The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

“Good morning, girls. Don’t you look bright and ready to conquer the day?” She smoothed Betsy’s curls. “Come inside. I have something for you.”

Returning to her dressing table, she drew a pair of ribbons from her traveling case. “Hop up here.” She lifted Betsy to sit on the stool and reached for her hairbrush. In a moment she had the ribbon tied in a band over Betsy’s hair, letting her sweet brown curls frame her chubby cheeks. She straightened the child’s collar and pronounced her perfect.

“What’s this?” Thea squatted beside Rich’s sea chest at the foot of the bed, her arms wrapped about her knees. “Who is Major Richardson?” She wrinkled her freckled nose as her finger traced the stenciled name.

A quick stab went through Sophie, and she forced a smile. “He was Lady Richardson’s son and the man I was going to marry. That’s his sea chest, and it holds his belongings.” The words were hard to say but not as achingly painful as they had been a month ago. Perhaps she was beginning to heal.

Guilt flickered like a candle flame in a draft. Did she want to heal? Was healing forgetting?

Before she could sort it out, Thea asked, “Where is he then?”

“He’s in heaven with Jesus. He was a soldier, and he passed away.”

“Oh, he’s dead like our folks.” She straightened, matter of fact in her speech and movements. “We don’t have anything that belonged to them. The old earl had the vicar clean out our cottage and sell everything off. You must be glad to have that stuff, to remember him by.” She frowned. “Sometimes I can’t remember what mum and da looked like, even though I try really hard.”

Sophie nodded. “I know.” She was grateful to have a miniature of Rich to keep his likeness alive for her. It was twin to one painted of her that she had gifted him before he’d left for the war. Perhaps she should find that painting and put the two together. They could rest on her bedside table. But that would mean opening the sea chest, and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. “Talking about what you remember can help keep those memories alive for you. Perhaps you can speak to Penny about it. She might be able to help you.”

Thea shook her head, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. “Penny doesn’t like to talk about our folks. She tries to shush me up when I ask. She says it was a shameful thing that mama drank all that laudanum and left us on purpose.”

Suicide? No wonder Penny didn’t want to talk about it. Poor girl.

“Let me fix your hair, Thea.” She didn’t know what to say to someone young about such a heavy topic. Thea seemed quite accepting of it, but there would come a time in her life when the ramifications of taking one’s own life would become apparent.

“You can try, but Penny says my hair always acts like it’s been pulled through a thicket backward. It isn’t curly, and it isn’t straight. It just does what it wants. And Miss Fricklin was forever complaining about the color. She said it was an ‘indication of my temper.’ Do you think that’s true? That all people with red hair have terrible tempers? Maybe it’s people talking about their hair all the time that gets them riled?” She spoke the entire time Sophie brushed and braided her hair, tying the ends together with the second ribbon.

“I’ve no idea, but if someone talked about my hair as a bad thing all the time, I’d get angry too. Rest assured that you have beautiful, thick hair that is destined to draw attention for the rest of your life. I can only imagine your first village assembly. The young men will be tripping over themselves to dance with you.”

Thea’s face twisted in a horrified grimace. “You sound like Penny. She’s all atwitter about boys and wearing her hair up and dancing.” She batted her eyelids and pretended to swoon. “But boys are foul, and I don’t know why she goes on and on about them.”

“Well, perhaps someday you’ll feel differently. Let’s go find Penny and see what Mrs. Chapman has arranged for breakfast. Have you seen Miss Mamie this morning?”

They headed down the staircase, Betsy holding Sophie’s hand and the banister, taking one step at a time, while Thea bounced down like a foxhound puppy let off the leash.

The breakfast room was deserted, but laughter came from the kitchen. Mrs. Chapman stood at the fireplace, a griddle in her hand, while Mamie sat at the table slicing day-old bread. Penny emerged from what Sophie assumed was the larder with two glass containers in her hands.

“These are labeled strawberry preserves, but I don’t think they’re still edible. The tops have gone all furry.”

“Absolutely not. We’d all be sick before morning tea.” Mrs. Chapman made a sweeping motion with her spoon. “Put them in the washbasin. I’ll clean them out and scald the jars.”

A fair few pots and crocks sat in the washbasin already, testament to Mrs. Chapman going through the pantry herself.

Penny looked at her sisters. “What happened to your hair?” she asked Thea.

“Lady Sophie brushed it, and it didn’t even hurt. Not like when you do it. And she likes red hair.”

“You must have stood still for her then, which is more than you do for me.” Penny chucked Betsy under the chin. “Mrs. Chapman is making pikelets, and then we’re going to help her clean house. Without complaining. After we clean, we can go for a walk to the beach.”

Thea’s face grew stormy, and she crossed her arms, but before she could protest, Mrs. Chapman leveled a stare her way. “Work first, then you get the reward. We won’t tackle the entire house in a day. In fact, we won’t even get out of this room, I shouldn’t think. There’s enough to do cleaning and sorting and taking inventory to keep