Episode 5 – Here Comes The Brood

If CC had not been driven to the edge by a day at the zoo with three cranky children, all products of the union between her Maxwell and another woman, all comparing her negatively to Fran, she might not have said what she did. However, there are certain things even a Babcock cannot endure.

"Well!" she exploded. "Let me tell you something about your beloved nanny. She only spends time with you because she gets paid to do it – while I did it for nothing!"

"That's not true … Fran loves us!"

Gracie's small face quivered with tears as she ran from the room, followed by her siblings in an uncharacteristic show of concern. A common enemy, huh? CC thought bleakly. I might just have gone too far this time.

At that moment, following orders for once ("Niles, bring me anything and make it a double"), the butler rounded the corner with a very welcome glass of scotch.

"So … next time, Chuck E. Cheese?" he deadpanned.

"Shut up," she sighed, picking up the glass of golden liquid and slumping down on the sofa with a most un-Babcockian lack of grace. "I am never taking those children out again. The moment I marry Maxwell, I'll pack them off to boarding school."

Niles' little snort spoke more than a thousand words.

"See, this is why the upper classes don't raise their own children," she continued, between swigs of scotch. "Common sense. People just aren't fit for polite company until they're at least sixteen, so no wonder we pay some poor slob to keep them out of sight. When I was six, I collected magazines to keep track of my mother's outfits. Oh, and my father's mistresses – can't remember which was more interesting."

She barely noticed what she was saying. The day's outing rewound itself in her brain like some absurd nightmare: Brighton throwing up in her hat, Maggie making them all wait at every single bathroom, all three of them squabbling like monkeys and singing Nanny Fine's praises ad nauseam. I tried. I honestly tried. God, what is wrong with me? Does this make me an unnatural woman?

If only they didn't all have Sara's face …

Niles' blue eyes were fixed on her with a soft, mysterious expression, one she could have sorn was pity except that it was too ridiculous. No one pitied CC. At least, no one with a healthy sense of self-preservation.

"If you don't stop staring at me, Rochester, this scotch will end up decorating your secondhand jacket."

He looked away, then rearranged his expression into his customary pokerface. "Just curious about your hair, Miss Babcock. Did you have birds nesting in it?"

She touched her crooked ponytail and dishevelled bangs with a brusque laugh. "Oh, that. At least my hair isn't falling out."

Memories of Sara forgotten for the moment, she congratulated herself at the hit she had scored; Niles was as vain as any man about his hairline.

"Yours will too if you don't leave off the bleach. And don't tell me you're not using any; I've known you since you were a natural brunette."

As he walked away, she found herself smiling almost despite herself. Nothing like a good verbal sparring match to lighten the mood.

/

Niles, who had a sixth sense where the Sheffield household was concerned, caught the little runaway halfway out the kitchen door.

"Just where do you think you're going, Miss Grace?" he asked, intending to be stern, but softening at the sight of her red eyes and tear-streaked face.

"I need to talk to Fran," she sniffed. "To see if it's true what CC said."

"Young lady," he said, bending down towards her and placing a hand on her shoulder, "Let me tell you a little secret."

She blinked up at him curiously.

"Miss Babcock may look like an adult," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "But in her heart, she's really not much older than you. Do you remember the time your friend Willie threw crayons at you because you wouldn't invite him to your birthday party?"

Gracie nodded, comprehension dawning on her face. "You mean she's acting out because she feels excluded?"

"Exactly."

"Does it have anything to do with the way Daddy looks at Fran?"

"Possibly."

"So you think she's wrong?" Grace asked. "About Fran, I mean."

"Absolutely." He tugged gently on her ponytail, making her smile. "Would any of your other nannies have taken care to reconcile Mr. Sheffield with Miss Margaret after he caught her kissing that waiter? Or brought Master Brighton to a senior residence to frighten him off smoking?"

Grace giggled at the latter memory. "No."

"And who was it who taught you how to hunt for bargains? Remember the lovely dress you wore to your first investors' party – is that the work of a woman who doesn't care?"

Grace pondered the question for a long moment, her head tilted to one side.

"I don't think so? … But I'd rather hear it from Fran herself, if you don't mind. It's the only way I'll get closure."

Niles shrugged. He could see that, like a true Sheffield, she was determined to have her way. Besides, this was the perfect idea for a prank on both CC and Maxwell. At first, knowing them, they probably wouldn't even notice Grace's disappearance, which would make them feel doubly guilty (and doubly fond of the lonely little girl) once they found her.

"Well, if you must go," he conceded, "At least let me drive you to her flat. New York is no place for a child to travel alone."