The Virtuous Ward

CHAPTER Seven

Amity sat on a bench in the sun. A book was spread open on her lap, pillowed on the sprigged muslin skirts. A straw bonnet was perched on her red curls and the ever-present Muffin was sprawled at her feet. Beside her was her abigail, hands busy sorting a lap full of wildflowers.

"It's been a busy week, Betta," Amity said. "You've done a wonderful job, you know."

"It was just a matter of talking to people," Betta said. Her face was flushed with pleasure at her mistress' words. "You know how I love to chatter."

"How many do you think the runners will take?"

"Aimsley said he would consider taking on four men. I was hoping for more but he said as how he would have to see how this batch worked out." Betta picked up one of the flowers she had gathered, her fingers stroking the petals as she talked. "It was a brilliant idea to think of the Bow Street Runners, Miss Amity."

"Well, it seemed logical since it's so much like the army." She sighed, turning a page of the book in her lap. She frowned down at the print, not really seeing the letters. "There are so many men out of work, Betta, and it seems like it is taking forever."

"Lawks, miss, we've already placed twenty men and that's not even countin' the four today. And," she said, her voice quivering with excitement, "I've made friends with a woman who works for the Duke of Clarence."

"You never!" Amity said, clapping her hands in excitement. "Holding out on me, you wretched girl!"

Betta giggled and hid her laughter behind a raised hand. "It jest happened this morning and I haven't had a moment to tell you. I was at the market and we got to jabberin'. Just friendly like. When she told me where she worked you could have blown me over with a feather. I asked if she could get away for tea some day and she agreed."

"Just imagine," Amity cooed. "The duke must have an enormous staff. There should be plenty of places available."

"Here comes Mr. Conway." Betta's voice was an excited whisper and Amity noted the becoming blush of color that dotted each cheek.

Jason Conway looked far different from the threadbare soldier they had first met. He was dressed in a black suit with a plain white shirt and well polished shoes. He strode with a jaunty air; the cloth cap covering his head was cocked over his sparkling brown eyes. Approaching the bench, he snatched off his cap before bowing to the ladies.

"Good day to ye, Miss Fraser, and to you also, Miss Betta."

Amity was amused that Jonas gave her only a cursory glance before his eyes shifted for a more thorough perusal of her abigail. Betta played with the flowers in her lap, her flaming cheeks a sign of her awareness of the young man. Muffin raised his head, giving a low whining sound and the young man dropped to one knee to greet the dog.

"Allo, old beastie," he crooned, scratching between Muffin's ears. "Feels good, don't it, old boy?"

"You're sounding quite chipper, Jonas," Amity said. "All is well with you?"

The young man scrambled to his feet, brushing the dog hairs from his jacket. "Oh, aye, Miss Fraser. Mr. Burgess has been very good to me and I'm that happy in my work." Although he spoke to Amity, she had the feeling that he was directing every word to her companion. "The importer's office is large and there's much room for advancement. After only a few weeks, he has taken a shine to me. Says I have a good head for figures, miss, if you'll pardon me boasting."

"You'll go far, Jonas. I have great faith in you. Now here is the latest set of recommendations and some money for clothing," she said, handing him a bulky envelope which he kissed with a great show of reverence before slipping inside his jacket. "Make sure the men are scrubbed and wearing something suitable before they go to see Aimsley. He's willing to take four men on as runners."

"Cooee! You are a proper wonder!" Jonas said, his mouth flashing in a wide grin of pleasure.

"Far from it, I fear. Your accolades are misplaced since Betta was responsible for convincing Aimsley to hire on the men."

Jonas turned to the abigail. His face held an expression of wonderment as he stared at the modestly bent head. He coughed and Betta raised her face, staring back at him with eyes alight with pleasure. "I and my friends are most grateful for your help, Miss Betta."

"Twere nothing, Mr. Conway. I am conscious of how it feels to be in desperate straits," she said.

"To think, you went to Aimsley yourself. You're a brave one, Miss Betta."

Amity sighed at the romantic pair. She could tell that a genuine liking had sprung up between them in just the short time they had been working together. She hoped for Betta's sake that Jonas would prove to be a steadfast suitor for the girl's affection. She let the twosome chatter for several minutes but after glancing at her lapel watch, Amity coughed to bring them back to the business at hand.

"I have arranged to have one of our footmen collect used clothing at some of the larger houses each week. The ladies of my acquaintance are quite pleased to feel they are doing their part for a worthwhile cause."

"There's plenty of men that will be pleased to have the clothes. They're not all that particular about who wore them last. Here's a list of the men that'll be coming to work for Mr. Putnam come Friday. I've vetted them all and they're good, trustworthy lads."

