In the morning, Charles tried to take a brisk approach to their departure, but he found that Louisa, though up, was far from ready.
“I'm afraid the packing is taking longer than I expected,” she explained at breakfast. “I want to take good care of Miss Conisbrough's gowns, but without my maid it is rather difficult. To do them justice, I should pack them myself, but if you wish, I shall ask Mrs. Spadger to help."
“Please do so,” Charles said. “If I had thought of it, we could have asked her to pack them yesterday. I don't think keeping the Sabbath would have prevented her from assisting her guests. If you had only mentioned this before, we could have been off by now. We have two long days of travel still ahead of us."
Louisa responded calmly, “I shall not keep you much longer. Why don't you fetch Miss Wadsdale and then come back for me. I am certain to be ready by then."
Charles looked at her with a warning in his eyes. “The last time I left, I came back and found myself saddled with a dog. I hope this time I shall not find any surprises when I return."
“Now, Charles…” Louisa had a way of addressing him as if he were an unreasonable child. “One would think you were not happy to have Eliza! And, yet, just look at you."
Charles started, realizing that he had automatically cut a piece of his breakfast ham and handed it down to the dog. And what was worse, Louisa did not know that the dog still slept on his coverlet.
“That is neither here nor there, Louisa,” he retorted. “One small dog of this calibre I can stand. But I will not travel with a coachload of smelly curs, half of them without a brain in their heads! Besides, how do we know Miss Wadsdale will tolerate a dog?"
This thought had been bothering him. If Lady Conisbrough's companion did complain about the dog, he might face a delicate situation. Not that Eliza could be abandoned now, that would not be fair. Charles was inclined, if she objected, to make the suggestion that she ride on the box with the coachman, instead, and see how quickly she came about.
But Louisa seemed unconcerned. “I am certain your friend Ned would not foist anyone so disagreeable upon us.” She put down her napkin and stood.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go up and resume packing. Do you wish me to keep Eliza for you?"
Charles knew he ought to leave the dog, but he answered perversely, “No, I shall take her with me to get her used to the carriage. If the motion makes her ill, I'd as lief find out about it now as later. Besides-” he smiled “-she will make you sneeze."
Louisa pouted delightfully. Then she laughed, and he felt a peculiar flipping sensation inside.
It occurred to him that he no longer minded Louisa's shade of hair. He could not imagine her with any other. Besides, she showed no signs of having the fearsome temper that was thought to go with it. By and large, she had a sunny disposition.
Of course, she could be obstinate, but…
She left him to do her packing, and he set out for Ned's, contemplating the more pleasing aspects of her character.
Later on, her packing done, Louisa sat in the parlour, dressed in her own travelling gown, the one she had been wearing when Charles first found her. She had slipped on her spencer, as well.
It had not occurred to Charles, she knew, that Miss Wadsdale might recognize Miss Conisbrough's clothing and ask impertinent questions. But it had occurred to Louisa. She was determined to conceal that lady's garments from her chaperone and return them to Lord Conisbrough's residence in London as soon as possible.
And she was equally determined to do nothing to undermine Charles's new confidence in her.
To that end, she sat without even gazing out the window so that no repeat of that previous episode could occur. And when the commotion started in the kitchen, she tried her best to ignore it. But then Mrs. Spadger uttered several shrieks of outrage that ended in sobs, and Sammy's voice, raised in accusation, floated to her from down the hall. And she could not, in good conscience, fail to investigate the cause.
The scene in the kitchen was one that would have alarmed all but the most dauntless of young ladies. First Louisa spied Nan Spadger, who appeared to have been struck with a fit of madness. Her apron held up to her face, she was rocking back and forth on her heels and moaning about some pudding which had been destroyed.
In the centre of the room, Sammy Spadger struggled with a ragged boy who, Louisa deduced, had been caught in the act of theft. Yet the boy, with arms and legs flailing, was still trying to get the pudding into his mouth. Bits of it flew about the room as he wriggled and squirmed. Sammy had him by the collar and was reaching for the pudding, but his attempts to recapture what remained of it only resulted in a greater mess.
Jim stood posted at the door, apparently to keep another man from leaving. The stranger, some low tradesman by the look of him, was protesting loudly. As Louisa entered the room, Jim raised his fists and stuck out his chin in bravado.
