In Good Company (2 page)

“It wasn’t Miss Longfellow’s fault, Mother,” James hurried to say. “It was my idea to hide here, so you shouldn’t be cross with her.”

“And it’s been great fun,” Edith added.

Mrs. Cutling drew herself up. “I see nothing fun about this, Edith. In fact, you and your brother have embarrassed me no
small amount this afternoon. Because of that, the two of you will be spending the rest of your day in your rooms—after you bathe, of course—contemplating the ridiculousness of your actions.” She pointed a finger to the dry courtyard. “Both of you . . . out . . . now.”

Millie watched as the two children scrambled out of the fountain, lily pads and slime dripping off them, which earned them a thinning of the lips from their mother. They sent Millie pitiful looks that clearly begged for help, but then two sets of little shoulders sagged when it evidently became clear Millie had no help to offer them.

A maid appeared from behind Mrs. Cutling, and without speaking a word, she took hold of the children’s filthy hands and led them away.

An ache formed in Millie’s heart as the children were marched toward the back entrance, their small feet leaving muddy footprints against the tiles. When they disappeared from sight, she forced herself to face Mrs. Cutling. “Since I’m sure you don’t want me to keep you from your friends any longer, I’ll just be on my way.”

“Not so fast, Miss Longfellow,” Mrs. Cutling said, reaching out a hand to stop Millie from making a speedy escape. “Before you leave, I must insist you apologize—not only to me, but to my friends, whom you’ve distressed today.”

A trace of stubbornness—something Millie had thought she’d put behind her long ago—took that moment to resurface. “I truly do not understand how seeing two sweet children being children could possibly distress anyone.”

“They were filthy.”

“Children can be expected to be filthy upon occasion, especially when they’re playing.”

“My children are not permitted to be anything other than clean and tidy and, more importantly, free of slime.”

“A little slime never hurt anyone.”

A distinct touch of frost entered Mrs. Cutling’s eyes. “My dear, your parents may have allowed you to participate in unacceptable childhood amusements that allowed you to get slimy on a regular basis. But, in my world, children are expected to behave properly at all times, no matter their tender ages.”

“I grew up in an orphanage, Mrs. Cutling, and that experience led me to believe that all children deserve to enjoy a true childhood, one that occasionally comes with dirt, fun, and quite often, slime.”

“Good heavens!” another one of the ladies exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a nanny with such radical ideas.” The lady sent a sniff Millie’s way. “For your information, dear, Mrs. Cutling’s father is a Patriarch. Because of the exclusiveness of that particular honor, Mrs. Cutling’s children will always be held to a higher standard.”

Mrs. Cutling rolled her eyes. “I hardly imagine Miss Longfellow knows what a Patriarch is.”

Not appreciating the whole rolling of the eyes business, Millie threw caution to the wind as she stuffed her dictionary back into her pocket, clasped her hands in front of her, and cleared her throat. “The term
Patriarch
was coined by Mr. Ward McAllister,
the
social arbiter of New York society. He, along with the assistance of Mrs. William Astor, in an obvious attempt at keeping the newly rich from entering their sacred inner social circles, devised a list that consisted of twenty-five names of gentlemen whom they considered . . . worthy. These twenty-five men were then each given the
daunting
task of choosing four of
their
worthy gentlemen friends, along with five appropriate ladies,
all of whom were then included on Mrs. Astor’s invitation list to her annual Patriarch Balls.”

Millie wrinkled her nose. “Although, if you ask me, I don’t really understand why everyone puts so much stock in what this Mr. McAllister thinks. It’s clear he’s a somewhat pompous and overly ambition sort who has entirely too much time on his hands, since he has nothing better to do than devise questionable lists.”

Dead silence settled over the courtyard. All of the ladies were staring back at Millie with their mouths gaping open, although a few of them were beginning to turn a little pink, and Millie didn’t think that was because of the sun.

“You’ve evidently misunderstood some of that information you claim Mrs. Hart has given you, Miss Longfellow,” Mrs. Cutling finally said.

“Mrs. Hart didn’t tell me about Patriarchs. Miss Harriet Peabody did. Though, in all fairness, she might have gotten her information from Mrs. Hart.”

