Rexanne Becnel (4 page)

Two motherless girls, scorned by their peers. Despite the fact that one had grown up too tough and the other a little too sheltered, they might each be precisely what the other one needed.

Perhaps she should approach Lord Farley on that matter, she thought as they made their way to Swansford the next morning. It was a misty day with fog hunkered down in the hollows and low spaces between the hills. As they passed Nester Hill, Phoebe stared down the road that led to the three-story limestone edifice at the center of Farley Park. But the memory of the viscount’s stern face put an immediate end to that foolish idea. With an effort she turned her attention to the widening path before her. She was better served staying strictly out of Lord Farley’s way. No doubt he had a proper governess or nurse, or some other personage to attend to Izzy.

“Hurry, Helen,” she called to the child as Helen chased after Bruno, who scampered after a yellow butterfly. “Mrs. Leake likes to get the eggs early, before all the shoppers have been and gone.”

In the neatly stocked store, Mrs. Leake sat on a stool working a column of figures in her ledger book. But she put the battered book aside when she spied Phoebe and Helen. Waving Phoebe over, she distracted Helen with a hard butterscotch candy.

“Is it true?” she asked Phoebe without preamble. “You accused Lord Farley’s child of stealing from you?”

Phoebe set the egg basket down on the waxed wood counter. “She
did
steal from me. I caught her in the act. But I expect to eventually—”

“But surely you didn’t really march her home and demand restitution from him?”

“No. That is, I didn’t demand anything. And I didn’t
march
her there. I simply returned her home. That’s all. Indeed, he was out searching for the child even as we approached the park. Where are you hearing these things, anyway?”

Mrs. Leake sat back on her stool. “That’s neither here nor there. I’m just relieved to know you haven’t taken complete leave of your senses.” Then before Phoebe could respond to that remark, the shopkeeper leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “It’s all over the countryside, you know, about those children of his.”

“What about them—
Children?
Are you saying he has more than the one?”

“Indeed. That tough little Londoner and,” her voice lowered a notch, “a dark-skinned baby. Both of ’em natural born,” she added with a knowing nod.

Phoebe pursed her lips. So she was right about that. But Mrs. Leake must have forgotten to whom she was speaking, and Phoebe was not above reminding her. “I’m reasonably certain that it’s not the children’s fault who their parents are.”

At once Mrs. Leake’s leathery cheeks turned pink. “Gracious, I’m sorry, child. You know I don’t hold it against Helen what that wild sister of yours did. Why, everybody knows that Helen is the sweetest little thing in the world.”

“Yes. She is.”

“And it’s all to your credit, your good influence upon her. You raised your niece right, not like that light-fingered guttersnipe at Farley Park. You should hear the tales coming from the Park. Why, one of the upstairs maids has quit her position, and she told us that the nurse they brought from London was sent packing yesterday.” She pressed a finger to her cheek. “Or was it the day before?”

“Good Lord.”

“The way I hear it, the baby wails all night, and the other one runs wild all day.” Mrs. Leake shook her head. “Seems the gossips ran Himself out of London. That’s why he’s here after so long away from the district.”

“I doubt the gossips shall run him away from here,” Phoebe said with some asperity. But the irony of her remark was lost on Mrs. Leake. Though she was at heart a kind person, Mrs. Leake had a strong need to know everyone else’s business. It probably came of running the main store in town. The men gossiped at the pub or the blacksmith’s, while the women gossiped at Leake’s Emporium. And right now the primary subject of gossip was Lord Farley. Phoebe supposed she ought to be glad there was someone in the district whose bad behavior exceeded even Louise’s.

“How’s a bachelor to raise two little girls?” Mrs. Leake went on. “That’s what I’m wondering. And what’s he intend to do about that little thief he’s thrust into our midst?” She broke off when the bell over the door tinkled. With an innocent air and lips clamped tight, she commenced scrubbing the already spotless countertop.

A man entered the shop and, removing his hat, approached them. He gave Phoebe a nod, then addressed Mrs. Leake. “Good day, mum. I’m up from Farley Park with a notice from Himself. He asks if you would be good enough to post it in a conspicuous location.”

