by Julia Donner
Taffy huffed out a puff of disgust. “No need to convince them of anything. They’ve known about the family plans for years. It was no surprise in the servant hall when he brought you here, only that it took him so long. I suspect that the ones who’ve stayed on are those who miss his mother.”
“That is a problem that must be corrected immediately. While you are in the village, make inquiries as to hiring more servants. For now, we will make do with local help. We shall need an army. Include a seamstress and his lordship needs a valet.”
Taffy shook out the nightgown and hung it up. “Lord Clarey finally passed away. His man will be looking for a position.”
“Write to him. Meanwhile, I have some questions to put to Holcombe. There are definite signs of mismanagement.”
Taffy picked up the cup and saucer and joined Leticia at the door. “Why do you suspect mismanagement?”
Leticia placed her palm flat on the door panel to halt Taffy from lifting the latch. Lowering her voice, she said, “Bainbridge doesn’t gamble, and as far as I can tell, does not invest in risky ventures. Last year, I heard that he sold three mares and a stud. Do you have any idea what that brought in to the coffers?”
When Taffy shook her head, Leticia mouthed, “Thousands. Stokebrook Stud is one of the best, rivaling Lady Ravenswold’s.”
“Then how can there be no money to pay everyone?”
“Precisely my question. I need to see the ledgers.”
Taffy lifted the door latch. “Shouldn’t you leave this to his lordship?”
“He’s made his lack of interest clear by allowing Holcombe the run of the place, but the other night, he told me that from now on, I should direct the house as I see fit.”
Instead of inspiring confidence, this revelation wiped the sternness from Taffy’s face. Worry filled her age-faded eyes. “Letty girl, do you think it’s wise to aggravate a man of his temperament?”
“Ignore the local gossip. Bainbridge is a lamb. He’d never do anything to hurt me.”
“I wasn’t speaking of his lordship. A man like Holcombe is no one to cross. A steward’s position is not without power, and he’s had the run of this estate for years. After so long a time, it is no longer a matter of coveting. He will see this place as his own and you as an interloper.”
“Taffy, you can’t be suggesting that I allow this to go on?”
“No. But perhaps you should confront him after discussing it with his lordship. Allow him to sack the fellow.”
After a moment of thought, she nodded. “You’re quite right, but I don’t want to take up this matter with Bainbridge with no proof. I must see the ledgers. There could be other drains on the estate that I know nothing about. The old earl was off his head half of the time. What if he is the cause of this situation?”
Taffy pulled the door open and peered up and down the passage. “Holcombe has an appointment after luncheon tomorrow. As soon as he asks for his horse or a carriage, I’ll come get you. For now, Mrs. Nugent is waiting. She’s been here at Stokebrook for some time, before Holcombe’s arrival, but only recently as a cook. She’s not particularly forthcoming to me and reserved in her dealings with the others. You may have better luck than I. My inquiries are deemed suspicious.”
Chapter 12
Mrs. Nugent might have been Taffy’s twin, had they shared the same hair color and Taffy not twenty years older. Beneath the edges of the cook’s cap, honey-brown hair had been scraped back so that not a wisp escaped. Taffy was not so ruthless with her iron-colored curls.
Stern and self-possessed, Mrs. Nugent crossed the study’s carpeted floor. She carried a slender booklet Leticia assumed was for arranging menus. With calm grace, she took the seat in front of the desk when it was offered.
Whatever Mrs. Nugent was now, she had not been born a servant. She had been trained at some point how to approach a chair and sit properly. There was a trick to it that had taken Leticia longer to learn than it had taken the rest of her classmates at seminary.
“I am glad that you did not bring your account books today,” Leticia began. “My purpose was for us to meet each other and settle a few questions. We can form a more comprehensive approach later.”
Mrs. Nugent dipped her chin in a nod. “As you wish, my lady, but we have met, although you will not remember.”
“We have? I apologize, Mrs. Nugent, for not remembering.”
“It is doubtful you would. You were only three months old at the time.”
