Heaven Sent (5 page)

Becky’s eyes went as round as pie
plates. “You don’t?”

Because the little girl looked a
trifle worried, Callie dropped the mysterious stuff and grinned at
her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s nothing bad. But it might be a
little”— she paused while she attempted to come up with a good word
to describe an irate Monster—“um, bouncy.” She supposed that was as
good as any.

Her uneasiness assuaged, Becky trotted
over to the desk, pulled out the chair, and climbed up onto the
seat. She looked tiny and sweet, and Callie watched her with a
swelling in her heart. How could anyone not positively dote on such
a pretty, well-behaved, darling of a girl? Again she longed to get
Aubrey’s attention—the thought of beating him with a stick appealed
to her—and forcing him to focus on his daughter.

As if remembering lessons imparted by
her late, lamented mother, Becky straightened her skirts and folded
her hands in her lap. Callie thought her heart would burst with
love and pity for this very proper, sober child. She asked softly,
“All ready?”

Becky nodded. She looked extremely
serious. “All ready.”

“
All right now. Hold on to
your seat.” She didn’t realize until after she’d untied the rope
ties and lifted the lid of the basket that Becky had taken her
literally and unfolded her hands to grip the chair seat.

The emergence of Monster with a hiss
and a spit was simultaneous with a gasp from his seated audience.
He leaped out of the basket as if his legs were attached to
springs.

“
Oh, Miss Prophet!” Becky,
unable to restrain herself, clapped.

Monster didn’t like the clapping noise
one teensy bit. He stopped dead still, arched his back, and looked
for a second like a twenty-pound, jet-black and very furry
porcupine with every single one of his multitudinous hairs
abristle.

Callie said, “Oh, stop it,
Monster.”

“
Monster?” The word was a
breathless gasp.

Walking across the room, Callie held
out both hands to Becky. She smiled her most comforting and
charming smile.

“
It’ll be
Mister
Monster to you,
Becky love. Until he gets to know you. We have to maintain our
decorum, after all.” She laughed to let the little girl know she
was joshing.

“
Oh, Miss Prophet.” Her eyes
still wide, Becky gripped Callie’s hand. “Oh, Miss Prophet, he’s
beautiful!”

The breathless quality of
Becky’s voice captured Callie’s attention. She watched the little
face with interest. She’d never seen the child’s eyes so huge or so
fascinated.
Good
,
she decided. The poor little thing needed to have something besides
her loss to occupy her mind.

Speaking softly so as to disturb
neither cat nor child, Callie said, “I hope you and he will like
each other.”

“
I like him
already.”

Callie grinned. “Good. Believe it or
not, he really likes to play. I have a ball he bats around like a
baseball player.”

Becky giggled. “Why’s he called
Monster?”

“
It is sort of an
undignified name, isn’t it?”

Becky nodded.

“
It’s because he’s so big.
And also because when he came to live with me, I already had an
elderly lady cat named Miss Naomi. Miss Naomi didn’t like the
invader at all.”

“
She didn’t?” The girl
sounded astounded.

“
No, indeed. Miss Naomi
didn’t like sharing.”

“
Oh. Her feelings were
hurt.”

“
Exactly. So, since he’s so
big and he sort of took over without waiting to be asked, I started
calling him Monster.”

“
Ezackly,” Becky repeated,
nodding with understanding.

“
They got used to each other
after a while. Miss Naomi even started treating him like her own
kitten.”

Callie realized Becky had left off
staring at Monster, and was now looking up at her. She smiled.
“What is it, Becky? Do you have a question?”

Becky nodded. “Where’s Miss
Naomi?”

Oh, dear. The question took Callie by
surprise. She could have kicked herself for not having thought
about it before telling Becky about Miss Naomi. She had hoped that
by bringing Monster with her, she would help Becky forget about
death, not remind her of it. Still, it wouldn’t do to
lie.

