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Julia frowned at him repressively. “Two tarts are rather a lot.”
Suddenly Ben said, “Mummy is unhappy, isn’t she? I know she’s scared and worried. Is that why she doesn’t sleep?”
“She does not sleep?” Julia echoed.
“Not very much,” Ben said. “I know, because I wake up at night and she is awake. I get in trouble if I won’t sleep. Mummy says it’s important to sleep. Isn’t it important for her, too?”
“Yes, Ben, it is.” Cal took a tart from the picnic basket and made a show of sneakily giving it to the boy. Julia looked askance at him, but he asked her softly, “Did you know about this?”
“I had no idea.”
When Ellen came back with a teapot and three chipped china cups, Julia asked right away, “Do you not sleep?”
“Of course I do, my lady. If I got no sleep, I’d collapse on the floor.”
“Perhaps you only sleep fitfully.”
“What woman with a house and a child doesn’t sleep in fits? And in a cottage, there are always things that need to be done. The fire needs stoking. More water might be needed. Often I’ve forgotten to do things in the day and I remember at night.”
“You should try to sleep, Ellen. Exhaustion won’t help.”
“I will, my lady,” Ellen mumbled.
But then Cal understood. “Lady Julia told me you drove an ambulance in the Great War, Ellen,” he said. “I went to war in 1917, when America joined the fighting. I saw the women who drove the ambulances. It was terrifying, with shells going off around you. I saw many women killed.”
“Don’t, my lord,” Ellen said sharply. Then she dropped her voice, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I don’t want Ben to hear about it.”
“Do you have nightmares?” Cal asked softly.
Ellen hesitated. Shook her head. “’Course not.”
“You’re not startled by loud noises? You don’t always have a feeling of fear?”
“I—Of course not.”
“But you do sometimes, Mum,” Ben said, startling them all. “Remember when I knocked over the tin bathtub and you screamed so loud?”
“Ben, you have chores to do. Now be off with you.” Ellen shooed him out of the room.
Once the boy had gone, Cal grasped Ellen’s hand. “Listen to me. You’re suffering from shell shock.”
She shook her head desperately. “I’m not. That would mean I’m mad. I am perfectly fine. Please—don’t take Ben away.”
“I won’t,” Cal said. “I promise I will help you. And I will not let you lose your son.”
He felt a stare burning his neck. Julia was looking at him, her mouth open in surprise. Then her eyes softened and she looked at him like he was a hero—looked at him in a way that made him feel damn guilty. “Thank you,” she whispered.
6 (#uead7c9c3-9c9e-5505-be24-4dbdd98519f8)
The Missing Girl at Lilac Farm
This was the most exhilarating and terrifying evening of Hannah’s life.
As kitchen maid, she’d made all these dishes before, but tonight she felt like she’d forgotten everything. She checked the soup—not a cold soup as it was early June and not stifling hot yet. She’d made mulligatawny because the spice would cover up for any number of evils. The aspic was setting up properly, but it almost slid off the plate when she set it down and her heart just about stopped.
A pot boiled over and Hannah took off at a run, lifting it off the heat. The salmon! How long had it been since she’d last looked at it? She set down the pot, opened the oven. Not burned, thank heavens.
Hannah set to spooning the mustard sauce over the salmon. She looked over. Tansy was halfheartedly stirring the sauce for the Chicken Lyonnaise.
“Why am I running about like a chicken with my head cut off, Tansy?” she demanded. “I’m trying to do everything while you stir a spoon in a pot. You’re supposed to be taking care of half of these things I’m doing.”
“I am doing things. You’ve shouted at me and ordered me about all day!”
“I’m the cook now! That’s what I’m supposed to do. When I was the kitchen maid, I took orders all the time. And I got an earful if I wasn’t always rushing at full speed. You didn’t finish cleaning the stove after lunch and you forgot to wash half the pots. I would have been sacked for that. You heard his lordship—you’re all supposed to help. I am being nice to you.”
“Well, thank you, Your Highness,” Tansy said, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Hannah sighed. Why couldn’t she be commanding? One word from Mrs. Feathers and they all used to quake. But Mrs. Feathers did it with words as sharp and wounding as her cleaving knife and Hannah couldn’t do that.
Tansy started to hum a jazz song. She swayed back and forth while she stirred, which made the bowl tip precariously.
“Mind. You’ll have it on the floor,” Hannah declared. She hurried over and grabbed the bowl. Hannah hated to think badly of anyone, but she feared Tansy was deliberately trying to make her fall flat on her face tonight.
“I’m just happy. Do you want to know why?” Tansy dimpled.