“Do not even tell me you’re now going to try and convince me you’re acquainted with Lady Harriet.”

Forcing a smile, Millie began edging away from Mrs. Cutling. “Harriet and I have been friends for years, but . . . she doesn’t really care to be addressed as Lady Harriet, just plain Harriet. Although . . . since she’ll probably be married by the time she returns to the states, I suppose everyone will begin addressing her as Mrs. Oliver Addleshaw.”

For a second, Mrs. Cutling appeared a little taken aback, but only for a second. “I highly doubt you share an intimate relationship with Lady Harriet, but enough about that nonsense. Since I have yet to hear a single word of apology come out of your mouth, do know that I will
not
be sending you off with a reference letter. I will also not be giving you any of the
wages I’m sure you feel you’re due because I believe you put my children in grave danger. We’re lucky they didn’t drown in that fountain.”

Looking down at the water, Millie frowned. “There’s barely any water in there, Mrs. Cutling, and forgive me for saying so, but if you were truly concerned over your children drowning, one would think you would have seen them safely out of the fountain before running me down and spending precious time taking me to task.”

That pronouncement earned Millie barely five minutes to pack up her belongings after Mrs. Cutling proclaimed her to be insubordinate. There were no fond farewells to give the children, no pristine letter stating how wonderful Millie was as a nanny, and not a single penny offered to see her back to New York City.

Before she knew it, she’d been deposited at the train station, where she purchased a ticket using funds she’d stashed away for emergencies. Unfortunately, the train was delayed due to a mechanical problem, and by the time Millie reached the wharf, the last ferry had departed from Long Island for the day. To her relief, a crusty yet completely delightful captain of a weathered fishing boat offered her a spot on his vessel, even going so far as to haul her heavy traveling bag up the plank himself when she accepted his offer.

The crossing proved to be memorable. Strong winds sprang up out of nowhere, and by the time they docked at the New York City harbor, she knew she was definitely looking the worse for wear. Her clothing was soaked, she was missing her cap, and she was absolutely sure that the neat and tidy bun she’d started the day out with was nowhere to be found, especially since a few strands of her brown, curly hair kept blowing around her face.

Besides looking less than her best, she was also fairly certain she smelled strongly of fish.

Giving the captain her warmest thanks once the vessel was securely docked, she dragged her heavy bag past numerous sailors, pretending to be hard of hearing when they sent whistles her way. By the time she put some space between herself and the sailors, her face was burning, but her embarrassment disappeared the moment she counted out the few coins she had left in her possession and found herself woefully short on funds. That meant even a trip on an omnibus was not in her future. Accepting a ride with a man delivering the very fish she’d escorted to the wharf, she consoled herself with the idea that although his wagon was less than comfortable, at least her unpleasant scent wasn’t offending anyone.

When the delivery man dropped her off in front of the employment agency, nerves almost had her running after the delivery man and begging him to take her anywhere else. Mrs. Patterson, the woman who owned the agency, had warned Millie about losing another position, and Millie knew she was going to be in for a rough time of it once Mrs. Patterson learned she’d been dismissed yet again.

Reminding herself that she needed to secure new employment sooner rather than later, Millie squared her shoulders and headed for the steps. But before she had an opportunity to reach them, something hard and unyielding slammed into her. Dropping like a stone to the ground, Millie felt the oddest desire to simply stay there and let the world move on without her.

She was tired, smelly, discouraged, and didn’t believe her life could get any worse than it was at that particular moment.

A second later, as she squinted up at what turned out to be a very large, very manly form, she realized she’d been wrong.

Her life could, indeed, become worse.

Peering down at her was none other than Mr. Everett Mulberry, a gentleman she knew through her acquaintance with
Mr. Oliver Addleshaw. With his sculpted face, green eyes, and brown hair that was normally stylishly arranged—not that it was at that particular moment—he was an exceedingly handsome gentleman.

The first time she’d laid eyes on him, she’d actually become completely tongue-tied. Because Mr. Mulberry had recently inherited three young children to raise, Millie had found him slightly irresistible, until he’d had the audacity to immediately dismiss her offer of becoming a nanny to his slightly troublesome wards.