Leticia paused to digest that information and form her next question. “You worked at Charhill when you were a girl?”
“Yes, in the kitchens, before I was accepted as an assistant to Stokebrook’s previous cook. I started out in service at Charhill as a tweeny.”
“Why was I in the kitchen?”
“Lord Bainbridge, just a lad then, had come down to ask for assistance. He carried you with him.”
“How curious. If you wouldn’t mind, will you tell me about it?”
Mrs. Nugent stared at the edge of the desk as she spoke. “He surprised us when he appeared below stairs. He never said a word. Waited in the passage to be acknowledged. Couldn’t be missed for long. You were three months at the time, teething and crying. Shrieking, actually, from the pain.”
“Mrs. Nugent, you amaze me with this story. How extraordinary. A lad carrying a crying infant? My earliest memory of the earl is when he taught me to ride. Why had he gone down to the kitchens?”
“He said your nurse sent him for something to ease the teething. I doubt she sent him, precisely. Knowing his lordship, he most likely refused to give you up once he held you. And you are quite right. It was most unusual behavior for a lad, but then, he was an unusual boy. Tall for his age and grave. Quiet in his tread and manner, but in this instance, his distress about your discomfort had him quite overset.”
“He has a protective nature to this day.”
“Permit me to say that it was more than that. Everyone here and at Charhill knew about his attachment to you. Whenever he and the countess visited your mother, he went directly to the nursery.”
Hearing that, she realized that after the previous Countess Bainbridge had left Stokebrook, there would have been no reason for her son to visit Charhill. “Since I will no doubt encounter this problem in future, what did the kitchen dispense?”
“Oil of clove, rubbed on the gums, directly on the buds that form before the teeth come through.”
“And this application eases the pain?”
“That or the firm massaging of the area. You stopped crying when he applied the warmed oil on your gums. There were two teeth coming forth on the bottom.”
“You’re saying that Bainbridge applied the oil?”
“He wouldn’t let anyone else touch you. Cook put a drop on his forefinger. The instant he started to massage in the oil, you immediately stopped crying and clutched him with both of your little hands. You refused to let go. Nurse relayed that it was the only way to pacify you until your teeth came in. Everyone set it down as charming.”
Leticia didn’t think it was at all charming and quelled the urge to squirm. Eager to leave the subject, she said, “We will soon be visited by the Marquess of Carnall for the business of selecting a sire and dam for a foal. The banquet hall is far too large, and with the limited staff, unpractical.”
“Yes, my lady. It seats fifty. Twice that, of course, when the second table is brought in. If I might suggest, the breakfast room?” When Leticia agreed with a nod, the cook asked, “Do you know of Lord Carnall’s preferences?”
“Unfortunately, no, but I leave that to you. His valet will know. I’m quite interested in resurrecting the Harvest Fair. Stokebrook hasn’t held one since his lordship’s mother was in residence. There’s a great deal of work involved. You will need to think about additions to the kitchen staff.” When Mrs. Nugent’s attitude altered, as if withdrawing, Leticia asked, “What is it? You do not require more help in the kitchens?”
“It isn’t that, my lad
y. I’ve been making do with a scullery and a tweeny. There is little left in the way of household servants to feed. His lordship pays little attention to what is laid before him and prefers plain fare. When he remembers to eat.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“It’s quite uncomfortable to mention, but the budget, my lady. Mr. Holcombe has expressly stated that economies are to be made. There is no leeway in the household budget to hire.”
Leticia felt a grim smile tighten her lips. The cook’s eyes widened when she heard the reply to Holcombe’s edict. “Mrs. Nugent, belay your worries. Lord Bainbridge’s secretary is no longer in charge of household matters. An estate of this size requires forty servants at the least. You will be expected to feed them as well as future guests. Tell me what you will need at our next meeting. As soon as a major domo and housekeeper have been put in place, additional servants will most certainly be hired. You will have the approval of all kitchen staff.”
