A Pitiful Remnant

by Judith B. Glad

  Alanna had writ that Uncle Percival had returned and was attempting to order Tumos Hakon around. He'd been unsuccessful, but Alanna suspected that her uncle was going behind Tumos' back and dealing directly with some of the customers for Ackerslea dairy products. He had brought his nephew with him, and Darius was attempting to court Alanna.

  She read one paragraph again. He frightens me, sister. I believe he will use force if charm fails him. I have taken to locking my door at night, and keeping Tamsen with me at all times during the day.

  Tamsen was a force to be reckoned with, having been first Lisanor's nurse, and then Alanna's. She was as protective of them both as any mother hen, and would have come to Guillemot had not Lisanor pointed out that Alanna would need her more. Tapping the feather against her lips, she pondered.

  A characteristic knock signaled Nettles' return.

  "Enter." She paid him no attention as he crossed the room, but just as he reached the door to the bathing room, a thought occurred to her. "Nettles? Have you any friends--comrades, perhaps--who need work?"

  "M'lady?"

  "I have need of a man who can guard and protect an elderly man and a girl. Someone who bears little respect for the nobility and will not be daunted by a member of the upper class. Do you know of anyone?"

  His expression grew suspicious. "I don't know nobody like that."

  "Oh, come now. Surely you know some ex-soldiers who are honest men, but not enamored of the ton?"

  His face remained blank and he reached for the doorknob, as if eager to escape.

  "Oh, go in, then. But give some thought to what I've asked you. It is important."

  She laid her letter aside, unsure of how to finish it. Alanna needed protection from Darius. Ackerslea might need to be protected from Percival's greed. And she could not leave Guillemot, for her husband's estate was in far greater need of her talents and energy than Ackerslea.

  Still it galled that her own estate might suffer because she was giving all her attention to Guillemot. She could--and would--bring Alanna here, but she could not oversee Hakon from a distance of twenty-seven miles, over wretched roads.

  The door opened again. Her husband, leaning on Nettle's capable shoulder, emerged. They made their slow way to the chaise where Guillemot spent his days. She did notice that he was taking more of his weight than he had on their wedding day and the lines of pain bracketing his mouth were less pronounced. Once settled, he leaned back and closed his eyes. "That will be all, Nettles. When you've cleaned up the mess we made, you're free for the rest of the day."

  "But sor--"

  "Nettles, you have served me day and night for months. It is time for you to rest. The Duck's Nest stout used to be the best in England."

  "It ain't as good as what me granda served, back in Little Bywater."

  "You can't know that until you've tasted it. Go on."

  Nettles disappeared, but his industry was evidenced by the sounds coming from the half-open door to the bathing room. When he at last emerged, carrying a wicker basket full of linen, he said, "I'll be back in--"

  "If I see you before tomorrow morning, I'll court-martial you, Sergeant. Go."

  Lisanor was amazed when Nettles dropped the basket, straightened and saluted. "Yes, sor, Major, sor."

  Guillemot chuckled. "That's better. Enjoy yourself."

  When the door had closed behind Nettles, Guillemot said, "Now then, my dear, what's this about your wanting an honest ex-soldier who lacks respect for his betters?"

  Chapter Seven

  Oh, dear. She'd never thought to tell Nettles that her request was to be between the two of them. "I...ah... Oh, for goodness sake! Here, my lord. Read it for yourself." She carried Alanna's letter to him.

  She sank onto the hassock before his chair and watched his face as he read. His expression went from mild curiosity, to amusement--Alanna had called Uncle Percival a fat little leech--to narrow-eyed, thin-lipped wrath. When he at last lowered the crossed and recrossed sheet to his lap, she wanted to sigh in relief. His reaction was all that she could have desired.

  "How old is your sister?" His tone was at odds with the calm expression he wore.

  "She is just turned eighteen, but what--"

  "Was there some overwhelming reason why you left a young woman--little more than a child--of eighteen alone and at the mercy of predatory relatives?"

