Mr. Barton may have mellowed, she reminded herself. He would be in his mid-twenties and had finished his studies and his curacy under another vicar before being ordained. He would have seen more of the world, and the world was a great teacher. She was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, friend of the family that he was.
There was no other reason she was eager to go upriver to Haven. None whatsoever.
Once permission had been granted to host the holiday festivities in the manor proper, the entire staff of Havensbeck had lost their minds.
At least, that is how it seemed to Matthias. Every room he passed, every hall he traversed contained some madness of the housekeeping kind. Apparently, entertaining a few hundred people for a single meal required that every square inch of Havensbeck be unfolded, aired, swept, polished, turned inside out and upside down. Chaos reigned and Matthias found himself helpless against the tide of revolution.
"Pardon me, my lord, but I'll be needin' to dust that." Before he'd fully planted his arse in a chair.
"If you're finished with your tea, my lord, I'll just be clearing it away." Before he'd taken a single sip.
"Apologies, m'lord, but you can't go in just now. The maids are waxing that floor."
"It's my study! There won't be any guests visiting my study!" Grumbling was met with cheerful and insincere regret, and he found himself shuffled off into another room, and yet another, until Jasper finally suggested that his lordship had some overdue business with the solicitor in the village and wasn't it a fine day for a ride?
Matthias, knowing full well he was being ousted, took up the excuse to leave and allowed himself to be stuffed into his greatcoat. In mere minutes, he found himself thrust from his own house. His stallion, Perseus, stood saddled and ready in the center of the snowy drive.
The day was brilliantly clear, with blue skies and sunlight shimmering on the heavy blanket of snow. The drifts on either side were high, but the lane to the village had been compacted neatly by the many carts that had delivered to Havensbeck in the last few days. Grousing to himself about the cost of all those supplies could not keep the cheering glory of the bright winter day from affecting him. By the time he reached the village common, he found his mood somewhat less gloomy.
Blast it, he hated it when Jasper was right!
Bernie squirmed in her seat. The long carriage ride from Green Dell to Haven had been wearing for Simon, and even more so for the adults accompanying him. He was a sweet boy and always eager to please, but six slow hours was difficult for an active child.
Immediately upon arrival at the inn in Haven, before the bags were even fully down, Bernie whisked her brother out of sight of her weary uncle and visibly frazzled aunt.
A good run around the village, that's what they needed. To be honest, Bernie was no more used to sitting still for that long. In the course of her duties, she had become accustomed to constant action and long walks.
Aunt Sarah waved them off gratefully as she entered the inn with her husband. Uncle Isaiah leaned heavily on his walking stick, ashen with fatigue. Bernie felt bad about leaving them until she noted that the innkeeper's wife had taken an instant motherly interest in her newest guests.
Running would be improper. Walking so briskly that it might as well be a running pace was merely efficient. And if she danced into a skipping step occasionally, it was only to keep up with Simon, who fled the carriage and the inn as if they were on fire.
"Come along, Bernie! I want to see!"
See what, she could not imagine. Anything at all, she supposed, other than Green Dell. A different baker, a different smithy, even a different tree would be a significant novelty over the village he'd not left once since the age of two.
Bernie remembered London. Mostly her memories of the city itself were a blur of sooty buildings and crowded walks, but she'd been to Regent's Park many times and once she had accompanied her parents to Brighton and seen the sea. Yet even she embraced the giddy feeling of visiting a new village. New faces, new shop fronts, new signs above them.
Haven was more prosperous than Green Dell, that much was obvious at once. The women looked less work worn, the men more satisfied with themselves.
When they passed the vicarage, the residence attached to the Haven church, Bernie looked curiously through the iron gate. There were piles of cut lumber and stacks of stones waiting next to the small stable, covered with canvas tarpaulins and ready to make the improvements to the living quarters of Haven's new vicar. Even before the proposed changes, she could see that solid stone house was larger and finer than their own.
