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“Mr. Selwood?” Miss Lynn’s voice came out from the drawing room like the grating of slate against sand.
Mr. Walker glanced down the hall toward the library where Mr. Selwood had disappeared. He took a deep breath and entered the drawing room. Sarah peered around the door.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Selwood is not feeling well today,” the butler explained. “He will not be able to attend you. He sends his sincerest regrets.” Mr. Walker bowed low.
Mr. Selwood had said no such thing, but Mr. Walker made it sound quite believable.
“He was just here.” Miss Lynn waved her closed fan about as if looking for something to swat.
He bowed again.
“Well, I never,” said the elder woman. She let out a disapproving grunt and hoisted herself off the settee.
“Allow me to see you out,” said Mr. Walker.
No wonder no one came to visit. It was yet another case of Mr. Selwood tossing things carelessly about. Sarah shook her head as she rushed up the stairs. She could hear the cries of Rose before she even opened the door.
“Oh dear,” she said as she hurried in. The child was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her face, her nose running like a cow’s. Sarah gathered her into her arms and held her close, rocking forward and back on the bed. “There, there. I know you must have been frightened, waking up alone. But you’re safe here, yeh?”
The child whimpered.
“Mr. Selwood put me in charge, and I’m going to take good care of you, do you hear? I won’t leave you, I promise. It’s a big house, so even if I’m not in sight, you don’t need to worry. I’ll always come back.”
Rose repeated the words in a tiny whisper. “Always come back.”
Sarah looked into Rose’s face. “So you can talk.”
Rose did not respond, but she grasped a fistful of Sarah’s frock and clung to it. This poor child. She was clearly old enough to understand what had happened to her—abandoned on a stranger’s door. Was it her mother who’d left her here? Something dreadful must have happened in her short life to find herself disposed of in such a manner. Maybe someday Sarah could convince her to talk about it, but for now it seemed what the child needed most was love.
That was something Sarah could give. She stroked the dark hair—which had now lost all its curl—and sang the song her mother used to sing. “Hush a bye, lie still and sleep, it grieves me sore to see thee weep. For when thou weep’st it worries me. Hush a bye, lie still and be.”
Rose’s cries stopped, and she simply sat there on Sarah’s lap on the bed. Sarah could not see her face fully, just the long dark lashes that blinked now and then and her little button nose between them.
Sarah had few memories of her own family, orphaned so young as she was. It was a fever, the vicar had told her, that had taken both her parents. Her father she barely recalled. But she remembered her mother’s bright blue eyes and deep red hair. And if she closed her eyes tightly and really concentrated, she could see her mother smiling at her with a shocking amount of love as she sang the lullaby. Whether that memory was true or only wished for, she could not say.
Had this girl ever had that kind of love directed at her? Sarah hoped so, but how could it be possible to be loved and abandoned at the same time?
Sarah would not be at Banwick House forever, but she would do her best to give the child something to hold on to, though it could never mean the same not coming from her actual mother.
#
Sarah spent the following days getting Rose cleaned up, fed, and situated in her new life. She glimpsed Mr. Selwood only once during that time—mostly because she and Rose used the servant’s stairs to keep themselves invisible. That should make Mrs. Walker happy.
Though Rose said very little, she was obedient and understood well. Sarah began to suspect Rose was older than what she had first assumed by her size. Perhaps even four or five.
Sarah sat at the window in the Stewart room while Rose played with a doll Sarah had crafted out of some old stockings. The day was fine, and Sarah was desperate for some fresh air. A robin sang a lilting tune from a copse of trees, and a gentle breeze whispered through the beeches.
She’d worked inside the house and hadn’t had time as a housemaid to explore the garden. Nor had she thought she had permission, as it seemed they were for the use of the owner. But Rose was a ward, so wouldn’t she have license to roam freely? Perhaps an inquiry was in order.
Sarah stood outside the library door and knocked. She stationed Rose on the opposite wall, just out of sight. “Wait here.”
“Enter,” came his voice from inside.
She lifted the latch and walked in. Up until the arrival of Rose, Sarah had come to this room only early in the morning to remove the old coal dust and fill the fire grate with new coals, ready to light should Mr. Selwood feel a chill. Most days, like today, he did not light the fire.
He was sitting at the desk on one end of the long, narrow room, studying some papers in front of him. Columns of stray books littered the floor, and papers overflowed off his desk. He did not look up. “Yes?”
“I was wondering, sir, if it would be all right with you if I take Rose outside to explore the grounds.”
The moment she had started speaking, his head came up. It seemed he had not expected the knock to come from her. He did not answer.
