by Louise Allen
Jethro must have been standing with an ear to the door, using for approaching footsteps, for he whisked it open before the earl reached it. ‘Your hat, my lord.’
The door closed and Hester plumped down in the chair, the unwise force raising a cloud of dust. ‘Infuriating man!’
‘Oh, Hester!’ Prudy hurried over and looked nervously from Hester’s stormy face to the white-spotted gown. ‘Shall I fetch the clothes brush?’ She hesitated. ‘Was the earl flirting with you?’
‘Yes, do please call Susan to fetch the clothes brush, but wait until his lordship has gone. And I am not sure what he was doing other than trying to throw me off balance so that I sell him this house. If he thinks he can do it by flirting, then he is in for a big surprise.’
‘Well, I do declare!’ Susan bustled in unsummoned as the sound of the front door closing reached them. ‘Look at the state of you, Miss Hester.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ Miss Prudhome was staring at Hester aghast, her pince-nez crooked. ‘He was flirting with you and I should have stopped him, hinted him away. My first duty as a chaperon and I have failed!’
‘The nerve of the man! And him an earl too-is he one of those London rakes they talk about, Miss Hester?’
‘Probably,’ Hester said vaguely. ‘Fetch me the clothes brush, please, Susan. Prudy, do sit down and compose yourself, no harm has been done.’
The maid hastened out, leaving Hester regarding her own clasped hands. Slowly she raised them, bent at the wrists in a gesture to push away an unseen figure. He had been so close. Her palms tingled as though from the imagined friction of superfine cloth against skin.
Hester rubbed her palms together briskly. That cool, polite manner and then that moment of quite shocking intimacy as he had gazed into her eyes! His closeness-the implication o his words-if not his tone-was suggestive of his desire for even greater closeness. Hester shook herself; he had wanted to throw her off balance and he had succeeded, that was all. It was nothing she was not perfectly capable of dealing with. Why, then, did she feel so disturbed, so… apprehensive?
Jethro reappeared, looking pleased with himself, Susan at his heels. ‘That was very good, Jethro. Your first member of the aristocracy and you carried it off well. Oh, thank you, Susan, I think it will brush away easily enough.’
‘I didn’t drop his gloves nor nothing.’ Jethro met her eye and carefully corrected himself. ‘Or anything. Do you think his lordship meant it when he said I could talk to his butler? I mean, that wasn’t something he just said because he was making up to you, was it, Miss Hester?’
‘That is a most unsuitable expression, Jethro. I am sure Lord Buckland will be a man of his word.’ Again that ripple of apprehension lapped at her nerves. He had said that he wanted the Moon House and somehow that had seemed not a request, but a statement of what was going to happen. Surely he would not stoop to attempting to suborn her staff? Oh, if only Prudy would stop snivelling; she could hardly think.
Susan was whispering urgently to Jethro. When they realised she was looking at them they fell silent and regarded her apprehensively. Finally Jethro said, ‘Are you going to sell the house to him, Miss Hester?’
‘Certainly not. This is our home now and I am not going to be turned out of it by some town buck because he has a whim to own it.’ Their relief was palpable: already they were beginning to put down roots here.
Lord Buckland’s departure left a flat feeling of anticlimax behind it, but Hester could not find the energy to change her clothes again and tackle any more housework.
‘We will take the rest of the day as a holiday from housework,’ she announced briskly. ‘The heavy luggage should arrive tomorrow, so let us explore outside and look at the garden and yard. Yes, you too, Prudy, I know it is cold, but at least the rain has stopped. Some fresh air will do us all good.’
Susan ran for their bonnets and cloaks, Jethro swathed himself in a vast baize apron to protect his finery and they set to exploring the back yard.
Hector the cob watched them curiously over his stable door as they poked about in the outbuildings lining the yard, one or other of them emerging from time to time with a treasure from amidst the cobwebby jumble. A coal scuttle, a flower basket, a large bag of clothes pegs full of woodworm.
