Читать книгу The Worthington Wife - Sharon Page - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe Woman with Shell Shock
Cal followed Lady Julia through a green door. This part of the house looked different. The walls were plain white; the stairs narrow with worn treads. No need for beauty where the servants worked.
“Why you?” he asked. “Why didn’t the countess go see the cook? Or Diana, the daughter who’s being forced to flirt with me?”
Julia looked startled, but then said, in her cool, ladylike tones, “They are both too upset. The countess is living in terror. Diana is—She isn’t well. You have not told them of your plans?”
“Not yet.” He leaned against the banister, looking at her. God, she was a beauty. Ivory skin. Full lips lightly colored red with discreet lipstick. Stunning eyes with long, dark lashes.
“You deliberately want to draw it out and be cruel?” she accused.
“I’ve got my reasons.”
Lady Julia had the most impressive poker face. She kept her expression serene but he could feel hot anger inside her under that controlled facade. For a moment, he thought about explaining himself. Telling her why he wanted to hurt the family.
Why should he have to justify himself to her?
“So you’re trying to save the house by keeping the cook from walking out because the others don’t have the courage.”
She gave him a cool stare. “I believed I could convince Mrs. Feathers to stay, so I should try. Whether it is my house or not.”
“And you thought I’d thank you for it?”
“You must not take your grievances out on innocent people.”
“Her ladyship and the earl did.” Cal had to struggle to speak as calmly as she did. “Don’t speak to me like I must be scum because I was born poor. I was born to decent and honest parents who helped other people and were charitable, even when they had nothing.”
He could see the flash of surprise and shock in her eyes. His heart pounded.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to push her back against the plain white plaster wall and devour her with his mouth until she was panting against him.
But that wasn’t the way to do it with Lady Julia.
He raised her fingers to his lips. His father used to do this with his mother, and it always made Mam giggle, then melt and sigh and forget worry and despair.
Julia had soft skin. Pretty hands that smelled like flowers. His head told him to be angry that her hands obviously did no work, but lust shot through him at the idea of having such soft, pampered hands gripping his shoulders as he made love to her.
She pulled her hand back. “Stop this, Worthington.”
He loved hearing her speak so primly. It entertained him. “I want to make amends.”
“Then don’t tear Worthington apart. Your father was disowned and that was wrong. But what others did to you should not dictate whether you behave nobly or not.”
“You people would say a man can never rise above his birth.”
“I would never say that.” With that, she turned away from him and continued downstairs.
“You know what’s funny?” he said. “When I took a tour of the house this morning and came down to the kitchen, the servants assumed I’d gotten lost. Every footman and maid I encountered, the butler, the cook, all thought I must have gotten lost to be down in the servants’ basement.”
“We refer to it as ‘belowstairs.’”
He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “It’s a cold, damp, stone basement without enough light. Don’t give it a prim name so you people can pretend that the kitchen staff is happy to be trapped down there day and night, scouring pots.”
Julia recoiled from his harsh, accusatory words and continued to the bottom of the stairs, but she paused before she opened the door.
“You want to sell Worthington. Whoever buys it will employ a kitchen maid. Count the number of servants next time you’re at a house belonging to someone who is ‘new money.’ They will have more than us.”
“New money.” He scoffed at the term.
But Julia went on, “Inquire about the working conditions of those servants. Find out what their employers do when they can no longer work or become ill. All too often they are let go and replaced. There is no pension, no care, no compassion. We try to take care of our own. We truly do. You Americans champion capitalism, but it can be a harsh thing.”
She pushed open the door and walked out.
He let her get the last word. This time.
Cal followed her through a stone-arched doorway, into a room with a long wooden table. A woman sat at it, sewing. Two footmen where having cups of tea. Two maids sat there, giggling together.
Their happy demeanor startled him. He’d expected to see girls who were exhausted, who looked like they were being crushed. He never dreamed a girl would sparkle when she was working her fingers to the bone as a maid.