  Speechless, she could only stare at him. Why was he angry with her? When at least she found her voice, she said, "We thought it best that someone in the family remain at Ackerslea, to oversee--"

  "You have a bailiff, have you not?"

  "Yes, Tumos Hakon. He was bailiff for nearly forty years, until my grandfather replaced him last year with an estate agent. Mr. Fishman was...unsatisfactory. I discharged him before I left Ackerslea Farm, and Tumos stepped in to fill the vacancy until I could find a replacement. But he--"

  "That would make him sixty or thereabouts. Is he a large man? Strong?"

  "He was, but these past few years have taken their toll on him. That was one reason we felt Alanna should remain there." She twisted her fingers together as she heard her own words and realized how she had lied to herself. "She did not want to come here with me, you see. It was her suggestion that she remain at Ackerslea, in the event that Tumos encounter problems."

  His brows, which had been drawn ferociously together, raised. "Why did you allow it?"

  "My lord, I am the best judge of what is good for Ackerslea Farm, and I agreed with Alanna that it would be unwise to leave the manor without someone in a position of responsibility."

  "I see." Guillemot grimaced and shifted in the chair. "My dear, might I trouble you to bring something for me to rest my foot upon?"

  She sprang to her feet. "Oh, I am sorry. Here. Let me--" She scooted the hassock into its usual place. "There. Do you need help?"

  "No, not at all." Once his foot was resting on the hassock, he seemed to relax, but the brackets about his mouth did not soften. "I regret that I must ask, but could you also bring a chair close enough for us to both be seated while conversing?"

  While she fussed, he rested his head against the chair back and closed his eyes. Lisanor knew that the improvement in his mobility had not been accompanied by a lessening of pain in his buttock. Elmer Snead, who had taught her all that she knew about animal husbandry, had once said that muscle injuries always took four times as long to mend as broken bones. Of course, he'd been speaking of livestock, but still...

  "My lord?"

  His eyes opened. "I must apologize, my dear. I did not intend to scold, but you must admit that a girl of your sister's tender years is hardly qualified to oversee a holding like Ackerslea. And it seems to me that your bailiff should have an assistant, or perhaps even two. I cannot imagine how he has coped."

  "Oh, I have been acting his assistant for these six years, ever since Grandfather's rheumatism made riding difficult. Hights have always overseen all activities at Ackerslea," she said, with no little pride.

  At that his eyes widened. "I believe you are two and twenty?"

  "That is correct. I--" His upraised hand caused her to bite off what she had intended to say.

  "So you were sixteen when you became the bailiff's assistant?" He shook his head, clearly lacking words to describe his amazement.

  "That is correct." She leaned forward, determined to make him understand how different life at Ackerslea was from that on an estate like Guillemot Burn. "We Hights have always prided ourselves on our heritage. We are proud of our yeoman ancestry and have never sought to rise above our station. We are farmers--"

  "Very wealthy farmers."

  "Well, yes, but only because for hundreds of years we Hights have cared more for our land, for our livestock, than we care for the trappings of wealth. We are not afraid to bend our backs in the fields nor to dirty our hands in the pens. Our wealth was earned by the sweat of our brows, not inherited, nor won at the gaming tables."

  "As was ours."

  "Ackerslea began as
a small holding granted Hugh Hight, an archer, in-- I beg your pardon?"

  "Guillemot Burn was empty land granted Eustache Guillelmus, a squire to a minor knight in William of Normandy's army. He came from good peasant stock, and he and his sons began a small farm, one which gradually grew through the labor of subsequent generations. The title came later, after an ancestor of mine saved Edward's life at the battle of Towton."

  "So we are hereditary enemies. You Norman, I Saxon."

  "I hope not, for the sake of this marriage we have entered into. Now, then, my dear, let us discuss this situation at Ackerslea. You must see that your sister, competent though she may be--and I am not entirely convinced of that--cannot remain there, unchaperoned, unprotected."