‘It is too dirty to move anything, and it is getting dark,’ Hester announced after they had investigated the last lean-to. ‘I think we must definitely find a man to do the rough work and clear the garden and perhaps two women to finish the cleaning in the house. If they prove suitable, perhaps we can retain one of them as cook. I do wish the vicar would call, then I can ask his wife if she could recommend anyone.’
Jethro cleared his throat meaningfully and Hester turned to find a portly man in clerical black regarding her benevolently over the folds of a heavy scarf. He doffed his hat. ‘Good day, madam, I trust you will excuse my calling without notice and at rather a late hour, but my parish duties have kept me somewhat occupied today. However, I could not let the sun set without welcoming a new parishioner to Winterbourne St Swithin. My name is Bunting, Charles Bunting, and I am the vicar of this parish.’
Hester spared one despairing thought for the state of her skirts after dragging the coal scuttle out, and held out her hand. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Bunting, how very kind of you to call. I am Hester Lattimer, this is my companion, Miss Prudhome.’
She was aware of his quick downward glance at her ringless left hand as he took her right.
‘Then welcome to St Swithin’s, ladies. I do hope you will be able to join us in church on Sunday; I have taken the liberty of bringing a small pamphlet with our hours of service to which I have appended a few notes on the history and antiquities of the parish. Others have been kind enough to say they found it of interest.’ Hester took the proffered leaflet with suitable expressions of thanks and assurances that her household would most certainly he attending services. ‘And is there any other matter with which I may assist you, ma’am?’
‘Well, yes, in fact there is. But please, do not let me keep you standing out here, Vicar, may I offer you refreshment? A cup of tea, perhaps?’
‘No, no, Miss Lattimer, thank you. I must decline the pleasure today as I have a sick parishioner to visit shortly. In what way may I assist?’
‘I was hoping that perhaps Mrs Bunting might recommend some reliable women for the heavy cleaning work and perhaps a man for clearing the grounds and outbuildings.’
‘But of course! My wife will be most pleased to call with some names; there are many deserving families hereabouts who would welcome the work. And as for the outdoor duties, there is no one better than Ben Aston-he does odd jobs all around the village. I will send him along to see you. Good day to you, ma’am.’ And with a neat doff of his broad-brimmed hat he was off into the twilight at a surprisingly quick pace for such a rotund gentleman.
As he reached the gate he stopped and hurried back. ‘Forgive me for asking, Miss Lattimer, but are you quite comfortable in the Moon House? If you are taking on staff, I assume you intend to stay? I only ask because it has been empty for so long and, well-’ He broke off in confusion. ‘I should not have said anything, the villagers do gossip so. Good day, Miss Lattimer.’
‘Well,’ Susan said roundly as he vanished from view, ‘and what did he mean by that, other than to make us all uncomfortable?’
‘I have not the slightest idea.’ Hester’s brow wrinkled. ‘I think he spoke without thinking, then realised that the direction he was taking led to something he could-or should- not discuss.’
‘But you are staying, Miss Hester?’ Jethro persisted. ‘I mean, you said you weren’t sure yet whether we could afford any staff?’
Hester suppressed a smile at Jethro’s unconscious use of ‘we’: he and Susan were ‘family’ indeed. ‘Certainly we are,’ she said firmly, marching towards the back door. ‘I do not care whether I can afford the extra help or not; I intend demonstrating to my lord the earl that I am here to stay and an increased household will make th
at point very plain.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘N0 good, Miss Hester, this dratted stuff won’t shift. I’ll need a longer stepladder and some shears.’
Jethro jumped down from the folding steps set somewhat askew on the flags before the front door and glowered up at the mass of ivy, which obscured half of the façade of the house. ‘Why don’t we wait until that chap Vicar said he’d talk to comes round? I ‘spect he’s got his own ladders.’
Hester stood beside him, hands on hips, head tilted back to regard the frosted green tangle. ‘Ben Aston? Yes, he can do all of the rest of the front, I just want to see what is over the door. There is something, you can just glimpse the odd bit of carving.’
