The Beloved Land (17 page)
Nicole paused to savor the moment. The sky, the torchlight, the gathering, the sight of her father looking so strong and wise, her mother and grandfather accompanying her, and Gordon waiting for her up ahead—each vision was a jewel to capture in her memory. There to be brought out in coming days and examined more carefully, treasured more fully.
Judith washed and dressed hurriedly. She had dallied longer than usual—first in John’s room over the pages of his new book and then in a discussion with Charles in the library on an important matter. Breakfast would soon be served. Cook looked askance at serving food that had grown cold. Judith patted the folds of her morning gown and tucked a lace hankie in her sleeve, then quickly left her room. She stepped more briskly than normal as she passed the length of the long hall and on down the winding staircase. She was nearly out of breath as she entered the cozy breakfast room, where their morning meal was waiting to be served.
“My apologies—” she began.
“Good morning, my dear.” Charles, who had risen to seat her, quickly cut in, more for the sake of the serving girl than for her own, she was sure. “Did you sleep well?”
That question had already been asked and answered earlier, but it now served to warm the atmosphere of the room. Charles nodded to the girl who stood, steaming porridge dish in hand, and she moved forward and began ladling the bowls as Judith settled herself in place and spread her napkin in her lap.
They did not speak again until the serving had been completed and the girl had been dismissed with a nod. Charles reached for Judith’s hand and they bowed their heads for the morning prayer.
Charles was the first one to break the silence after their heads were lifted. “I had a letter from Paris in this morning’s post.”
It could only be one thing. A report from the gentleman hired to track down the lost half sister of John Price. Judith leaned forward. “Good news?”
“I am afraid not,” he said slowly, his voice conveying his disappointment. “In fact … little news at all. He said that, to this point, he has discovered next to nothing. He had a lead— or so he thought—that took him to the city from the coast. But it turned out to be a dead end—if you will pardon his rather crass pun. The person who was to have had some information has been dead for six or seven years. No one else seems to have shared any of her secrets.”
“I am sorry,” Judith said, shaking her head.
“I will write him back to keep looking,” Charles responded. “Surely there is still someone—somewhere—who knows something. We will just have to dig a little deeper.” He hesitated, then with a wry smile added, “There, now. I’m afraid my own sorry pun has been in poorer taste than that of my correspondent.”
Judith smiled distractedly, her thoughts still on the report. She knew how desirous he was to solve this unusual puzzle for John and Catherine. But all she could do was support him and pray that somehow, someday, they would know the facts. The truth. But the past seemed so far away—so buried from view. She couldn’t help but smile.
Buried from view
. Was there no end to distasteful puns this morning? She pushed the thoughts from her and became serious again. Would they ever know the truth? If only the search had begun earlier, there could have been more hope for success. But now?
Charles seemed to already have moved on from his earlier subject. “More coffee, my dear? I think I would enjoy another cup.”
Judith reached for the bell near at hand and summoned the serving girl.
As soon as the coffee had been poured, Charles rose to his feet and moved behind Judith’s chair. “Let’s take our second cup in front of my library fire. It’s much cozier on such a morn.”
Judith was happy to comply and led the way. She always enjoyed joining Charles in the library. The fire hissed and crackled as they sipped companionably in silence. Judith pulled her eyes from the hypnotic flame to look across at her husband.
Charles rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger. She had come to recognize the gesture as a sign of mental agitation. The news she had carried with her to his library office was not very welcome. John’s nanny had voiced her need to leave them. She would be vacating her position within a fortnight. Nursery staff were difficult to find at the best of times, but now, with Charles out of favor with so many of England’s higher class, Judith feared that finding another suitable nanny might be near impossible. She was sure that Charles, restless fingers kneading his brow, was thinking the same thoughts.
“How soon?” he asked without looking up.
“She says she must care for her elderly father now that her mother is gone. She wishes to leave within two weeks, though she also expressed a desire to leave sooner if it could be arranged.”
Charles lifted his head then, his expression incredulous. “Arranged?” he repeated. “I would hardly expect it to be arranged within a fortnight.”
Judith nodded.
The fingers came down from Charles’s forehead. “We may find ourselves caring for the needs of a young boy,” he said slowly, but he did not sound particularly alarmed. Dared she hope that this privileged task might fall to her? She wondered if Charles also secretly hoped that no proper nanny could be found.
“We would make do,” she said, controlling the eagerness in her voice.
He smiled then. “You would rather enjoy it, would you not?”
“Parts of it,” she acknowledged with a smile of her own. “Though I do admit to feeling a bit old when he and I are out in the garden and he takes it into his head to chase a butterfly, then a squirrel, then a robin—”
“Day and night,” he warned softly. “You have said so yourself. Day and night—through sickness and health.”
“Thank God he is a healthy child.” She scarcely realized she had breathed the little prayer of thanksgiving aloud.
Charles rose from his chair and crossed to the room’s long window, brushing aside the heavy drapery to look out on the day. Low clouds scudded across the sky, just beyond arm’s reach, and a stout wind pulled at the bare branches of the trees along the lane. Even the birds seemed to have taken cover.
Judith moved to his side. The dreary scene made her shiver involuntarily. He seemed to sense it. “Is Howards keeping the fires well tended?”
“He just added another log in the drawing room.”
“And the nursery?”
She smiled. “He has stoked that fire too. Nurse has little tolerance for cold. The bell clangs her displeasure if the fire is allowed to diminish.”
“Perhaps she will not be such a loss after all.” He lowered his voice. “I have never been particularly fond of her.”
