Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind (14 page)

It was an easy matter to slip the note to Stanton, and then hurriedly take their seats in the dining room before Lady Carruthers had time to look around more than once or twice at the expanse of empty chairs. She cleared her throat with a sound that startled Cecil, slumped as he was over the consommé in front of him. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,” Lady Carruthers said, and then picked up her spoon and glared at Jane.

I dare the Lord to call that grace, Jane thought. She folded her hands in her lap, unable to even contemplate the thought of eating. If I cannot eat, I can at least take her attention away from Andrew, and his various crimes and misdemeanors, she told herself. Heaven knows I have given her enough amusement at my expense to keep her occupied for an entire holiday season of meals, and off Andrew's back. But why should either of us suffer? she thought suddenly. Possibly it is time I abdicated my tide of perfect poor relation.

She looked at her cousin Cecil, who was drinking his soup with that air he wore of perpetual injury. How someone so languid can sit up all night at a card table and play away his entire quarterly allowance, I cannot fathom, she thought. She glanced at Andrew, who was making himself small in his chair, as he usually did during meals. We deserve far better, even if we are a poor relation and an unwanted child.

Jane put down her spoon and took a deep breath that came from somewhere deep inside her. I am depending upon you to be right, Mr. Butterworth, she thought, as she pushed back her chair and went to Cecil's side. Willing her hand not to shake, she rested it against his forehead as he stared at her in open-mouthed surprise.

“
Dear me, cousin, you are brave to have left your bed,” she murmured, hoping for that right touch between concern and humility. She crossed her fingers behind her back and looked at Lady Carruthers. “Is his skin always this color?” She rested her cheek against her cousin's forehead now. “Cecil, you are so brave to come to the country. I doubt that many would have gone through such exertions to see an aging relative. I had no idea.”

“
There is nothing wrong with his color,” Lady Carruthers snapped.

“
Perhaps not,” Jane said with what she hoped was serenity. “My mistake, Cecil.” She picked up her spoon and calmly sipped her soup while Andrew stared at her.

It is not working, she thought in quiet desperation as she forced herself to eat. After what seemed like years, Cecil slowly rose from the table and stood looking into the mirror over the sideboard. Yes! she thought, as he touched his cheek with his fingertips. Yes!

He had difficulty moving toward the sideboard for a better look, so she rose quickly to help him. “There, there, cousin,” she whispered. “Don't exert yourself if you do not feel up to it. We know how brave you have been.”

To her intense delight, Cecil was trembling now, and patting his face with both hands, turning his head from side to side to catch all the light. “What do you think it is, cousin?” he asked her at last, in a voice that sounded weak to her ears.

More hypochondria than exists in small countries, she thought, praying that her lips would not start to twitch. “I am certain that Mr. Lowe could be here in an hour or so to tell you,” she said, “if, indeed, you have an hour to … to ….”

Lady Carruthers was on her feet by now, and grasping her son by his shoulders. “I would be extremely careful of him, Lady Carruthers,” Jane murmured. “Do let me summon Mr. Lowe.”

“
Do that, Jane,” the woman said as she helped her son back to the table. “Rest your head there, my little love, and I will tell Stanton to hurry with that dratted tisane he promised hours ago.”

I am certain that tisane is on its way to Cecil from the kitchen by way of Madrid, Jane thought. She leaned close to Lady Carruthers to whisper, “I wouldn't leave Cecil alone, cousin.” Cecil whimpered, and Jane bit her lip until she could go on. “I'll mention the tisane again to Stanton, and write a note for the doctor, mum. Come, Andrew, and let us search for smelling salts. Oh, Cecil, do be brave!”

Once in the hall, it was a simple matter to tell Andrew to run upstairs and pack a bag, and then to find Stanton belowstairs. When he stopped laughing, she wrote a note to Mr. Lowe, urging him to come quickly and find something seriously wrong with her cousin. “I depend upon you, sir, for you owe me a great deal,” she concluded, writing fast, and then blotting the note, which she handed to the footman, who grinned and pulled on his overcoat over his livery.

