by Tinnean
She would not be able to make the return journey the same day, however, and I handed Gilly a purse with enough coins in it to see both he and the mare would have shelter in a decent inn for the night.
“Thankee, sir.” He put the purse in his pocket, touched a finger to his forehead, and, giving a gap-toothed grin, settled his hat on his head and left.
The hours seemed to crawl by. Since the weather had turned foul, I was unable to work with the colt or even take Blue Boy out for a gallop. Instead I retreated to my study to bring the estate books up to date, but found I was too distracted by thoughts of Geo in London, possibly in pursuit of someone with more looks and brains than I, to get much work done.
I went to the billiards room and desultorily knocked balls into the pockets, but then, bored, pulled out two decks of playing cards, shuffled them, and began a game of patience.
And still time passed with the speed of a snail.
A tap on the door brought my head up.
“Sir Ashton.”
“Yes, Colling?”
“The post has arrived, sir. There’s a letter from Town.”
My heart gave a little leap. Could it be from Geo? Eagerly I took it from him, but the direction was Apsley Hotel, and my excitement vanished.
I broke the seal, removed the sheet of paper, and scanned the lines. “It’s from Lady Cecily.”
“I trust all is well, Sir Ashton?”
“Yes.” At least she didn’t say if there were any problems. “Mr. Stephenson senior has recovered so well that he’s been given an assignment in Austria. She writes that she and Miss Arabella will be returning home one day next week, and…. Hmmm. Mrs. Walker will need to prepare a guest room. Miss Arabella is bringing a young lady friend with her.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll inform Mrs. Walker at once.” He bowed himself out of the room, and I carefully reread Aunt Cecily’s letter.
My dearest George is feeling so much better…. That wasn’t what I was looking for. With the death of the late emperor…. Ah, yes, here it was. With the death of the late emperor, he must meet with Prince Metternich, who he has no doubt will prove to be the power behind the throne.
Perhaps Geo intended to travel with him to Austria? Of course, I had no idea, since Geo had not deigned to inform me.
Irritated, I resumed reading the letter.
We shall be returning home one day next week. I have asked a young lady, with whom Arabella has become quite friendly, to join us. They met at one of George’s dinners. Only fancy! Arabella was bemoaning just that day how boring she found them, with no young people her own age to while away the time after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, and then who should arrive that very evening but Mr. Frederick Munro, with whom George has worked closely (he speaks very highly of him), accompanied by his daughter Juliet, who is the loveliest girl, with a peaches and cream complexion, hair as black as a raven’s wing, and eyes that rival the bluest of skies. She and Arabella make such a charming contrast when they are together, rather like Snow White and Rose Red. They’ve already caused a stir when they’ve gone walking with their maids. A pity Arabella will not be making her come out later this spring, as Juliet will, although perhaps I can persuade you otherwise? At any rate, we must be in Town for it, as must you, my dear Ashton. It will be quite the gayest of times, for Mr. Munro dotes on her and denies her nothing. And you needn’t fear a scandal, for I shall sit with the chaperones and Arabella’s connection to Sir Eustace was tenuous at best.
Very well, that might successfully deal with the family being in mourning, but the notion of all of us returning to Town? I shuddered. That would entail renting a house in a fashionable district, not to mention a stable for the horses and the coach. I had no doubt Arabella would demand the latest in carriages, but she would have to make do with the phaeton, which was in good repair for all it was at least ten years old. As well there would be the purchase of clothes, all manner of clothes. I recalled Aunt Cecily saying her court ensemble alone cost £1,000.
Almost as if having read my mind, she continued, You needn’t fear the cost, for I have some money put by, and I believe Mr. Munro would be willing to have me chaperone Juliet, so both Arabella and I would be staying in his house, which is most commodious, I assure you. Not that I have seen the inside, but my dear George has spoken most highly of it. All you would have to do is hire some rooms for yourself, but it must be done expeditiously, as all the best ones are snapped up even before the Season starts!
Or perhaps, setting aside the possibility that Geo could be away, I might persuade him to permit me to stay with him? I began to look more favorably upon the plan.
The remaining lines concerned the details of the journey home, asking me to send Thomas Coachman for them as soon as might be convenient. I took that to mean immediately.
I folded the letter, tucked it away in a drawer, and resumed laying out the playing cards, welcoming the distraction. Gilly’s return wouldn’t be until sometime the next day.
Meanwhile, Colling and Mrs. Walker would have everything well in hand, and tomorrow would be time enough to inform Thomas Coachman that he would be returning to Town to fetch the ladies home.
“Sir Ashton, Gilly Hammel is here. I’ve told him to wait in the Great Hall.”
“Ah.” I forced myself to keep my pace decorous as I walked there.
“He is quite… damp, sir.”
“Damp” was putting a mild face on it. Gilly stood shivering as he shifted from foot to foot, dripping wet from being caught in a sudden storm, his face grey and his lips blue.
