by Joan Smith
“Are you sure it is Lord Avedon?” Lucy asked. The butler assured her it was, and she gave a quiet smile. So the ill-natured earl had come to apologize, had he? That was well done of him, but she would not let him off lightly. “Show him into the parlor, Higgs,” she said.
Avedon stood looking around the parlor while awaiting their arrival. His eyes darted hither and thither, seeking signs of ill breeding and finding none. A few elegant bibelots that did not come with the cottage had been placed about, giving the place a lived-in air. There was a tambour frame set up by the fireside. That, he assumed, would be the older lady’s. A journal and a few books of poetry lay on a table. Freshly cut roses in two vases filled the air with their scent. Much as he wished he could lay the devastation of the roses on the ladies, he knew he could not. They would have no reason to destroy their own garden. That reeked of Tony.
His determination to turn the ladies off did not falter, but he hoped to do it without nastiness. At the sound of footfalls in the hall he turned. In his mind he held a picture of the bold-faced girl from the village. What he beheld now was a very different sight. Lucy had dressed for dinner, but as she expected no company, her gown was simple and modest. Anticipation lent a sparkle to her eyes, and lifted her lips in a tentative smile. She was accompanied by a chaperon of obvious gentility and breeding.
“Good evening, Lord Avedon,” Lucy said, and made a graceful curtsey. “Allow me to present my sister-in-law, Miss Percy.” He bowed.
The elder lady shook his hand. “I am happy to meet you,” she said. “It is kind of you to call and make us welcome.” No other possible reason for the visit occurred to her. His sister had done the civil thing that afternoon; now Lord Avedon had come to call. “Please, do sit down.”
After the introduction Lucy seated herself on a chair. Avedon and Mrs. Percy occupied the sofa.
“You have got the cottage fixed up very nicely,” he said, pitching the comment between the two ladies.
Mrs. Percy mentioned the roses in an apologetic way. “I’m afraid Tony got carried away,” she said, with a rueful shake of the head. Avedon’s jaw stiffened, and she assumed it was the loss of the roses that accounted for it.
It was the casual “Tony” that annoyed Avedon. What annoyed Lucy was the stiffening of his demeanor. She had an inkling what was bothering him and spoke on to test her theory. “In all other matters Tony has been most helpful,” she said. Again the jaw across from her squared to hostility. “You must not think us forward to use his Christian name,” she added. “Your nephew asked us to call him Tony.”
“Did he indeed? He is sadly apt to fall into intimacy on short acquaintance, I’m afraid. He is still only a boy, just down from Oxford this spring.” The penetrating stare that accompanied this speech assessed Lucy’s own age. He could find no sign of a wrinkle or rouge on her face. And she was a good deal prettier than he remembered, too.
A few moments’ talk about Tony and Lady Sara ensued, at the end of which Mrs. Percy offered refreshments.
Avedon took the opportunity to get on with his business. “This is not really a social visit,” he said. “I’m afraid I bring you unpleasant news, ladies. We had not planned to do it this year, but I am tiling these fields around Rose Cottage. The house is built on my land—no doubt Bigelow told you—and it will be necessary for me to cut across your access road.
“You will be cut off from the main road. It will be exceedingly inconvenient for you. I realize this location will be uninhabitable during the tiling and am perfectly willing to reimburse your rent money, along with the cost of coming here and relocating.”
Mrs. Percy was the first to speak. “Oh, dear! How unfortunate,” she exclaimed. The horror of another move occurred to her most forcefully.
Lucy thought for a moment before speaking. She had detected no warmth in Avedon’s manner. He said, in so many words, that he was here on business. And his business, it turned out, was to get rid of them. Her vanity was piqued at his lack of interest in her, and now her anger was fanned by his announcement.
“Is it necessary to actually lay tiles across the road?” she asked.
“The water will only accumulate there if I do not,” he explained.
“The land hereabouts does not seem excessively moist,” Mrs. Percy mentioned. She did not look for any chicanery and was only making an observation.
“This spring has been unusually dry. You must have noticed the land isn’t cultivated. Many years, it is a regular marsh,” Avedon assured her.
