Abbey couldn’t tell whether Jack was angry or not. “Yes, Mr. Hawker,” she answered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable calling him by his first name. “I thought you’d be hungry.”
“I am,” he said, glancing at the food appreciatively. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.” He went to pick up two plates. “Does it matter which plates?” he asked Abbey.
She pointed. “Those two are yours and Mrs. Hawker’s.” She glanced at Sabu, who looked utterly betrayed.
“Grab yours, and join Mother and me in the dining room,” Jack said. Ignoring the Hindustani cook, he headed for the dining room. Sybil glanced helplessly at Sabu before following him.
Stunned for a moment, Abbey stared after Jack and his mother, but she removed the apron she was wearing and picked up a plate, leaving two on the counter. As she went after Jack, she told the girls to help themselves to the remaining meals. As she passed Elsa, whose eyes were wide in wonder, the servant girl handed her the knife and fork she’d put out on the kitchen table for her.
At the dining room doorway, Abbey stopped. Jack had pulled out his mother’s chair for her, and she sat down with a stony expression. He looked up and saw Abbey and pulled out another chair. “Please sit down, Abbey,” he said, smiling warmly.
“Shouldn’t I eat in the kitchen with Elsa and Marie?”
“No, you’re Mother’s companion, so you eat in here with us.”
Abbey took her place, but she didn’t feel comfortable.
“Dinner smells good,” Jack said, taking a seat opposite her. “And I’m ravenous.”
Abbey dared to steal a glance at Sybil, who was staring at her plate in silence. It was obvious that she was furious. Abbey had been hungry, but suddenly her appetite was gone.
For a few minutes Jack ate in silence while his mother picked at the food on her plate.
Abbey took a few mouthfuls, casting furtive glances at the Hawkers.
When he’d finished, Jack looked at Abbey. “That was delicious, Abbey. I really appreciate you making dinner. Who would have known you were a good cook?” He spoke as if finding her had been a blessing, indeed. It was unfortunate his mother didn’t feel the same way.
“My mother died when I was quite young, so I’ve been cooking for my father for many years,” Abbey explained. She was too embarrassed to mention the dugouts.
“Oh. Where is your father now?” Jack asked.
“He recently passed away,” Abbey said. She didn’t want to go into detail for fear she’d break down.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said sincerely.
Abbey noticed that Sybil’s expression remained stony and that her gaze stayed fixed on the plate in front of her.
“You are certainly a good cook, and it’s a welcome change not to be presented with food laden with chili and other spices I’ve never heard of,” Jack said, smiling.
“You work hard, so it doesn’t seem too much to ask that you come home to dinner at the end of the day.” Abbey glanced at Sybil again. She hoped Sybil didn’t think she was criticising her.
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Jack said.
“I didn’t know my cooking would upset Sabu so much, though. I didn’t want to cause trouble.” It was obvious Sybil was seething.
“Sabu is very temperamental,” Jack said, “but if he doesn’t want to cook, he has no right to object to someone else using the kitchen. As a matter of fact, I’m going to speak to him right now.” He stood up. “Please excuse me.”
“Jack, the kitchen is Sabu’s domain,” his mother said angrily. “And today is the holy day of Navratri.”
“Not at Bungaree, it isn’t,” Jack said. “And the kitchen should be his domain, at least during working hours. But, frankly, I’m displeased with his unpredictable moods and the fact that he uses holidays in India to avoid working.”
Jack left the dining room. Abbey could hear the cook banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. She presumed he was cleaning up after her. The two women listened as Jack spoke to him.
“Sabu, you were hired to cook,” he said sternly. “From now on, you’ll only be paid for the days you work. If you don’t want to cook, then Abbey will have free rein in the kitchen, and she is not to be subjected to your angry tirades.”
“You call that slop she served up dinner?” Sabu said defiantly. “I’ve seen better food served to dogs in India.”
Abbey flinched, colour creeping into her cheeks.
