Thorncroft Manor (A Novella)

by Nora Covington

  Her mother and Bernice looked at ease. Darby, relaxed as ever, sat chatting with his friend in a low voice. Her cousin’s countenance displayed her sentiments regarding Mr. Croft. Caroline knew at that moment that she needed to remain strong and take charge of the situation.

  She surmised this much—Bramwell Croft was a wealthy man of considerable property, including income from his mining activities. Based on her cursory judgment of his clothing and household, Caroline decided he must be a miser. By the drab décor of the interior, he did not care to decorate and make his home more appealing.

  His household staff appeared minimal and centered upon a man named Pearson. His nearly bald head and graying temples made him look as if he needed to be put out to pasture. There were no tall footmen to wait upon them at dinner. When a maid entered the room with a platter of roasted birds, Caroline’s mouth dropped open. Darby smiled at what he thought to be a feast, while Caroline gawked at the tail feather garnishing the dish.

  “How many birds did you and Merlin pluck from the sky on your recent excursion?” Darby asked while inspecting the platter with a mouthwatering grin. Caroline lifted her eyes from the birds in time to see Bramwell sport a smile of pride.

  “Oh, a few.” He puffed out his chest like a proud gorilla.

  “Pheasant,” her mother commented. She glanced sideways at Caroline indicating her surprise over the main course so indelicately decorated.

  “I suppose we should be thankful it is not wild boar,” Caroline replied, “as I can see by the many mounted heads of dead animals upon your walls.”

  Bramwell raised a brow over her comment. “Yes, they are a splendid collection of trophies,” he proudly replied.

  “Bramwell has fed me with some of the choicest game and fowl from his land.” Darby defended his friend.

  “Get your fill,” Georgina said, looking at Darby, “because we shall not have such food on our table in London.”

  “Yes, dear, we have already discussed it,” he replied in a critical tone.

  The maid and Pearson returned with bowls of boiled potatoes, candied carrots, parsnips, and bread. They rounded the table, offering portions to the guests. Bramwell picked up a carving knife and began assaulting the birds.

  “Mrs. Williams does a fine job of removing the shot, but you never know if any pellets remain in the thick of a plump breast.”

  Her cousin did not look too surprised that the lord of the manor had taken it upon himself to butcher the birds. When he had finished, Pearson rounded the table, offering the pheasant.

  Caroline took her first bite hoping to God that she would not break a tooth on a missed pellet. To her surprise, the meat was extremely moist and tasty, as if the cook had marinated the bird beforehand. However, the boiled potatoes and carrots did little to garnish the table with any class.

  She glanced around and noticed everyone had become far too quiet for her taste as they considered the meal before them. The lord of the manor sat gloomily at the head of the table, and she wondered if he ever smiled. He had deep lines between his brows, which accented his miserable countenance.

  “So, Mr. Croft, what is it like in a tin mine? I’m curious.” Caroline asked.

  Bramwell slowly raised his head and scowled at her as if she had interrupted him from some important, pondering thought. “Dark.” He returned his attention to the meal.

  So he wanted to play that game, did he? Caroline thought, narrowing her eyes. “How dark?”

  She saw Darby out of the corner of her eye spin his head in her direction, but she kept her focus upon Mr. Croft.

  “Very dark,” he replied. He kept his gaze upon his plate without giving her the courtesy to look her way.

  “You seem to be a man of few words, Mr. Croft, but I assure you that I am rather interested.”

  “Caroline, the business of mining is best left to the men who own and work them. It is not a proper conversation for dinner,” Darby curtly interjected.

  She clenched her jaw, aghast that he had the nerve to scold her in such a tone in front of everyone. Perhaps Darby was not as charming as she thought. Her cousin shot her a sympathetic glance. Undoubtedly his friendship with Bramwell had influenced his viewpoint about a woman’s place at the dinner table.

  “You mean to tell me that women should not be inquisitive about male professions? I am sure my cousin will be asking you about your job at the bank. Will you dismiss her inquiries because you are under the vain assumption that women do not understand enterprise or business?”

