Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles)

by Louise Franklin

  Fourteen horses were a lot of work. One man could not manage for long. He did have the help of the two coachmen from the London house, for there was no coachman hired on to Ravenstone. And no gardener, which would explain the sorry state of the gardens. “Where is Mr. Madden?” she asked to no one in particular. “I thought I made it clear I wanted all the staff present.”

  No one answered.

  “Speak up,” her mother demanded.

  “He is in town, Lady Fairchild, visiting his sick mother,” Cook said.

  “I see,” she said—only again she did not. After such a long absence, it was customary and essential for the steward to present himself to his master on his return.

  “I understand from information that I have been able to gather that you have not been paid your wages for several months.”

  No one said anything, but Cook seemed slightly startled by this information and glared accusingly at the housekeeper, an odd reaction. Ironically, the housekeeper hadn’t let the deficit slip. Harriet, who stood behind Cook, her face flushing, was the culprit.

  The absence of wages explained the lack of servants and Georgiana wondered that they hadn’t all gone to seek work elsewhere. She also knew that without a reference, most of them would find it difficult to obtain a new position. Mr. Elton would not find new work at his age, especially with one blind eye, so he had remained. Dixon had remained to take care of him, she imagined.

  She unlocked a wooden box on the table next to her. Starting with Mr. Elton, she paid them the five months wages owed as well as the wages for the next month to come. She also gave them each a raise, much to their surprise. It was her money, after all, and Sir Edward had given her a free hand. She intended to make the most of her position before he withdrew his generous offer. Her mother noted the amounts in a new ledger she had started. When she was done with them all except for Cook, Georgiana thanked them for their hard work and loyalty, and dismissed them. “Wait a minute, what about my share?” asked Cook angrily.

  “Your share?” Georgiana asked, confused. “You are the only one who was paid, in fact rather generously. Why is that?”

  “That is a lie, I tell you,” she said, her voice raised now, her face flushed. She turned to glare at the other servants who had paused in their exit to watch the confrontation.

  Georgiana was about to reply but from the corner of her eye she saw her mother move around the table to stand directly facing Cook. Smiling to herself, Georgiana sat back in the great chair to enjoy one of the few advantages she had in her mother.

  “You dare to call your mistress a liar,” Lady Wyndham accused, her eyes furious, and Georgiana almost felt sorry for the woman. “She is the lady of this house and you will show her the respect due her. If that’s not perfectly clear, you may leave this house immediately.”

  “Yes, madam,” Cook said, cowed but still resentful. She curtsied, and then pushed past the rest of the servants. They followed in her wake and Dixon closed the door behind him, a smile on his face.

  “Why did you not dismiss that horrible woman?” her mother asked when they were alone again.

  “Will you cook tonight’s dinner, if I do?” Her mother remained quiet. “I didn’t think so.”

  “You cannot mean to keep her on?”

  “No. I will replace her as soon as I find another cook. Until then, I want to discover why she was the only one paid.”

  “I see,” she said and Georgiana thought she saw a glimmer of approval, but it was hard to tell since it had been so long since she had done anything of which her mother approved.

  “What do you suspect?”

  “I don’t know,” Georgiana shrugged. “I must first meet with Mr. Madden, and then maybe I can discover where the money went for the servant’s wages and the household accounts.”

  “It has clearly been stolen by him and the cook was his spy in the house, keeping an eye on servants and family,” her mother said. “She cannot cook, that is clear from the dinner last night, which you were fortunate not to eat. I must be sure before I dismiss him. His absence is an insult, you realize.”

  “Perhaps, but Edward has long neglected his estate. Maybe he never expected Mr. Madden to be present. He cares nothing for the running of Ravenstone.”

  “It is his duty to maintain the estate,” her mother said, scowling fiercely.

  “He means for me to do it.”

  “You?” her mother said surprised. “But that is impossible. Not only is it unseemly for a woman to involve herself with money, but also in the running of the estate. How are you to manage in your condition? He asks too much of you.”

  “Mother, you know I care nothing for appearances. I will get about the estate on horseback.”

  “Horseback?” her mother said, outraged. “You cannot even walk. How are you to ride?”

  “That is the beauty of it, isn’t it? The horse does the walking for me and all I have to do is sit there — something I have become an expert at.”

  “It is not appropriate for you to be seen in public.”

  “What public, Mother? Have you not noticed the empty fields?”

  “There is still society about in the country. I will not have—”

  “Stop, Mother,” Georgiana interrupted her. “Let’s not have that argument again. I am no longer at the mercy of what you dictate.”

  She was not now at her husband’s mercy either, but she didn’t voice her thought out loud. Her mother looked like she wanted to argue further but then thought better of it.

  “Will you help me enquire for a new cook, please? Then go over the accounts with me again so I can be sure of all their meanings?”

  Her mother seemed mollified by this request, and sat down again in the chair next to her. They worked until it was time to dress for dinner and Georgiana thought how strange it was to feel grateful to her mother for the first time in her life.

