Anne Barbour (5 page)

“Of course. Aunt.” Claudia smiled warmly at the older woman.

“After which,” continued Miss Melksham, addressing Jem, “you may come to the kitchen. I will introduce you to Mrs. Skinner—our cook—and the rest of the staff.”

Without waiting for a reply, she proceeded on her way with a rustle of bombazine skirts. Jem looked after her in some awe before turning back to his employer. He surprised an amused twinkle in her eyes before she turned to ascend the stairs.

An hour or so later, Jem stood before a patched cheval glass examining his newly butlered self. In his memory, Morgan loomed as an immensely tall, cadaverously thin personage of imposing mien. He was surprised to discover that the man was actually the same height as himself. There was no question, though, that Morgan’s shirt and waistcoat were more than a little snug, and there was a definite gap in the fastenings of his breeches. Jem sighed. He had shirts of his own, and with any luck, there would be, somewhere on the premises, a housemaid who plied a talented needle.

Upstairs, Claudia began to dress for dinner. Standing in the center of her bedchamber, she stripped off the faded blue muslin she had worn all day. She moved to the clothes cupboard and perused her meager wardrobe. Examining each gown in turn, it began to be borne on her that she wished to dress with special care this evening. She wanted to look her best, she realized with a start.

For her butler?

No, not even a butler. A ne’er do well who had appeared out of the sunrise, dressed in a shabby shirt and breeches and who had lost no time in insinuating himself into Ravencroft. What was his purpose? she wondered, and a flutter of panic caught at her throat. Who
was
this man, with hair like night and eyes like a winter morning? And wasn’t there something oddly familiar about him? She frowned. Yes, he definitely reminded her of someone, but who? She knew no one who moved with that fluid, yet disturbingly masculine grace, nor was she acquainted with anyone whose gaze was open and guileless yet somehow intimate.

From the depths of the cupboard, she pulled a sarcenet gown of a deep, rich amber. She had not worn it since early in her marriage, in the time when she still tried to please her husband. She dropped the gown over her head, aware of the sensual caress of the silk as it settled over her body. She caught her own glance in the mirror and hastily arranged her hair in a plain knot atop her head. She prepared to leave the room, but on impulse, turned back to the glass, and in a swift motion, pulled a few tendrils of dark gold to curl about her cheeks.

Not long afterward, Claudia entered the dining room, her aunt on her arm. Without volition, her glance flew to her butler, who opened the door and ushered the ladies into the room with great dignity. He seated them silently and ceremoniously at the enormous mahogany table, burdened under the weight of several heavy candelabra and assorted epergnes that marched down the center of the board like an advancing army.

As the meal commenced, Claudia was intensely aware of her new servant standing at a discreet distance behind her chair. She felt that he was aware of her as well. It was as though waves of intensity emanated from him, washing through her in a warm current. She turned to her aunt, but found herself unable to initiate conversation. Aunt Augusta, it appeared, labored under no such restraint.

“I have,” she began prosaically, “prepared the green and blue bedchambers for Thomas and Rose. I assume they will be bringing servants to see after the children, but perhaps we should bring in a girl or two from the village, since they always seem to generate a great deal of extra work for the staff here.”

Jem, standing erect near the door leading to the kitchen, folded his hands behind his back and prepared to glean some much-needed information during the half hour or so that the ladies would be at table.

He had been surprised to discover, in his earlier meeting with Cook and the rest of the domestic staff, that the two women not only dined at an unfashionably early hour, even for the country, but spent remarkably little time in consuming their meal. The frugal repast usually consisted of one of the humbler portions of lamb or mutton, or pork, or possibly some species of poultry, accompanied by whatever vegetables were in season or could be found potted in the jars lined neatly in rows in the still room.

Claudia frowned. “I suppose you’re right, Aunt, although I begrudge the expense. Perhaps Annie Sounder and her sister will come. Do you think we need put on another footman?”

“I think not, even though I suppose Thomas will be affronted. The man’s a veritable squeeze-turnip, but when he visits others, he expects to be treated like traveling royalty. Thank the Lord, “ she continued abstractedly, her iron-gray curls stirring about her cheeks, so that one almost expected the sound of clinking metal to issue forth, “we’ll have plenty to feed them. The kitchen garden is in full spate. What about meat, Claudia?”