“It won’t take more than an afternoon to tile that little stretch across the road,” Lucy said. “It is foolish to speak of moving only for that.”
Avedon spoke ex cathedra on estate matters. His word was law. He stiffened and said, “It will take longer than one day. I have contracted the job to an outfit from Canterbury. They dig the whole place up first, then come a few days later and lay the tiles. It will take several days.”
“They could dig up that one little stretch across the road on the day the tiles come, though,” Lucy persisted.
“No, they were very firm about it. It is two different crews of men who do the work, and the digging must all be done before the tiles are put down—because of the runoff,” he added vaguely.
Lucy had very little idea what was involved in the job and shrugged in resignation. “It seems we are to be marooned for a few days, Miss Percy,” she said to her aunt.
Avedon stared hard at her. “The situation is not clear to you, ma’am. It will be impossible for the cart to get to you with your milk and vegetables, and equally impossible for you to take your carriage to the village. You will be completely stranded, without food.”
His every objection served to firm Lucy’s decision to remain. “It is fortunate the iceman has filled the icehouse,” she said. “We must stock up before the work begins.”
“It begins tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! Could you not have told us sooner?”
“It was just arranged this afternoon. There will be a deal of unpleasantness hereabouts the whole summer,” Avedon said. “You can imagine the dust and dirt that will be in the air. You wouldn’t be able to stick your nose out the door. To say nothing of the neighborhood crawling with a low class of men— very disagreeable for two ladies living alone. You will certainly want to leave. I will be happy to assist you in every way. I will undertake to find you a nice quiet place ten or twenty miles away, and there will be no additional expense in it for you.”
Lucy saw her aunt was caving in in the face of so many problems. It only firmed her own decision to remain. “Why did you not tell us this before the place was advertised for hire?” she demanded.
“The job was scheduled for next year, but the men are available now, and they are very hard to get hold of. I must seize the opportunity.”
“Well, it is too bad,” Lucy said, “but I don’t think we shall move just for that. Miss Percy has a great dislike for moving about. A little dust and noise won’t bother us unduly for a few days. As to being unprotected, I cannot believe the work crew will be composed entirely of felons. And we have our male servants.”
“You forget the inconvenience of not being able to leave the house,” Avedon reminded her. “The village will be inaccessible, and no one will be able to call. It will really be most disagreeable. I am exceedingly sorry, but—”
The gleam in his eyes did not look like sorrow, but triumph, and it made Lucy so angry she wanted to strike him. She would not be driven out of her house by this man, not if he set fire to it. “Is there no other place nearby we might stay for the week the work is being done? You cannot have considered the great inconvenience of moving our belongings and half a dozen servants twice within the space of a few days,” she said.
“No, there is nowhere. I repeat, I am very sorry.”
“There must be half a dozen inns at Ashford,” Lucy said. Her voice was becoming thin.
“You will not want the expense of putting half a dozen servants up at an inn
for a week.”
“You offered to defray the cost,” she reminded him.
Avedon had not looked for such strenuous opposition and assumed Tony was the cause. The chit intended to make a set at him. “I meant a reasonable payment,” he said stiffly.
“When your plan is so unreasonable, it seems hard for you to offer only reasonable recompense,” Lucy retorted angrily. She knew what would vex Avedon more than anything else and resorted to his nephew. “Tony is our landlord. I shall take the matter up with him,” she added haughtily.
The word was like a goad to his lordship. “Bigelow is a minor. Don’t look for him to foot the bill. I manage all his affairs till he grows up. It is my duty to protect him from being duped.”
“You cannot say we are trying to dupe him! It is ourselves who are being duped, coming to a place described as a quiet cottage and learning it is to be turned into a field of dust and mud, with dangerous men lurking about.”
“There was no deceit intended, I promise you. I have offered to help you leave. I see you are quite determined to remain. You will realize the generosity of my offer when you are cut off from any travel. I will look forward to hearing from you. You may send a servant to Chenely to notify me when you change your mind.” A haughty stare accompanied this piece of studied arrogance. Don’t come yourself, in other words. Avedon rose and took his leave, while the stunned ladies looked at each other in disbelief.
