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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

The nursery chairs were all sized for children. Caro crouched in one with her knees tucked up and her grey skirts gathered around her ankles.

Sophy Pucker yanked at Caro's arm. "Auntie Caro, Josh just took the last biscuit, and I only got one."

"You got the last piece of cake, Sophy. Eat your soup." Caro carried a spoonful of thin beef and barley soup--more barley than beef--from her bowl on the table over the perilous rise of her knees and into her mouth.

Beef and barley soup every day for three years, ever since Cousin Nora had hinted that she and her husband Robert could not afford a governess for the children because they must spend their money to keep a roof over Caro's head. The nursery walls themselves seemed to have absorbed the smell of barley, onions and thin broth. Caro smelled it mingled with the sweet-sour odor of children every time she came back to the nursery from another part of the house. It clung to her curling brown hair along with that child-smell whenever she left the nursery for other, more adult regions.

Sophy thrust her lower lip out. "I hate soup."

Caro did not let her face show her feelings. "We do not say we hate things, Sophy. We may dislike things, but we may not hate them."

"I don't want to eat it. I'm not hungry," Sophy said.

Caro took another perilous spoonful of her own soup. She could hardly fault Sophy. The watery stuff had reduced Caro's once plump figure to a few, slight curves hidden under the high neck of her woolen gown. She said quietly, "If you do not eat it, Sophy, you will be obliged to stay here and study your lessons while Josh and I go walking this afternoon."

Sophy's eyes filled with tears. "But I don't like it."

"We are all obliged to do things we do not like, Sophy."

Josh, the elder Pucker, a cheeky boy with curly, brown hair and a tooth missing in front, said, "That's what grownups tell children to make them do things. You never have to do anything you do not like."

"I certainly do," Caro said rather more sharply than she meant to.

"What?" Josh demanded, not quite rudely, but not perfectly respectfully either.

Caro took another resolute spoonful of the thin soup. "I dislike darning stockings."

Josh shrugged. "Nobody makes you do it."

"No. I do it because it has to be done whether I like it or not. And because if I didn't darn the stockings, you would have no stockings to wear, and your feet would get blisters from your shoes." And then they would cry and she would be obliged to doctor their little feet and listen to their complaints.

Sophy tossed her curly head. "You have to do things you don't like because you are our governess and a poor relation. I'm not going to be a governess."

Caro kept her face smooth and serene. "You may not have to earn your way as a governess, Sophy, but you will find everyone is obliged to do things they would rather not. And you must learn to do them with a cheerful countenance."

"Why?"

Now, that was a question that admitted any number of answers. Because if you don't, your relations might tire of supporting their dependent cousin. Because pride will not let you admit how you hate your precarious position in your cousins' household. She said, "Because it is pleasing to God."

Sophy's blue eyes watered. "You mean, God will make me go to Hell if I don't eat my soup?"

"No, Sophy, of course not," Caro said.

The nursery door admitted Caro's cousin Nora Pucker, a slim, handsome girl of twenty-five with a silly face. "Caro, I've had very disturbing news. Hello, my darlings, how are my poppets today?"

Sophy wriggled out of her chair and threw herself at her mother's knees. "Mama, Auntie Caro says God will make me go to Hell if I don't eat my soup."

"No, Sophy, that is not what I meant at all," Caro said.

Nora Pucker patted her child's head and tried to free herself from Sophy's hands, which were slightly sticky from plum cake. "Now, Precious, Auntie Caro just made a mistake. She didn't mean it. Don't put your sticky fingers on Mummy's skirts, please," she added a little sharply.

Sophy looked up at her. "So I don't have to eat my soup?" she asked.

"Of course not, Lambie. Go play with Joshy now, so that Mummy can talk to Auntie Caro."

Sophy smiled watery relief, and the children went to their room to play.

Caro looked wistfully at the table. The children had eaten all the cakes and biscuits leaving none for Caro. She observed philosophically that she could always finish the children's soup if she were still hungry after eating her own.

Nora Pucker did not try to squeeze herself into any of the little nursery chairs. "Caro dear, I know you are trying to help, but I wish you would not frighten the children that way. Imagine telling poor Sophy-kins she would go to Hell if she did not eat her soup."

Caro rose. She stood four inches over her cousin's more average height. Caro said, "You said you had disturbing news, Nora?"

Nora edged back a little so she wouldn't have to tilt her head up to speak to Caro. "I received a letter today from my friend Mrs. Bullinger. She lives in High Fielding which is not too far from Puck Hall where great aunt Hepsibah lives. She said the most disturbing thing." Nora stopped and looked expectantly at Caro.

"Did she?" Caro murmured.

"Yes, I don't know quite what to make of it. She wrote, 'We are all very sorry to hear about your aunt and wish you our sincere condolences.'"

Caro furrowed her brow. "What is wrong with Aunt Sibby?"

"I don't know," Nora said. "There can't be anything wrong with her, or the steward Mr. Pucker hired to look after her estate would have written to us, but what else could Emma Bullinger have meant?"

Caro bit her lip. "Perhaps she has taken a spill and sprained her ankle."

Nora shook her head. "Emma wrote very distinctly, 'condolences.' One does not say 'condolences' unless somebody is dead."

"But she can't be dead. Mr. Pucker would be notified by the courts if the steward forgot."

Nora chewed the top of the letter and walked in a nervous little circle. "I don't know what to do. Mr. Pucker would know immediately. He could write to that Stapleton fellow and get him to tell us exactly what was wrong with Aunt Sibby."

Caro said, "The thing to do is to write to Robert at once. He will take care of it."