Had his mother sparkled and laughed like that? He’d rarely seen her do it while they were struggling to survive.
“Good morning,” Julia said. Every person at the table pushed back their chairs and bolted to their feet to stand at attention.
“My lady?” The housekeeper hurried out of a room, keys jangling at her waist. “My lord.”
“My lord. My lady.” The snobby butler hurried in. “May I help you both?”
“We wish Mrs. Feathers to spare a moment of her time,” Julia said. It wasn’t a question. It was a command, but a sugarcoated one.
“Of course, my lady.” The housekeeper disappeared into the kitchens.
A strident voice cried, “What does ’e want now?” Then it went quiet. A moment later, Mrs. Feathers showed up at the doorway. The pudgy woman wore a coat that strained over her ample figure, and a surprisingly stylish hat with a feather.
Cal was just about to capitulate and agree to a truce with the cook—just to see what would happen if he made nice with Lady Julia and to find out how she would coax Mrs. Feathers to change her way of thinking—when a loud crash sounded in the kitchen and Mrs. Feathers gasped, “Oh Lord, that was the sauce for the duck. Stupid, clumsy girl!”
Cal couldn’t see why the cook would care since she was walking out the door, but then remembered Julia had led the cook to believe he would apologize. Maybe even grovel.
And the crash had interrupted them.
Face reddening with impatience and anger, the cook whirled around and barked into the kitchen, “You daft twit, can’t you be careful? That’s ruined. And here’s his lordship, concerned about waste. Well, we know who’s to blame for most of the food that goes in the rubbish bin. You haven’t got the wits of a dog.”
Mrs. Feathers lunged into the kitchen with her hand raised as if ready to deliver a slap.
Cal had worked on the docks as a young boy. There he’d been hit and abused. No one was going to abuse anyone in his name. He stalked into the kitchen, sensing Lady Julia was close behind.
Mrs. Feathers gripped a young kitchen maid by the shoulders. Her face was contorted and red with fury. The girl, she’d been introduced as Hannah on his previous trip to the kitchens, was thin—skinny arms stuck out of the sleeves of a beige dress, and an apron was tied around a tiny waist. The cook shook Hannah, who had wide, frightened brown eyes and tears on her cheeks. “It was an accident. I was trying to be careful. But then I turned and the dog was there and I fell over him.”
His late uncle’s dog, a retriever, let out a whimpering sound and dropped to the floor, gazing up with pitiful eyes. The kitchen maid looked more scared than the dog.
Suddenly, Mrs. Feathers shook the girl, her face dark red with fury. She lifted her hand—
He grasped the woman’s wrist and hauled her away from Hannah. “So you are responsible for the bruises on this girl,” he said, his voice low and cold. He pushed up the girl’s sleeve, revealing a row of fading bruises along her forearm. “I noticed them when I was downstairs earlier. But she didn’t rat you out. She insisted she got them because she was clumsy. Now I see what’s been happening.” He dropped his voice lower, so it was nothing more than a growl. “No one hits anyone in my household.”
The cook had turned white.
“Apologize to Hannah.”
“What?” gasped Mrs. Feathers.
“You had no right to say what you did. No right to touch her. She’s a person, not a whipping boy.”
“She’s not a person, she’s a kitchen maid. I know how to keep my staff in line. I know what works with them and what doesn’t, my lord—”
“And I know when I see behavior I refuse to condone,” he said with lethal cool. “I was told to give you an apology to keep peace in this damn house. But you don’t deserve one. I don’t want a woman like you working here, taking out your anger on a defenseless girl. I don’t care if you’ve quit or not, because you’re fired. Now get out.”
The woman’s jaw dropped.
Lady Julia’s jaw also dropped.
Hannah the kitchen maid stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. She was older than she looked, older than Mam had been when she had to start working as a maid in that Fifth Avenue house.
“Can you cook?” he said to her.
“Y-yes.”
“Her? Cook?” cried Mrs. Feathers. “That’s a laugh.”
“She’s going to cook from now on. Congratulations, Hannah. You’ve been promoted.”
