The Ladies of Ivy Cottage Page 25

  Hetty’s pretty face crinkled in an apologetic smile as she walked toward Jane. Closer now, it was clear her gown was old, likely secondhand, though of good material.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my . . . traveling companion here,” Hetty began. “I was afraid you would change your mind about letting me come.”

  Jane whispered, “Is this your child, Hetty?”

  “She is.” Hetty glanced back at the departing gentlemen. “They assume I am a young widow. Treated me like a princess.”

  “But you told me you had no child. That you’d had to give her up.”

  Hetty winced and looked down. “I didn’t say she’d . . . died or anything. I said she was gone, and she was. I had to leave her with a wet nurse with two other babes in her care, so I could work. Goldie was the only one who would hire me, and she didn’t even allow talk of babies, let alone anyone who worked for her to acknowledge having one. Bad for business. You caught me off guard, coming to the Gilded Lily like that with no warning. The words were out of my mouth before I could think better of them. Keeping her a secret had become second nature to me. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but I let you believe I’d given up my child permanent-like, and I apologize.”

  “You didn’t mention her in your recent letters either.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Would you have let me come anyway?”

  Jane hesitated. Would she have? How could Hetty work as a maid with a child to take care of? Was this Patrick’s child? If so, he should be offering to marry her, not offering her a job.

  The little girl stared at her, two fingers in her mouth, blue eyes round and fastened on Jane’s face. “Is she . . .” Jane began, then stopped. She probably shouldn’t ask about the girl’s paternity right in front of her. Even though the girl was far too young to understand, the public, bustling stable yard was not the place for such a question.

  But Hetty likely guessed what she’d been about to ask, for she looked away, then said quietly, “I did not come here with the intention of blaming anyone, or of asking for anything more than a situation.”

  “But you have . . . ?”

  “Betsey.”

  “Betsey, to take care of.”

  “I know, but I’ll think of something. I did before. There must be someone in the village who would be willing to watch her for a share of my wages. She eats anything now, though not too much, honest.”

  Jane sighed. “I don’t see how this will work, Hetty.”

  “But you said you’d help me.”

  Fear shone in the young woman’s wide eyes, and Jane hurried to reassure her. “And I will. But let me think what is best to be done.”

  Hetty glanced over Jane’s shoulder and stiffened. Jane felt a prickle of foreboding and guessed who must be standing behind her.

  She looked over. Sure enough, there stood Thora.

  Talbot stood several paces behind, his thin face a grimace of apology. “I tried to stop her.”

  Hetty took a shaky breath. “Hello, Mrs. Bell. Mr. Talbot.”

  Thora just stared, but Talbot managed a nod. “Hetty, good to see you again.”

  Jane forced a smile. “I don’t think I told you when I wrote, Hetty. But Thora and Talbot have recently married. She is Mrs. Talbot now.”

  “Oh . . .” Hetty breathed.

  Thora gave her a pointed look. “But still a lioness.”

  Talbot’s grimace deepened.

  Hetty looked at Jane with betrayal in her expression, but Talbot lifted a hand. “Don’t blame Jane, Hetty. I’m afraid I let the nickname slip. I thought it rather fitting. At the time.”

  Thora gave him a sour glance before turning back to Hetty.

  “And who is this?” She nodded toward the child.

  Hetty squared her shoulders. “My daughter, Betsey.”

  Thora opened her mouth to . . . what? To ask Hetty who the father was? To condemn her? To demand to know how she expected to work with a child in arms? But the seconds ticked by and Thora said nothing.

  “Of course she is.” Talbot chuckled uneasily. “With that ginger hair and blue eyes, who else’s daughter could she be?”

  “I wonder . . .” Thora murmured. “How old is she—a year and a half?”

  “Give or take.”

  Thora lifted her chin, her eyes distant in thought, or perhaps calculation. “Ah.”

  “It isn’t what you think, Mrs. Bell—er, Mrs. Talbot. I have only come to work in a respectable place. I couldn’t let Betsey grow up with a mother who worked in a . . . a place such as I was working—as a maid, mind. Only a maid.”

