Fortune's Mistress (10 page)

The said Mr. Haggerty was rubbing his fore
head, where a lump was now rising. When the doctor came forward to examine the injury, however, he shook his head, saying, “ ‘Tis naught wrong with me but a bump, and, beggin’ your pardons, I’d rather a sore head than a sore arse, like yon knave.” Here, he jerked his head at George. “Next time, p’raps they’ll be wiser and not try their luck at milking a billy goat.”

Venables felt the corner of his mouth twitch. It would never do for the boys to observe his amusement. Schooling his expression, he com
manded them, on pain of his severe wrath, to sit quietly in the curricle and behave themselves. Abashed, he turned to Mrs. Waller. “I pray Mrs. Glencoe does not hear rumors of my charges’ comportment, else I shall never persuade her to consider taking the little girls under her tutelage.”

“
Should that occur, I happen to know a sure way to her heart,” Mrs. Waller said.

He raised his brows at her in inquiry.

“Curry,” the lady said succinctly.

“
Curry?”

She nodded mysteriously.
“Consider it a form of rampion.”

…
Believe me, my dear Olivia,
Marianne wrote
, you must not fear my falling prey to boredom. Between the intriguing pronouncements of Old Maggie and the antics of little Falstaff, Ophelia, and Prospero, I haven’t a moment to pine for what I have left behind--except for your company, dearest one. That is not so easily replaced. Still, I must…

“
Beg pardon, Mrs. Glencoe,” Annie interrupted.

Marianne set her pen aside.
“What is it?” she asked, smiling. “Never tell me that fat Falstaff has discovered the pantry?”

“
Nothing so dreadful as that,” the maid returned with a smile. “It is just Dr. Venables has arrived, calling to see if you are at leisure.”

“
If I never am anymore,” she returned, “he may blame those naughty kittens. My poor sister will have to read my letter through their little paw prints.” She smiled as she glanced at the basket where they were, for once, all curled together in repose. “The doctor seems to have made quite a favorite of you, Annie. Have you been long acquainted with him?”

“
Ever so long, Missus. Since I was a child. He’s ever so good to me, for besides looking after my poor limb, he has even set up a dowry for me, when the time comes.” The girl’s face glowed when she spoke of the doctor. Such interest seemed unprecedented unless … no, surely he was too young to be the girl’s father. Yet what else would explain this sort of attention? Venables was kind at heart, of course, but still . . .

“
Show him in, Annie,” she said, “but tell him plain he must check any four-legged creatures at the door!”

When the doctor entered, he was smiling broadly, and, she noted with some dismay, bear
ing yet another covered basket.

“
What is this? Have you brought me more orphans?” she asked incredulously.

He smiled in response, the corners of his mouth twitching in a
manner which reminded her of a child bent on mischief. “It is merely a small tribute,” he answered mysteriously.

Marianne felt her heart soar, then plunge, at this further evidence of the doctor
’s attention. At once, her emotions put her on her guard. Be careful, she told herself. You must be careful. There is no good to come of such foolish romantical notions. She glanced down at her rapidly growing middle, summoning reason. Surely a gentleman could feel no interest in one so matronly as she had become. Surely he was merely fulfilling Mrs. Waller’s prediction: her help was to be enlisted in more than the rearing of kittens. Perhaps he would ask her to sew for the poor heathens of the East, or read improving books to housebound invalids.

“
So you have spirited the crown jewels here to Cornwall, have you?” she asked archly, lowering herself carefully into a chair.

“
You injure me, Mrs. Glencoe,” he exclaimed. “I have brought something even more rare.”

As she raised her eyebrows in question, he set the basket in her lap and said,
“Sniff.”

As she did so, she felt her mouth immediately begin to water.
“Curry!” she cried. “Doctor, you are unfair! What sort of friend is our Mrs. Waller to reveal my secret passion?”

“
Do not forget,” he laughed, “that the friendship between Mrs. Waller and myself holds claim to a far older acquaintance.”

“
And what of the bond between women?” She shook her head. “What a fix I am in now!”

She pulled the napkin from the basket.
“Oh! It smells heavenly! Whatever will be my forfeit?”

“
Do not worry, Mrs. Glencoe. It is enough to see that my poor efforts have pleased you. However, if you should feel inclined to humor me in my request, I should not take it amiss.”

“
And what is this . . . request?” she asked, glancing longingly at the spicy dish of meat.

“
It is merely . . .” he began. Then he frowned. “Perhaps you should eat first. Here, let me ring for Annie to bring you a tray and some cutlery.”

Appetite warred with good sense, but at last
she nodded, and in a few minutes she was savoring the exotic concoction. “You are indeed a paragon among men, doctor,” she sighed. It was true. Jewels and trinkets she knew well enough how to disregard, but kittens and curry? She had no notion how such gifts were to be esteemed, or what they might require by way of response. Just then, a round ball of fur pounced upon her lap and a pink nose sniffed delicately in the direction of her plate.

“
Oh, no! Not so fast, little Falstaff,” she cried, picking the fellow up and handing him to her companion. “I shall indulge your appetite in all other ways, but this is
my
nuncheon! Besides, I do not think such a dish would suit your constitution.”

“
Not in the least,” the doctor concurred, settling the kitten on his lap and stroking him under the chin. “I say, he certainly seems to be thriving here. It has been no more than four days, but I wager he has almost doubled in size. How do the others fare?”

She laughed.
“They look like fat caterpillars. See, they are there by the fireplace. To think I was worried about Ophelia!”

