When the village came into sight, however, he grew excited. He had passed through it many times, but had never taken much notice of such a nondescript place. Now his interest was fully awakened, for this was to be his new home. He remarked on every feature which caught his eye, and Miss Frost, her attention likewise caught, told him what little she had discovered of the place.
They saw the parsonage long before they arrived, for a giant plume of smoke rose vertically in the still air.
“Is the house burning?” he said in wonder.
“Only the rat-eaten furnishings,” Miss Frost said, smiling at last. “The men built a giant bonfire on an unused part of the garden. I believe the house itself is sound, apart from a few missing shutters and the like.”
The Drummoor servants’ wagon was parked outside the gates, the horses contentedly cropping the overgrown garden. Two men could be seen on their knees, weeding the drive, and a man with a scythe was progressing through another part of the garden, with several dogs running around him.
“Ben Gartmore,” Miss Frost said, as she descended from the carriage. “Halloo, Ben! Halloo there!” She waved vigorously at him and he waved cheerfully back, and began to walk towards them.
“Morning, my lord. Morning, Miss Frost. Got the worst of the rats and mice out now, but it’ll take a while to clear them all. Once you’ve got permanent servants in place, you can get a couple of cats in to finish off the last of them. Just taking off the grass on what used to be the eastern lawn, then I’ll do some more of the ivy. Did you enjoy the pheasant, Miss Frost?”
“Oh yes, it was delicious, thank you, Ben. Goodness, Will and Martin have cleared so much of the drive already, and there is Mrs Compton. Come along, Lord Montague.”
And she was away up the drive, leaving a bemused Monty in her wake. Nodding at the gardeners as he passed, and wondering why Miss Frost, who had been at Drummoor for five minutes, knew their names when he did not, he made his way slowly up the drive. The prospect was a good one, for the house was a fair size and of goodly proportions, although the bricks or stone of which it was built were obscured by ivy. But as he walked, and left the trees around the gate behind, another vista opened up to one side — the church. His church, he thought, with a burst of pride.
As he drew level with it, he stopped, gazing at it with such joy that he could not suppress a wide grin. How beautiful it looked, its golden stone mellow in the low winter sun, the windows sparkling. Above it, a spire rose to the heavens, a cross at the pinnacle. His church.
Across the gardens lay a broad path, much choked with weeds, but clearly designed to allow the clergyman to stroll from his house to his church on a Sunday. How pleasant to walk that short distance, to meet his congregation, to join his voices to theirs in praise and to teach them the ways of the Lord each week. And there would be marriages to sanctify, babies to admit to the church and faithful souls to lay to their rest. What joy to devote his life to such work! And after every service, every baptism or burial, his wife would be waiting for him at home, his dinner ready, the fires burning merrily, his children smiling up at him, if they were so blessed.
Forgetting the house altogether, Monty’s feet turned and walked slowly towards the church, the weeds reaching his knees in places. At the far side, a small wicket gate led to the churchyard and another path, this one free of weeds. The churchyard was in excellent order, the graves tidy, the grass neatly trimmed, the yew trees standing to attention either side of the lych gate. From somewhere out of sight could be heard the rhythmic swish of a broom sweeping leaves. The sexton, no doubt.
He walked round the building until he came to the great wooden door, then lifted the latch and went in. Ah, the familiar scent of the church, of beeswax and dust and candle smoke and, very faintly, incense. The floor was clean, the wooden pews shone, and the stained glass windows threw vivid splashes of colour onto the stone pillars.
Monty made his obeisance and then sat in one of the pews — belonging to the Martin family, from the label. He sat mesmerised, delighting in his good fortune. He had everything he had ever desired from life — his holy orders, his own parish, soon he would even have a wife, which he had always hoped for, in a nebulous way, but never enough to seek for it. But now Melissa had fallen into his hand, by the merest chance, and he was glad of it. God had certainly smiled upon him.
In this mellow mood, he heard the door open and close, and footsteps approaching. Melissa.
“Do you wish to be left alone, or may I sit with you?”
For answer, he slid further along the pew bench and patted the space beside him. She opened the pew door, and sat down.
“This has not been neglected, anyway,” she said. “I suppose the villagers keep it clean.”
He had not even thought of that. To him, the church was exactly as it ought to be, and so he had seen nothing odd in it.
“It is beautiful,” he said.
“I went to Winchester Cathedral once,” she said. “It has vast pillars stretching up to the most intricately constructed roof far above, and carvings everywhere. The rood screen, the choir, the patterned floor… everything of the most magnificent. That is my idea of a beautiful church. This is… plain.”
“But peaceful,” he said. “One may hear the voice of God here very clearly. A cathedral… York Minster, for instance… all is bustle and busyness. But in an empty church, like this one, where it is quiet, or in the woods or a corner of a garden… that is when I talk to God.”
“Does he listen?”
“Yes, of course!” He turned to her in surprise. “God always listens.”
“And He always forgives, does He not? Whatever we do, He forgives us.”
“For those who truly repent. Miss Frost… Melissa… if there is anything… you wish to tell me…”
“No.” She sighed, and picked up one of his hands in both of hers. “You are a good man, Monty, and I do not deserve you. I shall go back to the house, and leave you to talk to God.”