"I have written to him at his London address, but I do not know when he will get the letter. He told me he would be going about a good deal and I might not be able to reach him. We cannot wait for Mr. Pucker, Caro. I have the greatest fear that something is dreadfully wrong. What if Aunt Sibby is dead. What if she is dying? Someone must go and find out. And if she is not dead yet, you must stay and nurse her. Remind her how we all love her and care for her. Make sure she has not changed her will."

"Me?" Caro said. "Do you mean you want me to go to Puck Hall?"

"And make sure Aunt Sibby has not changed her will. That is what I chiefly fear. Not that I do not care for Aunt Sibby, you know, although I only met her the once when she came to our wedding, and I hope she is well and it is all a hum, but it would be just like her to cut Mr. Pucker out of her will from sheer meanness."

"She wouldn't very likely do that, would she? He's her only living relative."

Nora said, "Except you, of course, and I'm sure we would all be delighted for you if she left something to you, but we know that is not very likely, is it?"

Caro felt a slip of temper rise up behind her eyes. "I wouldn't have it if she begged me to take it."

Nora's well-shaped eyes widened. "Don't say that, Caro. You'd be a fool not to take it if she gave it to you. But we needn't get ourselves in a pelter over what isn't likely to happen." She tilted her head. "Still, if you went and nursed her, it might change her opinion of you."

Caro cringed inwardly, but kept her face smooth. "Hadn't you better go yourself, Nora? I cannot think that Auntie will be happy to have me."

Nora's face twitched with distaste. "I daren't take the children with me. What if there is disease? What if they disturb Aunt Sibby's rest? And I can hardly leave them here alone."

Caro restrained a snort. The children would be far more likely to notice Caro's absence than their mother's, although they were unlikely to suffer much in either case.

Nora added, "Besides, you have more experience caring for invalids. You are so good with the children. So if Aunt Sibby needs devoted nursing, you are by far the best person to go. I should think you would be grateful for a chance to show your appreciation to those who have done so much for you."

That was always the final argument when Nora wanted something. Anyone would have thought Caro's little attic room and sparse meals laid an enormous financial burden on her cousins. In fact, Caro was not entirely dependent on the Puckers. Her income might not be sufficient to pay the rent on a cottage, but she was able to buy goods to make her own gowns. She kept herself in sturdy shoes, and she paid for the coal she burned in her little bedroom hearth. Nora might have preferred Caro to pay her meager two-hundred pounds per year directly to her cousin Robert and work in exchange for hand-me-down gowns and shoes; that arrangement had been proposed very soon after Nora invited Caro to live at Mapleford; but Caro preferred to keep control of her money. So Nora had made Caro into a governess.

Caro winced. "Well if you think it is necessary, Nora, but I am not at all sure it is the best thing."

Having won her point, Nora was anxious to ingratiate herself. "Just think, it will be a holiday for you away from the children. I know you love them, of course, but even a mother cannot deny you might like to get away to yourself from time to time. And it's such a lovely summer. You will enjoy the journey. Travel is so broadening."

The travel in question was a matter of some fifty-four miles on good roads through well populated country-side. "Perhaps there is nothing so very wrong at all," Caro said, as much to cheer herself as to reassure her cousin. "She might have simply sprained her ankle or had a cough. Or your friend may have misunderstood some piece of gossip."

"I hope you are right," Nora said. "But I cannot comfort myself until I am sure. I really am very pleased, the more I think of it, to be able to afford you such a pleasant little trip and an opportunity to reconcile with Mrs. Pucker. You are so good to the children, and Mr. Pucker and I have often spoken of doing something for you to show our appreciation."

Caro forced herself to smile quietly. "You are too good, Nora."

"The first thing you must do when you arrive at Puck Hall is write us a letter to tell us exactly what Aunt Sibby's condition is. Then you must try to discover whether Mr. Pucker is still her principle heir."

"When will I go?" Caro asked.

Nora stared at her. "Why first thing tomorrow morning, of course. There's no time to waste. I will send a letter this afternoon telling the staff at Puck Hall to expect you."

"Are you sure you can spare the carriage tomorrow?" Caro asked. "I thought you meant to drive down to Billwater with the children."

Nora said, "So I do. You cannot think I would want to send the carriage all the way to High Fielding when Mr. Pucker is away. What if there were an emergency? We would have no way to get about. You can easily walk to the station and catch the mail coach. After you make such a point of squandering money on walking shoes, I should think you would be grateful for a chance to prove their usefulness."

Another unsubtle dig at Caro's independence. She refused to let her temper rise. "Naturally, I do not mind walking to the station, but I will have luggage. At least one small trunk for an overnight stay. More if you wish me to stay longer."

"But that is no trouble at all, Caro dear. I'll send Harry to carry your trunk for you."

So Caro packed a single, small trunk that would not overburden the manservant, and a valise that she could carry herself. In the morning, she received her final instructions from her cousin.

"If she is dead, or if you think she is sure to die, you must tell us at once. I don't want to behave as if I were eager for her to turn up her toes, but if she is going to, then the money is rightfully ours after all."

Caro was a stout walker. She arrived at the station well before the arrival of the mail coach. Cousin Nora had not offered to pay for her ticket, so Caro used her little bit of pocket money to buy an inside seat.

It was a comfortless journey--six hours inside a stifling box with four strangers who declined to converse about themselves. Caro would have liked to pass the time by reading a book, but she feared the jolting motion of the coach would make her ill if she tried to read. She felt miserable enough just looking out the window. She had wedged herself into a backward-facing seat, and the hedges and neat, white or stone cottages outside the glass flew away from her in a fashion that, combined with the cabbagey smell of her neighbor, made her stomach roil. She supposed the man on her right must be as tired of her beef-and-barley odor as she was of his cabbageness.

