by Rye Hart
He heard the approach of horses outside, and went to the door.
“Good morning, sir,” called out Harold, sounding cheery and refreshed.
“Good morning,” he returned.
“Good morning, sir. It’s a lovely day.” Harold’s wife; he recognized the voice. “We’ve come to work, sir.”
“Who’s minding the inn?”
“Oh, we’ve got kin,” she answered. “We’re going to turn Laverly Hall back into itself again, sir. There’s me and my girls and we’re ready to work.”
“There’s nothing they don’t know about cleaning,” Harold boasted.
“Judging from the state of the Hall, you’re likely to learn a few new things,” Laverly predicted drily. “This time, you will accept payment.” He said it, as he intended, as a command.
“That’s very kind, sir. Well, we’ll be getting started. Harold, you and the boys will see to the stables and the grounds?”
Harold barked out a command and Laverly heard the swift assault of young limbs upon the ground as they headed off to do their father’s bidding.
“You seem to have brought a regiment,” Laverly commented.
“We’ve a big family,” Harold answered.
Laverly resolved that the family would profit from their labors. It was, he realized, kindness and not the hope of gain that had sent Harold and his wife to his aid. He was in their debt, but at least with the lower classes, one could redeem one’s dignity with gold. It would not be said that the Duke of Laverly was dependent upon an innkeeper.
“Sir,” Harold began hesitantly. “I wonder if I could be of service, until you find a man, and shave you?”
Laverly was startled. He rubbed his jaw, as he had done earlier. “I am a bit whiskery,” he acknowledged. “Yes, that would be preferable.”
It turned out that Harold, for all his rough-hewn ways and common background, was actually a deft hand with a razor. Laverly was accustomed to his valet’s ways, but he was gone, and Harold knew what he was about. As he worked, he talked.
“I’m by way of doing a lot of things, it’s the way of the trade,” Harold said “I thought that, while the wife and the rest are working, we could -- that is, you might want to make an appearance, sir? Word’ll be out that you’re back but your tenants haven’t seen you in years. ‘Twould be good if they could be reminded that there’s a Laverly in residence again. You can let it be known—if that’s your wish, of course—that you’re seeking trustworthy servants for the Hall. Seems to me—if you agree—that you need a cook first off. Then a girl to clean, and a lad to do the grounds. Wouldn’t hurt to have two of each.”
“Yes,” Laverly said slowly, startled to discover that the humble innkeeper had appraised his staffing needs with such acuity. “Yes, that would be helpful.”
“If you like, we could ride out on your lands and make the rounds. You’ll be wanting horses again, no doubt?”
“I’ve no intention of riding to hounds, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I’m very much afraid that the Laverly social season is not about to resume any time soon,” Laverly said with a sigh.
“You’ll need horses to draw a wagon or a carriage, sir. You’ll be needing a stableman of some sort,” Harold persisted doggedly. “Someone to go with you to buy the horses you need. You’d be using your hands anyway to judge the horseflesh.”
Laverly said nothing. Harold was plainly trying to present rational objectives without causing offense. A blind man couldn’t see the flaws in a horse; eyes were needed for that. But an experienced rider knew what to look for, using his hands to assess the mount.
“Quite right,” he said. “Have you anyone in mind?”
“There’s a likely lad, sir, wounded in the war, but he gets around well enough, and he knows horses better than anyone I can think of. There you go, sir, all shaved, and looking like a gentleman again.”
“Wounded? Where was he wounded?” Laverly felt his chin; Harold had done a proper job of shaving him. “You’re on your way to being a gentleman’s gentleman, Harold. I haven’t had so fine a shave in weeks.”
“Thank ‘ee, sir. He’s got a bit of a limp, sir. Wounded in the leg, but it don’t hold him back none.”
They were heading outside, Harold performing a strange sort of dance which allowed him to walk sideways so that he could offer support to Laverly without actually walking in front of him. When they were on the stairs, the ruse had to end. Laverly accepted the innkeeper’s arm, walking in the slow, step-by-step formation that allowed him to gain his bearings upon each level before descending to the next one. It was clumsy but Laverly felt as if he had a slim measure of control over his movements rather than depending entirely upon someone else to steer him.
