up to her prominent collarbones as if all the hope in the world rested upon the reply.
“Yes. Providing Doctor Lear says you’ve no infectious diseases.”
“Oh, I’m as healthy as a horse, Lady Holt. You’ll see.”
“If that’s so, your wages will start at two pounds monthly and includes your meals and bed. You may have every otherSunday off, providing one of the others is available to mind Georgiana.”
That afternoon Mrs. Burles stepped out into the garden to inform Muriel that Doctor Lear had indeed pronounced Leah Prescott healthy, if a bit undernourished.
“Well, good. It’s settled,” Muriel said.
“Not quite, your Ladyship. Nanny Prescott asked about Miss Georgiana’s schedule.”
“Schedule?”
“Meals, bedtime, and such?” the housekeeper supplied. “Having never been employed as a nursemaid before . . .”
Muriel waved the trowel in her hand dismissively. “Well, surely she’s bright enough to figure something out herself. One doesn’t put a child to bed at midnight or feed her supper in the mornings.”
“Yes, your Ladyship. I’ll inform her so.” The housekeeper hesitated. “And . . .”
“What is it now, Mrs. Burles?”
“She wishes to know how often she should consult with your Ladyship.”
“Over what?”
“How best to rear Miss Georgiana, she says.”
The doubts Muriel entertained upon first meeting Leah Prescott returned. Was this how she reared her siblings, asking advice before every step? She thought back to her own nursemaids. None had seemed to struggle with the particulars of the position.
She blew out a long breath. This was a transition time, she reminded herself. Every newly employed servant in the house had probably needed a few days to adjust to the routine. Fortunately, Mrs. Burles shielded Muriel from most of those growing pains.
“Inform Prescott that she has full authority over the nursery, but if she ever strikes Georgiana she will be dismissed.”
That was everything in a nutshell, Muriel thought.
Wednesday afternoon Mrs. Burles reported to Muriel thatGeorgiana already displayed signs of becoming somewhat attached to the new nanny, and that, given a few more days, surely the child would be just as fond of her as she was of Tucker.
Muriel received the news with relief, not even aware of how taut her nerves were over the situation until they began relaxing again. But just to be certain, she took to the staircase a half hour earlier than usual Thursday evening for the good-night kiss. On the third-storey landing, her ears detected faint strains of music intermingled with the rain pelting the roof and thunder rattling the windowpanes.
She was rather proud of the nursery, for it was a paradise of whimsy she had taken charge of decorating herself. Framed Kate Greenaway prints of children in quaint clothing hung from walls adorned with William Morris wallpaper of alternating pink, gold, and pale green stripes. The fireplace was surrounded by pretty tiles decorated with fairy-tale characters; a vast mauve and floral carpet covered most of the floor; four small bentwood chairs were arranged about a round table and child-sized dishes of a Royal Doulton tea set. A rocking horse dominated one corner, a three-storey doll house another, and white shelves displayed still more dolls and toys.
Muriel paused in the doorway. Nanny Prescott sat with her back to her on the low stool before the half-size pianoforte the Godfreys had given Georgiana on Christmas past. Muriel could see her daughter’s flaxen curls just above Prescott’s left shoulder. While the nanny’s right hand fingered the keys, she sang, her voice steady and reassuring against the storm outside.
“. . . and like the pretty plow-boy
she’ll whistle and sing,
And at night she will return
to her own nest again. . . .”
It was exactly what the position called for, someone who would be tender toward her child, and Muriel congratulated herself upon making the right choice. So why
“Yes. Providing Doctor Lear says you’ve no infectious diseases.”
“Oh, I’m as healthy as a horse, Lady Holt. You’ll see.”
“If that’s so, your wages will start at two pounds monthly and includes your meals and bed. You may have every otherSunday off, providing one of the others is available to mind Georgiana.”
That afternoon Mrs. Burles stepped out into the garden to inform Muriel that Doctor Lear had indeed pronounced Leah Prescott healthy, if a bit undernourished.
“Well, good. It’s settled,” Muriel said.
“Not quite, your Ladyship. Nanny Prescott asked about Miss Georgiana’s schedule.”
“Schedule?”
“Meals, bedtime, and such?” the housekeeper supplied. “Having never been employed as a nursemaid before . . .”
Muriel waved the trowel in her hand dismissively. “Well, surely she’s bright enough to figure something out herself. One doesn’t put a child to bed at midnight or feed her supper in the mornings.”
“Yes, your Ladyship. I’ll inform her so.” The housekeeper hesitated. “And . . .”
“What is it now, Mrs. Burles?”
“She wishes to know how often she should consult with your Ladyship.”
“Over what?”
“How best to rear Miss Georgiana, she says.”
The doubts Muriel entertained upon first meeting Leah Prescott returned. Was this how she reared her siblings, asking advice before every step? She thought back to her own nursemaids. None had seemed to struggle with the particulars of the position.
She blew out a long breath. This was a transition time, she reminded herself. Every newly employed servant in the house had probably needed a few days to adjust to the routine. Fortunately, Mrs. Burles shielded Muriel from most of those growing pains.
“Inform Prescott that she has full authority over the nursery, but if she ever strikes Georgiana she will be dismissed.”
That was everything in a nutshell, Muriel thought.
Wednesday afternoon Mrs. Burles reported to Muriel thatGeorgiana already displayed signs of becoming somewhat attached to the new nanny, and that, given a few more days, surely the child would be just as fond of her as she was of Tucker.
Muriel received the news with relief, not even aware of how taut her nerves were over the situation until they began relaxing again. But just to be certain, she took to the staircase a half hour earlier than usual Thursday evening for the good-night kiss. On the third-storey landing, her ears detected faint strains of music intermingled with the rain pelting the roof and thunder rattling the windowpanes.
She was rather proud of the nursery, for it was a paradise of whimsy she had taken charge of decorating herself. Framed Kate Greenaway prints of children in quaint clothing hung from walls adorned with William Morris wallpaper of alternating pink, gold, and pale green stripes. The fireplace was surrounded by pretty tiles decorated with fairy-tale characters; a vast mauve and floral carpet covered most of the floor; four small bentwood chairs were arranged about a round table and child-sized dishes of a Royal Doulton tea set. A rocking horse dominated one corner, a three-storey doll house another, and white shelves displayed still more dolls and toys.
Muriel paused in the doorway. Nanny Prescott sat with her back to her on the low stool before the half-size pianoforte the Godfreys had given Georgiana on Christmas past. Muriel could see her daughter’s flaxen curls just above Prescott’s left shoulder. While the nanny’s right hand fingered the keys, she sang, her voice steady and reassuring against the storm outside.
“. . . and like the pretty plow-boy
she’ll whistle and sing,
And at night she will return
to her own nest again. . . .”
It was exactly what the position called for, someone who would be tender toward her child, and Muriel congratulated herself upon making the right choice. So why
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