Since the storms were now gone and morning had broken clear and bright, she had every intention of doing just that. Her father, however, was not in his usual reticent way. She nearly spilled her tea when he spoke.
"I see you are up early, my dear."
"No earlier than usual, Papa. How are your eggs today?"
"Cold, but I fear that's what to expect now that cook has lost another maid."
"Another? Oh dear, it seems soon we'll have no one left. I'll go into the village today and see if I can find someone to replace her. I heard that Mrs. Brown might have a daughter coming up who would like to enter service."
Papa clucked his tongue. "Then you'd be lucky to engage her. Seems all the young people go off to Nottingham, if they don't first take up with the rabble going around making such chaos these days."
Seraphina had to agree. Lately it seemed things were turning upside-down. With the war raging on the Continent, too many young men were gone from the area. The ones who remained were leaving their work on the farms and going for more lucrative positions at the growing number of mills with their knitting frames and steam-run machinery.
Women, too, were being lured into industry. Seraphina could hardly blame them. Why should they sit at home and spend days and months making expensive lace that no one had money to buy when they could go off to work in the hosiery mills making huge quantities of product that could be sold for but a few pennies?
It was understandable, but certainly not popular with everyone. The recent stories Seraphina had read in Papa's newspapers told about shocking hostility by persons calling themselves Luddites. They smashed the new powered looms and burned down the facilities that housed them. They claimed steam-powered industries were causing people to lose their businesses and their homes―people who had once prospered on their own. Of course those hard working folk were angry and their passions erupted with violence.
Even here in their quiet village frustration was simmering. It seemed friend was pitted against friend, families were divided. Some locals championed the new opportunities provided by these fanciful enterprises, while others abhorred them for the changes they brought and the threat they were for anyone who struggled to compete. Seraphina was not certain which side of the issue she sat upon, but she certainly did regret not having enough staff on hand to keep up with the needs of their house. The rumors of sabotage and the reports of government intervention certainly did not help her to rest easy, either.
How must this be affecting Papa? He rarely spoke of business or financial matters with her, but as his health had declined she knew he was becoming less and less able to manage things. His nurse assured her that as long as he was kept calm, his heart would grow stronger and he might even regain the strength to walk again. Seraphina truly hoped so, so for his sake she took on as much of the household management as she could.
Fortunately, dear Mr. Hornwell―Papa's man of business―had the good sense to share things with her. She'd been able to quietly advise him and act as a filter for Papa. For Papa's sake, Seraphina worked with Mr. Hornwell on any matters that did not directly need Papa's hand. Papa had leased the estate years ago, before she was even born. He loved it like it was his own and she would do everything in her power to see that he could stay here. Even, apparently, falsify their annual statement to the duke.
HopefullyPapa would never need learn of that. He was blissfully unaware of just how tenuous things were and she would see that he remained so. Until he was much stronger again, Seraphina would just have to keep doing what she could and praying for miracles. One more year of bad harvest, though, and they might not have enough to satisfy Papa's arrangement with the duke.
Papa let this house and the adjoining lands from the Duke of Ashguard. Apparently he was some sort of very distant relative and that's why he had been willing to allow Papa a life lease on the house. A part of the agreement was that Papa would oversee the modest estate. A portion of the profits would go each year to pay rents to the duke, while the rest was income for Papa. There never seemed to be much of that, though. Everything earned from the land around Northgate Hall seemed to go right back into its upkeep.
But Papa never complained. He loved this house and Seraphina did, too. It was their home. Her mother and an infant sibling were buried in the parish cemetery in Lesser Crossing and someday Papa hoped to be buried there, too. This was their home and Seraphina would feel no guilt for lying to the duke about those silly sheep. They needed the money and the deal with the man from the mill was a good one.
Mr. Hornwell, however, had expressed some concern. Although the duke had ignored them for decades, it seemed that recently the man of business had received correspondence from him. The Duke of Ashguard―with all his estates and all his grand holdings―had noticed the faltering productivity of Northgate Hall. As his annual percentage from them diminished, his interest in them had grown.
Seraphina still was not entirely sure why the estate was faltering so, but Mr. Hornwell explained that it was due to multiple causes. As their work force diminished, so did their harvest. That much made sense. Also, there was the matter of the condition of structures and implements on their lands. As she had witnessed firsthand, their buildings were aging and their walls were crumbling around them. Besides that, the practices used by the tenants were in desperate need of updating, but where would the funds for that come from? The money for improvements was not there because the whole place needed improving―it was a vicious circle.
What was she going to do about it? No matter how she juggled their limited budget, it seemed Mr. Hornwell was never quite able to stretch their money enough to do all that needed to be done. He merely shook his head and told her to be on the lookout for a wealthy husband.