  Thora shot Jane a look. “You neglected to mention that part.”

  “It’s not her fault. You’re the one who . . .” Hetty broke off, thinking better of accusing the lioness.

  “I’m the one who did not give you a character,” Thora herself supplied. “I remember. I didn’t think you deserved one at the time, but perhaps I was wrong. If so, I apologize.”

  Hetty stared at the woman as if she’d sprouted wings.

  Jane did as well, though she had an inkling why Thora may have apologized.

  And here came that reason now, striding through the carriage archway and across the courtyard. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello, Mamma. Talbot. Didn’t expect to see you this—Oh!” He stopped midstride, and Colin, coming by with a small trunk for a departing guest, nearly collided with him.

  “Hetty.” Patrick’s expression sobered. “So today is the day of your arrival.” He sent Jane a knowing look that reminded her very much of Thora’s. “And no doubt the reason Jane dispatched me to Wishford this morning.”

  “You are back sooner than I expected.”

  “That’s because you sent me on a wild goose chase. There was no soap maker at the market today.”

  Jane frowned. “I am sorry. I thought Mrs. Haverhill might have returned by now.”

  Patrick’s gaze shifted back to Hetty, and from Hetty to the child in her arms. His brow furrowed.

  Hetty inhaled and lifted her chin. “Hello, Patrick.”

  Reluctantly, he asked, “And this is your . . . ?”

  “My daughter. Betsey.”

  He opened his mouth to ask . . . something, then closed it again, perhaps deciding he might not like her answer.

  Instead, he studied the little girl’s face. The girl was all Hetty, as far as Jane could tell. She saw no obvious resemblance to handsome, dark-haired Patrick, though their blue eyes were similar. Then again, Hetty had blue eyes as well.

  Jane had not known Patrick as a boy. She glanced at Thora, wondering what she saw when she looked at the child.

  She did not know what to do. Did she give Hetty an apron and cap and set her to work? Or did she give her a guest room until they figured out some plan?

  Hetty looked tentatively from face to face, up at the inn, then out the archway. “If I am to stay and work, I had better see about finding someone to watch Betsey—”

  “I shall watch her,” Thora said abruptly. “That is, if you don’t mind, Talbot.” Her gaze shifted from him to Hetty. “And if you can countenance a lioness caring for your cub.”

  Hetty stared and stammered, “Mrs. Bell, no. It’s too much to ask. You have no reason to—no obligation to us, to her. I know I should not have turned up with her like this, but please believe me, I never meant to hint that you should . . . or to presume—not in a thousand years.”

  “I did raise two boys, you know. I am not incompetent, I assure you.”

  “But you have your own work, surely.”

  Thora waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I help Sadie with the housework and Talbot with the accounts and whatever else I can find around the farm to keep me busy, but I’m bored senseless many days, truth be told.”

  Talbot’s eyes downturned. “I thought you were happy.”

  “I am happy. With you. But I miss . . . being busy. I like having responsibilities. New challenges. I would be happy to watch over Betsey while you work, Hetty. If you would not mind.”<
br />
  “It is not that I would mind the help, Mrs. . . . Talbot, but I would not want to give you the wrong idea, or think that I am implying that Betsey is your . . . responsibility.”

  Thora frowned. “Enough excuses, Hetty. I realize I am not your favorite person and not your first choice to care for your child.” She looked at Jane. “Who else might have an extra hand to spare? She won’t be able to pay much.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. McFarland might like the extra income?”

  “Eileen McFarland has her hands full as it is! And although I’ve come around to Colin, would you really want to put this child under his father’s roof?”

  Jane sighed. “I suppose not. I could ask the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society, see if one of them might be willing. We don’t meet for several days, but I could begin asking around.”

  Thora looked pointedly at her son. “Unless you have a better idea?”

  “I, um, no. No better idea.”

  “Well, let’s not stand out here all day.” Thora fell into her former take-charge role. “Tongues will be wagging as it is.”

  Talbot smiled at Hetty. “And I am sure you must want to rest after your journey.”