But when she rose to leave, he did likewise, following her back across the gardens and wondering why she might feel the need for forgiveness, and whether Winchester Cathedral was near the home she never talked about.
The house was considerably worse than Monty had imagined. He had thought there might be a few holes in the wood panelling, shutters broken and smoking chimneys. He was not prepared for rooms with nothing left but bare walls.
“Should have seen this room before we started work on it,” Mrs Compton said. “Never seen anything like it in all my born days. Rats everywhere, droppings, nests… we had to clear out everything. This room is the worst… half the floorboards gone. The others are not so bad, but still… there’s a lot to do. A lot to do. There’s an empty house just next door — the agent was here yesterday to ask if you wanted to lease it until this place is fitted up properly. It’s furnished and ready to use.”
“We can stay at Drummoor until this house is ready,” Monty said. “I cannot see the need to move into one house and then another.”
“That is as I thought, my lord. Let me show you the kitchen next.”
The kitchen was better. A good clean had left it looking shabby, but intact. The store rooms and closets were in the process of being cleared of mouldy grains and fossilised meat and cheese, and would be usable soon. An elderly man stood watching, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath.
“Callum,” whispered Melissa. “He lives here. He was Mr Whittaker’s manservant. Mrs Compton has set up a bedroom for him off the kitchen, but he is very confused.”
“Poor soul,” Monty said. “Has he no family to take care of him?”
“No one. This is the only home he knows, so we cannot throw him out, can we?”
She looked up at him pleadingly, but Monty was not hard-hearted. “No, indeed. He may stay here if he wishes.”
“Thank you!” she cried, and threw her arms around him in a hug which took him completely by surprise.
With virtually no usable rooms be
yond the kitchen, the servants involved in the cleaning work were staying at the inn in the village.
“Is the inn satisfactory?” Monty asked Mrs Compton.
“It does well enough for the men,” she said. “I can’t leave any of the women there overnight, though, so they have to be driven over every morning. We’d get on faster if they could stay in the village.”
“Is there a woman who might take two or three of them in?”
“Not that I know of.”
“This empty house…”
“Oakdown House, my lord?”
“Why not lease the place for the female servants? Would that work?”
“It would be a lot bigger than they’d need, but… yes, that would work. I shall send the agent to Drummoor, then.”
The kitchen was sufficiently restored to provide a hot dinner for all the workers, indoor and outdoor, who sat around the big kitchen table in a noisy group, not at all abashed by having Monty and Melissa in their number. Monty now realised how Melissa knew everyone so well, for she chattered away happily to them, called them all by name, and even knew the names of Ben’s dogs, lolling in front of the range, so stuffed with rats they could hardly move.
Today, it seemed, she wanted to know how long everyone had been working at Drummoor, and where they had been before that. A surprising number had been born on the estate, or one of the many other estates the marquess held. Others had come from smaller great houses, and a good number from Mishcombe or Sagborough. One of the gardeners had walked all the way from York at the age of fourteen to ask for a job, because he had heard how fine the gardens were and wanted to work in such a place.
Ben’s story was the oddest, as Monty had guessed it would be.
“I grew up in Ottenham, not far from York,” he said. “My ma took in washing and did bits of cleaning jobs around the village. The parson taught me my letters and got me gardening work at a couple of houses in the village. I came to Drummoor earlier this year, and now I work with Mr Gaffney, the gamekeeper. Still do a bit of gardening, though.” He grinned.
“Gaffney is one of the footmen, I thought,” Melissa said.
“Aye, Mr Gaffney’s son,” Ben said. “Lily and Sally there are two of his daughters. Molly’s married now, and Katy looks after Mr Gaffney.”
“But why did you come to Drummoor?” Melissa said.
Ben chewed his lip, and some of the others exchanged glances. Without looking at Melissa, Ben said, “Because of my father. He was from Drummoor.”
“Oh, you did not mention your father! What does he do for a living?”
Ben laughed. “Nothing!” Helplessly, he turned to Monty. “What should I say, my lord? How.. how should I describe him?”
Monty smiled gently at him. “It is no secret, Ben, and I am sure Miss Frost will understand the situation if you name him.”
“Oh. My father was the eighth Marquess of Carrbridge.”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Then she looked at Monty. “Oh,” she said again.
Monty nodded. “Yes, Ben is my half-brother. When you have known us all longer, you will learn to recognise the Marford nose at forty paces.”
One of the young kitchen maids gazed at Ben wide-eyed. “Do that mean you’s a lord, Ben?”
Everyone laughed, even Monty. “That would be lovely, but unfortunately only the sons of the legal marriage are lords.”
“But just think,” one of the older women said thoughtfully, “if things had turned out different, Ben might’ve been a marquess and his lordship the one with the dogs.”
There was some uneasy laughter at this upturning of the social order.
Ben raised his hands in protest. “Oh no! I can’t hardly think of a worse fate.”
“What, bein’ rich and bein’ waited on by all of us?” said one of the younger maids to another ripple of laughter.
