Scandal's Heiress

by Amelia Smith

  Betsy turned away, discouraging further confidences. She'd been here when he was young, but, like Tim, hadn't been in her current post. She might have been one of the kitchen maids, he wasn't sure.

  “Where did you come from, Betsy?”

  She shook her head. “You ask your father that, if you want to know.”

  “So he gave you the post here?”

  “And I won't get a reference for another,” she said, “not from your mother, and not from him, neither.” Betsy went to the door. “Thanks be to God!” she said. “There's young Tim with the milk and butter, and Nestor with him.”

  “I'm sorry I've pried,” Thomas said, “but it seems to me you've kept the kitchen up, and that's something, with no one else here.”

  She ignored him, and sniffed the air. “That bread's done,” she declared, and sprinted across to the oven.

  Although the tea had been an abomination, Betsy's bread was delicious. Thomas allowed himself a breath of optimism, then asked Nestor to show him the account books.

  #

  Chapter 16: Reckonings

  Hyacinth and Maria walked to the Owens's cottage after breakfast to begin their tour of the land.

  “It is a beautiful house,” Maria said, looking back at Lindley Hall. It looked half golden in the morning sun, stretching up to greet the day.

  Hyacinth shivered as her feet crunched over the frosty path. “It is,” she said, “but it's so cold here.”

  “Not much colder than London,” Maria said.

  “Maybe not,” Hyacinth said. “I wasn't ever out so early in London.” The house – her house – was not particularly large, but it was bigger than Aunt Celia's London house, and had just as many servants. “I'm not sure I know what to do with all the staff,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Maria said.

  “It's a bit overwhelming. I was used to you and the housekeeper in Gibraltar, but it's so many people to get to know, and I don't know what they would think of having a school here,” Hyacinth said. “It would be more work for them. I don't know.”

  Maria shrugged, and they walked on in silence until they reached the cottage, which lay just around a bend in the path from the hall.

  “Hello!” Hyacinth called. She heard a clatter and a muffled conversation from inside the house. A moment later, a tall woman emerged from the house. She wore her chestnut hair pulled back into a severe bun and smiled broadly.

  “Miss Grey!” She curtsied. “We've been expecting you! Do come in!”

  Hyacinth took a deep breath and entered the small garden through a lacy cast-iron gate. Tidy rows of herbs stood here and there in mostly-bare beds, with hardly a weed in sight. She didn't know much about gardening, but this place was precisely laid out and obviously carefully tended. She hoped, no, felt sure, that she would like Mrs. Owen.

  “It's my pleasure, Mrs. Owen,” Hyacinth said. “Your garden must be beautiful in the spring.”

  “Oh, it is, but it's not mine!” she said, as she ushered them into a parlor just as tidy as the garden, and more colorful. “It's Mr. Owen's work, mostly. He was a farmer, before.”

  “Was he?” Hyacinth said.

  Mrs. Owen nodded. “Had his own farm, twenty acres. Not much, but he must have kept it well.” She sniffed, and pulled out her handkerchief.

  “Had?” Hyacinth said.

  “He had to leave it,” Mrs. Owen said. “And though he misses it, I can't say I'm sorry, because I never would have met him otherwise.”

  Maria hovered on the doorstep, looking longingly at the garden. “Maria,” Hyacinth said, “this is Mrs. Owen.” The two of them curtsied to each other. “Maria came with me from Gibraltar. She's from Spain.”

  “Buenos dias,” Mrs. Owen said.

  Maria returned the greeting.

  “I used to teach my pupils Spanish, as well as French,” Mrs. Owen said to Hyacinth.

  “Your pupils? Were you a governess?”

  “Oh, no, only a village schoolmarm.”

  Hyacinth dared to hope. Maybe she wouldn't ruin this place, as she'd lost that necklace. “A schoolteacher. How wonderful!” she said. “Tell me, how did you come here, then?”

  “Well, it's a long story,” Mrs. Owen said. “I'd better get the tea first.”