  “Caroline, that’s enough,” her mother reprimanded. “You are trespassing into affairs you should not be. Let us talk of the wedding instead.”

  Suddenly the brooding host put down his fork and raised his head. After dabbing his lips with his napkin, he looked directly at Caroline.

  “I would rather not focus on the wedding right now,” he said. “If Miss Woodard is interested in mining operations, then by all means let me answer her questions.”

  Mr. Croft set his gaze upon her with such intensity that Caroline felt like crawling under the tabletop. His insufferably handsome face showed no emotion. Only his eyes betrayed his sentiments. Plainly the man detested her sitting at his table. Caroline could not let herself be controlled by his arrogance. Her brashness met him head on with an assertive voice.

  “Do you ever allow visitors to tour the lower depths?” To her utter surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted into an entertaining smirk. Apparently amused over her question, he pulled his gaze away and shook his head.

  “Darby, do I allow women to descend into the tunnels?”

  “It is ridiculous,” he swiftly replied. “Women do not belong in a mine. It is bad luck.”

  “Oh, how wonderful as a female species to be considered a curse,” Caroline replied, miffed over his reply.

  “It is no place for a woman,” Bramwell glowered. “Are you able with your billowy skirt to climb down wooden rungs into the darkness of hell? Our ladders descend hundreds of feet before reaching the depths below.”

  “Well, if I cannot be lowered down into the depths of the earth, may I at least be given an opportunity to see its location?”

  Her host looked straight into her eyes. “If you insist, it can be arranged.” Bramwell returned his attention to his meal.

  “Well, I insist,” Caroline adamantly replied.

  She glanced at her sister, mother, and Georgina. They sat like timid mice afraid to open their mouths. It looked obvious that she alone had the gumption to speak in the presence of two men who acted superior toward their sex.

  Poor Georgina, she thought, looking over at Darby speaking to his friend in a low voice. No doubt they were talking about manly pursuits. Perhaps Bramwell was imparting his advice on how to control a strong-willed woman. No wonder he was not married. Then again, no wonder she was not married. Would she ever find anyone who would allow her to be outspoken, curious, or bold?

  Irritated over her thoughts, she inhaled a gasp of air, sending a piece of breast meat that she had been chewing to lodge at the back of her throat. She dropped her fork on the tabletop when she realized that she could not inhale. Caroline’s eyes widened in fear as everyone merely watched her dilemma. Instinctively she looked toward Bramwell to make a plea for help, but to her utter horror, the chair was empty.

  The next moment, she felt a hard whack of a hand between her shoulder blades. Startled, she brought her hand to her throat. Another wallop, even harder, hit her with such force it released the piece of meat. It flew out of her mouth to her plate below. Could anything be more embarrassing? She gasped for a breath of air, and it flowed down to her lungs unobstructed.

  “Are you all right, Miss Woodard?” Mr. Croft spoke softly into her ear. He placed his hand upon her shoulder and gave it a slight, gentle squeeze of comfort.

  Caroline coughed a few times and then answered. “Yes, I am fine.” Her eyes watered in relief. “Thank you, Mr. Croft, for your quick thinking in saving my life.”

  He b
lew out a puff of air from between his lips. “I hardly saved your life,” he dismissed, returning to his chair and sitting down. “It probably would have eventually slid down your throat with a glass of water, but you appeared unsure what to do to rectify the situation.”

  Rectify the situation? That was it? A situation? She had nearly choked to death.

  “Pearson, get the lady a hot cup of tea,” he ordered. “The warmth of the brew will relax your tight throat.”

  Perchance it would ease her tight throat, but she doubted it would do anything to relieve the mixture of emotions she felt for Bramwell Croft.

  “Caroline, are you all right?” Her mother glanced at her with a worried squint.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Please finish your meal. The situation has been rectified, as Mr. Croft put it.”

  To her horror, the piece of meat she had projected upon her plate had landed in the middle of her potatoes covered in white gravy. She pushed it aside with the fork. The appetite for the meal she had struggled earlier to obtain had vanished.

