by Rye Hart
She halted abruptly, her words cut off.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cantwell,” he said in the thick silence that ensued. “Fortunately, Harold and his family are putting things to rights and I have no doubt they will restore the Hall to its former appearance.”
“That we will, sir, that we will,” Harold said eagerly, filling the void with his own contributions. “’Twill be just as it was in Her Ladyship’s time.”
“We do miss Her Ladyship, sir. That we do. There weren’t no one like her.”
“No,” Laverly agreed. “There was not.”
What would she have done to welcome back a blind son? How would she have dealt with the cruel fate that robbed her son and heir of his sight? His mother was a gentle woman; his father forever anxious that she be sheltered from the hardships of life. Wealth and affluence he could provide for her, but life was a leveler. He felt a rush of grief for the parents who were unknown to him because, young and reckless, he had not thought of how his escapades would affect them. Now they were gone, and he could have benefitted from his father’s wisdom and his mother’s affection.
“We’d best be off. His Lordship wants to meet with all the tenants. There’s a powerful lot of work to be done at the Hall,” Harold announced.
“Yes,” Laverly echoed. “I shall count on all of you for help. And if you happen to hear word of the servants who pillaged the Hall and left it in such an abominable state, please pass it along.”
When they were back in the wagon, Harold said, “Good thinking, sir. Asking them to let you know if they hear anything about those who ran off.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, well, I confess I’d like to set my fists on the lot of them.”
“Best rely on the law, sir,” Harold said gently.
The days when he could solve his own problems with his wits and his two fists were gone. Harold was right. Now, like an old man bereft of strength and resources, he must depend on others to settle his scores. He was of half a mind to tell Harold to turn the wagon back around and head back to the Hall. Calling on the tenants was obviously a waste of time; he didn’t know them, he couldn’t help them. He couldn’t even help himself. But return to what? A day spent in a residence that was simply a reminder of the past, while around him Harold’s family dusted and scrubbed to restore it to a semblance of a home? While he did nothing?
When the wagon pulled into the next farm, Harold turned to give Dennison a word.“Old man Tyler is a gruff sort, sir. Not much in the way of manners,” Harold said quietly. “Pay him no mind.”
“I thought you said the name was Pargetter.”
“Aye, I did so. But Mary Pargetter’s father, Tyler, lives here with them.”
‘Quite,” Laverly said. He turned so that his legs faced out of the wagon, gripped the sides and lowered himself to the ground before Harold had a chance to offer assistance.
“Well, sir, that was quick learning,” Harold said, sounding impressed. “Reckon you’re going to manage just fine in no time.”
It was absurd, of course, the man was but a servant. And yet Laverly felt as if he’d done something worthy of praise for the first time in weeks.
“Cam Tyler!” Harold called out as they approached the cottage, his hand steering Laverly by the elbow but discreetly so that, until they were near, Tyler could not have told that the Duke depended upon Harold for guidance. “We’ve come to see you and yours. This here’s His Lordship, come to meet his tenants now that he’s back from war.”
“Me and mine ain’t about. Mary’s with that Knollys girl, birthing another brat. Will is in the fields.”
“Then I shall meet you,” Laverly said, piqued by the man’s blunt speech.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Tyler asked boldly.
“They don’t see,” Laverly replied evenly.
“I know that, I can see those specs. What happened?”
“Now, Cam, you know His Lordship was hurt in the war, fighting the French.”
“He can tell me hisself, can’t he?”
“Cam Tyler, you’ve no cause to be rude to His Lordship—“
Laverly interrupted. In a perverse way, he relished the thought of engaging in a battle of words with this codger. No one else was likely to dismiss his condition or his rank so completely. “It’s quite all right. What would you like to know? Harold and I would appreciate a chair if we’re going to enjoy your discourse; it’s quite impossible to stand and be amiable.”
Tyler grunted. “Chairs are inside,” he said.
Harold went inside.
“What would you like to know?” Laverly repeated.