“Bring him a whisky, Colling.”
Colling raised an eyebrow, but all he said was, “Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Stephenson’s message, Gilly?”
“There is none.” He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the rain from his face, and blew his nose. “I’m sorry, Sir Ash.” Colling returned with a glass filled with whisky and handed it to Gilly. “Thank you, Mr. Colling.”
Colling nodded. “Will there be anything else, Sir Ashton?”
“No, that’s all.”
He bowed and stepped back. Gilly finished the drink quickly, coughing as he swallowed the last bit.
“Did Mr. Stephenson… did he not say anything?”
“No, sir, just that there was no response.”
Well. Wasn’t I the fool?
“Sir Ash? Is there anything I can do?”
Did I look as put out—I refused to see myself as devastated—as I felt? I shook my head. “Get into some dry clothes, then go to the kitchen and tell Cook she’s to feed you and give you something hot to drink.”
“Yes, sir. Thankee, sir.” He looked around for a place to set down the glass, and sneezed.
Colling took the glass from him, raised a hand, and David appeared as if out of nowhere. “See to Hammel.”
“Yes, Mr. Colling.” David did not seem in the least fazed by the dripping young man, and the odd thought strayed through my mind: he was going to make the ideal butler.
“Sir Ashton, shall I have Cook prepare a cold collation for you? Some meats and cheeses, perhaps?”
“Thank you, Colling. That will be….” I removed my spectacles and squeezed the bridge of my nose. “That will be excellent. Have it served in the morning room, if you please?” It was cozier than the splendor, so very solitary and so very lonely, of the dining room. “In half an hour, shall we say?”
“Very good, sir.” I thought there was a hint of understanding in the butler’s eyes, but he turned away before I could be certain.
I was roused from a delightful dream of Geo tumbling me on a large, soft bed by irate shouts, reaching my room apparently from the Great Hall.
This did not bode the week beginning well.
Sleepily, and with some disgruntlement, I belted on a dressing gown, stepped into a pair of slippers, and made my way down to the Great Hall. Such pleasant dreams had grown few and far between; most of them now dealt with Geo declaring he’d found someone who suited him better than
a country gentleman with no Town bronze and that he no longer had any use for me.
“What’s this all about?” I growled.
“I beg your pardon, Sir Ashton. This person—”
“Sir Ash! Sir Ash!” It was Johnson, one of my newest tenants, who’d arrived here from London with his small family shortly after Sir Eustace’s death. According to Giffard, Johnson wasn’t much of a hand at farm work, although he did try his hardest, but his wife, a foreigner by her accent, did excellent needlework, and Aunt Cecily often had her come to Laytham Hall to work on various items of stitchery. “It’s… it’s my little boy! Oh, sir, he’s that poorly!”
“What’s wrong?” I grew concerned. Johnson was frantic and distraught, not usual for him, for the few times I’d come in contact with him, he’d appeared the epitome of placidity.
“The missus and I… we fear it’s the cholera!”
“Why do you think that?” I shuddered at the memory of the massive number of deaths throughout the land less than three years before.
“His bowels are like water, and his stomach is cramping something fierce!”
Bloody hell! Feeling myself grow cold in spite of the fire blazing in the Great Hall’s hearth, I swallowed hard. “Wait outside!”
“You can’t… oh please, sir! Don’t cast us out!”
“I have no intention of doing so, but neither do I intend my other people to fall prey to this disease. Now wait outside!” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Colling, send the bootboy to the stable with this message: I want Jem Nye to fetch Dr. Medford to Johnson’s cottage. The boy is to remain then with Mr. Ruston until we learn if Johnson’s son does indeed have cholera. No one else is to enter or leave the Hall, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
I hiked up my dressing gown, turned on my heel, and raced up to my room, where I dressed hastily. Then I ran back down the stairs.
Johnson was still waiting in the courtyard, nearly weeping. “Sir Ash!” He gasped as I almost barreled into him.
“Let’s go.”
“Where, sir?”
“To your cottage, man!”
“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” He grabbed my hand, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss it, but instead he simply pumped it vigorously. “And the missus will be thanking you as well!”
“Yes, yes. No need to go mauling me. How is your wife bearing up under this?” I had no doubt it would kill her if her son should be taken from her.
“She’s… she’s at her wits’ end, Sir Ash. She loves the child….” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
Didn’t all mothers love their children? “How long has he been ill, Johnson?”
“He woke us in the middle of the night. If… if anything should happen to young Burt….”
They were an older couple who’d only the one child, and the sun rose and set on the boy, as far as they were both concerned.
I’d talked with Mrs. Johnson a time or two after they had moved into the cottage, and from what I could understand from her broken English, she’d been a lady’s maid at one time. I didn’t press either of them on the fact that they were now working on an estate in the country. I couldn’t fail to notice that the child looked nothing like his “father.” Female servants, even those in as elevated a position as lady’s maid, could easily fall prey to the master of the household.
