him to be generous? Would he let Nanny Johnson remain so that the transition would not be too terribly frightening for them? Would he let Thelma and Benjamin—but no! That at least was something she knew was out of the question.
“Agnes—” she began.
“You don't need to say no more to me, my lamb,” her housekeeper said. “I did my time in jail more than once, I did, and I lived to tell the tale. I left London to look for a better life, and I got taken up for vagrancy. Then you took me in. I'll always remember that, and I'll bless you with my dying breath, but I'm not going to add one ounce to your burden. You are not my keeper, miss—I am. But if it's all the same to you, when you are forced to leave here, I'll stick with you for a while and be
your
keeper. It can be a cruel world out there.”
“Oh,
Agnes
.” Eve could no longer restrain her tears.
Agnes took charge of dismissing everyone, and they all tiptoed away—all except Aunt Mari—as if leaving the room of an invalid.
O NE OF E VE ' S FAVORITE TIMES OF DAY WAS AFTER dinner in the evening, when she went up to the nursery and played with and read to the children while Thelma devoted herself to Benjamin and sang him lullabies when it was time for him to sleep. It was Nanny Johnson's time off.
This evening Eve was reading stories. Davy sat on one side of her, not quite touching her. He had learned during the months following his parents' death that the adult world was hostile and not to be trusted, and he was unlearning that cruel lesson with slow caution. Becky was curled up against Eve's other side. Placid and good-natured, she sometimes seemed to have been less deeply affected by her experiences than Davy. But she occasionally awoke in the night, Nanny reported, either crying helplessly or screaming.
Thelma was standing in the doorway to Benjamin's bedchamber beyond, listening to the story. The little boy must already be asleep. Muffin was curled up at Eve's feet, his chin on his paws, snoozing.
Everything seemed almost frighteningly normal.
Eve made every effort to concentrate her mind upon the adventures of two children who had escaped the clutches of an evil goblin in the dark forest only to find their way to safety barred by a ferocious lion with a thorn stuck in one paw. She tried desperately not to think about the future. She resisted every urge to set both arms about the children and hug them so tightly that she would convey her own fright to them. The little dinner she had eaten sat uneasily in her stomach.
Where was John? she kept wondering despite herself. Not that he could save everyone around her now even if he arrived tonight—it would be far too late to have the banns read in time. And it seemed selfish to think only of her own comfort and security. But where
was
he? It would be such an enormous relief just to see him, just to feel his arms about her again, just to be able to unburden herself of all her woes to him. Perhaps he would be able to think of something.
But there was
nothing
.
Her decision to wait for John had been a selfish one, she thought suddenly, as well as a foolish one.
He was not coming back.
He had not written even once either during the year he had expected to be away or during the months since he had expected to be back. She had been naive to trust his protestations of undying love. But her sudden loss of faith in him frightened her. She had clung to it for so long. And she loved him. With all her heart she loved him.
Was she the world's most gullible fool? If she had accepted one of her other suitors during the past year, she and all her friends and dependents would not be in this predicament now.
But how could she possibly have married a man who was not John?
A tap on the nursery door interrupted Eve's scattered thoughts. She looked up from the book as the door opened to reveal Agnes Fuller, looking even more sour than usual.
“It's that military gent,” she said.
Eve merely
“Agnes—” she began.
“You don't need to say no more to me, my lamb,” her housekeeper said. “I did my time in jail more than once, I did, and I lived to tell the tale. I left London to look for a better life, and I got taken up for vagrancy. Then you took me in. I'll always remember that, and I'll bless you with my dying breath, but I'm not going to add one ounce to your burden. You are not my keeper, miss—I am. But if it's all the same to you, when you are forced to leave here, I'll stick with you for a while and be
your
keeper. It can be a cruel world out there.”
“Oh,
Agnes
.” Eve could no longer restrain her tears.
Agnes took charge of dismissing everyone, and they all tiptoed away—all except Aunt Mari—as if leaving the room of an invalid.
O NE OF E VE ' S FAVORITE TIMES OF DAY WAS AFTER dinner in the evening, when she went up to the nursery and played with and read to the children while Thelma devoted herself to Benjamin and sang him lullabies when it was time for him to sleep. It was Nanny Johnson's time off.
This evening Eve was reading stories. Davy sat on one side of her, not quite touching her. He had learned during the months following his parents' death that the adult world was hostile and not to be trusted, and he was unlearning that cruel lesson with slow caution. Becky was curled up against Eve's other side. Placid and good-natured, she sometimes seemed to have been less deeply affected by her experiences than Davy. But she occasionally awoke in the night, Nanny reported, either crying helplessly or screaming.
Thelma was standing in the doorway to Benjamin's bedchamber beyond, listening to the story. The little boy must already be asleep. Muffin was curled up at Eve's feet, his chin on his paws, snoozing.
Everything seemed almost frighteningly normal.
Eve made every effort to concentrate her mind upon the adventures of two children who had escaped the clutches of an evil goblin in the dark forest only to find their way to safety barred by a ferocious lion with a thorn stuck in one paw. She tried desperately not to think about the future. She resisted every urge to set both arms about the children and hug them so tightly that she would convey her own fright to them. The little dinner she had eaten sat uneasily in her stomach.
Where was John? she kept wondering despite herself. Not that he could save everyone around her now even if he arrived tonight—it would be far too late to have the banns read in time. And it seemed selfish to think only of her own comfort and security. But where
was
he? It would be such an enormous relief just to see him, just to feel his arms about her again, just to be able to unburden herself of all her woes to him. Perhaps he would be able to think of something.
But there was
nothing
.
Her decision to wait for John had been a selfish one, she thought suddenly, as well as a foolish one.
He was not coming back.
He had not written even once either during the year he had expected to be away or during the months since he had expected to be back. She had been naive to trust his protestations of undying love. But her sudden loss of faith in him frightened her. She had clung to it for so long. And she loved him. With all her heart she loved him.
Was she the world's most gullible fool? If she had accepted one of her other suitors during the past year, she and all her friends and dependents would not be in this predicament now.
But how could she possibly have married a man who was not John?
A tap on the nursery door interrupted Eve's scattered thoughts. She looked up from the book as the door opened to reveal Agnes Fuller, looking even more sour than usual.
“It's that military gent,” she said.
Eve merely
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