“It’s not. It’s . . . magnificent. Very manly.”
Charles dropped his hand from his nose.
“I hope you had a pleasant walk,” Susannah said.
“I went to the stables.”
“Ah.”
“I’m worried about Miss Quick. I didn’t anticipate . . . will she lose her position?”
What a caring person Charles was to think of the nursemaid, to remember her and think of her welfare even in the midst of such a tumultuous time for him.
“She has not been dismissed. If she wants to keep her place, I think your father would welcome that. If she doesn’t, she will receive excellent references.”
Charles nodded. “Good.”
“Your father is very proud of you for finding a way to give Mina an ally in Miss Quick. And Mina is very lucky to have an uncle like you. Too many children have no one to speak for them, no protection. You gave Mina that.”
Charles looked away and fidgeted, but itwas not, she thought, the fidgeting of a young man receiving a compliment. It was something else.
“I know you saw, Miss Beasley . . . that you saw me when Mina came out of hiding, out of the cabinet.”
Susannah turned back to the painting and resolved to keep her eyes on it. She must not look at Charles. Boys confessed hurtful things more easily when they did not feel cornered. Even better when there was a distraction, like a ball or a chore. But, here in the gallery, there was no ball, no dishes to wipe. Only paintings and a spotless floor with no broom to hand.
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“My brother used to put me in a cupboard when we lived in London with Mother. I remembered when I saw Mina . . . and what Father said about my mother’s lover . . . Hal always said it was a kind of game, and I should go into the cupboard and stay still and not make any noise until he would come and fetch me. And I would do anything Hal told me to do. But now I think he was protecting me.”
They both stood completely still.
Finally, she said to the painting, “Hal sounds like he was a very good big brother.”
He turned to her. “And who are you, Miss Beasley? My father’s mistress?”
She looked at him, saw how well he was hiding his pain. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“You’re not ashamed.”
“No. I cannot believe my loving your father is wrong. We’re not hurting anyone, and we’re bringing each other a great deal of good.” She paused. “But I want you to stay at Bledsoe Park, so if you object to me, I’ll leave.”
“You just said loving my father wasn’t wrong.”
“The best way I can love your father is to make sure he has a chance to know his son.”
“I don’t object to you.” The young man’s hands went tohis watch fob, his cuffs, finally found a home behind his back. “I think you’ve made many things possible.”
She smiled. “Just as Mina made many things possible for me.”
“How so?”
“She taught your father how to love. And she’s the reason I met your father, came to stay at Bledsoe Park.”
He tilted his head towards her, so much like his father, asking a question without asking a question.
She raised her shoulders in a shrug, bending her elbows and putting her hands out. “I am Augustus Puddlewick.”
Charles only looked confused, so she added, “The author ofThe Tales of Tommy Treadwell? AndThe Further Adventures of Tommy . . . ?”
