Heaven Sent (16 page)

Becky shrugged. “I don’t
know.”

“
I’ll look for it, Becky,”
Callie said.

“
Thank you, Miss
Prophet.”

Aubrey stopped being grateful to her
as soon as she rose and began wafting gracefully around the room.
He saw Mark’s hungry gaze follow her as she searched for the
cushion Anne had embroidered for Becky’s use three years before—a
year before they’d found out the nature of her illness, which was
only then beginning to manifest itself. Aubrey’s heart gave a
familiar spasm, and he frowned as Callie lifted the pillow from a
chair shoved against the dining room wall.

“
Here it is.” She smiled at
Becky.

For such an obstreperous female, she
had a remarkably sweet smile. Aubrey, who believed that in a just
world outer trappings ought to tell the truth, did not
approve.

“
Excellent,” said Mark, who
instantly rose to his feet to help her settle Becky onto her
cushion. “There you go, Becky. Can you reach better
now?”

“
Yes, thank you, Mr.
Henderson. Thank you, Miss Prophet.”

The two said “You’re welcome” at the
same time, their voices blending into a melodious duet. Aubrey
discovered he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to stop
it.

Figgins entered the dining room at
that moment, bearing the roast beef. Thank God. Aubrey didn’t think
he could tolerate any more overt displays of mutual attraction on
the part of his secretary and his daughter’s nanny.

Chapter Eight

Callie tried to spend most of her meal
time taking care of Becky and being as unobtrusive as possible.
She’d recognized symptoms in Mr. Henderson that spoke of his
attraction to her, and she didn’t know what to make of them. She
supposed she ought to be flattered. After all, he was a
good-looking, personable young man with a good job and solid
prospects. She knew she could do far worse than to make a match
with Mark Henderson, but the sad truth was that she didn’t give a
rap if Mark Henderson found her attractive or if he considered her
as unappealing as a barnyard mouse. As nice as he was, Callie was
totally uninterested.

She liked her job and didn’t want to
leave it. More importantly, she loved Becky and didn’t want to
leave her. If she was to be ruthlessly honest with herself, she’d
have to admit, too, that she’d allowed herself to become fascinated
with the man who’d written those beautiful letters to his
wife.

She didn’t feel like entertaining
ruthless honesty this evening, so she avoided that one. Besides,
the Aubrey Lockhart who now sat at the head of this table bore
scant resemblance to the one who’d written the letters.

Stop it this instant,
Callida Prophet
. For once, she obeyed her
inner voice and turned her attention to food.

The meal was delicious and, although
Mrs. Bridgewater—Bilgewater, indeed—landed the occasional verbal
sock in the jaw to whomever she’d singled out to address at any
given time, the conversation was lighthearted and friendly for the
most part. Mr. Lockhart and Mr. Henderson exchanged stories about
banking and the Oriental imports business. Mr. Henderson told two
jolly stories that made them all—all but Mrs. Bridgewater—laugh
heartily.

Mrs. Granger had outdone herself with
everything, including the dessert, which consisted of baked pears
in a delicious brandy sauce. Callie felt as though she might pop
after she’d

“
I can’t eat any more,”
Becky announced when she was halfway through her own
pear.

“
Young children ought to be
made to finish their dinners,” Mrs. Bridgewater
declared.

Although it wasn’t her place
to reply to her employer’s great-aunt, Callie said, “She isn’t
accustomed to eating such a large meal. I think she’s done a very
good job with this one. She smiled at Becky, who’d glanced
worriedly at her great-aunt.
Great
buffalo
, Callie would have called
her.

Mrs. Bridgewater sniffed. “Nonsense.
Children ought to be taught to finish whatever they’re
presented.

“
Fiddlesticks, Great-Aunt
Evelyn,” Aubrey said. To Callie, it sounded as though he were
trying to sound lighthearted, yet really wanted to knife the absurd
purple female in her overstuffed chest.