He handed a sheet of paper to her, and after she scanned it, she nodded. “’Twill be my pleasure. Be sure to tell your master that Mrs. Leake is happy to post any notice he should like. Anything at all.”

“I will, mum. Thank you, mum.”

Once he was gone, Mrs. Leake turned, and with an expectant look on her face, thrust the notice at Phoebe.

Governess required to supervise the care of
two children.

References required. Inquire at Farley Park.

Mrs. Leake raised her brows until her forehead was as furrowed as a newly plowed garden plot. “Didn’t I say so? The nurse is gone and the household is in an uproar.” She harrumphed, then added, “Seems to me they’re more in need of a gaoler. You know, Phoebe, you’re the most qualified person to take on that position. Such a good, God-fearing girl. And a natural-born caretaker. That’s what I always said. First your ailing father, then little Helen and your mother too. And then there’s all the fine manners your mother taught you, the book-learning and the way she brought you up so proper and la-di-dah.”

She rummaged around for a tack and hammer. “Your mother might not have been the easiest person to know—God rest her soul. But no one can argue that she was the closest thing we had to a proper lady around here—at least since the young lord’s mama moved away.”

She tacked the notice onto a post, then turned and faced Phoebe directly. “You’re already teaching Helen at home. Why not take on Lord Farley’s young ones as well? It’s no secret around here that you could use the money.”

So everyone knew about her financial difficulties. Phoebe wasn’t surprised, but it was humiliating all the same. Still, Mrs. Leake’s suggestion haunted Phoebe all the way home. Her, supervising the care of two children? A viscount’s children?

She’d never before considered taking on work as a governess. Then again, there’d never been such a position available in the neighborhood before.

But there was now.

He needed a governess; and if she was to keep her farm, she needed a better income than eggs, cheese, and honey brought in. Should she apply for the position? And if she got it, would she have to live at Farley Park? She certainly didn’t want to do that.

But if she didn’t pay her land taxes, she’d have to sell out and move to town, and she didn’t want to do that either. Better to be someone’s governess, she decided, than someone’s laundress or kitchen drudge—although being governess to Izzy, trying to teach her and mold her into a proper young lady, sounded like a horrendous undertaking.

Then again, her mother hadn’t exactly been easy to take care of. Maybe she should take the position.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” she said out loud.

“What?” Helen asked as she dangled a bit of rope in front of Bruno. He leaped and snapped to get it, without much success. But it was a game he and Helen played endlessly, and it made Phoebe smile.

“Bruno is getting bigger already,” she said, changing the subject.

“Not as big as his other brothers and sisters. Martin let him play with them today.”

“Bruno may not be the biggest of the lot, but I’m sure he’s the smartest. Aren’t you?”

Helen grinned, leaping along like the happiest child in the world. “Yes, he’s the smartest puppy of them all!”

They skipped and danced the rest of the way home, pushed by the wind and barely beating the onset of a fierce spring storm. Only the next morning when Phoebe went out to milk the goats did she discover the three-legged milking stool gone.

“Izzy!” she exclaimed under her breath. She fumed the whole while she milked the goats on her knees. Not only had the girl not returned the other items, she’d stolen yet again.

They managed the chores in record time, and the morning shadows were still long as Phoebe stormed toward Farley Park, Helen hurrying to keep up. It was less than three miles, yet until two days ago Phoebe had not taken this route in many years. There’d been no reason to do so. Her meager acreage bordered the Farley properties, but the forest kept the Farley retainers away from her cottage on windswept Plummy Head.

Somewhere in that forest, well hidden, no doubt, were her pilfered possessions. But why would Izzy choose such oddments to steal? A blanket and a dog she could understand, and perhaps even the basket. But the bench and stool and bucket were household items. Of what use could they be to a child—

She sucked in a sudden breath. Of course! Izzy made no secret of her disdain for her father and how he’d stolen her away from her old life. Could the child be trying to set up a household of her own, a secret hideaway where she could live—or thought she could live—all on her own?

The idea was so touchingly sad that it doused every bit of Phoebe’s fury. What an unhappy little girl. Nonetheless, Phoebe could not allow such thieving to go on. It wasn’t good for Izzy, and besides, Phoebe needed her things back. She used them every day.