“I am relieved to hear it. This is a grand estate. We who are left are anxious to have it restored. If I may, my lady, we are so very happy to finally have you here at Stokebrook. Now that you are, all will be put back to rights.”
Leticia raised her eyebrows. “Finally, Mrs. Nugent?”
The cook stood and folded the slender booklet used to carry menus close to her chest. “Everyone here has been waiting for your arrival and have known of the engagement since the day of your christening.” When Leticia tilted her head, Mrs. Nugent explained, “You were christened here, my lady, in Stokebrook’s chapel.”
Chapter 13
Leticia stared at the study door after Mrs. Nugent left. Why hadn’t she been told that her family connection to Stokebrook was so entwined that she had been baptized here instead of the village church?
She had to take into account that her parents spent most of their time in London, not at Charhill. They came to visit when weather permitted in the winter and spent summer’s at home—the usual pattern of life for a member of the gentry entrenched in social and diplomatic circles. Taffy had provided affection. Her parents supplied concerned direction, and Charhill, a safe and entertaining childhood. She’d also been encouraged, even pushed, to be better educated than girls of her station. Not that she’d minded and relished all aspects of learning.
For the last six years, her guardian had diligently worked to eradicate beliefs he considered heretical. Cousin Henry maintained and firmly attested that the extensive education of females was a deplorable exercise and her schooling unsuitable. Girls were to be trained to present a decorative picture and preserve their husband’s house in a manner that brought him ease from the demands of life’s tribulations. That is where a female’s education began and ended.
Leticia tossed aside the quill she’d been toying with. “What balderdash.”
She got up from the desk and was soon pleased to learn that the bellpull actually worked. A housemaid whose name she couldn’t remember came through the door.
“Yes, m’lady?”
“I can’t recollect your name.”
“Margaret.” She dipped a curtsey. “I came up from the village this morning.”
“Oh, now I place you. You’re Blacksmith Trupp’s niece.”
“Yes, m’lady, and thank you. I am that grateful for the position.”
A grim smile lifted one side of Leticia’s mouth. “You may not be so appreciative in the days to come. Stokebrook is in desperate need of an extensive cleaning. Would you send word to the stable that I would like a horse brought up? If a groom is free, I would ask for someone who is knowledgeable about the tenant farms to accompany me.”
By the time she’d returned to Stokebrook late in the afternoon, she had a clearer idea of what Mrs. Nugent had hinted in her veiled revelations about Holcombe’s practices. Should she confront the villain in his lair or wait to discuss the matter with Bainbridge and have him at her side when she did so?
Bainbridge had told her that she was to have the running of the place. He hadn’t specified dealings with his estate manager and secretary. And that was another issue. Stokebrook was too large and complicated to have the two positions held by one man.
The canter up the road to Stokebrook, the intimidating view of its sprawling size and crumbling majesty, again shriveled her confidence. Cousin Henry had allowed her limited access to the running of Charhill. She certainly knew how, but had only been allotted the tasks that he had no interest in, such as the management of the household staff and providing interesting menus for his ever-expanding girth. The scale of the task of rejuvenation and restoration at Stokebrook was monumental. An added concern was that something about its neglect and decline felt off-kilter.
She drew the horse down to a walk as she considered the reasons. It was not unusual for the spoiled men of the aristocracy to bleed their estates dry in the pursuit of their pleasures and amusements. Some never visited nor bothered until it was time to mortgage their holdings. That was not the case with Bainbridge. Only the best was good enough for his treasured horses. He wouldn’t jeopardize that.
Questions led to suspicion, which led to a conclusion she didn’t care to acknowledge. Her slip into insecurity now led her to doubt the decision to marry and rely on Bainbridge, in whom she’d now found a lacking. Apprehension increased and moved onto shame. It wasn’t right to judge him when there might be an unavoidable cause, and no person could be perfect. She certainly couldn’t claim perfection.
As she dismounted, and the doors thrown open to greet her arrival, she saw Holcombe’s outline in the entryway. Her heart sank, then rebounded. This was no time for dithering or pretending to be nothing more than a simple miss oblivious to worldly matters. After what she’d seen and heard on the tenant farms, it was time to marshal her wits and courage. Bainbridge had said Stokebrook was in need of a countess. She could do that.
