My fists clenched at my sides.
His singsong, arrogant voice continued, grating against my skin. “And what, pray tell, is that horrendous creature they attempted to make a drawing of? Yes, drawing is primarily awoman’s pastime, but a basic understanding of the craft should be taught at an early age. If, of course, such simple minds could embrace the talent. I find it unlikely.”
Could he be any more odious? I pulled my brothers close and opened my mouth in a strike of boldness. “Before you continue listing our failings, sir, I would suggest that you make a list regarding your own. If you should have any struggle with the task, I would be most eager to assist you.”
His face darkened to a deep shade of crimson. “I beg your pardon,” he sputtered.
With opportune timing, a flustered Edith came rushing toward us, basket swinging on her arm. She stopped beside me, wide eyes taking in Mr. Coburn’s outraged expression.
“Good day, Mr. Coburn.” I curtsied and tugged my brothers down the path, my heart racing in my chest. Edith followed, still catching her breath.
“What on earth happened, miss?” she whispered.
“Nothing.” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t trust anyone employed by Aunt Ruth. Edith would tell her, as well as the other servants, everything.
I ignored the feeling of Mr. Coburn’s gaze on my back as we walked. Despite the horror I felt at the insult I had just paid him, a sense of pride unfolded inside me. How long had it been since I had stood up for myself and my brothers? Until now, I had always remained silent, accepting the criticism.
Peter and Charles erupted into giggles as soon as we were out of Mr. Coburn’s sight. A little smile curved my lips as I watched them.
“Annette made Mr. Coburn angry,” Peter said around a laugh, turning his blue eyes up to me.
I shushed him with a look. Edith was still listening. Mr. Coburn had mademeangry first, though it was no excuse formy behavior. Dread had begun replacing my sense of pride. Mr. Coburn would not take my insult lightly.
When we achieved a little distance from Edith on the path, I cast a scolding eye in Peter’s direction. “You should not have tried to steal his pies again. I have told youmanytimes not to steal.”
Charles clasped his hands together with a shy smile. “We almost got one.”
I shook my head, my voice growing sharper. “Stealing is wrong. We must pay withmoneyfor the things that we want. We cannot simply take them. We mustpayfor the things we want. Repeat it to me so I know you understand.”
“We must pay for the things we want,” they said together.
I smiled, content that they understood. Until next week, at least.
We walked in silence for a while as we passed the tall trees that separated the village from Oak Cottage. It was only a mile walk, and it was a lovely day, so I didn’t object to it. Although the summer heat was mild, my sunburned face was still on fire. “I need to find my blasted bonnet,” I muttered under my breath.
Charles giggled, sharing a secretive smile with his brother. They both looked up at me, a mischievous twinkle in both sets of blue eyes.
“What?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.
They snickered again, covering their mouths in an attempt to muffle the sound. “I know where your bonnet is,” Charles said between giggles.
I stopped my steps. “Where did you put it?”
More laughter. I waited, folding my arms. I did not like where this was going.
“We put it in the drawer with Aunt Ruth’s . . .” Peter fell into a fit of giggles before finishing, but Charles finished for him.
“ . . . Underclothes!”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I should have known my brothers were the culprits of my disappearing bonnet. But they had hid it with Aunt Ruth’s unmentionables? Ruth Filbee was not a woman to be trifled with, and my brothers knew that better than anyone.
They must have noticed my lack of amusement, because their giggles had fallen silent. “Is she going to be angry?” Charles asked, his face all seriousness now.
My heart melted in an instant. “She has called upon a friend this afternoon, so if you remove my bonnet from amongst her . . . underclothes, as soon as we return, she will never know. Not to worry. But you must take care, do you understand?”
They nodded, squeezing my hands a little tighter.
As soon as the roof of Oak Cottage peeked above the hill, my brothers were running, racing to the door as they always did. In the five years that we had lived here, I had never been able to call it home. A home was a place of peace, security, and refuge. Oak Cottage was none of those things. It was beautiful to the outside eye—I had heard it described as ‘fashionably quaint’—but it was difficult for me to find beauty in the place where I’d felt so much sorrow.