“
I'm sorry to do this to you, Stanton,” she said as they went upstairs together. “I promise to write to Lord Denby, and can only hope that he will forgive me for deserting him, but Andrew and I are running away for the holidays.”

“
To Huddersfield, Miss Milton?” he asked, his smile broad.

“
If Mr. Butterfield has not changed his mind, Oliver, and I do wish you would call me Jane occasionally. In fact, make it a New Year's resolution, if you would.” She touched his arm. “It's long overdue, Oliver, as are a number of things around here. See you in January.”

“
And not a moment before, Jane.”

T
he ease of their escape from Stover Hall for the holidays she could only credit to Mr. Lowe, who, when he arrived, took one look at Cecil, by now in bed and truly pale, and ordered total bed rest and complete quiet.

“
I suggest a change of scenery for Andrew during the holidays, Lady Carruthers,” he told her in all seriousness. “Cecil must have total silence, and we know how rambunctious small boys can be.”

One would think you had no idea how quiet Andrew already is about this place, Jane thought, as she listened and marveled. Have a care here, Mr. Lowe, or my cousin will try to palm her responsibilities off on me. I know this from vast experience.

“
I shall take Andrew to London with me, and leave Jane in charge,” Lady Carruthers said. “She is such an expert with invalids.”

Mr. Lowe exceeded Jane's wildest flights of imagination as he shook his head sorrowfully. “No, Lady Carruthers, this illness requires a mother's presence. Suppose, just suppose, that you were far away when Cecil here ….”

Cecil whimpered on cue, and Jane dug deep within herself when Mr. Lowe turned away and coughed long and hard.

“…
when Cecil took a sudden turn,” the good doctor concluded, when he found the means of speech again. He leaned closer to Lady Carruthers. “Madam, it is epizootic fever, and one never knows.”

Jane gasped. “But … but Lord Denby? Is he safe here with Cecil in the house?” she asked, hoping for the proper quaver without overwhelming the situation.

The look Mr. Lowe fixed upon her suggested forcefully that he was at his outer limit. “Lord Denby must be left strictly alone, Lady Carruthers. Stanton is quite capable of relieving you of all duties on that head.” Mr. Lowe rested his hand on Cecil's arm. “I'll give him a draft that will allow sleep, and return to my office and mix up powders, which you will administer every four hours until the crisis is past. Come, Jane, and let us leave these two alone.”

“
The … crisis?” Cecil asked, his eyes wide.

“
No one has a carte blanche on life, Cecil,” he replied. He bent over Cecil, his lips close to her cousin's ear. “I trust your affairs are in order. Come, Jane. I must prepare those powders without another moment's delay.”

The hallway was too close, so the doctor took her by the arm and hurried her to the bookroom, where he sat down, rested his head on his arms, and muffled his howls of merriment against the desk.

“
Epizootic fever?” Jane asked, making no attempt to disguise her skepticism.

“
I believe it is a condition of horses,” he managed before he had to retreat to his handkerchief again for another round of mirth.

“
And these powders you are going to prepare?”

“…
will do nothing worse than turn his piss bright blue, my dear,” he concluded, with another swipe at his eyes. “Will that do, or am I still in your debt?”

She nodded. “It will do, sir, but you know that you will always be a debtor.”

Without a word he reached across the desk and took her hand. “I know, Jane, I know,” he said, his voice soft now. He kissed her fingers, then released her hand. “Do you tire of doing everyone's dirty work? Mine, as well?”

In the morning they were ready, bags packed, when Mr. Butterworth's carriage rolled to a stop at the front entrance. “Ready, my dears?” the mill owner asked when the footman opened the door.

“
Andrew, you help Reeves with my bag, there's a good lad,” she said, pulling Mr. Butterworth inside. When Andrew had left the house, she leaned close to whisper, “Sir, we must wait just one minute. Carlton took a urinal upstairs a moment ago, and I must listen.”

“
Mr. Lowe paid me a visit last night, so I know the whole of it,” he said with a grin. “You are a rascal, Miss Milton.”

