Читать книгу Winter Is Past - Ruth Morren Axtell - Страница 10

“Miss Althea, what did you do before you came here?”

Althea looked up from studying the puzzle pieces on the lap table between them. She had soon discovered that Rebecca quickly tired of whatever activity she found for them to do and preferred to spend her time chatting.

“I worked with children, many your age.” She smiled across at the girl lying back against her voluminous pillows. “But none quite like you.”

Rebecca smiled in return. “What did you do with them? The same as with me?”

Althea straightened, easing the muscles in her shoulders. “Not quite the same thing. You see, these children don’t live as you do here. Many have no home.”

Rebecca’s dark eyes widened into pools of wonder. “They don’t? Where do they live, then?”

“Wherever they can. Some find shelter in a doorway at night, or inside a crate. Some band together and live in an abandoned building. Some find a sort of protection with an adult. Unfortunately that protection comes at a price.” She answered Rebecca’s look of bewilderment. “The adult obliges them to work for them. It usually involves dishonest work, such as stealing.”

“Stealing?”

Althea nodded. “Children are quicker than adults. They can be trained to steal someone’s pocketbook or watch.”

“Doesn’t the person know it?”

“No. The children are so quick and light-handed, the victim doesn’t feel a thing. ’Tis only later, when they reach for their purse to pay for something, or need to take a look at their watch to see the hour, that they realize these items are gone. By then the children are far away.”

“What do the children do with the things they steal?”

“They have to give everything to their protector. That person sells everything to another person. One who doesn’t care that the items are stolen.”

Rebecca mulled over this information for a few minutes. “What do you do with the children, Miss Althea?”

Althea laid down the piece she had been trying to fit in the puzzle. “I work with a small group of people who want to help these children. We have a place we call a mission. It’s a building where all people, not just children, can come if they need a home. We give food to those who haven’t enough to eat. We provide schooling for the children who haven’t any school to go to. We have a small infirmary for those who are sick and haven’t anyone to care for them.”

“Did you do all those things?”

Althea laughed. “No, not by myself. I do a little bit of everything. I work wherever I’m needed—sometimes in the school, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes tending the sick. That’s why your papa hired me to come here. He knew—or he was told—that I could nurse you when you weren’t feeling well.”

Rebecca digested this. “Why did you leave that place? Didn’t the people need you anymore?”

Althea hesitated. “No. The people still need care. But there are others working there. I wasn’t the only one.” She picked up a puzzle piece and tried it with another. It didn’t fit. “I came to you because I felt this is where I should be.”

Rebecca looked at her as if not completely satisfied. “How did you know about me?”

“My brother told me. He and your father used to be very close friends when they were boys.”

“Is that true? How did they meet?”

“At school. They were a little older than you, but they were both far from home and a bit lonely, I suspect. Anyway, from what my brother, Tertius, has told me, they became very good friends.”

“Why haven’t I ever met you, then?”

“Well, my brother went away for many years, so he and your father didn’t see each other for a long, long time. It’s just recently that they met again.”

“And that’s when Abba told you about me!”

“In a way. Your papa and my brother started talking of all the things that had happened to them while they were apart. Your papa told my brother all about you—how smart you were, how lovely, how—” As Althea searched for another adjective, Rebecca finished for her.

“How I had no mama?”

Althea closed her mouth and nodded at Rebecca. The little girl’s tone did not sound sad, merely matter-of-fact. “He said he needed someone to look after you while he was at work.”

Instead of pursuing the subject of her mother, Rebecca’s mind went back to the children. “Didn’t you mind leaving the children to come here?”

“It was difficult for me to leave the children.” She smoothed the coverlet under her hand. “I love them and I know they still need me.” She smiled at Rebecca’s serious expression. “I could never have left them if I didn’t know so certainly that the Lord wanted me to come here for a while, to be with you as long as you need me.”

After a little consideration, Rebecca replied, “I’m sorry you had to leave the children, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too. Why don’t you help me find another piece in this puzzle? Look, I think this piece goes here.” Althea handed the girl a piece and indicated the area where she’d been working. Rebecca tried the piece and after a few attempts, got it in.

“It’s part of the lion’s head!” The emerging scene showed a train of jungle animals marching through a forest of palm trees and other foreign-looking vegetation. After her initial excitement, Rebecca lost interest in the puzzle again.

