by Cameron May
“Necessary, however, in my opinion, what with work about to begin in earnest. Barnaby and Jem are going to be busy. And I doubt you could tear Barnaby away from that baby of his. What do you think, Winnie?”
“All seems to be going well, doesn’t it? We’ve had several good years, only one that wasn’t. The last was the best in my opinion, but the luck won’t continue.”
“You’re right of course, I’m determined to be more prudent this year, put aside more of our income just in case.” Winnie noted he used inclusive words, ‘we’ll’ and ‘our income’; she wondered if it meant anything out of the ordinary. She would miss seeing the fruits of their planning and work if they parted. “I’m glad you came along. I trust your judgement, Winnie. I see the results of it every day.”
“Thank you,” she said, pleased at the compliments She chuckled. “But I’m just as shallow, as curious as the next person. I’ve never seen an earl’s estate, let alone stayed in one for any length of time.”
So that’s what tipped the scale. He smiled, the comment being so like Winnie. “If the weather holds up, we ought to be there in about an hour, perhaps less.” It had been a tiring journey, but once in the open air, Winnie was glad she’d come, too, never having been in her life so far afield. Her parent’s own small estate and its environs, its neighbors, was her world until the time she landed at Lance’s. “We might even already be on his land.”
“Really?” Winnie sat up straight all at once to look out the window, bright blue eyes suddenly curious.
Lance’s eyes ran over Winnie’s face, quietly feasting on its comeliness while she was distracted. “May I say how attractive your new frocks are?”
Winnie turned from the window, a slight flush coloring her face. “You really shouldn’t have done it, engaging Mistress Goodwill behind my back.”
“But you’re glad, too, are you not?”
“If I must admit to it, yes, I am. It embarrasses me to say it, but for once in my life I feel pampered. Miranda was usually the beneficiary of our parents’ spending on clothing, new hats, new dresses, gloves, everything.” She smiled. “Mama said if I had a new dress, it might be spoiled within the hour of my putting it on. And, she was right. Miranda, the picture-pretty daughter, was the one who drew the looks of young men. I, on the other hand, might just as well have been born a boy, was never much for sitting still.”
“Except for the piano.” Winnie nodded absently, looking out the window again, watching the passing view eagerly, her moist, pink mouth open. Lance sighed. It was becoming more and more difficult, being with Winnie and not wishing to possess her. “When we return home, Winnie, I have an idea I want to put before you.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, not paying attention.
Lance frowned. As soon as they returned to Greenwood, he would ask her to stay. He was so accustomed to her, couldn’t imagine having another woman as wife. He knew by heart her voice and the little quirks that amused him, the animated face that registered joy, or, just as easily, consternation. The day always began in the right way with her in the house. The only thing missing was intimacy, excepting that one night she’d thought him sleepwalking when he wasn’t. Thinking of it, he straightened in his seat to focus his mind elsewhere before he became aroused. “And yet, you aren’t angry with your mother and father.”
“No.” she turned with a puzzled expression to Lance. “In their own way, they love me as much as Miranda. I missed a great many things, which are never the most important objects in life, but I never felt unloved, only unnoticed.” She had longed for more tender moments, but had to be satisfied, she thought, with what came. “But, on the other side of the coin I could never be so plainly uneven-handed as a parent. She smiled suddenly. “You spoke of Barnaby. Isn’t it amusing how Barnaby, so big, so often gruff, can be so careful with little Freddie?”
A warm smile reached into Lance’s eyes. “It is indeed.” He looked out the window. “Look, Winnie, we’re almost there.”
She slid quickly into the seat next to Lance to see better, and the familiar sweet fragrance reached his nose. Yes, this was becoming more difficult by the day, when all he wanted was to crush her sweetness to him and love her. “Ooh, it’s so big, makes your place a cottage in comparison.”
Lance chuckled. “I haven’t been here since I was small, though we used to visit occasionally. But I don’t remember much of it.”
