by Mary Nichols
There was a huddle of cottages, a church, an inn, some farm buildings and a smithy, to which he directed his steps. There were a few women on the street, who watched his progress with curiosity, but no sign of the schoolteacher and her charges. He surprised himself by feeling a little disappointed.
He found the blacksmith in his heavy leather apron hard at work beating a horseshoe into shape on his anvil, the ringing tones of his hammer and the flying sparks filling the air with a kind of eternal rhythm, at one with the days of the week and the recurring seasons. Beside him stood a sturdy Suffolk Punch, patiently waiting to receive the new shoe. Stacey stood and watched, knowing it would not do to interrupt in the middle of the task, but when it was done, the old blacksmith looked up. ‘Yer need my services, stranger?’
‘I do indeed. My horse has cast a shoe. Can you fix it for me?’
The old man followed him outside to where he had left the stallion with its reins thrown loosely over the hitching rail. After a cursory inspection all round the animal, he said, ‘’ Tis a mighty fine animal yer have here.’
‘Yes. His name’s Ivor. I bought him off a Russian Count in Austria. He’s seen me through many a battle.’
‘Ridden him all the way from Austria, have yer?’ It was said with a chuckle.
Stacey laughed. ‘No, just from the other side of Norwich. Why do you ask?’
‘All his shoes are worn. It i’n’t no good replacing the one.’
‘No, I realise that.’
‘I’ve to take the horse back to the farm.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the Suffolk Punch. ‘It’ll take me an hour or so.’
‘It’ll be growing dusk by then, too late to carry on tonight. Is there an inn where I can rack up?’
‘There’s the Dog and Fox. They’ll give yer a bed. I’ll have the horse ready by the time yer’ve had yar breakfast.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ he said, and wondered why he said it. He turned to take his bag from the saddle. ‘By the way, what is this village?’
‘Parson’s End, sir.’
Parson’s End. What a strange name for a village. He had heard it before, he realised. And then he remembered Lord Hobart. Wasn’t that his destination? What quirk of fate had brought him here? He could, he supposed, go the Manor and remind Hobart of his invitation, but then he remembered how unlikeable the man was and decided the Dog and Fox would suit him very well.
Charlotte was in the garden the following morning when a footman came to tell her she had visitors. Gardening was one of her special pleasures and she would spend hours tending her flowers and consulting Harman, the head gardener, on which plants to place where and how to propagate and care for them. Clad in an old fustian coat, a floppy felt hat tied under her chin with a piece of ribbon and a pair of stout canvas gloves, she would dig and weed and clip to her heart’s content. She had certainly not expected visitors today.
‘Who is it, Foster?’
‘Not one of your usual callers, my lady. Pushed past me and strode into the drawing room as if he owned the place…’
‘Perhaps he does,’ she murmured under her breath.
He looked startled, but went on as if he had not heard. ‘And him with two companions that I never would have admitted if I could have stopped them. I am sorry, my lady.’
‘Do not worry, Foster. I think I know who one of them is. Ask Cook to provide refreshment and tell them I will join them shortly.’
He left on his errand and she went in by a side door, along a narrow passage and up the back stairs to her room where she washed and changed hastily into a black silk mourning dress, a little more elegant than the one she had been wearing the day before, which had become stained with salt water, much to Joan Quinn’s disgust. She brushed her hair, coiling it back and fastening it with combs before topping it with a black lace cap, then she took a deep breath and went down the front stairs to the drawing room.
There were three men there, two of whom were already lounging on the green brocade sofas, looking about them as if assessing the worth of everything in the room, the furniture, pictures and the small figurines which her mother-in-law had loved to collect. The third man stood by the hearth with his foot on the fender. His attitude was proprietorial and she had no difficulty in recognising her brother-in-law, though the scar on his face had not been there when she last saw him, and the slimness of youth had been replaced by fat that strained at his coat and pantaloons.
‘Cecil?’ she said.
He made her a mock bow. ‘At your service, sister. May I present my good friends, Sir Roland Bentwater and Mr Augustus Spike?’