“Where was he wounded? What place?”
“Oh, I – sorry, Sir. Salamanca.”
Salamanca. “I was there,” Laverly said brusquely. He should have known that a lad from his village was there as well. He had never bothered with anyone who wasn’t an officer. It wasn’t as if their paths would cross, he told himself. But still, he could have done something, perhaps send a letter to the family to alert them of their son’s injury but reassuring them that he would survive. Perhaps the family couldn’t read, he told himself as Harold instructed where to put his hands so that he could ascend into the wagon; most village families were illiterate. But that was no excuse—
“Here, sir, Lucy made bread, just like I said she would. There’s cheese in the parcel. It’s not what you’re used to, but my Lucy is a fine baker.”
Hungrily, Dennison tore off a large hunk of the bread. “It’s very good,” he said, adding, “Thank you. I hadn’t realized how hungry I am.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” Harold said. The horses took off at a slow, ambling pace. “You ain’t et since you were at the inn.”
“I should think that your Lucy will be able to find me a serviceable cook,” Dennison said.
“More than serviceable, sir. She’ll want the best. We’ll leave one of our girls and lads to bide with you in the meantime, if that suits your will. All my girls can cook and clean, and my boys know how to put their backs into a task. They’re respectful, too sir. You won’t have to fret over them.”
“I’m obliged,” Laverly said in a low voice.
“The Laverlys have always been good masters,” Harold said cheerfully. “In hard times, they were always kind. We had a good harvest this year.”
“I don’t suppose any of the servants bothered to plant?”
“Sorry, sir, no. Anyway, I can only guess that food will be sent up to the Hall, once all know you’re back. ”
Laverly had another though. “The livestock? Did you see any of the livestock on the grounds?”
But Harold didn’t know what had been the fate of the cattle, sheep, and pigs that had provided the family with meat. “Sold off, likely, by the servants, but I couldn’t say for sure, sir.”
“Yes, I understand. I suppose I’ll have to begin it all again. Tell me, do you have someone in your estimable family who happens to know anything about livestock?”
Harold did, but he was hesitant. “Sir, it won’t do if it looks as though my family is taking all the jobs,” he said bluntly. “There are plenty among your tenants who can do the job. Best to look to one of them.”
“Thank you,” Laverly said.
“Lucy put me in mind of it. She said it was for you to decide which were to work for you. Reckon we know everyone, me and Lucy have lived nearby since we was born. But folks’ll want a chance. We can tell you who we think is honest, sir, and the vicar can tell you if we’re truth telling.”
“Is Lester still the vicar? My parents used to have him to dine after services on Sunday.”
“He’s retired, sir, and living in Devon, where he’s from. There’s a new fellow, Reverend Stone. He’s a good ‘un. Not afraid to lend a hand with the haying if it’s needed.” From Harold’s words, it was apparent that he valued the physical abilities of a man of the cloth as muc
h as his spiritual attributes.
“I reckon he’d welcome an invitation to Laverly Hall, sir,” said Harold enthusiastically.
“An invitation? To Laverly Hall? You must be in jest. How would I invite callers?”
“Beg your pardon, sir, but if callers are welcome, they’ll come. My Lucy might not be up to London standards, but she can cook a fine meal that will please your guests. Give her a recipe, sir, and she’ll serve up a real feast. It’s the company, surely, that makes the meal worthwhile.”
The man was a hopeless yokel. One’s table defined one’s ability to host, and hosting depended upon manners, style, the right assembly of guests, and a deft host who could engage people. Certainly food mattered, one didn’t want to give the impression that one’s staff was unfamiliar with the delicacies that adorned the most fashionable tables in Mayfair. But a social occasion of any kind, whether it was a supper or a ball, required an artistry that Laverly knew he lacked. He could not see. There would be no guests invited to dine at Laverly Hall.
