by Stacy Henrie
The room felt too warm and confining. He’d promised to be honest with her, but there was also no point in dredging up old history. “I did care for someone once,” he replied truthfully. “But I didn’t speak soon enough to win her hand, and then I became busy running this place.” He unpocketed a hand and waved at the room.
“I imagine that hurt. To have lost a chance like that.”
It was past time to change the subject. “I can explain what I remember of Mr. Bertrup’s responsibilities, but feel free to ask me any questions that may arise.”
“I will.” She took a seat at her desk. “And thank you, Hugh.”
He raised his eyebrows in silent question.
“For the job and for sharing what you did just now.” She studied him, her expression open and earnest.
Words he’d held back from saying years ago settled on his tongue, anxious for release. “I . . .” It required great self-discipline from him to swallow back the futile statements. But swallow them he did.
“You are most welcome,” he said with a smile that was more than a little forced.
He’d voiced as much of the truth regarding the past as he planned to. Now it was time to focus once more on the present.
• • •
It took Ada several weeks to master all of her secretarial duties, but once she did, she found she enjoyed her new job far more than the one at the warehouse. Of course, it also helped that Hugh was her manager, and as such she was able to see him more frequently than she had before coming to work at the factory.
Though she still considered them to be good friends, she did her best to keep things professional between them while at work. Which meant she ate lunch with the other women and always referred to Hugh as Mr. Whittington.
True to her predictions on her first day, she’d learned a number of the young ladies at the factory did find Hugh quite handsome, though some of them found his somber nature less appealing. Ada didn’t divulge the information that she and Hugh had known each other for years or that she would have once agreed with their assessment of him. Now she knew differently. She’d seen a side to Hugh, both through his letters and since her return to Yorkshire, that she realized most people didn’t, and that knowledge made her feel as if she possessed a rare gift.
Her parents had finally ceased their protests about her seeking employment. And she had Helena to thank for that. After confiding their reaction to Hugh on her second day at the factory, Ada had later been as surprised as she was grateful to learn Mrs. Whittington had paid Victoria a visit. Apparently Hugh’s mother extolled her own gratitude for Ada stepping in to help her son and thus pacified Charles and Victoria.
Ada relished feeling useful again, something that not even Minnie or her grandmother could completely understand, though she suspected Hugh did. Her favorite time of day was riding home in his family’s automobile. It was then that they could simply be themselves—not just secretary and employer—and talk openly.
One autumn afternoon after she’d returned home from work, she found their butler, Stewart, waiting for her. “There is a visitor here to see you, Mrs. Henley.”
“A visitor for me?”
Rosemary ran up to give Ada a hug, and she listened to the girl’s account of her school day for a minute or two. When her daughter skipped off to the library, Ada turned to the butler again. “Who is the visitor, Stewart?”
“It’s your father’s solicitor, Mr. Peckering, ma’am. I put him in the study.”
Ada threw a look at the study door. “And you are certain he wants to see me? Not my father?”
“Correct, ma’am.”
She was only partially surprised at this news. Her father was now confined to his room day and night.
“The gentleman was quite adamant,” the butler added. “Insisted he would wait until your return.”
Wariness at the solicitor’s purpose for coming churned in Ada’s stomach. “Thank you, Stewart. I will see him now.”
As she entered her father’s study, a thin, balding man rose to his feet to greet her. “Ada Henley,” she said, offering her hand.
“Terrence Peckering.” He gave her hand a weak shake.
Ada indicated he return to his seat as she took hers behind the desk. “What may I do for you, Mr. Peckering?”
“First of all, may I express my regret at hearing how ill your father has become.”
She offered a tight smile. “Thank you. Is that why you have asked to meet with me?”
“It is, Mrs. Henley.” His gaze skittered away, then back. “I bring rather unpleasant news that would no doubt be difficult for your father to hear or comprehend at present.”
His statement only added to her mounting concern, but she nodded for him to continue. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his bag and began to explain the purpose of his visit in rather rapid tones. It was as if he feared Ada might stop him or throw him out before he had a chance to finish.
By the time Mr. Peckering sat back in his chair, visibly spent, Ada didn’t blame him for his earlier worries. Had she known beforehand what news he brought she might have refused to listen to him.
“I would like to be certain I understand you, Mr. Peckering.” She managed to keep her voice calm, though dread pulsed inside her. At his nod, she continued. “I am the heiress to this estate, upon my father’s death, per his will and because Stonefield Hall is fee simple and not entailed.”
“That is correct.”
The next words were harder to push from her constricted throat. “However, you are also here to inform me that we have no money.”
“I don’t know that I would say no money, Mrs. Henley.” He appeared as ill at ease as Ada felt, but she found little comfort in that fact. “It is more a matter of having little money.”
She pressed her lips over a retort about the minute difference between having no money or little. But she reminded herself that this man wasn’t to blame for what he was telling her.