Louisa walked into the thick of the fray.
“What is happening here? May I do anything to help?"
Sammy turned to her, and the boy managed in that second to wolf down the remaining pudding.
“It's t’ lad, here, miss. He's taken t’ missus's pudding, an’ he won't give it back."
Louisa replied calmly, “In its present state, I doubt that you would wish to have it back.” She looked down at the boy who was chewing miserably. “Why don't you release him, Mr. Spadger, and let us hear his explanation. I daresay the poor boy was starving."
When Sammy seemed reluctant to do so, she added, “With Jim at the door, I am quite certain he could not escape."
That reminder served to calm Sammy, though she could tell he was still upset that a theft had been committed in his house. Reluctantly, he let go of the boy, who cowered near the table.
Louisa stooped to bring her face closer to his. He stepped back in alarm, and she smiled at him.
“You mustn't think that anyone is going to hurt you, child. What is your name?"
In a quiet voice he answered, “Bob."
“Is that all? Is there nothing more?"
The question drew a look of confusion, so Louisa said gently, “You must tell us why you stole the pudding, Bob."
The boy sniffed and rubbed his nose on a torn and filthy sleeve. He stared at the ground and refused to meet her eye.
Nan ceased her moaning, took her face out of her apron and peered closely at the boy.
Louisa looked to the Spadgers for assistance, but she could see that they had not forgiven the child yet. Then she noticed the man who had confronted Jim; he had the same sort of hangdog look as the boy.
“Is this your father?” she asked him.
The boy's glance darted to the man's with fear, and the man snorted, “Father! The whelp ‘asn't got a father! ‘E's my property, ‘e is."
Louisa looked down her nose at him. She addressed her words to the boy, “You need to answer me yourself, child. I will try to help you, if you let me. No one will beat you, I promise."
“'E will,” the boy said simply, pointing a thumb at the strange man. “'E'll beat me wif a barrel stave, ‘e will."
Cries of outrage rose from the Spadgers, and Louisa felt heat rising to her face. “He will not! I will not let him!"
“And ‘oo ‘re you to stop me?” the tradesman said. “The brat's mine, an’ I'll do wit ‘im wot I please!"
“Mr. Spadger-"Louisa turned to him “-I refuse to engage in conversation with this unpleasant person. Will you tell me, please, who he is, and what he is doing here?"
Sammy glanced at the fellow angrily. “He's a carter, miss, making deliveries here in town. T’ lad works for him, so he does, but t’ fellow says he won't pay t’ missus for pudding."
“The boy's a thief an’ deserves a bad thrashin', that's all. An’ the sooner this lout lets us pass, the sooner ‘e'll ‘ave it,” declared the man.
Bob shrank against Louisa, lending credence to the man's threats. Louisa placed her hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“Don't cry, Bob,” she said as he began to whimper. “He'll do no such thing. Why,” she offered, when his cries did not abate, “how could he, when you shall not be seeing him again?"
At that, all eyes in the room turned to look at her: the carter was outraged, Jim and his mother flummoxed, the boy hopeful. Sammy Spadger, remembering the dog, seemed to be the first to guess where she was heading.
“Does tha mean ta take t’ boy wi’ thee, miss?” he asked.
“Of course I do. I cannot return him to such a cruel master. And I am certain my cousin will agree with me."
Louisa was certain that Charles would support her in her decision, though she acknowledged to herself that he might not like the notion at first. But Charles was merely unused to thinking the way she did; he always saw the sense in her ideas in the end.
“You can't take my boy! I've paid good money for ‘im-the jackanapes!"
“Is he your apprentice?"
“'E is! An’ I've got papers to prove it!"
“Then you shall be reimbursed for all the expenses you have incurred on his behalf. Let's ask Bob, shall we, just how well you have fulfilled your trust as his master.
“Bob-” she knelt in front of the boy “-how well has this man fed you? Does he give you at least two meals a day?"
Bob shook his head in awe. “Ne'er two, miss. Not even one. ‘E says I got to go fishin’ for me meat an’ bread."
Louisa ignored the carter's sharp protests. “And is this your notion of fishing? The way you took Mrs. Spadger's pudding?"
Bob nodded. “That's the way ‘e tol’ me t’ do it.” He tipped his head towards the carter, then cringed at the man's backhand gesture.
