Louise M. Gouge (2 page)

Chapter Two

“T
his is the receipt for the storage chest.” Anna held out the paper to Mrs. Danders. “My father purchased it for me nine years ago.” She lifted a prayer of thanks for
Papá
’s meticulous record-keeping. Had he known she would one day have to give proof of ownership for her possessions?

The woman snatched the page from Anna’s hand. “Hmm. Could be a forgery. But no matter. The trunk was bought with church money, so it belongs to the church.” She ran a finger over the chest’s finely carved lid.

“But my father purchased it with his wages. He gave it to me as a gift.” Anna’s head felt light, and she braced herself against the bedpost. “Surely it is mine.”

“Not likely.” Mrs. Danders lifted the lid and rummaged through the contents—Anna’s summer dresses recently put away for the winter and a few linen towels she had embroidered in her younger days when she had hoped to marry. “Hmm. Nothing here of value.” She dropped the lid, allowing it to slam against the base with a
clunk.

Anna jumped. Her mind refused to work.
Lord, am I to lose everything?

“What about jewelry?” Mrs. Danders’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that broach you’re wearing?”

Anna clutched the silver filigree pin with a tiny sapphire set in the center. “My mother’s.” Not a lie.
Papá
had bought it for
Mamá
—with his wages.

“See here now.” Major Grenville’s man, Matthews, stuck his head in the door and aimed a glare at Mrs. Danders. “The major’ll want an accounting of what you’re up to.”

Relief flooded Anna’s heart. Answered prayer! “Thank you,” she whispered to both the young man and the Lord.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Danders balled her fists at her waist and glared back at the soldier. Then she looked about the room again. “Other than the furniture and this storage chest, there’s nothing of value here. I’ll see to those books in the parlor.” She pushed past the aide and stomped down the hallway toward the staircase.

“We should follow, miss.” Matthews waved one hand in that direction.

“Yes, of course.” Anna tried to force her mind to work but other than her frantic prayers, no sensible thoughts would form. Gone were her plans to wander from room to room in a leisurely manner recalling her family’s happy years in this vicarage. Gone were her hopes of packing away one or two mementos of her loved ones to carry with her wherever she went. She could cling only to God’s promise that He would guide and take care of her, no matter what the circumstances. And
that
no one could take from her.

Returning to the parlor, she found the major sitting stiffly, leaning on his cane and watching Mrs. Danders like a hawk eyeing its prey. When Anna entered the room, he stood and gave her a slight bow. Before she could insist that he sit back down, she noticed Mrs. Danders pulling books from the shelf beside
Papá
’s chair. No, no longer
Papá
’s. It all belonged to the new vicar now. Anna hoped the gentleman would appreciate this small library that
Papá
had bought book by book, often instead of much-needed new clothes.

The pile of books on the floor toppled over, and
Papá
’s Bible slid across the floor.

Anna grabbed it before Mrs. Danders could. She clutched it to her chest, fighting tears. “My father brought this with him from Oxford.”

The woman snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Keep it, then.”

Mr. Danders hurried into the parlor with Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Pitcher, the baker’s wife, hard on his heels and scolding him like magpies.

“I give that to the vicar’s wife meself.” Mrs. Pitcher pointed to the delicately painted porcelain teapot in the solicitor’s hands. “It ain’t yours. It’s Miss Newfield’s. And you’ll give it to her now, or I’ll fetch the oaken rolling pin you were so anxious to put on your list.”

“And I’ll be fetching that poker by the hearth, you old thief.” Mrs. Brown’s eyes blazed.

The two women traded a look and shook hands.

Anna’s scalp tingled. God had sent her two more defenders, and perhaps in the process repaired the ancient quarrel which had long divided them. She crossed the room and grasped their still clasped hands. “Dear ladies, please do not resort to violence. Mr. Danders is merely doing his duty in cataloguing the contents of the house.” Although she could not be certain that
Mrs.
Danders should be involved in the work.

Mr. Danders thrust the teapot at Mrs. Pitcher and let go. She barely had time to catch it. Muttering unintelligible words, she handed
Mamá
’s treasure to Anna. “There you go, m’dear.”

“Thank you.” Anna accepted the precious gift and held it close, along with the Bible, fearful of dropping them, yet just as fearful of putting either down. “Mr. Danders, I appreciate your attention to detail. Perhaps you have already settled the matter of my inheritance?” At his blank look, she hastened on. “The fifty pounds annual inheritance my father arranged through Squire Beamish?”