On the portico, a somber, dark-clothed man folded his arms. “Ah, yes, the jackals begin their descent.” Two servants on the wide porch with him, watching the approaching carriage, nodded in agreement as other household servants lingered behind them, seeing the small carriage grow larger. “Well, let’s gird ourselves for the confusion about to envelope us all.” One of the two servants turned around and admonished quietly those rubbernecking out the open door. They turned to go back into the house.
The carriage stopped at the center of the open circle making up the driveway past the front and came to a halt. Lance sat up. “It looks odd,” Winnie said. “I don’t see smiles on the faces. Weren’t they expecting us?”
Lance shrugged. “I sent a reply myself. Perhaps it didn’t reach them in time. But it does seem different, Winnie. Be prepared that it is the way things are. I don’t care. I only want to share some time with Uncle Harry. Besides, he did invite us.”
A short, rotund man with black, thinning hair wound past the first man and came down the short flight of steps. Dressed all in black except for his pristine shirt, as he approached the carriage, his frown changed to a smile as Lance was helping Winnie down.
He bowed briefly to the couple. “I’m Stockdale, the butler. I apologize, but I don’t recognize either the carriage or yourself, er…”
Lance nodded. “Lance Brevard, Mister Stockdale. And this is my wife, Winn…I’m sorry, Lady Winifred. I trust my reply from the invitation has been received.” He grinned. “I’m anxious to see the old sod.” At the lift of Stockdale’s brows, Lance went on. “Uncle Harry.”
“Oh, good heavens!” the man’s hands flew to his cheeks. “This is most unfortunate, Sir Brevard.”
“Have we come at an inopportune time?”
Stockdale’s hands fell to his sides. “I’m sorry, but obviously our letter to you hadn’t yet reached you. It’s my painful duty to tell you your Uncle Harry has died.”
“Oh,” Winnie said, “how awful! We have come at an unfortunate time, then, haven’t we? We’re awfully sorry.”
“It’s alright, Winnie.” Lance turned to Stockdale. “We knew nothing, not that he had died, nor even that he’d been ill. The invitation to visit came weeks ago, and it had been in the mail for a longer time. We simply hadn’t picked up his invitation because of the weather. And, of course now, because of this development, it seems I won’t have a chance to say goodbye.” A frown worked its way across his forehead. “We don’t wish to interfere with the mourning.” Lance looked at Winnie. “If we could have but a short rest before we return home, we’d be most obliged.”
Stockdale glanced back at the portico, a handful of servants gathered there again, wondering what was happening. There seemed to be some kind of problem. “But this is stunning news. You don’t know?” Lance shook his head. “Dear me, Lord Brevard, you are the new master of Treehill Manor and all you see around you.”
Lance almost laughed but kept his reaction to a smile. “Surely you are mistaken, my good man. I am too far removed…” Winnie suddenly put her hand on his arm. He turned and her face was white.
“Not anymore,” Stockdale said, looking at Lance’s shocked face, shades paler than before. “Please bear with me, with us. It has been a long, uncomfortable time.”
“And our coming has made it worse, I’m sure. Now I know what Winnie meant…” He’d seen the sober faces, too, but had thought it meant mere curiosity. “I am flummoxed beyond measure. I have no idea what to say or do.”
“May I suggest you say nothing, or as little as possible, for the time being, Lord Brevard.
”
“But, Dear God…”
“I’m sorry, Lance,” Winnie whispered. He turned and took her hand, unsteady in his, as they looked at each other. She shook her head before turning to address the butler. “Thank you, Mr. Stockdale. I trust you will have to be our guide for the time being, until we find our way. Is there no possibility you could be wrong?” Stockdale looked at the slender and very pretty, very young woman by his new master’s side. Their confusion was genuine. It was bound to become more so as the next days unfolded. Any other would have been giddy knowing they had suddenly become rich, extraordinarily rich. Stockdale shook his head.
“I only wish I could have said goodbye,” Lance said soberly, almost to himself.
“If you’ll follow me, your lordship,” Stockdale said. He turned away and Lance and Winnie followed slowly, their faces blanched and their steps uncertain.