  She shook her head. “I feel perfectly well, truly. I’ve come to work, not rest. I don’t want Mrs. Rooke to box my ears my first day back.”

  “Leave Bertha Rooke to me.” Thora looked at Jane. “That is, if you don’t mind my having a word with her, Jane?”

  “Be my guest.” Jane had already dreaded explaining Hetty’s return to the staff, but now, with a child in tow?

  “Mrs. Talbot,” Hetty began soberly. “If you are willing to watch Betsey for a few days until I can find a long-term situation, I would be much obliged. I will pay you—”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Hetty blinked, and Jane saw tears in her eyes. Her voice quavered. “May I . . . please?”

  For a moment the two women locked gazes, Thora clearly surprised at the fear in Hetty’s plea. Jane was as well.

  Talbot spoke up. “Don’t worry, Hetty. We will work out an arrangement that will be comfortable for everyone, all right?”

  Hetty nodded, but anxiety lingered in her eyes.

  Chapter

  twenty-six

  Hetty had insisted that she would walk Betsey out to the farm herself the next morning, so Thora was surprised when the carter’s wagon came rumbling up the lane, Mrs. Burlingame at the reins, Hetty and the child beside her.

  “Morning, Thora.”

  “Phyllis. Kind of you to give them a ride.”

  The carter shrugged. “Saw them walking. Your farm is not far off my usual route. It’s no trouble to give these two a ride in the mornings.”

  Hetty climbed down, shifting the child to her other arm. “I appreciate that. Betsey here is heavier than she looks.”

  “See you tomorrow, then.” Mrs. Burlingame nodded and commanded her horse to walk on.

  Hetty looked at Thora. “Thank you again for offering to watch Betsey while I work.” She pulled a scrap of paper from her apron pocket. “I’ve written down a few things, in case it’s helpful—when she usually naps and what she likes to eat. If she fusses, a biscuit usually helps. She is partial to them.”

  Hetty handed over Betsey and the list of instructions. Thora was pleased to see Hetty wrote with a legible, if childish, hand and rather good spelling.

  “And here is a blanket I made. It’s pitiful, I know. But it will help her fall asleep.”

  “We shall get on perfectly well.” Thora accepted it. “And Talbot and I will bring her to the inn this evening so you don’t have to walk back. Now, go.”

  With many thanks, Hetty hurried off on foot to return to The Bell for her first day of work.

  As soon as Hetty disappeared, Betsey began to cry.

  “Come now, no one’s pinching you.” Thora carried the girl inside and into the bedchamber she and Talbot shared, looking for something to distract the child. Snagging something shiny off her dressing table, she carried the child back into the sitting room and sat on the sofa.

  Thora looked at the toddler with her ginger curls and round, wet blue eyes and felt her heart crack open a bit. She lifted the gold chain before the girl’s face, hoping to amuse away her tears. The bracelet had been a gift from Frank, her first husband. Shortly before she died, Nan—her friend and Talbot’s sister-in-law—had encouraged Thora to bring her blue heart out of hiding. Now Thora dangled the enamel pendant before Betsey’s tear-streaked face. The girl fell silent, watching it, entranced, and Thora congratulated herself on her quick thinking.

  A second later, the little fist shot out and grabbed the heart, yanking it off the chain.

  Thora gasped. “No, now, give that back.”

  The adorable imp refused, clutching it as if it were life itself . . . or a biscuit.

  Thora didn’t want her to choke on the thing. “Come on, my girl, hand it over.”

  As Betsey stubbornly refused to yield, Thora saw her first indication that the girl might be related to her after all.

  Thankfully, Talbot came in from the barn with a kitten to show Betsey, and the blue heart was released at last.

  Now if only the toddler did not choke the kitten.

  When it was time to go outside for recess that day, Mercy donned the bonnet her mother had brought. It had a soft crown of floral printed cotton, which complemented the new Pomona-green dress and matching spencer. Glancing in the mirror as she tied the ribbons, Mercy was pleasantly surprised by her reflection. She felt almost pretty in the becoming attire.