“Where are we?” he asked, sparing Harold the rough edge of his tongue for the ludicrous suggestion that a blind man could play host. “Which of the tenants are we approaching?”
Harold was eager to turn to a different subject. “The Cantwells, sir.”
“Cantwells?”
“Farmers, sir. Josiah Cantwell and Elsie, and their six. You might not remember them,” Harold said.
“How long have they lived here?”
“At least ten years, I’d wager. All their children was born here.”
“Ten years, I was still on the estate then,” Dennison mused.
“But you was a young man. Not much call for a young man to know the tenants on his father’s estate.”
Laverly said nothing. His father had known all the tenants; known them by name. And had probably known them when he was young. The realization that he had not been the man his father had been fitted him ill.
“Harold, where is that young man that you mentioned? The one who was wounded at Salamanca. Where is his farm?”
“He’s Mary Pargetter’s son, he lives with her. Pargetter’s been dead two years since. Their farm is the next one after the Cantwells.”
Chapter Three
The meeting with the Cantwells went fairly well., Mrs. Cantwell insisted on sending her youngest down to the fields to fetch his father so that he could meet the Master. As they waited for him, Harold maintained an easy flow of conversation that required little of Laverly but to nod upon cue. Mrs. Cantwell was garrulous, and Harold had little to do to inspire a discourse. Finally, Mr. Cantwell arrived, out of breath from his haste.
“Glad to have you back home, milord; it just hasn’t been right, not having a Laverly at the Hall. But things will be right now that you’re back.”
“How long has the Hall been abandoned?” Laverly asked.
Cantwell couldn’t rightly say, but Mrs. Cantwell could, and did, in a cascade of information that was as much speculation as fact. The servants had been true to the Duchess, but after Her Ladyship’s death, with no one about to keep them in line, things had gotten a bit off the path. Mrs. Cantwell heard that some of the servants were even living in the house, just as if they were gentry. Wicked it was. No work being done. Some of the lads had gone up to the Hall to see what was what, and Hy Bartram, he that won the wrestling contest five years in a row, had told them that if they wouldn’t do their work, they’d best be off the property or he and the other lads would crack their skulls for them. When? That was in the early summer, sir, but they’d done no work all spring, no planting, not a bit of it. And the Hall---well, doubtless he’d seen what they’d left behind---
She halted abruptly, her words cut off.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cantwell,” he said in the thick silence that ensued. “Fortunately, Harold and his family are putting things to rights and I have no doubt they will restore the Hall to its former appearance.”
“That we will, sir, that we will,” Harold said eagerly, filling the void with his own contributions. “’Twill be just as it was in Her Ladyship’s time.”
“We do miss Her Ladyship, sir. That we do. There weren’t no one like her.”
“No,” Laverly agreed. “There was not.”
What would she have done to welcome back a blind son? How would she have dealt with the cruel fate that robbed her son and heir of his sight? His mother was a gentle woman; his father forever anxious that she be sheltered from the hardships of life. Wealth and affluence he could provide for her, but life was a leveler. He felt a rush of grief for the parents who were unknown to him because, young and reckless, he had not thought of how his escapades would affect them. Now they were gone, and he could have benefitted from his father’s wisdom and his mother’s affection.
“We’d best be off. His Lordship wants to meet with all the tenants. There’s a powerful lot of work to be done at the Hall,” Harold announced.
“Yes,” Laverly echoed. “I shall count on all of you for help. And if you happen to hear word of the servants who pillaged the Hall and left it in such an abominable state, please pass it along.”
When they were back in the wagon, Harold said, “Good thinking, sir. Asking them to let you know if they hear anything about those who ran off.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I confess I’d like to set my fists on the lot of them.”
“Best rely on the law, sir,” Harold said gently.