She had woken that Saturday morning with a restless urge to imprint herself on the house that even the prospect of the heavy luggage arriving did not satisfy. Prudy had agreed to venture into the village with a shopping list of considerable length (looking as though she was setting forth for deepest Africa, as Jethro whispered to Susan). Susan had set to with a broom to sweep the front path and then polish the brass knocker and door handle and Hester had put Jethro to cutting back the mass of dead foliage that overhung the path and crowded the front door. With that clear, the weight of ivy over the transom was even more apparent.
Of course, finishing off cleaning inside and deciding where everything should go was far more important than getting cold and dirty in the wintry garden. but there was something very satisfying about being here in plain view of passersby-whoever they might be-making it quite clear she intended to stay.
Hester had spared not a single glance at the house over the road, had ignored the creak of the gates opening earlier and even disregarded the sound of trotting hooves. Two horses, her sharp ears told her. The earl and a groom or two grooms out exercising his hacks?
If she were his lordship, she would stay well away from the Moon House for a day or so, build up the suspense over what his next tactic would be. Being able to see this so clearly was surprisingly no help in suppressing that suspense. When would the earl call, and what would his approach be? And how was she going to react to him if he tried to flirt with her again? She was annoyed that she was looking forward to the prospect. Doubtless it was simply the anticipation of an intellectual battle of wits.
‘Do you want me to try and find some shears, then, Miss Hester?’ Jethro was still waiting patiently, the tip of his nose red in the cold.
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll likely be some time.’ Jethro made off round the side of the house, leaving Hester trampling briskly on thoughts of Lord Buckland. She stepped closer to the door to try to see what peering up from beneath would reveal. Yes, there was definitely a carving.
Without thinking, Hester hitched up her skirts and climbed the first two steps of the ladder. With outstretched arms she could catch hold of some trailing strands of ivy, but not enough; all that happened when she pulled was that it broke off short. With a mutter of irritation she climbed one step higher to the top of the ladder and reached up again.
‘That’s better!’ Now she could get a good double handful. Hester gripped, tugged and suddenly a mass about a foot square came away in her hands, the stepladder rocked on the uneven flags, she teetered, gripped harder on the ivy and felt it give way as she did so.
Should she jump? Or lean forward? Or… The ivy gave completely and she fell backwards to be caught neatly and lowered to the ground, her back to her rescuer.
Hands still gripped her securely, but gently, around the waist and Hester stood stock still. She could feel the man’s body steadying her-his thighs were hard against her and his hands were warm even through her clothing. To wrench away would be undignified. Mysteriously she had not the slightest doubt who it was who had rescued her. In a moment he would release her, but for the moment it was wonderful to be held and supported, for she was utterly breathless, no doubt from shock. It seemed a very long time since anyone had held her. Hester’s hands went to her waist, overlapping the large ones that encircled it. This really had to stop-at any moment someone might pass.
‘My lord!’
She was freed and spun round to face him, mingled indignation and embarrassment on her face. What was she thinking of? She should have freed herself instantly, not stood there letting him take liberties. No, that was not fair, all he had done was hold her steady.
A rangy bay was standing at her gate, the reins carelessly tossed over the gatepost. The earl was attired for riding-cream buckskins, boots, a heavy dark coat carelessly open- his hat, gloves and whip were lying on the path where he must have dropped them as he saw her start to fall.
In the open air he was even more attractive than inside, she decided, still searching for the right words to thank him and at the same time convey that his behaviour had overstepped the mark. His hair was ruffled by the wind, his skin was more tanned than she had realised, the riding clothes flattered his broad shoulders and long legs.
‘Thank you, my lord, but really…’ What was she going to say if he asked her how she had known it was him? That she just sensed it?
‘Really you would have preferred to break your head on the flags? Good morning, Miss Lattimer. It is naturally delightful to see you in the garden, but surely that lad of yours would be better suited to removing the ivy than you?’