He glanced at the basket.
“I would not have guessed. They will soon be big enough to eat unassisted.” He raised the kitten he held up to his face. “I fear this one will be demanding his own dish of pudding and a syllabub twice a day.”

Marianne grimaced at the thought. The very notion of some foods prompted a shudder of revulsion. She wiped her mouth and rang for Annie to clear away the dishes.
“Let us take a turn in the garden, doctor, and you may argue your case.”

“
As it happens,” he replied, “that is the very place to do so.”

She took his arm as they entered the garden, and he led her along the path, stopping here and there to
admire the remaining blooms. Despite the notion that he was about to present a case which might lead to disruption of her quiet life, Marianne found she felt altogether comfortable as they approached the subject. It must be that, whatever he would eventually ask of her, it would not be accompanied by the worldly bartering which had in the past assailed her spirit.

“
I must tell you, there are intruders in your garden,” he said softly.

She looked at him narrowly.
“Whatever do you mean, doctor?”

He placed a finger against his lips and silently nodded to a stand of greenery in the distance. Under a canopy of golden leaves, knelt two little girls plucking daisies. She drew in her breath sharply.
Russet-haired, one with sparkling blue eyes, the other with green. They were as sweet-faced as a pair of kittens.

“
Who are they?” she whispered, reluctant to disturb their pastime.

“
I am afraid I know little more than their names and a bit of their recent past,” he told her in a low voice. “They are called Jane and Becky—Becky is the smaller of the two—and I found them a fortnight ago on the streets of Edinburgh. Becky had fallen, weak from hunger as it turns out. As I rounded a corner, I was fortunate enough to spy Jane pulling her from the path of horses. I took them up with me and discovered they were employed— enslaved rather—by a disreputable reprobate they called Old Peg, who sent them out each day to pick rags. Should they have survived their childhood, I am sure she would have sold them for other purposes.”

She drew in her breath.
“But they are mere babies,” she whispered.

The doctor nodded, but said nothing more. Marianne shuddered as she watched them, now engaged in their innocent play. She had judged her own life wretched, but she had never fully lost control of her fate. Its direction might have been diverted by the intolerant constraints of so
ciety, but she had always retained some power. “Is the world full of naught but monsters?” she asked hollowly.

“
There are times it would seem so,” he replied shortly. “In any case, this is the favor I would ask of you: Take them when you may, draw them out, try to teach them gentle ways?”

Marianne fel
t the full force of this compliment, and her heart warmed to him despite her judgment’s warnings. For all she had felt her life useless in the past, she realized there were things she could teach the little girls, and perhaps help build the foundation of a better life. “Let me meet them first,” she said slowly, “and see how they take to me. If we get on, I shall do what I can.”

“
That sounds like a wise proposition. Thank you, Mrs. Glencoe.” He caught her hand and pressed it for a moment, then led her to where the girls sat.

“
Jane, Becky,” he began. The little girls looked up at him, but their eyes, when they flitted to Marianne, were veiled with caution. “This is my good friend, Mrs. Glencoe, of whom I told you. Do you remember how to make your curtsies?”

They stood, exchanged a silent glance, and each traced a wobbly little bob in Marianne
’s direction. Jane, apparently the older of the two, smoothed her pinafore and whispered, “Good day, Missus,” in a soft brogue.

“
Good day to you, Jane. And good day, Becky,” Marianne said gently. “Would you like to step into my house for a bit of tea? I believe there may be some cherry tarts for you there.”

Again the g
irls glanced silently at one another, then at the doctor. He nodded to them. “I think that would be a capital idea. I happen to know that Mrs. Glencoe’s cook makes the finest tarts in three counties—although I beg you will not tell Mrs. Maiden that I told you so.”

The girls still looked somewhat unsure. Mari
anne stooped to their level and whispered, “I’ve three fine kittens, too, who are longing to be played with.”

Jane frowned, then said,
“Auld Peg says kittens be evil, and wouldna let us hae none of ‘em.” The child pursed her lips for a moment, then went on thoughtfully, “But I say then kittens must be kind and good, for Auld Peg was a liar.”

Marianne held out her hands to them, and the foursome went into the house together. There, the girls took in their surroundings with wide eyes. Marianne rang for Annie and told her,
“We shall need a very special tea for my guests— we shall need lots of cream and tarts and anything else Mrs. Bridges thinks would be welcome.”

Annie grinned at the little girls and returned a short time later with a heavily laden tray. When she did so, their eyes went wide and their mouths made littl
e
s. Jane ventured a slight smile in Marianne’s direction, and Dr. Venables prepared a plate for each of them.

Marianne was still quite full from having eaten the curry such a short time earlier, but it did her heart good to watch the little girls avail themselves of the treats. She even allowed them to take the kittens onto their laps and lick cream from the girls
’ little fingers. Though their actions, and the joy they seemed to receive as a result, seemed all that was young and innocent, Marianne could not help but notice that the girls’ eyes were somehow old beyond their years.

Then it struck her. That was what linked her and the doctor, and now these little ones. Beyond a serene and sometimes playful front, there lingered the shadow of pain. She knew well enough in her own case what lay behind this darkness. The story of the little girls explained theirs.
But the doctor? What secrets lay behind that lively smile, in the depths of those sometimes sad eyes? Perhaps she would never know.

Olivia, Lady Blakensly
,
stared pensively into the fire. Although it was her favorite hour of the day, when the children were brought to her before Nurse took them up to bed, their cheerful prattle drifted by her, as if it were no more than the distant sound of footsteps in the passage or muted clinking of glassware on the sideboard.