The entire top floor of the wing, beneath the garrets, was given over to the Forbes children. Laura had no difficulty finding the schoolroom. The cheerful sound of a French nursery song in several different keys led her to a scarred door. She waited to the end of the last verse, knocked, and went in.
Arabella, dressed in plain blue cambric, ran to take her hand. “Did you hear me singing, Cousin Laura? I was singing a French song. Can we sing it again, Miss Coltart, for Cousin Laura?”
“Please, ma'am,” George and Henry seconded her.
“May we.” The governess, rather pink in the face, stood up and curtsied. “I hope you do not think we are wasting time, my lady. I find singing vastly improves their pronunciation.”
“That sounds quite likely. Pray do not stand for me, Miss Coltart.” To set the woman at ease, she drew out a chair and sat at the battered, ink-stained table. “If it will not interrupt your schedule, I should like to hear the children sing.”
They lined up, the boys with hands clasped behind their backs, and a ragged chorus of
Frère Jacques
rang out, enthusiastic if unmusical. Laura clapped.
A maid stuck her head around the door. “Please, miss, it's time for Miss Arabella to change her dress and go down to her mama. Oh, beg pardon, my lady. I din't see your ladyship.”
“I won't go!” Arabella screeched. “I want to stay wiv Cousin Laura.”
Miss Coltart threw a helpless glance at Laura. She recalled that the unfortunate governess was forbidden to punish her charges. The maid, who would doubtless suffer if Arabella did not go to Maria, came in and took the little girl by the arm.
“I'll hold my breaff till I die!”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” Laura snapped. “Do you really suppose that I wish to stay with a child who behaves so horridly?”
Arabella stared at her, mouth drooping, blue eyes so like her mother's filling with tears. “I'm not horrid.”
“No, your behaviour is horrid. However, if you continue to act so, in the end you will be a horrid girl.”
“Arabella's horrid,” chanted George, and Henry chimed in for the repeat. “Arabella's horrid. Arabella's...”
Their voices died away as Laura gave them a withering look. “A fine example you set your little sister,” she said scornfully. “Such gentlemanly manners. I am sure I shall never wish to visit the schoolroom again.”
“Oh, please come again!” Arabella sped to her and hung on her arm. “I won't be horrid, promise. See, I'm going now.” She pulled the maid after her out of the room.
George, crimson-faced, stuttered, “I b-beg your pardon, ma'am. Please, you won't tell Cousin Gareth when he comes home, will you?”
He nudged Henry, who burst into tears. “I'm sorry,” he wailed. “I want to be a fine genkleman like Cousin Gareth.”
They were only little boys, after all. Laura opened her arms and they ran to her for a hug.
“Cousin Gareth is a true gentleman,” she said, “never unkind nor unmannerly. You cannot do better than to follow his example.” They both nodded solemnly. Over their heads, Laura saw that the governess's expression was grim. “I must not keep you any longer from your lessons. Miss Coltart, may I have a word with you?”
The boys were set to copying
Frère Jacques
, Henry on his slate, George struggling with quill pen and ink. Miss Coltart joined Laura by one of the windows that made the room so light and airy.
“I must beg your pardon,” Laura said ruefully, in a low voice. “I did not mean to cause such a disruption.”
“You dealt with it very neatly, my lady.” The governess was unappeased. Laura guessed it was not the disruption that had set her on her high ropes.
“I have the great advantages of being a novelty to them, being someone they wish to conciliate, and being able to leave when I wish. Your task is much more difficult.”
“It is not easy,” the woman acknowledged, relaxing. “I sometimes feel I am balanced on a tightrope, with Mrs. Forbes's reproaches waiting on either side, whether I allow the children to run wild or attempt to discipline them. Not that they are bad children. I am fond of them. Only that, and Lord Wyckham's appreciation of my labours, keep me here. He is, as you said, ma'am, a true gentleman.”
Laura glanced at the boys. George was absorbed in the task, Henry fiddling with his slate pencil and peeking at his brother's paper. She turned back to Miss Coltart and lowered her voice still more. “I came up to tell you that Lord Wyckham is seeking a tutor, and his head groom has orders to find two ponies. Now it is up to me to persuade Mrs. Forbes to accept them.”
