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Authors: Joan Smith

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BOOK: Madcap Miss
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The door silently closed behind him, and the bolt was drawn. Grace frowned a moment, but soon began to undress. Not a single fear for her safety came into her head. Her only concern was for the morning, and what new unpleasantness it might bring.

But really, it had not been so bad. She was no longer afraid of Lady Healy, and any small misgivings as to Whewett

s respectability were long past. She was soon in bed, and before long, deep peaceful breaths filled the chamber.

 

Chapter Four

 

Grace was not quite up with the sun, but she rose not much after it. A country servant, younger than Grace herself and pretty in a robust way, came and shook her awake.

Time to get up, missie,

she said gaily.

Your grandma is up and wants me to do your hair.

Grace rubbed her eyes as she looked around the strange room. The brown walls of the preceding evening had softened to a faded yellow, with lighter spots that might, perhaps, be roses. The sunlight streaming through the dusty panes picked out heavy mahogany furnishings from a past era.

Memory returned, causing her to look in alarm at the servant. Grace got out of bed and turned toward the window to scramble into her dress, to prevent the girl

s discovering she was not a child. Once the concealing dress was on, she felt safer. The servant took a brush to her hair, yanking it hard, then pulling it into two tails, with a part down the back.


My name

s Molly,

the servant said as she worked.

This here is how I do my sister

s hair.

As Molly stuck two large blue bows on the ends of the braids, Grace glanced in the mirror and felt she was looking at a veritable youngster. If ever she had to pass as a minor again, she

d know how to accomplish it.

Thank you,

she said in a voice strangled with suppressed laughter.

Whewett

s lips twitched in amusement when she appeared in the breakfast parlor.

A new style, Augusta?

he asked.


Yes, Papa. One of the servants did it. Do you like it?


Very pretty,

he said, inclining his head over his coffee cup to conceal his smile.


No it ain

t, it

s ugly as bedamned,

Lady Healy declared loudly.

But it

s neat and tidy, and no one but ourselves will see it. I have had porridge made for you, Augusta.


Thank you,

Grace replied, with a longing look at the gammon and eggs the adults were consuming.


Gussie has the same breakfast as myself,

Whewett said.

There is no need to put the servants to the extra work of making gruel.

Lady Healy shook her head at such folly.

Grease has destroyed more young ladies

complexions than you would credit. It causes spots and those ugly black pores. It does well enough for mature systems. They can handle anything, but you will have Gussie blossoming into spots if you feed her lard.

Whewett cast a brief glance across the table at the petal-like complexion of Miss Farnsworth.

We certainly wouldn

t want that. Eat your gruel, Gussie.


It

s lumpy,

Grace said, putting her spoon into the unappetizing mess in her bowl. The spoon stood up straight.


Rubbish! No one can make oat porridge like the Scots. My own cook prepared it specially for you. Now eat it up,

Grandma ordered.

As Grace was extremely hungry, she ate it, while the tantalizing aroma of toast, meat, and coffee hung over the table. It was the coffee that nearly undid her.

Lady Healy ruled the conversation, telling Whewett where to ride, what to check

the state of the fields for water, fences, crops.

You can take lunch at the inn you will come to a mile beyond the west pasture. No need to come all the way back here. Augusta and I can amuse ourselves. We take dinner at six. Be sure you are home in time to change.


Yes, Grandmama,

he said, in the same submissive tone as his

daughter.

When breakfast was over, Lady Healy announced,

You will go to the stable with your papa, Augusta, to see him off. Then come back. I want to test you on the Bible. I wrote you a dozen times to study your Bible.


Yes, Grandmama.

The two escaped to the stable, oblivious of the sun shining on verdant fields and the hint of a breeze stirring the leaves above.

Sorry about the gruel,

Whewett said.


It was the coffee I regretted more. It smelled so good.


It was bitter. The Scots may make a good lumpy batch of gruel, but they have no talent with coffee. How are you on the Bible, Doll?


Not terribly well versed. Is Doll a dab at it?


Nope. Try if you can beguile her with other things. You ride

get her into stories of her riding days. She

s as proud as a queen of her prowess in the field.

Entering the stable, he said,

Now, let us see what John had in the way of horseflesh.

The stalls were mostly empty, save for his own carriage horses. John Brougham had not been much younger than his sister. What he rode on those rare occasions when he rode at all was an ancient nag that should have been sent to the pound years ago.


Good God! Is that what I am expected to make my rounds on? I shall be a week completing the circuit.

Grace laughed to see the elegant Lord Whewett throw his leg over such a jade.

You would do better to go on foot.


Let us hope the inn has something for hire. Well, I

m
off, Augusta. Run along, and be nice to Grandma.


Yes, Papa.

She made a curtsy for the benefit of the few stableboys who gaped with interest at the visitors.