He turned to find Julia staring at him, in as much shock as the others. “I’ve solved the problem,” he said. “I have a cook.”
* * *
Julia pursued the infuriating Earl of Worthington along the downstairs corridor. “You simply cannot do that.”
The earl stopped and faced her. He looked smug, of course, for he had no idea what he had just done. “It’s my house. I can do what I want.”
“What you have done is completely unkind to that girl.”
His brows shot up. “I gave her a promotion.”
“The poor kitchen maid has been just thrust into a terrible position, Worthington. She is too inexperienced, and she must be absolutely terrified.”
He glared at her, his eyes a blue blaze. “I wasn’t going to stand by and let her be abused. If you think I’m going to let my household be run by bullies, you are wrong, Julia. I don’t give a rat’s arse if that is the way things have always been done.”
She supposed he had a point. “But Hannah has to face tonight’s dinner without enough help.”
“So she serves a bad dinner, so what?”
“I do not believe she is the sort who can easily ignore a failure. Not to mention she will be teased mercilessly by the other staff, who will not want her to get above herself.”
“I’ll make someone else help her. There are other kitchen maids. Some of the other staff can help. If they don’t like it, they know I am more than willing to fire people who cross me.”
“What are you going to do to me because I’ve crossed you? Forbid me from coming to the house?”
“I’d never do that.” That slow, sizzling smile—like the path of a flame on a fuse—lifted his lips again. “I’d never get the chance to bring out your passionate side. When you’re angry, you burn. You glow with an energy that crackles like lightning.”
A mad thought hit her. “You did not just do all of that to make me angry.”
“No, but I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”
He took two steps toward her. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. His arms bracketed the wall on either side of her, making her suck in a sharp breath.
“I figure the cook was stealing from the pantry, too, but I don’t much care about that.”
“That’s a bold accusation to make. Don’t Americans believe in a proper trial with evidence, just as the English do?”
“I’m not firing her for the theft, even though I’m sure she’s guilty. She was offended right off the mark and I figured all that outrage and indignity was because she was hiding something. Also, she kept glancing at the pantry door. Her guilty conscience revealing itself.”
“I—I had no idea this was going on.”
“Why should you? It’s not your house.”
“Anthony—” She broke off.
His fingers gently touched her cheek, turning her to face him. Just the contact of his fingertips made her knees feel wobbly, as if she’d danced to jazz all night.
“What about my cousin Anthony?”
“He asked me to look after his family when he went away to war.”
“Why would an earl and countess need you to look after them?”
She couldn’t answer that. She’d never really understood why. “I did make him a promise and Lady Worthington needs my help now.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a painting to finish. I’m hot to get all this fire and fury in you down on canvas. But before I go—”
His lips lowered. They were in a shadowed downstairs corridor, but only feet away in the kitchens came the voices of the servants—all filled with vehement astonishment over what had just happened.
Anyone could walk in and see.
That thought alone should make her draw back at once.
But his lips seemed to have become the whole of Julia’s universe. His lips were full and sensual and she wanted to touch them. The ache that shot through low in her belly made her gasp.
Now she knew what she felt for him. Lust. Pure and simple. And ladies with sense never let themselves be controlled by lust. Even in this modern age.
She had opened her heart twice and had been terribly hurt. She was almost twenty-seven and it was so hard to think she might never touch a man and be touched by him. She might never know passion or make love.
But she wouldn’t do it without marriage. She couldn’t...
She couldn’t do it with this man who wanted only to destroy an estate and people she loved.
She jerked back. “You championed Hannah. What about the other people who live on this estate and who work hard? When you sell to the highest bidder, what will happen to them? You should meet the people who will lose everything when you sell. Or are you afraid to face them?”
He was breathing hard. “You’re goading me.”
“I’m pointing out the truth,” she said sweetly. “I challenge you to take a tour of the estate with me. To meet the people who are now putting their faith and their trust in you. Who are doing so with no idea that you want to destroy everything they’ve worked for. Some of those families have farmed for generations—”
“All right. I’ll go.”
