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Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

The High Street

Limpley Stoke, Wiltshire

He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His eyes crinkled in welcome, and he smiled at her . . . her heart flopped in her chest, and then she was caught in a wave of longing so overwhelming it was like to throw her to the ground.

“Lo!” he said. “Lo! Lo!”

“You are a beautiful boy,” Henrietta cooed. She leaned down. “Do you have a tooth, sweet one? Is it right there?”

She put her finger on the baby’s chin.

He broke into a storm of giggles and took a step toward her, repeating: “Lo!”

“Lo?” Henrietta asked, laughing back.

“Lo-Lo!” shouted the baby.

A little girl grabbed the baby’s hand and pulled him backward. “She means hello,” she said in an aggravated tone.

“Anabel is a girl, not a boy. And she’s not beautiful. She’s quite bald, in case you didn’t notice.”

A girl of four or five scowled at Henrietta. Her pelisse was unbuttoned, and she had no mittens, not that it mattered much. It was unseasonably warm for January, and Henrietta 12 Eloisa

James

had left her own pelisse in her carriage. The child was wearing a grubby dress that likely started out as pale pink that morning, but had obviously made contact with the street. In fact, she had a smelly streak of manure down her front, as if she’d fallen directly onto a dung heap.

The girl started to pull the baby away, down the street. That pink dress was fine broadcloth, if it did reek of the stable.

Henrietta stepped squarely in front of her and then smiled as if she just happened to block her passage. “You caught me properly, didn’t you? And you’re absolutely right. I know almost nothing about children. Of course, I know that you’re a boy.”

The girl’s scowl got deeper. “I am not!”

“Never say so! You must be mistaken. I am quite certain that young lads of about—oh, four years old—are wearing pink with ribbons this year. I’m quite certain of it.”

“I am not a boy and I’m five years old. If you would please move, you are blocking our way.”

Her look of deep wariness made Henrietta blink, so she bent down, and said, “What’s your name, sweetheart? And where’s your nurse?”

For a moment, it didn’t look as if the girl would answer at all, as if she would keep running down High Street, towing her little sister behind.

“I’m Josie,” she said finally. Then, “Miss Josephine Darby. This is my baby sister Anabel.”

“Lo!” Anabel shouted. “Lo!” She seemed enormously pleased that Henrietta had come back down to her level.

“Ah,” Henrietta said, twinkling at the babe. “Now I am Lady Henrietta Maclellan. And I’m hugely pleased to make your acquaintance. Josie, do you think you misplaced your nurse somewhere?”

“I’ve left her for another position,” Josie said grandly, and rather quickly.

Fool for Love

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“You’ve what?”

“I’ve left her for another position,” she repeated. “That’s what the cook said just before she moved across the street.”