The governess impulsively stuck out her hand. “Good luck to you, my lady, and my thanks.” They shook hands.
As she returned down the stairs, Laura felt the weight of expectations on her shoulders. Never before had anyone relied upon her. She must not fail, for Miss Coltart's sake, for the children's, and for Gareth's. He obviously cared deeply for his nephews and considered himself responsible for their welfare, yet she could not blame him for dreading Maria's furies and sulks. To help him in this would be to repay a small part of what she owed him for his generosity.
Running over her plan in her mind, polishing it, she smiled to herself. She hoped that if Gareth knew her intended method, he would laugh, not seethe with indignation.
When she reached Maria's chamber, she knocked on the door, but as she expected, the abigail said Mrs. Forbes had gone down to luncheon. Laura found her in the breakfast room, elegant in pink India muslin with white ribbons, picking delicately at a slice of cold chicken. Miss Burleigh glanced up as Laura entered.
“We do not usually have a collation set out when none of the boys are home,” she said dryly, “but I have been charged most particularly to see that you are well nourished. A mere snack on a tray will not do, according to my nephew.”
Laura smiled at her. “I daresay I might order a tray laden with sufficient nourishment even for my appetite, ma'am, if this is inconvenient.”
“Not in the least. Carrying trays all over the house gives the servants much more trouble.”
“Just what I thought,” came Uncle Julius's voice behind Laura.
She turned as, with a gleeful face, he pushed in his latest contraption. A framework set on two small wheels and two wheelless legs held two large trays, one above the other. Raising the legs off the floor by means of a pair of shafts sticking out at that end, he rolled the curious handcart up to the table.
“I call it a tray-barrow,” he said proudly. “With it, one servant can manage two trays without any risk of dropping them.” He seized Miss Burleigh's plate and a couple of empty glasses, and set them on the top tray. As he lifted the shafts, tilting the tray-barrow, the plate and glasses slid down the slope. Crown Derby china, Waterford glass, and Miss Burleigh's luncheon landed on the Turkey carpet.
“Back to the drawing board,” said Uncle Julius, sighing.
“I was about to remark,” said Miss Burleigh, “that your tray-barrow is scarcely practical in a house with so many stairs. I see it has other drawbacks.”
“Stairs? Hmm. Good point.” Lost in a brown study, he stood there between the shafts of his invention.
Lloyd appeared with a footman to clean up the mess, so promptly that Laura suspected he had been keeping an eye on the inventor. He gently moved the old gentleman and his barrow, without disturbing thought processes. The shards were swept into a dustpan, and the footman was on his knees scrubbing the carpet with a damp cloth when Uncle Julius announced, “I have it,” and trotted out.
Miss Burleigh uttered a quiet moan.
Laura fetched her a new plate of food, served herself, and sat down. She could not make her approach to Maria yet, for Miss Burleigh would be justifiably shocked by the way she went about it. Instead, she asked Maria's advice about a gown Mrs. Davis was about to make for her.
As a result, Maria was in a thoroughly good humour when Arabella scampered in, in pink India muslin with white ribbons matching her mama's dress. She curtsied to her mother and Miss Burleigh and bade them good-day. Then she went to Laura.
“Please, Cousin Laura, will you help me get some food?”
Maria frowned. “I am sure I do not know why you will trouble Cousin Laura when your own mama is here.”
“But when I ask you, Mama, you awways sigh and say children are such a nuisance.” She imitated Maria's languid tone to perfection. Miss Burleigh raised her napkin to her lips and coughed, her eyes gleaming with a hint of malice.
“I do not mind helping,” said Laura hastily. She took the child to the sideboard. “What would you like, Arabella?”
“Gooseby tart wiv lots of cream.”
“You shall have gooseberry tart, as soon as you have eaten some meat and vegetables. Do you prefer chicken or ham?”
Arabella opened her mouth to screech, looked at Laura, and closed it again, tight. “Ham, please,” she said in a small voice.
Maria turned to regard them with astonishment and suspicion. Seeing that Laura was not actually torturing her daughter, she said pettishly, “I daresay she minds you because...” and then she could not think of a reason.
A bad omen, Laura feared, but she smiled at Arabella, served her with ham, tiny new carrots, and bread and butter, and helped her up on the chair at her side.