“Fine. Why don’t we go now? We could ride out from the house? Or do you ride—”
“Of course, I don’t ride,” he said brusquely. “The closest I’d gotten to a horse before the army were the ones pulling rag-and-bone carts in our neighborhood.” His eyes narrowed. “My father did that at one time for the money. He drove a rag-and-bone cart. When do you think I should share that story with the countess?”
“Don’t. It would kill her.”
She’d spoken without thinking.
It was a mistake. His face tensed. His mouth went hard.
“It would be better to drive,” she said quickly. “I have my motorcar.”
He leaned closer and she forgot to breathe.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, Julia. That’s why I’m painting you. But the portrait can wait for today. I’d much prefer to spend the day having you try to teach me a lesson. Who knows, maybe you will heal my bitter heart and turn me into a changed man.”
Oh no. He was mocking the very thing she hoped to do. She hoped to heal his bitterness. She hoped to change him.
He knew it—and was making fun of it.
She gave him the smile all young ladies learned—polite, sweet, the butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “I believe I shall.”
* * *
“You know,” Cal said to Julia from the passenger seat as they rumbled down a country lane, “you’re the only woman I’ve ever let drive me.”
“I know my way around the estate and you do not. It is far more sensible for me to drive.”
“Yeah, but someday I want to tempt the sensible right out of you.” He grinned.
“I doubt that will happen,” she said, her tone prim even when shouted over the roar of the engine.
He liked the way she looked while driving. She had put on goggles to keep out the wind and the dust, and they made her look sweetly adventurous. She had pulled on a cloche hat and wound a scarf around her neck that fluttered and snapped behind her like a crisp flag.
She was so determined to change his mind about Worthington. But what he had seen today had cut to his bone. He had felt for the girl Hannah. She was supposed to “know her place.” What a load of damn crap.
Cal had returned to the kitchen and told Hannah she could give orders to any of the footmen to help her. The snooty butler, Wiggins, had sputtered, until Cal had told him he could follow Mrs. Feathers out the door if he wanted. Wiggins had drawn himself up and had claimed to have been in service to the family for five decades. “What a hell of a way to waste a life,” Cal had said. Then he’d gone out. He’d found Julia in the drawing room with Diana, who looked strained and worried. The thing was—he’d looked at Diana’s drawn expression and felt an unexpected jolt of guilt.
“So where did your brother get a beautiful American automobile like this?” he asked. “I’m surprised he lets you drive one of his cars.”
“It’s my motorcar. Not my brother’s.”
“You bought this fine automobile?” He had to admit he was surprised she knew how to drive and didn’t just have a chauffeur take her around.
“It was a birthday present from Zoe, my sister-in-law. She had it sent from New York. She called it a symbol of my freedom. I do love to be able to say ‘I shall go here’ and I can take myself there. It does make you feel powerful.”
“Does it?”
The car was a spiffy roadster. The chrome gleamed and the glossy cream paint shone in the sunlight. Julia was a surprisingly good driver, taking the winding turns with skill. She slowed and accelerated with confidence where she needed to. “I guess a duke’s daughter is used to getting what she wants,” he said.
“Hardly. I could have never bought a motor on my own. Until I marry, the only money I have comes from my pin money. That was how I was trying to fund my charitable work, at least when I was doing the work that no one approved of. Finally, I made up my mind to sell this car. She would have fetched a tremendous amount of money and I need it for the women I’m helping. It would have utterly broken my heart to do it, but I would have done it.”
“Darling, I would never let you sell this car.”
She glanced briefly at him. Then looked back to the narrow road. “The only money I can even call mine is my dowry and that is locked up as tight as Fort Knox in America. But my sister-in-law Zoe is going to provide the financial backing and I can use that to help women begin businesses or run their farms so they can feed their families. My brother and his wife take great care of the families on the Brideswell estate, but those on the Worthington estate have needed help.”
