“How pleasant this is!” Hildebert enthused, gaining an early advantage in the game. “We ought to play more often.”
“Perhaps you might make a habit of hosting card-parties for the local society,” Clement suggested, concerned about Jane and Hildebert’s new tendency to take their body servants as acceptable company.
“Local society!” Hildebert exclaimed. “What, the sheep?”
“To be sure,” Jane said, “there must be some human neighbours in our vicinity.”
“Mrs. Ledford would know,” Clement said.
“I shall inquire with her,” Jane said.
Hildebert was less interested in the prospect of local society. “Whose go is it?”
“Yours, darling.”
“Ah! So it is.”
“What about a garden-party?” Letty suggested.
In unison, the group turned their heads toward the window. The gardens outside were very wet and gloomy.
“If only Wales had better weather,” Hildebert despaired.
Clement’s grip tightened on his cards. “We are in England.”
Letty coughed.
“What if we set it in the conservatory?” Jane proposed. “A garden party in a conservatory, wouldn’t that be lovely! Has anyone been to the conservatory yet? Is it pleasant?”
“Crowded,” Clement said. He thought of a flock of country nobles crammed into the serene charm of the conservatory and felt an immediate resistance to the idea. “There’s hardly room for anything but the foliage. No space for any sort of party.”
“What a pity,” Jane sighed. “The gardens, then. I think that would be very nice. And if the weather is poor, we shall simply relocate into the sunroom.”
As they played, Clement could see someone moving about in the conservatory. It was most likely the gardener, Miss Grant, seeing to her duties. There was a smaller possibility that it might be Hugo. The conservatory would be a very pleasant place to take refuge from the work of the stables. Perhaps too pleasant! There was every chance that Hugo might have an acquaintance of some sort with the gardener.
“Clement,” Jane said.
Clement startled. His companions blinked at him.
“It’s your play.”
As soon as the game was finished, the idea of the garden party was taken up in earnest. Letty retrieved paper and Jane’s appointment-book, while Clement fetched Mrs. Ledford for her help compiling a list of potential guests.
Conversation in the servants’ parlour stopped as Clement stepped into the room. Two of the maids, a footman, and Mrs. Ledford were seated in the room, taking their tea. All four of them stared at him.
“Ah,” Clement said, and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Ledford. Might you be available to come and speak with the master and mistress of the house?”
Mrs. Ledford set down her cup and stood.
“There’s some idea of hosting a garden party,” Clement explained to her, maintaining professional cheerfulness despite his discomfort at being the centre of attention in the room. “Mrs. Devereux hoped you might be able to offer some aid in composing a list… a list of local… local personages. Of quality. Who might wish to attend a… a garden party, you see.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mrs. Ledford said, crisply. She walked past him to the door.
Clement supposed he had not been forgiven for his involvement with the puppies. He followed after her, dreading what Mrs. Ledford would think to see Letty sitting alongside Mr. and Mrs. Devereux like a sister.
Mrs. Ledford had a surprisingly brisk step. Clement was hard pressed to keep up.
He searched his wits for some sort of appropriately bland comment which might ameliorate Mrs. Ledford’s grudge or otherwise endear her to the situation at hand.
“A garden party will be pleasant, don’t you think?” His voice faltered embarrassingly on the false cheer.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Ledford.
Clement did not make further attempts.
Trailing in Mrs. Ledford’s wake, Clement wondered briefly whether he might be able to slip away during the creation of the guest list. He had yet to inspect the stables, which might be in any condition. Mrs. Devereux would be pleased if he were to bring news of Titania.
Clement slowed his steps, allowing Mrs. Ledford more of a lead.
When there resulted no reprimand, Clement stopped completely. Mrs. Ledford turned the corner at the end of the hall without looking back. Clement’s heart quickened. It was very bold to assume that Hildebert would not require him in the next half an hour.
The condition of the stables would of course fall under Mr. Midgley’s oversight. If Jane wanted a report on Titania’s status, she had half a dozen better ways to request it.
It was quiet in the hallway. Clement could hear the distant murmur of voices from the drawing room. He felt buoyed on a moment of freedom.
Mr. Midgley was, after all, very new at his duties and had never expected to find himself the butler of a country estate. It might not have occurred to him to oversee the stables.
Clement turned and made his way down the steps.
The weather outside had improved to being merely unpleasant rather than miserable. Clement took no precautions other than an umbrella and a pair of leather Wellington boots before he made his way to the stables.
It was warm inside the stables. He could hear the soft whisk of a horse’s tail, and their collective breathing. Two of the horses had their heads over the doors to their stalls, watching Clement with docile interest.
He could hear rustling and quiet yips from the back of the large stable, and made his way further in to investigate.
The puppies and their mother had a stall at the back of the stable. Most of them were napping. A few tussled or explored the stall in search of adventure. One of them spotted Clement and yipped, charging to the stall door and wagging its tiny tail in greeting. Within moments, most of the puppy pack had awakened, spotted their visitor, and begun trying to jump or climb over the stall door, without success.
