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Roger thought she was wrong. He was pretty sure Macklin had been startled to find her here. This could grow awkward. He began to worry that he’d made a mistake in extending the invitation to stay.
* * *
Only a few miles away Fenella Fairclough was also welcoming a visitor, though this one was officially expected, if not quite invited. Fenella’s eldest sister had decreed that her son would spend the summer school holiday at his grandfather’s home. Her letter had simply assumed the boy was welcome, and Fenella knew there was no arguing with Greta, not without a monumental fuss.
The ten-year difference in their ages meant that she barely knew her sister. Greta had married at seventeen, in her first season, and produced a son and heir for her husband the following year. Two daughters had followed, and now Greta was expecting again. She’d declared that she couldn’t deal with her son in these circumstances, leaving Fenella to wonder what that meant precisely. But her father had approved the plan, and she had no reason to refuse. And so ten-year-old Sherrington Symmes had been packed into a post chaise, from which he was now descending, and sent along like a parcel into the North.
Her nephew was thin, with a narrow face, his dark hair a bit long, falling over his forehead. His long fingers moved nervously, and something in his eyes touched Fenella. Apprehension? It was true they weren’t really acquainted. Their interactions on family visits had been fleeting. She smiled. “Hello, Sherrington. I’m your Aunt Fenella.”
“People call me John. It’s my middle name.” His voice was defiant, as if he expected objections and was ready to fight them off.
Fenella saw no reason to make any. He’d been named after his father, who might have known better, Fenella thought. She’d found Sherrington a ponderous name when it was announced. “John,” she repeated. “Welcome to Northumberland.”
He looked around without visible enthusiasm.
The servant supervising the unloading of his trunks seemed old for a boy, Fenella noticed. But perhaps he was more of a tutor.
“How far away is Scotland?” the boy asked.
“We’re about ten miles from the border here,” Fenella replied.
“It’s so cold in Scotland that the snakes don’t lay eggs,” he said. “They’re born alive, like mammals.”
“Really.”
He flushed as if he wished he could take back these words, then raised his chin as if Fenella had reprimanded him. “There aren’t any proper snakes here. Nothing like a cobra or a python. Pythons can be feet and feet long. They can crush a goat.”
“How?”
“They wrap their coils around them and squeeze.” John closed his hands into fists, demonstrating.
He meant her to shudder, Fenella thought. She disappointed him. “And where do they do this crushing?”
“What?”
“Where do pythons live?”
“In Asia and Africa. When I’m older I’m going to visit my uncle in India and see the snake charmers.”
John spoke like a boy who was often contradicted. Fenella decided then and there that she wouldn’t. “Well, we may be short on snakes, but we do have cats and dogs and horses. Do you like to ride?”
The servant had left the carriage and was hovering behind the boy. “This is Wrayle,” John said. “He’s my minder.”
“Now, Master Sherrington.” The man glanced at Fenella as if to enlist her in a furtive cause. “I’m afraid Master Sherrington’s health is delicate. He will require a south-facing bedchamber, with tight shutters, and a restricted diet, with hot milk at bedtime.”
The boy seemed to deflate, like a creature resigned to oppression. He also looked as if he was made of whipcord and steel, and not the least bit delicate.
“I’ll introduce you to our housekeeper,” said Fenella to Wrayle. “She’ll see that you have what you need.” But perhaps not everything you want, she added silently.
Wrayle smiled like a man who has established his dominance. Fenella decided she didn’t like him. She vowed to have a talk with the housekeeper before he reached her with his list of demands.
Wrayle was part of the reason that Fenella took her nephew along that evening to a gathering at the house of a local baronet. Sir Cyril and Lady Prouse loved to entertain, and they didn’t let the fact that their children were all married and settled elsewhere stop them from inviting young people to gather for a bit of music and dancing. Lady Prouse said that nothing cheered her like watching youngsters enjoy themselves. In a somewhat isolated neighborhood without local assemblies, the Prouse home was a lively social hub.
Fenella hadn’t accepted one of their invitations for a while. Caring for her father and his estate took much of her time, but the truth was she hadn’t been as active in neighborhood society since Arabella’s death. That event, and its aftermath, had cast a pall. But that was clearing, and anyhow she had John to think of now.
The Prouses lived nearby. Their evening wouldn’t run too late, and beyond thwarting Wrayle, Fenella thought John would enjoy the jovial atmosphere. There would certainly be plenty of young people present. Not as young as he, admittedly. But she wasn’t going to mind that.
At this point in her thought processes, Fenella realized that she wanted to go for her own sake. Gaiety had been missing from her life recently. She was ready for a dose of Lady Prouse’s shrewd good humor. And so she put on one of her favorite gowns, bundled John into the carriage, and set out for the baronet’s.