“That meal was delicious,” Jack said. “I thoroughly enjoyed it.” He turned to look at Elsa and Marie, who were keeping their heads down as they ate. “What do you think of Abbey’s cooking, girls?”
Their plates were almost clean, but they glanced at Sabu hesitantly.
“It’s good,” Elsa said, not daring to make eye contact with the Indian man.
“There, you see, Sabu. If you don’t want to cook, you are replaceable. Keep that in mind!” Jack walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sabu swearing under his breath in Hindustani.
Back in the dining room, Sybil was glowering openly at Abbey.
“I honestly thought a meal for everyone would be better than nothing,” Abbey said in a small voice.
“Is that right? I think you just wanted to impress my son,” Sybil said coldly.
Not sure she liked what Sybil was implying, Abbey’s eyes widened. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to repay the kindness your son has shown me,” she said, “but I wish I could.”
“Jack is a bit soft, like his father was. He wouldn’t turn a stray dog away,” Sybil said tartly. “You’ve made a grave mistake, however. Taking over the kitchen was foolish enough, but now that Jack is going to dock Sabu’s pay, your stay here is guaranteed to be very unpleasant. You’ll be lucky to last the week.” Sybil stood up and walked away from the table, leaving Abbey to stare at her barely touched meal.
“That went well,” Abbey whispered sarcastically. “I’ve been here one day and have two enemies.” She stood and went to pick up the plates and then changed her mind. She didn’t want to go back to the kitchen; she could hear Sabu banging things around in there. Instead she went upstairs to her room.
***
Abbey sat on her bed for a few minutes, thinking that she should be happy to have her own space to escape to, but her lovely room felt more like a prison with the walls closing in. She opened the French doors and went out onto the balcony. Standing at the railing, she gazed out at the view, but she was in no mood to appreciate it. Her eyes welled with tears, and her vision blurred. Nothing she did was right, and her life had gone from bad to worse since losing her father. Obviously, Mrs. Hawker would have preferred a desert taipan snake as a companion, and it had only taken Abbey an hour to anger another staff member at Bungaree. If that weren’t enough, she was probably wanted by the police in relation to Ebenezer Mason’s death. Could things get any worse?
“Father, I need you,” Abbey whispered. Her voice croaked with pain, and her heart ached with grief. She leaned over the railing, allowing her tears to spill down her cheeks.
Suddenly, something below caught Abbey’s eye. From the corner of the balcony she could see into the backyard where something quite large had been thrown across the garden from the direction of the back door. Abbey thought she recognised the lump of ham she’d cut slices from for dinner, but surely not. In an instant, Max was after it. He pounced on the ham and began devouring it. When the other dogs came towards him, he picked it up and ran off with it. Abbey leaned further over the railing to see Sabu at the back door with a look of pure malice on his face. He’d thrown the remaining ham out the door, presumably because he was angry with her. She could not believe that someone could be so spiteful.
Sybil stepped out of her bedroom onto the balcony and gasped when she saw Abbey leaning over the railing. She rushed to her side and clasped her arm. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply.
&nbs
p; Abbey was startled and looked at Sybil with watery eyes.
“Don’t you dare do something stupid,” Sybil growled, almost shaking her.
“What?” It took Abbey a few moments to realise that Sybil thought she was going to throw herself off the balcony. She went to explain what she had been doing and then realised she couldn’t tell her that the cook had thrown a perfectly good ham to the dogs. That would only make things worse.
“I’m not doing anything,” Abbey said, turning her back to the railing so Sybil wouldn’t see Max eating the ham. She certainly wasn’t brave enough to jump from such a height, but it was hard to believe that Sybil cared.
“You weren’t going to?” Sybil looked confused.
“What? Throw myself off the balcony? Of course not, but what do you care?” Abbey asked. “I’m sure you’d be only too pleased to see the back of me, one way or another.”
“I should have known you were only seeking attention,” Sybil said snidely. She went back to her room, leaving Abbey alone.