  ***

  The first few days in her new home passed quickly, and she reveled in her newfound freedom. She acquired a new mare with the help of the groom. She had been most specific as to her requirements and he had managed to find her a well-bred young horse with clean lines and a sound spirit.

  Belladrum was black as midnight, her coat taking on a dark blue sheen. With a finely-shaped head and strong, straight legs, she had an alert look Georgiana remembered having seen in the sire years ago. He had been a champion racer bred from the White Darcy Turk. She had good blood in her from both her sire and her dame. Georgiana had always believed a well-bred horse required good blood from both sides, not only the sire. The mare had not come cheaply but she would be worth her weight in gold and more, once she was bred.

  With a few modifications of the new sidesaddle Edward had given her, she would be able to ride again soon. The prospect of it left her feeling breathless with anticipation. The days dragged by as she waited impatiently for the saddle to be fitted. Her nervous anticipation was misunderstood by her husband and brother as anxiety over riding again after her terrible accident.

  Her brother reassured her she did not have to ride again did she not wish it. It was all she could do to control her need to tell him she was not afraid at all. Quite the contrary, she was quivering with anticipation and excitement, not fear. After all, no riding accident had left her crippled, but rather, she had been struck down by her father’s fury. But she could say none of this to her brother, so she allowed him to believe what he would.

  To distract herself, she concentrated on her new responsibilities. Her mother had supervised the cleaning of the house and complained greatly about Mrs. Bristow, which was in the woman’s favor.

  Georgiana spent some time trying to win over Rupert, who had managed to hit her twice more with his wooden block. The last time she had been fast enough to catch the projectile, and had thrown it back at him. Hit squarely on his forehead, he was so surprised that it took him a full minute before he began to wail, which brought his father running. Edward had scowled at her for the rest of the day, but Rupert neve
r threw another missile at her.

  His nanny quit after he pushed her in the pond for the second time. Georgiana could not really blame the poor woman. Rupert had kicked and bitten her numerous times, as he was determined to live out his days and nights in the garden shrubbery as a wild animal. She sighed, not knowing what else to do. Edward had laughed and called him high-spirited. She would need to find a governess for the boy.

  Charles rode over the estate and made notes about what needed to be done. It was a long list in which Edward took no interest. He spent his time reading or visiting with neighbors. The estates’ accounts were missing along with Mr. Madden, the steward, who was still nowhere to be found. She had also discovered from Edward that Mr. Madden’s sick mother had died two years ago. Edward only shrugged when she had quizzed him about his missing steward.

  The only reaction she did get from him was when she mentioned that she would let Mr. Madden go as soon as he reappeared. Then he had looked up from his book and simply said ‘no.’ The word had been meant strongly and she had reminded him that he had given her a free hand with the estate but he only repeated it, one word. No.

  She had no choice but to have Charles show her how to keep an accounting of the estate, which was much more complicated than the household accounts. The planting of barley and wheat, although underway, was late for the season, Charles informed her, and no oats were planted this year as the seed had spoiled from being left out in the rain.

  There were other problems. The fallow fields had not been planted because there were not enough workers. The turnips would feed the animals in winter, Charles said, but then it was discovered the estate’s cattle had disappeared.

  She could not be surprised. The estate had fallen into complete neglect, the cottages in dire need of repairs, the fields in need of new equipment and workers. Many had left as the estate faltered, moving to fight the war or to work the mills in nearby towns. She needed workers desperately for she had two thousand acres of land to farm.

  To add insult to injury, any money made in past years from the corn crop, sheep farming and rents, when collected, had been used to pay Edward’s debts. Thus, the estate was without funds to pay for repairs or wages.

  She should have been overwhelmed by the amount of work that needed to be done, but instead she felt for the first time a real sense of purpose. She had felt for so long that she was worthless, incapable of performing even the most basic of tasks. Now suddenly she was learning the challenges of running an estate and it was exhilarating. While Charles helped her understand the needs of the estate, her mother helped her to understand the running of a large house.

  Georgiana and Lady Wyndham had made an inventory of what paintings and furniture were left in the house, what needed fixing, and what was to be replaced. A carpenter had been sent for and they had hired two more maids, a footman, a stable boy, and a coachman from the village.

  Then, together, they made a list of tasks that would need to be undertaken to return the house to its former glory. They were noted down in order of priority. The east wing had a leaking roof that needed immediate attention. A carpenter and crew from a nearby town was secured, and set to work. The stonework on the west wing wall was crumbling and would need to be replaced. A mason and two apprentices were hired to fix that.

  Another list was made of purchases to be made in London to replace those items missing from the house, including pieces of silverware, paintings, rugs, and furniture. Georgiana hired a gardener and two men to help him tame the gardens, and to start a kitchen garden. She was spending a small fortune, but she wanted to do as much as she could before Edward realized she was emptying his new coffers.

  Invitations had arrived from neighbors for dinners, dances, and balls. None of the invitations included her. Edward, Charles and her mother attended, leaving her home, despite Charles’ protests. Her mother had argued, and Edward reluctantly agreed, that the local gentry had no wish to be exposed to a cripple, any more than the city gentry had been.

