Page 10 of The Wilful Widow
“Youwillbe in our play.” George put his hands on his hips and spoke belligerently.
Katherine tried a gentler approach as she leaned over her. “You only have one line to speak, Beatrice. And you were like an angel tonight. The grown-ups thought you were darling.”
“I’m not crying about that!” Beatrice raised a tear-stained face. “I’m crying because I’ve spoiled my pretty dress that Lord Ashbrook bought me and he’ll be so very angry.” She shuddered and cried some more. “So very angry!”
Katherine exchanged glances with George. “Your dress? The one you were wearing this morning when George and I were…” She tried to recall what she and George had been doing, though she did recall Beatrice’s dress and that it had been very pretty. “Oh yes, George and I were fighting. But how did you spoil your dress? Surely Nanny took it off and put it away after you’d tried it on?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I went outside and then I found I was in the orchard, and I heard people talking. I thought it was Lord Ashbrook, and I knew he’d be cross if he saw me wearing my new dress outside so I climbed the tree and…and I tore it and it has dirt on it. And Mr. Pemberton said he’d get it cleaned for me without anybody knowing but…” She heaved in a shuddering breath, “I don’t know how to ask him. And I can’t tell Mama. She’d be so disappointed in me.”
Watching the younger girl dissolving into another bout of tears didn’t make Katherine any more patient. She shook her head and sighed. “If I get your dress cleaned and mended, will you be in the play? My mama says we must have a role for you to play, so I’ve found a very little part for you, and only one line to learn.”
Beatrice raised her head, her expression hopeful. “You could do that? Make my dress nice again?”
“Only if you promise to do everything I say.” Katherine liked these kinds of agreements. She was not disappointed in Beatrice’s response for the girl jumped up, her eyes glowing as she regarded Katherine as if she were her deliverer from God.
“Oh yes, Katherine! I’ll doanythingyou say! I’ll get it now.”
Katherine straightened, expecting Beatrice to dash into the adjoining room where she slept with Nanny, but instead she headed toward the passage.
She and George followed, George demanding, “Why’s it not in your bedchamber? Have you hidden it? Is that why Nanny doesn’t know? Oh, you are a sly one.” There was admiration in his tone.
“Nanny would have told Mama, but I found a secret hiding place in Mama’s room. But Mr. Pemberton said he’d make everything all right if I just told him where to find the dress. I’ll get it now.” She stopped and turned. “Do you think that’s what I should do?”
Katherine looked at George but not to elicit his opinion. Sheneeded to make sure that she was the one making decisions here.
“I think we should at least see the dress and where it’s hidden and then decide.” The truth was that she wanted to see the Wicked Widow’s bedchamber and study her lotions and silver-backed brushes, and the various beauty aids she’d keep on her dressing table. The lady—whose real name she could not remember—was most intriguing with her beautiful hair—like Mama’s and like Katherine’s—and her pale, sad face.
Beatrice led Katherine and George through the servants’ back corridors and down a flight of stairs. They passed one of the undermaids but none of the important servants—like Nanny or Mary who might have questioned their being in the adults’ domain.
At last they came to the guest wing where the Brazen Baroness had been accommodated. Beatrice was about to open her mama’s door before Katherine put a restraining hand on her arm.
“You must make sure she’s not inside,” she whispered. “Grown-ups don’t like to be disturbed in their bedchambers.”
Beatrice nodded. “It’s all right. She’s not inside,” she reassured them a moment later after checking, and the three of them filed in.
“So, is that where you put it?” George asked, taking a seat on the chair by the window and watching Beatrice kneel on the floor by the heavy oak kist at the end of the bed.
“I’ll help you,” said Katherine, putting her muscle to the work of raising the lid. “Goodness, you couldn’t have done this on your own. How did you plan to give it to Mr. Pemberton?”
For the thought had occurred to Katherine that she might find it something of a difficulty to achieve what she’d blithely assured Beatrice she would: the mending and cleaning of Beatrice’s dress, unless one of the adults were involved. And Mr. Pemberton, being a gentleman, was not the fellow whose help Katherine would have elicited. Not when he was a man who knew nothing of these things, and who knew nothing of this lady so had no reason to help in any way. He’d surely forget.
“I was going to write a note to him,” Beatrice said. “But then…” Her shoulders dropped as she held up the dress, Katherine having managed to raise the lid. “I didn’t know how to do that because I’m not…very good with my letters, and I didn’t know how I’d write one without anyone knowing.”
“Did Mr. Pembertonreallypromise you that he would do this without telling any of the grown-ups?” George asked.
Katherine understood the skepticism in his tone. Grown-ups were uncertain creatures who could not be relied upon to keep their word; though, with no one else she could call upon, Katherine was beginning to wonder if indeed Mr. Pemberton was their best chance of restoring Beatrice’s dress—and therefore Beatrice to the cast of Katherine’s play, and therefore Katherine to the good graces of her mother.
“I’ll write the letter for you and we’ll find a way to deliver it.” Katherine was full of decisiveness now. She liked the idea of a letter to a handsome gentleman that must be delivered in secret. “We just need to find some paper and pen and ink when we go back to the schoolroom. I’ll tell Nanny that I’m writing a letter to…” She sought inspiration, for everything was questioned by Nurse and Nanny.
“Mama has paper.” Beatrice held up the small notebook by her mother’s bed. “Perhaps she won’t miss a sheet if I take it from the back.”
“That’s a good idea, Beatrice. Do give that to me.”
Katherine took the book and settled herself on the window seat, glancing at the page on which it opened. It appeared that this was the Wicked Widow’s diary, for she’d written the date and then some rather smudgy words which was surprising since Katherine had thought her handwriting would be very small and neat and perfect. Rather like Katherine’s own handwriting.
She was about to close the diary when a name caught her eye.
What was the Wicked Widow writing about Mr. Pemberton? And why was she using his Christian name after her first reference, which was decidedly odd since Katherine had not thought they were acquainted with any such familiarity.