Well, until one of those came strolling into her drawing room, she supposed she'd just have to go on finding creative ways to cut corners and cheat the duke out of his rents. All would be well, as long as they could keep Papa blind to the truth. How much longer she could do that, though, Seraphina couldn't guess.
"Another mill has been burned, this one not far from here," Papa announced, glancing up from his paper.
"Another? It's a wonder there are any of them left, with all we've been hearing."
"It's a wonder there are any men left to run those infernal steam engines, what with war raging on every continent." Papa grumbled, poking his nose deeper into his reading.
"Is there any good news in your paper, Papa? I wish you'd stop taking it since it only serves to upset you."
He shook his grayed head. "We must know what things are about, my dear. I shall always read the papers, no matter how bleak the news in them."
"If only there were a glimmer of hope among all that bleak news."
"My poor little Siffy. You haven't quite recovered from your ordeal yesterday, have you? I should insist you go back to your bed and spend the day there."
"I'm fine, Papa. I was simply caught in the rain as I went for a walk. I've far too much to do today to spend it in bed."
"Then I expect those dark circles under your eyes will only get worse, but if you insist on pushing yourself, far be it from me to advise you. I'm only your pitiful old father, after all."
"Oh, Papa, I promise I will not exert myself too much today. But you have to promise to put aside the dreary newspapers and get some fresh air. Perhaps you will ride into the village with me this morning?"
"This morning? No, I'm afraid I have other plans this morning."
"To skulk over the newspaper and complain about your eggs being cold?"
He surprised her with his answer. "As a matter of fact, I am expecting a visitor."
"Who is it? The curate only visits on Thursday, and Mrs. Gilbert with the benevolence league was just here two days ago. Who can you be expecting today?"
"The man from the duke is due to come here today. I'm sure I told you about it, Siffy."
"The man from the duke? No, Papa, you most surely did not tell me about this! Who on earth is the
duke sending here and what does he want?"
The sound of footsteps from the hall caught her attention. Papa seemed to notice it a second after she did and they both turned to stare at the doorway in plenty of time to watch their elderly butler shuffle in. He bowed and cleared his throat.
"A gentleman is here to see you, sir."
Papa nodded, then turned to Seraphina with a shrug. "It appears you will have your answers sooner rather than later, my pet."
Thorston waited in the drawing room where the ancient butler had left him. He felt bad for the poor old man--he ought to be sitting quietly in a garden drawing a pension, not ambling of on his creaking knees to find the master of the house. Thorston made a mental note of this, a dark mark against Mr. Janesley right from the start.
Glancing around his surroundings, he determined that the house was neat and well ordered, but a thin layer of dust covered the polished wood surfaces. From all appearances this room was not used often, and certainly it had not been cleaned recently. Did this mean the Janesley's rarely had visitors, or that they were too occupied with other business to care about the maintenance of their home?
The grounds outside showed similar neglect. They were not in bad shape, not really, but they were not as well groomed as he might have expected. Were the reasons for this similar to the ones for the condition of the dust-covered interior, or was the lack of attention something more intentional? If Mr. Janesley was involved in what Thorston had come to investigate, then what better way to hide it than by feigning genteel poverty?
Surely Thorston knew better than to trust his eyes. The men he was after were experts in manipulation, in deception and subterfuge. They were taking advantage of the state of unrest in these areas to entice desperate people into service for them--service against the crown. Thorston would not let it continue.
For five years now he'd been devoting himself to that very cause. It had become his identity, his way of life, as much a part of him as breathing. It was also his greatest secret--not even his own father or brother knew of the clandestine organization that he'd become a part of.
That summer when the Earl of Hartland had called him to join a covert gathering at his country house in--of all places--Ireland, Thorston had little idea what he'd be getting himself into. An "intelligence ring", Hartland had called it. Ten like-minded men had been gathered for the express purpose of assisting Wellesley in his efforts to ferret out spies and traitors here on British soil. Thorston had been thrilled to be included among the unlikely group of scientists, officers, noblemen, and thugs. For the first time he wasn't just his father's son, another wastrel heir spending his days in mindless pursuits. He was useful.
But this mission would call for him to walk a very fine line. Not only was he following Hartland's orders, but he was here on his father's business, as well. The fusty old duke wondered why he had heard nothing from Janesley, why his rents had gone unpaid, and why he kept hearing reports of violent activity in the area.
Thorston's visit here would require careful balance. If, as Hartland suspected, the residents of Northgate Hall were central to the particular spy ring he'd been trying to uncover, Thorston must be very careful not to tip his hand.
The Marquis of Thunder (Heart of a Hero) Page 4