“What? Oh, that.” He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something bad. “No, no, my dear. You misunderstood. It wasn’t fifty pounds annual. It was fifty pounds, period. And unfortunately—” he traded a smirk with his wife “—only twenty pounds are available at present.”

Anna’s head grew light. “Only twenty?” Once again, her mind refused to work as shock overtook her. Then a memory emerged. She and
Papá
and Peter used to play a game, one that
Mamá
did not care for in the least. They called it “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Each player heaped misfortune upon an imaginary hero, all within the bounds of decency, all revealing how God could intervene and save the day. But never in their busiest imaginings had they ever burdened any fictional soul with the Job-like sorrows she had received this day. She had lost her family, her possessions and her place in the community. Now to be thrust out into the world with no place to go, she envisioned herself wandering down a muddy winter path, clutching a tattered cloth bag with her few earthly belongings, perhaps dying in a frigid snow bank on the side of the road. Picturing Peter’s playful face, she wanted to laugh. Almost.

“Ah, books.” Mr. Danders’s eyebrows arched, and he moved toward his wife. “Yes, those are worth something.”

“Hold.” Major Grenville lifted his cane across the man’s chest. “While Miss Newfield may be correct about your duty, I do not care for the manner in which you are carrying it out.”

Instead of responding, Mr. Danders stared at Anna, his narrowed eyes raking her up and down. “Hmm. We never did settle exactly who you are, did we, Major?” He removed his spectacles and wiped them on his sleeve, then returned them to his nose and swept another slow, critical gaze down Anna’s frame and up again.

She gulped down her discomfort. No one had ever looked at her in that manner, and it somehow made her feel…unclean. She quickly dismissed the implication of his evil stare, for she had no cause for shame.

The major took a step toward the shorter man. “Watch yourself, sir.” The growl in his voice sent a strange comfort shivering down Anna’s back.

Mr. Danders laughed—an awful, menacing sound. “Or?”

The major returned the man’s hard look. “As you can see, at present I am ill-fitted to follow through on any threat I may wish to make. However, my brother, Lord Greystone, will be very interested in the happenings in this corner of Shropshire, and you can be certain I shall apprise him of your actions.”

Mr. Danders’s eyes grew round again. “Lord Greystone?” The squeak returned to his voice.

“Further, sir, you will make copies of your inventory and the original list and send them to my brother without delay. Have I made myself clear?”

Mr. Danders tugged at his collar. “Yes. Very clear indeed.” He waved a hand at his wife, wordlessly ordering her to put down the books she had begun placing in a leather satchel.

“Now, Miss Newfield,” the major said, “we must decide on where you are to go. I have my brother’s carriage at your disposal. My batman and I have just come up from Portsmouth on our way to Greystone Lodge. If you would accept the hospitality of my mother, the viscountess, we can be there in a matter of five or six hours.”

Hope welled up inside of Anna. Was this the Lord’s provision? “I do not know what to say, sir. Surely your mother would not welcome an unexpected guest.”

A frown crossed his brow as he limped toward her. She met him halfway across the distance and experienced the full effects of his superior height and broad shoulders. My, what an impressive soldier he made. And yet, even one so well-equipped for his duty had been brought down by injury. Still, when he bent to speak quietly to her, her heart fluttered like a quaking sparrow.

“I received word upon landing in Portsmouth that my mother’s elderly companion has passed away.” He glanced toward the Danderses, who both stared at this innocent tête-à-tête with far too much interest. The major set a gentle hand upon her shoulder and turned her away from their prying eyes. “Mother is…she, well, hmm.” His gaze lit on the two items Anna still held, and she detected a twinkle in his eyes. “Miss Newfield, I believe you may safely put down your treasures. I will make certain they are not…misplaced.”

Warmth crept into her cheeks. “Oh. Yes. Of course.” She set the Bible and teapot on the occasional table and returned to his side. “I am deeply grieved to hear of your mother’s loss. Is there anything I can do to help?”

A note of sadness colored his soft chuckle. “What an interesting young lady you are. In the midst of your own grief, you are concerned about someone you do not even know.” His intense gaze brought more heat to her face, and she could think of no response. “Mother does not like to be alone. I would be pleased to recommend you for her new companion.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Pitcher inserted herself into the conversation. “That’s just the thing.”

