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Chapter Sixteen
Sebastian entered the fossil shop to find Joseph behind the counter. Although he generally chose to check on each establishment in the village to see where he might be of any assistance, today he’d heard from the baker that Mary Anning was sick, so he’d gone to inquire after her welfare. However, when he saw Molly’s son behind the counter, he couldn’t help but frown. It wasn’t often that the lady wasn’t at her post. It must be grave, indeed.
After Joseph glanced up and noticed him, Sebastian said, “I heard that Mary wasn’t feeling well.”
“No,” Joseph said grimly, which only heightened Sebastian’s concern. “She’s come down with a fever.”
“I see. I suppose your mother is tending to her?”
To Sebastian’s surprise, he shook his head. “She’s in the backroom cleaning some of our latest finds. She was too distressed to assist the customers.”
“I… see.” Although he couldn’t have been more confused. Mrs. Anning had confided in him about her misfortunes in the past, so he found it odd that she might have left Mary alone.
As if reading his thoughts, Joseph said, “Mother left Mary with Lady Calliope. She didn’t want to, but the lady insisted. She’s been with her all afternoon.”
Sebastian thought that was probably the best thing for Mrs. Anning, as no doubt she would have hovered over her daughter all day, believing the worst. “I’ll drop by and see how Mary is faring.”
Joseph’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if a heavy weight had been lifted. “That is very kind of you, my lord. I’m sure it would ease my mother’s conscience. It isn’t that she doesn’t think highly of Lady Calliope, but—” He broke off, as if unsure how to continue, but Sebastian understood well enough.
“All will be well,” he assured him, and as he took his leave of the shop, he prayed that he was right.
Seb had been to the modest cottage before. Joseph had asked his advice on fixing some things, and between the two of them, they had managed to repair most of the items on the list. As he drew closer, Sebastian was pleased to see that their work was still holding up. No more loose shingles or boards. Although he could never claim to be very handy with a hammer, his work was adequate. No doubt there were some in London who might believe he’d never even held such a tool. Sebastian could correct their assumption of him, but it was easier to let everyone believe that he was a wastrel, rather than a man with visions and dreams of his own.
As he passed by an open window of the cottage, he overheard someone singing a soft lullaby. “‘Lavender’s blue, diddle diddle, Lavender’s green. When I am king, diddle diddle, You shall be queen. Lavender’s green, diddle diddle, Lavender’s blue. You must love me, diddle diddle, ’Cause I love you.’”
He couldn’t resist a smile from blossoming on his face. He recognized that voice, but he had no idea that Lady Calliope was so well versed. He dared to put his face in the window where he saw her wiping Mary’s face with a strip of wet linen.
When she paused in her song, he dared to interject, “You know that song is about… diddling, right?”
She gasped in alarm as she spun her head toward the opening. She glared at him, her brilliant, green eyes chiding as she put a finger to her lips and motioned him toward the front door.
She was already standing with hands on hips when Sebastian made his way there. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Trying to scare me half to death?”
He shrugged. “I just thought you should know what you’re singing to her.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You are truly depraved, my lord, if you think that sweet nursery rhyme is anything other than a child’s poem?”
He lifted a brow, and then clearly recited, “’Down in the vale, diddle diddle, Where flowers grow, And the birds sing, diddle diddle. A brisk young man, diddle diddle, Met with a maid, And laid her down, diddle diddle. Under the shade. There they did play, diddle diddle, And kiss and court. All the fine day, diddle diddle, Making good sport—‘”
She held up a hand. “Excuse me, but I believe the lyrics are, ‘Call up your friends, diddle diddle, Set them to work. Some to the plough, diddle diddle, Some to the fork. Some to the hay, diddle diddle, Some to thresh corn, Whilst you and I, diddle diddle, Keep ourselves warm…’”
Sebastian watched as her words trailed off and her eyes widened. “Oh, my.” He thought her heard her mumble something like, “No wonder Minty didn’t like us singing it,” although he couldn’t be sure.
“Nevertheless,” she added firmly. “It was the only thing I could think of to soothe her as she slept.”
“I agree it was a better choice than Ding Dong Bell,” he murmured.
She crossed her arms. “Are you here to annoy me, or do you have an actual purpose?”
Turning serious, he said, “I was wondering if I could help.”
“I think I can manage—” She broke off abruptly and turned around and went back into the house.
He slowly followed her inside and shut the door to see her holding a towel and struggling to take a boiling pot off the stove. She set it to the side while a strip of hair fell into her face and instantly wilted from the steam. “I forgot the tea,” she grumbled.
Sebastian took pity on her and walked over to gently remove her hands from the pot. “Why don’t you let me take care of this while you tend to Mary?”
He could tell she wanted to argue, but she reluctantly nodded and left the room.