The coach stopped at every village along their route and exchanged passengers. She lost her cabbagey seat mate. He was replaced by a big, happy-looking woman who evidently ate large quantities of onions. Caro wondered, as her neighbor grew more pungent, if the woman grew the onions in her own garden, and if she were proud of them, and if she gave them away in bushels to her friends, or sold them at market to buy new shoes for her children, for surely she had them, such a big, happy woman--or suspenders for her husband--such a happy-looking woman would have a big, ugly husband who called her by a ridiculous pet name and ate onions and praised her cooking.

Caro began to think she might like to smell of onions. Someday. The thought made her chuckle to herself. She was thirty years old, a confirmed spinster with a half dozen strands of glittering silver curling through her brown hair. Her face was unlined for now, but she'd lately begun to wonder if her skin looked tired around the eyes and mouth. She'd long ago taken to wearing caps, white smidgens of muslin trimmed with lace that she knitted on summer evenings when the children went to bed before dark and Caro had an hour or so of red-gold daylight to see by. But they were caps, nonetheless, a concession to spinsterhood, admission that she would never marry.

Late in the afternoon, the coach rolled into High Fielding for the briefest of stops. Caro excused herself to her seat mate and squeezed out of the coach with her valise clutched in one hand. As she stepped down to the packed earth of the road, she heard the onioney woman remark to the other passengers, "Whew, must have been a nurse, that one. Or a governess. Beef barley soup. I can't abide it."

Only half offended, Caro caught herself smiling. She was so glad to get out of the crowded, stuffy coach with its thick air and its passengers thrown together like a poor man's stew, that she felt really fond of the onioney woman and wished her well.

The coachman threw Caro's trunk down to a handler by the door. The coach took up another passenger, an old woman in a clean but shabby gown who, Caro thought, would smell of attar of roses or lavender water.

The coach rumbled away. Caro's trunk stood alone in the inn yard. Caro waited a moment beside it. Surely Cousin Nora's letter had reached Puck Hall late yesterday or early this morning, and they would surely send someone to meet the coach. But no one came forward to ask if she were Miss Caroline Hedley bound for Puck Hall. The ostlers cast sidelong looks at her, and Caro finally determined that no late carriage was going to rattle up and collect her. She was stranded.

Chapter Two

Seething with anxiety and annoyance, Caro raised her trunk by the handle at one end and dragged it over to the door of the inn where roses climbed a trellis beside a window. She left it there where it might reasonably be regarded as property and not abandoned salvage.

The modest dining and common room was dim and cool despite the fire already popping on the hearth. The first farmers and laborers to finish their day in the fields drank their beer and spoke in muted voices. Rushes hissed under Caro's feet as she crossed the room to a wide door which she assumed to enter on the kitchen. Pots rattled and crashed inside, and female voices chattered. She knocked.

"Ye'll have to knock a deal louder than that, Miss," one of the relaxing laborers said.

His companion, slightly the worse for drink, said, "Aye, that's no job for a prissy mitt. Put your knuckles into it."

"Here now, what's all that palaver about down here? You lot keep your manners about you, or be off." A short, stout woman with a tremendous bosom and a halo of flyaway, brown hair about her face, came down the stairs and flapped her apron in the direction of the drinkers as though shooing crows.

The laborer who had spoken first said, "This little, grey pigeon is looking for you, Mrs. Bagby."

"Grey goose is more like it," his drunker companion said.

Caro refused to let embarrassment show on her features. "Are you the innkeeper's lady?"

The little woman smoothed at the flyaway strands around her face. They sprang up again the moment she dropped her hands. "That I am, hinny. Are ye looking for a room? Yer not traveling alone are ye, hinny?"

Caro said, "I am visiting my great aunt at Puck Hall, but I seem to have missed my ride. Has there been anyone asking for a Miss Hedley?"

Mrs. Bagby stared. "Shoo, hinny, but yer not kin to old Mrs. Pucker are ye? There's been no one from that house to ask after ye. Did they know ye were coming?"

Caro drooped. She supposed that the funny little woman with her wispy, brown halo was being impertinent, but her face had deep smile lines about the eyes, and her little, blue eyes were kind. Caro let her feelings creep into her face and voice. "They ought to have. My cousin sent a letter yesterday, so they should have received it by now."

The little woman shook her wispy head. "You poor thing, they've gone and left ye stranded, they have, that scapegrace lot. You take my advice, hinny, and turn right back around and go home."

Caro thought of the close carriage with its rattling motion and its choking smells and said, "I cannot possibly. We have received some disturbing news about Mrs. Pucker, and I feel obliged to look in on her and see if she is all right before I can go back home."

Mrs. Bagby shook her head. "Well, yer a good girl, hinny. I wish I could tell ye what ye want to know, but they're close as clams up there. There's rumors, you understand. Some say Mrs. Pucker's dead, and them won't let on lest they lose their jobs. Some say as Mrs. Pucker's alive, but them's keeping her prisoner. Then there's them as say Mrs. Pucker's on her deathbed, and them's trying to keep it secret."

"Them?" Caro said.

"Aye, hinny, that steward of hers, Mr. Stapleton, he won't let the folks up there at the house say word one about what really goes on. Ye won't get a warm welcome at Puck hall, that's sure, but if yer determined to go, I can hustle up somebody to drive ye."

Caro fumbled with her reticule. "I can pay."

Mrs. Bagby snorted. "Pay indeed. There's decent people in these parts, hinny. Now I might be gone for a bit finding somebody to take you, so you just sit yourself down and rest. Are ye hungry?"

"No," Caro said quickly. "I'm a little unsettled from the coach."

