Now to strike a spark from that tinderbox. This proved to be impossible. Either that or she was a fool. She inclined to thinking the latter.
Tippo gave her a supercilious look that implied she was in agreement.
“Shall I have a go?” Megs asked.
Miranda shook her head. “No. I can do it. I know I can. It can’t be that hard.”
It was. Betsey had to come in and light the fire for her in the end. By which time Megs had skipped off outside and was notable by her absence.
Feeling chastened at her inability to use a tinderbox, Miranda got on with the morning chores, trying to keep to things she was sure she could achieve, like sweeping and mopping the tiles and scrubbing the table, which she was sure Betsey had scrubbed herself the night before. But who knew, perhaps tables needed scrubbing twice a day. She certainly didn’t pretend to that sort of knowledge.
Lissy and Mims eventually came downstairs, both in their nightgowns and looking rumpled by sleep. “Do we not get a cup of tea in bed in the morning?” Lissy asked, rubbing her eyes.
Mims sat at the table only to jump up again as the bench was stilldamp from Miranda’s scrubbing.
Betsey filled the large brown teapot with boiling water from the kettle which she then refilled and hung back in the fireplace to boil again. She gave the girls a disapproving stare. “And just who do you think is going to bring tea up to you now that we all live here?” She’d always been a plainspoken woman even when she’d been Miranda’s childhood nurse, and nothing had changed when she’d come with her to Windrush after her marriage to Geoffrey. In fact, she’d sometimes been so outspoken Geoffrey had threatened to dismiss her, something Miranda had been forced to use her best efforts to prevent.
Lissy’s lower lip jutted. “You or Mama?” But she sounded uncertain, as though she might have just realized they were all there was.
Mims snorted with laughter. “Are you sure you don’t want me to be your maidservant? Now I have to share a bedroom with Megs, I feel like I might be one.”
Miranda frowned at the pair of them. “No one is getting a cup of tea this morning until they’ve gone upstairs again and got washed and dressed. Without any help. If Megs can do it, so can you.” Although knowing Megs the washing part had not happened.
“That’s not fair.” Lissy pouted a little more. “Megs is only twelve and doesn’t have to put on stays like we do. It’s easier for her to get dressed by herself.”
Miranda shooed them out of the kitchen. “I won’t listen to another word until you’re both dressed. Off you go. And take a pitcher of hot water with you to wash with.”
When they’d gone, Betsey sat on a dry part of the bench and poured two cups of strong tea. “That’s telling them. They might say they don’t want to grow up to be ladies, but it seems to me as they’d still like the privileges young ladies get, don’t it you?”
Miranda had to laugh. “You’re quite right, Betsey. They’re just going to have to learn to live without servants. If I can, they can. I’m sure it won’t be that hard. They’ll soon get used to it.” She picked upher cup and took a sip of the hot tea. “Nectar. I really needed this after all this pre-breakfast work.”
Mims and Lissy took far longer getting dressed than Miranda thought possible, but eventually they returned, both very sensibly wearing old gowns and each with their hair confined in a single braid. And breakfast was served. Thanks to the looting of the Windrush larder, and the generous gift of the chickens, it was a substantial one of eggs, bacon, rolls hot from the oven and plentiful cups of tea. Enough to satisfy even Lissy, who could eat more than Megs when so minded.
The girls were just clearing the table and Betsey was up to her elbows in hot soapy water when Megs returned. The door to the farmyard banged open, in Megs’ usual method of entering a room, and she pulled a second person inside by the hand. The dogs, all except Tippo, who was too fat and lazy to bestir herself, rose to their feet from their positions almost in the hearth, and approached the newcomer, sniffing their interest.
A young man, tall but thin and with a cane in his hand, his face pale and drawn and his wavy brown hair overly long, stared round at them all, and they all stared back. Who on earth was this stranger Megs seemed to have taken under her wing? And whom the dogs, who were now collectively wagging their tails, seemed to approve of.
Megs, her face triumphant, paused on the threshold beside her captive. “Look who I’ve found,” she announced. “This is Cousin Harry. I met him in the village. He was just coming out of the rectory and I recognised him from yesterday so I invited him back with me to meet everyone.”
Miranda stared at the newcomer, overcome with surprise. Why, he couldn’t be much above thirty, although his thin face and shadowed eyes aged him. When she’d pictured him, both before and after the girls’ spying trip, she’d conjured up someone who looked like Geoffrey, only a little younger. Portly, heading towards balding, double-chinned perhaps, and definitely not handsome. For despite histhinness, this young man was quite definitely handsome.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “My goodness. Sir Henry. We didn’t expect to see you this morning. Please come in and…” She trailed off. If she’d been at Windrush she wouldn’t have been greeting him in the untidy kitchen. Betsey had paused in the washing up, her chin on her shoulder, a heavy frown of disapproval on her square face. Mims and Lissy were also staring. Only Megs seemed to find the situation normal.
“Do come into the parlor,” Miranda said at last, “and Betsey will make some more tea.”
