Friends and Lovers by Joan Smith

dangerous,” she told him, her cheeks blanching.
    “I am not afraid. I am not afraid of anything. Except the dark, and the water. Mama and Papa were killed in the water,” he told us, his eyes shining with fear.
    I felt it best to divert his thoughts, and offered to read him a story. We went together upstairs to the small room where our childhood relics were stored. There being only two girls in the family, we had not those tomes most likely to appeal to a young boy, but he found a book of old English tales having to do with knights on chargers and ladies locked in towers, that appealed to him.
    He sat very close to me, actually clutching onto my skirts. I felt a rush of tenderness for him that was sorely lacking toward his sister, though I had always assumed it would be the girl, my own name-child, who would appeal more to me.
    “Would you like to sit on my lap, Ralph?” I asked.
    “Yes, please,” he said, easing himself up and leaning his little dark head against my chest. His fingers played nervously with the folds of my skirt. He felt such a pitiful, bereft little soul that I wanted to just cradle him in my arms and comfort him. There was a lump in my throat that made reading difficult.
    This child, whatever about his sister, needed more than a housekeeper and an uncle who bought him a wooden horse, then drove off in his carriage to let the boy sit alone, learning to ride it.
    We got on famously, Ralph and I. By teatime, he was clinging to me quite as fiercely as he used to cling to Menrod. Gwen, happy to have a large cake before her, became communicative and friendly, easy to like. Mama smiled dotingly on her, occasionally wiping away a tear. Gwen thanked us politely when tea was over, and said it was time she be getting home. It galled me, to hear the children call Menrod Manor home.
    “As your uncle has gone to London for a few days, we thought you might like to stay here with us,” I said, giving a casual sound to it. Letting them know a battle was raging over them was the last thing I wanted.
    “I would like to stay,” Ralph said at once.
    Gwen sat considering the invitation carefully. I had an intuition her mind grappled with the probable quantities of cake and attention the two homes afforded. “All right, we’ll stay,” she decided. Her next speech showed me I was too hard on her. “Will you show me my mother’s room again, Auntie? May I sleep in her bed?”
    She received a sympathetic yes to both questions, and a more sincere smile than usual from her aunt as well. “I shall send a note up to the Manor, asking them to send down some clothing,” I mentioned to Mama. I knew my eyes were sparkling with triumph, could feel the smile curl my lips.
    “Good girl,” Pudge congratulated as I went into the hallway toward the study. He had been auditing the whole from his hiding place outside the door. I dashed off a polite note, and had Pudge take it up to the Manor. He was back within the hour, to tell me Mrs. Butte thought it would be better if the children returned at once to the Manor. Within five minutes more, one of Menrod’s lesser vehicles was at the door to collect them.
    “My niece and nephew are remaining with their grandmother for the present. You may tell Mrs. Butte so, as she will want to inform his lordship when he returns. Good night.”
    “Yes, Miss Harris,” the servant answered respectfully. All Menrod’s servants are well behaved, but there was an expression of startled incredulity on the young man’s face at my daring.
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Chapter 7
     
    We had two uninterrupted days of Gwen and Ralph’s company. It was long enough to convince me Gwen was a sly, self-willed girl, possessed of a wide streak of charm, which she could turn on at will to get her own way. Any wish we had to deny her was met with the statement that Uncle Menrod let her do it, or have it, depending on the situation.
    You would no sooner be convinced she was a selfish, conning rogue than she would show some