Page 14 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 13

When The Cat’s Away

P erhaps standing in the snow while the boys made the snowman had set her ankle the right way at last, because Marie felt steadier than ever by the time they returned to the castle.

George and Richard’s faces were alight when she said she could walk a little, and would enjoy taking the tour they had long been promising her.

“We shall still help you up the stairs,” Richard bragged, “which a gentleman would do anyway.”

Could she adore them any more than she already did? “I would appreciate that very much,” she replied.

At the foot of the stairs, she braced one hand on the bannister for balance and gave her other hand to Richard until they reached the landing. Her ankle held, although she barely placed any weight on it.

“My turn,” George said, and the boys swapped over so that George could hold her hand until they reached the next floor.

Her ankle held up remarkably. They spent the next hour solemnly showing her around the rooms. Some areas had not been renovated and the doorknob to those rooms were cold to the touch.

“This one feels haunted,” George said.

“It’s grandpapa’s old room,” Richard announced. “He probably breathed his last in here.”

“Should we perhaps leave?” Marie suggested, not liking the drop in temperature. The chill wasn’t from any ghostly presence, though. A pane of glass in the leadlight window was cracked, letting the elements in. She doubted there had been a fire in the hearth for the best part of a decade.

“Hey look at this,” George said, finding a panel of the wall that had a hinge in it. Richard rushed over but they couldn’t get it open. Perhaps it was somehow locked from the other side. She wondered if Renwick knew how to open it, and where it led. It was all very Gothic; just like something out of a Minerva Press novel, but Marie was far too sensible to invent horrible stories of skeletons and villains hiding in secret passages.

The furniture was covered in Holland blinds, similar to the music room downstairs. The footprints they made in the dust told Marie that nobody had been in here for years.

“Let’s look at your areas, do you have a playroom?” she asked.

Richard crinkled his nose, “Well, we did have a nursery, but we’re far too old for that now,” he said, as only an eleven-year-old could.

Marie held in a laugh.

They visited more rooms that were used, and had fires burning merrily in the hearths and worn furniture that had seen better times. Perhaps the staff used these rooms to take a rest between tasks?

Another wing on this floor was completely blocked off. George and Richard showed Marie what it was through a window - an old tower that was in desperate need of repair. It would be quite the task to make it sturdy and liveable again, and definitely not something to be done during the winter.

“This is our classroom,” George said, leading Marie into a room that in many ways mimicked the library on the ground floor. Except it was far smaller. There was a broad table in the middle with chairs around it. Sitting by the window with a book in his hand was Mr Charles.

“Hullo!” he called out. Then he saw Marie and he stood up to make a polite bow. “It is good to see you on two feet, Miss Baxter.”

“I feel much stronger today. The boys and the earl treated me to a sleigh ride, and I stood about in the snow while they built a snowman. It has done my limb the power of good.”

“I thought we had the day off?” George asked. “Why are you here, you’re not waiting for us, are you?”

“You do,” Mr Charles confirmed. “And no; I am just enjoying my book in a comfortable chair in good light.”

The boys both sighed with relief.

Mr Charles made an exaggerated gasp, “I’m not that awful, am I?”

That brought some bashful expressions to the boys’ faces and Marie smiled broadly.

“I think they are quite fond of you, really,” she said sotto voce as the boys found a bowl of apples on the table and claimed one each for a snack.

“As I am of them, I assure you.” Mr Charles smiled fondly.

“There’s more to explore,” George said once he’d finished his apple.

“We should play hide and go seek,” Richard said.

“All right, I’ll count,” Mr Charles said, putting his book down.

“In French!” George teased.

“Not fair!” their tutor laughed, “but I think I could manage counting to fifty, after Miss Baxter’s excellent tutelage. It should take me about the same time as counting to one hundred in English, I think… so you had better hurry!” He then turned his back, covered his eyes and began counting.

