America. We’re a little less formal there, so I have to ask you: Must I refer to you as Lady and Lord? I don’t mean any disrespect, but, well, it sounds so stiff and formal. And you’re children, after all.”
“Well, I, for one, hate the title,” Abbott said, finally unfolding his arms from his chest.
“Me too,” Nicholas said, looking relieved, then thoughtful for a moment. “Could you call me Nicholas the Great instead? I read about a comic book character called that.”
“Nicholas the Great it is, then,” I said, smiling.
“You may call me Lady Katherine,” Katherine said with an air of annoyance. “And we don’t need a nanny. We can take care of ourselves.”
Abbott smirked. “Mr. Beardsley arranged for you to come, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said. “I believe he did.”
“Mr. Beardsley is a mean old booby!” Nicholas exclaimed, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Now, Nicholas,” I said, trying very hard to stifle a laugh. “I mean, Nicholas the Great.” His smile revealed one missing front tooth. “I don’t think it’s very nice to call Mr. Beardsley a”—I placed my hand over my mouth, but the gesture failed to repress the laughter that seeped out—“a booby.”
Nicholas smiled. “You think he’s a booby too, don’t you?”
The room went quiet in anticipation of my response. I peered over my shoulder to see if Mrs. Dilloway was near; she wasn’t. I smiled, and looked back at the children. “I suppose you might say he has one or two booby qualities.”
The children laughed—all but Katherine, who frowned, busying herself with the ribbons in her hair.
Janie looked up at me from her perch in my lap. “Booby,” she said with a giggle.
I smiled. This wasn’t going to be easy, but so far, so good.
“The children take their tea at three,” Mrs. Dilloway said in the servants’ hall later that afternoon. “Nicholas and Abbott have riding lessons straight after, and Katherine and Janie have piano lessons. The lessons are a terrible bore to Katherine, who’d much rather be out riding with her brothers.”
I nodded as she walked out to the hallway. “If you don’t mind my asking, why isn’t she permitted to ride with her brothers?” I asked Sadie, seated beside me.
She sighed. “Lord Livingston won’t allow it. Not since Lady Anna died.”
I lowered my voice. “Did she die in a riding accident?”
“No, no,” Sadie replied. “My stars, if only it had been a riding accident.” She clutched a rosary around her neck and sighed. “Since she passed, Lord Livingston hasn’t been the same.”
“How so?”
Sadie looked left and then right, as if she worried the teacups in the cupboard might be spies. “He’s cross now,” she said. “Closed off. Well, I suppose he’s always been, but now it’s different—much worse. The day she died, the children lost two parents, if you ask me. He hardly pays them any attention. It’s a pity.”
I leaned in closer to Sadie. “How did she die?”
She shrugged. “No one knows, really. They found her body out there.” She paused, lowering her voice to a whisper. “In the orchard.”
I covered my mouth. “That’s just terrible,” I said. “I suppose Lord Livingston must have loved her a great deal.”
Sadie looked conflicted. She took a bite of her roll and didn’t finish chewing it before speaking. “I guess you could say so, but she wasn’t happy here, Lady Anna. Never was. She never warmed to the moors, the isolation. She missed America. Of course, Lord Livingston tried to make her happy.” She gestured toward the window. “He brought in every plant, tree, and shrub you could ever imagine. Rare ones, too. You should have seen the gardeners parading through here with flowers pulled from the depths of the Amazon forest.” She sighed. “And that orchard. He helped her find all of the camellias. My, did she love the camellias. No expense was spared when it came to Lady Anna’s gardens. But, you know,
“Well, I, for one, hate the title,” Abbott said, finally unfolding his arms from his chest.
“Me too,” Nicholas said, looking relieved, then thoughtful for a moment. “Could you call me Nicholas the Great instead? I read about a comic book character called that.”
“Nicholas the Great it is, then,” I said, smiling.
“You may call me Lady Katherine,” Katherine said with an air of annoyance. “And we don’t need a nanny. We can take care of ourselves.”
Abbott smirked. “Mr. Beardsley arranged for you to come, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said. “I believe he did.”
“Mr. Beardsley is a mean old booby!” Nicholas exclaimed, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Now, Nicholas,” I said, trying very hard to stifle a laugh. “I mean, Nicholas the Great.” His smile revealed one missing front tooth. “I don’t think it’s very nice to call Mr. Beardsley a”—I placed my hand over my mouth, but the gesture failed to repress the laughter that seeped out—“a booby.”
Nicholas smiled. “You think he’s a booby too, don’t you?”
The room went quiet in anticipation of my response. I peered over my shoulder to see if Mrs. Dilloway was near; she wasn’t. I smiled, and looked back at the children. “I suppose you might say he has one or two booby qualities.”
The children laughed—all but Katherine, who frowned, busying herself with the ribbons in her hair.
Janie looked up at me from her perch in my lap. “Booby,” she said with a giggle.
I smiled. This wasn’t going to be easy, but so far, so good.
“The children take their tea at three,” Mrs. Dilloway said in the servants’ hall later that afternoon. “Nicholas and Abbott have riding lessons straight after, and Katherine and Janie have piano lessons. The lessons are a terrible bore to Katherine, who’d much rather be out riding with her brothers.”
I nodded as she walked out to the hallway. “If you don’t mind my asking, why isn’t she permitted to ride with her brothers?” I asked Sadie, seated beside me.
She sighed. “Lord Livingston won’t allow it. Not since Lady Anna died.”
I lowered my voice. “Did she die in a riding accident?”
“No, no,” Sadie replied. “My stars, if only it had been a riding accident.” She clutched a rosary around her neck and sighed. “Since she passed, Lord Livingston hasn’t been the same.”
“How so?”
Sadie looked left and then right, as if she worried the teacups in the cupboard might be spies. “He’s cross now,” she said. “Closed off. Well, I suppose he’s always been, but now it’s different—much worse. The day she died, the children lost two parents, if you ask me. He hardly pays them any attention. It’s a pity.”
I leaned in closer to Sadie. “How did she die?”
She shrugged. “No one knows, really. They found her body out there.” She paused, lowering her voice to a whisper. “In the orchard.”
I covered my mouth. “That’s just terrible,” I said. “I suppose Lord Livingston must have loved her a great deal.”
Sadie looked conflicted. She took a bite of her roll and didn’t finish chewing it before speaking. “I guess you could say so, but she wasn’t happy here, Lady Anna. Never was. She never warmed to the moors, the isolation. She missed America. Of course, Lord Livingston tried to make her happy.” She gestured toward the window. “He brought in every plant, tree, and shrub you could ever imagine. Rare ones, too. You should have seen the gardeners parading through here with flowers pulled from the depths of the Amazon forest.” She sighed. “And that orchard. He helped her find all of the camellias. My, did she love the camellias. No expense was spared when it came to Lady Anna’s gardens. But, you know,
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