“Have you always lived at this mission?”

Althea glanced at Rebecca, unsurprised at her continued questioning. She’d become accustomed to it in the time she’d spent with the girl and was beginning to understand that her active mind more than made up for the inactivity of her body.

“No, I’ve only lived there, let’s see, almost six years.”

“Where did you live before?”

“I grew up in a big house surrounded by lots of parks and forests,” she said with a smile, picturing the estate in Hertfordshire.

“Is that where you helped Cook with the tarts?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile deepening. “I think I spent more time in the kitchen than with the family. Except in summer, when I was outside every chance I got.”

“Didn’t you have a mama, either?”

Althea glanced at Rebecca, surprised by her perception. “No, my mama died, too, when I was very young. I was probably about the same age as you,” she added, “just a babe, when I lost her. So, I don’t remember her at all.”

“I don’t remember my mama, either. Who took care of you if you had no mama?”

“A nice lady and gentleman. They became my guardians. They were very good to me.”

Rebecca considered for a moment. “Did they become your brother’s guardians, too?”

Althea looked down at her hands, considering how to reply. “No. They were his real parents. I—I just came to consider him as my brother, since we grew up together.” Better that than get into the complicated truth of the actual relationship. “I had another brother, too, but he just recently passed away.”

“That’s too bad,” the girl said softly. “It must be nice to have brothers. I have lots of cousins but no brothers. Mama died too soon.”

Althea was silent.

Rebecca soon brightened again as a new thought occurred to her. “Did this brother know my abba, too?”

Althea smiled. “I daresay not. I believe your papa and Tertius—that is, the younger of my brothers—were only together in school. I don’t remember your papa ever visiting us over holiday.” Now she wondered whether that had had anything to do with Simon’s being Jewish.

Tertius had never spoken of Simon. Althea had not realized what close friends they were until Tertius had pleaded on his friend’s behalf for his daughter.

She gave Rebecca’s hand a squeeze, acknowledging how close she had come to turning down his appeal. “The important thing is that the Lord had us meet now.”

That evening Simon glanced from his sleeping daughter’s bed to the sitting room door. Seeing the light shining through the door Miss Breton always left ajar, he approached it and tapped softly.

Hearing her bid him enter, Simon pushed open the door. He found her sitting by the fire, reading by lamplight. “Good evening, Miss Breton. I don’t wish to disturb you. I just wanted to ask you how Rebecca was today. I didn’t have a chance to see her before I went to the House.”

She marked her place in the black, leather-bound Bible. “Rebecca was fine.” She smiled, adding, “She became quite animated when she found out about the dinner party. I had to describe all the dishes to be served and go over the guest list with her.”

Simon smiled, feeling refreshed by her smile. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.” She stood, but he waved her back. “Please, stay put. I shall only linger a moment.” He sat in a chair before the fire and sighed, feeling ragged after hours of debate. “How are things coming with the arrangements?” he asked perfunctorily, not really interested at that moment in preparations for a dinner party. He wondered if he’d been mad to even contemplate such a thing. “Have you and Mrs. Coates had a chance to sit down together?”

She fingered the edges of the book in her lap. “Yes, we did. I think Mrs. Coates and Cook have things well under control. I believe all the replies have been received. There should be thirteen in attendance aside from yourself.”

He was thankful he’d put her in charge; maybe it wouldn’t be a complete fiasco. Why was it, when he could wield power from his bench in the House, he felt absolute terror at the thought of hosting those same men and their wives in his home for an evening?

Althea spoke again. “That is a good number for a dinner party, particularly if one hasn’t entertained in a while. It is better to start small.”

“Is that a small number?” he asked, doubts assailing him.

“No, not all. It is a good number, as I said, neither too small nor too large a party, so that you will be able to give your attention to each one of your guests.” She added, “Mrs. Coates has drawn up the seating arrangements. She will be seeing you about one or two names that remain in question as to rank.” She hesitated. “There is only one problem, as I see it.”

He looked inquiringly at her, wondering what else he must worry about.

“The gentlemen outnumber the women. We are lacking two females to make the numbers even.”

“Is that an unforgivable social blunder? I confess to having more male acquaintances than female. It comes from working in Parliament and not having had much time up to now to mingle in society.”

