The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,34
and loved, and she basked in the feeling. Under his gentle coaxing, she hardly realized how much she was eating, but finally she relaxed against the chairback and smiled at him.
“Enough, Richard! You’ll make me fat!”
The big man, who had managed to stow away a formidable repast in spite of his close attendance upon her needs, sat back also and regarded her soberly. “To business, Mistress Radcliffe.”
“First, is it an imposition for me to stay at your farm? Your sister said you wouldn’t mind, but I’m thinking now of your reputation in the county.”
His smile emerged. “No fear of that, ma’am. I’m notorious for picking up waifs and strays,” he said, outrageously. Then, at her involuntary laugh, he went on, “There was a widow-lady with her wee bairn stayed at the farm last year, and a poor scholar-body of Oxford College, who was ailing from too much study, the year before that. My sister sends them, or Lord John does, or others in the family. We’ve a fine large guest room, and a verra rrespectable cook-woman” (rolling his r’s), “name of Cameron, who lives in the house and sorts us all. We’re so respectable it’s painful,” he ended with a sheepish smile.
Kathryn was laughing again. “You’ve relieved my mind, Richard, and since I’m supposed to be a respectable widow-lady myself, I’ll do no harm to your reputation.”
He nodded agreement, his round blue eyes bright. If he had caught the “supposed to be,” he made no comment.
After a moment, she went on. “I’m not sure how much your sister told you, but I’ve got to stay hidden in the neighborhood of Elsingham Manor for a little while, and I want to earn my living so I can pay you for my—”
She silenced his instant protest. “You must allow me my pride, Richard. I have reasons for not wanting to spend any more than I must of this money.” She indicated the bulging reticule. “So I will ask you now: is there anything on your farm or near it—I would rather not go into Elsinghurst Village itself—that I could do?”
“Your arm is broken,” he said, more reminder than question.
“Yes, but it’s healing quickly. A few more days and I can take off the splints.”
The man nodded. Kathryn liked it in him that he did not offer further argument or protest. He obviously knew what it was to have to earn a living, and he had his own pride. After a moment’s thought he asked, “What can you do then?”
“I can teach: French, elementary mathematics, geography, some history, English language and literature.” She paused, held by the open admiration on his face.
“Och, Mistress Radcliffe, that’s a grand list, indeed!” He said with a twinkle, “Can ye no do more?”
Kathryn smiled back at him. “Yes, I can, you outrageous Scot. I am a qualified librarian.”
A new expression had wiped the humor from his face. “Librarian, is it now? And isn’t that the grand news?”
“Does the village need a librarian? I mustn’t be seen near the Manor, so I hope it’s not—”
“The Vicar,” said Richard. “He resides in a fine house, also the gift of the old lord, not five miles from our farm. He serves the spiritual needs of both Crofton and Elsinghurst. He is a gentle, fashless, scholarly old fellow, who can recite you the dates of the Punic Wars but can’t tell you what day this is. He has a house full of books, and he’s just inherited another library from an uncle who was as much of a bookworm as he is himself. The poor old man is pushed out of house and home with the sheer bulk of learning he owns. ¼Tis obviously your Christian duty to rescue the poor wee man.”
“But that’s wonderful!” Kathryn exclaimed. “I’ll go over and offer my services tomorrow! I can arrange his books, and shelf and catalogue them—”
“I mind hearing him say there’s many of them in Latin and Greek,” interrupted Richard. “Would you be having these languages by any chance?”
“I have a little Latin. No Greek.”
“Still and all, the good man should be happy to have you with one ancient tongue,” conceded Richard. “Now, will you come with me this night—I’ve a trap here and a stolid old cob will get you to the farm as safe as an egg in a basket—or will you stay the night at the inn?”
“I’ll come with you now, Richard. Maybe your cook will help me to bed. I’d just as soon no one here knew of