“I’d like to know,” Tyler said, “how you lost your eyesight. My boy lost his leg below the knee. He’s got a wooden peg where his leg used to end.”
“I was under the impression that your grandson was a fine judge of horseflesh and skilled with them. Was I misinformed?”
“You were not. Will were trained by the best, and that’s me. Could have had work in any stable yard in England, that’s how good he is. Now no one will hire him. They don’t see what he can do. All they see is that wooden leg.”
“What can he do?” Laverly asked. He heard Harold coming out of the cottage, carrying chairs..
“You can sit, sir.” Harold, his hand again on Laverly’s elbow, went to steer him toward the chair, but suddenly Laverly was determined to manage on his own, if only to prove something to the ornery old man.
“Thank you for fetching the chair, Harold, and to you, Mr. Tyler, for allowing us to sit with you.” Carefully, Laverly felt for the edge of the chair. Slowly, he lowered himself down. When he was securely seated, he could not refrain from grinning. “My compliments to your craftsmanship, Mr. Tyler. I feel quite secure.”
Tyler grunted again. “My son made the chair,” he told them. “Jim weren’t much for horses. He was a carpenter.”
“I’ve been telling His Lordship about Will,” Harold said. “And how there’s no one in the village can match him for horses and knowing them.”
“No one with two legs,” Tyler said. “What about your eyes?” he asked again, unwilling to let his question go.
“I had the great misfortune to be in a place where I did not think Boney’s artillery could reach me. Clearly, I was wrong,” Laverly said lightly, as if being struck had been all of a great joke and nothing of significance.
Tyler grunted. “Damn French.”
“I agree with you there, Tyler,” Laverly said. “I trust God will see it our way.”
There was a pause and then Tyler emitted a laugh. It was a short, dry rasp of humor, as if he had not found anything to laugh about in a very long time. “That’s a prayer I’ll render,” Tyler said. “Though I don’t know as the vicar would share it with me.”
They were deep in a discussion of the damnation of the French when Laverly heard the approach of steps. “Grandfather, I didn’t know you had visitors.”
“Will, lad, His Lordship has been meeting his tenants now that he’s back home. Your Lordship, this be Will Pargetter.”
“Harold tells me you were wounded at Salamanca,” Laverly said. “Good fighting there.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We left thousands of them dead,” Laverly said.
“Damnation to them all,” Tyler spoke up.
“A worthy toast,” Laverly said, “now that we’ve gone from praying to toasting.”
Tyler laughed again, the sound a little less like a rusty hinge this time.
“I was wounded at Waterloo,” Laverly said.
“Wellington,” the boy said as if he were repeating an incantation. “He carried the day.”
“He did indeed. Harold and your grandfather tell me that you’re a fine man with horses.”
“I was, sir,” the boy said.
“Yes, before your wound. I understand that you still have the skills, and I’m in need of someone. My stables don’t exist at the moment, but I shall need to buy horses and I’ll need someone to tend them. Are you up fo
r the job?”
“Sir, I haven’t been on a horse in a long time,” Will said honestly. It was plain, from the tone of his voice, that he regretted the truth. “I do believe that I could still tend them and keep them for Your Lordship, but my racing days are done.”
“I had no intention of asking you to race,” Laverly said.
Tyler began to laugh and Harold took it up. The boy laughed to be polite, but said nothing, as if he did not share their humor.
“He’s asking you to work, boy, not to frolic about with his horses,” Tyler bawled. “Now what’s with you? Are you going to do what you’re nature-bound to do or are you going to carry on in the fields, where you don’t want to be?”
After a brief moment of though, Will answered. “I’d like to try it, sir.”
“You’ll do more than try, boy,” Tyler said. “You’ll be the best stable hand His Lordship has ever had the pleasure to have known, or I’ll disown you.”