She nodded. “That is understandable. There is one other thing. You had expressed to Mrs. Coates the desire to have Lady Stanton-Lewis seated at your right. Since the Duke and Duchess of Belmont have sent their acceptance, I felt obliged to give them prominence. We placed Lord and Lady Stanton-Lewis just below them. Does that meet with your approval?”

He waved a hand, his mind wearied with questions of social etiquette. It had been a momentary whim to ask to be seated beside Lady Eugenia. Now he couldn’t care less. “Do whatever you deem appropriate. You are the expert on these matters.” Realizing Althea was really doing him an enormous favor in undertaking this responsibility, he tried to show some interest in the topic. “Will I be in disgrace for the uneven numbers?”

“Only with the very proper hostesses.”

He looked at her more closely, noting the humor in her eyes. He’d never shared a moment of humor with her. “Since I am probably not acquainted with them, I suppose I shall survive.”

“And give many more dinner parties,” she quipped.

He gave her a crooked smile, running a hand through his hair. “If my first proves not to be an unmitigated disaster.”

“Oh, I’m certain it shan’t be.”

Her tone was oddly comforting. Simon stretched out his legs before the fire, thinking of his earlier meeting with the chief whip. “I don’t know,” he began. “If my standing with my colleagues is any indication, I’ll be lucky if anyone shows up.” After Simon’s speech on the Corn Laws, the chief whip had taken him aside and given him a thorough dressing down, with warnings that came down directly from Liverpool himself, he intimated. If Simon didn’t toe the party line, he might find himself back in the upper tier. He had succeeded in his party because of his gift for oratory, but if he used it against his own party, he could forget about a junior lordship.

Simon sat in silence, gazing at the fire, contemplating this dilemma.

As if reading his thoughts, Miss Breton’s soft voice penetrated his hearing at last. “How…how are things in the House?”

He sighed deeply, giving her his attention once again. “Much debate and little real action. The Tories don’t want things to change.”

“But you…are you not a member of the Tory party yourself?”

“Oh, yes. The party in power,” he added with irony. “It doesn’t mean I agree with everything they stand for. I’m beginning to think I disagree with more and more each day.” He removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Words, words and more words. I used to enjoy them. Now it seems as if all we do is bicker and call each other names. We’re worse than a bunch of schoolboys at times. In the meantime, there are more men out of work each day, widows and children are going hungry, and those with work are rioting.”

“Yes, it does seem things have grown worse since the end of the war,” she agreed. “We all looked forward to peace with France, but since then, there are so many discharged soldiers and sailors. We see so many idle men around the mission, with nothing to do but drink.”

He looked at her in surprise, not having expected to be able to discuss these things with a woman, much less his daughter’s nurse. Yet, because of her work at the mission, he realized, she was probably the one who would best understand.

A whimper from the other room caused them both to turn. Miss Breton immediately arose, with Simon close behind her. She pushed aside the bed curtains and knelt by Rebecca’s pillow, feeling her forehead. It was hot.

“Althy…” moaned the girl, her head turning from side to side, her eyes still closed. “Oh, Althy, my head hurts so. My whole body hurts….”

“There, there,” she answered in soothing tones, smoothing the hair off her forehead. “Your papa’s here.”

Rebecca opened her eyes. “Abba, you came home.”

“Yes, dear.” Simon sat on the edge of the bed as Althea moved to the night table to measure out a dose of laudanum. Simon continued speaking in soft tones, stroking his daughter’s forehead as Althea had done, while she administered the medicine. The two of them stayed there until Rebecca finally fell asleep.

When they returned to the sitting room, too restless to sit again, Simon leaned against the back of his chair, his forearms against it, vaguely aware of Althea adding coal to the fire. The new chunks sizzled as they touched the red-hot ones beneath. He stood, staring at the glowing coals but not really seeing them.

Abruptly he looked at her as she brushed off her hands. “How often do you have to give her the laudanum?”

She met his dark gaze as she bit her underlip. At last she answered him softly, “Almost every night.”

At least she was honest with him. He grimaced. “It’s funny—since you came I’ve been sleeping through the nights, but it’s not because my daughter has been getting any better. She merely has a better nurse.”

