Minor Indiscretions (7 page)

"Don't you go thinking that Miss Felice is another of your responsibilities. Judith provided for her, too, but the chit went through the blunt in one year, and some of those other monies we talked of, trying to nab herself a title, tagging along with your mother to those house parties and such. If ever there was a wench with ideas above her station it's that one."

"I thought the nabob, Sir Bartleby, was to send for her."

"We all did, but he hasn't been heard from. I thought for a while she'd make a match with young Edwin, but he wasn't good enough for her, nor were any of the local lads. She has her heart set on a London swell, it seems."

"She's very beautiful."

"And pretty is as pretty does, I don't need to remind you. Besides, what fancy gent is going to offer for a dowerless chit who cannot even dance at Almack's?" Mr. Hadley tidied the papers on his desk, pleased that the issue of Felice was dispensed with. He'd lost too many hours of work with Edwin's mooning after the heartless jade.

"But why wouldn't Felice get her vouchers?" Melody asked, confused. "I always thought Sir Bartleby was of the highest stare."

"That's because you listened to Miss Bartleby, I'll warrant. He only got knighted after years with the East India Company, you know, for lending so much of the ready to the crown. Bartleby wasn't married before he left the country either, and he left under some kind of cloud. You might say Felice was the silver lining."

Then again, you might say Felice was the dark shadow on a sunny day. Here
Melody had her head full of important ideas: which bills to pay first, where
they could best economize, how she could earn a living and see to the others at
the same time. And there was Felice, grousing because Mrs. Finsterer would not let her put the purchase of a pair of York tan gloves on Lady Ashton's account.

"Can you believe the nerve? These provincial shopkeepers should be pleased to do trade with us."

"They would be more pleased to be paid what's owed them," Melody replied, sharper than she intended. Some of the other merchants must have been more lenient than Mrs. Finsterer, or more optimistic, or males, since Felice had a whole pile of packages. She was quick to transfer the bundles to Melody's arms, while retying her bonnet strings, and somehow that's where the parcels stayed.

"Oh, but now that you have settled with Mr. Hadley," Felice chirped, turning her brightest smile on Melody, "you can go back and reestablish our credit."

"I'm sorry," Melody told her, "but there will be no more credit." Truthfully, she wasn't sorry a bit. She wasn't even sorry when the sun went behind a cloud, and the underdressed, pouting, little blond tart shivered the whole way home.

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Melody was going to make this work. She had to; there was no other choice. So what if she knew nothing about holding household or raising children? She didn't know anything about pigs and chickens and turnips, either, and that was not going to stop her. She would just have to learn, she told herself with uncrushed youth's cheerful belief in invincibility, and the others would have to learn with her.

She made lists and talked to more knowledgeable persons: old Toby, Mr. Hadley, the neighboring landlord's bailiff, even a poacher brought to the house one dark evening by Mrs. Tolliver, the cook, to show Melody how to lay snares. And she enlisted the children, who were thrilled to help until their hands got blisters turning over a vegetable patch. Still, if the Morley-Ashton households were to become self-sufficient, everyone had a job to do.

Sturdy Harry was the biggest assistance, although he kept trying to convince Melody their best bet was to start a racing stable.

"I know you are horse mad, Harry, but hogs are cheaper to buy, less costly to feed, grow faster, and we can eat them."

"I know horses are expensive, but think of all the money left over from my schooling. That last place won't have me back, you know," he told her, grinning. "And the fire wasn't even my fault."

Philip volunteered his services as a tutor, to Harry's disgust, and to teach the younger children their letters, to save money there. "I—I'm not real strong like Harry, Miss Melody, b-but I am awfully good with figures. P-perhaps, that is, if you want, I could help with the b-books."

Now there was a welcome offer! After studying the accounts with Melody after dinner that very night, Pip even found a way to save money by paying the bills off in part, leaving some of their funds earning interest. "B-because the merchants will be pl-pl—happy to get any of what's due, and they'll see you mean to make good."