Hannah hated the sour feeling that came over her. She’d never really thought about how she looked until Tansy came. Her mum had always insisted she look “presentable.” On her afternoon off once, she’d bought a lipstick and put some on, then forgot about it and had gone home to see her parents with her lips painted red. Mum had scrubbed so hard her lips had stung all day. Of course, now Mum and Father were gone and she had no one.
Hannah brushed back a stray hair with her flour-covered forearm. She had plain brown hair and brown eyes. Tansy’s hair was blue-black and she was truly lovely enough to be a film star. Hannah hated the awful feeling of jealousy that now seemed to live in her heart. “Why are you happy then, Tansy?”
“My beau’s going to take me out tonight in his motorcar. He’s going to wait for me and take me for a quick spin when I’m supposed to go to bed. Says he has to see me tonight. He can’t wait any longer. You know what that means?”
“Aye, it means he’s going to expect you to give him something in return for these motorcar rides and gifts. You’ve let him think you’re fast.”
“I’ve not let him do anything more than kiss me! I think he’s going to marry me.”
Hannah’s heart sank. “Oh, Tansy, I don’t think so.”
“He will.” Tansy stuck out her lower lip.
“Who is he, anyway? You’ve never told me his name. Where’d you meet him?”
“Just outside the village. I was waiting for the bus after visiting me family. It was raining something terrible and freezing cold. He offered to give me a ride back here. He’s a gentleman, you know. I think he’s the younger son of an earl. He doesn’t like to talk about it much, but I can tell from his cut-glass accent that he’s a toff. Gloriously handsome and he’s mad about me.”
“What’s his name, Tansy?”
“I call him Geoff.”
“He didn’t tell you the rest, did he? Oh, Tansy, do be careful. An earl’s son isn’t going to propose marriage to a kitchen maid!”
“These days, gentlemen are a lot more interested in a girl with sex appeal than in marrying some dowdy lady who has a big dowry and a horsey face.” Tansy stuck out her tongue. “You’re jealous. That’s why you’re so hard on me.”
“I’m hard on you because I know the standards of this house and you have to meet them. And I’m not jealous. I have your best interests at heart.” Hannah wagged a spoon at Tansy. “There was a girl I knew. She was the daughter of the people at Lilac Farm. She went out in a car with a handsome gentleman one night. Maybe she ran off with him, or maybe he ruined her and she had to run away for the shame. Either way she disappeared. She was never seen again.”
* * *
Hell, he found himself looking forward to seeing Julia again.
Rain spattered down as her car pulled up at the front door. Cal ran out so she wouldn’t have to get out. He let himself in on the passenger side. Seeing her was like being hit in the gut—and that had happened to him a lot in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood where he’d grown up.
Her lips were painted a darker red. A gray raincoat covered her, but revealed her stocking-clad legs below the knee. She had gorgeous legs. She smelled...probably the way heaven smelled.
“How was your dinner last night?” she asked.
“Great. Hannah did a good job. We had a dessert that I’ll never forget. Fruit and cream and lady fingers soaked in liquor.”
“English trifle.” She smiled at him. “I’m so glad it was a success.”
And off they drove. Along tree-lined lanes that swept up and down hills. Meadows and green fields stretched around them. In the distance he saw a soaring church spire, and buildings nestled among the hills. He had to admit it was pretty.
“This is Lilac Farm.” Julia brought the car to a stop beside a low stone wall. Within the wall, a few stone buildings sat in a cluster with a muddy yard between them. The wall continued along a downhill slope, defining small square fields.
Julia pulled up the parking brake. She strode ahead, opening a wooden gate in the stone wall. Cal followed, and as they stepped into the yard, someone inside the largest stone building shouted, “Damn and blast!”
A stream of snorting pigs spilled out of a barn and headed toward them like an unstoppable wave. Pigs moved a hell of a lot faster than Cal expected.
They were going to be crushed against the stone wall. Planting his hands on Julia’s small waist, Cal hoisted her up, over the wall. Then he jumped over himself.
The animals scurried everywhere, grunting and squealing. An elderly man stumbled out of the barn. Covered in mud, the white-haired man wheezed, “Stop ’em. They’ll get away. Get two of ’em in the front and force ’em back.”
Julia scrambled toward the rampaging pigs.
“Go back,” Cal shouted. “Let me do this.”
He got his hands on one of the pigs but his attention was on Julia. The animal pulled him off his feet. He fell as Julia cried, “Cal!”
Rolling over in the muck, he avoided the hooves and jumped to his feet. Hell, Julia had clambered back over the wall and was waving a scarf at the pigs like a Spanish bullfighter. This time he knew what to expect when he got his arms around one. He held on tight and dug in his heels. Julia flapped frantically and he managed to wrestle the pig so it was facing the barn. Spooked, it ran back toward home. He got a second animal running after the first. Sure enough, the rest began to follow. A splashing sound came as the farmer dumped the contents of a pail into a wooden trough. Grunting, the pigs scrambled over each other for a spot, their desire to escape long gone.