“The Duke of Bad Manners didn’t like the idea of mixing with the poor.”
She giggled and it was a lovely sound. “You mustn’t call him that. But too many people feel that way. It’s rather frustrating.”
“You still do it.”
She turned, flashing a smile that made his heart stop beating. “I am a duke’s daughter.”
“You’re not what I expected of an aristocrat. Why do you do it, when you have to fight so hard?”
“Once, I would have followed duty and rules, but not now. People lost so much in the War. It is wrong to let children go hungry and women lose their homes! These men gave everything to protect our country, to protect our way of life. I lost Anthony to the Somme and I grieved him for a very long time. Then I realized I needed to find purpose in my life. I didn’t want to go back to a life of dinner parties and presentation at court. I wanted to do something of value. It made the pain of losing Anthony go away.”
“You’re the bee’s knees, sweetheart. A dame with a good heart, and a real Sheba.”
Her eyes widened. “No one has ever said that to me before. What does it mean?”
“You know what a dame with a good heart is. A Sheba is a girl who oozes sex appeal.”
The car jolted in a rut. It was the first time she’d hit anything. Good. It meant he was getting to her. Finding the ways to get under her skin.
Lady Julia turned off onto something that looked like a cart track. Apple trees stretched as far as he could see. “This is part of your orchards,” she said.
“We’re not on a road, Sheba.”
“We are. This is the lane to one of your farms and it also passes several small cottages.”
A cottage came into view and she drew off to the edge of the lane. “This is the first family I want you to meet. I was coming here when I received a message to see Diana.” She turned off the engine and got out. Then she plucked a basket off the rumble seat behind her—filled with food, he saw—hooked it over her arm and firmly pushed open the small wooden gate in front of the stone building. It was tiny, with a short door flanked by two small windows. Roses budded all over the front.
“These are your tenants,” she said. “Your estate encompasses about thirty thousand acres.”
“Yeah. That’s what the lawyer told me. It’s a different thing when you actually see it.” But there was something he didn’t get. “Why are you looking out for the tenants and not Lady Worthington? Does the countess ignore the lowly peasants? Or is this another promise to my cousin?”
“The countess took very ill after her son John died in the car accident.” She hesitated. She wasn’t looking at him, which made him curious. “She has experienced so much loss. It was so hard on Lady Worthington. You must consider that—”
“Yeah, but she still hasn’t developed an ounce of compassion. Couldn’t she have sent her daughters to do what you’re doing?”
Julia took a deep breath.
“What is it? What are you hiding from me, Julia?”
“This tenant—Ellen—has had to...to sell herself to men to earn money. That means all respectable women are supposed to shun her. They are not allowed to show kindness.”
He knew exactly what she meant. “But not you. You aren’t afraid of anything.”
“That is not true. But some things are simply more important.” She reached up to rap on the door. But it was yanked open.
A kid stood there—a kid in short pants and a cap, who looked as skinny as Cal had been as a boy. The child shouted, “I guessed it would be you, my lady!”
“You are very clever, Ben.” Julia smiled.
The little boy looked captivated by her soft, melodic voice. Cal figured, from the boy’s blush, he had a crush on Julia. He wasn’t surprised.
Julia took something from the hamper. “This is from the village bakery. I bought some yesterday for you.” She held out a sweet-looking strawberry tart with a shiny glaze.
The boy devoured it in two bites. “You should savor it!” Julia exclaimed.
Cal grinned. That was just what his mother would have said.
“I did sabor it. I could have eaten it in one bite,” the boy declared with pride.
Julia shook her head. “That is just what my brother Sebastian would have done. Or my youngest brother, Will. Now, go and fetch your mother, young Ben.”
As the boy ran off, Cal saw her brush away a tear. Quickly she smoothed her features into serene, ladylike loveliness, but he asked gently, “What’s wrong?”
“He reminds me so much of Will, and we lost Will to the influenza outbreak after the War. He was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry.” And he was. He’d assumed wealth insulated her from hardship. He could see he’d been wrong. “What about your brother Sebastian? I didn’t meet him.”