Marie did not run off, but she did follow the boys to another unused room where she could crawl under a table that had a large sheet over it.

The boys scarpered and she was left to her thoughts, which immediately strayed to Lord Renwick. While the boys had built their snowman, she’d been so ready for a kiss from him, but the kiss had not eventuated! She was sure it would be even better than the last one, whenever he did get around to kissing her again. Perhaps she should lure him to stand under the mistletoe.

She heard Mr Charles finding Richard with a loud, “Found you!” and soon after he found George. The boys then helped him find her hiding place, which felt a little like cheating.

“You won,” George said, “So you get to count now.”

“Shall I count in French?” she asked.

Mr Charles laughed and suggested that would be too easy for her, and she should try Latin.

Marie sat down to count, so she could rest her leg, and she had a good time hunting down her quarry.

They were having so much fun the boys even managed to corral Mrs Ellwood into a short session - with a great deal of pleading and promises to help her with whatever chores she could think of. Richard won the next round, so he counted. Marie found a cosy spot to hide near a window, where she could sit on a chair. There was a privacy screen on the other side of the room, and for a moment she thought about hiding behind that. She didn’t need to, as Richard was so slow in his search she wasn’t troubled at all, and could admire the view out the window. The view included the hill where they’d taken the sleigh ride, including the enormous snowman they’d built. His tattered brown scarf stood out amongst all the white. Eventually Mrs Ellwood had to bring Richard in to look for her. “There you are!” he cried out in exasperation.

“Thank you for finding me!” It was a relief because this part of the castle had no fires burning and she was starting to shiver.

Perhaps she might knit a scarf if she was to play with the boys again and explore more of the castle.

An idea struck. She’d been wondering about what to get for people for gifts on Twelfth Night, which would be here before she knew it.

“Mrs Elwood, would you know where I might obtain some wool suitable for knitting?”

The woman smiled broadly and told the boys to wash up for nuncheon so they could talk in private. “You’re thinking of making something?”

“Yes, I thought I might knit some scarves for the boys. I have some wool in my travel case, but only the one colour, and probably not enough.”

“This is Cumbria, wool is the most plentiful thing you can imagine here! I can easily get you as much as you need. I’ll leave a basket in your room for you.”

True to her word, there was an array of fine soft wool waiting for Marie later that evening when she returned to her room after dinner. Bless Mrs Ellwood, nothing seemed too much trouble for the redoutable housekeeper.

Marie wasted no time casting on and knitting several rows. She didn’t even need her glasses once she got into the rhythm of it, and soon she had several inches of scarf descending from her needles. Happy with her progress, and tired after more exercise that day than she had done in weeks, she decided to try and go to sleep.

The castle was quiet as she put down her needles for the night and leaned over to blow out her candle. Suddenly something scurried along the skirting boards that stole her breath. In a flash, it darted under the gap in the door.

She shook her head. If this was back at the bookshop, she’d have to be on the lookout out for the remains of that mouse behind the counter in the morning.

Quickly, she got out of bed and tested her ankle. She had been on her feet for a good part of the day, but had taken every opportunity to rest her ankle when she could.

The limb held, and she pulled on her robe before making her way to the hall where a basket of correspondence was ready to go to Alston in the morning. She picked up the letter she’d recently written to her sisters and took it to the library.

Lord Renwick was sitting in his favourite chair, reading.

“Sorry to bother you this late, my lord.”

“You’re not a bother,” he said, looking up from his book. “Anything the matter?”

“I’m adding a few lines on the back of this letter. You see, ah, how can I put this, you ah… I saw a mouse.”

“Oh? I didn’t hear you scream.”

“Mice don’t make me scream, except when I step in half a mouse. Crafty leaves them behind in the bookshop.”

“Crafty?”

“Our cat, and the most excellent mouser. She had kittens recently, so if there are any left, we can give you one to keep the castle mouse-free.”