Althea looked down at her hands.

“I would like to apologize for doubting your abilities, Miss Breton.”

She raised her head. “No apology is necessary. I only wish I could do more….” Her eyes had an appeal in them.

“You’ve made Rebecca happy. That’s all I can hope for.”

She continued looking at him, and he waited, wondering if there was something else she had to tell him about Rebecca. He was right.

“Your daughter needs something else to make her happy.”

“Name it, and I shall do all in my power to obtain it.”

“It doesn’t cost anything.” She smoothed her skirt. “Your daughter needs to know about God.” She clasped her small hands in front of her, her gaze resolute.

He just stared at her, not expecting that reply. A short, humorless laugh erupted from him as he rubbed his forehead with a hand. “Well, I have to admit, that is something I can’t give her.”

They fell silent. After a while, Althea said, “I would like your permission to read some Bible stories to Rebecca. I gather from my conversations with her that she receives no religious training, neither Jewish nor Christian. If you’d rather, I would just read to her from the Old Testament—”

He waved a hand, almost in relief at having this topic so easily solved. “Old, new, Tanakh, HaBrit Hachadashah—you have my permission to read her what you like. I was exposed to both as a lad, and you can see what little harm—or good—they did me.”

“Thank you” was all she answered.

She seemed satisfied and resumed her seat. Simon didn’t leave, but began to walk slowly about the room, one hand covering the other in a fist. He almost envied Miss Breton her faith. She had a cause she’d be willing to lose her job over, he’d wager. How clear and simple things must be for her.

He thought about her tenderness with his daughter just now in the other room. He wished he could do something for her to express his real gratitude. He finally stopped before her chair.

“I have been meaning to thank you for what you have done for Rebecca. She truly seems happier since you’ve been here.”

She looked up at him with a smile, and he suddenly saw the resemblance to her brother. They both had a sort of radiance.

“It is I who should be thanking you for giving me the opportunity to come here,” she said.

Simon didn’t reply right away but stood, considering her. On impulse he said, “I would like you to attend the dinner party next week.”

She opened her mouth in stupefaction. “Oh, no, sir! That is not at all necessary.”

“I know it isn’t. Still, I would like you in attendance.”

“Please, sir, I…I would rather not….”

He peered at her more closely, not understanding her reaction. Fool that he was, he had thought she’d be pleased, even flattered. Why hadn’t he recalled her own admission of her opinion of Jews? Annoyed at both himself and her, he said, “I don’t want to argue with you about this, but I really must insist that you attend. You are Lord Skylar’s sister, for goodness’ sake. Yes, I know, I know, his half sister.

“Furthermore, you are a lady in your own right, whether you choose to go by a title or not. I cannot have you not attend. I couldn’t face your brother ever again, for one thing, nor my own conscience, for that matter.”

Panic was visible in her eyes. “Mr. Aguilar, please don’t concern yourself with appearances. My brother will understand if I decline to attend a dinner party. He knows perfectly well why I am here in your employ. He would never expect you to—”

Simon waved his hand impatiently. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded! If I cared about appearances I would never have hired you in the first place.” His tone softened, sensing her aversion had nothing to do with him, but with some kind of fear on her part. “I merely thought perhaps you would enjoy an evening in polite society. You spend all your time in a little girl’s company. As much as I love my daughter, I know it must be draining to be in a sick child’s company twenty-four hours a day.”

Her voice was perfectly composed. “Thank you for your consideration, but believe me, it is completely unnecessary. I am perfectly content to sit here.”

He gave her an amused look, determined to get to the bottom of her refusal. “Do you always decline any and all overtures into society? Is that part of the reason you shut yourself away in the East End?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I know what you are—you are a reverse snob, are you not, running away from your own class?” He saw the dismay in her gray eyes and knew he had touched a nerve. “What are you afraid of? Possible contamination with sinners? You can’t expect me to believe you prefer to sit here alone night after night, hiding behind that gray governess garb. Is that the prescribed color of the Methodists, by the way? Is it the badge that proclaims them sin-free?”

She stared at him, her cheeks pink, her lips pressed together.

So there was a weakness there somewhere in her religious armor, thought Simon in satisfaction. She didn’t realize he was a master at finding a person’s vulnerability and exploiting it. He’d had to do so to survive. This time, however, he felt no satisfaction. Instead, her discomfort touched something in him. Suddenly he felt protective of her.