“
Miss Naomi died last
winter, sweetheart. She was almost twenty years old. That’s pretty
old for a cat.”

“
My mama was twenty-nine,”
Becky said gravely. “Is that old for a lady?”

Again, Callie’s heart stumbled and
ached. “No, sweetheart. That’s not old at all. But your mama got
sick. It was a terrible shame.” And if that wasn’t an
understatement, Callie didn’t know what was.

But Becky only nodded again, as if she
were filing this piece of information away to retrieve and study
later. “My papa said she was too young to die.”

Lord in heaven. Fearing she’d cry if
they continued to talk about Becky’s mama, Callie said bracingly,
“It will probably take Monster a little while to get used to his
new surroundings, Becky, so I’m going to keep him in my room for a
few days. Cats don’t like change much.”

Becky nodded solemnly, as if she
understood the cat’s qualms. “I don’t, neither.”

Instantly, tears sprang to Callie’s
eyes. She suppressed them with ruthless severity. If she gave in to
every impulse of a soft nature that she experienced, she’d only
turn Becky into a cesspit of self-indulgence. There was a fine line
between harsh abandonment and morbid pampering, and she aimed to
find and adhere to it. She had to, if she wanted to help
Becky.

Monster’s hair had flattened out,
although no amount of inner serenity on his part could conceal his
overall fluffiness, and he’d begun a tentative, nervous inspection
of his surroundings.

Sitting on the desk chair, Callie
picked Becky up and plopped her onto her lap. She kept her arms
around her. “Let’s just watch him for a minute. If he backs up to
any piece of furniture and starts to vibrate, I’ll have to go grab
him before he causes any damage.”

The notion that Monster might take it
into his idiotic cat’s brain to mark a piece of hand-carved,
imported, and undoubtedly wildly expensive Chinese teakwood
furniture gave Callie a spasm. She didn’t think he would, as he’d
never marked anything at her house. She’s spent many long hours
training him to use the sandbox when he’d first moved in with her,
as well, so she didn’t anticipate any accidents. The knowledge that
life was unpredictable at the best of times, however, and that cats
were some of the most unpredictable creatures in it, kept her
vigilant.

“
Why would he do that?”
Becky whispered, keeping her voice low evidently out of respect for
the process they were observing.

Callie decided not to spoil the moment
by explaining the odd and execrable behavior sometimes exhibited by
male cats. Instead, she said seriously, “Sometimes cats just do
things like that. It’s not a good habit for them to get in to, so
I’ll want to nip it in the bud.”

Becky only nodded again, thank
goodness.

After a few minutes, during which
Monster didn’t do anything untoward, Callie said, “I think it’s
safe now. Would you like to help me unpack my things? I’ve an item
or two you might be interested in.”

“
Oh, yes,
please.”

That the child should be so happy to
help her do a job of work touched Callie’s heart. Again. If this
kept up, she’d become so attached to Becky she’d never be able to
leave this house. The image of an elderly Callie Prophet, hobbling
around with a cane and admonishing a grown-up Becky Lockhart to
mind her manners made her giggle.

Becky looked at her curiously, but
Callie only gave her a big hug.

Chapter Three

Aubrey frowned when he heard Becky’s
squeal of delight issue from the room she’d begged he allot to Miss
Callida Prophet. Pausing at the door to lean closer and listen, his
brow wrinkled.

“
Yes indeed,
Becky.”

Miss Prophet’s voice, pleasant and
with a smile in it, sailed out through the keyhole and into
Aubrey’s ear. He decided he liked her voice, although he wasn’t at
all sure he liked her. She was too young and too impertinent to be
a proper nanny for his Becky.

The voice continued. “Alta, Florence,
and I used to live in terror of our aunt Venetia. She’s a very
formidable dame.”

“
What’s ‘formable’ mean?”
Becky wanted to know.

In spite of himself, Aubrey
smiled.

