The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Sixteen (part II)

Darlene disappeared with the baby soon after I left her. No one knew how or where to -- at least, no one was admitting to it, if they did. In the morning, I helped Darwin do the washing and chop the turnips, and then I returned to the house and a long tongue-lashing for losing my grandmother's ring -- Mrs. Burke had returned while I was out.

She brought with her a very understanding letter from Mrs. Brown. It said very little, except that she hoped the matter would be resolved satisfactorily and that both Daisy and Doctor Brown hoped they might write to me.

I did not reply to her. I put the letter in a desk drawer and instructed Mrs. Burke to start on a set of mourning clothes, and then I sat with my knitting, praying and praying that Darlene and her little babe would make it safely to Wolcott, wherever it was.

The days passed quickly after that, each more or less the same as the one before it. Mrs. Burke scolded me about the ring every morning; I prayed for Darlene every night, and in between I was busy with my flock and helping Darwin.

It was scarcely three weeks til the Harvesttide evennight, and there was much to do to prepare for market. I put my mind to my work. I was glad to -- it was much easier to not wonder and to not think when I was busy.

I spent hours in the pasture with Bram, going over the stud books. We culled and sold and planned breeding, whittling my flock down to the best one hundred and fifty or so. It was harder to make the decisions this year than it ever had been before. Bram and I agreed this was a very good problem to have, and, off and on, I felt something like happiness.

I went over my plans again and again with Bram, and when he got sick of it, I went over them again and again by myself. I made a budget, I picked out clothes... I had a trunk packed and ready a full week before we'd depart. I even found myself dreaming about the market at night -- a nonsensical jumble of the traders' market in Farport and Ewert Town's Harvesttide Fair. Sometimes they were anxious dreams where I got lost along the North Road, or my rams were stolen or mysteriously turned into cats. Other times, they were sweet dreams where my grandfather beamed at me and everyone pushed coins into my hands.

And so, life returned to its usual pattern, changing, but unchanged.

And then my grandfather returned.

He arrived at the end of Harvesttide, early in the morning . He was grim, and the whole house became grim with him. I hid in the garden, pulling up weeds and deadheading roses for hours and hours, and then he called for me.

I slunk through the house, dread churning my guts. The door to my grandfather's study was open, waiting for me.

My grandfather sat at his grandfather's desk, drumming his fingers, the black hound curled at his feet. The desk was nearly bare -- whatever work had occupied him, he was done with it now.

I crossed the threshold, nearly trembling.

"You wanted to see me, Grandfather...?"

He glanced up at me, his eyes cold and hard and stony.

"Charles Shepley will win his suit," he said. "There are no records of your birth. It cannot be proved you are legitimate. It cannot even be proved you are my daughter's child and not some cuckoo's chick.

"Furthermore, your father..." -- his lips curled, as though the word tasted bitter -- "was a murderer. And given this, along with your inexcusable behavior before the Lord Regent's children, your character has been deemed suspect."

I wanted to protest, but I could not. It would be the most grievous lie.

"I warned you, girl... Several houses have switched hands, and it's not by coincidence. Ethelsburg is suspicious of the Northerns. They want to be sure the Twenty are really Folk."