Louisa straightened and faced the man. Under her direct, scornful glare, his eyes shifted.
“There are laws designed to protect young apprentices from men like you. Perhaps you are unaware of the terms of your contract."
The carter made no defence, but started to bluster.
“ I think we have heard enough. If you had taken any care of this boy, I should have seen that my cousin reimbursed you for your costs. But in this case, perhaps, we should send you to a magistrate for encouraging this boy to steal."
“But, miss-!"
“It's a shame the penalties for stealing are so harsh in this country, but perhaps in your case the gallows is warranted. I can feel little sympathy for a man who would starve a child."
By this time, the carter himself was cringing. Every blow from Louisa's tongue served to make him shrink a little smaller. And when she said the word “gallows,” he blanched and started to back towards the door.
Jim stood firmly in his way until Louisa said, “I think we should all be better off if this person leaves. My cousin will be happy to reimburse Mrs. Spadger for her delicious pudding and for anything else the boy requires."
Jim looked to his father for permission, and Sammy nodded.
As the carter disappeared, Nan Spadger asked, “Does tha’ really mean ta take t’ boy? What will his lordship say?"
“I am certain my cousin will be delighted-once he has time to get used to the idea."
But looking at the boy, Louisa felt less certain. Bob's eyes were wide with fear about what would happen to him now.
Louisa wished she knew just what to do with him. Unwilling to back out of her promises, however, and hoping that Charles would think of something, she said, “But I daresay he would prefer the boy to be washed. I cannot quite see him riding in my cousin's carriage in his present state.
“Do you think you could find me some better clothes for him?” she asked Nan. “And at the very least, I shall require a large tub of hot water and some soap."
Nan was scandalized. “Does tha’ mean ta say tha'll wash t’ lad thysel'? What'll his lordship say?"
Louisa answered with pure bravado, “There's no sense in wondering what my cousin will say. We shall have enough to do to clean this boy. Jim, could you fetch a tub into the kitchen here? And Mrs. Spadger, do you think you could find him those clothes?"
Jim gave her a bright look and said, “Aye!” and then hastened to do her bidding. Nan said she would see what she could find amongst her son's old garments in the attic.
Each set about his or her task, and Louisa knelt once again to speak to the boy. He had not lost his frightened look. Even with the carter gone, he was not convinced he would not be thrashed.
“I promise that no one will hurt you and that you shall have good food to eat and some warmer clothes to wear,” Louisa told him. “Would you like that, Bob?"
The boy, whose eyes had lit up at the mention of food, nodded, but then asked, “An’ where'll I sleep?"
Louisa paused, and then answered, “We shall find you a proper place-somewhere where you shall be much happier, I assure you. I shall have to consult my cousin when he returns.” Then she added in a cheery voice, “But he is a very clever man, so I am certain he will know what's best. And you will have a bath like a real gentleman and ride in a carriage, if you like."
To her dismay, Bob's face crumpled, “But I doesn’ like ‘orses! I be frightened of ’em! They's got such big teef an’ all! That ‘un-” he indicated the departed carter with a jerk of his head towards the door “-'e made me ‘arness ‘is pair, an’ they boaf bit me!"
Louisa had thought to give the child a treat and had even cherished hopes that he would make a good stable-boy for Charles. But she hastened to calm him. “No one will make you ride in a carriage if you don't wish to. But,” she suggested, still hoping he might be coaxed, “the horses cannot very well bite you if you are inside the coach now, can they?"
But it would not do. Bob was too alarmed at the prospect to be calmed by reason. He began to sniff again, and to stop him, Louisa repeated her promise that he would not have to ride. How she was to care for him, though, if he refused to enter Charles's carriage, she did not know.
Jim returned with the tub and proceeded to fill it with hot water from the stove. Louisa removed her spencer and put on one of Nan's aprons to spare her dress.
Bob watched these preparations with fascination, as if he had never seen such activities, focusing most of his attention on Jim, to whom he appeared to have taken a shine.
When he noticed he was an object of some awe, Jim smiled at the boy, ruffled his hair in a friendly fashion, and then reached into Nan's cupboard to get him a piece of ham pie. Bob gobbled it down in short order and gazed on the older boy as if he were a god.
“Tha's still hungry, I'll warrant,” Jim said to him.
