Hugo was hard at work, with his coat discarded and his sleeves rolled up. He looked the part of a labourer, not a stable groom at all, but it was a very comely look on him, showing off the strength in his powerful arms as he lifted up a roof beam and helped to set it into place.
“Hugo!” Clement called, once he was near enough.
As soon as his hands were free, Hugo turned about. He grinned, swinging down from where he was perched on the unbuilt roof and walking to where Clement was standing. “Clement.”
Clement couldn’t resist the way his own lips split in a smile. “It’s coming along nicely.”
“The builders from the village are very skilled.”
“And they have a very competent overseer working alongside them.”
Hugo smiled and ducked his head bashfully at the praise. “You do me too much credit. I aid a little with the labour, nothing more.”
“Hildebert—I…,” embarrassed by his own informality, Clement cleared his throat. “Mr. Devereux has decided to become a gentleman poet.”
“A…” Hugo’s brows lifted, then furrowed, and then his lips quirked to one side. He cleared his throat likewise. “A gentleman poet.”
“Yes. He would like to be sure that you install a desk, once the workshop is finished. Something by a window, with plenty of light. And a blue leather padded chair.”
Hugo pressed his knuckles to his lips and nodded once. “I’ll see to it at once.”
“Thank you,” Clement said.
He wanted to stay, but he knew that he was already interrupting Hugo at his work.
“I missed you yesterday,” Clement said. “It was Friday.”
“Yes. I didn’t see you when I came in to dine in the servants’ kitchen.”
“Ah,” said Clement, sorrowful that their duties had caused them to eat at different times. “I must have come too early, then. Or too late.”
“You might come tonight,” Hugo said. “I have some strawberries from the village. And a bit of mutton.”
“I’ll try,” Clement promised. “Mr. Devereux… he may require my attendance.”
“Of course.” Hugo nodded his understanding. “If you can.”
“If I can.” Clement swallowed, lost in the warm brown depths of Hugo’s eyes.
“Hugo!” One of the other workmen waved to him, summoning him over to consult on some aspect of the construction.
“Excuse me,” said Hugo, ducking his head.
“Tonight,” Clement promised.
“Tonight.” Smiling at him one last time, Hugo returned to his task.
“Clement, it is your turn,” Jane said.
Clement tore his eyes away from the clock and back to his hand of cards. “Is it?” He looked at the cards on the table and the cards in his hand. None of them seemed familiar. Choosing one to play, he glanced at the clock to check the time yet again.
It was late. The sun had set, and Clement had been imposed upon to dine in his master’s chambers with Hildebert, Jane, and Letty, after which they had begun upon a hand of cards. Clement was losing, rather embarrassingly. He was not even sure which game they were playing.
“Clement.” It was Letty this time.
Clement swallowed, and returned his attention to his cards, choosing one to play.
“Clement, the suit is spades,” Letty said. “What is the matter with you?”
“Forgive me. My mind is elsewhere.”
“But where is the else to which thou hast… thou hast…”
Letty and Jane both turned to stare at Hildebert.
“Ahem,” Hildebert said, cheeks reddening but chest still puffed proudly. “What rhymes with else?”
“Self?” Letty suggested.
“To which thou hast self? No, that makes no sense.”
“Is something occupying your mind, Clement?” Jane asked, returning the party to their earlier question.
“Nothing,” Clement said, eyes on his cards. “My duties. And… well, I still rather think that we ought to look into making further use of the lands of the estate. The orchards could be expanded. Sheep could be grazed on the farther lawns and meadows. The forest land could be a source of lumber…”
Hildebert groaned. “Clement.”
“Forgive me,” Clement said, and played a spade.
“Not at all, Clement,” Jane said. “I think the topic is quite interesting.”
Hildebert groaned again.
Jane firmed her lips, and played a card. “Perhaps later, then.”
When Clement rose in the morning and arrived downstairs to fetch Hildebert’s breakfast tray, he found the tray unfinished and the cook fretting.
Biting back a yawn, Clement looked around the kitchen to try to make sense of what had happened. “What the devil is the matter?”
“There isn’t any milk!”
“Why isn’t there any milk?”
“How should I know!” The cook threw a dish towel down beside the tray and stormed over to fetch the kettle. “What am I supposed to do? There’s no milk for the master’s tea.”
“Then the master will simply have to do without tea.”
“And the pudding for supper?”
“Change the menu. I’ll see what I can do about the milk.” Picking up the tray, without milk, he headed upstairs with it.
“Mrs. Ledford,” Clement asked, finding her tidying linens in a cupboard on his way upstairs, “there doesn’t seem to be any milk in the household.”
Mrs. Ledford’s shoulders sank while her jawline tightened. “Oh, dear.”
“Do you know why there isn’t any milk?”
“I have my suspicions. Mr. Midgley said that he’d see to it.”
Clement grimaced. “See to what?”
“The milk, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know the trouble. He had mentioned something about it, but when I inquired, he had insisted that he had everything in hand.”
“Ah,” said Clement. He wrinkled his nose in thought, looking to Mrs. Ledford in hopes that she would offer some easy remedy to the problem before them.
