Alex and Dulcie exchanged glances. For the energetic Lord Kilbraith to arrive at walking pace boded no good.
Mary, however, jumped up in excitement and rushed into the hall to meet him.
“What news? What have you found?” Then, in lower tones. “Oh God, no! Oh, do not keep me waiting, I must know it all!”
Lord Kilbraith’s voice was a low rumble, the words indistinct, but Mary’s cry of anguish needed no words to understand.
Hercules was dead.
11: Potatoes
“There is a ruined cottage hard by High Brafton,” Lord Kilbraith said. “The walls that remain are low, no more than waist high, and in the dark Hercules must have thought the jump an easy one. But on the other side, he found only disordered mounds of stone. He could never have kept his footing on such terrain. His neck was broken, poor fellow.”
Mary sat on the sofa in the parlour, weeping uncontrollably, as Dulcie held her tight and rocked her gently. Lord Kilbraith sat at their feet, his face bleak. His hands were restless, as if he would rather be comforting Mary himself, and perhaps he would soon have that right.
“At least he could not have suffered,” Drummond said. “It would have been very quick.”
“Indeed so,” Lord Kilbraith said. “That was a mercy indeed. It would have been dreadful if he had lain there injured for all this time, for no one thought to look for him in such a place. It was only when a ewe got in and the shepherd went after her that poor Hercules was discovered.”
“I should like to see him,” Mary said. “Is he still at this ruined cottage?”
Dulcie shuddered. “Dear cousin, I do not think you should go there. It can do no good.”
To her relief, the gentlemen agreed and their combined arguments served to dissuade Mary from any such venture.
“I have brought you his bridle,” Lord Kilbraith said, withdrawing the leather pieces from his pocket. “You may wish to keep them for your next horse.”
“I shall never have another horse!” she cried through her tears. “We could not afford Hercules, if truth be told, and we certainly cannot afford to replace him.”
“Nevertheless, you will have another horse,” Lord Kilbraith said intently, his eyes fixed on hers.
Mary coloured, and lowered her eyes, for no one could mistake his meaning.
~~~~~
Dulcie’s quick ears caught the sound of a horse-drawn vehicle on the road. That in itself was not unusual, for the road to the west of Lower Brinford was the easiest way to the county boundary, where lay the coach road, the mail station and the road into Shropshire. Carriages, wagons and farmers’ carts passed to and fro all day, rumbling by with a thud of hooves, a jingle of harness and occasionally the crack of a whip. They rarely stopped, however, as this particular vehicle did.
Mr Drummond came thundering down the stairs. “The Hall carriage is at the end of the lane, Miss Dulcie. Shall we walk down and see what they are about?”
Willingly she agreed, but they had not gone very far when the reason for the carriage became apparent. Walking down the lane came Grace and Hope, and between them, pale of face, her steps less quick than theirs, was Jess.
Dulcie ran forward to meet them. “How delightful this is! Are you come to visit us, Miss Drummond?”
“To stay, I hope,” she said with a smile. “The Hall was a wonderful place to recuperate, but I am recovered now, and I should like to be at home.”
“Of course,” Dulcie said. “What could be more natural? You will find that I have not quite managed to burn it to the ground, despite my noble efforts in that direction.”
Jess spluttered with laughter. “I heard all about it! What a time you have had! Ah, Alex — you see, there was no need to fuss over me, for I have shaken off my megrims.”
“What ailed you was more than megrims, I fancy, but I am very glad to have you home, Jess. Come inside. Have you heard the news about Mary’s horse?”
Grace, Hope and Jess took Mary into the parlour to commiserate with her, and to hear all the details of the demise of poor Hercules, and Lord Kilbraith’s gallantry. They knew most of it, for Lord Kilbraith had already returned to the Hall with news, but it was a tale that bore repetition, and would no doubt be recounted many times yet.