  Stung at having her judgment questioned, Lisanor said, "I assure you that no one who rightfully belongs at Ackerslea will allow harm to come to Alanna. But I wanted to be certain she had a strong protector, which is why I asked Nettles--"

  His snort of derision startled her. "To hire her a protector? My dear, that would be putting the fox into the chicken pen, if your sister is anywhere near the beauty you are. But your idea is not without merit. Just a trifle misguided."

  His brows once again overshadowed his deep-set eyes and the corners of his mouth were turned down. "Might I trouble you to ring for Carleton?"

  In the three days since their marriage, she had learned that her husband was decisive, impatient, and intolerant of sloth. He was also thoughtful of others, which meant that his servants were completely devoted to him. None of the house servants had been paid in nearly half a year, yet only the younger, newer ones had left Guillemot. Although he had not been at home since a brief visit four years past, the older servants' memories of him as a youth had kept them loyal, for they had believed that when he returned, Guillemot would once again be the prosperous estate it had once been.

  Of all Lisanor had learned about her new home and her new husband, that last was the most welcome. His dedication to Guillemot was as great as hers to Ackerslea. His care for his dependents equaled her grandfather's for his. And his sense of fiscal responsibility was, if anything, stronger than hers. All but one of her previous reservations had been cancelled by what she had learned about him.

  She still did not know what sort of a husband he would be to her, but she was heartened by his equal reluctance to enter upon the physical side of their marriage until they had become better acquainted. Of course, she did wonder if he would have been so accommodating, had his health been better.

  Carleton had entered quietly while she ruminated. His "At once, my lord," caught her attention.

  "And Carleton, I'll have a letter to be carried to London early tomorrow."

  "Yes, my lord. Will there be anything else?"

  To Lisanor's great surprise, her husband's face relaxed into a boyish grin. "Could you perhaps manage to call me 'major'? 'My lord' sounds so...so stuffy."

  Carleton's lips might have twitched. "No, my lord." He turned and walked out.

  As soon as the door was closed, Guillemot laughed. "I never could win an argument with him." He sobered. "Might I trouble you for my lap desk, my dear?"

  She took a page from his book. "Only if you will call me Lisanor. 'My dear' sounds so stuffy."

  "Ah, you're trying to turn me up sweet. Never mind. I'm no longer angry with you, for I can see what you were about. Tell me. Is your sister--Aline?--as terrifyingly competent as you?"

  "Alanna. Yes, only more so. She is small, and dainty and soft-spoken, not so interested in farming as I am, but there is little about holding household she dies not know. And she is astonishingly stubborn."

  "Yet you felt she would be able to manage Ackerslea--which, I understand, is a substantial farm--alone?"

  "Well, not exactly. Hakon is there, of course, and so are Phil, Swayne and Elmer. They would protect Alanna with their lives. They are also quite large and muscular."

  "But servants, are they not?"

  "Not at all. They are tenants, and employees. Phil Dumont oversees the stables under Tumos Hakon's supervision. Andrew Swayne manages the dairy herd, and Elmer Snead is responsible for the rest of the livestock."

  "My compliments. It sounds as if Ackerslea is well organized. But that still doesn't excuse your leaving a young gentlewoman alone and unprotected."

  "No, you are right. I suppose I hadn't thought it through. In my defense, however, Tamsen insisted on staying with Alanna. She was our nurse and can be quite a dragon when one of her charges is threatened." Tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, she regarded him in silence for some seconds. Finally, "Might I ask if you have a solution to the problem of Uncle Percival and his nephew?"

  "I believe I do, and it should arrive any mo--"

  A knock on the door was followed immediately by its opening. The dowager marchioness stepped inside, already in full spate.

  "...I simply do not understand why you could not have allowed me to finish the flower I was stitching. I declare, Clarence, you never used to be so impatient. Furthermore... Oh! Good morning, my dear. I did not see you." Her smile was, as it had been ever since Lisanor's arrival, sweetly insincere.

  "If you will be seated, Mother, I will explain."

  She fussed a bit more, and scolded him for receiving her in his shirtsleeves. "Indeed, I should think you could at least don a dressing gown. A gentleman--"

  "I fear I am still more the soldier than the gentleman, Mother. Now, if you will be at peace for a few minutes, I believe I have a small task that no one but you is so well suited to undertake."