  Pearson returned with her tea, and she took a sip. The warmth did relax her throat. Perhaps the lord of Thorncroft Manor knew something about saving choking women in distress. She wondered what other talents the ruminating male had yet to display.

  “Darby, if you get tired of London and its poor air quality, do come back to Cornwall,” Bramwell spoke.

  Georgina shot him a disapproving glare. “Well, I think Darby’s career is much more viable in London. I know he is looking forward to his new position. There is nothing here that could match.”

  Darby looked torn over whether to agree with his old friend or appease his wife to be. “Well, possibly both,” he admitted. “Once my career in banking progresses, maybe we can purchase a small cottage in Cornwall as a second residence. I would not mind an occasional trip back to Cornwall for relaxation.”

  “Once you come to London, Darby, and taste all that it has to offer, I daresay you will never wish to return,” Caroline spoke with clear conviction.

  “Darby,” Bramwell began thoughtfully, “I was going to hold off giving your wedding gift until the special day. However, with all this talk, I cannot think of a better time.” He paused for a moment and continued. “It occurred to me that once you left you would need housing should you decide to return and visit. As you know, my holdings are much more than I need. I would be pleased to deed Brownstone Cottage to you as your secondary home.”

  Darby’s mouth fell open. “Bramwell, you cannot be serious?” He shot him a wary glance leaning toward his friend.

  “Indeed, I am.” He turned toward Pearson. “Retrieve the keys to Brownstone and give them to Darby.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “It is fully furnished, Georgina. If it is not to your liking, I’m sure Darby here will give you a budget to redecorate.”

  Caroline couldn’t believe her ears. He had played an ace in the middle of their game that surely had won him accolades from all in the room.

  Pearson returned with the keys and gave them to Bramwell. He rose to his feet, and Darby did as well. “To your new life. When you tire of London, now you can return and rest with friends.” Bramwell handed him the keys and gave him a hearty pat on the back.

  “Bramwell, I don’t know what to say. How very generous of you.”

  “I’ll hear nothing of it. Put it to good use. I cannot think of any other soul beside you and your bride to occupy its empty interior.”

  “Georgina, thank him,” Darby insisted.

  “It is extremely generous of you to give such a kind gift,” she soberly spoke.

  Caroline could not ascertain her cousin’s sincerity in her remark. Did she not appreciate his offer?

  Bramwell smiled and turned to Miss Woodard. “As you can see, London may have its society, but Cornwall is in our blood. We always return to our roots.”

  She did not respond but merely lowered her eyes to her tea.

  “Would you care for more?” Bramwell asked.

  “No, thank you,” she replied, wiping her lips with her linen napkin. “I have had quite enough.” Surely he understood the meaning of her words.

  Happy Occasion

  “Are we ready to proceed to the church for rehearsal?” Darby asked as they gathered in the parlor.

  “I think that I am getting nervous. Perhaps we should call this off,” Georgina teased. She approached Darby and clung to his lapels.

  “I don’t think so,” he asserted. “I shall not rest until you belong to me.” He lowered his head and gave Georgina a brash kiss in front of everyone.

  “Darby!” Muriel squealed. “Where is your civility in front of guests?”

  “Oh, let him kiss her,” Caroline said, laughing at the two lovebirds. “He is just being affectionate.” Truthfully Caroline wished Darby would control his urges; otherwise her envious pout would return.

  Darby released his bride to be. “All right, ladies. The carriage is waiting. Shall we?”

  “Will Bramwell meet us there, Darby, or are we picking him up?” Georgina asked.

  “He will meet us there.”

  Muriel, Georgina, Darby, and Caroline made their way to a hired carriage. Her mother stayed behind with Bernice. After a short, bumpy ride into the center of the village, Caroline spotted the spire belonging to their parish, the Church of St. John.

  She shuddered at the sight of the modest, granite building. Immediately, Caroline decided that she would marry in some grand cathedral on her wedding day. Her cousin’s preference of a small and inconsequential house of worship saddened Caroline. Georgina should have picked London for her wedding. Anything would be better than the tiny church ahead.

