“No, no. You need your rest. You’re not well!”
Leona willed the room to stop spinning. She glared at Maria. “And I’m not on my death bed, either.” She brushed past herwell-meaning companion to pick up her dressing gown herself. Impatiently she thrust her arms into the sleeves.
“Maria, I should hope I know my duty. That child is much more important this morning than my cosseting a little chill that will no doubt be the better for a little exercise.”
“Chrissy is a dear. I cannot imagine the ordeal that child has been through. It’s a wonder that she is not now a candidate for Bedlam in truth. But she is bright and chipper this morning. And such polite manners!” She followed Leona over toward the dressing table and watched as Leona attacked her tangled mass of hair. “You should have braided it before you went to sleep. No matter the hour, a woman must properly attend to her toilet.”
Leona glanced up at her in the mirror but pointedly refrained from commenting as she silently counted the brush strokes. At one hundred strokes she stopped and tightly gathered the gleaming tawny mass into a bun on top of her head. Behind her Maria frowned, and then sniffed her disapproval. It was an old game between them. Maria wanted her to cut her hair, loop the back into a twist, and curl the locks closest to her face in the prevailing mode. Leona insisted on dressing her long golden hair in a practical bun or braiding it into a coronet. She did once try to cover her hair with a fetching little lace cap trimmed with pale green ribbons, but at the sight of that mute testament to spinsterhood, Maria threatened an apoplectic fit. For the sake of household harmony, Leona took it off and hid it away in a dresser drawer.
“Chrissy was up at first light. And do you know what she wanted even before a cup of chocolate? Her hair washed! Said she didn’t want her Uncle Nigel to see her with that snarled, drab mass. We were not completely successful in getting out all of that wretched dye or rinse, or whatever it was they used on her hair; nonetheless, we did see some measure of success. She is sittingbefore the fire letting it dry. Do you know what color that child’s hair really is?”
“Red,” Leona answered as she turned her head, checking to see that not a single golden strand of hair was out of place. She rose from the stool.
“How did you know?”
“The amount of dye used was woefully inadequate for hair as thick as Chrissy’s. There were streaks where her natural color shone through. Then too, there is the matter of her eyelashes and eyebrows,” Leona finished with a smile. She crossed toward the armoire to select a dress.
“I swear, Leona Clymene Leonard, you are far too clever by half. One of these days, you are going to out-clever yourself.”
Leona laughed. “Out-clever myself? Maria, where do you pick up these terms?”
Two high points of color shone on Maria Sprockett’s cheeks. She clasped her hands in front of her and sniffed, her back ramrod straight.
Leona looked at her, then relented. “I’m sorry. I should not tease you. Come, tell me. Which should I wear? The gold or the blue?” She held out two morning dresses for her to see.
“The gold. But there is no need to hurry. Let me bring up a cup of herbal tea. A nice cup of comfrey tea should help clear your head—no, it’s chamomile tea that’s—or is it perhaps costmary?” She shook her head, then waved her hand airily. “It’s one of those that begins with the lettercee.No matter. I’ll look it up. You stay here and rest.”
“Maria, you forget,” Leona said as patiently as she could. “Sir Nathan will not be coming the distance Mr. Deveraux will be. It is what? Seven, eight miles to his home? He will be here soon.”
Maria laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. The man has already come and gone twice.”
“What?!”
“Now, do not fuss, Leona. Chrissy gave him evidence while you slept. He went immediately to Lion’s Gate, but I’m afraid the Norths had already gone. Left the servants in quite a tizzy, I understand. I expect we’ll hear all about it from Mrs. Thrailwithe through her housekeeper’s daughter.”
Leona sagged back against the clothespress. “Maria! How could you! You know I wished to speak with Sir Nathan myself!”
“And so you shall,” Maria breezily assured her. “Later this afternoon or tomorrow you shall have a nice comfortable coze. We worked it out between us before he left. He’s at the Golden Goose waiting for Mr. Deveraux to arrive. Said he’d explain the matter to Mr. Deveraux himself. Such a sensible man. A widower, too, I gather. When Chrissy told him how you reached her, he clucked his tongue and said he understood if you now found your sensibilities shaken.” “Sensibilities shaken?” Leona repeated, stunned. She raised a hand to her forehead. How could a friend of more than ten years be so obtuse? “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maria, a crime has been committed using Leonard property. As the only Leonard immediately available, I must represent the family in this matter. It is my duty to speak with the magistrate. I cannot countenance your obstruction in this matter.”
“I am not obstructing,” Maria sharply denied. Her lower lip quivered. “I am seeing to your health and well-being. If Mr. Sharply were to discover what I allowed you to do last night—as surely he will if you are to take sick—I could be turned off without a-a character!” she finished on a sob. Tears slid down her parchment-skinned cheeks.
“Piffle! Even if my sanctimonious brother-in-law were to learn of last night’s events, there is nothing he could do about them. He is not my guardian. Oh, here.” She grabbed a clean handkerchief from a dresser drawer and thrust it into her companion’s hands. It did not do to upset Maria. She believedshe was acting in her best interest. Leona felt like a scoundrel for not appreciating her friend’s concerns. She sighed. “Do stop your crying. Our first concern should be for that poor child downstairs! I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said with diminishing patience. “I am furious at the goings-on up at the manor house, but that is no reason to take my anger out on you,” she admitted ruefully. “Why don’t you go see to that tea you spoke of while I dress. I promise, when I come downstairs, I shall ensconce myself on the sofa with a quilt over my legs to ward off a further chill, and I shall not go gallivanting about. There. Will that make you happy?” She put an arm about Miss Sprockett’s thin shoulders as she led her toward the door.
Maria blew her nose and dabbed at her reddened eyes. She nodded. “I was only thinking of you,” she added timidly.
“I know, dear, and I am the biggest boor for taking you to task for it. Now, off with you. And while you’re downstairs, why don’t you ask Cook to bake some of those jam tarts I’m so partial to. I’ll wager Chrissy would like them, too.”
“I already have,” she said with a watery giggle and another sniff. “They should be done by now.”
Leona laughed and hugged her. “What would I ever do without you? I’ll be down directly. Just be sure you and Chrissy leave a couple for me!”
After the door closed behind Maria, the smile Leona maintained for her friend’s benefit faded. She sagged back against her dressing table and ran a shaking hand across her throbbing temples. Despite her brave words to the contrary, Leona knew she was ill. Slowly she turned around to study her reflection in the mirror. Feverish blots of color stood out on her high cheekbones, and her eyes were glassy. She sneezed again.
“Dear Lord, let me get through this day, then I promise I shall stay abed for a week,” she murmured. Then she straightened, a determined expression firming her pale lips. “I know my duty.That comes before all else. And I shall see justice done!” She turned away from the mirror and pulled angrily at her dressing gown, tossing it aside.
“How long doyou think it will take my Uncle Nigel to get here? He can ride like the wind, my uncle can. Nuit—that’s his horse; it means night in French. My grandmother’s French, you see. Actually, she’s not my real grandmamma. My real grandmamma died when Papa was a baby. She came to take care of Papa, but my grandfather fell in love with her and married her. Isn’t that romantic?” Chrissy paused to sip her hot chocolate.
Leona repressed a laugh. Since she’d come downstairs to join Chrissy in the parlor, the child had been talking incessantly, all the while hopping from subject to subject. With her temples throbbing and her head feeling like a block of wood, Leona was hard-pressed to follow her young guest’s rapid conversation. It was fortunate she was not expected to respond.
