“Can you come and play with us now?” he asked. “Mrs. Blackwell doesn’t like to be tied up on a pirate ship. She says it gives her a goat, but I have never seen it.”
“You mean gout,” she corrected.
“What is that?”
“Pain in the joints,” she said.
“Oh,” he sighed.
“Will you,” James asked, “be our prisoner?”
“I would love to be your prisoner but could you boys give me a few more weeks? I fear your strength is still too overwhelming for a delicate old lady like myself.”
“You aren’t old,” James said. “Peter said you are not, but he said you is immature.”
“’You are’, James,” she corrected. “Not ‘you is.’ And I believe the word is ‘immature,’” she said, amused, and he nodded his head up and down excessively until Rupert stopped him by holding his head still. “What else did Peter say about me?”
He shrugged. “He said you are bored.”
“Bored?” she said, pausing in her walk.
“He nodded. “Said if you had children, you wouldn’t need amusement.”
She shook her head in amazement and the boys imitated her. “When does he say these things?”
James shrugged.
“In the kitchen in front of the servants?” she asked.
James shook his head. “At night, when I am supposed to be sleeping. He talks to Harry.”
Relieved, she continued her slow pace. Harriet entered and ordered the boys off the bed and out the room. They scampered off toward the kitchen to see if Cook had made more sweet tarts.
“Harriet, have you seen Peter of late?”
“I believe he is in the stables today shoeing the horses, m’lady,” she said as she redid the bed, tucking in the sheets and blankets tightly. “Would you have me send for him?”
“No, thank you, Harriet. I will not disturb him at his work. I shall go find him.”
She took a shawl from her wardrobe and folded the soft material across her shoulders.
“It is too far, madam, for you to walk by yourself. You shall tire and Dr. Milton was specific you should not tire yourself.”
“It is but a short distance, and I shall go slowly.”
She left the bedroom and felt Harriet’s eyes on her as she descended the stairs slowly. At the bottom she turned and looked up, waving to her and Harriet disappeared. She smiled and walked along the hall, not disturbing Elton at his nap. He was seated in a chair near the front door, his head on his chest, and soft snores rising from him. Dixon walked the length of the hall toward her, a tray of silver in his gloved hands, his uniform perfectly starched and fitted.
She slipped out the front door and pulled her shawl closer as the cold wind bit into her flesh through her thin morning dress. She glanced at the clouds and felt the skin on her arms rise to goose flesh. She did not wear a bonnet, as was proper, and the wind soon had her hair in disarray. She hastened her steps, making sure no one was observing her, and turned the corner of the house and slipped between the gates to the stables. One advantage of her new mobility was that she was soon exploring new areas that had been closed to her before.
A couple of horses stood in their stables, and she rubbed their noses, whispering to them as she passed. The mucking out had already been accomplished and fresh hay lay in the empty stables. She followed the sound of hammer on anvil, her skin soon warmed by the fire from the forge that Peter stoked, his naked back to her. The sight of him so undressed caused her to hesitate. She stopped in her path to watch him.
He whispered softly to the horse next to him, and ran a sure hand down his withers and leg. Giving him a gentle nudge with his body, he lifted his front leg. The stallion obeyed, and Peter fitted the heated horseshoe to the hoof, making sure of its size and shape. He then dropped the hoof again, and thrust the shoe back into the coals momentarily. Then with a hammer, he re-shaped the curved metal with hard strokes that set the muscles of his back into fine definition.
He had arrived at Ravenstone a year ago all skin and bone, and she could have sworn he had been shorter than she then, but now he seemed to not only have grown taller but had grown muscle; he looked superbly fit. She found herself admiring, with some amazement, what good food could do for a body. Peter chose that moment to turn back to the horse, and he saw her standing in the doorway watching him. She felt herself flush in embarrassment.
He did not falter, but ignored her, and continued on his way, turning his back to her, and again lifting the horse’s hoof. Satisfied this time, he straightened to plunge the shoe in cold water, and glanced at her as he let the metal cool. He placed four nails between his lips, and then lifting the hoof again, he hammered the shoe into place. He cut off the sharp points of the nails on the outside of the hoof until all were flush. Finally, he used a rasp to smooth the edges of the shoe where it met the hoof. Straightening, he dropped the hoof, and patted the horse. She moved forward, and let the horse nuzzle her hand.
“You aren’t surprised to see me up, then?” she asked.
He moved to the other side of the horse. “No,” he said simply.
She moved the horse slightly, so he could have more room to work. He bent and picked up the second front hoof, and removed the old shoe with pincers. He trimmed the hoof and hog.
“They returned then from France?” she asked, talking about the boys on their latest run.
“Aye,” he said from his bent position. “Day before yesterday. We move it out tonight.”
“And Gordon’s shipment?”
“Last week,” he said straightening, and returning to the forge. He stoked the fire, and held the horseshoe in the glowing coals, waiting for it to turn. “I have the money for you. I’ll bring it by later.”
She nodded, watching the scar on his face that seemed to glow in the heat from the forge.