Why had her father concealed their precarious financial situation from her? Why had her mother thrown such an elaborate dinner party for Ada’s return when the estate was barely limping along? She could guess the answer, at least in part. For Charles and Victoria Thorne, appearances, reputation, and grandeur must be maintained, even if the coffers were nearly empty.
Well, no more.
“Can we economize?” she asked, breaking the silent tension in the room.
Mr. Peckering gave a slight cough. “It will surely help, yes. You could let go of any extra staff, rule out entertaining altogether, and sell off any heirlooms or jewelry.”
“However?” She hadn’t missed the hesitation underlying his tone.
He coughed again. “If you cannot increase the productivity of the estate’s land, then it is only a matter of time before you will be forced to sell it piece by piece.”
Sell parts of the estate? Ada pinched the bridge of her nose, where a headache was forming. This was her home—even if she’d only just returned. This was where she had met Ned and where her ancestors had resided for more than a hundred years. There had to be something more she could do.
“What can you tell me about my father’s land agent?” she asked next.
The solicitor shifted in his chair. She wasn’t sure if he felt more uncomfortable discussing business with a woman or at bringing such tidings when her father was not long for this world. “The man is past his prime, I’m afraid. A younger, more modern-thinking fellow may bring about better results for the estate.”
“I see.”
Perhaps she could talk to Hugh and seek his advice. But she dismissed the idea almost straightaway. He would want to increase her wages at the factory, and she didn’t want him feeling beholden or responsible for what was a private family matter.
When she stood, the solicitor did the same. “Thank you for your time and information, Mr. Peckering. Would you care for some tea before you go?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Henley. I must get back.”
<
br /> “Another time then. Thank you.”
After a parting nod, he rushed for the door. Ada couldn’t blame him. She slumped into her chair as the door clicked shut behind him. Was this why she’d been led to come home? To turn things around? In her time away from Stonefield, she’d certainly learned how to economize. Now it seemed those lessons might come in handy once more.
“What did Mr. Peckering want?” Victoria asked as she entered the study. “Did he come to see your father?”
Ada climbed to her feet. “No, Mama, he specifically asked to see me.”
“Whatever for?” She looked annoyed.
It was all Ada could do to hide her own annoyance at her parents’ decisions, ones that now affected her and Rosemary and the future of the estate. But how could she help her mother see that? There was a possibility Victoria knew as little as Ada previously had.
“Mr. Peckering met with me because he had been informed that Papa’s condition is worsening.” She approached her mother and scooped up her hand. Victoria glanced away, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “And as heiress to this estate after he is gone, I’m going to insist we make some changes.”
“What sort of changes?” Victoria asked in a sharp tone.
Ada squeezed her hand. “Did you know about the trouble with the estate finances?”
“A little.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “However, your father said not to worry, and so I haven’t.”
“Papa has been indulgent.” Ada waited for her mother to look her in the eye before she continued. “If we do nothing, we will have to sell off pieces of the land.”
Victoria’s face paled, then hardened. “Sell some of the estate? Never.”
“I do not want that either, Mama, but it is going to require sacrifice if we are to avoid it.” She released her mother’s hand and strode out of the study.
“What sort of sacrifice?”
Ada moved toward the staircase that led to the basement and the servants’ work areas. She hoped her forthcoming conversation with their housekeeper went far better than this one with her mother. “We will need to cut down on the number of staff we employ, trim back our meals, and eliminate all parties.”
“You cannot be serious,” Victoria said, clearly horrified.
“Quite serious, Mama. I will also be replacing Mr. Jockapeth with a new land agent. Hopefully we can find money somewhere to give him a small pension so he can remain in his cottage.”
Victoria stamped her foot in anger. The action reminded Ada of one of Rosemary’s occasional tantrums. “This is too much, Ada. We will be the laughingstock of the neighborhood by the time you are through with us.”
“That may be true. But at least we may still have a home.”
She started down the stairs, but her mother’s next hurled words stopped her descent. “You could marry, you know. Someone with money this time, someone who could actually save the estate and our way of life.”
Resentment coursed through Ada. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides and didn’t turn. “I do not plan to marry again,” she said, tilting her chin higher. “But if I did, it would never be for money. It would be for love, as it was the first time. So we will simply have to practice frugality and hope it proves to be enough.”
Chapter 18
No sooner had Ada, her mother, and Rosemary sat down to dinner that evening than Stewart appeared. “Mrs. O’Reilly is here to see you, Mrs. Henley.”
Victoria frowned, though Ada wasn’t sure if it was because of Minnie’s visit or at hearing her daughter constantly referred to by Ned’s last name.
“Is William with her?” Rosemary asked eagerly.
The butler shook his head. “I’m afraid she is here alone, Miss Rosemary.”
“Thank you, Stewart.” Ada set down her napkin and exited the dining room. Why had Minnie walked over to Stonefield Hall, and at this hour? Normally she waited for Ada to come see her at Gran’s house, since in spite of Ada’s best efforts, her mother had not warmed up to her dear friends.
