Winter Is Past

“Miss Althea, look at this!”

Althea laid aside her needlework and moved to the side of Rebecca’s bed. The dark-haired, eight-year-old girl proudly held up a fan-like row of paper dolls she had cut out. “That’s perfect, sweetie. Now you can draw their faces.”

Rebecca got back to work happily, laying the dolls on the drawing board at her lap and taking up her pencil. Althea picked up the scraps of paper from the bed, thinking over the past fortnight. Simon Aguilar had agreed to hire her on the trial basis she had proposed. As soon as she had arranged her absence from the East End mission, she’d begun her residence in the four-story Mayfair mansion.

On the day she had arrived at the Green Street address, she had spoken only briefly to Mr. Aguilar. She had been too overwhelmed by her recent revelation to do more than nod at his brief instructions. She had had to fight the urge to look at him too closely. All she could think of were the verses she had read in the intervening days and the things the Lord had shown her. Had Joseph, Jacob’s son, perhaps looked like this man? Or David, the young shepherd boy chosen by God to build a kingdom?

He no longer had a mocking air, but one of hurry and distraction. He was on the verge of departure for a few days, he had told her. Anything she might need she could consult with Mrs. Coates, the housekeeper.

The only personal words they’d exchanged were at parting. Mr. Aguilar had given her his full attention then, restating his agreement to hire her for a trial period. He’d added, “I am only agreeing to entrust my daughter’s care to you on the recommendation of your brother. He and I have known each other a long time.” A slight smile played around his lips, the first evidence of humor he’d displayed that morning. Then he’d sobered once again. “I know I can trust his word. If he says you are fit to take care of Rebecca, I must believe him.”

Before Althea had a chance to take encouragement or offense at the statement, he bowed over her gloved hand, then let it go and turned to Mrs. Coates. He gave her some last-minute instructions and told her that Althea was to be treated with the respect due to a member of the family. His mocking tone had returned for an instant as he quipped that the servants must henceforth watch their behavior as they had an “evangelical” in their midst.

That was the last Althea had seen of Mr. Aguilar.

“What do you think of this one?” Rebecca pushed her lap desk toward Althea. The first three dolls had smiling mouths and dots for eyes. Some had curls scrawled around their faces, others had what Althea took to be bonnets with ribbons tied beneath their chins. Rebecca’s pencil pointed to the third one.

“She’s very pretty. What’s her name?”

“Althea,” she answered promptly.

Althea smiled. “And which one is Rebecca?”

“I shall make her separately. I have to make her lying down.”

Althea nodded, not knowing what to say.

They both turned at a knock on the door. A second later, Simon poked his head in.

“Abba! You’re home!” Paper dolls forgotten, Rebecca held out her arms to her father. He entered with a smile and was at her bedside in a few strides. Father and daughter embraced.

Althea stood, feeling her heart beginning to pound as she wondered what life would be like now that Rebecca’s father was back in residence. She had no immediate need for concern, as the master of the house had eyes for no one but his daughter. Althea took advantage of his distraction, taking the paper scraps off the bed but leaving the girl’s handiwork for her father to see.

As she picked up her needlework and looked about the room, Mr. Aguilar still had not turned towards her. She heard Rebecca’s happy chatter. “Did you just get back? Was it a long trip? What did you do?”

“Yes, I just arrived, and came immediately up to see my favorite girl in all the world.”

“What did you bring me?” she asked, feeling in his coat pockets.

He sat back, playing along with the game. When Rebecca pounced on the paper-wrapped parcel, Althea smiled at the scene before exiting through the door to the connecting sitting room.

She set down her things and looked at the watch pinned to her breast. Deciding it was nearing time to prepare Rebecca’s supper tray, she headed down the stairs.

She would know soon enough whether she had passed the trial period or not.

Althea braced herself as she entered the servants’ basement domain. She had noticed in the week she had been in residence that the servants did very little in their master’s absence. As usual at this time, a half dozen were seated around the dining table, sipping ale and chatting. The butler was hidden behind the racing news. No one bothered to acknowledge Althea’s presence. By now she knew better than to make overtures. She knew from the experience of living in one of the meanest neighborhoods of London that eventually she would make headway with them. But her priority at the present was her new patient.

She went into the pantry and took the tray set out for Rebecca. “Good afternoon,” she said brightly to the young woman counting out cutlery. When the woman mumbled a reply, Althea turned to the other kitchen maid.

“Hello,” she said with a smile at the young girl slicing bread for the servants’ tea.

The girl looked down. “Hullo, miss.”

Althea heaved up the tray. She pushed open the door with her back and made her slow way up the two flights of stairs, careful not to spill the hot stew or the cup of milk.

She set the tray on the floor before giving a light tap on the door. At Rebecca’s high “Come in” and her father’s deeper one, Althea opened the door, then stooped to retrieve the tray.

“Are you ready for some supper, Rebecca?” she asked with a smile, nodding a brief greeting to Simon. “Cook has made some hot stew for you, and there’s a compote for afterwards.”

Simon came immediately towards her to relieve her of the tray. “Where’s Harry?” he asked in annoyance. “You shouldn’t be carrying this up yourself.”

“It’s quite all right, I can manage,” she replied, surprised at his attentiveness now that he had noticed her. Seeing that he did not let the tray go, she relinquished it and made her way toward Rebecca.

She helped the girl sit up against her pillows and smoothed the coverlet over her legs. “You may set it on her lap,” she said as she tied a napkin around Rebecca’s neck. She waited silently while the child said grace, then stepped back.

“Look what my abba brought me.” She held up a little carved wooden pony, which Althea admired.

“Now, make sure you finish everything up. Show your papa what a good girl you are.”

She turned to face Simon, who was looking at his daughter in bemusement. Was it the fact that he had heard her say the grace Althea had taught her? Then he turned his attention to her.

“Good evening, Miss Breton. You disappeared before I could say a proper hello to you.”

His gentle tone surprised her, so different from his previous manner.

He looked weary. Althea realized he hadn’t exaggerated when he told his daughter he had come straight home to her. His cravat looked wilted, his dark coat rumpled, and his hair in disarray, though she was beginning to believe that was its usual arrangement.

“Good evening, Mr. Aguilar,” she replied. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you. Have you found everything to your satisfaction?”

Finding she could not answer truthfully, she turned toward Rebecca. “Don’t let your stew get cold.”

Rebecca had been watching the two adults, obviously finding anything her father engaged in more fascinating than the bowl set before her. “It’s too hot. See the steam.”

“I see,” replied Althea. “Well, don’t let it sit too long.”

“Abba, did you know when Miss Althea was little, she used to go down to the kitchen and help the cook with the pastry?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, she’d make little tarts out of dough, then have a tea party with her dolls afterwards. Can you imagine that?”

“No, I cannot,” he replied, bringing a chair to her bedside as Althea moved away.

Rebecca sighed. “I’d love to sit with Cook and steal little scraps of pastry to make tarts for my dolls.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged. What do you say?”