Mrs. McVinnie's London Season by Carla Kelly

graceful exit from
this house and its less-than-amiable inmates.
    Her thoughts were
distracted by a scratching at the door. “Come in, please.”
    “ Mrs.
McVinnie, will you be wanting some hot water?”
    “ That
would be delightful. Please do come in.”
    The maid entered the
room and set the can of hot water on the washstand. She curtsied.
“I can bring you some tea, mum, if you’d like.”
    Jeannie was about to
answer when another head peeked around the corner of the door.
Clare, still dressed in her nightgown, regarded her seriously for a
moment, finger in mouth, and then edged inside the room to rest
against the wall. Jeannie held out her arms. Clare hesitated a
moment, then hurled herself across the room and scrambled up on the
bed.
    The maid’s eyes were
wide with surprise. “Lord love us, I never saw her do that
before!”
    Jeannie smiled and
tucked Clare in beside her. “Clare and I do not stand much on
ceremony. Yes, I would like some tea, and perhaps you could bring
some tea with milk for my guest.”
    The maid curtsied again
and turned away with a smile.
    Clare settled herself
in, closed her eyes, and promptly returned to sleep.
    “ You’re a little dickens,” Jeannie scolded softly. “And now you
sleep when the rest of us must wake. Your late-night tears are a
vexation. I know I could cure them in only a few days. And
then ….”
    Then what? she thought
as she scooted down in the bed again and rested her head on her
arm. At most, you have another hour in this house, and thank God
for that. She reached out and touched Clare’s curls. “Well, your
hair is curly like his.” Jeannie giggled. “Although there is more
of it.”
    The maid returned with
tea and Jeannie sipped hers thoughtfully as she watched Clare
struggle awake and rub her eyes. She accepted her cambric tea and
drank it carefully, her brown eyes fixed on Jeannie’s face.
    The maid watched them
both. “I don’t remember when Clare has taken to someone like you
before, Mrs. McVinnie. She was standing outside the door—quietlike,
the way she does—when I came up here with the hot water, which,
I’ll wager is not getting any warmer.”
    “ I
suppose I must get up,” Jeannie said ruefully. “Is anyone else
about yet?”
    “ Oh,
Lord, Mrs. McVinnie! Larinda won’t wake up until afternoon, more
like, and Lady Smeath never rises before noon.”
    “ The
captain?”
    The maid opened her
eyes wider in wonderment. “I don’t think he ever sleeps. At least,
not like a Christian, although the beadle warned me once that
sailors are only a step removed from Satan’s imps.”
    “ My
dear,” Jeannie admonished lightly.
    “ And
doesn’t Pringle tell me that the captain gets up every four hours
and looks around, almost like he was still on his ship.”
    “ Old
habits die hard,” Jeannie reminded. She handed her cup to the maid.
“But do tell me your name, and have I you to thank for the warming
pan last night?”
    The maid bobbed another
curtsy. “Mary Bow, ma’am, and yes, I know what it feels like to
come into a house and stay cold all evening, indeed I do.”
    “ Mary
Bow,” Jeannie repeated. “Bow. What a singular name.”
    “ ’ Tis me own alone,” Mary said. “The beadle at the workhouse
said since I was found on the steps of St. Mary le Bow, that would
be my name. And who’s to say it’s not a better name than what my
real name would be? Who’s to say?”
    “ Who,
indeed? Mary, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, if you
and Clare will leave me, I’ll try out that hot water.”
    Mary bobbed up and down
again and held out her hand to Clare, who crawled to the end of the
bed and let herself down. “You should be dressed too,” Mary said to
the little girl. “Although I don’t wonder that your nursemaid has
other things on her mind.” Mary leaned closer to the bed. “I think
she sneaks out at night.”
    Jeannie dangled her
legs over the edge of the bed. “And I would be the last to doubt
you.”
    Mary