Dulcie went back to the kitchen, and sat at the table with the potatoes she was scrubbing. Polly went back outside to finish cleaning the creamery. Drummond pulled out a chair and sat opposite Dulcie. She wondered why he was not with Jess, but perhaps he felt out of place in the company of so many young women, or thought the parlour overcrowded. Then it occurred to her that he might wish to talk to her about the dinner or the pig, so she said nothing, waiting for him to speak.
At first she thought he was not going to say a word, for he sat gazing at nothing for a long time, as she worked methodically through the bucketful of vegetables at her feet, pulling one out, cleaning it, throwing it into the pan, then reaching for another. She had never suspected that such monotonous work could be so soothing to the spirit. From the parlour, the low murmur of voices rose, but the kitchen was silent except for the scratching of her brush and the occasional shifting of the fire.
The silence became oppressive. “The potatoes will soon be too big to scrub,” she said, for want of saying something to fill the void. “I love them when they are small. They have a tenderness and mild flavour that is incomparable.”
Still he said nothing, and she gave it up. Let him have a fit of the sullens, if he was so minded. She let her thoughts wander, to the last of the strawberries, which needed to be picked, and the plums for their dinner. One of the chickens was limping, too, which was a worry. She must remember to ask Polly how best—
“What do you think?” he said abruptly.
She set down her brush, and wiped her hands on her apron. “About what in particular?”
“About Jess. Is she well enough, do you think?”
“She is dreadfully pale and thin, but we can fatten her up, I daresay. She will be happier here with us, I am sure, for all the comforts she has left behind at the Hall.”
“But she must not do too much!” he cried. “It would be an infamous thing if she starts working too hard again, and falls into the same malady. She cannot survive a second such episode.”
“Certainly not!” Dulcie said. “She must do nothing at all. But there is not the slightest need for her to do more than sit in a chair with a book. Even if Mary goes home, Polly and I can manage. I am not so incompetent as I was.”
He smiled then, the anxiety which customarily darkened his countenance lifting for a moment. “You are not in the least incompetent, Miss Allamont. No one could think it of you, not when they see how skillfully you manage everything. Jess took far longer to learn, I assure you.”
Her cheeks grew hot at his compliment. “Why, thank you! I believe it must be on account of the many years of education my father imposed on me — on all of us. We had to learn everything quickly if we were to please him. It is a habit impossible to leave behind, I suspect.”
“You were taught a great many subjects, not just the usual range considered suitable for young ladies,” he said. “Greek and Latin, and a great deal of history and science and the arts, I collect from all you have said. It is very commendable. You could teach, if you wished.”
“Teach? Become a governess, you mean, like poor Miss Bellows?”
“Now why is it that a governess is always poor Miss Something-or-other?” he said, with twinkling eyes. “They have a very comfortable existence, it seems to me, and far better than they might find elsewhere, for there are few respectable occupations for ladies. But I was thinking rather of school teaching.”
“That is for a man, surely,” Dulcie said.
“Not always. There are girls’ schools nowadays as well as boys’. But of course you will never need to find yourself a paid position,” he ended sadly. “You will marry well, and all that fine learning will be bestowed on your children.”
There was a heavines
s in his voice which she thought more than the comment warranted, but she supposed he was thinking of the difficulties of his present situation, and wishing that he, too, had no need to find a position. Unwilling to distress him further, she made no answer, turning back to her potatoes.
“You had better leave those for Polly to finish,” he said.
“Polly? Certainly not. Meals are my responsibility.”
“Not any longer, Miss Allamont,” he said gently. “Jess is home now, and you are free to return to the Hall and your proper place in the world.”
“But I have not yet been here a month,” she objected. “We agreed a month.”
“Or until Jess returns,” he said.
“Jess is by no means well enough to resume her duties here. I cannot leave now.”
“I have no pupils to teach until the harvest is in. With Polly’s help, I may hope to do most of the tasks you currently undertake, and Jess will instruct me in the culinary arts. I cannot thank you enough for your generous aid these past three weeks, but I believe we can manage now without it. You have fulfilled your obligation in every way, and may now go back to your rightful place as a lady of Allamont Hall.”