Abbey sighed and dabbed her tears. If not for Jack’s kindness and the fact that she didn’t want to spend another night sleeping outside, she’d have run away from Bungaree as fast as she could.
CHAPTER 7
Winston had been expecting Ebenezer Mason’s son since he’d sent him a message the day his father died. When he heard his carriage roll to a stop outside the Hall, Winston hurried to open the front door. Heath Mason took the steps to the door two at a time, his expression conveying his irritation. Winston wondered if he had heard the news of his father’s death from someone else, but he didn’t think that possible.
“Good morning, sir,” Winston said by way of a greeting, but Heath ignored him and went inside. He didn’t even notice that the butler’s expression was unusually grave.
Once through the vestibule, Heath turned on the butler. “This had better be important, Winston. I assume my father is ill?”
Winston’s heart sank. Obviously, Mr. Mason’s son didn’t know what had happened, and now he had the difficult task of telling him. “Why didn’t you come right away, sir? Two days ago, I sent word that you were required here before lunch and that it was very important.” The news had been too upsetting to be delivered in a note.
Heath looked indignant. “If you must know, I was entertaining a very beautiful woman. She went back to the city an hour ago, unfortunately, or I wouldn’t even be here now.” He neglected to add that she was supposed to be visiting family in the country and that she had a husband waiting for her. “Has the old man got a cough? I’m sure it’s nothing life-threatening.”
Heath shrugged out of his jacket. Although it was quite hot outside, he prided himself on always being attired in the style of a country gentleman. He had a penchant for tailored suits from the finest cloths. He wore them well, too. He was a tall, strikingly handsome man. Light brown hair and hazel eyes accompanied high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His nose was straight and fine, unlike his father’s. In fact, he looked nothing like Ebenezer Mason.
Looks were not the only trait the two men did not share. Although Heath was charismatic, he could not balance a simple budget. Ebenezer Mason, however, was a canny businessman. He had kept Heath on as the agent for selling stock kept on the estate’s vast farmlands. Heath had a generous income from the commissions he earned.
Winston was angered by the young man’s attitude, but he tried not to show it. “He hasn’t got a cough, sir,” he said in a solemn tone as he took the man’s jacket.
“I thought not,” Heath snapped, snatching the jacket back. “On what silly pretence has he sent for me this time?” His father had never shown him or his mother even the slightest sign of affection, so Heath felt no remorse in being cold towards him. He wasn’t even sure if his father had ever loved him; he’d certainly never said so.
Winston straightened his shoulders, but kept his gaze downcast. “The master has passed away, sir. Please accept my condolences.”
Heath froze. “What?”
“One of the maids discovered him dead in his bed two days ago in the morning, sir. We presume he passed away during the night. I sent word for you to come immediately.”
Heath paled when he thought of how he had discarded the note in favour of a romp with Florence Berkshire. “I hadn’t realised the magnitude of the situation,” he said, heading for the smoking room. This news was the last thing he’d expected to hear, and he needed a stiff drink. He hadn’t enjoyed cordial relations with his father for quite some time, not since his father’s last marriage, in fact, but he hadn’t expected him to die at fifty-three years of age. Taking a bottle from the drink cabinet, he poured himself a large whisky and drank deeply.
The oak-paneled smoking room had been his father’s favourite room. The smell of his cigar smoke still lingered there, which made his death seem surreal. As Heath gazed around the room at the trophies and mementos that his father had collected while travelling through Africa and the jungles of Ceylon, he tried to remember the last time he’d seen his him. He couldn’t. It suddenly occurred to Heath that the ceremonial Samurai suits, the Persian swords, and the spears collected in Papua and showcased in the smoking room were all his now. So, what did it matter if he couldn’t remember the last time he and his father had exchanged words? “Where is my father’s body?” he asked the butler, who was hovering near the doorway.
“It was picked up yesterday afternoon by Samuel McDougal of McDougal’s Funeral Parlor, sir.”