Julia latched the gate, then ran up to him, laughing, gasping for breath. Her shoes sank in the mud. She stumbled forward, hands flailing because her feet were stuck tight. Cal leaped forward and caught her, wrapping his arms around her. It threw him off balance, and he staggered back so they wouldn’t fall—
Their faces bumped. “Ow!” she said and he grunted as she dissolved into giggles. Something he never expected Julia to do, but the sound enchanted him. As he helped her stand up, he looked down.
“Your shoes are ruined,” he said. “You should’ve stayed where I put you.”
She laughed. Rain ran down her hat and coat. “Shoes can be cleaned. I knew it was more important that we herded the pigs. And you got the worst of it, Cal. It’s ruined your rather nice suit.”
He looked down. He looked like he used to in the New York slums. Covered in filth. “Damn it.” He rubbed hard at the muck on his trousers, trying to brush it off.
Julia touched his arm. “You needn’t worry about some mud on your pants. Anyway, I thought you rather liked to look bohemian.”
Normally he didn’t care what he looked like. But in front of Julia, he suddenly felt like he was a poor kid in the slums again, with a dirty coat, torn breeches and a dirty face. “Maybe I just did that to shock the countess.” He turned to the farmer and stuck out his hand for a handshake.
“I would like to introduce you to his lordship, the new earl,” Julia said. “This is Mr. Brand, Worthington, and his family has farmed here for almost one hundred and fifty years.”
Brand looked guilty. “Begging your pardon, yer lordship. Wouldn’t have asked you to help with the pigs, if I’d known who ye were.”
“You didn’t object to Lady Julia helping,” Cal observed. “Does she chase pigs often?”
He felt Julia dig him in his side. “Of course not,” she said crisply. “But it is important to pitch in where needed.”
“A right good sport is Lady Julia,” Brand said. “Comes to see me and the missus all the time, she does.”
“Harry!” A panicked woman’s voice came from another stone building. An elderly woman hobbled out of what must be their cottage. “Sarah’s gone. I don’t know where she is.”
Cal hoped Sarah was a pet pig who’d just been rescued. Then he saw tears streaking the woman’s cheeks. He asked, “Who is Sarah? Are you sure she’s missing?”
Julia’s hand touched his shoulder. Just one look and he recognized she wanted to take charge. He might be the lord, but Julia knew these people and they knew her. He stepped aside. Julia soothed the woman and led her back to the small stone farmhouse. They had to step down some stone steps and duck to go through the doorway.
As Julia went in with Mrs. Brand, Cal turned to the farmer, who was sucking on his pipe. “Who is Sarah?”
“She were our daughter.”
“And she’s missing?”
“She went missing in the spring of 1916, before all the lads went to fight at the Somme. The missus gets confused. Some days she thinks Sarah is still here. Or she thinks Sarah has just gone missing. Then she gets upset all over again.”
“Did you never find out where Sarah went?”
“I don’t know what ’appened to ’er. She wasn’t the sort to run off with a man. She was a good girl. Since she never came home, I think she’s gone. Gone to a better place.”
“You think she was killed?” He hated to be brutal, but it seemed to be what the man was saying.
“Even if she just ran away, she were on her own. Prey to the cutthroats on the roads and the scoundrels who ravish girls. If she were alive, she’d ’ave written to me and the missus. The lass never did. No, in my ’eart, I know my Sarah is gone.” The old farmer put his pipe to his lips but tears welled in his bright blue eyes.
Cal pulled out a handkerchief, a fine soft square of linen, handing it to the man. In New York, any woman of the slum neighborhoods knew about Jack the Ripper and the New York murder of a woman in 1891. Cal wouldn’t have expected it here, on an English estate. Maybe the girl just ran away. Maybe she was ashamed to write home. She might have gotten pregnant.
“Is there any help I can give you?” he asked.
“We manage just fine, my lord. You may have heard some sorry tales from Mr. Pegg.”
The farmer looked defensive, and Cal was thrown off by the shift in conversation. Who in hell was Pegg? Then he remembered the lawyer had told him Pegg was the land agent of Worthington Park. Pegg had left before Cal arrived, taking a job somewhere else. Apparently offended to work for the impoverished American heir.
“Pegg was gone before I got here. Is it just you and your wife on the farm? Do you have other children?”
“Another girl, but she’s married. She married a lad from Stonebridge Farm. We lost our boy in the War. At Verdun, my lord.”
“I’m sorry. Many good men were lost.”
The farmer led him to the house. He ducked his head and went into a rough kitchen. A wooden sideboard held dishes. A teakettle whistled on the stove. Julia plucked it off.