Grace returned to the house at a lagging gait, dreading the ordeal before her. As Whewett had suggested, Lady Healy was easily distracted from the Bible to boast of her skill in the saddle instead. She told tales, surely exaggerated, of hunting while hardly out of pinafores, of jumping and riding and other feats of unusual prowess. From this she went on to give advice on fomenting a wounded leg, curing colic, and such other matters as might be new to a child but were as familiar as an old ballad to Miss Farnsworth.

They took lunch together, another insufficient meal, in Grace

s opinion. At its conclusion, Lady Healy announced she always took a nap in the afternoon and suggested Gussie do the same. She did not insist, however, and the time was spent much more gainfully in scouring the house for candles to lighten her room at night, books to help pass those three or four hours of confinement, and most of all, food.

Cook

s presence in the kitchen made household food difficult to obtain. Apples were garnered from the orchard to augment the bonbons. At four, Lady Healy returned belowstairs, bearing a brown bag.


I have a little present for you, Augusta.


How nice, Grandma!

Grace smiled.

The bag was opened to reveal a skipping rope with spindle handles. The toy looked old enough to be an antique.

My own skipping rope, used by me when I was a child,

Grandma said, then stood waiting for gratitude.


Thank you,

Grace said, trying to hide her disappointment.


I knew you would be bored to flinders here. I remember my youth. Take it out in the garden and play. I shan

t go out; the sun gives me a headache. I

ll watch from the window. I like to see the kiddies play.


Yes, Grandmama.

Grace opened the French doors into the garden, trailing the rope behind her. She dutifully skipped, with Lady Healy smiling approval, till she was exhausted from the demanding game.

As soon as she stopped, Grandma tapped sharply on the glass to indicate she should continue. The gnarled hands, whirling in circles, suggested that the pace ought to be accelerated. It was impossible.

Grace skipped on, panting, her throat aching from dryness. At last she spotted Whewett returning from his rounds and looking as fagged as she felt herself. He stared in consternation to see what she was being forced into. She used his arrival as an excuse to stop.


Poor Gussie! How did you get drawn into this cruel and unusual punishment?

he asked, but there was no ignoring the laughter in his voice. His sympathy was mixed with amusement, to see Miss Farnsworth with the perspiration standing in beads on her brow while she gasped for breath.


A present from Grandmama ... watching to see I make good use of it... at the window.

Her breath gave out, and she had to wait to recover it.

Whewett, I think I am having a heart attack. If I die, use my pay to see I get a decent Christian burial. My blood will be on your hands.


My day has been as bad. No nag at the inn. I have carried Dobbin back from the west acres. How did the Bible quiz go?


Short,

she said, still panting,

I took your advice. If you need help in managing your stables, I can tell you exactly what ration of feed you should be giving your cattle and anything else you want to know.


Did you get a good lunch?


A coddled egg. And I shan

t have the strength to lift a fork at dinner.


I

ll feed you.


Good. I

ll need all my energy for this strenuous work, which you foolish grownups call play. I got in some supplies for tonight

s incarceration.


So did I. I brought you a meal from the inn. My groom will smuggle it to my valet, who will smuggle it to me, who will smuggle it through the door to you.


Who will gratefully smuggle it to my mouth. What did
—”


I

d best go in. She

s peering out at us.


I

m going with you! I

ll have an apoplexy if I must skip another skip. If she tries to send me back,
protect me,
Papa. You know my frail constitution.


How thankful I am that my Gussie is safe in Ireland.

Grace looked sulky at this thoughtless statement.

That was gauche of me. Come, I

ll protect you.

They entered together. Lady Healy made no move to put her favorite out for more air and exercise. She asked Whewett many questions about the estate, which he answered briefly.


It sounds as bad as my worst fears. I shall be lucky to get thirty-five hundred for it. It should bring five thousand easily.


It will,

he assured her.

Prices are up since you were last here.


The agent mentioned thirty-five.


Then he quoted a sum that would allow him to sell it in a day. He must be anxious for his commission. Don

t take less than five thousand. It

s a warm day,

he said, mopping his brow.

Is there any ale?


An excellent idea. We

ll both have one,

Lady Healy said.


I am thirsty, too,

Grace chimed in swiftly.


Pity I hadn

t thought to have Mulkins make you more lemonade, but there is plenty of milk. Milk is good for you.

The beverages were brought. Grace was handed a glass of lukewarm milk.

It

s warm,

she said, looking with envy at the ale. Beads of condensation had formed on the glasses, lending the ale an appetizing look.


That

s good,

the hostess said.

You should always drink your milk warm. It is easier to digest. You don

t want to go putting cold drinks into your stomach when you are het up. They will give you cramps.


You

re
having a cold drink,

Grace pointed out.


We are grown-up. Once the system is developed, it can handle anything. Now drink up your milk, and stop whining.

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