The boy nodded.
Jim moved closer to Louisa and ventured in a low voice, “It wouldna do ta feed him too much reet yet. Better ta promise him more when tha's done wi’ t’ bath.” He raised his brows in an ominous gesture.
“You think so?” Jim's expression was meant as a warning, and Louisa felt a sinking inside. Why?"
“It's plain ta see t’ lad's ne'er had no bath. T’ way he's been watching, I can see he's no seen one before!"
Louisa glanced at Bob, who had begun to look trustingly on Jim. He was seated on a low workbench, happily swinging his feet.
She turned back to Jim. “And why should that worry us?"
Jim grinned. “I think tha's abowt ta get a soaking. T’ lad's bound ta put up a fight."
Louisa took a deep breath. “Well, if he does, he does, but I don't see that we have any choice. I shall promise him another pudding."
But, in the end, Jim was right. As soon as Bob discovered the purpose of the tub, he stopped swinging his legs and began to use them another way.
Jim caught him before he reached the door, and it was due entirely to his strength that the boy was brought to the bath at all. No matter how much coaxing and promising Louisa tried, she could not get him to submit peacefully to such a dreadful ordeal as being scrubbed all over with soap.
As a result, on his return to the inn, Charles again discovered the place in an uproar.
His morning had begun in a manner one could only call trying. When he arrived at Ned's manor, he discovered that Ned had quite unexpectedly gone back to London, apparently suffering from more family togetherness than he could handle.
Consequently, Charles was obliged to deal with Miss Wadsdale without the coercive presence of the man who paid her room and board. It became obvious, almost immediately, that Ned had shamelessly bullied his mother's companion into making the journey in the first place.
On Charles's arrival, she informed him that she never travelled in the depth of winter, unless, of course, her dear Lady Conisbrough required it of her. Then she examined him upon the degree of comfort likely to be found inside his carriage: the number of lap rugs, the quality of his carriage springs; whether there were warming pans into which Ned's servants might add coals.
Charles assured her of all these, keeping Eliza's presence a secret. Then, when she appeared at least somewhat satisfied that she would not be required to sacrifice herself to extreme discomfort, he set himself to the task of weaning her from the household.
First, there were her numerous boxes and portmanteaus to find space for. When Charles expressed surprise that she should choose to encumber herself to such a degree for what would prove to be only a moderately long journey, she took offence. She made him privy to the information that Lady Conisbrough would not think of asking her to undertake a trip at such a dreadful season unless she could provide her with ample room for her baggage.
“Be assured, my lord, that her ladyship would stint herself before she would ask me to go without.” Miss Wadsdale folded her hands in front of her. “Not that I would ever do anything to discommode her, as devoted to her as I am. But I am certain Lord Conisbrough was under the impression that my comforts on this unseasonable journey would be well seen to, else he would never have asked me to leave his mother. Indeed, when I think of Lady Conisbrough's sadness on this occasion, it is enough to make me weep, and I assure you I am not a female easily given to tears!"
Charles hastily withdrew his objection and prepared for the next ordeal. That was to get Miss Wadsdale to depart. She seemed convinced that her presence would be sorely missed, that none of the servants could be trusted to see to her patroness's wants in her absence, and that Lady Conisbrough would pine without her enlivening presence.
To ward off this last calamity, she spent an absurd amount of time bidding a touching farewell to her ladyship-Lady Conisbrough, by contrast, appeared to be totally unaffected by the parting-issuing commands to the various servants with regard to her normal duties, sniffing into her handkerchief and, in general, making a scene that was intended to impress Charles with her usefulness in the household.
Her efforts had quite the reverse effect, however. Charles formed a deeper understanding of Ned's desire to be rid of the woman and a suspicion that Miss Wadsdale's tears were due more to a fear of being dismissed than of being missed. He could scarcely tolerate her himself, and he dreaded the thought of being shut up in a carriage with her for even two days. He flirted briefly with the idea of leaving her and setting out for London with Louisa alone.
The thought of how pleasant the journey would be tempted him greatly; but Charles knew what was due to the proprieties, and to Louisa's consequence, so his good sense eventually won out. He resigned himself to a frustrating two days, with the promise of another blistering headache at their end.