“Hmm,” replied her niece, brows drawn together. “We’re not butchering yet, of course, but we have chickens on hand,” She lifted a hand, unconsciously counting on her fingers. “We have several pigs ready for the chopping block, and there’s always mutton.”

Ah, sheep, thought Jem, who had been impatiently shifting from one foot to another during this exchange. He waited hopefully for her to embroider on the mutton theme, but she persevered in her domestic plans for some minutes.

It was not until the two were well into a creamy syllabub that Claudia broached a subject that caused Jem to prick up his ears once more.

“I had a note from Squire Foster today. He wishes for a meeting this week.”

Aunt Augusta uttered an unladylike snort. “That confounded man! Who does he think he is to treat you in such a skimble-skamble manner? He did make an agreement, after all.”

“Yes, but it was never put in writing. Now if he chooses to turn my flock off his property, I fear I shall have no recourse.”

The figure standing in the shadows behind Claudia stiffened imperceptibly.

“He did offer to sell you the land?” Miss Melksham queried diffidently.

Claudia’s laughter was brittle. “Oh yes., indeed—for twice the price he paid when he brought it from Emanuel several years ago.” She sighed. “I suppose I cannot blame him for wanting to make a profit, after all. But,” she continued, her voice hardening, “I intend to purchase that land someday, as well as every other last acre that Emanuel let slip from his fingers. The time will come when you and I shall see Ravencroft restored to its former beauty and prestige.”

Jem listened in some astonishment as he watched Claudia’s firm chin rise with these words. Why, one would think that Ravencroft was her ancestral home. What could have bred such a love for the place in her? For the first time, he knew a twinge of guilt at the thought of expelling her from the only home she knew. For it did not sound as though she would find a haven elsewhere.

She spoke of retrieving Ravencroft’s lost acreage. Jem frowned. Just how much was left of the estate? Apparently Emanuel Carstairs, finding himself in low water, had sold off huge chunks of the place. What if... He came to himself with a start, realizing that the ladies had finished their repast and were ready to leave the table.

Much later, Jem lay sleepless in the small, but comfortable bedchamber set aside for the butler’s quarters. He was biding his time until nothing stirred in the rest of the house, waiting to search the few remaining volumes left in the library. Good God, what was he going to do if he could not find the evidence described to him by Giles Daventry?

The hands on the small clock on his bedside table pointed to half past one before Jem considered it safe to slide from the covers. He had not undressed, and in shirt and breeches, he made his way silently through the downstairs corridor. Reaching the library, he began a methodical perusal of each volume, noting that they seemed to be arranged in no particular order. A book on household hints rested next to one on sixteenth-century philosophers. Next, came a brief history of the Standish family. Hm, he’d never seen that. He tucked it under his arm to take to his room.

He reached for yet another tome, but was stilled suddenly as the noise of scurrying feet struck his ears. It sounded like more than one person, and they were headed for the library.

Chapter Four

The footsteps approached the library door rapidly, and just as quickly receded in the other direction. Jem expelled a deep breath and opened the door just enough to let him peer into the corridor. Moving in an envelope of candle glow were a man and a woman, already some distance away. The woman was speaking, her voice high and anxious.

Jem slid into the corridor and pursued them at a discreet pace. To his surprise, the couple strode toward the rear of the house and out the door that led to the kitchen garden. From there, they moved to the stable area, and in a few moments, they were lost to sight within one of the stable buildings. Seconds later, the windows were flooded with lantern light.

He strode to the building and opened the door. Two faces turned to him as he entered, but his gaze was captured first by the sight of Jenny, the mare, standing motionless in the center of a large stall, in which had been laid a thin bed of fresh straw. Claudia stood nearby, watching, as Jonah remained close to the mare, stroking and probing and murmuring gently to the perspiring animal.

“I heard you in the house—ma’am,” Jem said to Claudia, who was garbed in her shapeless shirt and breeches. Minus the large, floppy hat, she was disturbingly appealing, with her eyes huge and vulnerable and her hair tumbling down her back in a tawny cascade.

“The mare’s begun to foal,” said Jonah succinctly. “Ever-thin’ appears to be goin’ well, but if she runs into any trouble, an extra pair of hands wouldn’t come amiss. Lucas is gone to visit ‘is sister along Wybeck way.”