“What can be the meaning of this?” Lucy asked her aunt.
“Very odd. I would say he is eager to be rid of us if it were not that the rest of the family are so gracious—Lady Sara coming twice, and Tony all but living here. It is not as though Tony hired us the place without his uncle’s sanction. Lord Avedon handles Tony’s affairs himself. He wanted to rent it, but once we came, he wants to be rid of us. And I think he will succeed, for I have no desire to be surrounded with shouting workmen and fields of mud. Such a bother!”
“The road is an excuse, not a reason,” Lucy said angrily, “and I think I know the reason.”
“What do you mean, my dear?”
“Bigelow. He thinks I’m throwing my cap at him.”
“I wondered at that crack about being a mere schoolboy and being duped.”
“He was mad as a hornet when he saw us together in the village. That is what is at the bottom of this, Auntie, mark my words. As if I cared tuppence for that little—oh, it is too absurd. He must know I am too old for Tony. He looked hard enough at me. And if I did marry him, what is wrong in that?”
“Lord Avedon does not know you are Miss Percy, heiress. He believes you to be a captain’s widow. He knows nothing of your fortune.”
“That is a change!” Lucy said, and laughed at the irony of it. “More and more do I realize Uncle Norris was right. It was the money Pewter was after, and without it, I am wished at Jericho. Most humiliating.”
Miss Percy was happy to see how Lucy’s spirits had improved, despite her speech. “There is a little something I meant to discuss with you, Lucy. When Lady Sara was here today, she asked some questions about your ‘husband’ that I had a little trouble answering. Let us make up a history for him, so that we both tell the same tale.”
“Let us use my brother Alex. We are both familiar with his history. In fact, I have already told Tony my husband was killed at Salamanca, like Alex. I think I might have called him Alex, too. That will be the easiest way to keep our stories straight.”
“Oh, dear! That is a bit tricky. I told Lady Sara your husband was killed at Ciudad Rodrigo. If the subject arises again, I shall say I meant the province of Salamanca. At least Ciudad Rodrigo is in that province. Not likely it will come up again. Now, about this business of moving, do we let Avedon bounce us off? I can see you have taken him in aversion and dislike to be bested by him.”
“If you will agree to it, Auntie, I shall stick it here if our supplies have to be flown in by balloon. And I shall give Lord Avedon a good scare for his impertinence, too. When Tony—dear Tony—calls tomorrow morning bright and early, he will be invited to luncheon, and that for milord Avedon.” She snapped her fingers and laughed.
Such a bright laugh, just like her old self. Her aunt saw that this little battle was better than a tonic. She wouldn’t mind teaching Lord Avedon a lesson herself.
Chapter Six
Lord Avedon executed his threat with unholy celerity. When the ladies rose the next morning, they saw a crew of workmen already digging up the road to a depth much greater than the laying of tiles required, and making a deal of noise while they were about it. The air rang with laughter, shouts, and an occasional curse. The road, Lucy noted, was the first thing being dug. The fields on either side of it were also excavated, in case any enterprising carriage had the idea of detouring around the road.
The digging extended, over the morning, in such a wide swath that it met the wild shrubbery growing five or six feet high, and getting a carriage though was impossible. No fresh supplies were brought down from Chenely, but the milk and cream had not curdled yet, so the ladies were not deprived of tea. As the morning progressed, the incessant noise preyed on poor Mrs. Percy’s ears to no small degree.
Although she had the windows closed, dust seeped in around the frames, and soon the furnishings wore a coating of brown powder.
When Tony came cantering along in his yellow curricle, he could hardly see Rose Cottage for the dust, and he could not get his carriage in. He retraced his route down the main road and up the sweeping drive to Chenely, to demand of his uncle what was going forth.
Avedon glanced up from his paperwork and said, “I am having tiles laid in my meadow.”
“You ain’t having tiles laid across the road!” Tony challenged. “And you shouldn’t be doing it now, when the Percys have just arrived. What must they think?”
“I gave them advance warning.”
“Dash it, Uncle Adrian, that’s demmed uncivil. The place is clouded in dust.”
