Miss Demming. Allow me to congratulate you. You are a very fortunate woman.”
“Thank you, Miss Browne. And I agree; I am fortunate, indeed.”
Remembering her conversational blunder with Wexford earlier in the day, Celia spoke with the greatest care. Ursula was eager for details of Wexford’s disappearance, and Celia shared these with her in the most general fashion. She related how the viscount had been wounded, how he had suffered temporary memory loss and been befriended by a Belgian soldier and his wife.
“The battle at Waterloo has been devastating for the estate,” Ursula said. “Besides the injury to Lord Wexford, young Ned Forbes has lost a leg, and Mrs. Drew has been widowed.”
“What will they do?”
“Mrs. Drew has a young son, and I don’t see how she will be able to keep up the farm without her husband. I thought perhaps she could move to a cottage in the village, and we could find a place for her boy in the quarry. I intend to speak with Wexford about it, when he is better.”
“What about the poor man who lost his leg?”
“He comes from a large family, and they are managing to get by. His mother sews well, and I have been bringing her some piecework.” She looked at Celia expectantly. “Perhaps you might have something for her, Miss Demming. I assure you her work is excellent.”
Celia smiled. She was warmed by the way Miss Browne’s manner seemed to automatically include her in the concerns of the estate. She thought ruefully of how she had sought needlework for herself that very morning, but she said, “I will see what I can find for her. And I will speak to Lady Walsh, too . . . unless you have already done so.”
“No. I try not to trouble her ladyship with other worries. She has enough to deal with in looking after Lord Walsh.”
“Perhaps I could help in some way,” Celia heard herself offering. “I have little experience, but I learn quickly.”
“I go to the children’s home each Monday and Friday,” Ursula offered. “You could come with me tomorrow if you like.”
“What do you do there? I have always heard that such places are cold, strict, and inhospitable.”
“Some are. The government takes no responsibility for foundlings or orphans, so each community must deal in its own way. I believe in the cities most orphans end up in workhouses. My father established the home shortly after he came to Little Graydon nearly twelve years ago. We solicit contributions from the property owners in the district, and the older children help—in the garden and with chores.
“And as for what I do there—I do whatever comes to hand. Sometimes the children need tutoring. Father insists they all be taught their letters, even though it is an unpopular policy in the village. Some of the older girls are learning to sew. Often a group of us will go for long walks. We watch the birds, or sail homemade boats on the pond. Occasionally we walk to the village for sweets. There are times when the young ones like to have a story read to them. Other times they only need someone to show compassion for a scraped knee.”
It was nearly twenty minutes before Anthony joined them. They were by that time deep into a discussion of the children’s home. When he entered the room, they both looked up expectantly.
“What did the doctor say?” Celia asked.
“Much as I suspected. There is still healing to be done, but he believes that aside from some nasty scarring, the leg will someday be good as new. He would offer no opinion on the eyes, saying it was beyond his skills to predict.”
“The expert in London offers hope,” Ursula said, “and that is the prognosis we will believe.” She rose from her chair. “I must be going now. Let me say again, Miss Demming, and to you, too, Anthony, that I wish you both happy.”
After arranging to collect Celia the following day at two o’clock, Ursula declined Anthony’s escort to the stables and left the house alone.
“What a remarkable young
“Thank you, Miss Browne. And I agree; I am fortunate, indeed.”
Remembering her conversational blunder with Wexford earlier in the day, Celia spoke with the greatest care. Ursula was eager for details of Wexford’s disappearance, and Celia shared these with her in the most general fashion. She related how the viscount had been wounded, how he had suffered temporary memory loss and been befriended by a Belgian soldier and his wife.
“The battle at Waterloo has been devastating for the estate,” Ursula said. “Besides the injury to Lord Wexford, young Ned Forbes has lost a leg, and Mrs. Drew has been widowed.”
“What will they do?”
“Mrs. Drew has a young son, and I don’t see how she will be able to keep up the farm without her husband. I thought perhaps she could move to a cottage in the village, and we could find a place for her boy in the quarry. I intend to speak with Wexford about it, when he is better.”
“What about the poor man who lost his leg?”
“He comes from a large family, and they are managing to get by. His mother sews well, and I have been bringing her some piecework.” She looked at Celia expectantly. “Perhaps you might have something for her, Miss Demming. I assure you her work is excellent.”
Celia smiled. She was warmed by the way Miss Browne’s manner seemed to automatically include her in the concerns of the estate. She thought ruefully of how she had sought needlework for herself that very morning, but she said, “I will see what I can find for her. And I will speak to Lady Walsh, too . . . unless you have already done so.”
“No. I try not to trouble her ladyship with other worries. She has enough to deal with in looking after Lord Walsh.”
“Perhaps I could help in some way,” Celia heard herself offering. “I have little experience, but I learn quickly.”
“I go to the children’s home each Monday and Friday,” Ursula offered. “You could come with me tomorrow if you like.”
“What do you do there? I have always heard that such places are cold, strict, and inhospitable.”
“Some are. The government takes no responsibility for foundlings or orphans, so each community must deal in its own way. I believe in the cities most orphans end up in workhouses. My father established the home shortly after he came to Little Graydon nearly twelve years ago. We solicit contributions from the property owners in the district, and the older children help—in the garden and with chores.
“And as for what I do there—I do whatever comes to hand. Sometimes the children need tutoring. Father insists they all be taught their letters, even though it is an unpopular policy in the village. Some of the older girls are learning to sew. Often a group of us will go for long walks. We watch the birds, or sail homemade boats on the pond. Occasionally we walk to the village for sweets. There are times when the young ones like to have a story read to them. Other times they only need someone to show compassion for a scraped knee.”
It was nearly twenty minutes before Anthony joined them. They were by that time deep into a discussion of the children’s home. When he entered the room, they both looked up expectantly.
“What did the doctor say?” Celia asked.
“Much as I suspected. There is still healing to be done, but he believes that aside from some nasty scarring, the leg will someday be good as new. He would offer no opinion on the eyes, saying it was beyond his skills to predict.”
“The expert in London offers hope,” Ursula said, “and that is the prognosis we will believe.” She rose from her chair. “I must be going now. Let me say again, Miss Demming, and to you, too, Anthony, that I wish you both happy.”
After arranging to collect Celia the following day at two o’clock, Ursula declined Anthony’s escort to the stables and left the house alone.
“What a remarkable young
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