She curtsied, once again too late. “I think the child is adjusting well and some air might do her good. Of course, if you don’t want your grounds disturbed, we can just as well stay in our room and sit by the open window. But it’s such a fine day, and the robin song is calling, begging me to come out.”
“The robin?”
“Aye, and the wood pigeon. Such a funny bird, trying so hard to sound like an owl. They woke me every morning, woo-wooing from the fir trees, when I was at Harleigh’s School for Girls. And, well, I thought it would be nice if little Rose could hear it too. And see where the calls are coming from. Nothing sounds so much like home as the robin and the wood pigeon. Every time I hear it, it’s like I’m a child again.”
He stared at her so long, she had to lower her eyes. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to ask. He clearly did not want to be disturbed.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” she said. “I’m sure you’re very busy. So perhaps just a nod of the head yes or no and I will be out of your way?”
At that moment, Rose entered the room. She hurried across the floor, where she promptly concealed most of her tiny self behind Sarah’s skirt.
“Do you want to go outside?” Mr. Selwood finally spoke, but not to Sarah, to Rose.
The girl’s dark eyes peeked at him over the fistfuls of fabric.
Sarah pointed at Mr. Selwood. “This is the man responsible for you now, so show him what a big girl you are and answer.”
Rose nodded. Which was more than Sarah had expected from her.
Mr. Selwood looked back at Sarah. “You are the governess and may take the child wherever you see fit. You need not ask.”
Sarah was doing no better as a governess than she’d done as a maid. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you.”
She took Rose’s hand and turned to leave.
“Miss Woolsey.”
She paused.
“I am not bothered,” he said quietly. He sounded almost regretful, and Sarah glanced back.
Then, to Sarah’s great astonishment, Rose let go of her hand and trotted across the highly polished floorboards and around his desk until she stood right next to Mr. Selwood. He stared at her as if she were some fantastical creature not yet discovered by science.
Rose grabbed onto his breeches and tugged. “Come?”
Mr. Selwood’s pen fell from his hand, and he looked like a rabbit cornered by a fox.
Sarah hurried forward and removed Rose’s hand. “Come along, Rose. Mr. Selwood is busy, and we must not distract him.”
She took Rose and headed for the door. But something—perhaps the tug of Rose’s small hand as she looked back at Mr. Selwood or the way Rose had mustered the courage to ask him to come—made her look back.
Before Sarah had time to think better of it, she turned and said, “Unless . . . you would care to join us. You should know that it is rare for Rose to speak aloud like that. She wants you to come.”
His eyes went to Rose, then to the papers on his desk.
“The birds are begging for us to come out. Don’t you want to come?” Sarah motioned toward the window.
“Come with us,” whispered Rose in a voice tinier than the mew of a newborn kitten.
Mr. Selwood pushed his chair back and rose. His eyes met Sarah’s, and he seemed surprised to find himself on his feet. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps a chance to stretch my legs . . .”
He followed them as they walked down the hall and out the door. The sunshine warmed Sarah’s arms and the back of her neck. She pointed toward the grove of trees in the rear of the garden, a little wilderness in an otherwise perfectly sculpted landscape. Rose trotted a few steps ahead of her. Mr. Selwood followed a few steps behind. She slowed her pace until she was alongside him. If anything, he should be the one in front; he was the master.
He spoke as little as Rose. It was clear that if this was not going to be a wordless outing, it was up to her.
She tipped her head back, leaning into the heat. “Don’t you just love the sun on an early spring morning? When the sky is clear and the air is still crisp and the heat soaks into your bones. All winter it’s as if I forget how it feels to be warm, and then comes a day like this where there’s not a cloud in the sky, and I can turn my face to the sun and drink up new life.”
He watched her with a curious look. “I never thought about it like that.”
“Do it like this,” she said, demonstrating how she leaned back with her eyes closed so that her eyelids glowed with the warmth. “You try.”
Rose had been listening, and she followed suit. Tipping her head back with her eyes pinched tight, sighing like Sarah had.
Rose peeked open one eye and checked on Mr. Selwood. He quickly closed his eyes and directed his face at the sun. He stood thus for several moments, until his countenance gradually transformed from a man with a stern brow and a set chin to a youth with glowing cheeks and soft lines of laughter around his eyes.
Sarah could not look away. He’d never looked so handsome, which was quite a feat. He was still very young, younger than she’d imagined. Too young to be alone in the world with the burden of a house and lands and tenants and now a ward to manage. Too young to have already lost the pleasure of living.
He opened his eyes and caught her staring. “You are right. I do feel better. Thank you, Miss Woolsey.”
