Read Online Miss Milton Speaks Her Mind by Carla Kelly - Free Book Online Page B

she could not overlook his expression. “People do that, don’t they?” he commented, after a moment.
    â€œ Have you ever been in a workhouse, Mr. Butterworth?” she asked suddenly.
    â€œ No,” he said, and he looked at her in that kindly way that had sparked her earlier truth telling. “I cannot imagine that it was a place for children. Were you separated from your mother?”
    She nodded, and found herself hardly able to speak of it, even after so long. “I suppose that is one reason I have coddled Andrew all these years,” she said finally. “Every child needs a mother. I saw her once a week.” She paused a moment, then spoke when he looked at her. “She died there when she was 27. Her grave is number 248.”
    â€œ I do not understand,” he said.
    â€œ No one gets an actual headstone, Mr. Butterworth,” she explained, pleased with her control. “That would be an expense.”
    Mr. Butterworth nodded, in a way that she found most sympathetic, and yet without embarrassing her, then turned his attention to the window, where he had taken himself. “But why the scullery, Miss Milton?” he asked.
    I shall pick my way delicately here, she thought, and I have no actual proof that Lady Carruthers meant harm. “Lord Denby was away with his regiment in Canada when he heard the news of my mother’s death. He has always taken seriously his duties as head of the family.” Jane sighed, joining him at the window. “I do not believe his sister precisely understood his orders about retrieving me from the workhouse, and so I went to the scullery.”
    She allowed herself a glance at his face, and was surprised to see such an expression of dismay. “Mr. Butterworth, it was not onerous, not after a workhouse!” Jane you silly, she scolded herself, that bit of artless conversation did nothing to brighten Mr. Butterworth’s day. “This will amuse you, sir,” she added. “That first night when I scraped the pots, I saved the burned-on bits to eat later.” She stopped as his expression of dismay deepened. “I … I only meant it to amuse you, sir,” she concluded.
    She stared out the window, too, remembering how Stanton, the footman then, had pitched into the other maids when they found her little stash of leavings and teased her. I have never thanked him for that, she thought. He would only be embarrassed if I reminded him now.
    â€œ Damn,” Mr. Butterworth said.
    She had never heard him swear. Startled, she looked where he pointed. Andrew came up the lane from the high road, head down, eyes on the gravel bits that he kicked along in front of him. “I don’t think he had a good day,” she said softly. “Oh, Mr. Butterworth!”
    He said nothing, but put his hand on her shoulder and kept it there as they stood in the late-afternoon shadow at the window and watched. I wonder what taunts he has endured today, she thought, inclining her head toward Mr. Butterworth’s hand until she remembered. I think I know how cruel children can be.
    She knew that Andrew must not see her own distress, and steeled herself to greet him cheerfully. “I will not be a ninny about this,” she murmured.
    Mr. Butterworth tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Good show, miss—have I heard him call you Miss Mitten?”
    She nodded. “You have,” she replied, her voice soft. She looked out the window again. “Oh, Mr. Butterworth, I think I am going to cry!”
    â€œ Mustn’t do that, Miss Mitten,” Mr. Butterworth said. She didn’t look at him, because to her ears, his voice didn’t sound all that calm either. He removed his hand from her shoulder, his hesitation almost palpable to her. “What … what would Lord Denby do if you refused to return Andrew to Latin School?”
    She stared at him, her tears forgotten. “I dare not disobey!” she declared.