  #

  After three days at home, Thomas knew that he could not flee back to India. There was simply too much to be done here, and no one but himself to do it. His father slipped deeper into his deathbed sleep. His eyes opened once or twice during Thomas's occasional hours of bedside vigil, but he did not speak again. He wrote to his mother, asking her to come home. She had grown up on the estate, and though his father had seized the reins some thirty years ago, and driven her away from the place in the decades since, she still knew the place better than anyone else in the family. He would want her help putting it back together, besides which, it was rightfully hers. He also sent instructions to his banker, telling him to release a certain large amount of funds to the Baroness of Lawton.

  “There,” he said to himself, “that should assuage her worries about my involvement in trade.” Nestor, the manager, showed him the accounts. They were a tangle of atrocities, mismanagement, and poorly considered borrowings, but at least Nestor himself appeared to be honest. Thomas began to make arrangements to pay off some of the estate's debts, beginning with the servants' wages and the accounts with local establishments.

  He surveyed the house and grounds, and rode out to the pastures to see the cattle and sheep. The land was... well, it was land. It was farmed land, and not wilderness, but beyond that he had no sense of whether it was well-tended or not. Perhaps he should visit some other estates in the neighborhood. With that thought, he set out on a fine morning with a hint of spring in the air, towards Lindley Hall. Polaris, bored of the stableyard and pasturing with cows and workhorses, seemed to enjoy the outing. As he rode through Grantley, the villagers tipped their hats to him. A little over an hour after he'd swung up into the saddle, he arrived at the turn to Lindley Hall.

  As he rode through the gates and through the well-tended orchard, he admitted to himself that any comparison with Lawton would not be practical. To begin with, Lindley's income derived principally from its orchards, while Lawton, a much larger estate, grew grain and pastured cattle. Still, Lindley was in much better repair, judging by the state of its road alone. He hailed the first person he saw, a gardener, who was out in the orchards with a pruning saw.

  “Good day,” Thomas called cheerily, or as cheerily as he could manage.

  “Good day to you, too, Sir,” the man said, stone-faced. “May I help you?”

  “Is Miss Grey at home?” he asked.

  “I don't rightly know,” the man said. He stepped in front of Polaris, blocking the way. “What's your business?”

  Polaris tossed his head and made to step around the obstruction. Thomas patted him on the neck, soothing him.

  “I'm Thomas Pently, of Lawton. I'm acquainted with Miss Grey, and wished to make a neighborly call.”

  The gardener narrowed his eyes. “We'll see,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Thomas followed the man down the road. “I'm only just returned to Lawton,” he said, after a while.

  The man grunted.

  “I've been attempting to settle any debts we have outstanding in the neighborhood,” he said. The man only grunted again, and Thomas gave up trying to engage him in conversation. Soon, they reached a turning in the road, bringing the hall and its gardens into view. In the front garden, two women sat on a stone bench, talking. One of them was Hyacinth.

  #

  Hyacinth immersed herself in getting to know the place, its people, and its business. She spent most of her days with Mr. and Mrs. Owen, who taught her all about the estate, how the cider was made, and where they sold it. She learned that the hall and its orchards had been nearly abandoned before her grandmother acquired it. Mrs. Miller brought on all the staff herself. Hyacinth was just beginning to piece together their stories, and l
earned that each and every one of them was deeply, almost impossibly grateful for their post. All they knew about her was that she was her grandmother's heir, but they were eager to welcome her, and a little anxious. They wanted to stay, that much was clear.

  One morning, she asked Mr. Owen outright how he'd come to lose his farm.

  “I was a farmer, see,” Mr. Owen said, “but there was a highwayman in the mountains near there, and someone, don't know who, don't rightly want to know, took it into their head that he looked like me. And so I was sentenced to hang.”

  “For nothing?” Hyacinth said.

  Mr. Owen considered. “Well, someone thought I'd done something, and the judge agreed.”

  “So what happened?” Maria asked.

  “I just slipped out of the jail that night. The watchman was drunk; they often are.” He said it as if it were nothing, really, though it must have been terrifying. “But sometimes I think he wanted to let me go. I hid in the next village, first place I found, and that was the schoolhouse. Mrs. Owen's school house.”