She found Minnie standing in the entryway, looking nervously about. “Minnie, it’s so good to see you.” Ada smiled. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by as frequently . . .” The pained look on her friend’s face sent a jolt of fear through her. “What is it?”
“I got this today.” She lifted a slip of paper—a telegram.
Crossing to Minnie’s side in two strides, Ada took hold of her arms. “Is it about Thomas? He hasn’t been . . .” She couldn’t say the rest.
“’E’s . . . ’e’s been wounded.” Minnie’s hand trembled as she lifted it to her mouth.
Ada hugged her tightly, relieved Thomas was alive but still concerned at what might have happened to him. “Do you know the extent of his injury?”
“Not yet,” Minnie said when Ada released her. Several tears leaked from her green eyes. “But I’m scared, Ada. What if ’e’s real bad off?”
“Have you told Gran?”
Nodding, Minnie wiped at her eyes. “She said we’ll make it work, what with me caring for ’im and cooking.”
Greater relief filled Ada at the news. Minnie and her family were in good hands. “Depending on what his injury is he might be able to get work at the Whittingtons’ boot factory. I could ask Hugh, if Thomas agrees to it.”
“That’s a good idea.” She fell back a step. “I’ll go now. Sorry to disturb your dinner.”
Ada gave her a stern look. “You never have to apologize for coming here, Minnie. You are my friend, as you always have been and always will be.”
“Thank you,” Minnie said with a tremulous smile. “I wanted you to know.”
“I’m glad you did.” Ada followed her outside. “I’ll be praying for Thomas. Let me know when he is to arrive in Yorkshire and if there is anything I can do.”
“I will. Night, Ada.”
Lifting her hand in a wave, she echoed the sentiment, “Good night, Minnie.”
She watched her friend walk down the drive, then turned back toward the house. The estate’s financial troubles and the additional news that Thomas had been wounded weighed heavily on her mind and heart, disrupting the relative calm of the last few months. Raising her family, living in London, and returning home after seven years weren’t the only things that were going to require good courage.
• • •
Something was troubling Ada. She had gone straight to her desk that morning without her usual cheerful greeting. Hugh waited an agonizing ten minutes before he could stand the silence no more.
“Morning,” he said, exiting his office.
She glanced up and smiled, but it lacked animation. “Good morning. Have you been here long?” While they rode home together each evening, the Thornes’ driver brought her to the factory after Rosemary left for school in the mornings.
“Thirty minutes or so.”
With a nod, she bent over her desk again.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. Looking around to ensure there was no one nearby, he added quietly, “You seem sad today, Ada.”
She lifted her head, giving him a glimpse at her dark eyes. They were indeed filled with pain. “I . . . um . . .” She tapped her finger against the desk as if making a decision. He hoped she would share what was bothering her. “I found out yesterday that Minnie’s husband Thomas has been wounded.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Hugh spoke regularly with Minnie and her children at church on Sundays. He liked the woman’s kind, unpretentious nature. “What awful news.”
Ada nodded. “I want to help, but I don’t know how.”
“I am likely not the best source for giving that kind of advice,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. The conversation in his study when she’d offered to be his secretary had proven to be one of many more between them on the subject of helping others and being helped.
As he’d hoped, she laughed lightly. “I think you are the perfect source. I don’t want to overstep things with Thomas, especially not knowing the exte
nt of his injuries. But I love Minnie like a sister and want to do something.”
“Prayer does wonders.” He could stand by that piece of advice.
His sincere prayers had helped him after he’d learned all those years ago that Ada loved someone else, and more recently after his mother had lovingly counseled him to stop assuming responsibility for everyone. He’d been much more deliberate about allowing others to step up and grow and when he might offer help.
“One other thing,” he added, remembering something his mother had shared with him the other day. “What people often want more than anything else is a listening ear. Which is something you can offer Minnie and Thomas.”
Ada’s smile was warm and genuine this time and sent his heart jolting. “You are absolutely right, Hugh.” Blushing, she peered cautiously around them. “I mean, Mr. Whittington.”
“I think you are probably safe from the factory spies,” he teased.
She laughed fully. “One never knows when and where they might be lurking about, though.”
Returning her smile, he moved toward his office. Inside he dropped into his chair. With the way his pulse was crashing about, he felt as if he’d jogged to the factory instead of simply dispensing advice.
What would Ada say if she knew he looked forward to seeing her each day? Or that she was a constant in his thoughts when they were apart? Or that the feelings he’d once felt for her had begun to return, only deeper?
“No,” he growled, straightening.
He would keep their friendship as it was for as long as he possibly could.
• • •
Ada had hoped to go with Minnie to the train station to meet Thomas, but he’d requested little fanfare or a crowd. So after two days had passed, she set out for the O’Reilly cottage to see if Thomas was up to receiving visitors yet. She left a much-disappointed Rosemary at home, but Ada didn’t think Minnie’s husband would want another child around, eyeing him curiously right now. Minnie had shared Thomas’s last letter with her, in which the man had delivered the news that he had lost his left leg below the knee.