“Indeed it is.” Mrs. Brown appeared at her former adversary’s elbow. “But you cannot travel alone with this gentleman.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the solicitor. “That one seems the sort who would speak ill of you just for spite.”

The major nodded his agreement. “Perhaps one of you could accompany us to Greystone Lodge. You could return by the post on the morrow. At my expense, of course.”

“Ah, ’twould be grand to see inside a viscount’s manor house.” Mrs. Pitcher sighed. “Alas, my husband cannot do without me at the bakery. Gladys, you’ll have to go.”

Mrs. Brown’s face became a progressive comedy: Surprise, skepticism, comprehension, then utter joy danced across her countenance. “Why, I can’t think of a single hindrance.”

Major Grenville smiled. Grinned, actually. “What say you, Miss Newfield?”

Anna placed a hand over her mouth as hot tears flooded her cheeks. All she could manage was a trembling nod. How good the Lord was to her. Before she called upon Him, He had already answered. Before she had known of her own need, He had already prepared a place for her. She lifted a silent prayer for the dearly departed old companion, gone to her reward.

“And now—” Mrs. Pitcher raised her voice, and all heads turned her way. “Gladys and I will help you pack, m’dear.” She glared at the solicitor. “And may the good Lord help anybody who tries to interfere.”

The two women made decisions about what to bring, for Anna could not put together a single coherent thought. They packed the wooden chest, which the major insisted belonged to her, working quickly so the travelers could reach Greystone Lodge before nightfall. All too soon the major’s carriage rumbled out of Blandon, and Anna left behind the only life she had ever known. It was all she could do not to weep aloud, even as tears blurred her vision.

No, she must not break down. Instead, she would cling to the precious promise that one day all of these trials would seem as nothing. One day she would behold the Lord, just as
Papá
now did…and
Mamá,
gone these four years…and every trial would disappear. As for Peter, she would hold out hope that he was simply missing, perhaps a prisoner of the Americans. She prayed he would be treated with kindness, just as he would treat someone kindly who was under his charge.

The Lord had left her alone for some reason. During
Papá
’s illness, she came to realize she must find an occupation, never mind the social prejudice against a woman of the gentry engaging in work. It would be irresponsible for her to starve to death when she could support herself and perhaps do some good in the process. If the major’s mother did not approve of her as a companion, the Lord would give her some other employment. She simply must discover what it was.

Chapter Three

D
espite the carriage’s cushioned upholstery and excellent springs, Edmond felt every bump on the road to Greystone Lodge. But at least the rutted highway held none of the surprises that plagued ocean travel: sudden plunges into watery troughs or massive swells that almost capsized the ship. How good it felt to be back on land and on his way home, if he might still consider the Lodge home. Lord Greystone had always been generous to his two younger brothers and would never turn them out. But a man must establish his own residence, his own occupation. Edmond longed to return to his Oxford law studies and become a barrister, but whether or not he could do so remained to be seen. After fighting on the Continent and in America for five years, he desired peace and rest, no matter what work he must set his hands to. Surely even Mother would see he was not fit to return to war.

Ah, well, time enough to ponder those matters while he healed. For now, he must play host to the other occupants of the carriage, particularly Miss Newfield, who seemed to be struggling to contain her tears. Brave girl. For once in his life, he felt as if the hand of the Almighty had directed him. On the monthlong voyage home, he had made up his mind to deliver the news of Newfield’s heroic death in person rather than by letter. But when he came upon the vicar’s funeral and subsequent harassment of the poor young lady, he felt certain his plan had been God’s doing. Perhaps this was the first step in his quest to discover his purpose on this earth.

On the other hand, now that they were on the way to the Lodge, he was reconsidering the wisdom of bringing her home with him. Yet what else could he have done? Like a desperate act executed amidst the chaos of battle, Edmond’s offer had been the only weapon he could grasp to save Miss Newfield. And however weak a defender he might be, he could not, would not abandon her.

Of course, he must consider Mother’s reaction, but he would not think about that now. Instead, he cast about in his mind how he might engage Miss Newfield in conversation. What topic might a vicar’s daughter find interesting? In fact, what might any young lady wish to discuss? Edmond had never perfected the art. As a younger son, he had met with young ladies’ turned backs more often than the friendly faces they offered his titled eldest brother. That painful memory dampened his spirits. Like any man, he wished to marry one day, but until he established himself in a lucrative profession, no Society lady would welcome his attentions. And he could hardly blame them. Why, even a poor gentlewoman like Miss Newfield deserved a husband who could adequately support her. Had no such gentleman resided in Blandon? Surely someone had aspired to win the hand of such a fair prize. Were they of like social rank, he might be tempted to court her himself after he regained his health.