“You hardly even need me anymore, do you?” she said, smiling.
He glanced at her, and she waited to see what he would say, suddenly ashamed of her words. He was not a toy to be played with. She had felt a sting from James’s words, and it had goaded her into seeking him out. Peter had been unreadable since the day she had met him, and he remained so now as he turned away from her again, his face unchanged. He did what was required of him, but never did she feel that she was in control of him.
“I am grateful for all you do for us, Lady Fairchild,” he said evenly, and she flinched at his formal words and tone. She deserved it.
He was putting her in her place, as he should, feeling the distance that stood between them. He pulled the shoe from the flames, and with the hammer, he formed it into a semblance of the shape he wanted. The loud clang of the hammer striking the shoes against the anvil jarred her, and the horse, noticing her nervous state, stomped restlessly. She spoke soft words to the animal, her mouth close to its huge nostrils, and breathed her warm breath into him. The horse stilled as her hand ran down the long face.
A thoroughbred whose lineage was recorded in the general studbook, he was a warm blood with the hot blood of the Arabs running through his veins as well as the blood of the horses from the colder regions of Europe. She had high hopes for him. She looked deep into his beautifully sculpted eyes, their dark wetness reflecting his intelligence and spirit. He had cost her the earth but she knew that if she was to build her stock up, and one day have a good reputation as a breeder, she could accomplish it with him.
“He is beautiful, isn’t he?” she said.
“Sure,” Peter replied. “But fragile.”
“No, he’s not,” she protested, though relieved to see Peter was talking to her again. “He is fast and sure.”
“What will you do with him?”
“Breed him, of course.”
“For hunters?”
“No, racehorses.”
“Racehorses!” he said and straightened from his position over his hoof. “What do you know about racehorses? Would you not be better off breeding fine ladies’ ponies with him?”
“And what will you breed him to?”
“I’ll start with Bella,” she said, and he gave her another look she could not decipher. “What?”
He shrugged and returned to his work.
“Major Price arrested Jack and Harrold yesterday,” Peter said, not looking up from measuring the horseshoe to the hoof.
“On what grounds?” she asked, shocked at the sudden news.
“None were given except he gave me a message for you.” Peter put the hoof down and turned to look at her. “He said he wants what you owe him or he will arrest two more tomorrow.”
“You are only telling me this now?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you at all,” he said, moving back to the forge. “I don’t like the idea of you owing that man anything. What does he want, money?”
“Yes,” she lied. It was partly true.
“How much have you been giving him?”
“Half of what we make on Gordon’s runs. He doesn’t know about the other.”
“Then why is he unhappy?”
She shrugged. “Greed. Probably wants more.”
Peter smiled at her. She had never seen him smile before. His face changed completely, making him look almost handsome except for the hardness in his eyes. He did not believe her.
“You’re lying,” he said.
She hesitated. He put down the horseshoe, and walked toward her, making her uncomfortable with how close he stood, but she refused to back away. She had to tilt her head to look him in the eye. When had he grown so tall?
“Those are my men he arrested yesterday. They look to me to keep them safe and in return, they give me their loyalty. That’s how it works. Without their loyalty, you have no one to do your dirty work. Tell me.”
His men? And here she was thinking they were her men.
“You work for me,” she said, annoyed. “As do they.”
“I don’t work for anyone but myself,” Peter said softly. “I choose to be here because it serves me to do so. If we are to be partners in this business, you have to tell me everything or we will lose it all. Now tell me.”
“He wants me to find out the true identity of a French spy who passes messages through the smugglers. His name is Rochette. The Major is convinced there is a connection to Ravenstone.”
“Is there?”
“I can’t find evidence of it. Believe me, I have looked. Gordon isn’t exactly going to give up information like that, and I can’t just give Gordon up to the Major.”
“How loyal of you.”
“It has nothing to do with loyalty. Gordon makes me a profit.”
“Right,” Peter said. “I forgot how important profits are to you.”
He turned back to the forge and she felt suddenly like she had disappointed him.
“I will get them out,” she said.
He ignored her, and went back to his shoeing.
She left him to it, slipping out of the warm stables and into the cold outside, where the weather had worsened. She walked back into the manor house, and the door slammed as the wind pulled it from her hands. The loud bang sent the dozing Elton shooting straight up from his chair, his wig askew on his head as he stood completely straight, blinking.
“You wished something, madam?” he asked.
“No, Elton, sorry. It’s frightfully windy outside, and the door got away from me.”
“It will do that with a winter storm coming.”
“Yes,” she said and walked into the study.
Harry sat behind her desk frowning over some numbers.
“Is it that bad, Harry?” she asked, looking over his shoulder at the numbers in front of him. He shrugged and her attention was drawn to small hands, grasping her legs for support. She looked down to see Sarah grinning up at her with a mouth of missing teeth. She had a few small teeth still to come in, and she shoved a fist in her mouth, chewing on it.
“Good morning, Sarah darling,” she said and bent to pick her up. She swung her high up into the air and Sarah squealed with delight. She placed the toddler back on the floor and a small hand curled around her finger, and she led her slowly about the room.