“That part would be fine, but think of the responsibilities,” Ben said. “So many people to take care of — his lordship looks quite worn down with it, sometimes. And imagine me in the House of Lords! No, it’s fine as it is, as far as I’m concerned.”
“We did think, at one time, that Ben might be the legitimate heir,” Monty said quietly. “There was some suspicion that my father had married his mother. But it turned out to be nothing after all.”
“Thank God for that!” Ben said. “I’m happy to be just a bastard son.”
“Don’t you mind havin’ bastards in the family, milord?” one of the gardeners said. “Bein’ a vicar, an’ all.”
“Why should I?” he said. “It happens in a great many families.”
“Even in the Royal Family,” someone said, and that set them all off on an affectionate rampage through the illegitimate offspring of the various princes.
Monty listened with amusement, but also with an eye to Miss Frost’s countenance. Had she shown the least agitation with the subject matter he would have shut the conversation down at once, but she seemed quite at her ease, not at all discomfited. He could not fail to notice that she was very comfortable in such company, and far more forthcoming than she was in the drawing room at Drummoor.
When they got into the carriage later to begin the journey home, he said, “You have the common touch, Miss Frost. It is a great gift, to mingle comfortably with those much lower in station than yourself.”
She turned a worried face to him. “Was I too forward?”
“No, not at all. I merely observed that you were easy in such company, whereas at Drummoor, you often seem… less relaxed.”
“Your family is very grand,” she said, with disarming simplicity. “I am not at all used to mingling with quite so many members of the nobility at once. There is always the fear of saying entirely the wrong thing, and Lady Juliana or Lady Ruth raising a quizzing glass at me, and looking so.” She pulled a face redolent of aristocratic disapproval.
Monty laughed. “You need only be your charming self, Miss Frost. And take no notice of the aunts. No one does, I assure you.”
“How did you like the house?” she said, as they rolled slowly out of the village.
He sighed. “It is in far worse condition than I had supposed. When you talked of rats and so forth… well, I could not quite imagine it, but now that I have seen all, there is so much to be done. There is hardly a room that is usable at present. I very much fear that we will not be able to contemplate getting married before Easter.”
She turned to him with horrified eyes, gripping his arm with both hands. “Oh, Monty, no! Surely we do not need the house perfect before we move in? A few rooms… that would be enough.”
“Melissa, it is inconceivable that any lady should be expected to live in such conditions. A few rooms? No, I want everything to be right for you. Besides, you will want to take your time to choose furnishings, curtains, that sort of thing. I have a little money set by, so you will be able to indulge your good taste.”
“You are very kind to me, but I do not care about any of that,” she said, her eyes huge. “Please let us get married at once, Monty. I cannot see the point in waiting. If you get a special licence—”
“No, no!” he said, laughing. “You will not get me haring off to London for a special licence. I do not see the need for any sort of licence. What is wrong with the banns, in the time-honoured way?”
“But that takes weeks!” she cried. “Please, please, let us not wait a moment longer than we have to.”
“Why the rush?” he said gently. “Do you not want to choose wedding clothes, and furniture and new sheets and servants? Why not wait for the better weather?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Oh, I see how it is! You think to put it off and put it off, and maybe I will give up and go away and you can go on in your own way without troublesome Melissa!”
“No…” he began, dismayed by the violence of her response.
“You are too cowardly to break it off directly, so you think to persuade me to do it. You do not want a wife at all, I see how it is. You are a lord and a marq
uess’s son, and I am nobody and you only offered for me from obligation and you really want some grand society wife—”
“No!” Monty said, stung.
“Well, I shall not go away, and I expect you to keep to your pledged word and… and you are so unkind to me and… and…”
Her anger trickling into silence, she laid her head on his shoulder, trembling, and he patted her awkwardly on the arm. “There, there! Do not get upset. It shall be as you wish, but not by licence,” he added hastily, as her head shot up, her face wreathed in smiles. “We shall have the banns called in the regular way, and Parson Hay shall marry us before the year is out, if that is truly what you want.”
Her face fell, but she managed a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Monty. You are very good.”
“You ask for so little that it is no hardship to oblige you,” he said gently.
But as they continued on the road home, he wondered at her sudden fiery temper, and his pleasurable anticipation of the day when he might call her his wife was tinged with anxiety. Was he allying himself with a termagant?
9: Secrets
When Monty arrived back at Drummoor, Merton was waiting for him. “Lord Carrbridge would be grateful if you would wait on him in the ship room as soon as convenient.”
“Ah. What is up now, Merton? Another family crisis?”
Merton gave one of his thin smiles. “Nothing of the sort, my lord.”
And indeed, Carrbridge also was smiling and relaxed. “Monty, we must talk about your allowance, you know. I shall increase it to a thousand a year to begin with, but if you need more—”
“Brother, I shall not need any allowance. My stipend will support us.”
“No brother of mine is going to live on two hundred pounds a year. Do think of my position, Monty, and allow me to be the best judge of this. I will not have you living hand to mouth, and Miss Frost obliged to turn sheets. Whatever it means to turn sheets, for I have not the least idea, except that it is something that very poor people do.”
Lord Montague Page 8
