A NURSERY TEA

Eloise woke early the next morning, a little disoriented to find herself in Ian’s narrow bed. He was fast asleep, curled up on the side of the bed to leave her as much space as possible. She took a precious moment to look at him while he slept. The black hair had escaped from its braid and curled wildly around his head. Black beard stubble lent a blueish cast to his face, but the mouth, relaxed in sleep, looked soft, inviting, full-lipped. She was about to kiss him when it seemed he felt her gaze, stirred and reached out a long arm to pull her down beside him.

“What were you doing?” he mumbled.

“I was admiring you,” said Eloise with a little laugh. “My wild border reiver. You looked so sweet and kissable until you woke up.”

“I am still kissable,” he murmured into her hair. “Would you like to try?”

“No! I wanted to kiss you while you slept.”

Ian immediately rolled on to his back, folded his arms and closed his eyes tightly. “I am asleep now,” he said.

Eloise just laughed and got out of bed. “I will see you at breakfast,” she said.

“Will you kiss me at breakfast?” he asked, opening one eye halfway.

“Maybe,” she said, making her escape.

Still in her dressing gown, she went upstairs to see Agnes. She was awake. Mary had dressed her in a different little gown, not a black one, but the little girl looked just as pale as she had standing in her grandfather’s parlour the day before, facing the father she obviously feared.

Eloise decided to try to create as normal a routine for the child as possible and take the crises as they came. She was sure they would come.

“What should you like for breakfast, Agnes?” she asked brightly. “No, let me guess. You would like…let me think…mutton soup.”

“No,” Agnes mumbled.

“Now, let me guess again. You would like mmmm…fish pudding.”

“Noo,” said Agnes again, but this time with a tiny smile.

“Oh, I am so bad at guessing. Will you give me a hint? Wait, I know, oatmeal porridge.”

“No!” shouted Agnes. “I don’t like porridge. I like toast and butter and milk.”

“Of course,” exclaimed Eloise. “How could I forget? Mary, Agnes must have toast and butter and milk for her breakfast. Can you ask Mrs. Clark for that?”

It was a bit of a charade as Eloise had already shared that information with the cook and Mrs. Kershaw, who were both ready to send abroad for any exotic dainties that might tempt the child’s appetite.

“Now, my dear. I like toast and butter, too. May I have my breakfast with you?”
Agnes hesitated, then nodded.

“Mary, I will have toast and butter and tea, please, but I also like eggs. What about you, Agnes, do you like eggs? Would you like to try one this morning?”

But Agnes shook her head, and Mary went off to order breakfast as requested. Eloise took Agnes over to the windows overlooking the gardens.

“This house is called Roxholme,” she explained. “This is your home now. And mine. And Papa’s.” Agnes flicked a quick nervous glance at Eloise but said nothing.

“I have only been here for a week,” said Eloise. “I don’t know the house or the gardens well yet. We are both new here. Maybe we can explore together. Would you like that?”

Agnes did not answer. Too soon, thought Eloise. Too soon.

“Look down, Agnes. You and Mary can play in this garden and take walks in the shrubbery. And you and I can walk there and learn the names of the flowers together. Over there, see those hills? Papa knows the names of all the hills. One day, if you wish to know, your papa can teach you those names, and then you should know them as well.”

Mary came in with the breakfast tray and overheard. “Miss Agnes, I know the names of all the hills, too. I can teach them to you, and you can teach them to Mama Eloise. Would you like that?”

Agnes didn’t answer, but she looked at Mary with renewed interest. The breakfast tray was set down. There was tea for Eloise. She insisted that Mary take a cup for herself and sit down with them to eat. Agnes ate well and drank her milk without fuss. She was silent, but that did not worry Eloise. Not yet.

“Agnes, this room is your nursery now,” said Eloise. “But before that, it was your papa’s nursery when he was a little boy. Did you know that?” The child shook her head, eyes wide. She had never imagined that her father had once been a little boy in a nursery.

“Some of his toys and books are still here,” said Eloise. It was one of the happy discoveries she had made during her inventory on her first day at Roxholme. She had been touched to see the scarred rocking horse and imagining an infant Ian riding it. He did seem to love riding. “Now, I have to go downstairs for a while, but you and Mary can explore and find if Papa had any good toys that you want to use now.”

Agnes spoke for the first time. “Will Papa let me use his toys?” she said, her voice high and nervous.

