and spill all over the floor,” Kyle confessed quietly. She cast a rapid glance at the door to the front rooms, then added, “But Mother wants me to wear them tonight.”
“Then there’s no use complaining, now, is there?” Maggie’s voice turned brisk. “Besides, this is a formal do, and you might as well get used to dressing the part.”
“Emily Crawley is coming tonight,” Kyle sighed. “Mother invited her. She told Randolf the invitation came from me, but Emily knows how likely that is,” she added darkly.
“That’s quite enough, Kyle.”
“Anyway, Mother says I could learn a lot from Emily. I don’t see what.”
“Miss Emily is a . . . a very lovely young lady,” Maggie replied carefully.
“But she’s not very nice. At least not to anybody who doesn’t have as much money as she does. And she only speaks to me when she wants something.”
Maggie coughed discreetly, then reminded her, “The Crawleys are an important family, and Emily’s brother sits on your father’s board now that his father has retired.”
“I know, I know. Mother’s telling me that every time I turn around. But that’s business . What has business to do with friendships?” She looked appealingly at the older woman. “Mother keeps bringing Randolf’s name up and encouraging me to be friendly with him. But what on earth for?”
“There are some answers that you will simply have to obtain from your mother,” Maggie replied firmly.
But Kyle was too distracted to notice the warning. She lowered her voice and whispered, “It scares me.”
“Who, young Mr. Randolf?”
“No—well, yes . . . sort of, I guess.”
“Which is it, young lady?”
Kyle leaned back and settled her hands on the big kitchen’s wood-block central table, then remembered how she was dressed. Hastily she dusted the flour off her hands, checked the back of her dress, and said quietly, “I’m frightened by how Mother won’t tell me what she means. It’s like she’s planning something about . . . about me. And Randolf knows, and maybe Daddy, but nobody will tell me.”
“Oh, child,” Maggie sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. “I love you like I do my own, and that’s the honest truth. But all I can advise you about such things as this is to pray for strength, pray for protection, and pray for God’s will.”
“That’s the same thing Bertie told me,” Kyle said, searching Maggie’s face.
“My husband is a wise man and a good Christian, if I do say so myself.”
“I try to pray. Sometimes, anyway.”
“And have you been reading the Bible I gave you?”
“I tried. But I don’t think I understood very much of it. Mother says that the pastor will explain such things at church and not to worry about it.”
Maggie’s chin jutted out and she took a deep breath. “How about coming back to my little sitting room and reading there? Maybe I can help you with some parts you don’t understand.”
“Thank you, Maggie.” But the offer did not brighten Kyle’s mood. “It still doesn’t help me know what they’ve got planned.”
“Talking to God and reading His word to us will bring you peace,” Maggie replied stoutly. “Try it and see.”
Kyle avoided replying by leaning forward and kissing Maggie’s cheek. Then she turned and quietly left the kitchen.
Abigail Rothmore frowned as she stood before the antique mahogany sideboard at the library’s entrance. On the wall rose a full-length portrait of her in a gilded frame, wearing a ball gown by the nation’s most famous artist. At least he had been the most popular society artist when the portrait was done. Now that his star was waning, she had wanted to move the portrait to the back stairway, but naturally Lawrence would not hear of it. He was so provincial when it came to such matters.
Idly she rearranged a spray of pink roses arrayed in a silver tureen. But her thoughts were not on the flowers, nor the painting, nor even the coming party. Her thoughts
“Then there’s no use complaining, now, is there?” Maggie’s voice turned brisk. “Besides, this is a formal do, and you might as well get used to dressing the part.”
“Emily Crawley is coming tonight,” Kyle sighed. “Mother invited her. She told Randolf the invitation came from me, but Emily knows how likely that is,” she added darkly.
“That’s quite enough, Kyle.”
“Anyway, Mother says I could learn a lot from Emily. I don’t see what.”
“Miss Emily is a . . . a very lovely young lady,” Maggie replied carefully.
“But she’s not very nice. At least not to anybody who doesn’t have as much money as she does. And she only speaks to me when she wants something.”
Maggie coughed discreetly, then reminded her, “The Crawleys are an important family, and Emily’s brother sits on your father’s board now that his father has retired.”
“I know, I know. Mother’s telling me that every time I turn around. But that’s business . What has business to do with friendships?” She looked appealingly at the older woman. “Mother keeps bringing Randolf’s name up and encouraging me to be friendly with him. But what on earth for?”
“There are some answers that you will simply have to obtain from your mother,” Maggie replied firmly.
But Kyle was too distracted to notice the warning. She lowered her voice and whispered, “It scares me.”
“Who, young Mr. Randolf?”
“No—well, yes . . . sort of, I guess.”
“Which is it, young lady?”
Kyle leaned back and settled her hands on the big kitchen’s wood-block central table, then remembered how she was dressed. Hastily she dusted the flour off her hands, checked the back of her dress, and said quietly, “I’m frightened by how Mother won’t tell me what she means. It’s like she’s planning something about . . . about me. And Randolf knows, and maybe Daddy, but nobody will tell me.”
“Oh, child,” Maggie sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. “I love you like I do my own, and that’s the honest truth. But all I can advise you about such things as this is to pray for strength, pray for protection, and pray for God’s will.”
“That’s the same thing Bertie told me,” Kyle said, searching Maggie’s face.
“My husband is a wise man and a good Christian, if I do say so myself.”
“I try to pray. Sometimes, anyway.”
“And have you been reading the Bible I gave you?”
“I tried. But I don’t think I understood very much of it. Mother says that the pastor will explain such things at church and not to worry about it.”
Maggie’s chin jutted out and she took a deep breath. “How about coming back to my little sitting room and reading there? Maybe I can help you with some parts you don’t understand.”
“Thank you, Maggie.” But the offer did not brighten Kyle’s mood. “It still doesn’t help me know what they’ve got planned.”
“Talking to God and reading His word to us will bring you peace,” Maggie replied stoutly. “Try it and see.”
Kyle avoided replying by leaning forward and kissing Maggie’s cheek. Then she turned and quietly left the kitchen.
Abigail Rothmore frowned as she stood before the antique mahogany sideboard at the library’s entrance. On the wall rose a full-length portrait of her in a gilded frame, wearing a ball gown by the nation’s most famous artist. At least he had been the most popular society artist when the portrait was done. Now that his star was waning, she had wanted to move the portrait to the back stairway, but naturally Lawrence would not hear of it. He was so provincial when it came to such matters.
Idly she rearranged a spray of pink roses arrayed in a silver tureen. But her thoughts were not on the flowers, nor the painting, nor even the coming party. Her thoughts
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