Mrs. Bridgewater sniffed haughtily.
“You’re going to be the ruin of that child, Aubrey. Personally, I
am not accustomed to small children being allowed to dine with
guests in the dining room.”

Becky looked stricken. Callie felt
like punching the old goat herself, thus saving Aubrey the trouble
of knifing her.

‘
We don’t practice society
manners here in the country, Mrs. Bridgewater.”

Callie glanced at Aubrey quickly,
surprised by the acidic tone of his comment.

“
And Becky is my daughter,
and I’m not about to banish her from meals just because some silly
old tradition says I should.”

Evelyn Bridgewater sniffed and fixed
Aubrey with a decidedly dismissive stare. “I don’t believe in
relaxing one’s standards merely because one lives at the ends of
the earth, Aubrey.”

A season of quiet fell, not unlike a
blanket of snow, over the diners. It looked to Callie as if Aubrey
was holding back a rude comment—but just barely. Finally Mark, who
appeared rather uncomfortable, spoke up, bless him. “I, ah, think
Santa Angelica is a great place to bring up children. It’s small,
true, but it’s awfully pretty. It’s probably the forest being so
close that gives it a particularly charming and rustic
air.”

Callie beamed at him, producing a
blush in him, which surprised her. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. I
think Santa Angelica is about as close to heaven as one can get
while still on God’s earth.”

Instantly, she wished she’d held that
comment back, too. She sneaked a peek at Aubrey and was relieved to
note that he wasn’t glaring daggers at her. Blast her tongue! If
there was one topic she should have known better than to introduce,
however obliquely, it was death and dying.

“
It looks like a picture in
my Bible upstairs,” Becky offered. “I think it’s the picture of the
wedding at Canaan.” She smiled at her father, who smiled
back.

Relief flooded Callie so fast, she
barely managed to suppress a heartfelt gust of breath. “My
goodness, I should like to see that picture, Becky. I thought all
those biblical places were sort of desert-like.”

Mrs. Bridgewater sniffed again. Before
she could rebuke Becky, Mark, or Callie for blasphemy or something
equally awful, Aubrey spoke up. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing
room, everyone? I don’t think Mark and I need to linger over port
and cigars.” He smiled. “Particularly since I don’t like port and
neither one of us smokes cigars.”

“
That’s a mercy, at all
odds,” Callie muttered as she untied Becky’s bib. Again, she wished
she’d bitten her tongue. When would she learn not to say every
blasted thing that popped into her head? With the sigh she’d
repressed earlier, she wondered if she was doomed to speak out of
turn for the rest of her life. A young lady ought to be able to
hold her tongue when required, as she well knew. She’d obviously
lived among friends and family too long; she’d forgotten her
company manners.

“
So glad you approve, Miss
Prophet.” Aubrey’s voice sounded like last year’s fall leaves, it
was so dry and crisp. She gave him an apologetic smile, which he
seemed to ignore. She sighed again.

“
Here, ladies. Allow
me.”

At least Mark looked as if he
appreciated her. He gazed at her warmly as he held her chair, He
still gazed at her warmly when he helped Becky from her chair. “Do
either of you ladies play the piano? Perhaps we could have a
musical evening if Mr. Lockhart doesn’t mind.”

“
Not at all,” said
Aubrey.

He didn’t sound as if he meant
it.

*****

A musical evening, my
foot
, Aubrey thought sourly as he held the
drawing room door for Old Bilgewater. She waddled in, her enormous
rear end reminding Aubrey of a schooner in high seas.

The young ladies knew how to play the
piano, all right. They made more noise on the thing than Aubrey had
known was possible before they’d done it. He’d always considered
piano playing, unless practiced in the arena of a saloon or
vaudeville house, as a genteel pursuit. It had taken Miss Callida
Prophet to show him how wrong he’d been. Not a day went by during
which his ears weren’t assaulted by raucous music from the
nursery-room piano. At least they hadn’t sullied the drawing room
for their musical incursions.