She returned the look with an expectant lift of her brow.
Clement sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He delivered the tray briskly to Hildebert, setting it on his lap in bed. “My sincere apologies, sir, but there isn’t any milk to be had this morning.”
“No milk!” Hildebert exclaimed.
“No milk.” Clement poured a cup of tea and put it into his hands. “It is good for poets to suffer privations. It gives them something to write about.”
“Oh! How wise you are.” Hildebert sipped at his tea and made a face. “I shall write of the difficulties of life without milk in one's tea. I don’t suppose anyone has ever written poems about that before.”
“No, I don’t suppose they have.” Clement pulled open the curtains for him, made certain that Hildebert had a stack of books within reach, and made his exit.
He found Mr. Midgley in the servants’ kitchen, berating a maidservant about the lack of milk.
“Mr. Midgley,” Clement interrupted.
Red-faced, Mr. Midgley glared at him. “Not now, Clement!”
“Mr. Midgley,” Clement said, louder, “where does the milk come from?”
“Why, from the village!” Mr. Midgley exclaimed. “And she is supposed to fetch it!”
The maidservant burst into tears.
“Here now, here now,” Clement said, coming forward and placing a reassuring hand upon her back. He cast a warning scowl toward Mr. Midgley, to warn him to keep his peace a moment. “All is well. Breathe. Now, tell me what it is that has happened.”
The maidservant hiccoughed miserably. “There isn’t any milk to be had, sir.”
“I understand that,” said Clement. “Can you explain to me why not?”
“Because,” said the maidservant, “the cow died.”
“Ohh,” said Mr. Midgley, quieter near the end, as though he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.
Clement glared at
him.
“I may,” Mr. Midgley said, embarrassed, “recall having heard something about that.”
Clement rolled his eyes toward heaven and provided his handkerchief to the maidservant. “Surely there are other cows?”
“Well, yes, sir. In the village.”
“And where was the cow who died? Also in the village?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you kindly go to the village and see if you can find anyone else who keeps cows and who would be willing to supply milk to the estate on a daily basis? All the better if you can convince them to deliver it. Tell them they may apply here to either Mrs. Ledford or Mr. Midgley to settle the payment, once a week.”
Drying her tears, the maidservant nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. And be certain to tell Mrs. Ledford that you are on your way, in the circumstance that she needs to set someone else to complete your duties in the meantime.”
She bobbed a curtsey to him, thanked him, and went.
“Hrm, hrm,” said Mr. Midgley, clearing his throat.
Clement schooled his irritation to be as mild as he could manage.
“Yes, very well, Clement,” the butler said to him, making more “hrm, hrm,” noises. “That’s settled, then.”
“I’m glad,” Clement said. “Good day, Mr. Midgley.”
It took two more days before Clement was able to escape long enough to seek out Hugo again.
The labour had finished on the workshop for the day, so Clement sought him out in the stables, instead. “Hugo?” he called up the stairs, heart quickening with hope.
“Along here,” Hugo called.
It sounded as though his voice was coming from the main stables, so Clement went that way, but the main stable room seemed empty of anything but the typical horses and dogs who occupied it. “Hugo?”
“Here.”
Clement peeked over two stall doors before he found Hugo behind the third, seeing to a newborn foal and its mother. “Ah, here you are.”
“Good evening, Clement.” Hugo smiled warmly up at him.
Clement had never in his life seen such a young horse. It seemed to be all legs. “Is all well?”
“Yes. The filly was born early, and small, but I think that she will turn out to be a stout, healthy little horse.” Hugo got to his feet, leaning against the stall door and smiling at Clement. “Are you here on some errand for Hildebert?”
“I have escaped errands for Hildebert for the evening. He is hard at work researching some secret project that he will not tell me about. He insists that it is something much grander than the book of poems he is working on, but I do not at all believe him. In all likelihood, it is some new poem. An epic, perhaps, or a ballad.”
“I look forward to hearing it.”
“If you do, you may later wish you had not.”
Hugo laughed. His laughter was a warm, rich sound, that rang in Clement’s head and quickened his pulse. “May you stay for dinner?”
“I… I suppose that I may. If I am missed at the main house, I shall say I was inquiring after your health.”
“And are you?” Hugo opened the door to the stall, letting himself out.
“Am I?”
“Inquiring after my health.”
“Oh,” said Clement. “Ah, yes. Yes! Are you well?”
“I am.” Hugo led the way down the short hallway and up the stairs to his quarters. “And yourself?”
“Well,” Clement confirmed, with a tired huff of breath.
“Are you? You’ve been kept so busy lately. You must be tired.”
“I am always tired,” Clement said. They entered Hugo’s little parlour, where Hugo began to work to build a fire. “Ah, but forgive me. It is hardly as though I am constructing a building. I am not so very tired.”
“You might stay,” Hugo said, turning from the fire to give him a smile. “And rest.”
“Stay?” Clement asked.
“Here.”
“Here,” Clement repeated, uncomprehending.