‘I know,’ Hester agreed with a rueful shrug. He was quite right, she had been very foolish and extremely undignified. It seemed she was fated to present a thoroughly unladylike impression every time they met. ‘Jethro has gone for the shears. But there is something carved over the door and I wanted to see what it was.’
Lord Buckland stepped past her and looked up at the wall where the ivy was partly torn away. ‘You are quite right, but was it so urgent?’
‘When I want something, I am afraid I am usually somewhat impetuous,’ Hester admitted.
One dark brow quirked upwards and Hester was left with the flustered impression that she had said something provocative. ‘Very well, let me see what I can uncover.’ Before Hester could protest she found herself holding his coat while the earl stood on the top step and investigated the ivy.
His balance was really extremely good, she thought, staring absently at the play of muscles in his thighs and back as he shifted his weight to allow for the unstable steps. Then she realised what she was doing, blushed hectically and fixed her eyes on his hands instead. With a hard downwards yank a whole curtain of ivy and root came away, revealing the bare stone behind.
Unmistakable, despite the marring remnants of stem and birds’ nests, was n oval panel carved with a crescent moon, a solitary star caught on its lower horn.
‘The Moon House! Oh, how charming.’ Hester stared entranced at the carving. It was a simple thing, but somehow elegant and feminine like the little house itself.
‘Yes, work by a good carver.’ There was something in the earl’s voice that made Hester look sharply at his profile, but she could read nothing there besides interest as he ran a hand lightly down the curve of the moon. ‘Someone took pains with this house.’
‘I know, it feels loved,’ Hester remarked as he climbed down, tossing the armful of ivy to one side. ‘Goodness, look at the state of your clothes, my lord. I will go and get a clothes brush, I will not be a moment.’
She had thrust his coat into his arms and whisked inside before Guy could argue, leaving him on the doorstep. Somewhat impetuous! Yes, that was certainly one way to describe Miss Lattimer. And determined with it. Not that he could criticise either trait; it was impetuosity that had brought him down here and stubborn determination that was keeping him. That, and a speaking pair of golden brown eyes.
The newly polished door knocker caught his attention and he raised a hand to it. It was an unusual design: a bow, pivoted at the top and hung so that it would strike against a quiver of arrows at its base.
A crescent moon and a hunting bow-Diana’s symbols.
The cry from the casement above his head was sudden and sh
ort, cut off on a choking gasp. Guy took a rapid step backwards to stare up, but the window was almost closed and there was nothing to be seen. The silence that followed was almost as alarming and he shouldered his way through the door and took the stairs two at a time without conscious thought.
The room above the door was a bedchamber and to his relief Hester was there, alone and on her feet. She was staring through an open door, her clasped hands raised to her mouth as if to push back any further sound.
He reached her side and looked past her into a perfectly normal-seeming dressing room. ‘Miss Lattimer? Hester, what is it? What scared you?’
‘The pearls,’ she said with some difficulty. She unclasped her hands and pointed at the floor, which was strewn with small white globes.
‘You have broken your necklace,’ Guy soothed. Hers seemed a disproportionate reaction, it must be a much loved heirloom. ‘They will easily be restrung, there is no harm done. Let me call your maid to gather them up.’
‘She has gone to the nearest farm for eggs,’ Hester said stiffly. ‘I did not break it, I found it on the floor, broken, the first night we were here. The pearls were picked up and put in that bowl there.’ She pointed at a delicate china bowl on the dressing table. ‘That has not moved. How did they come to be spilt again?’
‘Perhaps your maid knocked them over this morning and neglected to replace them.’ She was shivering with reaction. Concerned, Guy put out a hand and touched her shoulder.
‘No, she came downstairs when I did, then went out without coming back up.’
‘Young Ackland? Your companion?’
‘He would not come into my chamber without asking first, whether or not I was here, and I know Miss Prudhome has not been upstairs since before breakfast.’
Guy looked at the window, closed almost to the top. No breeze stirred the heavy curtains; besides, what flapping curtain could scoop the pearls from a bowl, but leave it untouched?