The moment he’d learned about her unfortunate propensity for getting let go from her positions, well . . . he turned adamant in his refusal to offer her employment.

The gentleman had not even given her a moment to properly explain all the past misunderstandings she’d suffered in those ill-fated employment situations, but had, instead, kept a careful distance between them whenever they happened to be in each other’s immediate vicinity.

“ . . . and I cannot apologize enough for knocking you to the ground,” Mr. Mulberry was saying, pulling Millie abruptly from her jaunt down memory lane. “Do know that my preoccupied state of mind is in no way an excuse for my less-than-careful regard for your person.”

Pushing aside numerous curls that were obstructing her view, Millie was just about to take the hand Mr. Mulberry was offering her when his eyes suddenly widened and his offered hand was taken away.

“Miss Longfellow? What in the world are
you
doing here?”

Not appreciating the clear trace of horror in the gentleman’s voice, Millie began struggling to her feet, reluctantly accepting the hand Mr. Mulberry finally thrust back at her. She soon found herself standing on her feet, even as she caught Mr. Mulberry’s
eye. “How
lovely
it is to see you, Mr. Mulberry. I do hope you and the children are well.”

“You haven’t been dismissed from another position, have you?” he asked, completely neglecting to exchange the expected pleasantries with her.

Millie lifted her chin. “I’ve been excellent of late—thank you for asking. And—to answer your oh-so-charming inquiry—why else would I be here instead of looking after some little ones?”

“This is certain to complicate matters.”

“How can my dismissal possibly complicate matters for you? Unless . . . Your wards haven’t run off another nanny, have they?”

Mr. Mulberry frowned. “Mrs. Smithey preferred to be referred to as a nurse, but . . . yes, my wards somehow managed to run her off.”

“And they did this . . . how?”

Raking a hand through his untidy hair, Mr. Mulberry shrugged. “From what I’ve been able to surmise, it all had to do with an unfortunate game of walking the plank, a plank that was, strangely enough, set over a fountain.”

“Fountains do seem to be responsible for quite a bit of mischief today.” She ignored his immediate look of confusion. “How is it possible—if I’m summarizing correctly—that three children were able to run off a woman by playing a simple game of walking the plank? Did this nurse not come with stellar references?”

“She came with the very best of references, but I don’t believe she was expecting a frog to materialize on the scene—a creature, it unfortunately turns out, Mrs. Smithey is deathly afraid of.”

“It’s an unspoken requirement that women who choose to look after children for a living have a strong liking for all manner of creatures.”

“I’m sure that’s a valid point, Miss Longfellow. However,
in Mrs. Smithey’s defense, I don’t believe she was expecting the little monster—and those are Mrs. Smithey’s words about Thaddeus, not mine—to prod a frog in her direction as she was halfway across the plank. That nasty business resulted in the woman falling off the plank and into the fountain.” Mr. Mulberry gave a sad shake of his head. “She was packed and out of the house before I could offer her a substantial raise to keep her in my employ.”

“How much of a ‘substantial raise’?”

Mr. Mulberry immediately began inching away from her. “I don’t believe I care for that particular glint in your eyes, Miss Longfellow. Although, glinting eyes aside, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask just the tiniest favor from you.”

“You want me to look after your wards?”

“Ah, no. That’s not what I want at all.” He ignored her sputters even as he continued to inch backward. “What I need you to do is wait out here until I’ve secured a new nanny from the agency.”

“Why would you want me to do that?”

“Because the last time I came here and managed to obtain the services of Mrs. Smithey, I was warned that there would be dire consequences if the children managed to drive that woman away. Since they
have
managed to do that—and somewhat quickly, I must add—I’m afraid the dire consequences I might face will involve you, once the agency learns you’re out of work again.”

He let out what sounded exactly like a sigh. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Mrs. Patterson say something like we deserve each other, and I’d really like to avoid that, if it’s all the same to you.”

Millie summoned up what she hoped would be taken as a pleasant smile, nodded to Mr. Mulberry, and—right after he smiled back and began to look relieved—bolted for the agency door.