The two men, one tall and thin as a pole, the other thickset and swarthy, rose and sketched her a bow to which she replied with a slight movement of her head. ‘Gentlemen.’ Then, addressing Cecil, ‘I did not know you would be coming today. If you had let me know, I would have been better prepared to receive you…’
‘We don’t need receiving. This is my house, I come and go as I please.’
‘Of course. I am sorry you were not here in time to speak to your father before he died—’
‘Sorry? Was he sorry he banished me, was he anxious to make amends?’
‘I believe he was.’
‘That’s as may be, but I have not forgiven him, nor would I have, so perhaps it is as well we did not meet again.’
She decided to ignore that. ‘I have ordered refreshment. While you are having that, I will have your room prepared.’
‘My father’s room, I hope. The master bedroom.’
‘Why, no, I did not think you would want to use that until it had been refurbished. But, of course, you may have things ordered as you wish.’
‘I wish to sleep in my father’s bed and I wish rooms prepared for my friends and our valets who will be arriving with our luggage before the day is out.’
‘Very well. If you excuse me, I will see to it. Foster will serve you while I am gone.’
‘Foster, who is he?’
‘The footman. He admitted you.’
‘Oh, him.’ His tone was disparaging. ‘What happened to Jenkins?’
‘He grew old and decided to retire. He lives in a cottage on the cliff top now.’
‘I think I had better interview all the staff, let them know who is master. I’d be obliged if you would gather them all together in the hall in an hour.’
She inclined her head to acknowledge the instruction and left the room in as dignified a manner as she could manage, but she was seething. The new Lord Hobart was treating her like a housekeeper, not a word of condolence or sorrow at the loss of his father, not a word of gratitude for what she had done to keep the place going, not a word of reassurance that she would be given a home. And if he did offer it, she was not at all sure she would accept—she had taken an instant aversion to him. She passed Foster bearing the tea tray, followed by one of the maids with cakes and sweetmeats, and instructed them to serve the refreshments before carrying on her way up the stairs to warn Miss Quinn to keep the girls to their own suite of rooms until she said they could come down.
Then she went back downstairs to the kitchen where the servants were gossiping and speculating about the new master. She brought them to order and gave instructions for her belongings to be moved out of the bedchamber she had used on the first floor. She had chosen it when the late Lord Hobart became ill so that she would be close at hand if he needed her, but if the new Lord Hobart meant to occupy his father’s room it was not appropriate nor desirable. ‘I’ll use the guest room on the top floor near the girls,’ she told the chambermaids. ‘One of his lordship’s guests can have my room and prepare another along the same corridor for the other. And rooms for the valets who are on their way, I believe.’
‘And his lordship?’ Betsy asked, longing to make some comment about her ladyship having to give up her room for those dreadful men, but not daring to.
‘The old lord’s room. I’ll come and help you directly. When you have done, all the servants are to asse
mble in the hall to meet the new master.’
‘All of us?’ Cook asked.
‘Yes, all. Tom, go and tell the outside staff to come too. In…’ she consulted the clock that stood on the mantle ‘…three-quarters of an hour. Leave whatever you are doing and line up in the hall.’
There were not many servants for so large a house and Cecil, pacing up and down the row, a full wine glass in his hand, was obviously surprised. ‘Is this everyone?’ he demanded of Charlotte.
‘It is. When Lord Hobart became too ill to receive visitors, we shut up half the house and did not need a large staff.’
‘I want the rooms opened up again. I mean to entertain. As for staff, we shall see how these do before deciding on others.’ He waved his hand to dismiss them all. ‘Go back to your work. We will dine at five.’
They scuttled off and he turned to Charlotte ‘Are you sure I have seen everyone? I recollect you have two daughters…’
‘They are not servants, my lord, to be paraded before you.’
‘But they do live here? They are not away at school?’
‘They are too young to go away. I look after them myself with the help of Miss Quinn, their governess.’
‘Who pays her wages?’
‘Lord Hobart did.’