“
Formidable means that she’s
the type of person around whom one always minds one’s manners. She
walks like this.”

Aubrey wished he could see what Miss
Prophet was doing now, because his daughter went off into shouts of
laughter. The sound wrenched his heart. He hadn’t heard Becky laugh
like that since before Anne died.

“
She walks like my
great-aunt Evelyn!” Becky cried, still laughing.

“
Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,
dear.”

Aubrey had to stifle a
chuckle.

“
And she talks like this,”
Miss Prophet continued, “ ‘None of your uppity ways, miss. Not here
in New York, where proper manners prevail.’ ”

Miss Prophet’s voice had taken on the
broadest, twangiest, awfullest New York accent Aubrey had ever
heard. Again, Becky shrieked with laughter. His own smile
broadened.

“
Oh, Miss Prophet! My tummy
hurts from laughing!”

He could imagine Miss Prophet shaking
her head in mock sympathy when she next spoke.

“
Well, Miss Becky, if you
laughed to Aunt Venetia’s face, she’d have something to say about
it. She doesn’t approve of laughter.”

“
She doesn’t?”

“
No, ma’am. She thinks it’s
vulgar to laugh.”

“
Like my papa?”

Aubrey’s smile evaporated
abruptly.

A pause preceded Miss Prophet’s next
words. Aubrey didn’t know if she was thinking about her answer or
hanging something up. “I don’t think your papa disapproves of
laughter, Becky. I think he’s just a little sad.”

“
His heart hurts,” Becky
said. “Like mine.”

“
Oh, sweetheart!”

Aubrey’s ears detected a rustling of
fabric, from which he gathered that Miss Prophet had picked Becky
up and was hugging her. He entertained the nonsensical wish that he
were a small boy and could be comforted by such means,

But no such tender mercies were
available to him.

Guilt stabbed at his heart when he
thought about how unhappy Anne would have been to see him in this
pathetic and pitiful state. Worse, she’d be appalled at how
shamefully he’d been neglecting Becky.

With a sigh, he went on down the hall
to his own room so he could change out of his riding clothes. He’d
taken a trip to Santa Angelica to talk to Mr. Wilson about Miss
Prophet. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilson had given her a sterling
character reference, so Aubrey couldn’t dismiss her on that
account.

Not that he wanted to dismiss her if
Becky liked her. He supposed he ought to give her a chance, even if
she was too young, too rash, and too impudent, and didn’t treat him
with the proper deference.

Still, it galled him that Miss Callida
Prophet didn’t fit a single one of the images he’d formed of how a
proper nanny should look and behave. He felt beleaguered by
circumstances and very grumpy when he left his room.

******

All of Callie’s clothes had been put
away in their proper places. Her underwear had been commented upon
by Becky, who didn’t understand why Miss Prophet’s drawers didn’t
have frilly lace edgings and elaborately embroidered flowers as her
own did.

Callie had explained that when a young
lady grew up, especially when she attained employment, she bad, of
necessity, to wear clothing that was more sober than frilly. She
didn’t mention the fact that she, although not dirt poor, couldn’t
afford the fabulously expensive clothing that Becky wore. She also
didn’t mention that she would rather see Becky in rags than living
with a father who substituted frills for love.

Next, they’d fixed a sandbox for
Monster. “Just in case he feels the need,” Callie had told Becky
with a wink.

The little girl had giggled merrily.
Callie was glad to see her in such a happy frame of mind. And all
because somebody who was willing to talk to her and listen to her
had come into her life.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t good. It
was a crying shame that this little girl’s life should have to be
made bright by Callida Prophet, a stranger and a hired nanny.
Callie wished she could smack Mr. Aubrey Lockhart about the head
and shoulders with some kind of blunt instrument.

She pushed the thought aside and
reminded herself of her promise to go easy on Becky’s father. “All
right, young lady, let’s just see what your papa has in his
library. I’ll bet we can find something or other about New
York.”