"I knew you were a downy one, Pip! Of course, I'll need you with me to explain it to them," she mentioned casually, starting another of her campaigns. Before he could object she went on: "I don't think I have the same grasp of finances you do. I'd only make a mull of it, you know."

Pip handsomely conceded that females weren't expected to understand such weighty matters, and yes, she ought to have a man, or a boy, at her side.

The twins, who were always filthy despite Nanny's best efforts, were naturally put in charge of the new pigs, once the pen was built. Then delicate Meggie,
wrapped like a mummy in Nanny's knitteds, wanted a job all her own. She got the chickens and handled those eggs like fragile porcelain.

Ducky learned to weed, more or less, under Nanny's supervision. More weeds and less cabbage and parsley seedlings, thank goodness, Melody cheered. And Nanny, of course, kept her needles flying. With all the new wool, she declared, they wouldn't go cold for another three years. They might even try selling mittens in the village, come next winter.

Melody was determined that even the pup, Angie, would earn her keep. There were rabbits and partridge and pheasants in the home woods that could be better utilized on the home dinner table. Angie could scent food miles away—she was already
canis non grata
in the village—so all Melody had to do was convince the dog to help her locate supper in the wild. Of course, after Angie flushed the game, Melody had to shoot it, which posed a few obstacles of its own, considering Melody had never handled a gun in her life. She would learn.

Two other obstacles were not as easily overcome: Mama and Felice.

"My dearest daughter out there in the muck with pigs and chickens? My salts, quickly."

It got worse when Melody determined that the most money could be saved by combining the two households.

"Don't be a ninnyhammer, Melody. You cannot expect me to permit those, those
children
to come live at the Oaks, can you?"

"No, Mama, I expect you to go live at the Dower House."

"Oh, dear Lord, my heart. I'm having spasms, you sapskull, call the physician."

"Mama, we cannot afford to heat this pile, much less pay enough staff to keep it clean. The idea of an army of servants waiting on three women is absurd anyway, even if we had the means."

Tears did not work either, nor cajolery, nor guilt. "You are an unnatural child, trying to kill your own mother. I am not a well woman, you know. Living at the Dower House with the children, all the noise and
dirt
… I'm afraid it will be too much for me."

Melody wasn't budging, and she held the purse strings. She also hid that little silver bell.

"Don't give me that perishing cordial, you nodcock, I need the brandy."

"I am sorry, Felice, but we cannot afford a dresser for you and Mama. In fact, the few servants we do keep will be too busy, so you'll have to look after my mother, help with her clothes and things."

Felice turned another page of the fashion magazine. "You cannot make a maid out of me, Miss High-and-Mighty. I won't do it."

"Then you won't eat."

Felice threw the magazine down and stamped on it. "My father shall hear of this!"

"Good, I'd like to have a few words with that gentleman myself. Perhaps he can advise me on some investments, if he ever reimburses the money spent on your behalf. Shall I show you the tally Pip made of that last stack of bills?" The beauty made no reply. "
Three
parasols, Felice?"

"I wouldn't expect a dowd like you to understand. They were for three different outfits, of course."

"But I do understand, Felice, and I sincerely hope you bought quality merchandise, for it will have to last you a good long time."

"You always were hateful, Melody Ashton, you with your so-perfect manners and your so-dignified airs. Well, you don't fool me for a minute; you're just jealous. You'll never get a husband, and you want to make sure I never get one! Why, even that windbag Lord Pendleton wouldn't have a managing female like you!"

Melody's innate honesty forced her to admit to the germ of truth hidden in the vitriol. Not that claptrap about husbands, of course, but the charge of jealousy hit home. All the attention Mama gave the other girl, all the stares from all the men, for all those years, hurt. Still, she could be fair. "You would be beautiful dressed in rags, Felice, and gentlemen will continue to offer for you, I am sure. Please believe me, I shall heartily wish you joy with whichever man you accept… the sooner the better."

They planted potatoes and fenced in the chickens. The merchants were cooperating, and the two sows gave birth. Unfortunately, piglets could fit through gaps their lumbering mothers could not.

"Pigs like to wander," Toby informed Melody. So wires were strung.