“Civility and consideration form no part of my plan,” Avedon said blandly.
“I see what it is. You want to get rid of them, just because Mrs. Percy is pretty. You never want me to have anything to do with a pretty woman, as though I was still in swaddling bands. Dash it, Uncle, I reach my majority in six months.”
“That leaves me only six months in which to ram some sense into you.”
“But what is Mrs. Percy to do about coming and going? How can she get out of her cottage?” Bigelow demanded.
“I will be more than happy to arrange for her going—in my own carriage, if that is what it takes.”
“You’ve got her locked up like a prisoner.”
“She has two legs,” Avedon pointed out. “In an emergency, she could walk or send a servant on shank’s mare.”
“She couldn’t walk if she hurt herself,” Bigelow said swiftly. “And supposing the place caught fire— dash it, it ain’t safe. It’s criminal irresponsibility.”
“A fire?” Avedon said with interest. “Not a bad idea.”
Bigelow, who was not much attuned to a joke, exclaimed, “You can’t burn my cottage down!”
At this, Avedon burst into laughter. “No, cawker, I don’t mean to go that far. Two or three days with no company and stale food will root them out.”
“Well, it won’t,” Tony replied, and left on foot to cut across the brush and dust to Rose Cottage, to present his perspiring self to the ladies to commiserate with them.
“This is beyond anything,” he apologized. “You will think we are a parcel of yahoos. Avedon is always interfering in my life, but to treat you in this manner—I hardly know what to say, Mrs. Percy.”
“Call me Lucy,” she said with a warm smile. “And help me, Tony.” This was added in a wheedling tone that turned him rosy with pleasure. “Your uncle has marooned us—no milk or eggs this morning, so I cannot even offer you a cup of coffee or tea. We quite depended on Lady Sara’s offer to supply us.”
“I’ll send some over from Milhaven, by Jove.”
Lucy reached out and patted his hand. “So kind. I knew we might depend on you. But Milhaven is three miles away, and inconvenient to be sending food every day.”
“Yes, it’s a pity you hadn’t a couple of chickens and a cow,” he agreed.
A light flashed in Lucy’s eyes. “How clever you are! Of course, that is exactly what we need. Will you sell me some chickens and a cow?”
Tony beamed with pleasure. “No, give them. It is the least I can do.”
This was even better, and Avedon would hear where she got them, too! “Do you know,” Lucy said, “I think I must put in a little garden, there in front where you so thoughtfully thinned out the roses for us. You won’t mind if we have to remove the grass as well?” A garden behind the house would not be offensive enough to anger Avedon, and all her stunts had the same goal of repaying him. “He cannot encroach on your property with his tiling.”
Bigelow puffed up like a pigeon. “Just let him try it!”
“A garden wouldn’t produce in time to do us any good,” Mrs. Percy said with unusual crossness. The maddening persistence of the noise and dust were driving her to distraction. With all the windows closed, the house was like an oven, but still the dust was everywhere.
“I have a strange notion these tiles will set a new record for slowness in being laid,” Lucy replied. “Where can I hire a couple of garden boys, Tony?”
“It won’t be easy,” he worried. “I see Avedon has hired up every spare man in the neighborhood, along with his own men.”
“The crew are your uncle’s own men?” Lucy asked softly.
“Certainly. Who else should he use?”
“Who indeed?” Not a word was uttered about a crew from Canterbury.
“I’ll send a couple of my own lads over, the Crawley brothers,” Tony decided. “They’re not bright fellows, but they’ll do well enough to dig you up a garden.”
The day was spent in a thoroughly enjoyable manner by Lucy, and incidentally by Avedon’s crew, who had to admire the young lady’s ingenuity. The cow was led on foot up the dusty, excavated road. The Crawley boys left off their digging to lay planks across the ditch and guide her to safety. Half a dozen hens were carried in, and the backhouse boy was sent off to the village on foot to order lumber and wire mesh for a henhouse, and seeds and seedlings for the garden. Lucy also had him post a letter to London, ordering her mount and phaeton. The latter she arranged to stable at Milhaven—and let us see how milord Avedon liked that! Certainly his nephew was tickled pink.