“That’s all I ask,” he said, enfolding her hand between both of his.
23
On Cordelia’s way home from delivering tins to the poor, she passed the village school. She saw the schoolmarm carrying a stack of tattered readers and trying to lock the door. Cordelia asked the driver to stop and got out of the carriage to help her.
“Allow me, Agnes,” she said, and reached for the books.
“You’re too kind, my lady—Cordelia,” she said as she pushed up her wire-rimmed spectacles. “I was just taking the readers home to try and rebind them. They’re falling apart.”
Cordelia picked up the top book; the cover was no longer attached to the pages. “It looks as if you could use some new books.”
“There’s no money for them,” Agnes said. “There’s never enough books to go around to all the children, and the ones we own have been here since I was a student.”
“Why don’t you make me a list of what you need and I’ll send for them at once. And some new sheet music too. We have a spring concert to prepare for, after all.”
“The children are so excited. They love your singing time on Fridays. They look forward to it all week.”
“As do I.” Cordelia leaned forward conspiratorially. “I like the children much better than any of the adults I’ve met in England—save yourself, of course.”
Agnes giggled—a sound that Cordelia didn’t know the proper schoolmarm could make. It was charming. “I am glad. I have practiced the piano every morning this week before school and after.”
“I also look forward to our lesson,” Cordelia said, and then got back into her own carriage.
She shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself. When she arrived at Ashdown, she went straight to the sitting room. There were logs in the fireplace, but the fire wasn’t lit. She could go to another room, but she knew that her mother-in-law and Penelope would be in the parlor, and she’d rather freeze than answer a dozen questions about living in America.
At least Blanche meant well. She was thoughtlessly kind. Nothing about her own mother was thoughtless. Everything she did was planned and executed with emotionless precision.
Cordelia pulled the cord to call for a servant and waited. The door opened and Hibbert entered, bowing.
“Ah, Hibbert,” she said. “Would you please light the fire?”
He blinked. “I will pass your request on to a footman.”
Lighting fires must be beneath an English butler’s dignity, Cordelia thought with a sigh. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”
Hibbert gave her a stiff bow and left the room.
Shedding the gloves that pinched her fingers, she knelt down in front of the fireplace. She picked up the tinder and flint, striking them together to form sparks until the wood caught flame. Cordelia blew softly on the sparks to spread them, and soon the logs were covered in warm orange-and-blue flames. She was close enough to feel the warmth of the fire spread through her cold fingers and onto her arms. She knew she ought to stand up and go sit on the sofa, but she didn’t want to leave the warmth of the fire.
Would she ever be truly warm in this cold climate?
She heard the door open but didn’t turn from her position near the fire. It was probably the footman coming to light it.
“There you are!” Thomas said, his voice concerned. “I was about to come looking for you.”
“Were you afraid that I was playing cricket again without you?”
Thomas instantly smiled, but the concern was still in his eyes. “I was afraid that something might have happened to you. I see now that I was being fanciful.”
“I got a chill while visiting the poor of Petersley and delivering tins,” she said, getting up. “And I passed several of your tenants’ cottages.”
“Our tenants,” he corrected.
“Our tenants’ cottages, and they are in terrible disrepair. And I have never seen anything like the conditions that those poor people in Petersley live in. We ought to do something to improve their living conditions. Provide some sort of work for the women. Perhaps a factory or two, where we can give good wages? It would also help make the estate more profitable.”
Thomas shook his head, and for a moment, she thought he was going to disagree. “I am ashamed I didn’t think of it before. Of course we must see that our tenants’ cottages are repaired and in good order. And we can speak to Mr. Ryse about helping the poor in Petersley. Would you help me with the plans? I see that you are already full of ideas.”
“I should like that,” Cordelia said. “If we don’t find a way for Ashdown to be self-sufficient, it will be an albatross on our children’s and their children’s necks.”