Finally, Miss Wadsdale and her baggage were loaded aboard, but as the result of so much delay, Charles found they could not hope to leave the inn before noon. Once in Snaithby, they would be obliged to load Louisa's baggage, which might take some time, now that all available space had been appropriated. But it could not be helped. Charles spent a few moments marshalling the reasons he would use later for not breaking their journey too often.
On the way back to the village, he had a solitary preview of the hours ahead of him. Miss Wadsdale took immediate exception to Eliza. And, although she did not demand that the dog be expelled-Charles divined she had already come to blows with Ned on this issue and lost-she did treat Charles to her opinion that it was against basic Christian precepts to treat “beasts” as if they were humans.
Charles listened politely, suppressing a growl. He only hoped Louisa would contrive to charm this woman and shield him from the worst of her character. Upon reflection, he thought that she just might manage it.
Still, in spite of this more hopeful outlook, he arrived back at the inn in an almost desperate state.
It did not help his humour to discover that the private parlour was empty and that neither Louisa nor the Spadgers were anywhere in sight. Charles ushered Miss Wadsdale into the hallway, for it was not to be hoped that she would wait outside in the carriage for them. As soon as they entered they were welcomed by a hideous cacophony issuing from the direction of the kitchen.
Charles called for Sammy repeatedly, but to no avail. Understanding that his voice could not be heard over the noise, he determined to go in search of anyone who could explain Louisa's absence, at the same time dreading to find that she was the cause of the hubbub. In vain, he tried to dissuade Miss Wadsdale from following him, but she refused to be left alone in a house which, she said, echoed with the very cries of Bedlam.
A shrill wail greeted them as they passed the threshold to the kitchen-a noise Charles might have mistaken for a cat in the throes of love if he had not seen its instrument. A small boy struggled to escape from a brimming tub of water, in which, it appeared, a drenched Jim Spadger and an equally soaked Louisa were trying to drown him. Sammy stood close at hand with buckets of more water and, even as they entered, poured a fresh one over the boy's head to renewed cries. Nan tried helplessly to cope with the puddles of water and mud on her floor.
“Louisa!” Charles called, his temper flying to the surface at the sight of her on her knees in a pool of sudsy water. “What in heaven's name-?"
Behind him Miss Wadsdale shrieked, “God in Heaven! Oh, I never…! And to think…!"
As her outcries pierced the level of noise already prevailing in the room, Nan and Sammy turned around. Their dismay upon seeing both his lordship and the companion of their local doyenne showed in the roundness of their eyes.
Mrs. Spadger curtsied, albeit with a sopping mop in her hand. Sammy put the bucket down before he bowed.
“Yor lordship-Tha mus'na think-"
Charles ignored Sammy's protests. The sight of Louisa's back still turned to him aroused his deepest ire.
He strode to the tub and grasped the boy's chin in one hand, even as Louisa first perceived him.
Her happy cry of “Charles!” he ignored as well, until he could plug the sound of this wailing. Mingled with the boy's sobs, he realized, had been efforts to calm him, both affectionate condolences from Louisa and promises of treats on Jim's part. Neither, he reasoned, would have any effect.
With the child's chin gripped firmly between his fingers, Charles forced his gaze up to meet his own and said, “If you do not stop this infernal caterwauling, I shall drown you myself. You will stop it now."
“Charles!” Louisa's shocked exclamation fell into a blessed silence. The boy's mouth hung open, but it made no further noise. With a quick pinch to show he meant what he said, Charles released the child and turned his full attention on Louisa.
“Perhaps you will have the goodness to tell me what it is you are doing?” he said with biting cordiality.
“I'm bathing Bob,” Louisa answered matter-of-factly. “But, Charles, do you think it charitable to threaten him so?"
“Charitable or not, it appears to have been effective. But that is beside the point! I can see you are bathing this child, though who he is, and why you should be doing something so outrageous, I cannot imagine!"
Louisa rose to her feet in front of him. Charles automatically put out a hand to help her, and found that his sleeve was made wet just by this slight contact. Her arms up to her elbow still had soap bubbles clinging to them. In deference to his clothes, she held them up and away.
She seemed oblivious to the fact that in spite of her apron, her gown was drenched and clung to her most improperly. Her red hair had been loosened from its ribbons and fell in dampened ringlets about her flushed face.
