Isabella’s unwell feeling did pass within the day and, that evening, she told Lady Abigail all in the confines of her bedroom. Well, all but the one phrase spoken by Lord Bellfourd that would not seem to leave her.
The following week went on much the same. The only difference was that the article that Lady Lydia continued to hold over her carried no weight any more.
Not only had she found more courage in Lord Bellfourd's words, but she was also elated to hear that Lady Cunningham would be ending her visit earlier than expected. Instead of staying into and through the winter, she planned to leave over the next few weeks due to the fact that the Duke’s health hadn’t improved.
With Lady Lydia gone, Isabella would no longer have that dark cloud hanging over her and things could go back to the way they once were.
It seemed to Isabella like things were beginning to fall into place in the most wonderful ways.
That joy was not exclusive to Isabella, though. It was only a few days after Samhain that Betsy came bounding into Isabella’s room, breakfast tray in hand, with the brightest smile Isabella had ever seen.
“You look very high in spirits today,” Isabella said in greeting to her friend.
“Oh, and I am,” Betsy said setting down the tray and coming to sit upon Isabella’s bed, as they so often did while they exchanged information.
Isabella came to sit next to her, excited to hear what could have possibly brightened Betsy’s countenance so.
“I have spoken with Mr. Johnson again,” Betsy started.
Isabella shrieked with delight and clapped her hands excitedly.
“Oh, you must tell me everything,” Isabella encouraged. “I was so disappointed that I never met him the other night. Lord Bellfourd told me later that we were on his father’s farm.”
“In a lot o’ways I owe it to ye for it all,” Betsy started. “I knew well who’s farm was to host and had no plans to attend myself. When I saw that beautiful dress ye made me, I just had to go.”
“And he saw you, the fine lady, and was mesmerized at once,” Isabella encouraged with girlish excitement.
“I suppose so. He came up to me after the druid dance and tried to speak wi’me.”
“Tried?”
“Aye, I’d have nothin’ o’ it. He had ignored me all those weeks, so I was determined to do the same to him.”
“Then, the next day, I was going to town to fetch some herbs. Ye wasn’t the only one to have too much o’ the cider,” she said with a weak smile. “It gave me the collywobbles fierce and I needed some peppermint tea to calm myself.”
“Oh, Betsy, I’m so sorry. Here I was lying in bed, while you too were feeling ill. You should have told me and I would have found a way to hide you in my bed covers so you too could get some rest.”
“Dinna fash,” she said with a wave of her hands. “You didn’t know it was so strong and at least had an excuse for bein’ worse the day after. I’ve been drinkin’ that stuff since I was a wee lass. I knew what too much would do to me, but did it anyway.”
“But you will never guess who came running out of his barn as I passed by his fence.”
“I would have to say one Alden Johnson.”
“Yer right! He came runnin’ out the barn and asked if he could walk me to town. I told him he was free to walk to town anytime he wanted, didn’t mean I had to speak with him none. It was right braw,” she ended with satisfaction.
“Well, he did walk with me. He didn’t wait for me to let him, just spilled it all out. Said he was told that I had taken a shinin’ to o’nother. Said it near broke his heart.”
“And he was so broken hearted he started to spend time with Sally instead,” Isabella replied skeptically.
“Well, I said the very same thing to him. Apparently, Sally is his cousin,” she added with a giggle.
“No,” Isabella gasped.
“Aye. I was so mad at the both of ‘em I never spoke with Sally again from that day on. Come to find out their mothers are sisters and them two grew up good friends. When he was down in the basket, she was his shoulder to cry on.”
“Oh, how comical. It sounds like it was right out of a Shakespearean play.”
“Well, it’s all on account of ye and the fine dress ye made. Without it, I’d never gone. Now, Mr. Johnson says he doesn't want to risk me getting away again.”
“Oh, how glorious! Of course, I’ll miss you dreadfully when you go, but I’m so happy for you.”
“I suspect it won’t be 'till next spring that we are married, so ye don’t have to worry that I’ll be running off right away.”
“A spring wedding. That will be so beautiful.”
“I plan to wear the dress ye gave me. I don’t expect much fancy, but I hope it will be bonnie enough, though.”
“You will look just like an angel coming into that church, spring flowers around your veil. That Mr. Johnson is a lucky man.”
Both girls continued to giggle, forgetting all about breakfast and the day they had ahead of them.
Betsy was just leaving Isabella’s room, remembering herself, as Mrs. Peterson came marching down the hall.
“I don’t know what you two think you are about, but in this house, I expect promptness without dawdling!”
Mrs. Peterson glared at each one fiercely. Her bun pulled so tight against her head that Isabella was almost certain it gave her whole face the look of stretched leather.
“Wur tearin’ the tartan and got a little lost for time is all,” Betsy explained. “We meant no harm by it.”
“Whether you meant to harm or not, you are late. You should be halfway through cleaning your rooms by now. And you, Miss Watts,” Mrs. Peterson turned in Isabella’s direction. “You have already delayed your pupil one day. Is it really necessary to keep Miss Jacqueline’s education waiting yet again?”
“We are sorry, Mrs. Peterson. As Betsy said, there was no malicious intent behind it. Betsy had some good news to share, is all,” Isabella said, looking to her friend with a smile.