It was a roiling mass of black and brown bodies. Clement had no idea which was Titania. They were all similar: short legs, long bodies, white bellies with brown and black patterning on their head and backs. Even the mother was comically short-legged and small. Clement had no idea how anything so tiny could function as a herding dog.
“Mr. Adair?”
Hugo stood in the centre of the stables, several steps in front of a smaller side door. He was backlit by the hazy, rain-veiled light from the door at the front which Clement had left open, which cast light upon his dark brown hair. Everything about him was unprepossessing, including his neat but unexceptional working clothes, but the friendly, bemused smile on his lips.
“Mr. Ogden,” Clement said.
The stables were well-kept and clean. The horses and dogs seemed healthy and the structure appeared sound. Clement had no idea how one might further inspect the proper maintenance and condition of a stables, and was not about to question Hugo’s competence.
“I came to see Titania,” he said, since that was the only excuse he could offer.
Hugo’s smile widened. “She’s doing well. It will still be a week or so before she’ll be ready to move into the main house.”
Reaching past Clement, Hugo unlatched the door to the stall. The puppies pushed it open and tumbled out around Clement’s ankles.
“Oh,” said Clement, remembering the last time the puppies had been loosened upon the world. “Oh, dear.”
Hugo gathered up one of the puppies and held it while the rest romped around their ankles. “Do you not like puppies, Mr. Adair?”
Clement felt a deep longing to insist that Hugo call him Clement, though that would be very familiar for their one-day acquaintance. “I’ve never had much opportunity to find out.”
“Opportunity,” Hugo said, offering the puppy, “has arrived.”
Taking the puppy gingerly, Clement looked from it to Hugo in search of instruction as to what he ought to do now. The puppy squirm
ed in his arms, and yipped.
“You missed the chance to see yesterday’s demonstration,” Hugo said, and then clicked his tongue. “Constance.”
The mother dog, who had been waiting inside the stall with barely-contained worry for her children, trotted out and smoothly herded all the puppies into a neat line. They sat politely, like a row of school children, looking to Hugo with rapt attention.
He distributed treats among them.
The puppy in Clement’s hands squirmed more urgently, and Clement set it down. It quickly took its place in line, sitting proudly with head raised in order to receive its treat.
“You’ve trained them,” Clement said, surprised to discover that the unruly puppies weren’t unruly at all under proper supervision.
“They’re herding dogs. It’s my duty to train them.”
“But they’re so small. Even Constance. What in the world could they herd effectively? Ducks?”
Hugo laughed. It was a warm, rich sound, that went on for several moments. “I suppose they could herd ducks, if they set their minds to it. They’re meant to herd cows.”
The row of tiny puppies gazed earnestly up at them. Hugo's gaze had a similar earnestness.
“Cows,” Clement said.
“They nip at their heels, and are too short to be kicked.”
A brief huff of laughter escaped from Clement. He bit down on his lower lip to try and contain his mirth, but a delighted grin nonetheless curved his lips.
“Cows,” he said again.
“Constance,” Hugo said, snapping his fingers and making a circular gesture.
With dutiful composure, the mother dog whirled into action and herded all of her charges neatly back into the stall. Hugo shut the door and latched it.
Returning his attention to Clement, Hugo opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated. After a moment, he managed, “They’re trained to do a variety of tricks, as well. I can show you their entire repertoire, if it pleases you.”
“Sometime,” Clement agreed. “Perhaps. I haven’t enough time now.”
“Did you require anything else?” Hugo asked. It wasn’t dismissive, but encouraging, offering him a chance to make some other excuse to stay.
“I,” Clement said. “I have yet to see you in the servant’s parlour, with the others.”
“Ah.” Hugo ducked his head apologetically. “I often prefer my own company. There’s an apartment above the stables, you see. My accommodations here are more comfortable than any I might be afforded in the main house, and I usually prefer to dine alone.”
“I see,” Clement said. His cheeks heated. “I’ve intruded upon your privacy. Forgive me.”
“You haven’t.” Hugo said it earnestly, and then tightened his jaw. Some flaw in the wood of the stable door drew his attention and he fixated a moment upon it. “You… perhaps you’d be interested in a tour of the stables? If… if you have the time.”
The offer appealed to Clement, though he knew that he certainly did not have the time. Hildebert would be wondering where he had got off to. If any summons bells were ringing for him, they would go unanswered.
“I will find the time,” Clement promised. “I would very much like to learn more about the operation of a stable. And… and if you occasionally find that your nature does not wholly rebel at the prospect of dining in the servants’ kitchens, I would be pleased to see you there. From time to time.”
“I am,” said Hugo, with a widening smile, “always there on Fridays. Mrs. Ledford, despite her, ah, stern temperament, makes a truly exquisite fish stew every Friday.”
“Friday,” Clement repeated, his heart swimming with the pleasurable knowledge that today was Wednesday.
A tentative guest list was drawn up by the end of the day. It relied almost entirely upon Mrs. Ledford’s judgement, since none of the rest of them had any knowledge of the local quality.
In the morning, Letty and Jane began composing the invitations. Clement was glad to find that his skills were not required in this. Unfortunately, Hildebert lost patience for it almost as soon as he’d begun, which meant Clement was called upon to provide further entertainment for him.