"Just a pot of tea, then, and a piece of beef and kidney pie. And I think there's some apple tarts. Just the thing to settle a queasy stomach."

"I am sure there will be something for me when I reach my great aunt's home."

"No nonsense now. I feed everybody who comes off that mail coach, and I know my business. It's only a farthing for the dinner. You can afford that now, can't you, hinny? If you can't, you can owe it to me."

"No, I can afford it." Caro blushed. The crowd of rustic laborers had grown as she negotiated with Mrs. Bagby, and no doubt all ears were pricked to the little woman's evaluation of Caro's financial means.

The innkeeper's wife nodded. "Come along then, hinny. You don't want to sit with this louty bunch. I'll put you here in the corner of the kitchen. It's noisy, but you won't be bothered with this uncouth lot out here. You're a governess, aren't you, hinny? I can tell right off. I'm a good judge of people I am. Comes of seeing so many folks here at the inn. They come and they go, Miss Hedley hinny. And I see them all. Now you sit right down here in the corner, and I'll fetch you your dinner."

Caro sat as directed at a little table in the corner. The first thing Mrs. Bagby brought to her, even before the fragrant tea in a chipped pot and unmatched cup, was a little, blown-glass vase with a spray of sweet-peas. Caro sniffed the spicy blossoms and watched Mrs. Bagby dart to and fro among a half-dozen kitchen women. The big room was deafening with the rattle of pots and pans and plates in the great stone sink. The oven roared like a miniature lion. People shouted back and forth across the room and laughed despite reddened faces, floury hands and hair plastered to their faces with sweat.

The tea did soothe Caro's roiled stomach, and with a feeling inside like something snapping into place, she was hungry again. The smell of roasting lamb from an open hearth opposite the stove started her mouth to watering urgently.

Mrs. Bagby set an enormous plate of beef and kidney pie before her. It dripped at the sides with gravy and potatoes.

Caro fumbled two half-farthings out of her reticule. Mrs. Bagby took the coins without counting them and dropped them in the pocket of her apron. She came back a moment later with a steaming apple tart. "Let that cool a minute, hinny, or ye'll burn your mouth." A tiny pot of cream arrived. "For the tart, hinny. I'm off to find ye a ride to the hall. You eat up, and don't worry yer head, now."

Caro worked her way diligently through the pie. It was plain fare, but filling and infinitely more generous than beef and barley soup. And it was pleasant to sit unmolested among busy, friendly people making productive noise.

An aproned girl with wispy, brown hair braided down her back set a second plate in front of Caro and bobbed a curtsey. "Mama said you was to have a slice of the lamb when it was ready."

Caro reached anxiously for her reticule. She was not sure how she would spare any more money. She would not get another payment from her solicitors until Michaelmas, and she had yet to buy a return ticket for the coach, but the girl waved her hand. "It's with your dinner, Miss," she said, and whisked away leaving behind a huge, brown slice of succulent lamb. Caro rather feared she gobbled it.

She was thoroughly satiated, and working diligently on the apple tart when Mrs. Bagby returned. "There ye are, hinny. I've fixed it up all right and tight. Mr. Cumberland has said he will drive you."

Caro rose hurriedly from her seat, but Mrs. Bagby nudged her back into it. "Now there's no need to go leaping off like a rabbit, hinny. I've settled him in the common room with a pint of cider, so he'll keep while you finish your dinner."

"I don't think I could eat another bite, Mrs. Bagby, and I really should see to my great aunt as soon as possible."

"What, and leave my good apple tart? Nay, if ye leave it behind, ye'll wish ye had it later. And them up at Puck hall, they'll keep, too, so don't you worry your pretty head. I'll come back when ye're finished."

And Mrs. Bagby went resolutely out the door into the common room, so there was nothing for Caro to do but to sit down and savor the apple tart.

She suspected Mrs. Bagby of setting spies on her. Caro had no sooner finished the last bite of tart and drained her teacup when the innkeeper's lady popped back through the door and said, "All ready now, are ye? Come along, then. I've put your things in Mr. Cumberland's carriage."

Caro said, "Who is Mr. Cumberland? I hope I am not putting him out."

"He's a lawyer, hinny, but he's a good boy. Ye needn't have inny fear of him."

Mr. Cumberland did not meet Caro's expectations as to what a lawyer ought to look like. She had some experience with the breed. Mr. Barrow, the solicitor who managed Caro's tiny inheritance from her parents and paid her interest every quarter day, was a plump, prosperous-looking gentleman with a full beard and a bald pate. He supervised Caro's money with scrupulous integrity and an air of contempt, as though such an insignificant fortune were beneath his dignity to administer.

Mr. Cumberland was a different sort entirely. He towered over Caro by at least eight inches--a rare occurrence for her to meet someone so much taller than herself. Gentle, intelligent eyes looked out of a round face. His fair hair needed cutting, and his clothes, though good, were worn and coated with what appeared to be animal hair.

He saw the direction of her glance and plucked at his coat with small hands. "I beg your pardon, Miss Hedley. I did not realize I had come out so untidy. If you are offended, I can easily dash home and put on a clean coat." He had a small, gentle voice, and his smile was both rueful and amused.

Caro blushed. "I beg your pardon. I had no business to stare."

His smile brightened the common room of the little inn, and he held out his hand. "I am Mr. Morris Cumberland at your service, Miss Hedley."

She shook his hand. "I am very grateful for your assistance. I hope I am not putting you out."

He beamed like a child offered an unusual treat. "Not in the least. Not in the very least. I'm happy to oblige. Just step up to my curricle, and we'll be on our way."