“My pleasure,” she said, and she truly meant it.
She had gone far beyond the realms of invisible, but perhaps there was something to be said for visibility. For Mr. Selwood looked like a completely different person than the one who had looked up at her when she’d entered his library.
A low cooing drifted across the grass and over the hedges of lavender and boxwood. She guided Rose along toward the trees. This time Mr. Selwood did not lag behind but stayed beside them.
“Do you hear that? It is the wood pigeon.” She pointed so Rose could find it. “See him up there in the tree with the white collar round his neck?”
Rose followed where Sarah was pointing until she also saw the bird. Then she turned to Mr. Selwood and pointed.
“There it is,” he said.
Sarah led Rose toward an old oak tree where a robin was building a nest in a gap of ivy growing thickly around the trunk. The little bird flitted here and there with a clump of moss in its beak.
“That is the robin red-breast,” Sarah said, pointing to the busy bird.
Rose squinted her eyes, and then a little “oh” escaped her lips. She turned and pointed at it also so that Mr. Selwood might see. He nodded and Rose smiled. It might have been the first time Sarah had seen her smile.
Sarah looked at Mr. Selwood and motioned toward Rose, mimicking Rose’s huge smile in order to convey to Mr. Selwood the great importance of this moment. Mr. Selwood didn’t seem to get her meaning, for he did not look at Rose at all, but kept his eyes on Sarah.
Another robin landed on a low branch and opened its narrow beak. A loud yet gentle warble danced on the air like the flight of a butterfly.
“Do you know how the robin got its red breast?” Sarah asked Rose.
The girl looked up at her, her dark eyes round and bright, but always guarded.
“The vicar told me once that long ago, robins didn’t have a red breast. They were just plain brown. But when Christ was hanging on the cross, a robin landed beside him and sang to comfort him. Some of Christ’s blood stained the robin’s chest, and ever since then, they have been robin red-breasts.”
Rose immediately turned to Mr. Selwood. He was right behind them, barely a step away. Rose pointed at Sarah.
“I heard her,” he assured the child. “I did not know that such a miraculous thing had happened.”
Rose smiled again. It seemed Mr. Selwood’s glorious face had captured the heart of yet another female admirer.
“Miss Woolsey knows quite a lot about nature,” he said.
“The vicar came to Harleigh’s School for Girls often. He has great interest in the natural world and taught us many things.”
“The vicar of where, might I ask?”
Sarah bit her lips. If he found out where she was from, he might learn other things she would give her two front teeth to forget. “My parents died from a fever when I was a child. The vicar was a kindly man and managed to secure me a place in Harleigh’s School for Girls rather than sending me to an orphanage.”
“And he paid for your schooling?”
“I wasn’t completely destitute. My father was successful in his business and left behind enough to pay for most of the fees. But nothing beyond.”
“And this is why you are a maid.”
Sarah pursed her lips at him. “I’m not a maid, sir. I am a governess. I’m surprised you forgot already.”
He let out a snort of a laugh. “Well, then, Miss Governess, how are the lessons going? Does the child take well to book learning?”
“Rose. Her name is Rose.” She’d not heard him use her proper name since she came here. “We don’t really have any books, sir. I wanted to ask if it would be all right if I borrow some from your library. We haven’t been able to have any proper lessons without supplies.”
“Supplies?”
She nodded, counting off on her fingers as she spoke. “Slates, readers, books on subjects like writing, arithmetic, and history, and of course if we want her to be accomplished, we’ll need materials for needlework, a primer for the pianoforte, books on moralities and French. There’s no reason why in today’s modern world she can’t—”
A cry came from Rose. Sarah spun around. She’d been so immersed in her conversation with Mr. Selwood, she hadn’t noticed Rose had wandered into the underbrush. Now the girl burst into tears, and the robin that had been so happily singing flew off with a flutter of wings.
Sarah took one step toward her, but Mr. Selwood called out, “Stop. There are nettles in there—you’d best take care. I’ll get her out.”
Mr. Selwood stepped into the foliage. Rose wasn’t all that far in, but the nettles grew high all around. Sarah had been stung many times previously by the jagged leaves. It burned a little, and the itchy feeling lingered for a day or so, but it was mostly the surprise of the first sting that gave the shock. Mr. Selwood’s Hessians protected him completely.
He reached Rose in only a few strides, but rather than picking her up, he stood there, staring at her. She reached her arms up to him, ready to be lifted out. Still he did not move. It was as if he’d been suddenly turned to ice by one of the witches of the north one reads about in fairy tales. His eyes were on Rose, but his body seemed unable to move.