Laverly could tell that, despite the rough words, Tyler’s feeling for his grandson was clearly one of affection and pride. Perhaps his anger was for the war that had robbed the boy of his leg and his livelihood. Laverly wasn’t sure of the boy’s age: old enough to have served in war but young enough to respect his grandfather’s authority. So Laverly offered the terms and wages to Will while his grandfather was there to speak up if he chose to.
“When can you start?” Laverly asked.
“He can start right now. Harvest is in, he was just clearing and he can do that on his half-day,” Tyler answered for him.
“Grandfather, are you sure?”
The chair creaked as Tyler rose. “Sure? Of what? I can manage my own crops, I reckon. I’ve just been idle because you’ve needed something to do. Best tell your ma first; she’s still at the Knollys girl’s. You’ll not be calling there, Your Lordship, unless you want to get in the way of a passel of women going about a woman’s business.”
“I appreciate the warning. Will, I will expect you tomorrow morning,” Dennison said.
“Aye sir, I’ll be there. What time?”
What time indeed. He had no idea. “There are no horses in the stables at present, but there’s a lot of work to be done before I can purchase any. The former servants were, I regret, ill-suited for the work. The stalls haven’t been cleaned since horses were last stabled.”
“I’ll tend to it, sir, early tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent,” Laverly said, standing up. “Will, I look forward to having you in my service. Mr. Tyler, no doubt we shall again share another one of our theological discussions on the French.”
Tyler chuckled. “You’re welcome to worship with me any time, m’lord.”
“I’d offer to raise a toast to the burning in hell of the French, but the miscreants who left the Hall in such piteous shape helped themselves to my wine cellar.”
“Bloody sots,” Tyler said with feeling. “They ought to be stretched for that.”
“Do you know anything about them?” Laverly asked. “They seem to have taken over the Hall after Her Ladyship died. It’s very peculiar. I don’t believe my father ever had trouble with the servants.”
“Sir, I did hear that after Her Ladyship died, a new man showed up to help, so he said,” Will said. “Talk was that he was a rough sort; people in the village were fearful of him. He had mates who showed up, and folk did say that they were staying in the Hall. But no one knew for sure and there was no one to ask. Finally Hy Bartram went up with some of the lads and I reckon they scared off the lot.”
“I owe Bartram my thanks.”
“He’s in the forest most days, now that winter is coming upon us, chopping firewood for the widows. If you’re going to call upon the tenants, you’ll not find him inside on days when he can be outside working,” Harold said.
“Good of him.”
“Hy is a good man,” Harold said. “There’s many a widow and old grandmother who would have a cold winter if not for him.”
“Aye,” Tyler spoke up. Laverly doubted if Tyler offered praise often; that he did so for Bartram indicated that the man deserved it. Laverly had the feeling, as he and Harold left, that perhaps the old man’s opinion of him might have reformed a bit during the conversation. Laverly wondered what his father had thought of Tyler and how the two of them had gotten on. He also wondered if his father would have been pleased to see his son and the tenant in conversation. Not that, as the Duke, Laverly was obliged to get along with the tenants, particularly a cranky one, but his father had been respected by men such as Tyler. Laverly realized that this was not necessarily a given in village life.
Chapter Four
Harold thought that they had time for one more call before returning to the Hall where lunch would be waiting for them. But before they arrived at the next residence, he pulled the wagon to the side of the path.
“Why have we stopped?”
“Our next call. I want to explain-“ Harold sounded ill at ease. “Sir, I think you should meet Bella Dart.”
“Is she a tenant?”
“She lives with her father; he’s your tenant.”
“Then we’ll meet them both,” Laverly said.
“Aye, but I wanted to let you know first that Bella is someone who could help you.”
“As a cook? Parlor maid?”
“No, sir,” Harold said, unsure of how to continue.
“Out with it man,” Laverly ordered, wondering if Bella were the village strumpet and Harold thought he was in need of her services. “What of this paragon? Is she indeed bella?”
Harold didn’t know Italian. “She were born Isabella,” he explained.