Or a visitor to the master’s household.
Considering the man Sir Eustace had been, and considering the occasions when Aunt Cecily had been increasing, what surprised me was that there weren’t many more of his by-blows about the estate.
Once we reached the cottage, we found Mrs. Johnson in their bedroom, hovering over the boy, who was writhing and moaning steadily. “Ma… Ma….”
“Hush, caro. Hush!” She was pale and weeping herself. “Oh, signore! I know it is the colera, lo conosco! We are going to lose him! He is the last—”
“Maggie!” Johnson’s tone held a warning, and she gasped and swallowed whatever else she might have been about to say.
I took her hand and patted it gently. “I’ve sent for Dr. Medford, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Grazie, signore! Grazie!” She clutched my hand and pressed kisses to the back of it. “We are so grateful! I cannot tell you how grateful!”
“No need. I care for my people.”
“If you’ll pardon me for making so bold, sir, but Mrs. Johnson and I both know your predecessor would have had no qualms at having us thrown off the estate!”
I couldn’t take umbrage at Johnson’s words, for they were the truth. Every man, woman, and child on Laytham lands knew what a harsh landlord Sir Eustace had been, and even though the Johnsons were but recently arrived at Fayerweather, they soon would have learned.
Still, ill at ease with their effusive thanks, I patted Mrs. Johnson’s shoulder and gazed around the small room, seeking something to turn the conversation. I was somewhat surprised to see bibelots more suited to a lady’s parlor than a farmer’s cottage. Included were a number of snuff boxes and a pair of miniatures of a young man and a young woman, but before I could comment on them, there was the sound of horses’ hooves galloping up the path.
Johnson rushed to the door before whoever it was had the chance to knock, and murmured with obvious relief, “It’s the doctor!”
Dr. Medford entered and gave the room an encompassing glance. “Well, now. What have we here?”
“It’s young Burt, Doctor! He’s… I’m sure he has the cholera!”
“Let’s just see, now, shall we? Did you keep the waste?”
“It’s outside, Doctor.”
“Fetch it, please.”
Johnson did as asked, and Dr. Medford studied the contents of the chamber pot. “Hmmm.”
“Doctor?”
“That’s rather odd… but I must examine the child.”
Johnson went to stand beside his wife and put his arm around her, and we all waited on tenterhooks as Dr. Medford looked over the boy carefully. Finally he rose and shook his head, smiling.
“As I suspected. There’s nothing wrong with this young man that a cup or two of peppermint tea won’t cure.”
“Eh?”
“He’s suffering from a bellyache.”
“That’s all?” Johnson was disbelieving.
“I assure you. I have no doubt that if you check your larder, you’ll find your son has got into something he shouldn’t have.”
“The dried apples! I was going to bake pies for Easter. I’ve never made them before, and I wanted to practice. I had them in a pan of water. I thought the dog had knocked it over and eaten them, and I gave Johnson an earful for letting that animal into the house, but it must have been young Burt!” Mrs. Johnson turned into her husband’s embrace, and they both wept, their relief—the relief we all felt—palpable. “Thank God. Oh, thank God!”
“Thank you, Dr. Medford.”
“Not at all, Sir Ashton. I’m pleased that it was nothing serious.”
As was I. “Johnson, if there’s anything you need, see Giffard.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I can’t thank you enough….”
I grew uncomfortable with his effusiveness. “Quite all right. Since there’s no need for me here, I’ll return to the Hall.”
I chanced to overhear Dr. Medford say, “You’re quite fortunate that you’ve had Sir Ashton to deal with and not Sir Eustace. He’d have sent you away immediately, not even waiting to learn what ailed the boy.”
“We’re well aware, Doctor. That’s why Mrs. Johnson and I talked long and long before deciding to come here. We decided we had no choice, what with the boy….”
Surprised and pleased that the doctor’s opinion of me appeared to be changing, I passed out of earshot and heard nothing more.
It was late Wednesday afternoon when the towncoach bearing Aunt Cecily, Arabella, and Miss Munro drew up before the Hall’s portico.
“Aunt. Arabella.”
“Ashton, this is Miss Munro.”
“How do you do, Miss Munro? Welcome to Fayerweather, and Laytham Hall.”
“Thank you, sir. So you are Sir Ashton,” she murmured. She was a tall, willowy young lady. Long lashes dipped down then rose to reveal eyes that were indeed bluer than the bluest of skies. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear.” I scowled at Arabella, but she simply looked confused. Who then…? I set the question aside for the nonce. “I trust your journey was not too exhausting?”
“It was, a trifle. I’m rather weary, not to mention chilled and parched!” she remarked as she stripped off her mittens.