“—this many years without so much as a visit and hardly even a scrap of a postcard to say if you be alive or dead. When I think of the hours I spent cuddling you to my bosom and you fair screaming the house down with the colic. I can hardly hear now for the damage you did me, but would I consider it a loss? Nay, I would not, if only I had awordfrom you now and again—”
She was warming to her theme and heaven only knows how long she might have carried on had Stoker not interrupted her. I was tempted to suggest to Merry that we ring for tea—watching Stoker squirm is a thoroughly entertaining proposition and refreshments seemed in order—but Stoker clasped his nanny’s wagging finger in his large hand and brought it to his cheek.
“Dear Nanny,” he said gently, “there are no words sufficient to convey my regret that I have caused you a moment’s trouble. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
The little harridan slipped her hand from his and slapped his cheek—but lightly. “That is for giving me more grey hairs than the rest of the lot combined.” Then a smile warmed her withered apple face. “And this is for coming home at last, my wee Stokie.” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him soundly on both cheeks before tucking his arm through hers. “Now, you must come to my cottage and have tea with me.”
He cast a glance backwards at me as she moved to drag him off. “Nanny, I must introduce you—”
She paused and gave him a quelling stare. “Do you mean to agitate me again, Stokie?” She pressed her free hand to her bombazine bosom. “Do you know that I have palpitations now? From all theworry,” she said meaningfully.
“Of course, Nanny,” he soothed, patting her hand. “We will have tea.”
He sent us a helpless look, but she grasped his hand and tugged him along relentlessly. She turned back just once to dart a look of triumph in my direction, and Merry regarded me anxiously. “I hope you are not offended, Miss Speedwell. Nanny can be a trifle possessive where her boys are concerned, particularly Stoker. She always had a soft spot for him.”
“Don’t you mean ‘wee Stokie’?” I asked with a grin. I put my ownarm through his. “Never mind, Merryweather. I will have tea with you and we can get to know one another better.”
•••
Merry played the tour guide, naming the various rooms we passed through—picture gallery, garden entry, library, morning room—until we came at last to the drawing room, a long, handsome chamber furnished in gold silk.
“I brought you the long way round,” he informed me, sketching a broad circle with his hands. “We have made a loop, clockwise, through the main public rooms, and if we passed through that door,” he said, pointing behind me, “we would find ourselves in the entrance hall once more. At least it makes a start to learning the house. Best to take it in stages,” he finished kindly.
Having seen the floor plan in the Pondlebury book, I knew he spoke wisdom. “It is a considerable property,” I said as he rang for tea.
“Oh, quite! You have seen less than a third of this floor and there are two more above with the attics atop that. Stoker always used to say that it needed Ariadne’s clew to find one’s way around.” A fleeting smile touched his lips, and I realised then what genuine affection he held for Stoker.
Before I could broach the subject, the tea appeared, hot and fragrant and served with such a vast assortment of cakes, sandwiches, and tarts that I began to fear for the state of my corset strings. When we had dusted the last of the crumbs from our fingers, Merry suggested a tour of the grounds after I had been shown to my room.
“Splendid idea!” I told him as I rose and smoothed the skirts of my travelling costume. “Trains are diabolically stuffy inventions and a bit of fresh air is just the thing to blow the cobwebs away.”
We returned to the entrance hall, where a trio of servants waited. I spotted a familiar figure and gave an exclamation of real pleasure.“Collins!” I said as I extended my hand. I had visited Vane House—Tiberius’ establishment in London—often enough to have become quite well acquainted with his butler. “How nice to see you again. How is your lumbago?”
Collins seemed startled at the proffer of my hand, but he shook it gravely. “Tormenting me day and night, but it is kind of you to ask, miss.”
“I have only recently read of a new treatment—a kind of baking apparatus to warm the limbs. I shall speak to Stoker and have him sort one out for you,” I promised.
“That is not necessary—” he began, looking thoroughly alarmed at the notion.
I smiled. “It most certainly is. I know how much Lord Templeton-Vane relies upon you, and how can you work or enjoy your leisure if you are suffering?”
He gave me a feeble smile. “How indeed, miss? May I present Mrs.Brackendale, the housekeeper?” He gestured towards the woman behind him, tall and composed and with an enormous ring of keys at her belt that rattled as she moved.
“How do you do, Mrs.Brackendale?”
“Miss Speedwell,” she said, inclining her head. “This is Lily, one of the upstairs maids. She will be responsible for taking care of you during your stay.”
Lily was a plump and cheerful-looking country girl with rosy apple cheeks and a twinkle in her eye that spoke of barely suppressed amusement. Her dark blue dress was uncreased, her white apron spotless.
“Hello, Lily,” I said.
She bobbed a curtsey, the edge of her mobcap fluttering a little. “How do, miss?”
“I am sorry that his lordship is unavailable to receive you at present, Miss Speedwell,” Collins said. “But he was confident you would take no offence.”
“Certainly not. His lordship and I are long past standing upon ceremony,” I assured him.
“Still wrestling with the accounts, is he?” Merry enquired.