The conveyance which awaited them in the yard of the inn was several years old and needed paint. A weary, swaybacked roan with a sagging underlip stood in the traces. The animal drowsed by the gate and showed no interest in moving until it caught sight of Mr. Cumberland coming out of the inn. The horse pricked up its ears, waggled its lower lip, and shuffled forward, drawing the curricle after it.

Mr. Cumberland jumped. "Whoa, there, Champ. Easy on, Champion. Ouch. Stop that."

The horse trotted up to the lawyer, pressed its forehead to Mr. Cumberland's coat and nudged vigorously at Mr. Cumberland's pockets. The lawyer looked apologetically at Caro. "Excuse me. He's not usually like this. Well, he is, but people are used to it." He reached into his pocket and slipped a small, round object into the horse's mouth.

Champion tossed his head triumphantly and chewed and drooled while Cumberland scratched the white spot in the middle of his forehead. "He likes sugarplums," the lawyer confessed sheepishly. "And marzipan candy. And he's such a game old chap, I hate to disappoint him."

He paused, and Caro's expression must have alerted him to something amiss. He looked at his curricle and horse and seemed to see them for the first time. "Oh," he said. He scratched his head with one hand, then dropped it to cover his mouth. He stared at his shabby carriage as though he felt he ought to do something about it, but he was not sure exactly what. "I say, I'm sorry. I hadn't realized. I'm sure I could borrow a carriage and team from someone if you had rather not ride in mine."

Caro exerted all her energy to clear her face of any expression other than good cheer. "I assure you, I am more grateful than I can say for your assistance, and there is nothing whatsoever wrong with your conveyance." She hesitated a moment, fixed her cheerful expression more firmly, and said, "I was merely admiring your handsome horse. His name is Champion?"

She thought that surely Mr. Cumberland would see through her kindly-intended lie, but his intelligent blue eyes lit with happiness, and he hurried to take her hand and help her into the vehicle. Caro rather wished he had not used the hand upon which Champion had so recently slobbered, but the slight stickiness was easily and discretely wiped upon her cloak.

Mr. Cumberland went round the other side of the curricle, and Mrs. Bagby nodded portentously to Caro. "That's right, hinny. He's a nice boy, is Mr. Cumberland. Here's a bit of something for your supper, and bit for breakfast, too, if they're as cheese-paring up there at Puck Hall as I think they are." She passed Caro a bundle wrapped in oilcloth.

Caro recoiled. "Mrs. Bagby, I couldn't. I cannot pay you."

"Comes with your dinner, hinny. Comes with your dinner."

Caro settled the bundle on her lap as Mr. Cumberland climbed up beside her and clucked to Champion. The old horse broke out in a creaky shuffle that gradually evolved into a sagging trot.

Cumberland did not at first seem inclined to talk, and Caro devoted herself to the scenery. It was mid-August. Fields were gold. Bramble berries sagged in the hedges, and the sun had more than four hours before it set. Tilted light washed the landscape in red-gold, and a breeze brushed powder soft over Caro's face carrying with it the smell of roses and of ripening grain.

Mr. Cumberland said, "Are you very close to your aunt, Miss Hedley?"

Caro looked up into his round, gentle face and found she liked him. "I have never met her," she confessed.

He frowned a little, and Caro thought it was a pleasant expression. He said, "I hope you find her well."

"So do I," Caro said. "If she is not, I suppose I will be obliged to stay and nurse her. My cousins wish me to do so at any rate. I will have to see what Aunt Sibby wishes."

Cumberland's frown deepened. He said rather diffidently, "She is not reputed to be an easy tempered woman."

Caro nodded. "I know. Or rather, before my Mama died, I had from her the impression that Aunt Sibby was not a generous spirited person. There was something between them. Bad blood of some kind." She stopped. What a forward thing to say to a stranger.

But Mr. Cumberland seemed pleased by the confession. "I'm glad to know you are not going unprepared; forewarned being forearmed as they say. I hope you will feel free to call on me if you need anything."

Caro hesitated. "There is something. A question you might answer. It would put my cousins' minds at rest."

He tilted his head. "What is it?"

Caro wished she had said nothing. She had a premonition that her question would be forward, perhaps insulting to Mr. Cumberland in his hair-covered coat and shabby carriage, but he regarded her with such mild, intelligent eyes that she said, "You are not, by any chance, my great aunt's solicitor?" She cast her eyes down so that if he were offended, she would not see it in his face.

But he said cheerfully, "No indeed. I believe Mrs. Pucker uses the firm of Crookshanks and Bennet in London. I presume your cousins want to know the status of Mrs. Pucker's will?"

Caro blushed. "Yes. It is not that they are in any hurry to inherit, you know, but they cannot help wondering, especially since they were not informed of any change, and when Cousin Nora heard a rumor that Aunt Sibby was not well, they naturally worried. My cousin Robert, you know, handles Auntie's affairs, and he should have been notified if something were wrong."

Cumberland frowned. "Indeed he should. It is a little smoky." He hesitated and said more diffidently than before, "If...if you might be so good as to regard me as your representative, Miss Hedley, I might make some inquiries."

Caro felt alarmed. She had not meant to put a burden on Mr. Cumberland who had gone so far out of his way to help her already. "You are very kind, but I haven't any money. I could not pay you."

Mr. Cumberland beamed like a bolt of sunshine. "But Miss Hedley, half my clients never pay me at all, and the other half pay me in potatoes and chickens. And you never know when it will come in handy to have a lawyer. Knights on white horses may have been all the crack in the old days, but in these modern times, a lady cannot do better than to have a lawyer in her pocket." He struck a romantic pose with his chin up and one hand pressed to his breast.

