The Uncatchable Miss Faversham by Elizabeth Moss

hard to explain away these visits in rational terms. All Nathaniel knew was that speaking to Jack every week or so, and seeing his young children playing at his feet, so happy despite their father’s disability, had become the perfect tonic to his low spirits.
        Nathaniel gave a courteous nod of his head. That was when he realised that a naked babe had also come to the door and was gurgling happily to itself at his feet, clutching at its mother’s skirts. He eyed the unclothed infant with some misgiving, hoping he had not arrived at an inopportune moment for the busy housewife.
        ‘I beg your pardon for calling at your door so early, Mrs Underwood. Is Jack at home?’
        Far from shooing him away, the well-endowed Rose Underwood wiped flour-whitened hands on her dingy apron and grinned at the sight of her landlord on the doorstep. She dropped him a curtsey with her usual surprising grace, snatching up the intrepid babe before it could escape the cottage.
        ‘Well now, your lordship, where else would he be at this hour?’ she demanded, then seemed to realise the forwardness of her tone, blushing a little. The gurgling child wriggled in her arms and she swung it easily onto her hip, wrapping a fold of her apron about its bare legs. ‘But here’s me in my oldest gown – looking a mighty fright, I’ve no doubt. You’d best come in. Don’t mind little Joshua here, he’s due for his bath. Indeed, you are most welcome.’
        Raising her voice, she called back over her shoulder. ‘Jack, are you decent? It’s his lordship come to visit.’
        Nathaniel scraped the mud from his boots, and made sure to bend his head on entering the tiny cottage – he knew from experience how much it hurt to crack his head on one of these low roof beams!
        Enthusiastically, the dog tried to follow him indoors. But Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Sit,’ he ordered him in a stern voice.
        He was relieved to see the wayward pup obey his orders for once, easing himself back onto the step with an appeasing wag of his tail.
        ‘Behave yourself, sir. I’ll be back soon enough.’
        Downstairs, the cottage consisted of one narrow room, with a gloomy kitchen area curtained off to one side. A small fire crackled in the hearth and cast a warm, flickering light over floor and walls. In front of the fire there was what appeared to be a cylindrical baking dish, half-filled with water, poised on a stand; this, Nathaniel guessed at a glance, was to be the baby’s bath.
        The place would be little better than a cow-byre by haut monde standards, but it was cosy and welcoming enough on a dank March morning.
        The Underwoods had lived there now for five years. Jack had served under him during the war, losing his sight in that bloody conflict. His first-born had died of a fever while he was absent, and his wife had been turned out of her home for non-payment of the doctor’s bills. Jack was too stiff-necked to ask for charity, but his wife Rose had sought Nathaniel, and begged him to help.
        Nathaniel had employed Rose as an occasional seamstress up at Sallinger House, which had allowed him to install the young family in the cottage as his tenants. There was not much else he could do, but Nathaniel did like to call in every few weeks with a small gift, hoping in that way to ease their poverty without causing offence.
        Jack was seated by the fire, an old rug over his knees. His head turned as Nathaniel approached, firelight reflected in his sightless eyes, and he tried to rise.
        ‘My lord,’ he began, laying aside his colourful woollen cover, but Nathaniel laid a firm hand on his shoulder, telling the younger man to sit down again and not be such a noddlecock. ‘I had not expected to see you this morning, my lord. Not after that wicked storm last night.’
        ‘Any damage here?’
        ‘No, my lord. Though they’re saying the roof blew clear off old