The days when he could solve his own problems with his wits and his two fists were gone. Harold was right. Now, like an old man bereft of strength and resources, he must depend on others to settle his scores. He was of half a mind to tell Harold to turn the wagon back around and head back to the Hall. Calling on the tenants was obviously a waste of time; he didn’t know them, he couldn’t help them. He couldn’t even help himself. But return to what? A day spent in a residence that was simply a reminder of the past, while around him Harold’s family dusted and scrubbed to restore it to a semblance of a home? While he did nothing?
When the wagon pulled into the next farm, Harold turned to give Dennison a word.“Old man Tyler is a gruff sort, sir. Not much in the way of manners,” Harold said quietly. “Pay him no mind.”
“I thought you said the name was Pargetter.”
“Aye, I did so. But Mary Pargetter’s father, Tyler, lives here with them.”
‘Quite,” Laverly said. He turned so that his legs faced out of the wagon, gripped the sides and lowered himself to the ground before Harold had a chance to offer assistance.
“Well, sir, that was quick learning,” Harold said, sounding impressed. “Reckon you’re going to manage just fine in no time.”
It was absurd, of course, the man was but a servant. And yet Laverly felt as if he’d done something worthy of praise for the first time in weeks.
“Cam Tyler!” Harold called out as they approached the cottage, his hand steering Laverly by the elbow but discreetly so that, until they were near, Tyler could not have told that the Duke depended upon Harold for guidance. “We’ve come to see you and yours. This here’s His Lordship, come to meet his tenants now that he’s back from war.”
“Me and mine ain’t about. Mary’s with that Knollys girl, birthing another brat. Will is in the fields.”
“Then I shall meet you,” Laverly said, piqued by the man’s blunt speech.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Tyler asked boldly.
“They don’t see,” Laverly replied evenly.
“I know that, I can see those specs. What happened?”
“Now, Cam, you know His Lordship was hurt in the war, fighting the French.”
“He can tell me hisself, can’t he?”
“Cam Tyler, you’ve no cause to be rude to His Lordship—“
Laverly interrupted. In a perverse way, he relished the thought of engaging in a battle of words with this codger. No one else was likely to dismiss his condition or his rank so completely. “It’s quite all right. What would you like to kn
ow? Harold and I would appreciate a chair if we’re going to enjoy your discourse; it’s quite impossible to stand and be amiable.”
Tyler grunted. “Chairs are inside,” he said.
Harold went inside.
“What would you like to know?” Laverly repeated.
“I’d like to know,” Tyler said, “how you lost your eyesight. My boy lost his leg below the knee. He’s got a wooden peg where his leg used to end.”
“I was under the impression that your grandson was a fine judge of horseflesh and skilled with them. Was I misinformed?”
“You were not. Will were trained by the best, and that’s me. Could have had work in any stable yard in England, that’s how good he is. Now no one will hire him. They don’t see what he can do. All they see is that wooden leg.”
“What can he do?” Laverly asked. He heard Harold coming out of the cottage, carrying chairs..
“You can sit, sir.” Harold, his hand again on Laverly’s elbow, went to steer him toward the chair, but suddenly Laverly was determined to manage on his own, if only to prove something to the ornery old man.
“Thank you for fetching the chair, Harold, and to you, Mr. Tyler, for allowing us to sit with you.” Carefully, Laverly felt for the edge of the chair. Slowly, he lowered himself down. When he was securely seated, he could not refrain from grinning. “My compliments to your craftsmanship, Mr. Tyler. I feel quite secure.”
Tyler grunted again. “My son made the chair,” he told them. “Jim weren’t much for horses. He was a carpenter.”
“I’ve been telling His Lordship about Will,” Harold said. “And how there’s no one in the village can match him for horses and knowing them.”
“No one with two legs,” Tyler said. “What about your eyes?” he asked again, unwilling to let his question go.
“I had the great misfortune to be in a place where I did not think Boney’s artillery could reach me. Clearly, I was wrong,” Laverly said lightly, as if being struck had been all of a great joke and nothing of significance.
Tyler grunted. “Damn French.”
“I agree with you there, Tyler,” Laverly said. “I trust God will see it our way.”