Caro laughed. "You are being foolish, Mr. Cumberland."

He smiled full of happiness. "I am, but I meant it. If you have need of me, I will be ready to help...We are come to Puck Hall. Just let me stop Champion, and I will bring your trunk."

Cumberland carried the trunk up the steps to the front door of Puck Hall, a red stone house with bow windows all along the front. Someone lavished a great deal of attention on the gardens in front of the house. Mr. Cumberland knocked for her and waited at her side until footsteps approached the door from the other side. The door opened.

A middle-aged woman with a handsome white face and thick, black brows raked Caro and Mr. Cumberland with her eyes. "Deliveries and bill collectors at the side door."

Mr. Cumberland shuffled his foot into the gap before the door closed. The black-haired woman turned with an angry expression.

Cumberland raised his hat. "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Follick. I'm Mr Cumberland."

"Missus don't need another lawyer," Mrs. Follick said. She tried again to shut the door.

Cumberland leaned his shoulder against the door and drew Caro forward. "And this is Mrs. Pucker's niece, Miss Hedley. She has come to visit her aunt at the request of Mr. Robert Pucker who manages Mrs. Pucker's affairs for her."

Mrs. Follick gave Caro another raking look. "She's not wanted here," she said, and took advantage of Mr. Cumberland's shifted weight to close the door.

Chapter Three

Caro stared at the door in dismay. "Oh dear. I really must see Aunt Sibby before I go. How would I explain it to Cousin Nora?"

"Only one thing to do," Mr. Cumberland said cheerfully. He laid hold of the brass knocker and set up a thunderous rattle that kept up until Mrs. Follick threw the door open.

She looked up at them with her heavy brows drawn tight over her nose.

Mr. Cumberland forestalled her. "Mrs. Follick, I am Miss Hedley's solicitor. She does not wish to resort to legal action, but she will do so if she is not permitted to see her aunt."

Mrs. Follick stepped back from the doorway, and jerked her head to indicate that they might enter. "I'll tell Mr. Stapleton you're here, but the Missus don't want to see any of the family." She left them standing in the hall.

Mr. Cumberland smiled encouragingly at Caro. "That's got them routed. I told you it would be handy to have a lawyer at your side."

Mrs. Follick returned. Beside her strode a powerfully built man a little shorter than Mr. Cumberland. He had a harsh face, hard in its lines, but marked with sensuality and a kind of brooding power in the set of his eyes. He looked Caro over from head to toe. "Miss Hedley?" He spoke without inflection in an insulting monotone, but the low resonance of his voice made Caro shiver. "Mrs. Pucker has requested that none of her family are to be allowed to see her."

Cumberland beamed. "Then Mrs. Pucker is not ill? Good news indeed. The family had received distressing word to the contrary, so you must understand Miss Hedley's relatives will not rest until Miss Hedley has seen her aunt with her own eyes."

Stapleton's lids drooped over dark eyes, and he gazed at Cumberland with patent dislike. "You can't see her," Stapleton repeated.

Mr. Cumberland frowned like a child cheated of a toy. "Ah well, I understand, as does Miss Hedley. We will simply have to rattle down to Durstville Abbey and get a writ from the magistrate. Lord Taberstock is a particularly good friend of mine. I conduct all his legal business. We will return in an hour or two with Constable Wiley." He took Caro's elbow and steered her toward the door.

The steward and the housekeeper looked at one another, and Mrs. Follick darted forward. "Stop. Wait a moment."

Stapleton said impatiently, "You may see her for just a moment. Her doctor has said she is too ill to receive visitors."

Mr. Cumberland's happy smile broke out on his face. "We will not tire her. Lead the way, Mrs. Follick."

There was an odor to the house, oily and choking, that escaped identification. It crept into the back of Caro's throat and lingered there, unidentifiable, but present. Mrs. Follick led Caro and Mr. Cumberland to a bedroom on the third floor. She stopped at the door and said, "You'll have to wait outside, Mr. Cumberland."

He looked at Caro for confirmation.

It was, after all, a lady's bedroom, and her aunt was not expecting company. Caro felt rather ungrateful as she said, "It might be best. At least until I have seen her and spoken to her."

His innocent smile brightened his face, and for a moment, the strange, choking smell receded. "I'll wait right here until you need me," he assured her.

Caro followed Mrs. Follick into a dark, close room. Heavy curtains at the windows cut out the evening sun and strangled the room in shadows. Here, the oily, bitter taste in Caro's throat was stronger combined with unwashed sheets and unwashed human. The housekeeper stooped over the bed. "Mrs. Pucker," she said briskly, "Your niece, Miss Hedley, is here to see you."

Caro approached the bed. "Open the curtains, please, Mrs. Follick. Auntie ought not to be left here in the dark."

"The Missus is sleeping."

"I'm sorry for it, but I must speak to her before I leave. If you want me gone quickly, be so good as to open the curtains so I can see who I am speaking to."

Mrs. Follick went to the window and threw the curtains open. The room looked westward over the fields, and the tilted light of evening lit it with red-gold.

Caro turned to the bed and gasped. She thought for a sickening moment the body under the coverlet must have been dead for days. Then it moved. The skinny breast rose and fell under the blankets. Bony shoulders jutted against the light muslin of a dingy nightdress. The hands lay thin and crabbed on the coverlet.

Caro took a deep breath and wished she hadn't when the disturbing air of the room filled her lungs almost to drowning. She suppressed the urge to gag and fixed her face in its governess mask. One thin hand lay on the blankets. Skin, thin and fragile as tissue hung off jutting bones and crabbed joints. "Aunt Sibby?"