He pulled at his cravat, uncomfortable with the notion. All he’d wanted to do was repay her in some way. He’d ended up delving into something deeper that common sense told him was better left buried.

“If you can’t bring yourself to join the company for your amusement, you can always come to make yourself useful, pouring tea or something,” he ended in annoyance. “Think of it as helping me out. After all, you yourself said I needed a pair of ladies to even up the numbers.”

She said quietly, “Very well, I shall come to serve.”

He let out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Miss Breton, you try my patience.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that’s what you wanted. I shall attend your dinner party. Was there something else you required?”

He met her guileless gray eyes, and his frustration dissipated. He said gently, “I didn’t mean my invitation to sound like an order. Let me restate it. Please honor me with your presence. You have done so much for Rebecca already. I wished to express my gratitude to you in some small way, that is all.”

Once again her face flooded with color, although this time not in anger. She seemed embarrassed. “You needn’t feel obligated—I have done nothing extraordinary—”

“Please, Miss Breton, will you honor me with your presence—of your own free will?” The last words were said a bit awkwardly, as he was unused to entreating people. Then he smiled, wanting to tell her not to be afraid, he had faced a lot worse situations than a simple dinner party.

He could see the struggle in her features. Finally, she gave a small nod and looked away.

“Very well.”

After he left, Althea stood by the fire thinking about what her employer had said. Simon’s words had hit their mark, although he probably didn’t realize just how accurately. Did she indeed hide behind her simple gray dresses and pious acts? Why did she feel physically sick at the mere thought of reentering the world she had known all her life? Why was she so afraid of it? She knew it no longer had any power over her. She knew the Lord had set her free of its hypocritical standards.

She thought she had turned her back on it, following a different road the Lord had opened up for her. Had she in fact merely been running away?

If so, her appearance at this dinner party would be her first act of facing down her long-dormant fears.

“‘…And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?’” Althea made her voice speak the words solemnly and prophetically.

Rebecca took up her cue, responding in the queenly voice of Esther. “‘Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day: I also and my maidens will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law: and if I perish, I perish.’” Rebecca caused her puppet queen’s head to bow down on the last word, her fingers bringing the arms together against the queen’s breast.

The two had worked together the previous day fashioning the puppets for a presentation of Esther.

“What wonderful words—‘if I perish, I perish,’” sighed Rebecca, her own hand against her breast.

“It says here that on the third day Esther put on ‘her royal apparel, and stood in the inner court of the king’s house.’ We must fashion a properly royal gown for her,” Althea suggested.

“Oh, yes, a royal purple gown, velvet perhaps, with silk ribbons.”

“That sounds suitable. I shall consult Mrs. Coates about scraps of material.”

“Maybe you could cut up one of my old dresses.”

“I shouldn’t think we need go so far, but perhaps there are some ribbons you no longer use.”

“Oh, I have heaps of things. Let’s look in my cupboard.”

“Very well.” Althea moved to the dressing room adjoining the bedroom. Rebecca was correct. Dozens of dresses were hung up, little kid slippers and boots lined the bottom shelves. Cupboard drawers were piled to the top with petticoats and stockings.

“You could dress a whole neighborhood of children with these clothes,” she said, thinking of all the ragged children in the mission’s neighborhood.

Rebecca laughed. “Look at the green velvet dress. That used to be my favorite. When I was littler.”

Althea pulled out the dress and brought it to Rebecca, who put it up to herself. “I used to wear this to go to my grandmama and grandpapa’s. Now it is too short.”

“It is very pretty. Has it been very long since you went to your grandparents’?”

“No. I went to visit right before you arrived. Abba usually takes me for the holy days and sometimes for Shabbat. Grandmama always has lots of food. Mostly they visit me here, though.”

“Perhaps if you are feeling a little stronger, he can take you again soon.”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “And we could put on the puppet show for them!”

“Yes, that is an idea. You could write up some invitations, just as your papa has done for his dinner party.” Althea put a finger to her mouth. “I wonder where we can find a puppet theater?”

“Perhaps in my old nursery. That’s where I used to sleep, until I got ill then Abba decided to move me down here. This used to be his bedroom, you know. And Mama used to sleep where you are now sleeping. But that was long ago. I don’t remember that time.”