‘Hmm. I am not sure that I wish to continue that arrangement. After all, your offspring have no claim on the estate, have they? I would rather employ a decent butler.’
‘But they are your nieces, my lord, all the kin you have now.’
‘I intend to marry, then I shall have kin of my own.’
‘I see.’
‘I am sure you do,’ he said, smiling silkily.
She did not answer. Her head was whirling with the knowledge that her brother-in-law was not going to be bountiful, that if she stayed, she would stay under sufferance and be an unpaid housekeeper, that Miss Quinn would probably be dismissed and her girls would be faced with a life very different from the one they had known. And when the horrible man married, what would happen to them then?
‘Food for thought, eh?’ he queried.
‘It is your business,’ she said. ‘May I ask when you are to be married?’
He laughed. ‘When I have found a suitable bride, one who will acknowledge who is master in his own house and will do as she is told.’ He looked up as his two companions sauntered down the stairs from an inspection of their rooms. ‘You need say nothing of this conversation to my friends,’ he murmured, then, turning to them, said jovially, ‘Have you been made comfortable? Is everything to your satisfaction?’
‘It’ll do for now,’ Sir Roland said, wafting his quizzing glass around. ‘But it’s devilish dull here, ain’t it?’
‘I warned you it would be, didn’t I? You can always return to the Smoke.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we want to do that just yet, do we, Gus?’
‘No, not yet,’ the other answered. ‘But I think you should put on some entertainment for us. Send for some company.’
Charlotte knew by the way they spoke that Cecil did not really want them there, that they had invited themselves and there must be a reason why he had not been able to refuse. It was a reason not difficult to guess. And did they also know the contents of Lord Hobart’s will? They were in for a shock if they did not.
‘All in good time, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Shall I show you over the house? You will find much to interest you, I am sure.’ Then, to Charlotte, ‘I shall expect you to dine with us. And bring your daughters.’
‘My lord, they do not usually dine with company.’
‘I am not company. As you so succinctly reminded me, I am their uncle and I wish to meet them.’
‘Very well. I will ask Miss Quinn to bring them down when the pudding is served.’
She turned and left him, passing the two gentlemen as she made for the stairs. She was aware that they were watching her go and she held her head high, but inside her heart felt as heavy as lead. The home she had known for the last twelve years was hers no longer; she was not even welcome in it. She made her way up the second flight of stairs to the schoolroom where her daughters worked under the tutelage of Miss Quinn.
All three turned towards her as she entered. ‘Mama, what has happened?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Who are those men?’
Charlotte looked at Miss Quinn, her eyebrow raised in a query.
‘They heard the door knocker, my lady,’ the governess said. ‘Such a noise it made, as if someone was determined to frighten us all out of our wits. The girls ran to look over the banister and saw them admitted.’
‘One of them is your Uncle Cecil,’ Charlotte told them. ‘The other two are his guests.’
‘The new Lord Hobart?’ queried Lizzie.
‘Yes.’
‘I knew I should not like him,’ Fanny put in. ‘And I do not. I wish they would all go away again.’
‘I am afraid that is unlikely,’ Charlotte said. ‘We must get along with your uncle as best we may. You never know, he might turn out quite charming.’ She did not believe what she was saying, but she must not allow her prejudices to influence them. ‘He has asked that you join us for pudding this evening, so I want you on your best behaviour. And, Fanny, please, please do not let your dislike show and speak only when you are spoken to.’
‘My lady,’ Miss Quinn gasped, ‘surely that is hardly appropriate. Those men…’
‘I know, Quinny, I know, but I shall be there, and I shall not allow the girls to stay more than a few minutes. Bring them when I send for them and stay close at hand to take them back.’
‘I don’t know what the world is coming to, that I don’t,’ Miss Quinn went on. ‘I’m with Fanny, I do not like those men. Lord Hobart is bad enough, but those two fops…They fill me with dread. I saw them poking in all the rooms, laughing and commenting on everything, saying there were some mighty fine pieces. I heard the thin one say, “We’ve fallen on our feet here, Gus, no doubt of it.” And then they both laughed. Horrible sound it was too, like hens cackling. How long are they proposing to stay?’
‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte answered with a sigh. She was too distressed to scold the governess for speaking her mind.
‘If it weren’t for my darlings needing me, I’d be gone this very night—’ She stopped suddenly when she realised Lizzie was looking at her in great distress and Fanny had begun to sob. ‘Oh, my little loves,’ she said, gathering them into her arms. ‘Quinny didn’t mean that. She would never leave you, never, never.’
Dinner was a nightmare. Charlotte tried to keep up a normal polite conversation, but it was impossible. Everything she said, they seemed to twist, and they asked such impertinent questions that she refused to answer, which made Cecil laugh, though his laughter was hollow. How long had the Hobarts occupied Easterley Manor, they wanted to know, and did she know the value of everything in it? And when she said she did not know and it was the province of his lordship’s man of business to provide him with an inventory, they had laughed loud and long. ‘I expect him tomorrow,’ Cecil said. ‘Then we shall see.’
Worse was to come when he insisted she send for her daughters. ‘I wish to make their acquaintance,’ he said. ‘After all, they are part of the job lot, aren’t they? Kith and kin I must include in my reckoning.’
‘You are mistaken there, my lord,’ she said, reluctantly nodding to Foster to fetch Miss Quinn and the girls. ‘They are my responsibility.’
‘But only this morning you were reminding me of my duty towards them.’
‘I did not mean you should tot them up on your inventory.’
‘You mean I am not to be responsible for their keep? How glad I am of that. Food, clothes, wages for that Miss…What’s her name?’
‘Miss Quinn.’
‘Miss Quinn. From now on you pay her yourself.’
Charlotte did not protest. She would not throw herself on his mercy, though how she was going to manage she did not know. She looked up as the door opened and Miss Quinn ushered her charges into
the room. They looked very fetching in white muslin dresses, with deep satin sashes and their hair brushed until it gleamed and tied back with matching ribbons. Lizzie’s was blue and Fanny’s pink. Quinn gave them a little poke in the back and they both executed a neat curtsy.
‘Very pretty,’ Augustus chortled, surveying them through his quizzing glass. ‘What say you, Roly, ain’t they pretty?’
‘Yes, remarkably handsome. Cecil, old man, I think you should be more generous with your dead brother’s children. Put them on the inventory.’
Cecil pretended to laugh. ‘Come, girls, come to me and let me see you properly. Don’t be afraid. No one will hurt you. I am your Uncle Cecil, home from abroad to take care of you.’
They approached the table to join their mother, reluctant to go to him. ‘They are shy,’ Charlotte said. ‘Not used to strangers.’
‘I am not a stranger!’ he shouted, banging his fist on the table, making the crockery rattle. ‘I am Lord of the Manor, Squire of Parson’s End. Home from abroad. Home, do you hear me?’
‘My lord, please do not shout. You are frightening them.’
His voice softened, but was no less menacing. ‘Then remember not to behave as if I were an uninvited guest you cannot wait to get rid of. It is you who are the guests, you and your daughters, and that one…’ He nodded towards Miss Quinn hovering in the doorway. To the children he said, ‘Would you like to sit with us and have some apple pie?’
Both girls, too frightened to speak, shook their heads. He beckoned to Miss Quinn. ‘Take them away, they are not as amusing as I thought they might be.’
Quinn disappeared with her charges and a few moments later Charlotte made her excuses and left the men to their port and cigars and went up to her room to sit in a chair by the window, gazing out with unseeing eyes. Her head was reeling. How could she endure living under the same roof as her brother-in-law, she asked herself, supposing he did not decide to throw her out? Even so soon after meeting him, she knew him to be self-serving and pitiless. And she did not like the manner of his two companions who ogled her, almost undressing her with their eyes. And the way they had looked at Lizzie and Fanny made her shudder with apprehension. She would have to watch them and, if they stayed beyond a week or two, she would have to think of moving out—not only moving out, but finding an occupation.
