The Winter Companion (Parish Orphans of Devon #4) - Mimi Matthews Page 0,29
Still, I think you’d have done better to remain a teacher. Who wants to be trailing after old women all day, catering to their megrims? And what’s that in your hand? Waverley? Good lord. I suppose Aunt Charlotte asked you to read it to her?”
“I don’t mind.”
“So you claim. And yet…I have the funniest suspicion that you do mind.”
Clara felt as if he’d shone a harsh light on her. As if he’d exposed her secrets to the world. Ridiculous, really. Teddy Hayes didn’t know the first thing about her. “If I’ve done something to indicate I’m displeased with my position—”
“Nothing significant. But I told you”—he added a dab of sea-green paint to his canvas—“I notice things.”
The woods that bordered the Abbey were nothing much to speak of. Only a few clusters of hearty pine trees, willows, and oaks, growing as wild as the rest of the landscape. They were set back from the cliffs, further inland. A natural woodland that had never yet been bent to the will of man.
Neville tramped through the trees with the rest of the guests, the rain-sodden ground squelching beneath his boots. In his early days in residence, he’d often ventured into the woods to cut firewood. Now, however, it was the servants who were responsible for gathering fuel for the fire. Neville rarely had cause to go into the woods anymore, but he was still as familiar with them as he was with the rest of Greyfriar’s Abbey.
“We’re relying on you to guide us,” Tom said. “No one knows the property better than you.”
No one save Justin. But he’d stayed behind with Lady Helena. He was loath to leave her for any length of time in her present condition. Jenny had stayed behind as well, fussing over Lady Helena with near as much concern. With them were Mrs. Bainbridge, Mr. Boothroyd, and Mr. Hayes, none of whom had any interest in venturing out into the rain and mud.
Only Alex, Tom, Laura, and Miss Hartwright had come. Along with a party of housemaids and footmen, they traipsed through the woods. The servants were in far better spirits about it than the houseguests. Some of them sang carols. Others talked and laughed.
“Careful!” Alex caught hold of Laura a fraction of a second before she slipped in the mud. “Hang on to me, love.”
Laura clung to her husband’s arm. “Goodness, this footing is terrible.”
“What footing? It’s a swamp up here.”
“You’ve lived too long in the city,” Tom said. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like in Devon during the winter.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Alex replied. “I merely prefer the snow to the wind and the rain. There’s nothing festive about six inches of mud.”
Tom cast a look at the group of caroling maids and footmen. “The servants seem happy enough.”
At that moment, one of the housemaids—a tall, dark-haired young woman named Mary—fixed her laughing eyes on Neville. “Where might we find mistletoe, Mr. Cross? Is it much farther?”
The other housemaids giggled amongst themselves.
Neville suppressed the urge to tug at his cravat. Mary had arrived at the Abbey a year ago with the rest of the new servants and had been subjecting him to her flirtatious remarks ever since. It never failed to make him uncomfortable. Especially now.
Miss Hartwright was nearby, choosing her steps carefully through the mud. Her flaxen hair was covered with a sensible bonnet, as plain as her woolen cloak. She hadn’t talked very much since they departed the house. Not to him.
“It grows on the oak trees,” Neville said. “Beyond the p-pines.”
“You’ll have to show it to me.” Mary giggled again. “I’ll never find it on my own.”
Neville didn’t respond.
Tom shot him a questioning look. His voice lowered. “Is she…?”
“No,” Neville said emphatically.
“Beware of corrupting the servant girls, my lad,” Alex advised under his breath.
“He’s doing nothing of the sort,” Laura said in equally low tones. “And it isn’t polite for us all to be whispering.” She raised her voice. “Are you having difficulty, Miss Hartwright?”
Miss Hartwright had one gloved hand braced against a tree trunk.