* * *

Anna’s prior experiences in wheeled conveyances were limited to clattering dog carts and bumpy hay wagons. In contrast, the viscount’s roomy carriage had cushioned velvet seats and large wheels on springs that rolled over the rutted highway more smoothly than she ever imagined. It swayed almost like a cradle, lulling her toward the solace of sleep, for she was weary in body and numbed by her many losses. But sleeping might be considered rude. In an effort to shake off her drowsiness, she took deep breaths and peered through the wide windows to view the changing scenery from fields to forests to villages and back to fields again. Harvest was underway in all parts of Shropshire, and the scents of apples and newly mown hay filled the brisk autumn air all along the route.

Mrs. Brown sat beside Anna, her knitting needles clicking softly in time with the rumbling wheels. Across from them, Matthews slumbered against the padded carriage wall. Beside him, Major Grenville grimaced from time to time, then schooled his face into a milder expression. At these brave attempts to mask his pain, Anna’s heart went out to him. Perhaps she could distract him from his misery by engaging him in conversation.

What did one say to an army officer, an aristocratic gentleman whose titled brother sat in Parliament? Should she even begin a conversation with someone of his rank? In fact, the thought of meeting such an august person as the viscount set her nerves on edge. That was nonsense, of course. Did not the scriptures teach that all were equal in Christ? But while she might believe it, she had often heard that the aristocracy and, even more, the nobility considered themselves far above other mortals. She would soon find out whether Lord Greystone and his mother, the viscountess, held that opinion. Furthermore, Anna could not guess what being a lady’s companion entailed. She hesitated to ask the major, lest such questions be deemed improper.

One subject did come to mind that she would venture to address.

“Major, would you mind—”

“Miss Newfield, are you—”

They spoke at the same time, each stopping midsentence.

“Pray continue, Miss Newfield.” He smiled and waved his hand for her to proceed.

“I thank you, sir.” Anna’s cheeks warmed at his courtesy. “I wonder if you could tell me more about my brother. He is not one to write home, although we did hear from him just after he arrived in Detroit last year.”

Instantly she regretted her question, for the major frowned and gazed out the window as if he had not heard her. After a moment, he turned back, his eyes filled with kindness.

“I met Lieutenant Newfield upon his arrival. He was a charming lad, full of good humor and laughter. You must have grown up in a merry and loving household, madam, for he always made light of any difficulty.” Pain, which she sensed was more emotional than physical, shot across his features.

“That’s our Master Peter.” Mrs. Brown looked up from her knitting, her eyes misty. “The whole village loved him in spite of his boyish pranks. The mischief was never wicked, you understand, just meant to make us laugh at ourselves. And now—” She stared down at her handiwork and fell silent.

Despair crept into Anna’s chest. Was Peter truly dead? No, she would not believe it. Missing did not mean deceased. “Please tell me more, Major.”

The gentleman’s smile seemed strained as he proceeded to recount how Peter chattered endlessly about his godly father and his “perfect” sister. She laughed and rolled her eyes, for when they were children, she had often joined her brother in his escapades.

The major’s batman awoke and joined the conversation, reporting an instance of mischief so very much like Peter. Briefly the carriage rang with laughter. Then all fell silent.

Bracing herself, Anna captured the major’s gaze. “You must tell me about that day.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his dark eyes shadowed in the enclosed carriage. “A soldier does not like to admit defeat, madam, but unfortunately we were in retreat from the American forces. A company of their foot soldiers attacked our cavalry, and Providence was on their side. My horse was shot from under me.” He winced, and Anna sensed the creature had meant much to him. “Or, I should say, on top of me. My left leg was beneath him, so of course I could not move. Several of the enemy regarded me as an easy target. One raised his saber to strike.” He sucked in his cheeks and looked out the window for a moment. “Lieutenant Newfield threw himself across me. I heard him cry out.” He paused as if reliving the scene, then shook it off. “That is the last thing I recall. I awoke in a field hospital some days later. No one could answer my queries about your brother. No one saw him after the battle.”