"The last batch worked out quite well. Dobson suggested young Henry stay on but the boy wants to work somewhere in the country," Amity said. "Well I guess that's all for this week. We'll see you next Tuesday."

"Righto, Miss Fraser. I'm off then," Jonas said, bowing once more. As he turned he winked at Betta, touching his cap with two fingers in a light-hearted salute.

"Your young man is a charmer, my girl," Amity said, smiling at her abigail whose eyes were following the disappearing figure.

"Go on with you, Miss Amity. He's never my young man," Betta said but she returned her mistress' grin with one of her own. "Not that he couldn't be, iffen I said the word."

The girls laughed then gathered Muffin and their belongings and started back along the path, well contented with their afternoon adventure.





Sitting in a leather chair in the library, Max was immersed in a book and heard the low voices and the sound of scurrying feet with only a portion of his mind. A shrill squeal, the tinkle of broken crockery and smothered curses alerted him to the possibility that all was not running as usual in his household. He closed the book, placing a finger inside to save his place. Then heaving an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair and strode to the door. His footsteps were silent on the floor runner and he arrived at the corner of the balcony overlooking the entrance hall without giving away his presence. Still clutching the book, he rested his arms on the railing, keeping well in the shadow of the wall and leaned forward so that he might better take in the astounding scene below.

Putnam, the starchy, white-haired butler, stood with his back to the front door, arms outstretched as if to prevent a legion from attacking his stronghold. Two liveried footmen, hunched over for the best effect, were stalking a small animal across the black and white marble of the foyer. A parlor maid, no doubt the author of the high pitched scream, stood in the entrance to the kitchen hallway, her apron pressed in a wad over her mouth. As if that was not enough activity, Mrs. Putnam was sweeping up the remnants of a small vase which used to stand on the hall table.

Since this was not the normal conduct of his servants in his well-ordered household, Max was decidedly curious. The most amazing part of the scene was that instead of loud shouting the entire procedure was being conducted in whispers.

"Move to your right, Lewis," Putnam ordered. "Right, I said, you dunderhead."

"I do not like the look in its eye, Mr. Putnam," Lewis whispered back.

"Stubble it, you imbecile." The harassed butler wiped his forehead on the impeccable sleeve of his jacket. "It's not a wild boar, you know. It's a bloody babe."

Now that the footman had moved Max was able to see that it was indeed a small, black and white piglet. Max cocked his head in puzzlement. He did not know much about the details of running his establishment but he did not think that the kitchen staff was purchasing live animals for the consumption of the household. Curiouser and curiouser.

The larger of the two footmen circled to the left and made a brave lunge for the pig but slipped on the marble floor, measuring his length across the foyer. Lewis, aided by his youth and speed, hurled himself in the path of the piglet whose hooves scrabbled ineffectually, unable to find purchase on the slick surface. In a flurry of arms and legs, the young footman was able to capture the squealing animal against his chest.

Putnam abandoned his post at the door, clapping the young man on the shoulder as he scrambled off the floor. "Well done, lad," he congratulated the boy in a low voice. "Now get that beast back out to the storeroom and be more careful in the future."

"Sorry, Mr. Putnam." The boy's face was flushed with pleasure at the butler's praise. "I know I shouldn't 'ave brought it into the 'ouse. Some of them in the kitchen 'adn't seen any of the little fellows and I was just showing this one off. I set 'im down on the floor and the bloody thing bolted right between me legs."

"No harm done," Putnam said, his face disapproving as he eyed the broken vase on the floor. "Praise God, it was not a family heirloom. All right then, get back to your duties. In future, Emily, we shall have no more caterwauling."

"It's sorry, I am, Mr. Putnam," the parlor maid said, wringing her apron. "I thought it was an enormous rat."

"What on earth would a rat be doing in his lordship's house?" The butler sounded aghast at the mere suggestion and without another word, the shame-faced maid vanished down the hallway toward the kitchen. "A rat indeed!" Putnam snorted as he turned to his wife.

Mrs. Putnam was placing the last of the shards of pottery in the cradle of her apron. She gave the floor one last swipe with the broom and then spoke to Putnam while her eyes circled the foyer to establish the fact that all was returned to normal.

"You better put a bee in Miss Amity's ear, love," she said, folding the apron over the remains of the vase and clutching it to her ample bosom. She hoisted the broom to her shoulder in military precision, where it rested looking incongruous against the lace cap that topped her steel grey hair.

"I'll speak to her the very moment she comes in, cupcake." Putnam's tone was a combination of a wheedle and a leer which, coupled with the unexpected endearment, almost sent the voyeur on the balcony into convulsions. Max eased himself back into the shadow of the wall, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping, yet reluctant to miss the end of the scene.

