She had a penchant for fruit of any variety. But this plum was so tantalizing—deep red with just the barest hint of violet. It was sure to be worth the effort.
She took a step up on the ladder and moved her foot to wedge it into the crook of a nearby branch. Reaching as far as her slender arms would go, she tapped the plum once and set it to swinging. Stretching just a little farther, her fingers found purchase on the fruit, and she plucked it from the branch.
Slipping the plum into her apron pocket, Kate climbed down the ladder, jumping from the lowest rung with both feet onto the ground. It was a blessing the hedgerows separated the orchards from the main schoolyard, for if Mrs. Presley had seen Kate’s unladylike display, she would certainly be forced to sit through a lecture on the behavior befitting a head art teacher. Well, Kate was the only art teacher, but she accepted the title regardless.
“Afternoon, Miss Kingston,” the groundskeeper called, lifting his cap. He rested against his shovel and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
“Good afternoon,” Kate said. She lifted her basket to show her bounty to the older man. “There is going to be plenty of plum cake for everyone at the school social. I hope to see you there.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” came the craggy reply.
Kate turned onto the lane that led to the school, biting into her juicy prize and wiping the drizzle from her chin with her wrist. She rounded the bend around the hedges and the school came into view—a two story gray brick building erected long ago as a manor house and repurposed as a school not thirty years prior.
Nestled in the rolling countryside of Leicester, the county she had spent her entire life in, Lytle’s School for Girls was a wonderful place to work and a decent place to have spent her defining growing-up years. When Uncle had shipped her to this school, Kate hadn’t known she was never to return to his house, but it had turned out for the best. Regardless of Mrs. Presley’s stern rules and tightly run staff, there was kindness and joy to be found within the old, stone walls of the school. Kate had found her calling in teaching the finer points of drawing and watercolors to young minds and reveled in the ways her students blessed her soul every day.
She took another bite from her plum and watched the activity as she neared the lawns in front of the school that were overrun with townsfolk setting up booths and preparing for their games. The social on the morrow was held annually by the school as a fundraising opportunity to assist those girls that could not afford full tuition, and it was a cause dear to Kate’s heart. One of Kate’s first and dearest friends from Lytle’s School for Girls had been one of the scholarship students. And though Emily was off using her hard-learned manners and propriety in London’s ballrooms, they had remained close friends.
The sticky syrup dripped down her fingers, and she tossed the plum pit into the slop bucket beside the back-kitchen door before doing her best to wipe her hand on her dirty apron.
“Now you set those plums down just on the table there and wash up,” Mrs. James said as she rolled out some kind of pastry dough on her worktable. Her youthful cheeks were rosy from exertion that caused her freckles to stand out all the more, and wisps of red hair escaped her cap to trail along her brow and neck. She wasn’t much older than Kate herself, but she sure could bake a grand pheasant pie. “Mrs. Presley was in here asking ‘bout you not ten minutes ago, so you best be getting yourself upstairs now.”
“Yes ma’am,” Kate said with a wink and a curtsy. She skirted the worktable as best she could but still felt the faint swat from the rolling pin on her behind.
Racing up the stairs to the staff bedrooms, she quickly removed her apron and hung it on a peg beside her door before pouring cold water into the basin on her washstand and cleaning her hands and face. Aside from one drip of plum juice on her collar, she was otherwise spotless, the apron having taken the brunt of the fruit-picking dirt, and she deemed herself acceptable to meet with Mrs. Presley before dinner.
On the landing outside of her room, Kate nearly ran into Lissie, the chambermaid for the teachers’ rooms, and quickly stepped back again.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Lissie bobbed a quick curtsy. “Mrs. Presley is waiting on you in her office. You’ve got a visitor.”
Kate had started toward the headmistress’s office but stopped short and spun back to the maid, her mouth going slack. “A visitor?”
“Yes’m. A handsome one too, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lissie added with a little grin. Kate absentmindedly shook her head and turned back toward the office, but her feet were fastened in place as though by paste. In her eight years at Lytle’s School for Girls, she had not once received a visitor. Not once. Even when Uncle had revoked his financial support upon her completion, he had delivered the news via note. The footman who had brought it from Split Tree Manor had not even felt the need to wait around until the note was in the proper hands.
“Right, then.” Kate took a deep breath and flurried down the stairs.
The man standing in Mrs. Presley’s office with his hands clasped behind his back and his mustache carefully groomed was not what Kate would consider particularly handsome. He was not an ugly fellow by any means. His nose was straight and not overly large, and his wide eyes were a fair brown color. But his hair was too severe and his features too stiff. He seemed the preacher or lawyer type that didn’t smile often, and a face unused to smiling was not, in Kate’s opinion, a handsome one. With slight disappointment, she walked into the room after knocking lightly on the door.