In passing, Winnie’s eyes brushed quickly over the men standing on the portico and Lance nodded, his jaw set. The somber-faced man pointed to the carriage, and two of the men went down the steps to bring in the valises, only two of them, and direct the driver to the stables.
“What would you like first?” Stockdale asked. “Perhaps some tea, or something stronger?”
“Winnie?”
“Yes,” she answered. “A light meal, perhaps, something simple. And tea. I wouldn’t mind sugar and lemon, if it’s available.”
“That would do for me as well, except the sugar,” Lance said. “We need to freshen up first, however.”
“Why don’t we look at the rooms first? Perhaps milady would like a rest after dining.”
“Thank you, Mister Stockdale, but due to the news, I doubt I could rest.”
“Nor could I,” Lance added. They followed the butler up the winding, shining wood railings that led to a large landing, corridors went off in different directions. Lance could see light coming from a few open doors; the rest were closed. “Where is my uncle buried? I would like to visit his grave soon. Quietly, of course.”
“There is a graveyard less than a quarter mile from the house. I will show you the direction, and you may pay a visit at your leisure.” Lance nodded again. Down one corridor they followed the butler until he came to a stop. “This was your uncle’s room. You might wish it,” he said to Lance, who turned to Winnie. Winnie shook her head, her face turning pale again.
“I might choose it, if you have a room nearby for milady.” He glanced a Winnie and she nodded. “I like the room, as it looks out over the entrance, but I may change my mind later,” Lance said.
“Very well. Your uncle’s valet had an attached room, though it’s much smaller than this.” Stockdale led Lance through the large room with an oversized bed through a doorway to the room, with Winnie tagging along behind.
“What do you think, Winnie?” She came closer and put a gloved hand on the frame of the door.
Slowly, Winnie smiled. “You have no need for a valet?”
“No, but I would very much like to have you near.”
“Then this space will do. Yes, it will do nicely if you decide on keeping your uncle’s room.”
“I’ll have your things brought in straightaway,” Stockdale said.
“We need to catch our breaths, once that’s done,” Winnie said. “At least a half-hour. Would you call us once refreshment is ready?”
Stockdale bowed. “Of course. I’ll send a footman.” Winnie nodded as the butler straightened and left.
“A footman, not the footman. I wonder how many there are.” She looked around and Lance was gone. She found him sitting on his uncle’s bed, his head down. He looked lost again, and Winnie feared for him, feared for them both.
“I’ll need more than half an hour to catch my breath. Where to go, what to say, what to do? Our lives were so calm and regular, all upended.” He turned to look at Winnie. “I do so wish I could have said goodbye to my uncle, to see him one last time. I wonder if there’s a portrait of him in this mausoleum.”
Winnie gave a small shiver. “It is quite dark, isn’t it? I couldn’t see myself in your uncle’s room, but the other will do,” she said, pointing. “There’s a door leading to the hallway…”
Lance stood. “I’m glad you came, Winnie. I need to have you near, just to be clear.” He longed to embrace her, to have some of her steadiness sink into him.
“Yes, of course. I understand, Lance,” she told him, the look on her face as serious as his.
“I mean to say, all has been going so well lately, no more spells…”
Winnie’s mouth opened, about to refute him. But so much of great consequence had happened, what good would it do to tell Lance the truth? “We’ll just have to step lightly until we figure out what to do, how to go on,” she said quietly.
“Exactly right, Winnie.”
“And don’t forget, dear Lance, what worse trials you’ve come through.”
He lifted his gaze from the floor. “Thank you for reminding me, Winnie. Yes, if we can make it through the next weeks, perhaps couple of months, then we shall have perspective to know clearly our next steps.” She had called him ‘dear’. Had it meant anything more than an expression of sympathy?
No one could find them, and finally Stockdale determined that, after they’d supped, they might have gone for a walk to the cemetery on the hill past the house. “We have meetings scheduled, and, the people from London wish to have them done and over with so they may return to the City,” the house steward, Hammond Webster, said. His dour face registered irritation at the delay.
