Page 37 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Of course.” Hortense waved a gloved hand. “As long as I’m home in time for dinner, there’ll be no complaints.”

“Are you…are you quite happy?”

“I am.” She gave a smile and a nod that put an end to any doubt on the matter. “I’m far happier than I’ve ever been, which is saying something, as I quite enjoyed my time with Her Grace. I’m lucky to have married a man who loves me, whom I love back, and one who already had competent help on staff.”

Vera grinned. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“Well, come on then.” Stephen suddenly stood, fists propped on his hips, next to the cart. “This isn’t a tea party.”

Hortense raised an eyebrow at Vera, but they each accepted his hand and clambered down.

“He’s ill, then?” Vera asked.

“That is why we’re here.”

Vera stopped herself from sticking her tongue out at his back as she followed Stephen up the walk; she settled for scrunching her nose instead. Hortense’s smirk told Vera she’d seen it.

“I’ll tend to Mr. Douglas,” Stephen murmured. “You two see what you can do with the girl.”

“What girl?” Vera stopped on the front step—he’d said Mr. Douglas was a widower of seventy with no children.

“The girl. The girl in the house.” Stephen stalked in and Vera had little choice but to follow. “She’s in the kitchen.”

“What girl?” Vera repeated, to Hortense.

Hortense just shrugged, for of course she knew no more than Vera did.

Vera dithered for a moment in the small entryway. To her right was a small parlor with clean but worn furnishings that spoke of a lifetime of comfortable sitting. No fire burned in the grate, and she moved quickly through to the doorway that led to a kitchen with a stone floor. Here, at least, there was a fire, as well as the aforementioned girl.

She couldn’t have been more than two years old, with deep blue eyes set in a face smudged with soot and dirt. Limp curls hung on either side of her face. Still, she smiled and held her hands up to Vera in a silent request to be picked up. Vera complied, finding the girl much too light for her liking. She was grateful that Hortense was at her back. Where had this child come from?

“What’s your name?” Vera asked gently.

“Anne,” the girl warbled.

Vera shot a glance toward Hortense for guidance on how to proceed, but she’d momentarily forgotten that Hortense was only supposed to assist her and act as a chaperone. She had no more experience being a nurse than Vera did, and she’d not been hired to do so.

Vera straightened. “Hortense, please heat some water. If there’s tea to be found, we’ll have some.”

“I believe Lord—Dr. Winthrop put some in the basket.”

Hortense set said basket upon the kitchen table. At the fireplace, a heavy cauldron of water hung on an iron arm; the maid pushed it back so it would heat over the flames.

Vera turned back to the silent girl, who watched Hortense and Vera with wide, frightened eyes. Her grubby hands clasped the front of Vera’s muslin. The girl’s own dirty dress wasn’t a dress at all; upon further inspection, it appeared to be a man’s tunic that had been rolled up numerous times at the sleeves.

Vera frowned. There was so much she wished she could ask about the situation, but the girl couldn’t answer. Besides, she shouldn’t be the recipient of those questions. Perhaps Vera would have more answers when Stephen returned from upstairs.

“Well, let’s get you clean,” Vera said once the water over the stove began to steam.

There was a wide pot with a thick bottom in the corner that Vera suspected acted as a bathing tub for the house. Hortense set it on its side and rolled it to the center of the room, then went out the back door. Vera was left to stare down at the little girl she held. The little girl stared back, regarding Vera with patient interest.

When she returned, Hortense filled the bathing tub with water and rummaged in a small supply cupboard before emerging with a large block of soap and two worn towels. Thus prepared, Vera attempted to set the little girl into the pot. But instead of frightened silence as she expected, the girl let out an earthly howl.

“I don’t want to. No bath. No wash!”

Vera jolted from the sheer volume; she looked at Hortense for assistance, but Hortense wore a similar wide-eyed expression.

“Anne, if you behave nicely, there are muffins for after your bath. Won’t it be nice to have a muffin with jam?” Vera asked soothingly.