She set the scrubbing brush down again. How foolish to feel so bereft at the prospect of leaving the cottage! She had been there for such a short time, yet it had quite begun to feel like home.
“I do not see it as an obligation,” she said quietly. “Perhaps it began so, but my time here has long been a pleasure to me. I should be happy to stay for as long as I may be useful. May I not stay?” His expression was sufficient answer. “You wish me to go, then,” she said, her voice heavy.
He hesitated, his hands twisting. “For myself, I should be… perfectly content for you to stay… for as long as it pleases you. I am mindful, however, that there might be those who would see your continuance here as… having greater meaning. Who would interpret it… you understand me, I am sure.”
“I do not understand,” she said, with some heat. “Nothing has changed, so why should there be any additional meaning attached to my stay here?”
Again, he hesitated, not meeting her eye. “Miss Allamont, I must beg you not to press me on this point.” He rubbed a hand across his face, and she was struck with how tired he looked. He raised his head and looked directly at her. “Would it be presumptuous of me to claim the right of friendship, and ask you to trust me? I believe it will be best for you to go home today with your sisters, and for Mary to go with you. You have been such a tremendous help that it would have been impossible to manage without you. And not just a help — a comfort in these dark days, to all of us. To me, especially. I have been in the lowest of spirits, and you have lifted me up more times than I can recount. But I believe it is best that you go home now.”
There was no gainsaying his determination. She wiped her hands on her apron and carefully untied it, leaving it folded over the back of the chair. Then she set about collecting all her things, and when Grace and Hope were ready to leave, she and Mary went with them, as Polly and Mr Drummond manoeuvred her box down the lane to the waiting carriage, and the coachman strapped it onto the back.
Her last view as the carriage jerked into motion was their two faces, Polly grinning gleefully and Mr Drummond solemn, his arms folded.
~~~~~
Alex hardly knew how he got through the rest of that day. He and Polly divided the chores between them, he taking on the cooking, under Jess’s supervision, and Polly the cleaning. In the garden, he had charge of the pig and the vegetables, while Polly managed the chickens and the goat.
“You going to help with the washing, too?” Polly said. “Cos if so, I know folk who’d pay good money to see a gentleman hanging out the sheets.”
“I can help,” Jess said.
“Absolutely not,” Alex said firmly. “I am perfectly capable of assisting, under Polly’s instruction. If Miss Allamont could help with the washing, I am sure I can do no less. I am not helpless, you know.”
Polly shook her head and chortled. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
Still laughing, she went out to see to the chickens, leaving Alex and Jess minding the range in the kitchen. Alex stirred a pot or two, more or less at random, then, with a sigh, settled himself at the table with a pile of vegetables.
“There is still a little money left from last quarter day,” Jess said quietly. “We could get someone from the village to help out, at least with the washing.”
“We agreed to keep it for coal for the winter,” he said. “Coal is so expensive.”
“You are so cautious. There is our reserve fund in the bank still. We have two hundred pounds a year, Alex, as well as your teaching income. Many people live on far less.”
“Not of our rank,” he said. “The reserve fund is for a crisis, like the trouble with the roof last winter, remember? And to keep us appropriately clothed and shod, whenever our present stock can no longer be mended. We must keep up the appearance of being gentry until we reach happier times, but we must also live within our income. There is nothing to spare for another servant.”
“It is a pity Dulcie would not stay on a little longer,” Jess said, quietly. “It would have made everything easier. Could you not have persuaded her to stay for a while, Alex?”
He tugged at his collar, suddenly uncomfortably hot. “Well, I thought… it seemed inappropriate… I thought it best. We have trespassed on her good nature too long as it is.”
Jess said nothing, but her eyes were knowing and a smile played on her lips. She knew him all too well, and there was no hiding anything from her.
