He strode directly to the kitchen where he found Mrs. Mead, the cook, fussing over the child with several of the kitchen maids. Mrs. Wilkes, who was the nanny and governess, was undressing the child just before one of the maids sponged the young child down.
The poor child kept calling out for her mommy.
“Hush now, child, your family is no more. You will be cared for here for now.”
“Humph,” Matthew sounded out as he cleared his throat to announce his appearance.
“Oh, your Grace, what a tragedy,” Mrs. Mead said, tucking a wayward strand of hair under her kitchen cap. “What is to be done with the lass?”
“Damned if I know. Is her Grace down yet?” Then he waved his hand in the air. “No, of course, she is not. Way too early for her to appear.” He then addressed Mrs. Wilkes. “What can be done here? Damn situation.”
“I shall take her to the nursery, your Grace. Poor child needs a bit of gruel and a nice lie-down. I shall care for her for the time being if it suits.”
Matthew waved his hand again. “Yes. Yes. But I need to speak to her Grace before anything final can be decided.”
“I understand. And I shall inform the girls of this development. I know they will take a keen interest in the child.”
“Humph,” Matthew declared again and, waving his hand, abruptly left the kitchen.
After the child was cleaned up and a tray with warm milk and gruel prepared, Nanny Wilkes took the girl’s hand and asked, “What is your name, child?”
“Lucy Brighton, Miss.”
Nanny frowned. “You may call me Nanny Wilkes. And be sure you mind your manners, pray each morning and evening, and address everyone according to their rank.”
“Yes, Miss Nanny Wilkes.”
“Just Nanny Wilkes will do,” she said taking hold of the girl’s hand and leading her out of the kitchen followed by a kitchen maid with the tray.
Chapter 2
The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland had three older daughters and one younger son. The daughters were fairly close together in age as his Grace was desperate to have a son and heir. Then her Grace insisted three children were quite enough and instituted a time out—but accidents do happen and their son, George, came along two years after the last daughter.
Judith had learned from Flossy what the fuss at the front door had been all about, but she was in no rush to finish her toilette early to see this child for herself. The child was absolutely of no importance to her. She figured that Matthew would somehow arrange for the disposal of the child and she need never concern herself with these unpleasant facts.
The Duchess had made a habit of having mid-morning tea with her father, David Elkins, who now lived with the family in his own suite of rooms in the east wing of the manor. With her mother being deceased, Judith had her father moved in with the family almost ten years ago.
She considered her exercise for the day to be the walk from her sitting room to his, each morning at eleven.
“Father, dear,” she said as she breezed into his rooms, “Have you heard about our early morning incident?”
David looked up from his reading, the tea tray already prepared on the low table before him. “I do not believe so. Is something worrisome?”
“It appears there was a fire at one of the tenant houses last night, and we have ended up harboring a young girl child for safekeeping.”
“Was anyone hurt?” he asked with some concern.
“It appears that the family was wiped out except for this one.”
“Why, that is terrible.”
“Yes, it is. That means no crops from that family this year. And Matthew constantly complains that the income from the tenants seems to decrease from year to year.”
David frowned. “Daughter, my concern was not for your income but for the family lost.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Terrible. Just terrible.” She then turned her attention to the tea. “Shall I be mother again this morning?” Judith asked as she began pouring.
Her father was in his mid-sixties. His health had not been good these past several years, and he exhibited a frailty that mostly confined him to his rooms. He rarely came down to have lunch or supper with the family, existing almost exclusively in his rooms.