“You don’t have to write a post script to that one. You could write them another fresh letter and I’ll be happy to send it to Alston when you’re done.”

Marie had spent her life being frugal with paper. The thought of being able to write another separate letter felt like luxury.

A light thud in the hallway indicated one more fallen decoration. They both laughed. Marie carefully walked to the doorway to find a spray of pine needles on the boards. She stood for a while leaning on the doorframe, taking the weight off her bad ankle. A mouse, possibly the same one from her room, darted across the floor to the pine needles. It scurried over the greenery and ate at the soft bark holding the needles in place.

“It’s the decorations,” she said. The moment she spoke, the mouse fled to safety. “That’s why the mice came in. We accidentally brought in a ready food supply for them!”

Holly would probably be too tough for them, but the soft bark of the pine stems would be perfect fodder.

Marie knew that if the cats that lived in the Alston stables were only half as good as Crafty, there would be no live mice to be seen inside the castle. Although, if they were like Crafty, they’d also leave eviscerated surprise presents all over the place for unsuspecting feet!

Another thing the mice would love were the mistletoe berries. Perhaps some of the little white fruits had dropped off during the decorating process, leading to more tempting morsels for mice. She could not climb ladders, nor could she reach the higher decorations remaining. Jumping was out of the question.

“Oh dear!” Renwick said, as he looked about at the remaining decorations, complete with mistletoe and holly berries.

Marie nodded. She’d drawn him to the mistletoe quite by accident, but what a happy accident it was.

“I’d best take this down then,” he said, reaching up to remove the nearby hanging mistletoe.

Marie remained perfectly still, readying herself for a kiss.

“Did you draw me out here for this?” But his voice had a smile in it and his eyes softened with creases.

“It was a happy coincidence,” she said, her heart beating a little faster in anticipation.

Finally, finally his lips descended on hers and she was in heaven.

It shouldn’t be possible, but this kiss was even better than their first. His lips pressed on hers so gently and warmly. It was a caress of beautiful intimacy. Her lips parted on a sigh and she pressed into him, deepening the contact. Something delightful flipped behind her ribs at the glorious pressure.

“You are dangerous to my peace of mind, Miss Baxter,” he said quietly, a few moments later. “This is unwise.”

“I shall not regret it,” she answered, eyes still closed and a smile on her lips. She reached up and stole a kiss from him and sparks of delight filled her body at his response.

She heard him laugh quietly. “I shall not regret it either, but it must not become a habit.”

Wait, no. It would be a marvellous habit!

His lips brushed her forehead, very gently, and she heard him step back. Opening her eyes, she watched him retreat to the library again.

A little sigh escaped Marie, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she returned to her room and climbed back into bed. Renwick was far beyond her reach - she might as well wish for the moon! - but it was really rather lovely to be kissed by him and to kiss him back.

“And to think, I did everything I could to avoid having to come to Cumbria!” she chuckled to herself as she snuggled down into the warm, comfortable bed. “A strange few weeks it’s been, but I’ve made memories enough to last a lifetime.”

The following morning, Marie settled herself at her writing-desk to pen another letter to her sisters. A scratch on the door had her calling “Come in!” absently.

“It’s only us, Miss Baxter.” George and Richard crept in. “May we sit with you?”

“Of course, but where is Mr Charles?”

“He has the sniffles,” Richard explained seriously. “He said it’s only a cold, but Mrs Ellwood says he has to stay in his room or the whole household will catch it and she won’t have that.”

Marie grinned as she imagined the diminutive housekeeper shooing Mr Charles back into his room, possibly with a broom in her hand. “Poor Mr Charles! Well, I expect I shall be a poor substitute as a tutor, apart from French…”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” George said earnestly. “He sent a note and has set us essays to write for History. I have to write about the Wars of the Roses and Richard has to write about… what was it again?”

“Henry the Sixth and his eight wives,” Richard said.