“There you are both of you learning to walk,” Grace smiled. “I’ll take her for a nap, shall I, Harry?”
Harry nodded and smiled his thanks while Grace scooped up the little girl and carried her off toward the kitchen. Georgiana missed the twins, but it was lovely to not have her mother around anymore. She sighed and relaxed onto a chair, watching Harry work at the books the way she used to.
She knew from Mrs. Blackwell’s progress reports that both Peter and Harry now could read and write competently. They had been at Ravenstone almost a year, and they had made good use of the resources she had given them. She knew Peter borrowed books from the library, and she was curious suddenly about the books he chose. Mrs. Blackwell herself had been caught a few times speaking of his quick mind, and ability to learn. His thirst for knowledge had turned him into her star pupil and she had ceased complaining.
Eye, however, had quit the schoolroom. She had tried to talk to him about it but he had been adamant that his place was in the garden. She had purchased for him books on botany, which had lured him back to the schoolroom, but only until he could read his new books, and then he again could be found only in the garden.
Harry’s gift was with numbers, and Georgiana had him working on her accounts now. He seemed happy enough, installed in her study where Sarah played on the floor, and he could keep an eye on her. He finally lifted his head, and waved her over. He pointed to the final number on the page, and she winced. The household accounts were easy compared to the estate accounts.
“I don’t know where it all goes,” she said, annoyed.
Harry pointed at a three-digit figure and she followed his finger on the page.
I had to buy him,” she said defensively. “His blood lines go back to the Godolphin Arabian.”
He turned to look at her, giving her a hand signal she had come to learn meant ‘why?’
He is an investment,” she explained. “I will breed him and his fillies will run in the Epsom Oaks and win. One day Ravenstone will be famous for its horses.”
His frown did not disappear. In fact, it only grew deeper. She sighed and lowered her eyes to the pages in front of him. The estate accounts were always negative, but she knew she had to be patient. On an estate, long hours of labor and money had to be invested which in turn would pay off in the—hopefully not too distant—future. Sadly, it had been a bad year for returns. She had sold some of her wool, but the majority she had kept, hoping to find a better market on the Continent once the war ended. She pulled out another book from the desk, and studied the final lines of figures.
“At least, we are making more money here,” she said. “Transfer some from our other enterprise to pay the estate accounts. The rest of the profit I will take with me to London, and I will put it in the bank as soon as Dr. Milton allows me to travel. We must also pay you what is due a clerk in training, I believe. You are quite a genius, Harry. It takes you half the time to do what I struggled through.”
He grinned at her.
“If only I could be sure we received the money from the rents,” she sighed.
Her thoughts returned to Edward and again she felt that his continued absence did not bode well. Had he somehow discovered the truth of her affair? Was he displeased and at that very moment consulting lawyers? She had to see him or go mad and if Edward would not come to her, she would go to him, she decided.
She gave Harry instructions on what would need to be done in her absence. The estate would need less of her care in the winter. The only person she would have to see before she left was the shepherd. She left the study and went in se
arch of Dixon. She would have Dr. Milton’s permission today still, and then she could leave for London.
She found Grace and explained her plans.
“It is too soon,” Grace argued.
“I can just as well recover in London as here,” she argued. “And now that I have you, I feel comfortable leaving Ravenstone in your capable hands.”
“I will do my best,” Grace said, looking slightly apprehensive at the idea of being put in charge.
“I will not be gone long,” she said. “I will return by Christmas with presents for everyone.” She flew up the stairs while Grace watched in astonishment.
7
The carriage drew up before a four-story stone Georgian house on Curzon Street in Mayfair. Georgiana leaned forward in her carriage seat, and glanced at the dwelling that, like its neighbors, stood facing the street. Less imposing than the Wyndham mansion and gardens, the home was still impressive.
Peter, dressed in the dark green Ravenstone livery, descended from his perch behind the carriage, opened the door and let down the steps for her. She stepped lightly down, trying not to smile as she passed him. He wore a white powered wig, as was customary for servants in the city. His face was carved of stone and she knew he was not happy, dressed in white stockings and shiny black shoes. She had not insisted he attend her on the trip to London, and had been surprised that morning to see him beside the coach, waiting for her in his new livery.
She followed him up the steps to the front door, and waited while he lifted the shiny brass knocker. She heard the sound echo within and approaching footsteps. She came forward as Peter stood to the side.
A butler opened the door, his face expressionless, barring her entrance.
“Is Sir Edward at home?” she asked.
“He is at present still in bed, madam,” the butler replied.
He held the door in such a way that she could not enter. She smiled, aware that her drab afternoon dress did not recommend her, and wished suddenly she had made more of an effort with her wardrobe that morning. Her Spencer coat was slightly frayed at the cuffs and the dark blue velvet was shiny with wear. Never having met the staff of Edward’s town house, she was at a disadvantage. There was nothing for it, she decided. She would have to force her way in. She took a quick step forward, surprising the butler, who backed up, leaving a small opening through which she slipped.
Raven's Shadow (Book 2, the Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 13