Running from Scandal. Amanda McCabe
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for him.
Bea swung her feet from the tall chair she sat perched on as she waited for her papa to conclude his business. He and the grey-haired, saggy-faced lawyer, Mr Wall, talked on and on with words she didn’t understand and the warm close air of the office smelled of old cigars and dust, but Bea didn’t care. The more they talked, and the more they ignored her as she sat quietly in the corner, the more she could watch and think.
It was a strategy that had worked very well for her since her mother went away. Things had been so very confusing for a while, the doors of the London house slamming and people coming and going at all hours. Her Grandfather Cole shouting and red-faced. Her papa, who usually played with her and laughed with her, so quiet and serious all the time.
And every time he looked at her he seemed very sad. There were no more tea parties or quiet hours for reading books together. He would send her to the park with her nanny and lock himself in the library.
And no one ever told her anything at all. Tears and shouted questions got her nothing but pitying looks and new dolls. While the dolls were nice, she still wanted to know where her mother had really gone and when her real papa was coming back to her.
That was when she learned to be quiet and watch. When she tucked herself away in corners, people forgot she was there and talked about things in quiet, calm ways with no baby-speak. Bea hated baby-speak. Her father had never spoken to her that way and most grown-ups had long ago given it up with her, until her mother left. Then no one talked to her any other way.
Especially Aunt Louisa. Bea sighed as she smoothed her doll’s silk skirt and thought of Aunt Louisa. She was a very good sort of aunt, always kind and generous with the lemon drops, but her insistence that Bea play with her horrid sons was a nuisance. Those boys had no interesting conversation at all, and they always tried to steal her dolls. Once they even cut the curls off one, making Bea cry and Aunt Louisa scream.
Days at Aunt Louisa’s house were not much fun. Even waiting here in this dull office was better.
But what made time with Aunt Louisa even worse was that she always told Papa he should marry again as fast as possible. She even insisted Bea needed a new mother.
Bea did not want a new mother. She’d hardly ever seen the one she once had, except for glimpses out the window when her mother was climbing into a carriage to go off to a party. She’d been as beautiful as an angel, all sparkling and laughing in her lovely gowns, but not much use. Nor would a mother like Aunt Louisa be much fun, always calling for her vinaigrette when she wasn’t telling everyone what to do.
Not that Bea completely objected to the idea of a mother. Mothers in books always looked like lovely things, always tying their daughters’ hair ribbons and reading them stories. And Papa did need someone to help him smile more.
Aunt Louisa’s Miss Harding, niece of Admiral Harding, didn’t quite sound like what Bea had in mind. Anyone Aunt Louisa chose would surely be entirely wrong for Rose Hill. Bea knew she was only a little girl, but she also knew what she wanted, and what Papa needed.
She just didn’t know where to find it.
‘...in short, Sir David, the sale of the lands should go through at that price with no problems whatsoever,’ the old lawyer said. ‘Your estate at Rose Hill will be considerably enlarged, if you are sure more responsibility is what you truly desire right now.’
‘Have you heard complaints about my lack of responsibility, Mr Wall?’ Papa said, with what Bea suspected was amusement in his voice, though she didn’t understand the joke. She hoped he might even smile, but he didn’t.
‘Not at all, of course. You have a great reputation in the area as a good, and most progressive, landlord with a great interest in agriculture. Once you get those lands organised, you’ll have no trouble whatsoever leasing the farms. But there can be such a things as working too hard, or so Mrs Wall sometimes informs me.’
‘Is there?’ Papa said quietly. ‘I have not found it so.’
‘A wife, Sir David, can be a great help. The right sort of wife, of course, an excellent housekeeper, a hostess, a companion. But I fear we are boring pretty Miss Marton here! Would you care for a sweet, my dear? Sugared almonds—my grandsons love them, so I always keep them about.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wall,’ Bea answered politely. As she popped the almond into her mouth, she thought over what Mr Wall said. A hostess for Rose Hill—another thing to put on her list of requirements for a new mother.
As they took their leave of Mr Wall and stepped back out into the lane, Bea shivered at the cool breeze after the stuffy offices.
‘We should get you home, Bea, before you catch a chill,’ Papa said as he took her hand.
But Bea didn’t quite want to go back to the quiet nursery at Rose Hill just yet. Neither did she want to go visit Aunt Louisa. ‘Could we go to the bookshop first?’ she asked. ‘Maybe Mr Lorne has some new picture books from London. I’ve read everything in the nursery at least twice now.’ And Aunt Louisa and her sons never went in the bookshop. It was always quite safe.
Her papa seemed to hesitate, which was most odd, for he was usually most agreeable to visiting Mr Lorne’s shop. He glanced towards the building across the street, his eyes narrowed behind his spectacles as if he tried to peer past the dusty windows. But finally he nodded and led her across the street to the waiting shop.
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