“Good news shall be had on your own time,” Mrs. Peterson spat back bluntly before turning on her heels.
Both ladies were left in the hall listening to the jingle of Mrs. Peterson’s keys as she walked away.
“Oh my, even the iron at her skirt side seems angry with us today,” Isabella commented.
It sent the girls into another fit of giggles, which they quickly stifled and went on their way about their business.
Isabella spent the remainder of her day in the company of her pupil, closed up in the school room. The weather outside was right “dreich,” in Mrs. Murray’s words.
Isabella could guess the meaning was something like drab and full of rain. It never seemed to break for the whole of the day. Between that and the much colder wind, Isabella could see no way for her to take Jackie outside.
By the end of afternoon tea, Jacqueline was itching for any new change of venue. It was hard for Isabella to take her much around the house for fear of interrupting the household and their guests.
Lady Lydia detested Jacqueline almost as much as she disliked Isabella. For that reason, as part of Isabella’s compliance conditions, she was not to distract the household any longer with such things as jars of bugs.
With the main portion of the manor unavailable to them, Isabella was struggling to come up with a change of scenery to appease her wards restlessness.
“I have an idea,” Isabella finally said when Jackie moaned at the thought of taking out her slate and chalk yet again for her arithmetic.
“I would like to take you to a place where you will see a very practical use for the fraction we are learning. We will have to do it very quietly, however. Mrs. Peterson would not be pleased at all.”
The idea of leaving the schoolroom and defying Mrs. Peterson, all in one moment, was almost more than the child could bear.
“Alright, let us first change you into an older frock. It may get a tad bit messy, and I would hate to ruin such a fine rose-colored dress.”
Jacqueline excitedly changed her dress, with Isabella’s help, and together they quietly walked down the long walkway that led to the end of the west wing.
It had been so long since Isabella had made this journey last, but she remembered it well. There, at the end, were stairs leading up as well as stairs leading down. They led all the way to the servants’ floor and were, Isabella hoped, far enough removed as to not be noticed by Mrs. Peterson.
They stepped very slowly and cautiously, much like Peter Rabbit sneaking away from Mr. McGregor. Often, they would step on a creaking board with their silken slippers and Jackie would have to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.
Twice, they ducked around a corner as they made their way through the servants’ quarters so as not to be seen. Finally, they arrived at Isabella’s plan destination, the kitchen.
The room was full of bustle as kitchen maids scurried about, stirring pots and kneading doughs. Jacqueline stood amazed at all the excitement right below her own feet that she had not been privy to.
“And what might you two be doing in here?” a merry voice called from across the room.
It was Mrs. Frederickson, the household cook. Though she was tall and gangly, she was also as jolly as St. Nick himself. Isabella had sat with her on a few occasions in the dining hall for a late-night snack.
Mrs. Frederickson had even told her wondrous tales of when Lord Bellfourd was just a lad and had snuck into the kitchen, just as he mentioned on their first meeting. She laughed heartily as she explained that Lord Bellfourd had thought himself a real Robin Hood, dashing about the kitchen and stealing the sweets. He never considered that they all saw him and knew very well what he was doing.
“Well, Mrs. Frederickson,” Isabella said, making her way across the kitchen with Jackie in tow. “Jackie, here, is having a hard time grasping her fractions. I was told that you were making some Shrewsbury cakes and thought maybe we could help?”
“How would sweet biscuits teach me my fractions?” Jacqueline asked.
“Well,” Mrs. Frederickson said, putting a finger to the side of her narrow nose, “if you have to ask, then I suppose you do need a lesson in fractions. Come with me, little miss,” she waved her hand for the two to follow her. “I will show you all my secrets to make the best Shrewsbury’s that melt right in your mouth.”
A half-hour later, the dough was mixed and both Isabella and Jacqueline were wholly covered in flour.
“Now, you see,” Mrs. Frederickson continued in her lesson, strangely without a crumb or dusting of flour on her own apron. “We must take this dough and make twenty-four small biscuits out of it. They must all be equal in size, as well,” Mrs. Frederickson cautioned.
“Now you try it first, Miss Jacqueline,” she encouraged.
For a few moments, Jackie pulled out bits of dough, rolling them into balls and lining them up. As she went, some were big, others too small. Soon, she ran out of dough before completing the task. She sighed in disappointment.
“It was a very noble effort,” Mrs. Frederickson encouraged. “But I have a better plan. Gather the dough all back up into one.”
Jackie did as she was bid.
“Now, we are going to roll it out into a large square,” Mrs. Frederickson said doing the work with the skill of a professional.
“You could try it your way, of picking and guessing if it’s enough, or we could divide the dough out evenly.”
Mrs. Frederickson returned with a knife and cut the dough equally in half.
“You see this way, every time we cut it, all the pieces get equally smaller until we have the number we want.”
Later that evening, just before supper, Jacqueline presented a plate of perfectly equal Shrewsbury cakes to Mrs. Murray for tasting.
“I dinna ken what looks better to eat, the biscuit or you,” Mrs. Murray said, brushing some flour from Jackie's cheek with her handkerchief.
“The biscuits, Nursie, you must try the biscuits!” Jackie replied, bursting with excitement.