Her whole face glowed when she smiled—even the smallest, gentlest smile. It was sweeter than seeing Paris glitter with light, more breathtaking than dawn in the northern wilds. “He is an artist, like you,” she said. “Sebastian went to Capri, but now he lives in Paris. As you did. He is rather like a bohemian, largely impoverished because he wants to support himself with his art, and he is very happy.”
“I bet he is. I see the same streak of wildness in you.”
She blushed. “Hardly.” Then she frowned. “I’m surprised Ellen has not come out to see us.” She lowered her voice. “Ben’s mother, Ellen Lambert, never married. Ben was born six months after she came back from the War. She had been a VAD and worked as an ambulance driver.”
“It was a hell of a job,” he said. “A hard, terrifying job. There were a lot of intense romances in the heat of battle.”
“You had one?”
“I had several. Only one that really mattered.”
Her face shuttered, showing no emotion. “Really? I’m sure the others might have meant a lot to the women involved.” Then she left him. She went through the living room to the rear of the cottage. He followed—as if he were tied to Lady Julia Hazelton by an invisible string. He just couldn’t let her out of his sight. Every moment with her was proving to be something special.
He stayed behind Julia as she paused in the doorway to a tiny kitchen. A thin woman with short blond hair stood at a metal sink, scrubbing with ferocity at a pot. Her shoulders shook as if she were sobbing.
“Ellen, what’s wrong?” Julia asked.
He heard Ellen Lambert take a shaky breath. Then she half looked over her shoulder. “Nothing, my lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
He figured there were aristocratic women who would be slighted because Ellen hadn’t rushed to the door and curtsied. But Julia was not one. “There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Julia asked.
“No—”
But Julia hurried forward, grasped Ellen’s shoulder, forcing her to turn. The woman’s right eye was surrounded by a large blue-and-purple bruise.
“How did that happen?” Julia cried. She urged Ellen to sit in a chair at a tiny, rickety table.
As she did, Ellen’s fingers went to the large bruise. “The daftest thing. I woke up in the night and I walked right into the edge of the door.”
“I doubt it,” Cal said darkly. “That was done by a man’s fist.” His mother used to try to help women in their neighborhood who were beaten by their husbands. He knew all the excuses they’d used.
“What man?” Julia said, her lovely eyes widening. “Was it one of your—your—” For all she had spoken so derisively about propriety, Lady Julia was now—sweetly—at a loss for words.
But Ellen didn’t need the word spoken. She paled, but insisted, “It wasn’t. It was just a stupid accident.”
“Now that I’ve seen it, why don’t we sit down and have tea? You’ve nothing to hide anymore,” Julia said firmly. “This is the Earl of Worthington.”
Ellen stared at him. She stumbled to her feet. “My lord. Oh, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
The poor woman was white as a sheet. “I shall make tea,” she said, but Julia insisted she sit down. Hell, Lady Julia went to the stove and put the kettle on. That stunned Cal.
While the water heated, Julia drew Ellen out of the kitchen into the small sitting room and gave her the basket and a small pouch.
Ellen gave it back. “I can’t take this, my lady. And I don’t need to, my lady. I’ve enough for the rent.”
“But I don’t want you to earn money as you have been doing,” Julia said firmly.
“I would rather earn my money than be given charity.”
That sounded just like his mother. Cal knew about a woman’s pride and stubbornness. But then, his mother had not had any other choice. Just like Ellen.
“You do realize the house is supported by the money earned off the estate. Why then, should the house not support you?”
Ellen started in shock. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, it is the correct way. The way it has always been and should be,” Julia said.
“There are so many who thought we would go back to happy times after the War,” Ellen said sadly. “I knew it wouldn’t be so. But I never thought there would be such poverty, such helplessness. I’ve tried to get work. But with Ben—with everyone knowing my story—no one will give me a decent position.”