Anne had used to play, too, but she
knew what a piano was for. She and Becky had used to sing soft folk
songs and pretty ballads. Never, in all the years of their
marriage, had Aubrey ever heard a music-hall tune tinkle from
Anne’s fingers through the piano keys.

This was not the case with
Miss Callida Prophet. While Aubrey wouldn’t go so far, as to accuse
her of frequenting saloons and vaudeville houses by herself, she’d
evidently learned a lot from her male relatives and acquaintances.
If, as was customary for her, she played
There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight
or
S
, Aubrey might have to speak to her forcefully. Those two were
among her and Becky’s favorites, to judge by how often they
appeared on their musical agenda.

“
Do you play, Miss Prophet?”
Mark asked.

Aubrey watched him closely. He’d
always liked and appreciated Mark Henderson. Mark was the best
secretary Aubrey had ever employed, and he’d taken on additional
responsibilities with cheer and ability. Aubrey intended to promote
him as soon as he thought he could find another acceptable
secretary. He’d even envisioned a future partnership with Mark,
should things work out that way.

At the moment, he was less than
pleased with his secretary, however. He didn’t approve of the way
Mark was hovering about Miss Prophet. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t
proper.

It was perfectly logical, damn
it.

“
Yes, Mr. Henderson. Becky
and I both play the piano.” Miss Prophet’s voice was quite musical.
That wasn’t proper, either. She ought to have a boisterous voice to
go with her boisterous personality. But, as Aubrey had to keep
reminding himself, life was unfair about the little things, as well
as the big ones.

“
Miss Prophet’s much better
than I am,” Becky said cheerfully. “She’s real good. She’s only
just teaching me.”

“
You’re an admirable
student, Becky. You ought to hear her play
Mary Had a Little Lamb
, Mr.
Henderson.”

A pang that could only be jealousy
smote Aubrey when he saw Becky and Callie smiling at each other.
Dash it, he ought to be happy that his daughter had found a good
friend in her nanny. He passed a hand over his eyes and told
himself that he was happy about it. It was only Old Bilgewater’s
intrusion into the peace and quiet of his life that had rattled
him.

“
Let’s play one of our
favorites, Miss Prophet!” Becky dashed over to the piano bench,
opened it with both hands and a good deal of effort, and scanned
the sheets of music inside.

Callie was close behind her. “Um, I
think this evening will call for some more sober selections, Becky
sweets. How about, um, well, let me see here.”

Mark, standing far too close to Miss
Prophet, Aubrey decided, leaned over to look through the music,
too. “What do you have in there?”

“
Oh, we have lots and lots
of stuff,” Becky said.

“
Yes, indeed,” confirmed
Callie. “Mr. Lockhart has a wonderful selection of piano music in
here.”

Mark swooped. “Here’s one I like! It’s
a funny one.”

“
Oh, I love that one!” Becky
took the sheet music from Mark’s hand and spread it on the walnut
music stand.
The Cat Came
Back
. She laughed.

Oh, yes, Aubrey recalled at once. They
liked that one, too. Probably because of that damned cat Miss
Prophet had inflicted on his household. Monster was a good name for
him.

“
Well, really.”

Miss Prophet shot a glance at
Bilgewater. “Um, perhaps we ought to start out with a folk tune,”
she said, thereby demonstrating a far better understanding of
social proprieties than Aubrey would have credited her
with.

“
Sure,” agreed Becky. “Want
to sing
The Ash Grove
? I love that one It’s real pretty.”

“
Perfect, sweetheart.” Miss
Prophet withdrew a second piece of sheet music and placed it
over
The Cat Came Back
.

“
Would you like me to play
first, Becky?”

Becky settled herself next to Miss
Prophet on the piano bench. “Yes, please.”

Aubrey watched the two young ladies
with a small ache in his heart. Anne and Becky used to sit exactly
that way. Only Becky had been much younger then. She was growing up
so fast. She was going to be seven years old in October. It didn’t
seem possible.