  “Only I was Miss Nelly, then,” Mrs. Owen said.

  “So that's my story,” Mr. Owen said. “And of course I had to change my name, but I'd much appreciate staying on, is all.”

  Hyacinth nodded. “Of course. I... I can't imagine. Of course you must stay.” They'd reached the rose garden, barren now, but still a sunny place to sit.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Owen said, blushing. “I'll just go see how they're getting on in the house. Good day, ladies.” He tipped his hat to Hyacinth and to his wife, who turned off into the garden.

  “Is everyone here running from something like that?” Hyacinth asked.

  Mrs. Owen considered. “We all have different stories, and mine is probably the dullest of all. I only chose to go with a fugitive!”

  “But it's so... so romantic,” Hyacinth sighed, sitting down on their favorite bench. “I do hope they won't mind, having this school.”

  “I think there's a need for it,” Mrs. Owen said, “and we all agree, here. It's only that some might be afraid of being found out, of someone coming for them, from the lives they escaped.”

  “Well, we must take care, then,” Hyacinth said.

  “Mrs. Miller was a grand lady, for us, but she never did mix much with the quality around these parts,” Mrs. Owen said.

  “Well, she had a past of her own,” Hyacinth said.

  Mrs. Owen nodded. “We always suspected as much. There was even a rumor that she won this house in a game of cards, but she told me herself that it was investments.”

  “That's what her banker said, too,” Hyacinth said. She looked up at the house. “We must teach the girls maths. I don't know how my grandmother learned to keep her accounts so well, but it certainly stood her in good stead.”

  Mrs. Owen sighed. “I'm not so good with that, myself. I can do simple sums, but...”

  “But I can teach a little, too, or I hope I can.” She was about to tell Mrs. Owen of her lessons with George, but then she looked up. There was Thomas, sitting on his horse for all the world like a kind of general, or emperor. He tipped his hat to her, then handed his steed's reins to Matt and stepped into her rose garden.

  “Who is that?” Mrs. Owen whispered.

  “Thomas,” Hyacinth said. She sounded like a lovestruck calf. She cleared her throat. “He's a Mr. Pently, or rather, a Sir Pently, or something like that. Lawton, across the valley, is his family estate, I believe.”

  Mrs. Owen frowned. “Mrs. Miller... Well, never mind. We'll talk about mathematics after dinner, I suppose. You'll want to keep Matt nearby, with a man like that around.”

  Mrs. Owen dusted off her skirts and hurried away before Thomas got halfway across the garden. Hyacinth wanted to run after her, but then there was Thomas, in her garden, and far, far sooner than she'd ever thought to see him again. She squared her shoulders.

  “Miss Grey,” he said, bowing as she approached.

  “Thomas,” she blushed. “I... I was just speaking with…” she gestured towards the retreating Mrs. Owen. “We were talking about the school, our idea for a school here. I didn't expect to see you here, not until years had passed. Why aren't you in London?” She gave a hasty curtsy, looking over her shoulder for Mrs. Owen, but her new friend had disappeared around the side of the house already.

  “I'm sorry to have come at an awkward time,” Thomas said.

  “No, not at all,” Hyacinth said. “It's just that I didn't expect you. I mean to say, I haven't had any callers yet. I suppose I should offer you tea.”

  “You don't need to, you know,” Thomas said. He, too, looked over his shoulder. Matt stood beside Polaris holding the horse's reins and glaring at his owner. “I get the impression you don't get many visitors here.”

  “You're my first, my first visitor.” Hyacinth blushed. “I'm not much of a hostess.”

  “Nor am I much of a guest. I should have known that you were only just getting settled in, here, and I should perhaps have sent my card, to ask if I might come.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. “I actually came to see the land,” Thomas said. “Ours is in a state of neglect, I think, but I haven't seen a good, working estate in a long time, at least not in England. I don't know what to look for. I'd hoped to see how this place was run, because the folks in Grantley said it was a fine place. Besides, it offered a chance to see you again. I was worried, when I heard you'd left London.”

  He seemed taller than she remembered him, but also a little disheveled, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. “I arrived safely,” Hyacinth said, “and I'm sure that Aunt Celia is half glad to be rid of me.”