Charles tried not to stare at these signs of dishevelment, but a quick heat, caused by embarrassment-nothing more, he told himself-invaded him merely at the sight.
Louisa faced him calmly. “I was washing Bob because he's mine-in a manner of speaking-and I thought it would be wrong to ask the Spadgers to undertake the task alone."
“Good God!” Charles uttered, clapping a hand to his forehead.
“Oh, Lord preserve us…!"
Charles had forgotten Miss Wadsdale was behind him. But, at these words, he turned in time to see her swoon and barely managed to catch her before she reached the floor.
“Oh, marvellous!” he said, feeling helpless. “This was all that was needed! Louisa, help me here!"
At the sound of Louisa's name, Miss Wadsdale made a quick recovery. “I shall not be touched by that creature!” she shrieked, and struggled to free herself.
“That is pure nonsense!” Charles released her gladly. “This young lady is to be your charge, and you shall not address her in such a manner. Louisa, come make your curtsy to Miss Wadsdale."
Louisa smiled at him and curtsied obediently, suds and all. Then she said to Miss Wadsdale, “I am certain you were discomfited by this scene, but I assure you there is no reason. This child is to join us on our journey, and I was persuaded my cousin would wish him to have a bath first. Unfortunately, as you saw, he did not take kindly to the notion, but I daresay it was because it was his first and he shall grow accustomed to them over time."
She beamed at Bob now. Jim had extracted him from the bath and given him another slice of pie.
Charles's mouth had fallen open during her explanation, which still had done nothing to explain the presence of the boy. He could only assume Louisa had lost her senses.
He was about to deny what she had said when Miss Wadsdale burst forth with a loud invective. “My lord, I refuse to travel with such a hoyden! You brought me here-and against my better judgement-with the understanding that I was to tend your cousin, which, I see, was nothing but a ruse to get me to lend this person a measure of respectability! I refuse to be used in such a manner!"
Louisa's smile was wiped from her face. She turned pale, and Charles felt his temper flaring, but he controlled his tongue. “I assure you, Miss Wadsdale, that this young lady is indeed my cousin. If the circumstances seem a bit odd, I am certain she will explain them to my satisfaction. That is all that is required, after all. You are merely to bear her company-not lend her countenance!"
“A bit odd!” Charles's assurances had had no effect. “For a young lady to be employed in such a manner! And engaged in bathing a child she has said is her own-” Miss Wadsdale's sense of outrage increased with every passing moment. “-when it is plain to see the boy is quite common, certainly too common to ride in a coach with his betters!"
Louisa drew herself up. Charles's heart sank at the sight of fury brightening her blue eyes, but at the same time, he thought she looked magnificent. “Cousin, I think the matter is quite settled!” She spoke with her teeth clenched. “No more than Miss Wadsdale do I intend to pass two days in a carriage with a person whose very presence offends me. And I find this woman most offensive! Anyone who would be so cruel to a mere child could not possibly be a fit companion for me!"
Charles emitted a groan to go along with Miss Wadsdale's cry of outrage.
“Mr. Spadger!” she commanded. “I insist that you take me back to Lady Conisbrough! When her ladyship hears the indignities to which I have been subjected…!” Miss Wadsdale turned on her heel and stormed from the room.
Sammy gave Charles a frightened glance, and then, with his permission wearily given, followed the woman in haste.
Charles knew he should try to stop her, but somehow the effort seemed too great. And the diplomat inside him suggested that she should be given time to cool down. He would let her go back to Lady Conisbrough, who he doubted would listen to her tale with any interest. Miss Wadsdale's baggage remained in his coach, and with any luck, he would be able to pursue her and re-engage her once this matter of the boy was settled.
Charles turned to find Louisa still standing in an irate pose. Jim Spadger was drying the boy with a large towel. Bob seemed fascinated by all he had witnessed and gaped at Charles with his mouth open. When Charles met his stare, however, he closed it and shrank back, closer to Jim.
“Dear Charles,” Louisa said in gentle reproof, “I'm afraid you have frightened the boy, which will make it harder for him to accept the carriage ride. He is afraid of horses, you see, and I had hoped to overcome his mistaken notions, but now I fear that will be more difficult. Perhaps you should wait for us in the parlour and I will try to mend the breach."