The breath caught. The body jerked. Rheumy eyes, sunken into dark circles in the ravaged face, opened. They blinked and roved until they found Caro's face. The mouth opened and closed, and the old woman made an empty, bleating sound.

Caro said hesitantly, "I'm sorry to wake you from your nap, Auntie, but I have to speak with you for a moment. I am Caroline Hedley, your grand-niece."

The dry bird-hand twitched in Caro's palm.

"Can you speak, Aunt Hepsibah? Cousin Nora sent me to see if you were all right. I know you do not want me here, but I cannot go back until I am able to assure Nora and Robert, your heirs, you are all right."

The roving eyes flicked from side to side, and the wrinkled forehead puckered anxiously. A thin, rasping sound came out of the mouth.

Caro felt a sudden, sick anxiety in her stomach. She sat down on the side of the bed.

Hebsibah Pucker screamed.

Caro jumped up and dropped the hand she had been holding. A moment later, her heartbeat dropped back to its normal speed, and she realized she had crossed the room at a bound and stood trembling in a corner between the wall and a wardrobe.

Mrs. Follick hurried to the bedside and stooped over the body under the blankets. "Hush now. Hush, poor dear."

Mrs. Pucker gave another shrill cry of pain and subsided.

The door flew open and crashed against the wall. Mr. Cumberland took two steps into the room and stopped. He looked around. He scratched his head and looked embarrassed. "I say, I heard a ruckus. Is everyone all right?"

Mrs. Follick whirled. "Mrs. Pucker demands you leave immediately. Both of you."

Mr. Cumberland looked a question at Caro.

Caro gathered herself together. The scream had startled her, and she was on edge after her long journey, but that was no reason to hide in corners like a child with night-fears. She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her bonnet, and approached the bed with determined steps.

"I have not yet heard it from my aunt's lips, Mrs. Follick. And I intend to stay here at this house until I do hear it from her. Stand aside and let me speak to her."

Caro did not wait for Mrs. Follick to step aside. She hunched her shoulder and pressed forward.

Mrs. Pucker's eyes flicked from side to side and settled fixedly on Caro.

Caro once again raised the bony hand with the flesh that melted from the bones in sagging waves. She bent over. "Aunt Sibby, I will not leave this house until you tell me with your own lips that you wish it. Is that what you desire?" She bent close in case the old woman whispered. A smell mingled of infection and filth rose from the old body.

The sticky eyes looked past Caro and fixed on Mrs. Follick standing at Caro's shoulder. They filled up with tears. The frail hand twitched in Caro's grasp, and from the mouth came a rattling cry like a child might make who had not learned to speak.

Caro shuddered. She stood upright and stared down at the eyes that met hers. The expression in them was desperate. Caro carefully wiped her face clean of expression. She did not want to stay. Not in this house that smelled of sickness and old misery. She turned around to say so and saw Mr. Cumberland's innocent face looking into hers. She saw in the soberness of his expression that he would not fault her if she walked out of Puck Hall and back to High Fielding to take the next coach home.

She took a trembling breath. "My aunt is obviously very ill, and I am not satisfied with the care she has received. Her sheets are filthy. She is filthy. She is obviously in pain, and she is unable to speak to me in order to communicate her desires. I must therefore rely on the instructions of her heirs which are to stay and nurse her."

Mr. Cumberland's delighted smile struck into Caro's heart.

Mrs. Follick's brows furled into each other across her finely drawn nose. "Before her illness, Mrs. Pucker was adamant that none of her family were to be admitted to the house."

Mr. Cumberland stepped forward, and his height drew the housekeeper's attention from Caro to himself. He said, "Those desires should have been conveyed to the heirs who have responsibility for Mrs. Pucker's affairs. Since they were not, Miss Hedley has every right to remain here at her cousin's request."

Mrs. Follick looked sullen. "You'd better explain that to Mr. Stapleton."

* * *

Mr. Stapleton's tiny office strained at its seams to contain so much masculine strength. It smelled of him, musky and clean. Caro found herself edging closer to Mr. Cumberland who smelled reassuringly of horse.

Stapleton heard Mr. Cumberland's argument with his harshly-shaped lips pulled tight and said, "How am I to know it is in fact Mr. Pucker's wish that Miss Hedley stay?"

Mr. Cumberland tilted his head. "You received a letter this morning informing you of Miss Hedley's arrival and the wishes of the heirs."

Stapleton folded his arms across his broad chest and tilted his head. "I saw no such letter."

Mrs. Follick stood at the steward's shoulder and shook her head with a sly cast to her eyes.

Caro said, "Nora sent the letter ahead of me."

Mr. Cumberland slitted his eyes. "I think if you consulted Mrs. Pucker's solicitors, they would advise you to do as the family requests. Whether Miss Hedley stays here or not, she will report Mrs. Pucker's condition to her relatives, and when she does, the family will not only insist Miss Hedley be allowed to stay, they will be very interested to know why you prevented it in the first place."

Stapleton matched eyes with Mr. Cumberland for a long moment, then he shrugged. "She can stay the night. After that, I will require some kind of notification from the family if I'm to go against Mrs. Pucker's stated instructions."

Cumberland shook his head. "I will go first thing tomorrow to speak to the family solicitors, but time will not allow for a reply to arrive before the day after tomorrow. Miss Hedley will stay at least until then."

Stapleton slitted his black eyes. "I thought you said you were the family solicitor."

"I am Miss Hedley's personal advisor. I am acting on her behalf and in her interests."

Stapleton threw up a callused hand. "Have your way then. But you can be certain I will lodge a protest with Mrs. Pucker's solicitors on her behalf."

"Do that," Cumberland said. "I will be interested to receive a copy for my own information. Excuse me, I require a moment alone with my client." He drew Caro with him out into the hallway.