Anna swallowed hard and forcefully dismissed the despair threatening to seize her. “Missing does not mean dead. Even if I never hear from him, I shall trust that God spared him. That he is somewhere in America recovering from his wounds.” She tried to soften the strain in her voice, but could not. “Whyever would the Lord create such a good, gallant soul only to take him away from those who love and need him?” She stared about her small circle of companions, beseeching someone to explain the mind of God.

Beside her, Mrs. Brown sniffed. Matthews would not meet her gaze. The major reached out to touch her hand. “Indeed, dear lady, whyever would He?”

* * *

The sun touched the treetops and then sank behind their foliage before the carriage rolled up the long drive to Greystone Lodge. In the fading daylight, Edmond could see Greystone’s banner raised on the flagpole above the pointed roof of the old brick manor house, announcing His Lordship was at home. After his three-year absence, Edmond felt both his anticipation and his anxiety grow with every mile. Yet his guest now wore a serene expression, as if unconcerned about the coming interview. He found it interesting that she had used their travel time to ask about Peter rather than the woman who would be her employer, if all went well. But then, no doubt she was still numb from the tragic news her day had brought. Edmond prayed she would receive no further shocks—now or ever.

* * *

The fading daylight shadowed the massive stone building as the carriage rolled up to the half-circle drive at the front entrance. In spite of the conveyance’s roominess, Anna’s legs felt cramped from the long drive, but she had no doubt the major’s discomfort was far more intense. Still, he did not complain as they disembarked.

Grooms and servants appeared, and soon the small party found themselves in the manor house’s large drawing room. There the major leaned on his cane and gazed about the room, a soft smile gracing his lean, handsome face. How good it must be for him to return to his childhood home, which now belonged to his brother, the viscount.

Anna experienced a pang of sorrow, for she would never see her own home again. Indeed, she had no home. She quickly cast aside the thought, relishing instead the scent of roses wafting from an arrangement on a nearby side table and admiring the lovely furnishings that filled the room: plush velvet chairs and settees, portraits of noble ancestors, bisque figurines and heavy draperies. She had never beheld such elegance. Mrs. Brown’s wide-eyed perusal of their surroundings revealed that she was likewise awestruck.

A middle-aged butler strode into the room and announced, “Lady Greystone.”

Anna’s heart jolted. The moment had come. She straightened and squeezed Mrs. Brown’s hand. Her friend returned the gesture and whispered good wishes.

A slender woman of medium height entered the room. Her dark grey hair was arranged in curls around her thin face, softening what some might consider hawk-like features. Anna noted her resemblance to Major Grenville and wondered whether the woman possessed his generous disposition as well.

“Edmond.” The woman marched toward her son, her gloved right hand extended. “Welcome home.” Despite her words of greeting, her tone rang with formality.

“Mother.” Major Grenville bowed and kissed her offered hand. “You look well.”

“Humph. What else would you say to me?” She stepped back and viewed him up and down. “You, on the other hand, do not look well at all.” She reached up and gripped his chin, turning his head one way, then the other, and emitted another disagreeable harrumph. “Still, you will live to serve another day.”

Anna’s heart sank. When Peter returned to her, she would embrace him and shower him with sisterly kisses and loving affirmation. How could this woman be so cold to her wounded son who had sailed across the ocean to fight for England?

Major Grenville gave her a warm smile. “Just so, Mother, if they want a cavalry officer who may not be able to ride as he once did.”

Yet another harrumph from the lady. “Nonsense. They would not dare to turn down Greystone’s brother. I shall see to it.”

Anna’s mind spun as she observed the woman’s attitude. Even Mrs. Brown must be shocked, for she gasped softly.

Lady Greystone’s head whipped around in their direction, and her dark, elegant eyebrows rose. “Who on earth are these creatures? How dare you bring them into my drawing room?” She eyed the major briefly before stepping over to Anna and glaring at her up and down through the single lens of her quizzing glass. “And just what is
this
one to you?”

The major limped forward, worry creasing his forehead. “Mother, forgive me, but when I read your letter about Miss Peel’s demise, I knew you would be searching for a new companion. This young lady is a vicar’s daughter and—”

“How dare you?” The viscountess turned her quizzing glass toward him with a fierce glare. “Do you think you can just snatch up some dowdy creature from the roadside and bring her through my front door into my drawing room to be my companion?” Her angry stare returned to Anna.

“You.” She sneered as if Anna smelled bad, and stepped back as one would from a victim of the plague. “Take your servant and get out.”