Chapter Ten
The next morning
Hugh stood, arms akimbo, surveying the building site. The masonry workers had arrived and brickmaking was under way. Some of the internal walls and the entirety of the rear wall would be brick, but the facade would be of stone. Ridley had frowned on the extravagance, but it was what Hugh wanted.
Ned had been helping with the bricks, but now strode over and stood beside Hugh. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That we’ve made more progress than I could have hoped for in such a short time. I’ll be sleeping in an actual bedchamber in my own home before too long.”
Ned laughed. “You will. Have you thought about furniture for this dwelling, Sir Hugh? Maybe a trip to Town is in order.”
“You’re right. I ordered a few pieces from a local furniture maker, but I’ll need to get the rest in London. I want to check into Argand lamps, too. For my friend.”
“Ah, yes, your seamstress friend. The one without a name.” Ned wiggled his eyebrows, earning a scowl from Hugh.
Hugh turned and began to walk toward his cottage. “I’ve some correspondence to take care of.” Ned followed, but Hugh barely noticed. When they reached the door, he seemed surprised Ned was still with him.
“You’re thinking about the lady, then?” Ned asked.
“What lady?” And then he laughed. Hugh was sick of subterfuge. Perhaps Ned was someone he could confide in. The man would be discreet, Hugh had no doubt.
“I said, you’re—”
“I heard you. Come in. You might as well make yourself useful. Sit.” After Hugh had poured them each a cup of tea, he said, “I’m afraid I’ve upset her. Something I said to her yesterday at the garden party. Any ideas for a gift that might assuage hurt feelings?”
Ned scratched his head. “It can’t be too personal.”
“I know that much. I took her a basket of food a while back for a similar reason, so that’s out.”
Ned chuckled. “So you’ve made a habit of offending this lady, have you?”
“You might say that, although never intentionally.”
“Flowers?”
Hugh shook his head. “No. She has a profusion of them in her garden.”
Ned tipped his cup and swallowed the remainder of his tea. “One of the barn cats has a new litter of kittens. Would she like one?”
“That’s a thought, although she’s got a puppy. Are the kittens old enough to be separated from their mother?”
“They’re getting underfoot quite regularly, so I’d say so. Probably about six or seven weeks old.”
“That’s it, then. A kitten. Although I suppose she could refuse it.”
“She could, especially if her dog takes it in dislike. May I assume the lady is Miss Broxton?”
Hugh laughed. “I trust you to keep my confidence.”
Ned got to his feet. “Certainly. I’ll leave you to your correspondence and get back to work.”
Before Ned left, Hugh said, “How are the new hires?”
“Good workers. There’s one who’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder. It may be his way of adjusting to a new job and his fellow workers, but we should keep an eye on him.”
“Possibly, but we don’t want a troublemaker about. Let me know if we need to speak to him.”
Ned nodded and left.
Hugh remained, gazing out the window and musing. A kitten. Would the gift of a kitten make up for what he’d said to Eleanor at the garden party? She’d gently urged him toward reconciling with Deborah and Adam, and that had set him off. A mere week after he’d vowed to let go of the past and the pain it had caused him. He was a damned fool.
Perhaps, instead of vowing to renounce the past, he should take some actual steps toward doing so.
…
Eleanor was working on a gathered bodice when her father knocked at the cottage door. “Papa!” she said, genuinely happy to see him. She’d been making little progress with her sewing, since with every poke of her needle she pictured Hugh Grey’s face. Both his vulnerable look and the furious one that had replaced it.
Sir William bowed. “Good morning, Norrie. Jane.” Her father had an old-fashioned courtesy about him that Eleanor found endearing.
She rose from her work and kissed his cheek. “What brings you here?”
“May we sit outside, my dear?” he said, tilting his head toward the door. “You will pardon us, Jane.”
When they were settled on the bench, he spoke. “If you can spare the time, I thought we could ride out to the Abbots’ together. We can see Lili, and I will talk to Abbot and set him straight on a few things. What do you think?”
Eleanor could hardly spare the time, but she would never turn down a chance to see Lili. And it was especially important for her father to speak to Jacob Abbot. “Give me a half hour. I’ll finish up and meet you at the stables.” A thought occurred to her. “Is Mama joining us?”
Sir William’s face drooped, indicating to his daughter that there had been a row about it. “No.”
Of course not. What had she been thinking? A short time later, Eleanor set out on the path leading to her family home. Her two assistants didn’t know about Lili, and Eleanor never explained her occasional absences. As their employer, she was not obliged to do so. Nor did they have the right to question her—and they never had. They were good girls, Jane and Minnie. Eleanor considered herself lucky to have such talented seamstresses, and worthy friends, working for her.
They rode in the carriage, a venerable old conveyance that had seen more elegant days. The squabs were cracked, the seat covers worn, and it could no longer be described as well-sprung. But Eleanor’s father had an attachment to it and insisted he would use it as long as the wheels continued turning. It got them to the Abbots’ in good time, which was all Eleanor cared about. She’d brought Bobby along, since Lili loved to play with him.
The footman set down the steps, and Sir William alighted first. As he was helping Eleanor down, Abbot strode up, emerging from somewhere near the stables.
