most of his time in business meetings or poring over maps or account books, Clementine familiarized herself with the district, taking occasional forays outside on foot while the weather was at its best.
The countryside was dappled with sunshine and shade. Fruit ripened and the days were perfumed with the soul of summer in a way that filled her heart with joy. Sometimes the air was lively, at other times it was still, moist, and almost languid, so it hummed as the bees went about their work.
Clementine watched as each field of corn was harvested, and wagons filled with wheat rumbled past her, pulled by a plodding horse that she suspected of knowing its way home by heart.
If she was lucky, a man with wise nut-brown eyes and weather-worn skin might tip his hat as he passed and say, ‘G’day my lovely, a nice one, isn’t it? The good Lord has blessed us … indeed he has.’
When one morning the message arrived from the shipping office they were having a late breakfast together. Zachariah smiled when he read it. ‘The ship lost some of her rigging in a storm, which slowed her down. She’s berthed at a shipyard in the Isle of Wight undergoing repairs.’
‘Where are the passengers?’
‘They’ve been transferred to another packet, which they estimate should arrive about … goodness … in about two and a half hours!’ Zachariah consulted his watch. ‘We must hurry. I’ll tell the stables to ready the carriage, while you get your bonnet and shawl.’
Excitement pricked at Clementine. ‘I hope we have a sunny day to welcome the young man and his sister home when the mist rises.’
They were soon ready and the house was a hive of energy as people ran to and fro.
Zachariah was astride his horse and he gazed at her as she hurried through the front door with Mrs Ogden waddling after her, flapping her apron in agitation. ‘Your ribbon isn’t tied properly, Miss Morris. Your bonnet will fly off.’
Clementine had a quick vision of her bonnet sprouting wings and flying up into the sky, and she laughed. ‘I’ll fix it before we get to Poole. Do stop fussing, Mrs Ogden. We’re in a hurry.’
Zachariah’s smile charmed Clementine. ‘That gown you’re wearing is pretty, and it suits you.’
She liked it too. It was cream and the bodice and sleeves were decorated in rosebuds. The matching bonnet had green ribbons. Colour mounted to her cheeks. He’d never said anything so personal before and it was as if he had just noticed she was alive, and she was a woman.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and gained entrance to the carriage with an unladylike leap, like a startled frog going into a pond. Her bonnet fell to the ground. Zachariah reached down and lifted it with his cane before flipping it through the door on to the seat opposite.
He gazed at it and smiled. ‘I’ll go on ahead in case they’re early.’
The mist was thin and vaporous, and it rose in wisps from the ground and hedgerows to cling to the vegetation in clusters of small liquid beads. Pretty crystals of hanging light trembled on the spiders’ webs. They were an enticing lure for any unwary insect drawn into its false glitter.
Clementine loved it here. The countryside drew her in and she could feel her roots clinging to the earth, making her feel part of it, as if she’d come home. Had her father’s spirit come home from Waterloo? Perhaps her parents were together again.
‘Give me the wisdom to care for these little orphaned children,’ she whispered, and then as an afterthought, ‘And it would be very helpful if you could help me to handle Zachariah Fleet. He’s so very aggravating, at times.’