Hugo rose from the fireplace, turning to stand before him. “My bed is very comfortable.”
“I,” said Clement. He felt his cheeks heat at the thought of such an impropriety as to take another man’s bed. “I could not put you out of it.”
“I did not intend that you should,” Hugo said. His gaze was steady, and his eyes glittered with a warm mirth that was both inviting and arresting.
“I could not put you to such an imposition,” Clement said.
Hugo was very close, and even though the small room was chilly, Clement suddenly felt very warm. They were so close as to touch, close enough that Clement could smell mint from the gardens upon Hugo’s breath, and Hugo’s lips were curved slightly to one side, a smile, an invitation…
“Clement!” Letty called.
Clement startled back from him, head snapping toward the stairs.
“Here!” Clement called. “A moment!”
Hugo’s smile had faded, and his eyes were half-lidded with what might have been either apology or regret. “You are required once again.”
“I,” said Clement. He scrunched up his face with frustration and muttered beneath his breath: “Devil take it.”
“Clement!” Letty called again. “No one can find the gold candlesticks and Hildebert insists that he will have them by his bedside.”
“They’re… oh, blast it,” Clement said.
Hugo laughed, quietly. “I did not know that you swore.”
“I don’t.” Clement grimaced. “Forgive me, Hugo, but it would seem that I cannot stay for dinner after all. I… soon. I swear it.”
“Soon,” Hugo agreed.
Hastening down the stairs, Clement found Letty at the bottom with a perplexed expression upon her face. “You’re flustered,” she said.
“You startled me.” Clement strode past her out of the stables, heading for the main house.
“Startled you from what?”
“Inquiring after the groomsman’s health.”
“Oh, is that the new phrase for it?” Letty asked.
Clement stopped short. “Phrase for what?”
Letty looked positively mischievous. “What were you doing?”
“I hardly see as how it is any of your concern, Letitia,” Clement said, resuming a brisk pace toward the house. “But it so happens that I enjoy the groomsman’s company.”
“I believe his name is Hugo.”
“I was intending to sup with him, that’s all.”
“Were you? I had heard that he preferred to sup alone.”
“I…” Clement felt embarrassed and defensive for no reason he could identify. “You needn’t tease me for having a friend.”
“Needn’t I? It is such a momentous occasion.”
“Letty! It is not. You and I are friends.”
“Yes,” Letty said, lifting her chin with pride and letting him hold the door for her. “But you do not go out of your way to sup with me.”
“No, to be sure, as I am obliged to sup with you more often than not.”
“Clement! What, is it such a trial?”
“Some days, Letty,” Clement said, giving her a scowl as he led the way into the side parlour and fetched the candlesticks from a drawer, “it is a trial.”
“Ah, well,” Letty sighed, taking the candlesticks and admiring them. “Better a trial than dull.” Shrugging, she made her way up the stairs.
Clement looked back, longingly, in the direction of the stables, and then followed.
“Clement?” Jane asked.
Clement stopped in the middle of the hallway, on his way to inquire with Mrs. Ledford as to whether anyone on her staff could manage to replicate the Parisian pastries which Hildebert had experienced in London and described as “flaky little clouds, with a drizzle of chocolate.”
Surprised to be prevailed upon by the lady of the house, Clement turned and retraced his steps along the hallway to where she was standing. “Madam?”
“You had mentioned somethi
ng about the use of the land.”
“Land is always profitable,” Clement said, uncertain about having this conversation in the middle of the hallway. It wasn’t his place, despite his persistent curiosity on the subject. “It… the household is living more expensively here than we did in London, on Lord Devereux’s hospitality.”
“Do you have some reason to be concerned about our finances?”
“I…” Mortified, Clement ducked his head. “I would never intend to question my lord’s management of his finances. I’m a mere valet, it is not my place to—”
“Clement,” Jane interrupted.
Clement looked up.
“It’s a query, not a reprimand. What do you know about the household finances?”
“Nothing, madam. I’ve made some small study of the account books of Gennerly House from the past years, but I have no notion of their present status.”
“Who does know, Clement?”
Clement felt his heart sink with dread that the lady of the house would ask such a question of him in all sincerity. “Midgley, madam. I do hope.”
“And what have you determined of the lands and their value?”
“Very little. As I said to Mr. Devereux, there is the forest for lumber, the orchard which might be expanded, and the meadows are very well suited to grazing.”
“Yes. Sheep?”
Clement hesitated.
“Clement.”
“Cattle, madam.” He lifted his chin a little. “I believe the region is best suited to cattle, and the dogs which Mr. Ogden breeds are intended to be cattle herders. He sells them in the village accordingly.”
“Cattle,” she repeated, lips curving upward. “And then, I suppose, we would never run out of milk.”
Clement bit his lip to contain a smile of his own.
“I’ll speak to Mr. Midgley,” she promised.
Chapter 11
“Clement, what rhymes with itch?”
Clement was arranging the new spring flowers in the vase by Hildebert’s window. His employer had pen poised above paper, prepared to write in whatever Clement proposed. “Er,” he said.
The Valet and the Stable Groom Page 12