"Pigs can dig." So boards were sunk.

Pigs could chew, and pigs could jump. Pigs could fly, for all Melody knew, and likely would before she found a way to keep them penned. So there were always little pink piglets in the garden, on the lawn, or down the drive, and almost always two identically dirty little girls chasing after them. Sometimes the boys joined in, and sometimes Angie, adding her baying to the giggling, shouting, squealing melee. They seemed to save the best, noisiest, muddiest pighunts for when Lady Ashton was taking her constitutional or when the vicar came to call. No one even bothered to hand Lady Jessamyn her smelling salts anymore; they went straight for the brandy.

Melody was practicing her shooting, using her father's old dueling pistol that Toby had taught her how to load and aim. The gun would be no good over distance, but in her careful reasoning, Melody felt she would do better to start with a stationary target at short range. Frankly, she wasn't sure she could shoot a bunny rabbit. There was a certain amount of pleasure, meanwhile, in the skill she was gaining.

She was concentrating on the day's target, a playing card, and never heard the man approaching till Angle's bark grew sharper.

" 'Ere, 'ere, call your dog off, miss."

"It's Mr. Pike, the constable, isn't it? How do you do, sir?"

Pike removed his low-crowned hat and bowed, revealing a rat-brown wig slightly askew on his head. "Aye, miss. They said as how you were the one I had to talk to, concerning the complaints."

"What complaints might those be, sir?" Melody asked, reloading the pistol.

"Well, ma'am, there's complaints from the shopkeepers about bills, complaints from the butcher about your dog, and complaints from the villagers about the bast—brats."

"Oh, those complaints." The man obviously had no sense of humor. He merely wiped at his pointed red nose, where another drip was already forming. "Yes, well, I believe I have accommodated the merchants, and Angie here has not repeated her foray to the village."

"And what about the youngsters? There's some as saying they belong in the workhouse."

"That's absurd." She looked at him narrowly. "Unless 'they' get a portion of the county dole for each resident there. Those children are my responsibility, not to be thrown on the parish."

"But law-abiding citizens are saying they're running around wild and unsupervised, and you're keeping freaks out here."

Melody drew herself up and looked down on the little man—they always were small, bullies like this. "Mr. Pike, those are lovely, happy children you are speaking of. They are well fed, properly clothed, and have lessons every day. I'll thank you not to call them names. Now if you are finished, sir, I have more practicing to do."

Pike rubbed his hands together. "You haven't answered all of the charges, miss." He edged a little closer, looking at her sideways. "Of course, I'd forget some of the complaints if you were to make it worth my while. A little snuggling might do it."

"Sir, you forget yourself!"

"No, I remember Miss Felice used to cooperate."

Why, that little yellow-haired baggage! Melody turned away and pointed the gun. "Mr. Pike, I am going to forget this conversation." She aimed at the card. "I suggest you do the same." And fired. She hit the card, the knave of spades, right on the nose. "Do I make myself clear?"

It was time to try Papa's rifle.

They harvested the first row of beans, sold some of the farrow pigs, thankfully before the twins could count, and Melody shot her first woodcock. Of course, she had to wrestle with Angie over possession of the bird, but she was working on the problem. Felice was spending more time in the village, fixing her interest on Edwin, Melody hoped, and Mama was resting, if not resigned. They were managing. Mr. Hadley told Melody she should be proud.

At night sometimes, though, when her body was exhausted but her mind was wide awake, and she only had Angie for company, Miss Ashton stared at the ceiling of her tiny room and despaired.

Should a person stop dreaming because no dreams have come true? Stop wishing when no wishes are fulfilled? Then where is the place for heaven? How can life itself go on without hope? It cannot; that's called hell. At the very least, one can hope for a sunny day or an end to rain. Small dreams, but fair odds, sooner or later.

And a young girl, even one with freckles from working out in the sun, should never give up her dreams. Sooner or later…

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Sooner or later, a man has to pick up the threads of his life, even if his nose
is
crooked. Lord Cordell Inscoe, Viscount Coe, had stayed away from London for over a month. The first few weeks, of course, were not by choice.