“He is not a little boy any more, is he?” said Eloise. Agnes smiled at the thought. “And you are his daughter, and you are the mistress of the nursery now, so these toys are all yours now.”

A look of satisfaction crept across the little girl’s face. She wouldn’t mind being the mistress of a nursery and the owner of a new set of toys. Eloise stroked the child’s hair, but did not attempt to kiss or hug her. Then she left Mary and Agnes to go exploring together and went to find Ian in the breakfast parlour. She wanted to know if he had discovered whether there was a tiger-striped kitten anywhere around Roxholme that Ian could give his daughter.

Over breakfast, Ian expressed his intention to go tiger hunting in Mrs. Willie’s cow byre that morning. Eloise approved, with the proviso that the results be confined to a basket, which he must procure from Mrs. Kershaw, and that no word of its arrival be leaked to the inhabitant of the nursery. It was to be a surprise. After breakfast, accordingly, they went their separate ways, Eloise armed with paper, pencils and coloured chalks, Ian with a lidded basket.

Eloise went back upstairs. Today must be entirely dedicated to helping Agnes settle in, though there were a hundred housekeeping tasks waiting. She found Agnes already in possession of the rocking horse with Mary standing by to make sure she didn’t fall off. Eloise was pleased to see Mary’s attentiveness. She felt she should commend Mrs. Kershaw on the choice of Mary as a nursery maid. It might smooth some of the feathers she had ruffled earlier.

Eloise went to the little worktable, put down her art supplies and invited Agnes to join her. “Agnes, dear, I have an idea. You and Papa should become better acquainted, should you not? Now that you have come home to stay.”

The smile disappeared. The girl looked apprehensive.

“Well, I have a delicious scheme. When you meet someone new, someone who may become a good friend, one way to know them better is to invite them to your home. For tea, for example.”

“Yeees?” A question in the voice.

“Now, should you like to invite Papa to the nursery for tea today? This is your nursery, you know. He would be your guest. Should you like to be hostess?”

“I invite Papa for tea?” The thought of being hostess clearly appealed.

“Yes. I will help you write an invitation, and we can plan the treat together. Would that not be amusing?”

Her face fell. “I can’t write. I am too little, says Grandmama.”

“I know you can’t write, but I can, and I will help you. You can write a little. I will show you.”

The smile returned. It was clear that the idea had taken hold in the little girl’s mind.

Eloise and Agnes spent a pleasant morning together designing a beautiful invitation with simple, bold flowers that Agnes could colour. Eloise wrote the invitation and taught the girl to write the letter A. Tongue between her teeth, the child carefully, and surprisingly neatly, inscribed her initial at the bottom of the invitation. The missive was closed and sealed and left for Eloise to take downstairs.

Ian returned for luncheon, brandishing a basket from which piteous mewing emerged. Then Eloise produced the invitation.

Ian opened it carefully and read the content. He glanced up. “Did she write that A herself?”

“Yes, and she coloured the flowers.”

“She seems bright enough, doesn’t she?” he said with evident pride.

“You know you are as alike as two peas in a pod,” said Eloise.

“She looks more like my mother,” said Ian, his expression at once reflective and sad.

“How old were you when she died?” asked Eloise softly.

“Twelve. I was twelve. I felt my world had ended. In a way, it had. I was already at school and never really lived here again till after my brother died.” He turned to Eloise. “I wish she could have met you. She would have loved you, I am sure, and she would have been so pleased to have a granddaughter. Agnes has her name and, if she is very lucky, her beauty. I only wish for my daughter a longer life.”

Eloise took his hand and held it tightly for a moment till the sadness passed.

***

Nursery tea was set for two o’clock. At a quarter to two, Ian went into his library and rummaged around in some desk drawers. He came out with a square of yellow silk rolled up tight. At two, he picked up the basket, now mercifully silent, and ascended the stairs.

Eloise had gone upstairs an hour earlier to assist the young hostess. The table was set with milk for Agnes, tea for the adults, bread and butter, oatcakes with honey and small apple tarts with custard, courtesy of Mrs. Clark, the cook, who had been included in the secret preparations.

