Page 59 of The Soldier
And so it went. Winnie’s favorite conversational gambits became more and more narrowly focused on questions regarding the earl, and fantastic declarations regarding Scout’s expertise, opinions, and decisions. At one point, Winnie asked if the earl might bring a pony for Scout, and Emmie simply got up and walked out of the room.
Hadrian Bothwell had become not just a frequent visitor to the stables but an occasional guest in Emmie’s kitchen, as well. He ensconced himself on a kitchen stool and proceeded to help himself to Emmie’s freshest products while swilling milk or tea or chocolate.
Emmie was occupying Hadrian’s vacated stool when Stevens brought in the post, among which she found another letter from the earl. As the letter was addressed to Miss Farnum, she took the liberty of opening it.
My dear Miss Farnum,
I hope it pleases you to be informed I will be returning no later than the 23rd of this month and I am bringing my youngest brother, Lord Valentine, for an indefinite stay. I’ve endured my visit at Morelands well enough, spent time with my siblings and Their Graces, and while Kent has its appeal, Yorkshire is more peaceful. Douglas says I ought also to tell you I am managing not to drain the cellars at each rainstorm, though sleep has proven elusive.
There are no stone walls here, Emmie, for me to take out my frustrations on. I ride, but Beau is such a steady fellow, I am leaving him with Westhaven to replace an old campaigner by the name of Pericles. I will be bringing more young stock north, so alert Stevens we might be on the lookout for another groom.
There is a great deal more I would tell you, but I will be home not long after you read this. I’ve done the pretty with my solicitors and my man of business in London, and refurbished my wardrobe, as well as picked up a few things for the household. Mostly, though I look forward to being home, to waking up to the scent of fresh bread and sweet rolls, to commenting on your experiments, and seeing what can be done with the gardens before cold weather sets in.
The trip has been useful, Emmie, but it’s homecoming I look forward to most.
Devlin St. Just
Rosecroft
She was in tears when Winnie came through the door, Scout at her heels.
“Miss Emmie? I saw Vicar leave, but why are you crying?”
“I’m just tired, Winnie.” Emmie dredged up a watery smile and didn’t even bother reminding Winnie that the dog was not allowed in the kitchen. “As soon as I’m done with the cinnamon rolls, I think I need a nap.”
“I think you do, too,” Winnie said, plucking one roll for herself, another for the dog. “You’re always tired.”
“Winnie Farnum.” Emmie rose off the stool. “You did not wash your hands, you did not ask permission, nor did you help make these rolls. And yet you have given one away to that garbage scow you call a dog, who is not supposed to be in this kitchen.”
“Scout forgot.”
“Bronwyn.” Emmie’s tone became stern as she planted her fists on her hips. “Scout is the dog, and you are responsible for him. This is the second time he’s been in here today, young lady.”
“C’mon Scout.” Winnie sighed hugely, snapped her fingers, and led her beast from the kitchen.
Emmie sank back down on the stool and willed her eyes to stay open until the last batch of rolls was ready to come out of the oven. If she simply ignored the need to prepare her ingredients and kitchen for tomorrow’s baking, she could go straight up to bed and sleep for maybe ninety minutes before it was time to have dinner with Winnie. She met Cook on the stairs, explained her plan, and dragged herself up the steps.
***
Rosecroft,
I am pleased to inform you both Caesar and Wulf continue to execute consistently clean flying changes of leg, though Ethelred has developed a tendency to be late behind. Stevens has suggested work in counter canter, but I am more inclined to avoid the problem and leave it to your superior skills to address upon your return.
I must warn you, as well, a Canine of mythical proportions has taken up residence in Miss Winnie’s heart. This beast follows her everywhere, though Miss Emmie insists the animal spend its nights in the stable, which, given his size, is only appropriate. The earth shakes when he moves, and if I could get a saddle and bridle on him, I’d suggest you add him to your training program.
I have notified my bishop it is my intention to quit the district before the year is out. I do not exaggerate when I say that means a replacement at St. Michael’s will likely appear by May Day, or thereabouts. My brother’s health is not sound, and I am needed at his side.
It is particularly pleasant, when family matters are not sanguine, to have the pleasure of riding your geldings. Miss Farnum accompanies me on her most excellent mare, who endeavors to set a good example for the younger fellows. Perhaps, if I am considering choosing my future viscountess, I should look to such as Petunia for my example. I have asked Miss Farnum to bear that honor, and have every hope she will agree this time.
I am asked at least a dozen times each week what has become of you and when you will be at services again. I assure one and all (by which I mean Lady Tosten, who is well versed in churchyard dialects), you have been carried off by bandits to be sold into slavery on the Barbary Coast.
Seriously, one hopes your journey goes well and you will soon arrive safely back to home and hearth. Miss Winnie, at the least, longs for the sight of you.
Hadrian Bothwell, Vicar
St. Michael’s of the Sword
Rosecroft Village, Yorkshire