"She'll have to send one of her soldiers," the woman continued. "The garden storeroom is getting a dash crowded since the old sow had twelve in the litter. Besides which the goat has eaten the stuffing out of one of the chairs that was stored there."

"Never mind, mother," Putnam said, patting his wife on her well padded bottom. "I'll take care of it."

"See that you do," Mrs. Putnam said with a sniff that turned into a giggle as she hurried across the foyer.

Max slipped around the corner and, walking quietly, returned to the comforting silence of the library. He dropped into the leather chair and placed the forgotten book on the ornate Chinese table at his elbow. A chuckle of amusement escaped him as he replayed the scene in his mind. He wondered if he would ever be able to look Mrs. Putnam in the eye without thinking of her as "cupcake" and disgracing himself by laughing.

Although the entire episode had been most entertaining, he was aware that he was far from enlightened over the meaning of it all. There was obviously something havey-cavey going on in his household and the intriguing Miss Amity Fraser seemed to be at the very center of the conspiracy. He rested his head against the cool leather headrest, his face screwed into a frown of concentration.

Questions whirled in his mind. What was a piglet doing in the front hall? And had a sow littered in the garden storeroom? Had Mrs. Putnam mentioned a goat? What did she mean by the reference to Amity's soldier? And why in tarnation did the whole group of servants seem to be involved in something bizarre and yet treat it as an everyday occurrence?

"Blast the girl!" Max muttered. "What form of mischief is she up to now?"

He remembered that Amity had asked his permission to use the storeroom that attached to the garden shed but for the life of him he could not recall her mentioning any specific purpose. She had also asked for an increase in her allowance and he wondered if she were purchasing the livestock. But for what purpose?

In the two months since he had first taken on the personal responsibility for his ward, the chit had put paid to his quiet bachelor existence. His well-run household was a shambles and his own personal affairs were disrupted. He had assumed when he invited her to London, he would be little aware of her presence in the spacious townhouse. After all, the girl had a chaperone and a full schedule of activities. Other than an occasional dinner together and squiring her to various social functions, he should be reasonably free of her presence or even a reminder of her existence.

He glowered across the room at an untidy pile of books on the window seat. There were flowers on the table in the center of the room, the yellow daisies a great splash of color against the warm wood tones in the rest of the room. On the carpet beside the green velvet wingchair near the fireplace was a basket of sewing and on the small table there was a crumpled pair of mittens marking the place in an opened book. The girl had made serious inroads on his private sanctum.

In actual fact, Max was constantly reminded of the girl's presence. There was not a room in the house that did not show some sign of change, with the sole exception of his bedroom. Here his eyes narrowed and he sighed in defeat as he remembered the flowers on his bedside table. Wilberforce, his valet, had announced that Miss Amity had given him the filled vase with strict instructions as to its placement. Although the little man had worn a disapproving frown at such a feminine conceit, Max noticed that the vase was never empty, fading blooms changed with Wilberforce's usual degree of efficiency.

Looking at the clock, Max was reminded of his engagement to take Honoria for a drive. He did not have the time to march out to the garden and find out for himself what was going on. On second thought he admitted he was procrastinating because he did not want to know. Resolving to get to the bottom of the puzzling scene he had witnessed, he hurried along to his bedroom. His valet awaited him, his wizened face set in disapproval at the unseemly haste of his master. Wilberforce believed that the art of dressing should be conducted in an atmosphere of dignified leisure. The little man still regretted Max's conversion to a more sober style since the dandy stage had kept the servant on his mettle.

Too tired to argue with his valet, Max put himself in Wilberforce's efficient hands and was soon dressed. Outside, his carriage was waiting and, as he climbed in, the coachman gave the horses the office to start,

Still feeling put upon by the machinations of his ward, Max glared out the window at the passing scene. Amity was working havoc on the smooth running of his household. There was something peculiar going on which could not be explained by the apparent wealth of livestock hoarded in his storeroom. Was it conceivable that he was harboring a sow, twelve piglets and a goat beneath his very roof?

"Devil take it!" he swore. "What next?"

When he had decided to sponsor the chit, he had never envisioned that it would in any way interfere with his normal way of life. He liked his bachelor comforts and the predictable events that took place in his household, he muttered. He would have an end to it, he decided. It was time to rid his household of the disturbing presence of Miss Amity Fraser. It was time for him to stop shilly-shallying and locate a respectable suitor for the girl. He would marry her off and then he could get back to his peaceful existence.