Jem glanced at Claudia, who said nothing, but added a silent appeal of her own. Jem turned to look at Jenny, and the three watched for a moment as the mare began to pace in the large stall constructed for just this purpose. Every now and again she gazed over her shoulder at her swollen body as if in some puzzlement as to how she had arrived at this ludicrous state of affairs.

“She doesn’t seem to be experiencing any pain,” said Claudia after a moment.

“No,” chuckled Jonah, “it’s only human leddies that make such a to-do over a simple thing. Animals just work hard for a few minutes and get the job over with.”

“Spoken like a typical man,” snorted Claudia, glaring at Jem’s muted outburst of laughter. “Oh!” she gasped, as Jenny stiffened suddenly and her sides seemed to cave inward.

“Foal’s movin’ about,” grunted Jonah. “Gettin’ ready to squeeze itself into the world.”

For almost an hour, the mare paced about in her stall before coming to an abrupt standstill.

“Look!” cried Jem, pointing to where a stream of liquid gushed out from beneath Jenny’s tail. “My God, what’s happening?”

Jonah’s voice was gruff and contemptuous. “Thought you said you knew somethin’ about horses. She’s broke her water only—the little ‘un will come soon now.”

Jenny lay down on the straw, breathing heavily. She had begun to work hard, and her sides heaved as she pushed in conjunction with the contractions that could be seen convulsing her whole body.

“Poor thing,” said Claudia. “She’s just like a woman in labor.” She looked up at Jonah. “Do you remember? I helped Hannah Waverly deliver her child last December. She went through the same thing—the water, the contractions ...”

As Jonah’s creaky laughter sounded, Jem knew a moment of astonishment. His acquaintance with gently bred females was minimal, but he was quite sure none of them made it a practice to assist in the delivery of their tenants’ children, nor would any of them be likely to discuss the procedure in the presence of a man, even if the man in question were merely a member of her domestic staff.

“Aye.” Jonah’s voice was an amused rasp. “The Good Lord figgered out the best way to produce bebbies, and that’s the way it’s done, whether the mama is a mare or a leddy, or a cow or even a gy-raffe. There,” he continued. “There’s the birth sack a-comin.”

A bluish-gray bulge, streaked with blood, appeared from under Jenny’s tail. For some moments, the mare panted and heaved, but nothing further happened. A worried frown creased Jonah’s face.

“What is it?” cried Claudia. “What’s happening?”

“It’s what ain’t happenin’. One of the foal’s feet should be pokin’ through by now.”

He knelt beside Jenny and stroked the beast’s nose, calling gently to her as she heaved and strained. The mare was becoming increasingly restive, and her eyes rolled wildly as she threw herself back and forth in the straw. In another ten minutes, when her efforts still produced no results, Jonah thrust both of his arms into the mare’s birth canal. After only a few moments of exploration, he looked straightly at Claudia.

“Little feller’s got one leg bent back,” grunted Jonah. “You,” he said to Jem. “Come down here.”

Jem, galvanized into activity, knelt beside the grizzled stable man.

“I’m gonna have t’ see that Jenny don’t go berserker on us. She’ll kill that foal if she gets the wind up any more. I got t’ gentle her. I’ll stay at her head while you go in and see t’ that leg.”

“What?” Jem went rigid with shock. “Me? But I don’t know anything about... I mean, I can’t...”

“Yes, ye can, boy, or that little colt’s goin’ to’ die. Jenny’s got t’ be calmed down, and I’m the only one she’ll listen to. All you have t’ do is reach in, push the foal back up the birth canal, and straighten out its leg. I’ll guide ye through it. There’s no time t’ git anybody else here. Now,” he finished, piercing Jem with his glance, “are yer hands clean?”

Jem knew a moment of abject panic. “Yes, they’re clean,” he gulped finally, “but...”

Jonah was not listening. He jerked his head toward a nearby table on which lay several jars and a selection of instruments.

“There’s some lard there. Find it and slather it on your hands, all the way up t’ yer elbows.”

“But...” repeated Jem in a strangled gasp. Under Jonah’s minatory stare, however, he took the canister in numb fingers. Claudia moved into the stall and, kneeling down, began to stroke Jenny’s heaving sides.