Ian tapped on the door and waited politely to be invited to enter. As he came through the low door, he greeted the ladies, irrespective of age and station in life, with his usual grave courtesy. Agnes came forward to offer her best curtsey, and, coached by Eloise, gave Ian her hand. He started to bow over it and stopped. Eloise could see that he had realized his size made that gesture intimidating. Instead, he went down on one knee, took the offered little paw and kissed it reverently. The owner of the paw snatched it away, giggled nervously and took a tight hold on Eloise’s skirt.

Ian reached behind him and presented his basket. “It is good manners to bring a gift for the hostess,” he said. “I have brought you a gift. I hope it pleases you.”

She was immediately taken with curiosity. “A gift? For me? What is it?”

“Open it, and you will see,” said Ian, handing her the basket.

She took it in both hands and, with the unconscious grace of small children, sat down on the floor to open it. She carefully undid the ribbon securing the lid and lifted it up. A tiny black and gray striped kitten opened its wide green eyes, stretched and yawned, its pink tongue curling out. Agnes drew a shuddering breath. “A kitten, Papa? For me?”

“Yes. For you. I heard you like kittens.”

She looked up at him, huge blue eyes suddenly adoring. “Thank you, Papa. She is beautiful!”

“You can pick her up, you know,” said Ian gently. There was a suspicious sparkling of moisture on his thick black lashes, and he hid his eyes from Eloise.

Agnes reached into the basket and gently lifted the kitten. Ian was pleased to see that she did it correctly, supporting the thin little legs with the palm of her hand.

“What is her name, Papa?”

“I don’t think she has one yet, Agnes. Would you like to name her?”

Another hoarse breath, as Agnes held the tiny ball of fluff and stared at her father. “I can name her?”

“Of course. She is your kitten. It is your task to name her.”

Agnes considered the kitten. “She can’t be Tiger, for there was another Tiger at Grandpapa’s house. But she is like a tiger, isn’t she, Papa?”

“Did you know,” said Ian, sitting down beside her on the floor, “that your papa was once in India?”

“No, Papa. Did you see a tiger there?”

“Yes, Agnes. I did see a tiger. This tiger was not black and grey like yours. This one was orange and gold and black and white.”

“Ohhhh,” said Agnes as she tried to imagine such a tiger.

“And it was a very big one. Do you know how big a tiger is?”

“No, Papa.”

“Look there. From the end of your bed, all the way across to where your rocking horse stands, that’s how long a tiger is.”

Another audible breath from a goggle-eyed little girl.

“And its head,” he continued, “its head is as big as this ball.” He indicated a play ball that Mary had unearthed from storage.

“Ooohhh,” said the little girl. “Papa, I think the orange tiger is too big for the nursery. I think I just want this kitten. She can be my little tiger, can’t she?”

“Yes, dear. She will be your little tiger. Now look here. I brought this picture back from India many years ago to remember the tiger I saw there. It was in a country called Bengal.”

“Not India?”

“Yes, there are many small countries in India. Look.” He unfurled the silk painting and held it for her to see. It showed a Bengal tiger in all its stripy, golden glory, slouching between bamboo fronds, head lowered, eyes slitted.

Agnes perused it for some time, breathing hard. Then she looked up. “Papa, can I call my kitten Bengal?”

He smiled at her. “I think that is a very good name. Bengal it is.”

She lifted her kitten up to her face and whispered in its ear that it was now called Bengal, and it was named for a famous place full of tigers, but that it must not grow too big for the nursery.

The kitten yawned again and started kneading the little girl’s apron. She kissed it and put it back in its basket where it promptly curled up and went back to sleep.

Eloise helped Agnes up and took her aside for a whispered conversation. Agnes nodded and turned to Ian.

“May I give you a kiss, Papa? For Bengal?”

He held out his arms, and she came to him, kissing his cheek lightly. He returned a quick kiss on her forehead and let her go. She skipped to the tea table, obviously relieved that this formality was over. “Papa, Mama Eloise, Mary, come and have tea.”

They all found places to sit or perch and filled plates. Bengal woke up and demanded a share of the feast, and Agnes told her kitten all about India and how big tigers were. Over her head, Ian and Eloise exchanged smiles. A small victory had been won. After tea, Eloise showed Agnes how to make a cat toy out of a length of ribbon and a scrunch of paper, and child and kitten romped happily about the nursery as the adults left.

Outside on the landing, Ian seized Eloise in a hug so tight it almost took her breath away. “I can’t thank you enough for this!”, he said. You have worked a miracle.”

They stood for a moment in a tight embrace and then, holding hands, they went downstairs.