Part 20 (1/2)
Lord Hairy tilted his head, his wagging tail stirring up wispy dust clouds. He was certainly a big thing. She chuckled to herself in spite of the painful sprain. ”I'd be tempted to ride you, if you were better fed and I less so.”
The dog's ears perked and he smiled, or at least it seemed he did.
”I can't very wel carry this empty basket to the Mul ins now, can I?” She sighed, then glanced down the path for her hat. To her dismay, she saw one of the plumes waving to her from the pond.
”Oh dear!” She hobbled closer to look. ”My hat. I'l not hear the end of this for months. My step-”
A black streak bounded past her, fol owed by a splash.
Her new companion nabbed her drowned bonnet, then swam back to the path. He pul ed himself from the water and trotted to her with his prize, a soppy, dripping, mess of straw and plumage.
”I appreciate the effort but I'm afraid-”
The dog shook the water from his fur, sending droplets over her filthy skirts and disheveled bodice.
”Ashton!” she scolded, but the dog took no notice. His tail continued to wag with pleasure as he placed his trophy at her feet. She set the basket down to retrieve the hat and the dog took the handle of the basket in his mouth. What a sorry pair she suspected they must appear: a disheveled woman who appeared better suited for the gutters of London than a country road, and a ma.s.sive, matted beast of a dog carrying an empty basket. With few other options available to her, Hannah trudged home with the hel hound fol owing meekly after.
”Lord G.o.d in Heaven, Miss Hannah! What were you thinking to bring that horse in here?”
Hannah wasn't sure if her dirty sodden skirts or the monstrous beast by her side caused Patsy's anxious glance toward the door. Either could have produced the same response.
”Ashton is not a horse, Patsy. He's a dog.” Hannah tried to pul the animal away from a fas.h.i.+onably cluttered tabletop, but not before his tail swiped an elaborately framed photograph of her stepmother off the table and onto the floor.
Patsy's face blanched to the color of dormer dough. ”The black dog from hel ? Don't let him look at me!” She held her hands in front of her face.
”He's not a hel hound, Patsy. Ashton is just rather big”- she glanced down at the dog whose backside was level with her hips-”black and, at the moment, damp. I can imagine the sight of him would scare d.i.c.ken. But he's not evil, just friendly.”
Patsy lowered her hands just enough to peek over them.
”What did you cal him?”
”Ashton. Lord Hairy Ashton to be exact.” Hannah managed a weak smile. ”He's rather fond of your dormers, and the basket they came in.” She handed the empty basket to Patsy, noting her raised brow at the gnawed handle. ”I've given him a bath, or I should say-”
A crash and a splintering of porcelain interrupted. In directing Ashton away from one potential calamity, she had managed to back him into another. One of her stepmother's decorative plates lay in pieces on the floor.
”He's given me one,” she finished sheepishly.
”You can't keep him here, miss.” Patsy stooped to retrieve the broken pieces, placing them in the returned basket. The dog seized the opportunity to thank the woman for his earlier meal with a moist lick, and in the process, knocked her off-balance and into another table. A vase of flowers joined the carnage on the floor.
”I know that, Patsy, and I tried-”
”What's going on in here?” Her stepmother's face drained of color as her gaze took stock of the room's disorder. She gasped. ”Merciful heavens, what is that thing and why is it in my house?”
”He fol owed me home from my cal on the Mul ins family.”
It wasn't exactly the truth for indeed she never made such a cal . G.o.d might consider feeding a starving dog an act of charity, but she doubted her stepmother would feel the same. In an effort to appease the rising storm in her stepmother's face, Hannah repeated, ”I've given him a bath.”
It didn't help. Even Ashton hid behind Hannah's skirts, knocking a figurine to the floor in the process. Patsy averted her gaze, focusing instead on picking up evidence of Ashton's clumsiness. Her stepmother shook her head with a viciousness that threatened to dislodge her pinned-in curls. ”That beast cannot stay in this house. Put him in the stables until your father returns. He can decide what to do with him.”
”I tried to leave him in the stables,” Hannah pleaded. ”But he wouldn't stay. He fol owed me to the house.”
”Tie him up.”
”I tried that as wel ,” she said. Her father wasn't expected home from the mil negotiation for another three days. The look on her stepmother's face did not bode wel for Lord Hairy Ashton. ”His consistent barking whenever I tried to leave scared the horses. Thatcher thought it best if I not keep the animal there.”