“What about the London Magazine of Industry and the Sciences?” Clement suggested, placing a copy of it down within reach.
Hildebert glanced at it, then away. “No.”
“It has only just arrived. I understand that it has some dazzling newfangled inventions in it,” Clement pressed. “An engine that can propel a carriage.”
“Dull,” said Hildebert.
Clement breathed in through his nostrils and pressed his eyes shut. “Perhaps you’d like to review the household accounts?”
“The accounts! Heavens, no. Leave it to Midgley.”
“You have lands,” Clement said. “You might investigate whether they are rich in metals or minerals. Or raise cows.”
“Cows?”
“Cows would provide meat and milk for the household, and the region. You could turn it into an industry. An income.”
Hildebert’s nose wrinkled. “A gentleman does not work.”
Clement bit back a reply that a gentleman might honourably be expected to maintain his property and to derive a steady income from it.
A decorous valet did not argue with his employer.
“Of course, sir. Forgive me, sir. Is there anything else you require?”
Hildebert sulkily took up the magazine, since Clement had been able to supply no better entertainment. “No.”
Clement racked his brains for an excuse to ask Midgley about the accounts, but found none.
It simply wasn’t his responsibility as a personal valet. As long as his salary was paid and the household was kept in meat and milk, he had no reason to inquire about the household accounts.
Accounts in which Hildebert had no expertise or interest.
Nor did Midgley have experience with the matter. Lord Devereux had kept a steward, which left his head butler with little need to manage anything more than his portion of the household budget, and the under-butler with even less. Clement didn’t know if Midgley had even looked at the accounts, but he couldn’t come up with a way to suggest it without blatantly questioning Midgley’s competence.
There would, he supposed, be accounts of the estate that had been kept in the meantime, and he was certain that there had been someone filling the role of butler before Midgley had arrived. Mrs. Ledford would know, but Clement was not yet desperate or driven enough to apply to her for information.
Rather, he let himself into Hildebert’s yet-unused private study, and began going through the books he found there.
The collection was years old.
It had belonged to Hildebert’s uncle decades ago, and to Hildebert in his youth. Most of the books lining the walls were untouched. Clement didn’t imagine they saw use or dusting more than once a year.
Settling in to go through them, Clement found a shelf full of log books with household and estate accounts, and started doing what he could to make sense of the state of the household in current and former years.
The more recent accounts were very sparse. Basic necessities for the skeleton staff of the place. Food and supplies, somewhat ameliorated by the kitchen garden and the stew pond. Maintenance on the building itself. Rents from the local village. Taxes to the king.
He’d been at it for an hour when the door to the study opened.
It was the elderly head footman he’d met the first day. “Mr. Busick,” Clement greeted him, getting up to return the account books to their shelves. “Do you know if I’m required somewhere?”
“Not as I’ve heard,” the footman said. He went from lamp to lamp, checking each one for oil and the lengths of the wicks. None of them showed signs of having been used recently, but Mr. Busick nonetheless checked each one.
Clement’s fingers skimmed idly back and forth over the page, paying attention to Mr. Busick rather than the accounts in front of him. “Mr. Busick,” he said. “May I ask you something?�
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“To be sure, Mr. Adair.”
“Who was the butler here before we arrived?”
“I was,” Mr. Busick said. His tone didn’t change, and he went on checking the lamps.
“Ah.” Clement fidgeted in his chair. “My condolences.”
Mr. Busick shrugged.
“Are these your account-books?”
Coming over to see, Mr. Busick peered at them and nodded.
“They’re admirable,” Clement said, searching his wits for an approach to the topic he wanted. “May I ask, Mr. Busick, is the estate profitable?”
“Profitable?”
“Is it self-supporting?”
Mr. Busick gave a gruff snort. “Accounts aren’t in the red, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I can see that,” Clement said, “although I haven’t much experience reading account books, yours are very neat. But between the income and the expenses, I don’t see any significant profit from year to year. And with Mr. Devereux and his wife now living here, with a full staff, I was wondering how the accounts would be impacted.”
“Unusual course of study for a valet.”
Not one with ambition.
Clement kept that thought to himself, and said instead, “I only want to be sure that I will have an answer ready, if Mr. Devereux asks.”
“Huh,” said Mr. Busick. “Reckon it depends on what kind of household they choose to run.”
“A household with at least one garden party,” Clement said. He leaned his elbows on the edge of the desk, undecided as to whether or not Mr. Busick was a useful source of information. “There’s land on the estate, Mr. Busick. Is it suited to any particular use or wealth?”
“Not bad grazing for cows,” Mr. Busick said. “Trees grow stout enough in the orchard. A bounty of apples. Could keep pigs without much trouble. Forest could be turned to lumber.”
“Why hasn’t anything been done about it?” Clement asked. “Why not turn the land to greater industry?”
“Writ to him of it once,” said Mr. Busick, and shrugged. “He reckoned it seemed like a spot of bother.”
Chapter 5
The Valet and the Stable Groom Page 5