The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Four (part II)

The little cat met me at the garden gate, purring and weaving between my legs, with no regard for either my safety or her own. I scooped her up and carried her toward the house, kissing her between her velvety ears while I thought on my next tasks: I had to wash sheep and onion off my hands, dress in something more presentable -- the Ansleys and the Blackwells would join us for lunch, as if the house guests weren't quite enough company already. At some point, I had to at least unwrap the book for young brides...

The kitten squirmed in my arms, so I let her go. She bounded off into the strawberry patch, where there were surely all sorts of snails and beetles and other such pests for her to feast upon.

I rounded the corner of the house, brushing clumps of black fur off my dress. I found Mrs. Burke standing outside the servant's door, her eyes wide and searching. Her gaze landed on me, and a scowl etched deep into her forehead. She stalked toward me, howling, "Where have you been...?"

A cold and baffled kind of dread sprung up in my heart. "I was with my flock." I went out to check on my flock most every morning -- most every morning that wasn't my birthday, anyway.

"Your flock..." Mrs. Burke gripped me by the elbow, her fingers digging into my flesh with all the restraint and mercy of a falcon. "Your cousin has been waiting an hour for you! And look at you...!"

She dragged me stumbling along into the scullery, and then marched me up the maids' stairs to my rooms.

"Strip," she snapped. "And be quick about it."

I obeyed. She soon had me groomed and stuffed into a ruffled blue frock -- it didn't fit so well, anymore, and it was my least favorite, to begin with.

No more than a quarter hour later, I entered the drawing room, prepared to knit and make awkward conversation with my annoyed cousin. I found Mr. Wentworth and my grandfather sitting within, but not Charles Shepley -- evidently, he could wait no longer.

My grandfather was not pleased.

He said, "A word with you, Edith," growling like one of his hounds. I followed him into his study. A hound following after me, its nails clicking on the floorboards.

My grandfather eased himself down behind his grandfather's desk. The hound brushed past me and curled up at his feet.

Quickly, I said, "Grandfather, I was overseeing my flock," hoping to forestall the scolding that surely awaited me. "And I was doing my duty by the Roberts family. I had no idea anyone should want to see me so early in the morning, or else I shouldn't have missed them."

My grandfather listened to this, drumming his fingers on the age-polished desk. At length, he sighed through his nose.

"Your duty now is securing Ewert's legacy," he said. "You have a shepherd. Use him."

I nodded quickly. "I understand, Grandfather."

"Our cousin has gone to Riverton on business. You will write to him and beseech him to return at his leisure. And you will be sure you are here when he does."

I nodded again. "Of course."

"Now, go. You have guests."

"But Grandfather, my flock..." I couldn't help but smile; pride and triumph surged through me too strongly. "I think the breed is ready. I want to show a few rams at market."

My grandfather pursed his lips. He nodded once, but he said, "We shall see."

I returned to the drawing room, and I did mean to write to my cousin -- Mr. Wentworth was still engaged with his book, and did not my require my conversation. I sat down at the little desk we kept there, took out a sheet of paper, swivelled open the silver cap on the inkwell... I picked up a quill and tested the nib on a piece of scrap, deeming it sharp enough. And then I was stuck. How to begin...? Dear Mr. Shepley? Dear Cousin? Dear Charles...?