A footman took the horse away as she shook out her skirts. The crunch and scrape of hooves on gravel retreated. Time to confront a sticky problem. Time to put an officious steward in his place.
A cool draft swept out to greet her as she entered. Holcombe glanced over her frock, the one she’d worn to make her escape from her cousins. A slight movement of his upper lip revealed his distaste, his displeasure that the lady of Stokebrook would show herself to such disadvantage. Too bad. Her habit still hung in her bedchamber closet at Charhill. The world would not come to an end if she rode about the countryside unfashionably clothed. Perhaps it would be amusing, putting this twisty fellow in his rightful place.
She tripped off her gloves. “Holcombe, just the man I wanted to see.”
“How may I be of service?”
His tone implied that he was put out and making the offer out of duress, or worse, to placate. She initially thought herself small in character to have judged his narrow features and blunt nose as rodent-like. Today, he peered at her with a hint of disdain and suppressed hostility. No need to be nice about it. He did indeed look exactly like a rat.
“I have just returned from a ride about the tenant farms. Couldn’t get to all of them of course, but managed to take in the most needy.”
That put his long nose out of joint. He stopped himself in time from completing a sniff. “Needy, my lady?”
“I shall make up a list, of course, but the priority is the Duggett’s. That roof was to be repaired last year, and it didn’t get done.”
“Perhaps it has escaped your notice that an agricultural depression has occurred since the ending of the war.”
“No, Holcombe, I am acutely aware of it. Nonetheless, the thatching on the roof must be carried out. Have it done as quickly as possible. I do not wish the widow to endure another wet autumn or heavy snowfall with a roof in that condition.”
“If you will forgive me, my lady, one cannot expect a woman to comprehend the intricacies of tenant or long-lease farming, but for your enlightenment, the lease is about to end on that farm. Amalgamation may be the best solution.”
His condescension sna
pped the tether of her patience. “Mr. Holcombe, I have lived in this county most of my life and know the particulars of every person living here. The Duggett family has held that lease longer than any of Stokebrook’s tenants. The widow has every intension of continuing the lease with three healthy sons to carry on.”
He unsealed his pinched lips to say, “Everyone knows how tenants strip the land at the end of a lease. Do not delude—”
“Mr. Holcombe, the Duggetts are not the sort who would sink to such practices.”
“It is my understanding that—”
“Your understanding of the matter is neither here nor there, Holcombe. Mrs. Duggett expressed a concern that you have not responded to her wish to continue the lease. I am sure Bainbridge would wish it so, and the income of fifty pounds a year must be the largest of all the tenants. And for your better understanding of my understanding of this issue, I know precisely what a long lease means and have studied modern farming techniques, which will no doubt sustain our tenants in the postwar depression we now endure. It is little more than common sense, and far more economical, to maintain leaseholders, than wait for new tenants unfamiliar with the land to accrue profit. If you still disagree, I can take the matter to Bainbridge.”
Leticia examined his reaction. She had him at a stalemate. As she suspected, Holcombe had reservation about direct confrontation with the earl. He hid his swelling outrage well, but she saw around the chill of his pale green eyes to the seething rage beneath. His flushed cheeks were now ruddy with suppressed fury. She hoped she hid her urge to smile. The clean up of the flagstones would be a nasty task if Holcombe did explode. She’d created a spiteful adversary and didn’t care. What was the good of being a countess if she couldn’t make use of the title?
If Holcombe were merely an upper servant or estate manager, it would be within her purview to make a request, but he was steward, manager, and secretary all in one. More to the point, she was really unhappy that Mrs. Duggett had been dealt a slight and the request of a valuable tenant had been ignored. In becoming Mrs. Duggett’s advocate, she’d made an active enemy of Holcombe, who appeared to have some strange hold over Bainbridge, and that influence irritated more than she realized until this moment of confrontation.