She glanced around her as they went on. What sort of place would a little girl like Izzy choose as her hideaway? Somewhere well hidden. And near water. Perhaps along the rocky little beck that ran eventually into the river. Or perhaps near Wildfen Pond.

Wherever, Phoebe vowed that before the day was out she would reclaim her goods, with or without Izzy’s assistance.

The grand house at the center of Farley Park looked still and peaceful as Phoebe and Helen crested the hill. The rare March sunshine glinted off the triple row of windows that faced the eastern horizon, and a handful of horses grazed a sloping meadow to the west. A pair of swallows circled overhead, but Phoebe saw no people anywhere. No one in the walled garden, no one in the kitchen plot. Beyond the house, even the stables appeared deserted. If not for the single plume of smoke rising from the kitchen, Phoebe could have believed the house empty—or at least still asleep.

But as they neared the forecourt, she heard a shout, followed by a crash—pottery smashing upon stone, she would guess. Directly after that came the high-pitched wail of a baby.

They were definitely
not
asleep at Farley Park.

Feeling as if she were eavesdropping, Phoebe hesitated. Front door or back?

Front, she told herself. She was an aggrieved party come on important business—at least it was important to her. “Wait here by the fountain,” she told Helen. “This shouldn’t take long.” Then up the wide stone steps she went, and gave the door knocker three smart raps.

Four minutes and twelve additional raps later, the door jerked open.

“I’ve come to see Lord Farley,” she said to the maid who answered the door. Then she just stared. The maid was a disheveled mess, with her hair falling down from her mob cap and a big green stain on her apron.

“He’s gone for a walk,” the girl said, wiping her eyes. “Around back, I believe.” Then she shut the door—slammed it, really—leaving Phoebe aghast at her rudeness.

What in the world? The situation here was worse even than Mrs. Leake had described.

But she hadn’t come this far to be turned away. So around the house she strode, her boots crunching the gravel as she wondered where Viscount Farley had gone off to on foot when his household was so obviously falling apart.

The baby’s wails, weaker, but just as heart-rending, led her to him. At first when she came around the clipped yew hedge, Phoebe just stopped and stared. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, and in his grasp the baby seemed tiny. Or maybe it was the other way around: the tiny child made him appear bigger than she remembered.

In any case, it was a profoundly moving sight. Phoebe had never seen a man playing at nursemaid before. To her best recollection, her father had never once cradled the baby Helen in his arms like that. He’d certainly never shown any particular attention to her or Louise.

But here was the high-and-mighty viscount once again in his shirtsleeves, with his hair mussed and the shadow of a beard on his face, pacing back and forth on the gravel walk, jiggling a dark-haired baby on his shoulder and singing some song that didn’t sound like any lullaby she knew.

“…the ships sail in, the ships sail out; they never bother me…”

His voice was hoarse and tired, and whether he was in tune, she couldn’t determine. Still, the sound of his singing to the child loosened some tight little knot in Phoebe’s chest. He was trying so hard to comfort the unhappy child. From the weary look of him, he’d been trying a very long time.

“May I?” she asked, approaching him with arms extended.

He looked up, startled, then obviously relieved. Without a word he passed the baby to her and sagged back onto the stone half-wall that encircled the herb garden.

“She won’t sleep,” he said, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. “She won’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time, and unless you’re walking her or jiggling her, she cries.”

Phoebe did a quick check but the baby wasn’t wet. “Does she have a rash? You know, on her bottom?” Not that she actually expected him to know.

“No. Nor any fever. The doctor has been out twice to check her and he says she appears healthy. He reckons it’s the change of climate.”

Phoebe shook her head at that. “Is she eating well?”

“She acts hungry. But then she fusses.”

Phoebe hugged the baby, a sweet-smelling little armful, and nuzzled her silky hair. “What’s her name?”

“Leya.”

“Leya.” Foreign sounding. But it suited the olive-skinned little girl. “Hello, Leya,” she crooned to the momentarily silent child. “Aren’t you the beauty.”

At once Leya’s face screwed up. But before she could let out a fresh wail, Phoebe turned the child in her arms, balancing Leya’s backside against her hip, and holding her steady with a snug arm across her belly. To her relief, the wail never came.