  Thomas chuckled. It looked like the first time he'd smiled in a week. “I wouldn't be so sure about that. I think she enjoyed having the excuse to buy more gowns.”

  Hyacinth smiled ruefully. “Maybe so. She's probably practicing on poor Sophie, now.” Thomas looked haggard, and she didn't want to think of Aunt Celia, or abandoning Sophie. “How are things, at your family's home?”

  Thomas shook his head. “My father's on his deathbed. The staff have mostly abandoned the place for lack of pay, and... well, that's just the start of it.”

  “Oh,” Hyacinth said.

  “I'll salvage it,” Thomas said. “It's still good land, I think, or the manager says it is, but it's a bit more of a job than I know how to do. Some of it, the accounts and all of that, I can manage, but the farming's a mystery to me. I've sent a letter to Mother, asking her to come home, but I have a feeling I'll be there for a while. At Lawton, I mean.”

  “So you're looking for help? Really?”

  “I suppose I am.” He seemed embarrassed.

  “You told me a long time ago that you weren't raised to this, that you never expected to inherit,” Hyacinth said.

  “That much is true,” Thomas said.

  “And I don't know anything about farming, either, so I'm making this a school, because I do have at least some ideas about that. The staff here seem to like the idea well enough, even though it will make the place a lot less peaceful. I've been getting to know the place here, or at least trying to.”

  Thomas looked around. “And it's all new to you, but it's nearly as new to me. None of my childhood haunts look quite as I'd remembered them.”

  “No, I don't suppose they would,” Hyacinth mused. “In any case, I won't be much good to you about the farming. Maybe Matt can show you the trees, while I go in to get tea.”

  Thomas reached for her hand. “I'd like you to come with me, if you don't mind.”

  Across the hedge, Matt cleared his throat.

  “No, I think I'll go in,” Hyacinth said, “but I'll walk with you to the stables, first. Is it a terribly long ride from Lawton?” she asked as they approached Matt and Polaris.

  “Not too long,” Thomas said. “Only a bit more than an hour, with Polaris here.” He patted the horse's neck affectionately and took the reins.

  “Matt,” Hyacinth said. “Would you be so good as to show Tho...
Sir Pently some of the orchards? He's a friend of mine, from my journey back to England.”

  “Is he?” Matt said.

  Thomas nodded. “And from London,” he said. “I'd like to get some water for my horse, first.”

  Matt nodded and led them towards the stables.

  “The folk in Grantley say the estate here is doing well, the orchards,” Thomas said. “Lawton isn't at its best, and I'm grasping at ways to bring it back to itself.”

  “You won't do that with orchards, not there,” Matt said.

  “I don't plan to,” Thomas said.

  “So what do you come poking around ours for?” Matt said.

  “I think he knows almost as little of farming as I do,” Hyacinth said. “I wouldn't know the difference between what's needed in an orchard or what's needed in a wheat field, either.” She looked up at Thomas. “I don't mean to insult you.”

  “No, it's all quite true,” Thomas said. “I have no idea what a well-run farm looks like, or how far ours falls short, though I suspect it does fall short.”

  “Maybe I should go find Mr. Owen for you, as well,” Hyacinth said. “I'll send him along after you, and meet you in the orchards.”

  #

  With that, Hyacinth rushed away. Perhaps he shouldn't have come, descending on her idyllic corner of the valley. It was so different from his family estate that it might as well have been on another continent. There was something about it that intrigued him, beyond the carefully tended orchards and, of course, Hyacinth herself. The people seemed even more suspicious of outsiders than country people usually were, but Thomas had the distinct impression that the gardener was only trying to protect Miss Grey, a sentiment he could only approve of.

  Once they had Polaris comfortably settled, Thomas was led away from the house and into the orchards by the taciturn gardener. In short order, another man joined their party. Unlike the gardener, he touched his cap to Thomas.

  “I'm Mr. Owen, sort of a manager of the farm here,” he said. “I understand you're from Lawton.”

  “I am,” Thomas said.

  “Pity about that place. It was a fine property once, they say.”