“Frankly, it would have been better for her to leave before this,” he said. “I should have sent her away as soon as—”
He did not need to finish the sentence, for she understood, stretching a sympathetic hand to rest on his. “Perhaps you should have done so, but that might have attracted the very comment you would wish to avoid.”
“Perhaps. I confess I did not consider that aspect of the business,” he said ruefully. “All I knew was that she made me feel better, lifting my black moods as no one else could, not even you, sister. Even when—” He stopped, remembering that Jess knew nothing of Dulcie’s sneaking around in his bedroom. He went on hastily, “Even when I was angry with her, I could not sustain it. She would look sorrowful or cry or hang her head in misery, and I had not the heart to be displeased with her for long. And she would sit and chatter all the time, with her ready smile. Such delightful company, for—”
Jess raised one hand. “Is that a carriage stopping at the end of the lane? I believe we have visitors.”
Alex opened the front door to find the Marquess of Carrbridge with Miss Connie Allamont.
The Marquess’s lips twitched at the sight of Alex’s apron. “We were just tooling about the lanes, you know. So sorry to disrupt… whatever it is that you might be engaged upon.”
“I was helping Jess to peel the carrots,” Alex said, unabashed. “It is proving trickier than I had supposed, for I seem to end up with more peel than carrot. I daresay I shall get into the way of it before too long. How may I be of service, my lord? Or is this a social call? I shall remove my apron in honour of the occasion, if so.”
“No need, for we will not keep you long from the important matter of root vegetables,” said the Marquess, with his ready smile. “It is only to inform you of the plans for the Shropshire trip. I shall depart on Wednesday, so have yourself and your box ready. Will ten be too early for you?”
“Much as I should love to come, I must beg to be excused, my lord,” Alex said. “Jess is not yet well enough for me to think of leaving her.”
“Nonsense!” Jess said, emerging from the kitchen. “Of course you must go. The change will do you a world of good, and I can manage here, with Polly’s help.”
Alex was about to protest further, when the Marquess raised a hand. “If that is all, the difficulty is speedily resolved. I shall secure an additional maid for you for the week or two that you are aw
ay. That will relieve Miss Drummond of any need to participate in… whatever one does with root vegetables.”
“You are too kind, but I cannot afford another maid.”
“But I can, however. Swimming in lard, at the moment, in point of fact. So not another word, Drummond, do you hear?”
Alex opened his mouth once or twice, but no words emerged.
“I shall walk over each day, if I can, to ensure that all is well,” Miss Connie said.
“There you are, Alex,” Jess said. “Now you may be easy about me. Go and enjoy yourself.”
“Wednesday at ten. Do not be late,” the Marquess said, winking.
Much later, so late that they had already eaten their dinner, the very last of the fox-slaughtered chicken, and Jess had gone to her bed, Lord Kilbraith came. Alex settled him in the parlour with a glass of brandy.
“How is Mary? Has she gone home to Willowbye?”
“Not yet,” Max said. “She is to stay at Allamont Hall for a while — or until her mama insists on her return, at any rate. Her father came over today, and he is quite content for her to stay at the Hall, at any rate, but the step-mother is a termagant, by all accounts.”
“You have not met her, then?”
He shook his head. “I had… some conversation with Mr Allamont, however.” He looked a little conscious as he spoke.
“Ah. So you have asked his permission to pay your addresses? So soon? A thoughtful friend might feel you were rushing into this rather, and might be inclined to warn you to take things a little more steadily.”
Max smiled. Relaxed in the wing-chair, gently swirling the brandy round the glass, his countenance contented, not to say smug, he appeared in no doubt of his course. “I am eight and twenty, Alex, and she is but two years younger. We are both of an age to know our own minds. Besides, what need is there of delay? I have a more than adequate income to support a family.”
“May I assume you have explained your situation to her? She understands she will not be mistress of Glenbrindle?”
“Of course. She knows everything.”
“And — forgive me, Max, but I would be remiss if I failed to ask this — are her affections engaged?”
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 11