  Georgiana was glad of it, she told herself. She had no real wish to sit through long evenings of tedious conversation where she must constantly remember not to know anything about anything. Her days were long and filled with new responsibilities so that she was tired by nightfall and enjoyed her evenings alone, reading by the fire.

  Soon her mother would return to London with Charles. They would see Jane and Margaret again and Charles would give them the letters she wrote. She missed them terribly. During the day, it was easier but at night, she felt their loss, and often cried herself to sleep, only to dream of them and far too often, Nicholas too. This last left her confused and guilt-ridden.

  It was always the same dream of him in a duel. It is early and the fog ghosts around the trees and surrounds the two figures intent on killing each other. He falters, stumbles and his opponent’s sword drives home, stabbing him through his heart. The surprise on his face turns to shock when he looks in his opponent’s face, as if recognizing him for the first time. He falls to the ground and his opponent turns to face her in the dream, only it is not Sir Edward. It is her own face she sees in the dream, right before she wakes to spend sleepless hours wrapped in her own guilt.

  On one of those nights, she made her first journey out into the woods. She was careful to climb along the ledge of her window and across the slippery roof to the scaffold used by the workers. She made her way into the deep glen behind the house, happy to escape into its welcoming embrace to stretch her legs into a run. The exercise helped her focus her raw emotions into a manageable state, and she returned to the house and her room able to sleep a few hours before dawn.

  11

  “They are in the kitchen, madam,” Elton said, his face tightly controlled as he handed her a wet and muddy note.

  “Who is in the kitchen?” Charles asked, turning away from the window and the rainy afternoon.

  Georgiana took the note and, recognizing it, carefully placed it on the table away from her books without reading it, for she already knew what it said. She had left the note in question at the Red Lion inn with the girl Ann. She was to give it to the street urchin she had met. She was a little confused by the ‘they’ Elton had used for she was expecting a ‘he’ only.

  “There are five street children in the kitchen awaiting an audience with Lady Fairchild, sir,” Elton answered Sir Charles.

  “Street children?” Lady Wyndham asked, raising an eyebrow and placing her teacup on the table.

  “Five?” Georgiana asked, puzzled.

  “Good heavens,” Charles said intrigued. “From which streets do street children come in the middle of the country?”

  Elton waited for instruction and Georgiana had to come up with one quickly.

  “I will come to the kitchen,” Georgiana said quickly. “Charles, would you help me?”

  “You cannot mean to have dealings with street children, Georgiana,” her mother said.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. I have this in hand.”

  Her mother looked skeptical but said nothing more and returned to her letter writing. Charles carried her along the hall and down a flight of stairs to the kitchen where he placed her in a chair by the hearth. Dixon, Cook, and Harriet surrounded four wet, muddy boys huddled together near the fire, a pool of water collecting under them. One boy held in his hand a wrapped bundle that squirmed. A smile of relief spread slowly over his face at the sight of her, and he turned to the others and nodded as if her appearance had answered a question. He did not seem surprised at all that she was now dressed as a female, nor that she was crippled. Maybe she hadn’t fooled as many people as she had hoped.

  “Who are they?” Charles asked her.

  “I offered employment to this young man here,” she said, smiling at him.

  “’is name is ’arry, miss,” the tallest of the boys said, addressing her. His face was scarred by a diagonal cut across his left cheek.

  She had finally learned his name. The pickpocket who had followed her in St. Giles was call
ed Harry.

  “How’s your head, Harry?” she asked. He rubbed the spot and smiled at her nodding.

  “You bought some friends, I see.”

  “We all goes together, miss,” the tallest answered again. “We is the ’icks gang.”

  “And which of you is Hicks?”

  “None, miss. ’e was sent to the gallows last month on account of murder, miss.”

  “I see,” she said and watched Charles’s reaction to this information. She could see the questions forming from his expression, but shook her head at him silently, asking him to wait.

  She studied the boys, who appeared between the ages of five and fifteen. Their clothes were rags and only one wore a semblance of shoes. She asked them their names and again the tallest answered for them all. He was Peter, the oldest, he said, at seventeen. She had guessed him to be younger, but perhaps the lack of good food in the rockeries had that affect on the body.

  Next was Eye on account of that he only had one. His right eye socket was empty. No one knew his real name or age, Peter informed her, including Eye. The last boy, James, a six-year-old, hid behind the others, his left hand clinging tightly to Peter’s jacket. He seemed to be the only boy not somehow damaged. The bundle in Harry’s arms was his baby sister, Sarah. Their mother had died.

  “Can I see the baby?” Georgiana asked, holding her arms out.

  Harry moved forward and gently placed the wet bundle in her arms. The baby’s pale face looked up at her, the blue lips shivering with cold, the eyes vacant.

  “Harriet, could you find me a blanket for the baby and something to swaddle her with?”

  Surprised at the request, Harriet hesitated, and then left to do as she was asked.

  “What have you been feeding her?” she asked Harry.