“Of which you haven’t the least trace. Astonishing, really. You might be justified in wishing for a touch of revenge.”

Jean shuddered. “No. I’ve seen what that sort of attitude can do. I only hope that Mrs. Wandrell doesn’t—”

“There’s nothing she can do to us now.”

Geoffrey’s small fists closed, and he looked fierce.

Eighteen

“Let’s go this way,” said Geoffrey when he and Tom set out on their ride the following day.

“We don’t want to go down there,” the older lad replied. “That neighbor lady, the one you said has mean eyes, always drives along that lane in her carriage.”

Geoffrey merely urged Fergus in his chosen direction.

“Wait for Bob,” called Tom. “He went to fetch a new bridle.”

Geoffrey didn’t. He rode faster. Tom was forced to follow without the groom who usually accompanied them. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked when he caught up.

“What’s ‘vin-dic-tive’?” Geoffrey asked.

“Eh, where’d you hear that?”

“What does it mean?”

Tom considered. “I think it’s somebody who don’t let things go,” he said finally. “Who holds a grudge, like. Looks for ways to make other people sorry, if they think they’ve been done wrong.”

“Tries to hurt them?” asked Geoffrey.

“Yes, but not like a fistfight. Sneaky stuff.”

“Like when Sam put the beetle in Bob’s cider?”

Tom snorted a laugh. “Worse than that. That was a joke, and Bob didn’t care. He just pulled it out and drank up.”

“What then?”

“Vindictive is a person who waits and schemes. Then when you’ve forgot all about whatever it was that’s bothering them, they do something bad to make you sorry.”

“Worse than a beetle.”

Tom nodded. “Lots worse than that.”

They came out of a stand of trees into a cleared area above the road. Geoffrey stopped on a low rise and watched as a carriage came around a curve and approached them. Tom pulled up beside him, puzzled.

The carriage came nearer. It slowed, then stopped. Mrs. Wandrell leaned out the window and beckoned. Geoffrey went at once. Surprised, Tom scrambled to catch up with him.

“So it seems you’re going to have a stepmother, child,” said Mrs. Wandrell when the little boy was close.

Geoffrey gazed at her.

“When your father marries again, his new wife is your stepmother. You’ve heard of those, I’m sure, in fairy tales? The wicked stepmother. They always seem to be wicked, don’t they?”

Tom arrived in time to hear this. “Here now,” he said.

“They favor their own children over the old ones, don’t they?” Mrs. Wandrell continued. “In the stories, stepmothers are always looking for ways to be rid of the first wife’s offspring, even kill them.”

“Hey, there’s no call for that kind of talk,” said Tom.