"Are you determined to stay, Miss Hedley? I might be able to arrange lodging for you at the inn if you would rather not sleep here." His gentle eyes looked down at her full of concern for a stranger.

It seemed such a long time since anyone had offered Caro a kindness without adding a cut to her independence as Nora and Robert always did that Caro felt a smile burst up out of her chest and set her face alight quite outside her ability to control it. "Aunt Sibby needs me, and I cannot nurse her from a comfortable room at the inn."

He looked gravely down at her. "Have a care for yourself, and call for help if you need it."

"I am grateful. I hope..." she laid her hand lightly on his arm. "I hope I am not putting you too far out of your way."

He beamed, profoundly happy. "Impossible, Miss Hedley. It is my calling, after all."

He waved to her from the seat of his shabby curricle, and Caro waved back. She hoped he would not try to drive poor Champion all the way to London.

When he was gone, the close, greasy air of the house closed around her, and Caro felt suddenly left alone in the dark.

She returned to the little office where Stapleton and Mrs. Follick talked in low tones and fell silent when Caro opened the door.

"I require someone to carry my trunk up to my room, and I will need two maids to help me bathe Aunt Sibby."

Stapleton said coldly, "Miss Hedley, is it not enough you flagrantly violate your aunt's wishes by staying here, but must you disorder the entire household for your convenience?"

Without gentle Mr. Cumberland to cast a shadow of protection around her, Mr. Stapleton's aura of authority rose up and stifled her. Caro raised her chin--he was a little taller than she--and stammered a little as she said, "The household is not yours, Mr. Stapleton. As my aunt's nearest relative in residence, I speak for her--at least...at least until you hear otherwise from my cousin Robert. I am going back up to my aunt's room now. I expect my luggage to be brought to a room near my aunt's so I may attend on her, and I expect to see two maids in her room with hot water and cloths. And fresh sheets. The condition of my aunt's bed is shameful, and I am very seriously angry."

She turned away breathless and shaking--not visibly, she hoped--and left the office with her back straight. They had seen her deep flush of embarrassment, but she hoped they might take it for anger rather than fear or shame.

Behind her, she heard Mrs. Follick say, "Seriously angry, is it? The skinny, little hen."

Caro collected her valise and the wrapped package from the hallway and left the trunk to be carried upstairs. She hoped. Neither Mr. Stapleton nor Mrs. Folick were intimidated by her.

She dropped the valise behind the door in her aunt's room and set Mrs. Bagby's package on a dressing table. She went over to the bed.

Mrs. Pucker's eyes fixed on her, and the left hand plucked at the coverlet. The mouth said, "Maa-maa-aaah." A dry tongue poked at the cracked lips.

Caro took up the fragile hand. "Are you thirsty, Aunt Sibby?"

The dry tongue poked again.

Caro patted the hand. "I'll send someone for tea. Won't that be refreshing?"

Tears leaked from between puffy eyelids.

"Now now, Aunt Sibby, I'll do my best for you. You'll feel better in no time."

The maids arrived with hot water and linens. One, a tall, slatternly girl with flat hair stringing out of its pins, introduced herself as Nancy. The shorter girl, Beth, was almost pretty with a round face and blond hair braided down her back. It was hard to be certain under her gown and apron, but Caro was struck with the conviction the girl was increasing.

She considered demanding different maids, but she suspected there were no better to be had in the house, so she thanked them for coming and sent Beth back to the kitchen for tea and milquetoast.

Nancy said, "She don't eat or drink anything."

Caro gave her a hard look. "She has to."

Nancy shrugged. "I don't know about has to. She doesn't."

"She will so long as I am here," Caro said sharply. "Now we are going to get Mrs. Pucker out of this filthy nightgown, bathe her and change the sheets on the bed."

"Can't," Nancy said.

Caro frowned.

The maid said, "She won't let nobody touch her. She screams and carries on and pinches, so Mrs. Follick finally said to let her alone."

"Well, we're not going to let her alone.'"

Nancy had not exaggerated the case. The moment Caro tried to raise her aunt and remove the dingy nightgown, Mrs. Pucker let out a grating shriek and clawed with her left hand at Caro's face. One thick, spade-like fingernail caught Caro's lip and brought tears to her eyes.

Caro dropped her aunt's frail shoulders and backed away. Her lip hurt, and her ego still stung from Mr. Stapleton's domination and Mrs. Follick's overheard remark about hens, and she had a burning urge to slap the ungrateful old woman in the bed.

Nancy sniggered. "Told you she didn't like it. Happen she wants to lie in her own mess." The maid's voice was thick with ugly satisfaction.

Caro approached the bed again.

Mrs. Pucker whimpered and drew in on herself. The left hand crept up to cover the sunken face.

Caro said, "Auntie, I'm not going to hurt you, but we must get you out of this horrid gown, and we must get your bed clean or you will get bedsores." She looked up at the maid. "The first thing to do is to get her arms out of the sleeves."

The gown buttoned down the front. The left arm came out of its sleeve with a minimum of fuss, but when Caro tried to ease the right sleeve off the shoulder, the old woman cried out again, and clawed at her. Caro told the maid to hold the left hand. She found a pair of scissors in a mending basket, and used them to cut the right sleeve from cuff to shoulder.

The left shoulder had been a bundle of sticks and strings, skeleton with the flesh withered away. The right shoulder was red and swollen with five deep, purple marks pressed into the flesh round and dark as grapes.

Caro stared at the swollen and bruised shoulder until her vision tunneled away and the sound in her ears was water at the bottom of a deep well. "What is that?" she said stupidly.

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