The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,4

but as I am the one here on sufferance, I feel a need to ask and not presume." She ignored Jane’s annoyed expression. "I was to take a decoction of herbs over to Mrs. Chitterdean this morning. Her maid has contracted a perfectly wicked grippe that is threatening to descend into her chest. Mrs. Chitterdean is frantic, for evidently Mr. Chitterdean is susceptible to every ill and whenever he does take to his bed with an illness he invariably loses his voice completely. Not a sound can he make, not even a whisper!"

Jane laughed. "I understand her concern. For a man of the cloth to lose his voice must be a veritable disaster! I shall be happy to take your medicinal syrup over to the parsonage."

"Thank you. And I promise to do all I can to make this proposed visit from my sister as short as possible. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what contretemps lie between yourself and Serena?"

Jane smiled, albeit wistfully, as she rose from the table. "No, best of my aunts, not even for you shall I wallow in my unhappy past. It is done. It is obvious that even Aunt Serena sees it in that light. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must speak to Twink about delaying the boys’ lessons for the day. You know," she mused with a tiny laugh, "I do believe that were I forced to earn wages, I should make a frightful governess. I can always seem to discover an excuse for putting off lessons. "

Lady Elsbeth laughed as she tucked her sister’s letter into a small pocket at the side of her high-waisted morning gown. "But just the sort of governess the boys would prefer. Nevertheless, I don’t know why you insist on taking over their lessons."

"Because poor Twink is barely capable of supervising the boys. I dare not ask her to do more than that. Besides, the subjects the boys are studying would leave her baffled and querulous if she were asked anything. But if we do not attempt to establish some measure of discipline in this household, we shall be ridden roughshod."

Lady Elsbeth laughed and shook her head. "No matter. Come down to the stillroom when you are ready to leave. I shall make up a basket for Mrs. Chitterdean and leave it on the worktable."

Jane Grantley scanned the blackberry hedge. It was early in the season, though many branches near the top of the verdant growth already sported large, deeply colored berries. Not enough, perhaps, for jam making, but far too many to leave to the birds alone. Blackberries with cream would make a nice treat for the children’s tea, and the idea of picking the ripe fruit reminded Jane of her happy childhood. It was funny how life took so many odd twists and turns, quite in the manner of the maze at Hampton Court.

It was eight years since she’d been without a care and had the freedom to pick berries. Not since her mother died shortly after Mary’s wedding. Afterward, it took a long time to pick up the pieces of her life, to sail ahead, ready to meet new experiences with assurance. Luckily, or unluckily, the semblance of confidence was easily donned until, with time, the true article came to cloak her.

Jane sorely missed her mother when she’d had her come out. Perhaps if she’d been alive, Jane’s life would have run differently. She doubted she’d be worrying Lady Elsbeth with fears of spinsterhood. Unfortunately, without her mother’s calm good sense and guidance, it took her a painfully long time to learn to believe in herself. At least those days were long past and she could once again enjoy life.

Jane glanced down at the empty basket she’d set by her feet, then glanced up toward the sun, screening her eyes with a slender hand as she evaluated that fiery orb’s position in the sky. She hadn’t tarried long at the parsonage. Mrs. Chitterdean was too distracted for stimulating conversation, her thoughts on the sick housemaid and her husband’s susceptibility to infection. She’d thanked Jane effusively for the herbs and questioned her closely on their proper usage, then her mind seemed to drift away toward the tiny upstairs room the maid occupied. After hearing a protracted fit of hacking coughs from above stairs, Jane gracefully took her leave, promising Mrs. Chitterdean that Lady Elsbeth would brew more of the decoction should it prove necessary.

She judged that it still wanted the hour of