What a difference it made, having one's landowner in residence. The farms around Green Dell belonged to an elderly count whom Bernie had never seen. Beleaguered by generations of debt, the man could not sell the estate, nor would anyone let it, not in the condition it stood now. So the old hall sat empty and crumbling and there was no one to turn to when a field flooded or a sickness swept through the sheep herds.
When she turned away from the vicarage gate, Bernie realized that she'd lost Simon. Again.
Excellent. No one could chastise her for running now.
Mr. Eston Wermer, solicitor, accountant, investment manager and Havensbeck's foremost defender against the drift of entropy, was a narrow fellow with hands beginning to twist with age and a back bending under the weight of it. His most distinguishing feature was a full head of shocking white hair. His office was on the story above the bookshop with a view of the village square.
"My lord! Why did not you send for me to come to Havensbeck? It is not fitting for you to clamber up my stairs!"
Matthias didn't bother to remind Wermer that he climbed more stairs at Havensbeck Manor before breakfast than comprised the short flight above the bookseller's.
Wermer took Matthias's greatcoat and gloves, hat and scarf. It didn't help much, for the room was oppressively warm. Wermer must have noticed Matthias's deepening flush, for he moved to the large window and pushed one half of the glass outward on its hinges. Matthias nodded in gratitude and promptly took up a position near the fresh air.
In his turn, Wermer tugged his own scarf more snugly around his neck. "My apologies, my lord. I cannot suffer the chill the way I used to."
Matthias waved a hand, already losing interest in the temperature. "Tell me, Wermer. What have you discovered about that farm tenant? Was I correct in my guess that Fulton is withholding illegally?"
Wermer cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "No, my lord. On closer questioning, I discovered that the farm had recently come under the management of the original tenant's sons. According to one rather severely annoyed wife, the three young men have squabbled so extensively over one particularly excellent field that they neglected all the others."
Matthias nodded encouragingly, but all he could think was, three sons? A wealth greater than any land.
"I took the liberty of giving all three fellows a sound scolding and promised them that they would lose their tenancy if they did not see to their plantings more conscientiously this coming spring!"
"Yes, yes, very good. Your efforts are most appreciated. And the old farmer, Fulton. What happened to him? I had not heard of any deaths in the village."
"No, my lord. Old Fulton resides by the fire, too frail for farming. Do not worry over him, my lord. His daughters-in-law dote on him fiercely."
"Siiiimonnn!"
Marianna?
Matthias flinched. Wermer gazed at him curiously. No ghostly presence invaded the room. Am I losing my sanity?
"Simon, where are you?"
No, the source of the call lay outside the room, out in the square. Matthias found himself at the window, looking for the caller, his heart pounding. Which was a bit insane, now that he thought about it. After all, Simon was a common name and the woman only sounded a little like Marianna.
Yet he could not keep his eyes from searching for a dark-haired, slender lady who favored blue silk and smiled as if she held a secret. Behind him, Wermer
said something. Matthias ignored him.
A boy ran across his field of vision. He was a skinny lad of less than ten years, with a too-large knitted hat tugged down over his ears and booted feet skidding on the snow-packed cobbles.
The child waved a stick like a wooden sword in his mitten paw. He slewed to a stop to give challenge to a cart horse tied outside the dry goods shop.
"En garde, you despicable dragon!"
The cart horse slid a contemptuous glance at the brave knight, then went back to nosing the small pile of hay that had been dropped at his post.
"Simon, that horse works for his living. He has no time to play with you."
Matthias looked up quickly at that musical voice, but the young woman walking across the square was nothing at all like Marianna. He could not see her face well in the shadows of her bonnet, but her figure was fuller and her bulky canvas coat fit her ill. She looked like a farmer's daughter come to the village to gawk over the lengths of ribbon in the milliner's shop.
Still, she had a very nice voice.
Young Simon turned to her. "Bernie, do horses get bored?"