After ten minutes spent with Honoria, Max was reminded of what a restful woman she was. She was everything a lady should be, a combination that Max found soothing to his lacerated emotions. She was composed and aloof and did not chatter away, making him privy to all her thoughts and feelings. She was not forever fluttering around, smiling and joking as if life was a great joy. In fact since he had known Honoria, she had never given him a moment of worry. Just looking at the beautiful creature was balm to the soul.

Honoria's gown was the last word in fashion. Yards and yards of shimmering yellow silk billowed across the seat, giving the illusion of some golden flowerlike creature. One gloved hand held a white lace fan and the other rested atop the jeweled handle of a dainty parasol of matching yellow silk. Her blond hair was smoothed into a bun at the base of her neck and a shower of ribbons fluttered from the stiff brim of a saucy straw hat.

Max frowned at a sudden remembrance of the wild curls of his ward. He had convinced her to dress it properly and it was now restrained in a net or bound up in a coronet of braids. He had noticed however that despite her efforts at control, an occasional curl escaped the confinement and dangled against her white cheek.

"How cross you look, Max," Honoria said, interrupting his thoughts. "Have I done something to displease you?"

"My apologies, my dear. I was in a brown study when I arrived but the pleasure of your company has done much to lighten my mood."

"You have seemed preoccupied of late," she said. "I hope taking your delightful ward to all the social affairs has not been too great a burden for you. I know men prefer other pursuits over a round of routs and balls."

"How understanding you are." Max reached across to pat her hand. He wished he were sitting beside her but she hadn't liked having her skirts crushed so he was sitting with his back to the horses. "It has been a dash wearying, but I believe my duties are coming to at an end."

"Have you received an offer for the girl?"

"I have received several offers already," Max answered, unwilling to let Honoria think the girl was a complete antidote. Then waving his hand as if it was of no consequence, he continued, "I turned them all down."

"Turned them down?" Honoria's voice was shrill in surprise. To cover her lapse, she fixed an expression of curiosity on her face. "Were they not good offers?"

"Well, yes. And then again, no." Max shifted on the seat. "Dodsworth is a second son and he had his eye on her dowry. I suspect he liked her well enough but I did not think they would suit."

"I see," Honoria said.

"Lord Haines is run up on tick. He would gamble everything away in a sennight. And of course, General Cuthburton is sixty if he's a day." Max snorted in disgust.

"Perhaps the child would deal well with a man of his age," she purred. "He wears his years well. Very distinguished. The child could do much worse."

"I'll not have it," Max snapped, staring out at the passing scene. The thought of that desiccated old man touching Amity was physically repugnant to him.

"Is that all?" Honoria asked. She closed her fan with a snap, her fingers crushing the lacy accessory.

"Well, Fairchild was expected and even Winfield put in a bid, but I did not see them as serious offers."

"Is there anyone who hasn't offered for the girl?" Honoria found it difficult to keep the acid out of her voice.

"Bancroft Paige. Can't imagine what is taking the man so long. But I assume he will come up to scratch," Max said. "In fact, he has asked for an appointment tomorrow at ten."

"How wonderful," Honoria said. She reached across and tapped Max on the wrist with her fan. "My dear, you can have nothing against the man."

"He has been underfoot now for the last few weeks. Amity seems to enjoy his company and his manners are unexceptionable." Max stroked his jawline as he tried to analyze why he was not more delighted with the young man.

"He is an eligible parti, Max. And so very handsome. Why any girl would be thrilled to have fixed his interest."

"I don't know if Amity is thrilled but at least she does not dismiss the man as she has so many others. Says they have no serious thoughts in their heads. Can you imagine?" Max seemed nonplused by her attitude. "Not that I think Paige has any great depth."

"She is very young, Max," Honoria said, her voice patronizing. "She needs a steadying influence. Bancroft Paige is serious enough despite his handsome looks."

Max nodded his head in agreement, wondering why Honoria kept repeating how handsome the man was. He was well looking but after all a head of blond curls was not the end all. However, the more he thought of it, the more convinced he became that Paige might be an eligible suitor for Amity. He had little humor and was a bit puffed up with his own consequence but there was nothing particularly wrong with the man. Then a thought occurred to Max and he leaned toward Honoria.

"What of his sister?" he asked. "Rather prune-faced woman. A thirty year old spinster might not make the best companion for a young wife."

Honoria's light tinkling laughter echoed inside the carriage and Max relaxed at the charming sound. "Ophelia is a darling," she said. "She is shy in company so she hides behind that brusque manner. She will be a good friend to Amity."

The furrows in Max's forehead smoothed out and he leaned back against the squabs. He felt convinced that his problems were over. His household would be peaceful again. Soon he could be about settling his own future. He smiled across at the golden vision, content that his planning would soon come to fruition.