Lady Arradale said, “Look what we have, Portia. A baby.”
The slender maid was not a maid. Her copperish curls bubbled out from beneath a pretty, lace-trimmed cap rather than a servant’s mobcap, and her gown wasclearly of the finest quality. She scrambled to her feet, proving to be petite but close to Genova’s age.
“How lovely. Whose?”
“Lady Booth Carew’s.”
“It’s Ashart’s, then?”
It was like a nail in his coffin.
Chapter Fourteen
“He’s here, by the way,” the countess said. “Ashart. Came with the Tunbridge Wells great-aunts.”
“Oh, my! And yet I hear no distant sound of war.”
“Children are kept up here so they won’t be heard, but it works in reverse. They could be murdering each other and we wouldn’t know. But Bey has matters in hand, I think, though it was quite a shock, as you can imagine.”
Lady Arradale drew Genova forward. “Let me make known Miss Smith, Portia, companion to Lady Thalia and Lady Calliope. Miss Smith, this is my sister-in-law, Portia, Lady Arcenbryght Malloren, more commonly Lady Bryght. The late Marquess of Rothgar had an obsessive attachment to all things Anglo-Saxon, which is the cause of the names. You are spared Hilda, Brand, and Cynric, who are Christmasing elsewhere. Elfled—Lady Walgrave—is here, but not much in evidence since she expects a baby any day. We tease my husband that he’s arranged a Christmas reenactment.”
Genova dropped a curtsy, trying to take all this in.
“And this,” the countess said, smiling at the child who had toddled over to hide in his mother’s skirts, “is Master Francis Malloren.”
Lady Bryght ruffled his hair. “Make your bow, Francis.”
The child emerged enough to make a quite reasonable bow but then slid back into safety.
“He’ll be all right soon,” Lady Bryght said, pickinghim up and kissing his round cheek. “He takes his time with strangers, don’t you, poppet? And very wise, too. See, Francis, a baby. What’s his name?” she asked Genova.
“Charlie, my lady, and the maid’s name is Sheena. Sheena O’Leary, but that’s about as far as we’ve progressed. She speaks virtually no English.” She turned to Lady Arradale. “Is there anyone here who speaks Gaelic?”
“My goodness. I’m not aware of any Irish servants, but there must be some in the neighborhood. That will wait and you must all be so tired. Let’s make arrangements for little Charlie and then you can refresh yourself.”
She sent the maid to find a Mrs. Harbinger, and soon an older woman appeared. She was heavy-boned and could have looked glowering, but her eyes lit at the sight of the baby.
“Ah, the precious!” She came forward with the clear intention of taking Charlie. Sheena stepped back.
“She’s afraid,” Genova said quickly. “She doesn’t speak English, and I don’t think she understands what’s happening to her, poor girl.”
“This is Mrs. Harbinger, the nursery governess,” the countess explained. “She’s in charge of this part of the house.” She gave the nursery governess a vague explanation of Charlie’s arrival. It implied an accident on the road without actually telling lies.
The woman was all sympathy. “It’s only a matter of airing the baby nursery, my lady, and bringing another maid up here, with your permission. You can leave it all to me.”
“I know I can. I’ll see if there’s anyone in the area who speaks Gaelic, but in the meantime, I know you’ll be understanding with poor Miss O’Leary, who must feel very ill at ease.”
“Of course, my lady.” The woman wrapped an arm around Sheena’s shoulders and drew her to a chair near the fire, murmuring comfort all the while. TheIrish girl looked desperately at Genova for a moment, but then relaxed and even smiled at her new protector.
Genova felt a burden rise from her shoulders. That, at least, was all right.
Lady Arradale moved toward the door, and Lady Bryght kissed her son and gave him to the maid. She swept up a large shawl and wrapped it around herself. “I must come and see what’s happening. Ashart here. My stars!”
Soon the three of them were heading back down the stairs and through the maze of corridors. Genova was sure that by herself she’d be one of the wandering guests. After a number of turns, the countess opened a door to a fine bedchamber.
Genova saw some of her possessions, including thepresepebox. This was her room? The splendor shocked her. She would have much preferred something simpler.
“We’d normally give you a room for yourself,” Lady Arradale said, “but over Christmas, every space will be required.”