“Sir William. Miss Broxton. I reckon you’re here to see the little girl.”
“Good morning, Abbot. You assume correctly. Can you take us inside, please?”
Eleanor noted Abbot’s lack of combativeness with Sir William. The man would never have admitted her without an argument. They found Lili in the parlor with Abbot’s wife, who was pacing back and forth, jiggling the child against her chest. Lili sounded fretful, emitting little jagged cries.
“She’s got a fever,” Mrs. Abbot said. “She was up and down during the night.”
Lili lifted her head and looked at Eleanor. A tiny smile flickered, and she reached out for her mother. Eleanor gathered her up and sat down on the sofa. When she placed her cheek on Lili’s forehead, heat radiated against her skin. “She’s very warm. Is she coughing?”
“Not so far. She’s just been restless and cranky.”
Sir William rested his hand atop Lili’s head. “Poor little one.” Then, turning to Abbot, he said, “I’d like a word. Is there somewhere private we can speak?”
“Outside all right?”
“That will be fine.”
After the two men left, Lili wanted down to pet Bobby, and Eleanor thought it would do no harm to allow it. Relieved to see that the other woman sported no new bruises, Eleanor said, “How are you, Edith?”
“I’m all right. A little tired, because of the pregnancy. I’m trying to rest when Lili does.”
“Good. Getting up with her during the night can’t be easy.”
“No, but it doesn’t happen most nights.”
“While Sir William and your father are talking, why don’t you lie down? I’ll look after Lili.”
Edith hesitated. “I don’t know. Jacob doesn’t like me lying about during the day.”
Because he’s a brute.
“I promise to alert you when I hear their voices. At least you can get off your feet for a few minutes.”
After Edith left the room, Eleanor lowered herself to the floor and played with Lili and Bobby until the child began to fuss. She had been rubbing at her ear, and Eleanor wondered if she might have an earache. She’d been prone to them herself as a girl. After a moment, she picked Lili up and settled onto the rocking chair. After a time, rubbing the child’s back and whispering soothing words sent her off to sleep. If Lili’s earaches were at all like those she’d suffered as a child, the worst was yet to come. There would be hours more of pain, followed by nausea and sometimes vomiting. Eleanor resented the fact that she wouldn’t be able to nurse Lili through this. A mother should not be separated from her child because of the dictates of Society.
Before leaving, she would check with Edith to make certain Lili’s foster mother knew the remedies for earaches. Eleanor was beginning to feel sleepy herself when she heard her father’s voice and Jacob Abbot’s much louder one. Hastily, she rose and went to rouse Edith. No sooner had she shaken the woman awake than her husband was calling for her. Bellowing was a more apt description.
“Be right there,” Edith said groggily.
Eleanor grasped her arm to keep her from hurrying off. “Edith, do you know what to do for an earache?”
“What? Why…?”
“Because I think that’s what is wrong with Lili. Warm compresses help the pain. And have you any willow bark, or another herb to lower her fever?”
“Willow bark, I think.”
“Good. Steep it in some tea and try to get her to drink it. It won’t be easy. Put some honey in it, and give it to her in spoonfuls. It should lower her fever and ease the ache, and she’ll probably fall asleep.” Edith nodded, and Eleanor, still carrying Lili, followed her out to the hallway.
The two men were waiting, her father’s manner ill at ease, and Abbot glaring, looking like a volcano about to erupt. Eleanor ignored him and said, “Papa, I think Lili has an earache. Do you remember when I had them as a girl?”
“No, love, but it’s mothers who recall these things. Are you ready to go?”
So much for any sympathy from that quarter. Eleanor sighed and passed Lili into Edith’s waiting arms. “Call for a physician if she’s not better tomorrow. We will, of course, assume the cost.”
Abbot snorted. “We never have a physician for any of our ailments. They pass eventually.”
Eleanor struggled to remain composed. “That may be, Mr. Abbot, but Lili is a child, a baby still, and illnesses are harder on them and can lead to complications. Pray do as I ask.”
Abbot nodded, his jaw clamped shut.
On the drive home, Sir William told Eleanor about his conversation with the man. “He did not like being called to account, but he swore he’d be more cooperative in the future. I reminded him that we’re paying them well to look after Lili.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “And Abbot reminded me that they’ve kept the secret by pretending Lili was their orphaned niece. We must be grateful for that.”
“He did not demand more money?”
“He must have reconsidered. Wise of him.”
“Hmm.” Eleanor despaired over the whole arrangement. Some days it made her sick inside, and this was one of them. “I resent feeling beholden to him for anything. What are the chances he’ll keep his word?”
“I believe he needs the money, although he told me he’s lately found work as a carpenter on a building project. If you visit in the mornings, there’s an excellent chance he’ll be gone.” He hesitated a moment before saying, “On the whole, Norrie, I believe your fears about him are largely unfounded.”
She didn’t argue the point. Clearly, her father felt she was overwrought and too emotional regarding Lili. Eleanor didn’t have much experience with hate. But on the remainder of the drive home, she thought that was exactly what she felt for Jacob Abbot.