  She preened, tutted, and leaned forward expectantly.

  Lisanor had to admire his adept handling of the dowager. It was really unfortunate that he had not been well enough to do so the day she arrived. Lady Guillemot's remarks about her appearance still stung.

  "And so," he concluded, "Miss Alanna Hight is needed at Ackerslea to represent the family, at least during these early days while we plan how to manage the two properties, so widely separated. But until today, I had not been aware how advanced in age her companion was. I confess to a fear that Miss Turbot may not be able to fulfill her duties adequately. And besides, as a connection now to Guillemot, the girl should have a chaperone more in keeping with her station. I wondered if perhaps you might know..."

  "Well, of course she should. That a mere maid could be thought to be a proper companion... I declare, my dear, I do not know what you might have been thinking. But of course, with your grandfather so newly gone... Now let me think." She tapped her chin with one finger.

  His lordship turned his head and caught Lisanor's eye. He winked!

  She bit her lip in order to hide its twitching. What a complete hand he was. I like him more each day. And he was right to scold me. I should have arranged matters better.

  Her admiration increased as he carefully manipulated his mother into volunteering to travel to Ackerslea this very day, to care for "that poor, abandoned child."

  Upon hearing those words, Lisanor mentally revised the letter she had been intending to send to her sister. I must warn her to use the utmost diplomacy. But the very characteristic which she most found irritating--Alanna's ability to gently and sweetly convince almost anyone that what she wanted them to do was their own idea--would be the perfect way to handle Lady Guillemot.

  When his mother finally took her leave, on her way to harass her maid into packing everything she owned within the hour so that they might depart immediately after luncheon, Lord Guillemot collapsed back against the chaise. "I feel as if I've fought a battle," he said. His voice was faint.

  "You were magnificent, my lord."

  "Clarence."

  "Oh, yes. You were magnificent, Clarence."

  "Pure self-interest, my...Lisanor. No honeymooning couple should be saddled with the groom's mother." He drew one hand across his brow, but kept his eyes closed. "I do not remember her being quite so...so verbose."

  "I wonder if she has felt lonely since your father's death."


  His snort was answer enough. "I cannot recall my parents ever having what might be called a conversation. Now that I think on it, Mother would chatter and Father would grunt at random intervals." He shifted as if in some discomfort and opened his eyes. "My lap desk?"

  "Oh, of course." She fetched that item and settled it across his lap. "Are you going to tell me what you have conceived?"

  "I should not, but leave you in suspense. But yes, I'll tell you. On the ship from Spain, Nettles made the acquaintance of a certain somewhat unsavory Corporal Gadget. I had heard of the man in Spain. He was quite infamous. Once he narrowly escaped a court-martial, mostly because of extreme bravery under fire. During our retreat, he was sentenced to fifty lashes, but I never learned what the offense was. Before the sentence could be carried out, we were fighting for our lives. All of us.

  "I don't think anyone knows how many wounded men Gadget dragged, carried or rolled off the battlefield, but it's a certainty that many good British soldiers are alive today because of him. He came to me, in one of my lucid periods aboard ship, pleading that I keep him in mind if I needed someone to do 'dirty work.' Nettles reminded me of that after you asked him to recommend an unsavory character."

  "But what could he--"

  "My de--" He grinned, and she could not resist responding in kind. "My dear Lisanor, Gadget is an ugly man, big and brawny, coarse and profane. I propose to send him to Ackerslea to assist your bailiff." One eyebrow lifted. "Pending your approval, of course."

  She could not quite conceal her reservations. "Is he an honest man?"

  "I doubt it. But I think he will stay bought. I never heard of him acting against a fellow soldier, but he'd steal anything Spanish that wasn't nailed down. It caused no end of fuss with the local authorities. Perhaps I should tell him to think of your relatives as like to Spaniards."

  "Uncle Percival will have a fit."

  They both burst into laughter.

  Chapter Eight