A Penniless Prospect

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‘Now, put on the rest of the clothes and let us see how you look.’

There was no point in protesting any more. Annie was right. Jamie had to be able to pass muster as a boy. They were both at risk if she failed.

She stood in the centre of the room while Annie inspected her minutely. ‘Not bad,’ the abigail conceded, ‘but why did you do that to your hair? Boys don’t wear it like that nowadays—it’s much too long.’

‘I was trying to leave myself enough so that I could be a girl again. It’s just about long enough to be put up.’

‘I’ll tidy it up a little, at least.’ Annie fetched her comb and scissors. As she freed Jamie’s hair from the restraining ribbon, the dark red curls fell forward, framing Jamie’s pale face. ‘Why, how different you look, miss, much prettier than that severe bun you always wore at Calderwood.’

Jamie smiled shyly up at her, surprised by the half-compliment. ‘Mama always insisted I wore it so, in order to tame my “appalling red mop”, as she called it. She never permitted me to cut it.’

‘She never permitted anything which would make the best of your looks, if truth were told.’

Jamie laughed. ‘But I have none. I’ve always known I’m plain.’

‘Oh? Look here.’ Annie forced Jamie to sit down in front of the brown-speckled mirror and then arranged her curls becomingly around her heart-shaped face. ‘Now, tell me you’re plain.’

Jamie was astonished. Annie really sounded as if she meant it. But then, when Jamie did look, she suddenly saw herself through new eyes. Against the frame of titian hair, her pale complexion glowed and her deep green eyes sparkled. The plain pasty-faced dowd had disappeared. In her place, there was a pretty, red-haired—boy!

‘Good grief!’ Jamie hastily began to drag her hair back from her face to tie it up again. ‘They’ll never believe I’m a boy if I look like that,’ she said, unconsciously immodest.

‘True,’ said Annie, with a short laugh. ‘Here, I’ll tidy it up for you. Then you’ll do, I think.’

Annie trimmed the ends of Jamie’s hair and combed it back severely from her face, tying it very tightly with a piece of twine. ‘Gardener’s boys don’t use ribbon,’ she observed sagely.

The winter sun was dipping low in the sky when Jamie finished her first day’s work. She sat on her heels, stretching her aching back and looking ruefully at her grime-encrusted hands. Her body might ache, but her heart was singing. She was safe from the Calderwoods now, and surely she could remain hidden at Harding for the few weeks she needed?

She finished tidying the bed, packing all the weeds into her buckets for the compost heap and the bonfire. Mr Jennings would have no cause to complain about her ability to sort out the perennial weeds from the rest.

It was only as she passed the gardener’s hut on her way to the compost heaps that she heard the raised voices. She herself was the subject of a heated discussion between Mr Jennings and another man. She allowed herself to dawdle a little.

‘But this bit o’ the garden’s always been left ter me,’ protested the unknown voice vehemently. ‘B’ain’t no call for nobody else, least of all a witless boy. No knowing what harm he might do.’

‘The boy knows what he’s about,’ commented Mr Jennings calmly. ‘He’ll do no harm. And we can be doing with another pair of hands here, what with spring planting coming.’

‘Don’t need no extra hands here,’ said the unknown. ‘I’ve allus done it all m’self, ever since I been here. Why change it now? For a half-wit?’

‘That’s for me to decide, Caleb, not you.’

Caleb! Jamie shivered. The man was obviously angry about her arrival, even though he had never set eyes on her. It made no sense at all—for what threat was a garden boy to him? Still, she had been warned about his vicious temper. He sounded like the kind of man who would enjoy bullying a simpleton. She must keep out of his way.

The heated voices were still audible as Jamie moved slowly away. ‘Let me have the minding of the boy, at least. I can’t be a-running of the garden if’n I dunno what he might do next.’

‘No.’ Mr Jennings’ voice was curt and decisive. ‘I’ll be responsible for the lad myself. If you want him to do work for you, you must come to me.’

‘But that’s—’

‘That’s the way it’ll be, Caleb, an’ no buts. That’s the way his lordship wants it. You should know better by now than to cross him.’

‘But—’

‘Let it be, Caleb. That’s the last word.’

Jamie hurried away. The men would come out of the hut in a few moments and must not find her hanging around.

From the comparative safety of the compost area, she watched the hut door. It was fully five minutes before it opened and Caleb emerged. She crouched down a little, busying herself with her work.

Caleb was a huge man, almost as tall as Lord Hardinge, but of much heavier build. He had immensely broad shoulders with massive arms and hands. He seemed to be carrying a lot of surplus weight—he had the belly of a drinker and a nose to match, its purplish colour easily distinguishable even in the fading light.

Jamie tried not to think about how she could handle a confrontation with this brute of a man. He—and his temper—must be avoided at all costs. She must make herself indispensable to Mr Jennings and perhaps allow him to see that she was afraid of Caleb. Given Lord Hardinge’s explicit orders, that might serve to keep her apart from the undergardener. She prayed that it would.

Chapter Seven

The next morning, while Jamie was weeding around the parsnips, she was dumbfounded to see Lord Hardinge come into the kitchen garden with a lady on his arm. Jamie felt herself flushing bright red at the thought that he would be scrutinising her yet again. He seemed to see so much. And the more often she came under his eye, the more likely he was to penetrate her disguise.