Heath’s mind was racing. “Did you call a doctor when you found my father?”
“Yes, sir, Dr. Vernon Mead attended.”
“What was the cause of death?” Heath asked. He still couldn’t believe his father had gone.
“Dr. Mead believes it was heart failure, sir.” Winston almost lost his composure when he thought about how upset Vernon Mead had been about the virility potion and opiate he’d given Mr. Mason. In fact, he’d made Winston search until he found it and then had taken it with him.
Ebenezer Mason had suffered from circulation problems, as well as a weak heart. The circulation problems caused his impotency. The potion increased his blood flow, allowing him to be virile, but made him lightheaded and caused his heart to race, which was why it was so dangerous. In a healthy man, this would not be a problem, but Ebenezer’s heart had been weakened by scarlet fever as a child. To what extent, Vernon Mead could not be sure, and over the years Mr. Mason had pressured him to ignore the risks.
The doctor’s last words had sent a chill through Winston: “I can only hope that his son does not suggest an autopsy be performed,” he had said before leaving. “Or the whole sordid story will come out, and I’ll lose my practitioner’s licence.”
“Perhaps an autopsy should be performed,” Heath said, as if reading Winston’s thoughts.
Winston paled. “Do you think that will be necessary, sir?”
“I should think so. My father was not an old man.”
“He did have a weak heart, sir,” Winston said. “It affected his health for some years.” He didn’t wish to speak about the virility potion, but he was hoping he could steer the conversation to a place where he could divulge the news that Heath’s father had remarried the night he died. He knew it was going to come as a shock, so he couldn’t just blurt it out. Winston remembered only too well that the young man had detested Mr. Mason’s second wife. Heath was going to be outraged that his father had married a girl not yet out of her teens, and it would certainly look suspicious that Ebenezer had died the same night. Winston just hoped that he and the rest of the staff wouldn’t be blamed for not protecting Mr. Mason. As it was, he already felt some responsibility, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent what happened.
Suddenly, the young man headed out of the room. It took Winston a few moments to realise he was about to leave the house. Winston panicked and went after him, but Heath was much younger
and quicker, so he was down the steps and at his carriage before Winston got to the front door.
“Where are you going, sir?” Winston called after him.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Ask Mrs. Hendy to have lunch ready,” he replied tersely as the carriage rolled away.
Winston sighed. Was this to be his future—working for a man who led a disorganised life of sordid affairs? A life in which lunch was required in the middle of the afternoon after a long morning spent between the sheets with a beautiful young woman? Mr. Mason had enjoyed the company of women, but fortunately he’d been quite disciplined when it came to routine, obsessively so, in fact. That was why the young maid, Louise, had investigated when Ebenezer hadn’t appeared for breakfast by 7:30.
Winston became aware of the housekeeper at his elbow.
“How did he take the news that the master had remarried?” Mrs. Hendy asked soberly. She knew the young man well. His father’s death wouldn’t be as upsetting as his unexpected marriage to a girl young enough to be his sister.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell him, but he says he’ll be back for lunch in a couple of hours.”
The housekeeper consulted the clock in the hall and tut-tutted. “I’ll be preparing supper at that time,” she said.
“I know,” Winston said glumly as he shut the door.
***
Heath Mason didn’t bother to knock on the door of Edward Martin’s office in Auburn, five miles south of Mintaro. He just walked in. Edward had been Ebenezer Mason’s solicitor for many years, but he’d also been one of Ebenezer’s only real friends. Edward had received a letter the previous afternoon from Winston, informing him of Ebenezer’s death, so he’d been expecting Heath. He’d been studying Ebenezer’s will all morning, going methodically over every detail. What he’d found was disturbing and sure to ruffle Heath’s feathers.
“Good morning, Heath,” Edward said. “Please accept my condolences.”
“Let’s not pretend my father and I were close, Mr. Martin,” Heath said.
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