Had he been going to use the dreaded word “destitute?” Because it was true. They would be virtually destitute and it was all Geoffrey’s fault. Miranda frowned. “Then he should have thought of that before he so thoughtlessly died.”
Good heavens. Was that how she felt? Fury at her husband’s neglect of her children rather than herself seemed to have sorted out any last remaining sadness about his death. One could not mourn someone for whom one was nurturing this much anger.
Crawford picked up the chair again. “Shall we continue?”
After a pause, Miranda nodded. “I see your point. My daughters need furniture so you’d best get on with it, even though I don’t like it.” She paused again. “And thank you, Crawford, for being so thoughtful.” At least someone was. It seemed Crawford cared more for her and her daughters than Geoffrey ever had.
She just had to hope and pray their nearest neighbor, Sir Julian Horncastle, didn’t decide to call while all of this was going on. He’d been Geoffrey’s friend, not hers, but since her husband’s funeral he’d taken to calling several times a week, supposedly to reassure himself that she was all right. All right, indeed. From the longing looks he’d been giving her, looks that had been growing in intensity recently, he had something else in mind and she was not about to succumb to his blandishments, even if he could offer her and the girls a substantial home. She shivered at the thought and crossed her fingers just in case. He had the air about him of a man nurturing an obsession and she didn’t like being the object of it.
Perhaps the crossing of the fingers worked. By the evening of the second day, Rampton Farmhouse was looking quite respectable and there had been no unexpected visitations from Sir Julian to deal with. Thank goodness.
And indeed, the previously cobweb-ridden and spider-occupiedfarmhouse had been transformed into a cosy and welcoming home. The kitchen was spotless, both the stone-slabbed floor and the table scrubbed with sand, the hearth had a cheery fire burning in it and shining pots hung on the walls. Freshly washed yellow curtains fluttered in the windows, crockery stood on a wooden dresser ready to be used, and the larder was well stocked with enough food, Miranda declared, to last all winter. “Maybe half,” Megs amended. “You know I’m always hungry.”
In their new parlor a faded but serviceable rug looted from the attics at Windrush covered most of the oak-boarded floor. And on it stood a selection of seats, none of which matched, but in so doing, they made the whole place appear far more homely. A sideboard had been found in a storeroom and polished by Mrs. Lockhart, and on this Miranda had arranged some of the ornaments she considered hers alone and nothing to do with Geoffrey or his yet to be encountered heir.
Upstairs, the largest bedroom at the end was of course Miranda’s, with Melissa very much smug that she had the bedroom next door to herself. Miriam had been disgusted to discover that she had to share the bedroom she’d laid claim to with Megs. This had caused some disruption, as Miriam, being now sixteen, didn’t think she should have to share with anyone, still less her much younger sister.
“If you want that bedroom to yourself,” Megs said, all righteous indignation, “then where do you think I should sleep? In with Betsey in the box room? Maybe in the kitchen hearth, like Cinderella? Or out in the stables with the horses?”
“You could have a truckle bed in Mama’s room,” Miriam said. “She won’t mind sharing with you. And anyway, you’d probably like sleeping with Banshee, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”
“Maybe I don’t want to have to sleep in Mama’s room,” Megs retorted, lower lip jutting in rebellion. “Maybe she wants her room all to herself, like Lissy.”
Which had put Miranda in a difficult position. “Of course I don’t mind sharing with you, Megs. But Miriam, you are still only a child and Melissa is old enough to have come out next year if things hadn’t gone so badly wrong. She’s a young lady, not a child, so she gets a room of her own. And you, because you’re a child, like Megs, must share.” Not that Melissa was behaving like a young lady.
“But I’m not a child like Megs, am I? She’s only twelve and she still looks like a baby. I’m turned sixteen and as tall as Lissy and every bit as grown up.” Miriam frowned. “And what’s more I’m not such a baby as to be scared of spiders.” Her eyes lit up. “I bet there’re still some left in your room, Lissy. Why don’t you share with Megs because she’ll be able to catch them for you when they run over your face at night.”
Melissa turned agonized eyes on Miranda. “There aren’t any spiders left, are there?”
Miranda pressed her lips together for a moment, wondering if she should just send them all to their rooms for a bit of peace. “No, of course there are no spiders left. I myself paid particular attention to your room, Lissy. And you girls are vexing me when you should be being helpful. And I should tell you that being helpful involves not quarrelling when we already have enough problems. I would prefer you not to add to them, if you don’t mind.”
Betsey glowered at them all from her position by the sink. “You listen to your ma, you girls, and make a bit of an effort not to mither her so. None of you are grown so big I can’t put you over my knee and paddle your backsides for you.”
Not an empty threat.
All three took on guilty expressions, as they should.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Melissa said, a decidedly false air of contrition on her face now. “I shall endeavor not to let Mims’ and Megs’ teasing irritate me so much.”
Miriam shot her sister a scowl. “I, too, am sorry, Mama. I’ll resign myself to having to put up with sharing with Megs.”
Megs frowned, but she had a naughty twinkle in her eyes. “I’m sorry as well. Sorry I put all those spiders in your room, Lissy.”
Uproar ensued, and Melissa had to be reassured yet again, after a search of her room by both Miranda and Betsey, that Megs had only been teasing, and that there would be no spiders at all in her room when she moved in tomorrow morning. She departed by herself for a second check, just to be on the safe side, swat in hand.
Miranda exchanged exasperated glances with Betsey, who rolled her eyes heavenward.
Megs leaned towards Mims, her voice a stage whisper. “Lissy’s an idiot if she thinks the spiders won’t come back. I think they have a homing instinct, like pigeons, and when you throw them out of a window their one aim in life is to climb back in.”
Miriam nodded. “You’re right. I’m glad I’m not sharing with her. Let’s go out and see what Archie and Joe have done in the stables. We can ride the horses over tomorrow.”
When they’d gone, Betsey took the bubbling kettle from where it had been standing on a trivet beside the fire. “A nice cup of tea is what you need, Miss Miranda.” Having been Miranda’s childhood nurse and come with her when she married Geoffrey, she’d never changed the way she addressed her mistress, even though Miranda was now a married woman and a widow.
Miranda sank down onto one of the now polished benches. “That would be most welcome, I can assure you.”
Betsey poured a little hot water into the brown kitchen teapot to heat it, swirled it around then tipped it out. From the tea caddy she took two heaped teaspoonfuls of leaves that had been liberated from the kitchens at the Hall and added them to the already steaming pot. More hot water, a quick stir and the cosy went on to allow the tea to brew. Miranda had developed a taste for tea you could “stand a spoon up in” as a child in Betsey’s care.
Mrs. Lockhart, her hair hidden under a headscarf, bustled in fromoutside, carrying a cloth covered tray which she set on the table. “Cakes from Mrs. Barnes. The maids have all gone back up to Windrush, Miss Garvey’s on her way down in the pony trap with your baggage, and Mr. Crawford and Thomas have walked over with Mr. Charlton to collect half a dozen chickens for the yard. Those ones out there are nearly all cockerels. No use to man nor beast. No good for the pot, neither, as they’re all so scrawny. Six nice young layers should do you well.”