”There's no answer for it then.” Her stepmother fisted her hands on her hips. ”You'l have to stay in the stables with the dog.”
Hannah gasped. ”The stables?”
”Either that or take him back to the woods where you found him and leave him to fend for himself.” An accusatory finger pointed at Hannah's skirt, smeared with dirt that had slipped past her ap.r.o.n, a consequence of Hairy's wagging tail. ”Look at you. Heaven knows I've tried to turn you into the kind of lady your father could be proud of, but you fight me at every turn.” Her eyes narrowed and her face screwed tight. ”Perhaps a few days living in the stables wil teach you the consequences of conducting yourself like a commoner.”
Hurt and shame battled within Hannah, but she ignored the pain for a moment. ”But the dance . . . I'l need to prepare and-”
”Dance? Do you think you're stil going to the dance?”
She laughed, a cruel vindictive sound devoid of mirth.
”Everyone of society wil be in attendance. Do you think I relish being disgraced by a fat graceless stepdaughter and the unsightly mongrel that won't leave her side? Do you?”
She glared at Hannah, as if she truly expected an answer. Then she shook her head. ”I wil tel everyone who inquires that you are il while you mind that beast and await your father's return. Until that time, or until you get rid of that thing”-she shook a hand at the dog cowering behind Hannah's back-”you are not al owed to step foot in this house. Do you understand me?” She waited for Hannah's obligatory nod before she turned on her heel and left without a backward glance.
Tears stung Hannah's eyes but she refused to let them fal . So many poison-tipped arrows had plunged into her heart she couldn't move. Ashton nudged her hand with his head, but even that did not relieve the pain. Her stepmother had said she was fat and graceless, but that did not sting nearly as much as her stepmother had probably hoped.
Hannah knew she was never destined to be a thin portrait of elegance. Lady Nicholas Chambers had told her she had womanly curves and a unique grace and Hannah believed that to be true.
No, the deadly dart had been the suggestion that her father was not proud of her, even though she had tried to be a lady worthy of his affections. She had thought her father could see through her periodic clumsiness, to the innate goodness within, but her stepmother had said no. Her stepmother had suggested she was a common laughingstock, a disgrace.
Her throat constricted so tightly that even breathing was difficult. Her disheveled appearance was not her fault. It could be easily remedied. A wet nose pushed at the back of her fingers, offering solace. She glanced down at Ashton whose ears had set back as if he were the one scolded. He gazed up at her with such mournful brown eyes, a flood of compa.s.sion fil ed her heart.
”What'l you do, miss?” Patsy asked from her position on the floor. ”You'l be taking him back to the woods, then?”
The question startled her as she'd forgotten that Patsy had been crouching behind a chair and thus she'd been privy to the whole humiliating conversation.
”I can't do that, Patsy. Look at him. He was so hungry when I found him, I can't take him back.” The dog's tongue slipped around her fingers as if to thank her. ”He rescued my hat from the pond. He's a talented dog.” Ashton's tail began to softly sway. ”Now that he's clean, you can see that he's extremely handsome for a hel hound.”
”Then you best get him out to the stables before that tail of his destroys more of Mrs. Waverly's things.” Patsy's lips curved softly upwards. ”I'l send food out for the both of you.”
Hannah tickled the hair on the top of Ashton's head then turned to leave the room.
”Miss Hannah?”
Hannah glanced back at Patsy who rose from her position on the floor. ”Yes?”
”I think your sainted mum . . . I think she would approve of you taking care of that beast, even if it meant missing a dance. The birds”-she glanced skyward as if she could see them through the ceiling-”they would fly from the Heavens just to sit on her finger. She had a gift with animals, your mum did.” Patsy's lips turned in a sad smile.
”I think you have it as wel .”
”Thank you, Patsy,” Hannah replied. Tears of a different nature threatened to spil . She remembered her mother's smile and comforting arms that would wrap around her whenever Hannah was moved to tears. The Waverly's pretty little governess would never offer such comfort, that's why Hannah always ran to her mother. Dear Heaven, she sorely missed her mother.
Her father, worn out by the combined demands of a growing business and a grieving child must have missed her as wel . Why else would he have married the social y conscious governess and made her Hannah's stepmother?