“I see.” So she and her charge were occupying the master suite. She had wondered at the size and splendor of the rooms and the presence of dressing rooms.

She returned to the dressing room and brought back some ribbons and a dress that looked absurdly small. “There seem to be clothes in here that go back to when you were an infant. I wonder if someone would mind if we cut this one up for the puppets.”

“Oh, I’m sure no one would mind. I shall ask Abba tonight.”

“Who goes over your wardrobe?”

Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. Mrs. Coates, but she hasn’t looked at my clothes in ages. The governess didn’t do anything about clothes.”

Althea considered. “I know some children who haven’t even one good outfit of clothes.”

“Really? Are they the ones at the mission?”

Althea sat back down by Rebecca’s bed. “Yes, and many more that live around it.”

Althea continued telling her about the children at the mission as she drew up some patterns for the queen puppet’s outfit. They had made her out of an old stocking stuffed for a head, sewed to a piece of cloth for body and arms.

“Tommy used to steal fruit from the market.” She spoke as she cut and sewed. “One night, he decided to break into the mission. He must have heard there were all kinds of things in it—food and books, even toys. Well, I hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and I had come downstairs because I was going to fix myself a cup of tea. I heard the sound of shattering glass.”

“Were you frightened?” Rebecca’s gaze was riveted to Althea’s face.

“A little, perhaps. I had known someone eventually would try to break in. You see, the house is in a part of London where there are many poor people.”

“Is it like Mayfair?”

Althea shook her head. “No, not on the outside, at least. The houses are old and haven’t been kept up. Many are boarded up because all the windows have long been broken. At night people shut themselves up because they are afraid of those around them.”

“Why do you live there? Is it because you are poor, too?”

“No, dear. I have great riches.” She smiled. “Like Esther.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Are you a queen?”

Althea laughed. “No, though sometimes I feel like a princess. My riches are invisible most of the time. But even though you cannot see them, they are more precious than all the gold in the world. And so, like Esther who knew God had sent her to help her people, I, too, want to share my riches with those who need them.”

“What are your riches like?”

Althea pursed her lips. “They bring life, for one thing. They bring freedom from fear. They bring joy.”

“How did you get these riches?”

“By believing in God’s goodness.” Althea hesitated. “By believing God looked down from Heaven and saw all the poor people—even some people who seem to be rich, even people who live in palaces—and felt compassion on them because they didn’t have any of these true riches. So, He decided to give them of these riches. He decided to send the very best of Himself to them, and if they received Him, they would receive these true riches.”

Rebecca pulled her coverlet up, excited by the story. “Did it work? Did the people believe?”

“Some did, but others didn’t. Some became so angry they killed the gift God sent.”

“Oh,” breathed Rebecca. “Then what happened?”

“Well, that was many hundreds of years ago. Since then, God has asked those who believe to share the riches with others who haven’t heard. It’s gone on from there. God sent me to that part of London, for example, to show these children and the grownup folks around them how much He loves them and wants them to have these riches.”

“Why did you come here, then? Do people here need these riches, too?”

Althea smiled, touching Rebecca’s cheek. “People everywhere need them. I know God sent me here to meet you and let you know He loves you.”

Rebecca’s thin hand came up to Althea’s. “I’m glad He sent you.” She lay quietly for a little while. “Do you think Papa knows about these riches?”

“I don’t know, dear. Perhaps he doesn’t think he needs them.” She added after a moment, “Sometimes people are afraid to believe in God.”

“Why would they be?”

“I think they believe God might ask them for something, and they are afraid to give it.”

“My grandmama is afraid of God.”

“Is she?”

Rebecca nodded then smiled. “She’s always saying, ‘God forbid’ and ‘The evil eye spare me.’ She puts things around the house and on the doors to ward off the evil eye. I always imagine God’s big eyeball staring at me from the ceiling, looking to see who might be doing something wrong.”

“God’s Word tells us to ‘fear God,’ but I think the meaning is a little different from the one your grandmama has taken.”

“How do you mean?”

Althea pondered how best to explain it. “Think of how you feel about your papa. You love him?”

Rebecca nodded.

“And you know he loves you?”