Mindful of the witnesses in the room-Nan still eyeing him with dismay; Jim with something more akin to wariness, as if daring him to harm Louisa-Charles expelled a sigh and bowed to her.
“I think you and I should both retire to the parlour,” he said. “I am sure Mrs. Spadger and her son can cope with the boy for the moment."
Louisa showed no signs of alarm, but turned to verify this. Nan Spadger nodded.
“I shall be happy to converse with you, Cousin, but if you please, I think I should like to change my garments directly. I fear a chill."
And, indeed, Charles saw at once that Louisa's arms were covered in goose-flesh. His gaze roved up her sleeve, at which point the goose bumps vanished to reappear quite decidedly through the bodice of her gown.
“Certainly,” Charles said with difficulty. “You have my permission, but I beg you not to tarry. We had a journey to accomplish today, if you recollect."
Louisa coloured at this reminder of her promise to behave. Then she curtsied and hurried from the room.
Charles strode to the parlour, calling to Nan Spadger over his shoulder that he would like something strong to drink.
Louisa changed her gown and repaired her hair as quickly as she could, though unfortunately this took a great while, since all her clothes had been packed and brought downstairs. With Sammy on his errand, Nan busy fetching Charles a drink, and Jim occupied with Bob, it was quite some time before anyone thought to take them up to her. In the meantime, Charles endeavoured to bring his temper under control and his more wayward thoughts to heel, so that by the time Louisa joined him, he could listen to her with some degree of calm.
With prompting, she related to him the events of the morning. In those matters regarding the carter and the boy's starvation, he could not fault her for her courage or her principles.
“And so,” he said, when she had finished, “you intend for this Bob to ride back to London with us. And what then, pray?"
Louisa smiled uncertainly at him. “I had hoped you might engage him in some capacity in one of your households.” And before he could protest, she added, “I would do it myself, Charles, but the general would never allow it. He is inclined to characterize all my charitable actions as foolish starts, and though I can often win him over to smaller things, I am certain this particular notion would not fly."
Charles buried his face in his hands and groaned. Then, unable to help himself, he chuckled and looked up at her. “Louisa… if we were to prolong our journey a few more days, I daresay you would saddle me with enough unfortunate creatures to fill an orphanage! Is life with you always like this?"
“Like what, Charles?"
Seeing her bemused gaze, he groaned again and sobered. “Louisa-” he took her hands in his “-dearest Louisa. Has no one ever told you that you cannot cure all the world's ills?"
There was a pause. Then she answered him quietly, “No, of course I cannot do it alone, Charles… dear Charles… but I can try."
For one moment, Charles thought she must have been teasing him. Then he looked into her eyes and saw her deep sincerity, a firm conviction that she should indeed try to resolve the miseries of others.
Such commitment took his breath away. Louisa's tone, gentle as it had been, had conveyed a reproach-not for his own lack of charity, but for doubting the extent of hers.
Impressed, and deeply touched, nevertheless Charles felt a twinge of pity for the man who would one day take such a lady on as his wife. His life would never be his own, never peaceful. Louisa would force him to take in every stray or waif within sight. His house would turn into an asylum for orphans and pets, if not for unwed mothers and the indigent…
There would be compensations, of course. As he gazed on her face, still unable to find a response to her comment, he let himself wander in those blue eyes that promised such passion… until a responsive thrill warned him away.
He straightened in his chair and released her hands. “Well then, we must see what can be done for this Bob of yours, but I hope the solution will lie somewhere other than in one of my own households. Perhaps the Spadgers will be able to help."
Charles went to the door and called for Sammy, whom he had heard returning a few minutes earlier. Charles had no plan of his own other than to see whether some tradesman in town might be willing to accept the boy as a new apprentice. He decided it would be easier, and far more pleasant, to pay for the boy's apprenticeship than to take him with them to London.
But when asked, Sammy said he could think of no one likely to take the boy on. Charles explained his wishes, and the innkeeper agreed to send Jim to enquire in the village. There seemed nothing left to do but wait for the results, and since it was past noon already, Charles ordered up a luncheon for Louisa and himself.
Over their meal, Louisa entertained him with her views on apprenticeships, child labour and orphanages, and her intentions of reforming them all.
Considering she had cost him one day of travel, not to mention whatever expense he would bear for Bob, Charles thought he bore this with considerable good humour.