Jonas thought she’d rush off the instant she got Roberta’s vowels. Why would he imagine anything else? But as she read uncharacteristic pity in Mrs. Bevan’s faded eyes, Sidonie couldn’t dismiss the depressing knowledge that she was making a complete fool of herself.
Again.
“Be ’ee still here, miss?”
At Mrs. Bevan’s question, Sidonie stirred from where she’d slumped in the hard chair. She stretched and winced as muscles complained after extended immobility against unforgiving surfaces. “What time is it?”
Mrs. Bevan’s lantern made the shadows loom darker. “Near eight. Be ’ee wanting supper?”
Sidonie had hardly eaten all day but her stomach churned at the prospect of food. “No, thank you.”
“I brung ’ee this.”
Shocked, Sidonie noticed that Mrs. Bevan extended a cup of tea in her direction. “Th-thank you.”
“Why don’t ’ee go up to bed? ’Ee can’t bide here all night. Maister may be away a week.”
“I don’t care.”
“ ’Ee be a stubborn wench.”
Definitely.
“If ’ee be set on waiting maister out, why not bide in the book room? It be warmer and I’ll set ’ee a fire.”
Some superstitious corner of Sidonie’s mind insisted that she must catch Jonas the moment he came inside or she’d miss her chance and find herself on her way to Barstowe Hall after all. She couldn’t explain this to Mrs. Bevan. Even to herself, it sounded irrational. “I’m fine here.”
The woman’s dismissive sniff indicated her opinion of that remark. “ ’Ee be mad as maister.”
Probably.
Sidonie lifted the teacup and took a sip. The warmth was welcome. With nightfall, the temperature had dropped uncomfortably low. She waited for Mrs. Bevan to return belowstairs but she continued to stare at Sidonie as if she gawked at an exhibit at a fair. Or more likely Bedlam, Sidonie thought with a grim spurt of amusement.
“ ’Ee mightn’t credit this but maister was the sweetest lad I ever beheld.”
Not just a cup of tea, but confidences. What was the world coming to? Still, Sidonie couldn’t pretend she wasn’t interested. “Have you been with the family so long?”
“Mr. Bevan and I joined the late viscount’s service just afore his wife passed. Sad days.
“The lad, maister he now be, were only two then. His old lordship were lost in a world of his own aften her ladyship went. Out of his head with grief, he were. Raising the lad fell to me and Bevan. O’ course, we bided at Barstowe Hall then. His lordship were always one for flitting hither and yon. Chasing dusty old books. Couldn’t see use of it meself. Mostly young maister bided home without his father, such a loving, sunny bairn he were.”
Sidonie had difficulty imagining dark, complicated Jonas Merrick as a sunny child. Especially as the picture Mrs. Bevan painted of his childhood was a lonely one.
“Then the lad were called baseborn and the bad times started. The world be cruel to bastards. There bain’t much sunshine in Jonas Merrick’s life since he were eight year old.”
/> “Did you go with the family to Venice?”
“Aye. Though I’ve no truck with furriners.”
Mrs. Bevan must know how Jonas had been scarred. Sidonie bit down the urge to ask. He’d hate to think she’d gone behind his back to find out. “Were you in Italy long?”
“Till his old lordship passed on, must have been ’17. Horrible smelly place Venice were. Water e’en where streets should be. Though I were right glad to be there when his lordship left for eastern parts afore young maister’s scars could heal. I wouldn’t trust furrin servants with the lad’s care. Doon’ like to speak ill of the dead but that were ill done of his lordship, to up and go like that. His lordship should have bided at least till the lad weren’t at death’s door no more, but after his wife passed on, he never could bear one place long.”
Horrified, disbelieving, Sidonie stiffened against her chair. She hardly believed it, especially after the loving way Jonas spoke of the late viscount. Had Jonas’s father left him to the care of servants after the attack? It seemed selfish to the point of devilry. And Jonas had been young when he was injured, she’d gathered from the few hints he dropped, no older than an adolescent. Hardly surprising Jonas was so determined to rely on nobody but himself, so sure that the world was likely to kick him in the teeth before it offered a greeting.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Mrs. Bevan shrugged and reached for the empty teacup. “Had an inkling ’ee might be interested. Had an inkling ’ee might have ideas of brightening maister’s life. Now, be ’ee off to sleep like a Christian?”