“
I suppose I am,” she agreed. “Who would have thought it?”

Mr. Butterworth's grin grew wider as they stood together in the hall. He laughed out loud when an anguished yell split the morning quiet. He laughed louder when Jane tugged on his muffler. “I cannot take you anywhere, sir,” she said, pushing him toward the door.

“
Take
me
? Take
me
?” he protested. “You and the doctor are the ones who have conspired to ruin Cecil's manly dignity.” He offered her his arm, which she took. “Remind me never to get on your cranky side, if you have one.” He helped her into the carriage.

“
Everyone has a cranky side,” she told him as she seated herself and made room for him to sit beside her. “Even you, I suppose, Mr. Butterworth.”

“
Especially me, my dear,” he replied, and she was struck by the seriousness in his voice. “Repenting at leisure is not the sole purview of gentry. Even mill owners have been known to do it.”

He said nothing more to her, but directed a remark about the horses to Andrew that led to a discussion on a bit of bone and blood that Mr. Butterworth had his eye on in the spring's Newmarket trials. They returned briefly to Mr. Butterworth's home where Joe Singletary, out of breath and stuffing papers into a briefcase, joined them. Jane watched the secretary, remorse on her mind. “I fear that Andrew and I have forced you to leave a few days earlier than you would have wished,” she said, helping Joe retrieve stray papers as the postilion closed the door.

“
No matter, Miss Milton, no matter,” the mill owner said. “This just gets Joe home a day or two sooner to his sweetie, eh, Joe?”

The secretary nodded and blushed, but made no comment. In another moment, he and Andrew continued the discussion on horses that Mr. Butterworth had begun. Jane leaned back and closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun through the glass.

She must have slept then, because when she woke, her head was resting on Mr. Butterworth's thigh, and someone had covered her with a traveling blanket. The mill owner's hand was heavy against her waist, and she suspected that he slept, too. Across from her, Andrew was curled into a ball. Mr. Singletary looked up from the papers in his lap. He nodded when she mouthed, “Is he asleep?” So she closed her eyes again, content to remain where she was. Mr. Butterworth, she thought, you are a comfortable man. Such a pity that you are wasting your comfort on Jane Milton.

He knew how to choose inns for luncheon, too, because the food was hot, and the service attentive. Even Andrew noticed. “Miss Mitten, when we go anywhere with Grandfather or Lady Carruthers, we never have food this fast,” he whispered, while Mr. Butterworth was busy praising a particularly fine leg of mutton and the footman, all smiles, who bore it in. “And
we
have a crest on the door, where Mr. Butterworth does not!”

She smiled at Andrew and straightened the napkin tied around his neck. “But have you ever heard Lord Denby or your aunt show such appreciation? Have they ever complimented a waiter?”

Andrew shook his head. “There is something to that, isn't there?” he commented as he held out his plate for a slice of the mutton.

Indeed there is, she thought, as the journey continued. If Mr. Butterworth runs his mills the way he treats people, then he ought to be declared a national treasure. I could tell him, she told herself, the way he tells others. She smiled to herself. After all, Mr. Butterworth, if I embarrass you, you can only blame yourself, as you are always admonishing me to speak my mind. She leaned closer to the mill owner, who was watching Andrew read, a smile on his face.

“
Mr. Butterworth, you are a remarkably kind man.”

“
Oh, I don't ….”

“
Surely you are not going to become missish, as you accuse me!” She laughed. “Of course you are kind. Truly, sir, you are so good with people, and the wonder of it is, you mean every word of your kindness.”

He continued to smile at her, but there was a wistfulness in his eyes she hadn't noticed before. “Have you ever stopped to consider that I might be following your own example?”

It was so preposterous that she laughed, then covered her mouth when Joe Singletary stirred and muttered something in his sleep. “You cannot escape a compliment so quickly, Mr. Butterworth!” she teased. “Some people are just born good, sir. The rest of us must have goodness thrust upon us by rigorous discipline!”