That afternoon, several neighbours came to call at the Manor. An elderly lady restored Maria's temper by remarking on how delightfully picturesque she and Arabella appeared together. However, Laura despaired of ever finding an opportunity to speak to Maria alone. At last the visitors departed and Arabella was sent off for her nap. Miss Burleigh went off to her sitting room to interview a girl who had applied for Myfanwy's old position as housemaid.
“Mrs. Lloyd has approved her,” she explained to Laura, “but I always judge for myself before any indoor servant is hired. I take it Myfanwy is proving satisfactory as your abigail?”
“Most satisfactory.” She was already fond of the cheerful young Welsh maid.
“Interfering old busybody,” said Maria as the drawing room door closed behind Miss Burleigh. “I daresay Mrs. Lloyd is perfectly capable of choosing servants. When I first came to Llys, Aunt Antonia tried to tell me how to bring up my children, as if a dried up old maid could possibly know better than their own mother.”
Laura refrained from pointing out that Miss Burleigh had brought up her late sister's sons with a fair degree of success. Instead she used the spiteful comment as an opening.
“If Miss Burleigh must approve every indoor servant, I suppose it is she who has decided against hiring a tutor for George and Henry? I had thought it must be Gareth's refusal to pay the extra wages that was depriving your sons of a proper education.” She hated to malign him so, but Maria seemed to be taking the bait. “Tutors earn more than governesses, I believe, and you would still need a governess for Arabella. Perhaps he cannot afford to hire both.”
“Of course he can afford it,” Maria said with scorn. “He can afford to go gallivanting up to Town, can he not? He is a niggardly nip-cheese, who does not care how my boys suffer from his penny-pinching.”
“They will grow up ignorant, alas. And what a pity that his, er, thriftiness prevents his providing them with mounts, unless there is not room in the Manor's stables?” Having defended Gareth in the past, she felt she was less likely to arouse Maria's suspicions if she provided him with excuses now. “If they do not learn to ride soon, I expect they will present but poor figures on horseback when they are men.”
Maria appeared more struck by this shocking notion than by the prospect of George and Henry living in ignorance of the classics. Her voice quivered with indignation. “There is plenty of room in the stables. Gareth is forever buying hacks and hunters and carriage horses for himself and his brothers. It is most unjust the way he neglects my boys.”
“Have you ever pointed out to him that their ignorance and poor horsemanship must inevitably reflect upon him, once they are old enough to go about?”
“I shall speak to him at once. Oh, botheration! He has left already. I might have known he would not be here when he is wanted.”
“If I were you, I should write to him.” Laura was afraid that time would change Maria's capricious mind. “While he is in Town, he can surely spare time from his gallivanting to deal with a matter of such importance.”
“Oh, writing letters is what I do not care for.” Maria pouted, already losing interest.
“I shall be happy to write for you.”
“Will you? Pray do. I am quite glad you came to Llys after all, Laura. Only, what if Gareth agrees, and finds a tutor who will beat my poor little orphans?”
“He cannot beat them, if you forbid it, without risking his position.”
“True. But what if George and Henry fall off their ponies and hurt themselves?”
“They will come to no serious harm if you give orders that they are to learn to ride in a paddock with long grass to cushion their falls. I shall go and write to Gareth immediately. He shall no longer escape his obligations.” On that note, Laura made a hasty exit, choosing to assume she still had Maria's assent. With any luck, she had left Maria dwelling on her grievances, not on her qualms.
The letter she wrote would not have pleased Maria. She had not intended to reveal her method of persuasion to Gareth, but in the end she told him everything, picturing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused.
She told him everything except that she missed him. He had been gone a few hours, and already she missed him.
Chapter 10
The Reverend Cornelius returned ten days later, bringing with him a young man who was to serve as both his curate and the boys' tutor. Peter Renfrew had just taken holy orders. Slight but wiry, he was inclined to be bashful and over-eager to please. He thanked Miss Burleigh profusely for the bedchamber prepared for him and listened attentively to Maria's exhortations, agreeing with every word.
Laura hoped the boys and Miss Coltart would take to him.
Cornelius stayed to dine. He entertained them with ponderous descriptions of the splendid celebrations and the crowds that everywhere greeted the visiting allies. After dinner, he drew Laura aside.