“Well, you need not worry anymore. I have an idea.” Julia outlined her plan to loan money for Ellen to open a business. “You may pay me back over time. First, we will find something for you to do. And Benjamin must go to school.”
Cal leaned against the wall, watching Julia at work. Aware he was smiling.
Ellen looked worried though, not relieved. “A good school will look at me and refuse to take Ben.” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “Perhaps I should give him away. He might have a better chance then. But I—I can’t bear to give him up.”
There were only two times Cal had seen so much pain on a woman’s face. Once was in the War, when a village had been bombed and he had seen a woman who had thought she’d lost her children. He found them in the rubble of a collapsed house and brought them out to her. That moment alone had made his whole damned life worthwhile. The other time had been on his mother’s face when he was young—and he hadn’t understood back then that she’d feared losing him and David.
“You don’t have to. You won’t lose your son.” Cal hadn’t expected to say anything, but the words had just come out. The two women stared at him.
“But how can I have a business? Who would come to be served by the likes of me?”
“Don’t say that,” Julia admonished. “We can make this into a fresh start.”
Lady Julia meant well, Cal knew, but she really did live a cloistered life. She had no idea of the reality—how hard it would be for Ellen.
But Ellen did. Glumly, she whispered, “Your heart is in the right place, my lady. You are so kind. But this won’t work—” The kettle let out a sharp whistle. Ellen went to it. Then Ben came into the sitting room. He gazed hopefully at Julia, but she said, “You cannot have another tart, dear. You must save them.”
“Ah, give him another one,” Cal said. “I’ll bring him another treat later.”
Julia frowned at him repressively. “Two tarts are rather a lot.”
Suddenly Ben said, “Mummy is unhappy, isn’t she? I know she’s scared and worried. Is that why she doesn’t sleep?”
“She does not sleep?” Julia echoed.
“Not very much,” Ben said. “I know, because I wake up at night and she is awake. I get in trouble if I won’t sleep. Mummy says it’s important to sleep. Isn’t it important for her, too?”
“Yes, Ben, it is.” Cal took a tart from the picnic basket and made a show of sneakily giving it to the boy. Julia looked askance at him, but he asked her softly, “Did you know about this?”
“I had no idea.”
When Ellen came back with a teapot and three chipped china cups, Julia asked right away, “Do you not sleep?”
“Of course I do, my lady. If I got no sleep, I’d collapse on the floor.”
“Perhaps you only sleep fitfully.”
“What woman with a house and a child doesn’t sleep in fits? And in a cottage, there are always things that need to be done. The fire needs stoking. More water might be needed. Often I’ve forgotten to do things in the day and I remember at night.”
“You should try to sleep, Ellen. Exhaustion won’t help.”
“I will, my lady,” Ellen mumbled.
But then Cal understood. “Lady Julia told me you drove an ambulance in the Great War, Ellen,” he said. “I went to war in 1917, when America joined the fighting. I saw the women who drove the ambulances. It was terrifying, with shells going off around you. I saw many women killed.”
“Don’t, my lord,” Ellen said sharply. Then she dropped her voice, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I don’t want Ben to hear about it.”
“Do you have nightmares?” Cal asked softly.
Ellen hesitated. Shook her head. “’Course not.”
“You’re not startled by loud noises? You don’t always have a feeling of fear?”
“I—Of course not.”
“But you do sometimes, Mum,” Ben said, startling them all. “Remember when I knocked over the tin bathtub and you screamed so loud?”
“Ben, you have chores to do. Now be off with you.” Ellen shooed him out of the room.
Once the boy had gone, Cal grasped Ellen’s hand. “Listen to me. You’re suffering from shell shock.”
She shook her head desperately. “I’m not. That would mean I’m mad. I am perfectly fine. Please—don’t take Ben away.”
“I won’t,” Cal said. “I promise I will help you. And I will not let you lose your son.”
He felt a stare burning his neck. Julia was looking at him, her mouth open in surprise. Then her eyes softened and she looked at him like he was a hero—looked at him in a way that made him feel damn guilty. “Thank you,” she whispered.