To Matthias's surprise, the young woman stopped and tilted her head as she considered the harnessed animal with apparent seriousness. "I would imagine that were I a horse, I should rather like to be bored. Horses are skittish and fearful sometimes, so for one to be bored, he would need to feel so very safe for so very long that he had actually forgotten what it was like to be afraid."
An interesting thought. Matthias frowned at the horse.
The boy eyed the oblivious animal with new curiosity. "And then they would get bored?"
Matthias found himself waiting for her answer. The girl had to be sister, not mother, for the child had called her by a family nickname.
She nodded decisively. "Yes, then they would get bored."
Now that he'd established that the girl with the nice voice was nothing like his Marianna, he found himself fascinated by the child. His own Simon would be a bit older than this lad. Would his little man have been so awkward, with oversized, scuffling feet and odd, curious questions?
Matthias tried to recall what he had been like at that age. The door of his recollection opened stiffly, creaking with disuse. For so long, his memory had swirled ceaselessly around a few precious years and one awful night. It took an effort to reach back through the continuum of his own existence to recall the lad he'd been at ten.
Quiet. A little bookish. Mad about stories of faraway lands and strange peoples. Good on horseback, but yes, constantly tripping over his suddenly large feet.
And a good seventeen years away from meeting a girl with a teasing smile and eyes like blue glass before a candle flame. It startled Matthias to think of his life before Marianna, before Simon, before that awful Christmas Eve.
I had twenty-four years before. Happy years, full of friends and adventure, with not a dull moment or second of wistful melancholy. For a single, fierce instant he longed with all that was left of his soul for that other Matthias, that whole, unbroken young self.
Then shame doused him, like an icicle dripping down the back of his neck. He straightened, pulling his hands back from the sill and turning sharply away. He would have to abandon his wife and son, to leave them to their end, unremembered and unmourned, to be that man again.
Besides, he wasn't sure he even recalled how.
Chapter 4
My heavens, what a sociable place this is!” Aunt Sarah’s tone was not as approving as one might suppose. She picked at the sumptuous tea tray as if more interested in finding a hidden drawback than in eating anything.
The village of Haven was so prosperous that Bernie could understand her aunt's wistful envy. It would be much less strenuous to be a vicar's wife in Haven than in Green Dell. Poor Aunt Goodrich.
Bernie herself was utterly charmed by the bright-eyed welcome everyone seemed to have for the vicar's party from downriver. The innkeeper and his wife were deeply solicitous of the weary older couple. Aunt Sarah wasn’t one to let others do for her, but even she was gratified by the way their hosts fluttered about Uncle Isaiah.
After Bernie had confirmed that her aunt and uncle were safely snugged into a private dining room with steaming cups of tea in their hands and hot bricks beneath their feet, she took Simon to their rooms to get them all unpacked.
She found that they’d been given the best rooms in the inn, ones with thick featherbeds, heaping wood bins and wide windows that looked out over the pretty village and the fields beyond.
“I can see the vicarage from here!” Simon, up on tiptoe, pressed his little nose against the diamond shaped panes of glass.
“You can likely see Green Dell from there,” commented Bernie drily, although she had to secretly admit to being rather impressed herself. As John Barton’s guests, they were being enfolded into the arms of the village as if they’d finally come home.
There was a tap on the door and two maids entered. A matched set of blondes, they were rosy-cheeked and pert with importance as they briskly shook out Bernie’s limited wardrobe, hanging her gowns and tucking her underthings discreetly into a chest. In no time at all, far faster than Bernie could have accomplished it, the trunks were unpacked and carted away to be stored during their stay.
Simon didn’t notice, of course. When he turned to see the room set to order, with his own spare set of pants dangling from a hook in the wardrobe and his treasured wooden horse set neatly by his bedside, he seemed to take the transformation in stride. Bernie regarded him with fond exasperation.
Born to be served. Perhaps it was a peculiarly male thing.
Bernie tried to give the maids the farthing she kept in her pocket, but they giggled and rolled their eyes at her.