A more vigorous nod.

“You respect him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You respect him because you love him, isn’t that so, and not the other way around? You don’t love him because you respect him.”

Rebecca thought about it. “You mean, I respect him because of my love for him, and not that my love comes because I respect him?”

“Exactly. Now, do you fear your papa?”

Rebecca giggled. “No, I’m not afraid of him!”

“Have you ever seen him angry?”

Rebecca screwed up her face. “I don’t remember. Oh, yes, once. I was little and I went down to the library and heard him talking to the footman. I had opened the door and could hear him. He was angry at the footman, but I don’t know about what.”

“Was he shouting at him?”

“No, he wasn’t shouting, but I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t being very nice to him.”

Althea could imagine the cutting remarks. “Were you afraid of your father then?”

“I wasn’t afraid of him for my sake but for the footman’s. I remember thinking I would never want him to talk to me like that.”

“So, in that sense you fear your father. You know he is capable of being angry, but you wouldn’t want that anger turned toward you.”

Rebecca nodded. “That’s right. Is that how it is with God?”

“Yes. He is our Heavenly Father. Because we love Him, we don’t want to anger Him. But it’s not because we are afraid of Him. It is because we love Him so much.”

“Oh,” Rebecca breathed in wonder.

Althea plumped the girl’s pillow and smoothed her coverlet. “Why don’t you take a little nap? We can continue with our puppets later.” At the girl’s nod, Althea stepped away, picking up the scraps. She stood a moment, watching her charge. Oh, Lord, she prayed, heal her, let her laugh and run and jump like those children at the mission.

The following week passed quickly with puppets in the mornings and dinner party preparations in the afternoons. Althea dug up a puppet theater in the nursery and had it brought down to Rebecca’s bedroom. One afternoon after luncheon, they put on a performance for Simon.

Mrs. Coates began to thaw towards Althea as she perceived Althea’s knowledge in matters of etiquette. She yielded more and more of the preparations to Althea’s management. Under Althea’s gentle persuasion a thorough housecleaning was begun. Curtains and carpets that hadn’t been moved in years were taken out and shaken, floors mopped and waxed, dust covers removed from unused rooms. With Mrs. Coates as an intermediary between herself and Cook, Althea made sure orders for food were placed in time for the event.

Althea knew a dinner party could make or break a host, and the quality of the table was crucial. She surmised from the talk of the servants that this was Simon’s first foray into the world of entertaining. She imagined that with his star rising in Parliament it was important for him to mingle in society. Althea threw herself into the preparations, vowing to do her best to make the party a success.

She didn’t know what to do about her own attendance, and the day was drawing near. She had no evening clothes, and decided finally to use her brown merino. She made sure it was clean and reserved for that evening. She had mentioned the dinner party to her brother on one of his quick visits during a trip to London. He didn’t share her misgivings about attending, but rather applauded Simon for insisting upon it.

On the afternoon of the dinner party, Althea finally escaped for a walk in Hyde Park. It had been several afternoons since she had been able to spare the time. The raw March wind felt refreshing against her face. She walked briskly along the Serpentine for an hour, then made her way back home. The house was still when she entered. She noted with satisfaction the gleaming entrance and the smell of beeswax. A vase of fresh orchids had been placed on a side table. She removed her cloak and prepared to ascend the staircase. Then she hesitated, her cloak over her arm.

Bracing herself, telling herself she had nothing to fear, she decided to go down to the servants’ quarters and check for herself that preparations were fully under way in the kitchen. Mrs. Coates had assured her that Cook had everything under control, but Althea hadn’t yet seen for herself.

She pushed open the door, and a group of servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her. They were all grouped around the long table where they usually dined. Something didn’t seem right. The only one sitting was Mrs. Bentwood, who wasn’t so much sitting as slumped over the table.

“What is the matter?” Althea ventured farther into the servants’ domain. “Is anything wrong with Cook?”

Giles coughed. “It seems she has fallen asleep.”

“Asleep?” Althea reached the cook and leaned over her, touching her on the arm. Her head did not lie cushioned on her arms, but rested sideways on the table itself. Deep, rough breathing emanated from her nostrils. Her lips parted slightly and Althea received the full force of her breath at close range.

She knew that smell. “Why, she’s inebriated!”