“Nor I,” admitted Judith in a half whisper. “Still—she has cared for John well. A bit stiff and sometimes careless in her words, but she has seen well to his needs.”
The frown came back. “The care of a child is of vital importance. Not just his toast and tea or his bath—his development in mind, body, and spirit depends on the way he is guided and nurtured.” He reached out an arm to draw her close. “Are we up to it, my dear? Being a bachelor for so many years, I had no idea what it takes to train and care for a budding human being. It is a daunting task.”
“But one we do not have to bear alone,” Judith reminded him as she leaned against his substantial frame.
“No—and thank God for that. And we do need His direction now. To find another nanny. For we do need one, my dear, no matter how much we think we would love to have him all to ourselves.”
Judith nodded. Wisdom told her he was right.
“I will send word to Jacobs in London.” Charles’s words spoke to the fact he was once again assuming responsibility. “Perhaps—with a miracle or two—he might be able to find someone for us. But in a fortnight? I think not.”
“As you say—with a miracle or two, it will be done. And I am quite confident that our Lord cares more than we do about John and his future growth into a man of God.”
“Of course.” Charles’s arm tightened for a moment before he turned them both from the window. “Now I suggest you take your place beside the fire with a cup of coffee in hand. I do not want you catching a chill.”
Judith moved out of the circle of his arm and started for the door. “Do you wish me to send for Howards? It is getting a bit cold in here. Your fire looks like it could use another log.”
“No need—I can tend my own fire. I get busy reading and forget it, that is all.”
Charles moved to the fireplace and knelt on the hearth to balance the log on one knee and work the fire screen with his other hand.
As Judith reached for the doorknob, he spoke once more. “And try not to worry about the boy. We will pray. Surely the Almighty will direct us to one well-trained nanny somewhere out there.”
She hesitated, silent for a moment. Then she smiled. “Do you know what John asked me this morning? He and I were looking out the window, and he said, ‘Nana, how can the wind shake the branches when it has no hands on its arms?’ ”
“Hands on its arms?” Charles laughed as he rose from the hearth and brushed wood chips from his knees. “And where does he suppose its arms to be?”
“I have no idea, but that is exactly what he said.” She chuckled along with her husband.
“Hands on its arms,” Charles repeated, still laughing. “Where does he ever get such ideas?”
Judith smiled. “Only God knows. He is the one who gives children imaginations.” She hesitated, then added, “By the time his mother gets back, I will have an entire book to share. Every day he gives me something more to add.”
“Anne will treasure it. It is very good of you to record his days. Especially these little gems of unintended humor. Yes—it will be a real treasure for his mother.”
“And I enjoy the doing,” Judith added. She gave him a little nod and left the room. She knew he would soon be drafting the letter to Jacobs in London.
“ ’Tis a bit of a miracle at that,” Charles said to Judith as he entered the morning room where she sat with handwork before the fire. “Jacobs has found us a prospect.”
Judith’s fingers became still in her lap. “Charles, that is indeed wonderful. I am very thankful. It has been a matter of deep concern for me. I’ve been—”
“Praying daily. I know.”
“Please—what does your Jacobs say?”
Charles’s eyes fell again to the pages of the letter in his hands. “He has discovered that a certain Mistress Lenora Paige is looking for a post. She comes from a good family that has fallen on hard times. The father died three years past in a hunting accident, and the mother more recently with a fever of some sort. There were two daughters in the family. An uncle has arranged a marriage for the older one, and her husband has taken over the management of the estate. But the younger one does not feel any longer at home there. Anyway, the younger one, who is well educated and of good breeding, so says Jacobs, needs to find some sort of employment. He thinks she would be well qualified to be a child’s nurse.”
Charles looked at Judith. “What do you think? Should we ask her to come for an interview?”
“I do not see that we have much choice. And it does seem like … like a miracle, just as you said.”
He began to fold the letter as he moved toward the door.
“I will get an answer posted back to Jacobs telling him to send her out straightaway.”
“Charles?”
He halted midstep and turned to her once again.
“Does … does the letter happen to say anything about. . . ?” She looked down at the stitchery, then lifted her head to continue. “In a world that holds so many serious needs, perhaps one is wrong to ask for such trivial things. But it did seem important to John … and to me. Can you tell me, does the letter say anything about her having any skills in music?”
He smiled. “You mean, can she play a pianoforte?”
Judith knew he was teasing her, and she smiled and nodded, waiting for the answer.
“Let me see,” he said slowly, searching the pages with studied care. “Yes, here is something most interesting. Listen to this. ‘In reply to your query, Mistress Paige has had more than a small amount of training in the arts. She sings well, sketches with some proficiency, and I understand is quite skilled on the pianoforte.’ ”
“Ah,” breathed Judith, leaning forward. “It is the second miracle I asked Him for. I cannot wait to see John’s face when he hears his first piece.”
Nicole’s parents had given the bridal pair their home for the night. Nicole’s and Gordon’s objections had accomplished nothing. After a time at the village fete, with the roasting meats and the fiddler and the torchlight and the laughter, they had been cheered on their way with best wishes from all sides. Arm in arm they had walked the path down to the little cottage to discover that someone had lit a fire and prepared a tray of cider and fresh-baked bread and cheese. Fresh linens were upon her parents’ bed, and rose petals spread about the sleeping chamber, upon the planked floor and the bed itself, all illuminated by candlelight.
Now it was morning, but Nicole’s eyes were still closed when the bedroom door creaked open. She reached over to feel the empty pillow next to hers. She rose up on an elbow to see Gordon, already dressed, coming toward her with a steaming mug.