A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 8

Mrs. Warren immediately left what she had been doing and came over with a smile when the two of them entered the Cat and Fiddle.

“Hello, girls! What a pleasure to see you again so soon!” She clasped Lydia's hands warmly, then Anna's, and looked behind them expectantly. “Where's your sister, now?”

“Clara?” Anna said. “She's at the cottage tending to Father.”

Lydia pressed her lips together in irritation. Clara had refused to do so much as leave her bed that morning, even to eat breakfast. It was doubtful that she would do much in the way of tending anything – although Anna had threatened to strip the bed of blankets and pillows if they returned to find their father wanting. Fortunately Henry had stayed behind as well to go over papers and correspondence, so between the two of them they should fare well enough until the rest of them returned.

“Ah,” Mrs. Warren nodded in sympathy. “How is your father?”

“Not well at all, I'm afraid,” Anna said. “That's why we've come.”

She turned to Lydia expectantly, who stared at her sister blankly for a long moment before she realized that Anna meant for her to continue. “Oh. I have a recipe for a tea that I think might do him some good, but I lack lavender. Do you know where we might find some?”

Mrs. Warren looked at her sharply, but her gaze softened and after a moment she nodded. “Lavender does work wonders,” she agreed. “For ills of the body....and of the mind. Rob!”

A plainly clothed man of middling height emerged from the kitchen, wiping ruddy cheeks with a towel he flicked onto a broad shoulder. His straw-blond hair was tied back in a neat tail, and he smiled as he approached the three of them.

“Miss Lydia, I'd like to introduce you to my son Rob. Rob, this is Miss Lydia Hartford. Her sister, I'm sure, you remember.”

“Aye, indeed I do. Miss Hartford, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his eyes warm as they met hers and lingered. She stiffened and a ghost of the old, superior Anna seemed to settle across her features, chilling the air until Rob turned from her uncertainly and continued. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Lydia.”

Lydia murmured something appropriate, glancing anxiously at Mrs. Warren.

Fortunately she seemed oblivious to the exchange that had just occurred and turned to Rob without any noticeable alteration in her cheery mood. “Rob, the young Miss Hartfords have come in looking for some lavender for their father. Would you please get a packet for them?”

Rob nodded, sliding his gaze across Anna's indifferent face before averting his eyes and turning back into the kitchen.

“How much will it be for the lavender?” Anna asked.

Mrs. Warren laughed and dismissed the idea of payment with a wave of her hand. “Don't be ridiculous! I'm happy to be of any help that I can, and you let me know if there's anything else that you need. I'll hear of it if you don't, believe you me!”

Lydia was saved from having to muster a reply to that remarkable statement by the entrance of Thomas and William, who both looked exceedingly pleased with themselves.

“You'll never guess what we've gotten,” Thomas said.

William interrupted with an almost childlike glee. “It's chickens!”

Thomas shot him a look of aggravation and clouted him on the shoulder. “That's not guessing, William.” He turned to his sisters, obviously pretending that his brother hadn't revealed the surprise. “Guess what we've gotten!”

Lydia stared at him skeptically. “...Chickens?”

“It's chickens!” Thomas cried. He gave William another glare for good measure.

“Where did you get chickens?” Anna asked.

William crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, not bothering to repress a satisfied grin. “We ran into a farmer in the square. We got six hens and a cockerel, as well as some carrots, peas, greens and two pounds of fresh butter. All he wanted was three bushels of apples! We have easily ten times that out behind the cottage.”

Lydia absorbed this, cocking her head to the side. “Where are they now?”

“In the wagon,” Thomas said. “As soon as you two are finished in here, we can head back and get them settled in.”

“Where will we keep them?” Anna asked, her lip curling ever so slightly at the notion – as practical as it was – of keeping chickens at home.

“There's an old chicken coop out back,” William replied easily. “That's what gave us the idea. You don't honestly believe that we'd buy seven chickens without thinking it through, do you?”

“And what are they to eat?” she demanded.

William opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out and he shut it again quickly. He looked at Thomas, who shrugged, and back to Anna.

Mrs. Warren laughed at their consternation, but it was kind. “Just turn them loose outside, and during the warm parts of the year, they won't want much but table scraps and maybe a bit of corn to scratch at,” she said. “Once we get a good cold snap, though, and all the wee crawlies die for the winter, you'll be wanting to give them grain and a bit of meat. Nothing too terribly fancy – squirrels and mice will do nicely, or the carcass of something you're finished with. Chickens don't need much.”

William had the grace to look abashed, but all he said was, “I suppose we ought to buy a sack of corn before we leave town, then.”

Rob reentered from the kitchen, carrying a palm-sized packet of folded brown paper tied with a bit of string. He reached out and offered it to Anna, who studied him impassively before raising her hand to accept it. After the transfer, both of them dropped their hands to their sides and Anna turned away, coolly dismissing him.

Lydia took it upon herself to step in. “Thank you, Mr. Warren,” she said. “We are much obliged to you.”

He smiled and made a little half bow, but his mouth twisted as though he had bitten down on something sour. “I am at your service.” With that he turned around once more and strode back to his kitchen as though he couldn't wait to escape their company.

They awkwardly took their leave of Mrs. Warren, for while she still seemed oblivious to the tension between her son and their sister, the rest of them were sensible of it. She followed them out the door and gave Thomas directions to a shop where, she said, he could find some grain and corn for their new chickens.

Outside, little Becky was skipping rope on the edge of the square and chanting rhymes in her high, childish voice. Lydia stopped to listen, smiling wistfully at the memory of years as a girl spent skipping rope in the gardens before her mother died. Suddenly a word caught her ear, and she listened more carefully to the next repetition.

“...rose for beauty, water for sight, earth for strength, and breath for life. Guide me where I need to be, and the word is appery!”

Stunned by the similarity to her little spell, Lydia turned to Mrs. Warren. “I haven't heard that rhyme before, is it – is it common?”

Mrs. Warren listened for a moment and laughed. “Just a bit of local legend, my dear. It's from a bedtime story about a prince and a maiden and a magical curse. One of Becky's favorites.”

“And the prince saves the maiden, does he?” asked William, amused.

“Oh no,” said Mrs. Warren. “That's why all the girls like it so. In this story, the maiden is the savior.”