“Then,” Stockdale shrugged, “they might have to stay over one more day. Our schedule will be determined by the new master.”
“Yes, of course,” Webster said, though he frowned. The little cluster of men who had been waiting the better part of the day, ever since they’d arrived soon after Lance and Winnie, hearing the butler’s statement, broke apart and headed to the gathering room at the top of the first set of stairs. They would settle in for the duration. It was important.
“You said he was a blackguard, Lance. What did you mean?” She looked at the freshly dug and covered plot of ground with its large, cold, engraved monument at its head.
Lance quirked an eyebrow. “He had three wives, Winnie. Does that answer your question?”
“No, not really.”
“He was a shrewd businessman, which I am most decidedly not. Drove hard bargains, likely did a bit of cheating, if my father’s opinion of him mattered. He didn’t come right out and say that Uncle Harry was a cheat, but the implication was there.”
Winnie nodded, looking around the quiet, tree-sprinkled area of ground and the display of other graves and markers, all of it within the confines of a wrought iron fence. “A very decent resting place for your Uncle Harry,” she said. “And below the estate stretches as far as the eye can see.”
“Makes my father’s estate seem tiny by comparison, doesn’t it?” He sighed, touched the top of the gravestone, and turned to go. “There must be a half-dozen new carriages in the drive. Perhaps some far-off forgotten relatives,” he said. Winnie thought she heard a touch of sarcasm.
“Greenhill may be small, but it will always have a place in my heart,” Winnie said. “Which reminds me, I want to write a note to Barnaby, make a list of what needs to be brought from your place. We aren’t prepared for the solemnity of your uncle’s passing, neither our minds nor in what we’re wearing. I apologize bringing it up. It does seem a bit crass, doesn’t it?”
“But true, nevertheless, Winnie.”
“In the meantime, I’ll try and see if I can’t find something more appropriate to wear.”
“When you write, you’ll apprise Barnaby of everything that happened, won’t you?” Winnie nodded. “The old fellow will be shocked.”
“I miss him already. When I first came, he was a great blessing and took good care of me. His kindness was most comforting when I needed it, and since then, well, the only upset was when I forced him to marry Frances.”
/>
Lance chuckled. “Forced him?”
“Well, prodded, cajoled, if you prefer.”
“I hadn’t heard that. You’ll be sure to tell me about it on the way back to Treehill.”
“I see,” Lance said when he found there were businessmen waiting for him to discuss their affairs concerning his uncle’s estate. He turned to Winnie.
Her head came close to his. “Might as well dip our toes in the water,” she said quietly for his ears only. When the men were admitted one by one to Lance’s expansive, wood-paneled office with a huge desk and comfortable seating, the best room in the house so far, they were confounded to find the new mistress present at all the meetings. Winnie sat on a small, overstuffed chair at an angle from Lance’s new desk. The woman smiled politely and seemed bland to them, and they soon forgot her presence. Afterward, having supper together in a small dining room to discuss what they’d heard, they compared their impressions. It was like that the following day, and the next, and still men came.
In the midst of meetings, they somehow managed to meet the household staff, and Winnie tried committing their names and functions to memory, though some names slipped away. A half-dozen women were presented for Winnie’s consideration as ladies’ maids, and Winnie made a quick decision, setting aside those whose chins rose or attentions strayed. She chose a young woman, Sarah Miller, who seemed quiet but very alert, not the most attractive among the bunch but could read and write, was obviously pleased and surprised by her selection. And very appreciative. It was Sarah who found dark dresses in the attics, cleaned them up, altered them and added lace or another trimming so Winnie would have dresses to suit the occasion. Sarah came early every morning, surprised to find her mistress already awake and dressed. She saw to it that a footman brought breakfast, which they ate in privacy at a table in Lance’s room where they discussed the day ahead.
Their carriage driver had been sent back with a letter to Barnaby, and within a couple of weeks, their requested belongings arrived. Among them was Lance’s soldiering clothing, which Winnie pressed the housekeeper to have cleaned properly and repaired. “Why that old thing?”