It was pointless to explain. Laverly’s good mood of earlier had faded and he was tired of tenants and chatter. He wanted to return to the Hall where he’d enjoy lunch, courtesy of Lucy, and a glass of something that Harold assured him they’d brought with them. Perhaps many glasses, or at least enough to deliver him into blissful oblivion.
“Her father went blind,” Harold said. “Had a fever and of a sudden, he couldn’t see. Bella helped him.”
“Are you suggesting that I may become less blind because of the ministrations of a woman who went to her father’s aid when he lost his sight?” Laverly demanded. Harold was being presumptuous, forgetting that he was not a doctor nor an advisor, and certainly not an equal offering advice. He was an innkeeper providing a service, no more.
“Sir, I mean no harm, but she’s a clever girl and she helped her father. Now he rides and farms and does what he did before. Not everything, no, and not the same, but he’s---“
“How can he possibly ride?” Laverly demanded. “He’s gammoning you. He’s feigning blindness. I tell you, I’m an officer, or I was, and I was used to be accounted a fair whip, but I haven’t been on the back of a horse since. It’s simply not possible.”
“Bella trained the horse for him. The horse is gentle. No, won’t be riding at Newmarket, but he can get around in the village because the horse knows the way. And he’s learned to do things he didn’t think he could do. He plants his crops, sir. With help, there’s no lie to it. But he’s not feeling like he can’t do what he needs to. He says he’s learned to do without his eyes, sir.”
“How the devil can anyone do without his eyes? If I hadn’t a title and my lands, I’d be begging in the street to earn my bread.”
“All I’m tryin’ to say, sir, is that Bella could help, I know she could. You’re still young and the estate needs a Laverly to run things.
It was no use saying that this particular Laverly was of no use to anyone and that as soon as he could manage it, he intended to drink himself into a death comprised of Madeira, port, and ale.
“I don’t need some chit of a girl to tell me how I can be a gentleman again. Harold, I appreciate greatly what you and your family are doing for me but no one can give me back my sight. And my sight is all I want. You cannot possibly understand what hell this is, Harold, you simply cannot.”
“That’s why I t
hought of Bella. She can understand.”
It was foolish to argue with Harold, who clearly had his mind made up. “We’ll call upon her and her father because they are my tenants,” Laverly decided. “That’s the extent of it.”
A mile or so down the road, Harold turned the wagon in to a trim little cottage that, although it was November, still boasted flowers blooming along the walls. “The Darts keep everything looking nice, sir,” Harold said. “Bella has a hand for it, and she learned from her father; he looked after Her Ladyship’s gardens before the fever took his sight.”
Her gardens had been a point of pride for his mother, Laverly remembered. The house was always brightened with bowls of them when he was growing up. “If he’s so skilled, why doesn’t he do so again,” Laverly asked acidly.
“I reckon he would if someone gave permission,” Harold said quietly. “My boys will be clearing away the weeds and overgrowth. Come spring, if you want flowers, Larkin Dart is the one to go to.”
Dennison sat back for a moment before letting out a sigh. “My apologies,” Laverly said. “I had no cause to be insolent to you.”
“Didn’t sound like insolence, Your Lordship. Sounded like a man who’s had enough of his life for one day.”
For a lifetime, Laverly thought, saying nothing.
A man was standing by his cottage when they pulled in. “I thought I heard horses,” he called. “Who’s there?”
“Harold Griffin. His Lordship has been calling on his tenants, now that he’s home from the war.”
“Your Lordship,” Dart said. “Welcome. Will you come in?”
Dart, a spare man with thick dark hair liberally sprinkled with white, was well known to Harold, who had descended from the wagon to assist Laverly. Laverly, impatient to get the visit out of the way, stepped out of the wagon as he had at the previous cottage and jumped down. But the wagon had come to rest on a sloped part of ground that did not support Laverly as he descended. Laverly felt himself fall, heard Harold’s shout, and was sprawled in the dirt before he could grab onto the sides of the wagon.