“I think you mean Henry the Eighth and his six wives,” Marie corrected, amused. “You’d better have another read of that chapter in your history book, Richard. Well, pull some chairs up to the table over there and get started, then. I have my letter to write, so shan’t be talking to you until nuncheon and our French lesson!”

Both boys agreed happily and were soon settled at the table, Richard’s head buried in his book checking his facts, George’s tongue poking out as he began laboriously writing his essay. They were so good, Marie thought, and really very quiet and studious.

She soon finished her letter, as it was really only a note to her sisters to keep one of Crafty’s kittens if they had not all found homes yet. She decided to include some more detailed sketches of the two boys. Taking some fresh sheets of paper, she made a careful sketch of each of them, and then drew Renwick from memory, sitting in his reading chair in the library, head bent over his book.

The morning quite flew by, and soon Mrs Ellwood was coming in with the tea tray and some food; hot pies, fresh bread, sliced ham and cheese, and some apples.

“His lordship won’t be joining you. Called out to assist at one of the tenant farms - the amount of snow we’ve had, a barn roof has caved in.”

“Oh, nobody is hurt, I hope?” Marie asked.

“No, but some sheep got the fright of their lives, I’ll wager.” Mrs Ellwood smiled fondly at the boys, already both with their mouths full of pie. “Thank you for minding them, Miss Baxter. If they’re troubling you, I could…”

“They are not troubling me at all, they are very good company. How is Mr Charles?”

“He’ll be right in a day or two,” Mrs Ellwood said wisely. “I’ll keep my eye on him. He’ll be glad to know you’ve the boys in hand.”

“Please tell him not to worry about a thing, I shall see that they keep up with their studies.”

Mrs Ellwood nodded respectfully and left them, and Marie switched into French. The boys really were improving by leaps and bounds, their vocabulary excellent and their grammar such that they could now hold simple conversations without having to pause much to think.

“Let’s play a game, that we are strangers meeting for the first time,” she proposed. “So you can practice the sort of conversations you might have if you were meeting a French person.”

The boys nodded gamely, and Marie began, saying her name and asking theirs.

“D’où venez-vous?” Richard asked, correctly using the formal form one would use when asking a stranger where they came from.

Marie gave him an approving nod before saying “Je vis en Hatfield, en Hertfordshire.”

“Oh!” Both boys looked surprised, and then George slowly explained, with only one or two grammatical errors, that they had travelled through Hatfield on their way home from Eton.

“We slept for the night in the inn, the Red Lion,” Richard added.

“But that is right next door to the bookshop! You were right next door!” Marie cried out in French, and then had to repeat herself more slowly so that they understood.

Maybe I will see them again , she thought with a sudden burst of happiness, if Hatfield chanced to be a regular stop on their journey to and from Eton.

Then she frowned as she thought back to the maps she’d studied to get to Alston. “Isn’t Eton near Windsor?” The route from there to Cumbria would not likely pass through Hatfield. She scrunched up her forehead, trying to envision a larger map of southern England. No, surely they would have gone through Oxford, and thence to Birmingham.

“Yes, but one of the masters accompanied us to Cambridge where we met up with Mr Charles,” George explained.

Now the route made sense, and she nodded in understanding, before frowning again in puzzlement. “Your father must have known the route you would take. I wonder why he did not have you collect the books to bring home with you?”

“I’m glad he didn’t,” Richard said. “Because then you would never have come to Alston!”

Marie gave him a fond smile. “Well, I would not have missed this trip for the world, truth be told. Meeting you has been wonderful, and if you ever pass through Hatfield again, you must be sure to visit our bookshop!”

The boys enthusiastically agreed, and begged her to tell them more about the bookshop, and for stories of Crafty’s mischief. Marie obliged them, all the while still puzzling over why Renwick hadn’t trusted his own sons to collect his books. They’d travelled in his own carriage, there would have been plenty of room! She couldn’t fathom it at all.