  As the carriage pulled up to the door, Caroline took note that no one waited for their arrival. She wondered as to the whereabouts of Bramwell. Darby spoke her sentiments.

  “I don’t see Bramwell’s horse. He must be running late.”

  “Perhaps he will arrive by carriage,” Caroline said.

  “Bramwell does not own one. He is a horseman through and through and would not be caught dead inside a box on wheels. In fact, he is always saying that the only time he will climb into one is when they haul his casket in a funeral hearse with black horses.”

  “His attitude is morbid,” Caroline said. She might as well speak her mind.

  “See, I told you,” Georgina pounced on the conversation. “He is rather disquieting in character.”

  Darby laughed. “Love, you just do not appreciate his humor.”

  Georgina shot him a glare as the driver opened the door. The entourage of ladies and the groom entered the church. The vicar welcomed their arrival.

  “Ah, the bride and groom have arrived,” he smiled warmly. He looked at Muriel and asked, “And who might this young lady be?”

  “Vicar Alton, may I introduce to you my niece, Caroline Woodard. She has travelled all the way from London to be the maid of honor.”

  “Welcome to our humble little village of Pendeen. Our quaint community is quite the opposite from the bustling city of London, eh?”

  “Yes, quite the opposite,” Caroline agreed. She did not want to insult him with her real thoughts about the region.

  “Darby, I don’t see Bramwell. Will he be joining us?” the vicar inquired.

  “He said he would. I just hope he has not decided to back out of being my best man. I would be terribly disappointed, though I realize how difficult this must be for him.”

  “Yes, indeed,” the vicar responded sympathetically, shaking his head in agreement. “Poor man.”

  “Poor man?” Caroline exclaimed. “That is all I have heard since my arrival. Bramwell Croft is a poor man, but no one has told me why.” She seethed in frustration about the continual allusions to his perplexing existence.

  “Because I have forbidden them to speak of it—that is why.” Bramwell proclaimed in a brusque, deep voice from the sanctuary doors.

  Caroline spun around, hearing the stern pronouncement, a
nd witnessed his dark, foreboding glare directed her way. He stepped forward like an angry monster.

  “Bramwell, it is good to see you,” Darby said. He reached out and patted him on the shoulder, but Bramwell rolled it away and stepped back.

  “We need to talk,” he said in a low tone.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “Very well, then.” Darby looked at the group and begged their leave. “Will you please excuse us for a moment?” Everyone nodded and then turned to look at the vicar.

  “Ladies, why don’t you follow me, and we can discuss the delivery of the flower arrangements in the morning and other particulars.”

  Caroline glanced over her shoulder to see the two having a lively discussion. They had stepped far enough away preventing anyone from hearing their voices. Bramwell’s countenance looked grievously pained over some matter while Darby acted as if he were trying his best to comfort him. A few minutes later, they returned to the sanctuary.

  “Well, now,” announced the vicar. “Shall we speak of how things will go tomorrow at the ceremony?”

  “Yes, I think we should proceed, vicar.” Darby glanced over at Georgina, conveying some unspoken understanding.

  “Tomorrow it will be quite simple. The ushers will escort the families to their seats…”

  Caroline’s attention drifted from the vicar’s voice. She could not help but glance at Bramwell and Darby. The mysterious mine owner stood ridged with his gaze fixated on the altar. Darby kept glancing at him with concern, so much so that he was not paying attention either.

  “Mr. Wilson,” the vicar frowned. “Are you listening?”

  “Oh, yes,” Darby said. “Sorry. My mind wandered. Groom nerves and all that.”

  Georgina shot him a glaring look. “Pay attention,” she said, jabbing him lightly with her elbow.

  “Yes, of course, dear. I’m sorry.”

  Darby’s countenance continued to show concern about his friend’s noticeable discomfort. The situation had become most frustrating in Caroline’s mind. She had to find out what was going on.