“Aw, miss, that’d be too wrong of us. Honored guests, that’s what you are!”
The other girl nodded, her black curls bouncing. “That’s right, miss!"
Simon yelped. “Bernie, I see him! I think it’s John Barton. Is it? Is it him, Bernie?”
Simon was very eager to see John. At the age of two, he’d followed the young man about like a baby duck. Bernie doubted that he truly remembered John well, but Simon knew that his beloved toy horse had been carved by John and had decided that John was a kindred soul, a brother of the spirit, torn away by cruel fate.
In short, a hero.
Bernie certainly hoped Mr. Barton would not disappoint her little brother. She scurried to the window and pressed her own nose to the glass, peering through the frost etched pane into the bright courtyard.
She saw a tall shadow pass beneath them and she wondered if she recognized some aspect of bearing. “I think we ought to go downstairs and see.”
Simon pounded out of the bedchamber before Bernie could so much as dip her head down to the vanity mirror to check her appearance. Not bad. A little windblown, for certain, and her gown needed pressing after that carriage ride, but her jaunt about the village with Simon had put becoming roses into her cheeks. Not that she cared one whit how she appeared.
Still, it might be John Barton. Or it might not.
Matthias had left his mount in the sturdy hands of the innkeeper's stableboy, for he'd thought his business with Wermer might take a while. Now he stood at Perseus's head in the doorway of the horse-warmed stable and fiddled with the bridle. As he re-buckled the cheek pieces, and straightened the throatlatch, which didn't need straightening, for no Havensbeck groom would send his lordship out in slapdash trappings, Matthias gazed pensively down the curving main street of Haven.
Who was she? He didn't think she was local. She was well spoken, clearly not a farmer's wife. Perhaps a nearby squire had taken a bride? If he could've seen her hands without the gloves he might've spotted whether or not she wore a ring.
Not that it mattered that she was single or wed. He simply wasn't accustomed to strangers in his village. Having someone new visit would be occasion to comment, surely. In fact, he was surprised that Jasper had not said a word about newcomers. Matthias
wished he had, for then he would've already known who the girl was and therefore could promptly forget her.
It was probably only the boy who'd caught his curiosity. A little boy named Simon? Of course his attention was riveted. It was only natural that he be curious about a child with his son's name. Was it not?
Strangers usually stayed at the inn. And he was already here.
Matthias stepped over the threshold of the Haven's Rest Inn and blinked against the dimness after the bright afternoon outside. Once again he found himself unbearably warm.
Did he keep Havensbeck so cold that he couldn't bear a normal interior any longer? How grim.
A pretty little maid rushed out to the antechamber with a smile, which probably disappeared as she gave a yelp of surprise at seeing him there. Her eyes were enormous as she put both hands over her mouth. She bobbed repeatedly as she backed away from him and scuttled back down the hallway.
Now he was frightening girls. Perfect.
A clatter of shoes brought the innkeeper, red-faced and puffing as he barreled into the foyer with his hands spread wide. "Your lordship! Oh, heavens!" He struggled for breath. "Welcome! How may I serve you today?"
Matthias gazed blankly at him. I came in pursuit of a woman. That wouldn't sound bizarre at all. Instead, he lifted his chin and fell back upon his social stature to gaze down at the man impassively.
He found that if he did this when he was at a loss for words, people usually filled in the blanks themselves.
The innkeeper paled, then reddened, then clasped his hands in front of him and grimaced painfully. "The maid is just shy, my lord. She's a good girl, she is. She meant no disrespect. She was that surprised to see you here, is all."
Blast it. Now everyone would think him a harsh fellow, berating a young woman for her moment of panic. He tried to ease the sternness of his expression. Sadly, he seemed to be out of practice. "I saw no fault in your maid, good sir. Your own swift arrival was most gracious." He bowed his head slightly. "I thank you for your prompt attention."
Sleepless in Staffordshire (Haven Holiday Book 1) Page 3