  Mr. Hollander came out into the back garden to keep Mercy company, while Matilda stood talking over the garden gate with Mrs. Shabner, Ivy Hill’s dressmaker.

  For a few minutes, Mercy and Mr. Hollander sat on the bench together and simply watched the girls play. Alice and Phoebe took turns on the swing while Anna pushed them. Sukey sat on a rug beneath the tree, reading as she often did. Two other girls played with a neighbor’s cat that had leapt atop the garden wall.

  “How old are they?” Mr. Hollander looked from pupil to pupil. “I have no experience with girls to gauge their ages.”

  “They range from eight to almost eighteen at present. Though Anna, the eldest, is more helper than pupil at this point. She will make an excellent teacher one day. In fact, she is already tutoring one young man in arithmetic.”

  Mercy’s gaze returned to Alice. She took a deep breath and prayed for the right words. “Mr. Hollander. I need to tell you something. Something very important to me. Do you see the little girl there, on the swing? That is Alice, my youngest pupil. Her great-grandfather, her last living relative, has asked me to become her legal guardian. My lawyer is even now drawing up the documents.”

  His brows rose. “Guardian? That is a great deal to ask of you, is it not?”

  “Not in this case. I want to do it. As I have no children, it would be a blessing to raise Alice as my own.”

  “But . . . you might yet have your own children.”

  “If so, then I would be doubly blessed. But I am thirty years old. Not too old, but, well, there are no guarantees, are there?”

  “This is a complication I had not foreseen, Miss Grove. Your parents made no mention of a child.”

  “It is recent news to them as well. They wanted to meet Alice before saying anything one way or another, and now they have.”

  “I see. May I ask what became of the girl’s parents?”

  “Her father died years ago. Lost at sea. Her mother died only recently, though she had been sickly since Alice’s birth.”

  “But Alice herself is in good health?”

  “Yes, perfectly.”

  “Her parents were . . . married?”

  Mercy hesitated. Was it only the objectionable elopement that caused Mr. Thomas to disown his granddaughter? Mercy sensed there might be more to it than that, but she wasn’t sure. “Yes, as far as I know.”

  “Forgive me, but is there something wrong with the girl . . . that her g
randfather wants to be rid of her?”

  Mercy winced at his wording but calmly clarified, “It is her great-grandfather. His wife recently died, and he wants to make sure Alice will be taken care of when they are both gone. There is nothing wrong with that, and nothing wrong with her either.”

  “Pray, do not be offended, Miss Grove. I am only asking. Have I not the right to know?”

  Had he? Did she want him to have that right? Mercy was not certain. “Why do you not talk with Alice and judge for yourself?”

  “Talk with her? I would have no idea what to say to an eight-year-old girl.”

  “You get on well with the girls at breakfast. And you talk to young people all the time in your work.”

  “As a teacher, yes, but not as a prospective parent.”

  “You would learn. That is, had you the need to.”

  He ran an agitated hand over his face. “I think it only fair to remind you that I have been a bachelor for a long time, Miss Grove. Marriage itself will be an immense change. But to parent someone else’s child in the bargain? I can learn the one, but the other, at the same time? I don’t know—that would be an advanced course of study indeed.”

  Mercy clasped her hands. “I realize it is a great deal to ask. Do not make yourself uneasy, Mr. Hollander. I understand your reservations. I was asked to serve as Alice’s guardian before I met you. At the time, I did not think it would affect anyone else, at least directly.”

  “But you will not change your mind now? Surely he would understand if you must reconsider?”

  “I don’t want to reconsider. I was fond of Alice before he asked, and now all the more.”

  “I see. Well, that shows me where I fall in your list of priorities.”

  Mercy’s stomach knotted. She’d offended him. . . .

  But he quickly lifted a palm. “Which, if I am honest, is a relief to discover. I admit I feared you might be . . . overeager to wed.”

  He’d meant desperate, Mercy supposed, but she was glad he’d not articulated the word. “No. I am not bent on leaving my single state. Teaching has given my life purpose and fulfillment.”