all, my lady. It’s…nice. I just thought you should know, for whatever my opinion is worth – I think you are doing well with this child.”
“She’s a good child,” Margaret said.
“That she is.” Carrie curtsied and took her leave of the garden.
Margaret turned to help Poppy back onto the swing and give her a gentle push, when she looked up with surprise and saw a figure walking out of the gamekeeper’s cabin. She thought of Nigel, and wondered if he had already returned home, but then noticed that the figure was shorter and slower than Nigel, with white hair.
She stopped the swing and reached for Poppy’s hand.
“Let’s go talk with the nice man,” she said.
Poppy took her hand readily and skipped along beside her as they made their way along the field to the small cottage. It was a stone building nestled beneath some beautiful trees. Mr Bateson turned from his place by the door with a basket in his arms. He had been tall once, but years of hard work had bent his back and he now walked with a limp. His eyes were still sparkling and good-natured, however. And his long white hair curled gently to his shoulders.
Margaret had always thought of him as a gentle sort, and now she saw the same reverence reflected in Poppy’s eyes.
“Mr Bateson,” she said as they drew near. “I had the good fortune of seeing your son in London a week ago. I assume you have heard word of his good health and safe return?”
“Yes.” The older man stopped and set down the basket. Margaret saw a few odds and ends, including two fresh loaves of bread and some fruit, piled high inside. “I had word a fortnight past, actually, but I did not know if you and your father would be much interested in the news. So much has changed since Nigel went away.”
“Yes, he’s a captain now.” Margaret smiled down at Poppy. “Little Penelope here actually got to meet him. Do you remember the soldier, Penelope?”
The little girl beamed up at Margaret. “The doll,” she said with a broad smile.
Margaret laughed. “She has a soldier doll, I assure you. She’s not comparing your son’s venerable career to that of a child’s toy, at least, not a baby child’s toy.”
“Oh, I thought he looked very spiffy myself,” the old man said with a returned smile of amusement. He looked up at Margaret. “The child looks more and more like her mother every day, doesn’t she?”
Margaret felt a jolt of sadness at the thought. She sometimes forgot how beloved Molly had been in the village before her reputation had taken such a harsh dive. The gamekeeper had not been there to see her any more than the rest of the town, but Margaret understood that the old man would not have been seen as a proper visitor to a single mother living in poverty. She saw a shred of guilt in his eyes and nodded gently.
“She does. Molly Smith would have smiled to hear you say it.”
The man seemed momentarily appeased. He leaned down to pick the basket back up. “I’m actually going back to town now to deliver this to my son,” he said with a bright smile. “He took up a flat in the village and I want to be certain he has some food until the housekeeper starts later this week. You know how it is with young men – they come in all in a rush and forget the little things.”
Margaret wondered why word of Nigel flustered her so completely. She forced a smile. “Oh? Is he here already? I wondered if he would stay longer with his friend from the Navy.”
“He sent word that he would be here by the afternoon. It seems that he could not be away from his father any longer. It has been four years since I last saw his face.” The old man smiled with almost boyish glee. “Is he much changed?”
Margaret heard the wistfulness in his voice. “He is in some ways,” she said, “but they are all good. He is taller and stronger, but just as kind and humble as ever. You will find him quite the worthy companion.” She turned to the cottage with a happy sigh. “I confess I had expected him to be staying here in your cottage. It would have been like old times to have him so close to the estate.”
The gamekeeper looked suddenly uncomfortable, and Margaret winced. “I meant no disrespect,” she said