“Miss Kingston, please come in.” Mrs. Presley gestured to the open seat across from her desk. Kate swept into the room and stood behind the chair with a healthy dose of uncertainty. With the stranger standing so tall beside her, she felt uneasy. Mrs. Presley soon took care of that situation as school headmistresses are easily capable of doing. “This is Mr. Montgomery, and he has come to see you on a matter of business.” Folding her hands together, she asked primly, “Shall I give you the room?”
Kate gave her a beseeching glance. Was it childish to not want to meet with this man alone? For propriety’s sake alone, Mrs. Presley ought to stay.
“Or perhaps,” Mrs. Presley said as she walked around her desk and closed the door to her office slowly. “I shall remain.”
Kate’s shoulders relaxed. It was so like Mrs. Presley to be perceptive to the needs of others.
“The choice belongs to Miss Kingston, ma’am,” the stodgy Mr. Montgomery said, his voice as unremarkable as his face. He stepped to the chair beside Kate’s and waited for the ladies to take their seats before subtly flipping back the tails of his coat and perching on the edge of his chair. Kate stifled her mirth. He even acted without any embellishment.
Mr. Montgomery turned to look her square in the face. “Miss Kingston, I have come to inform you that your uncle, Mr. Bartholomew Kingston, has died.”
Silence sat thick in the room as Kate absorbed the information, her surprise quickly deflating. She curled her hands around the arm rests on her straight, wooden chair and squeezed as hard as she could, willing herself to feel a measure of grief appropriate for such news. But nothing presented itself. After she felt like an acceptable amount of time had passed, she looked into Mr. Montgomery’s staid eyes and nodded.
“Oh, right.” Mr. Montgomery seemed taken aback by her composure. Or was it simply her nod? He pulled out a folder of papers from a leather case and began sorting through them frantically as if he was not quite prepared for this part yet. She noticed a crisp white handkerchief float to the floor and cringed. The man had been prepared to offer it to her for her tears, most likely. Tears, for Uncle. Should she have cried? Perhaps it was expected, but she was never one to cry on cue. She would have made a wretched actress.
“I am here today on particular business for the law firm of Montgomery and Montgomery. We would like to first offer our sincerest condolences on the loss of your belov—” Mr. Montgomery cleared his throat awkwardly and redirected “—loss of your family member at this time. We ar
e here to assist you in any way you deem necessary.”
“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery, that is most kind,” Mrs. Presley said, jarring Kate out of her stupor. She had forgotten that the headmistress was seated directly across from her, so preoccupied she was in her recollection of Split Tree Manor. She’d not allowed herself to think about the place in years. She had only one fond memory of it, and it involved seeing the manor out the back window of the carriage taking her away for the last time.
“Of course,” Mr. Montgomery nodded solemnly, “we had some trouble sorting the will and inheritance, which is why a few weeks passed before I could locate and inform you of the situation. I am afraid your uncle was buried a fortnight past in the local parish cemetery in Larkfield. The estate was not entailed, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“The estate?” Kate asked, her brow pulling down in confusion.
“Split Tree Manor.”
“Yes,” she said, no less confused.
“The estate in all of its entirety, along with the sum set aside by your late father are now yours, except for…” He perused a document in front of him before tapping it once with his forefinger and grinning. “Any and all horses.”
“Any and all horses?” Kate was stunned. Surely she hadn’t followed Mr. Montgomery’s explanation very well. Baffled, she cleared her throat. “You are saying, sir, that I have inherited an estate from my uncle and a sum of money from my father, but not any horses?”
He delivered a self-satisfied smile. “Precisely.”
“Well, now that we’ve got that sorted,” she muttered to herself.
Quiet settled in the room. Mr. Montgomery looked through the documents on his lap, most likely trying to see if he’d missed anything. Mrs. Presley remained seated with her hands tightly clasped on her desk and her mouth pinched. Kate would have worried about her headmistress if that wasn’t her regular demeanor.
Part of Kate felt an overwhelming rush of relief. Not that she’d inherited a dilapidated manor, no…that was not something she was ready to consider. She was relieved that the ever-looming man in the back of her mind was now gone. She had never actually believed Uncle would snatch her from her present life and thrust her back into one of servitude and isolation. But irrational fears were just that: irrational.
Mrs. Presley’s voice sliced through Kate’s musings. “Are you able to provide Miss Kingston with any numbers today? For the purpose of planning.”
“Oh, of course. Of course!” Mr. Montgomery hurriedly looked through his papers. He really was a bit unorganized, so perhaps he wasn’t entirely boring. “Let us see here…your father left you a sum total of ten thousand pounds to be—”
“Ten thousand pounds?” Mrs. Presley and Kate exclaimed in unison before glancing at one another briefly, both of their expressions laced with self-consciousness.
“—obtained upon your twentieth birthday or date of your marriage.” He looked up at Kate. “Of course you know about that. You've been benefitting from the interest for some time. Now, the matter of Split Tree Manor is a different conversation. It is my understanding that—”
“I am sorry, Mr. Montgomery, might we pause for a moment?” Kate crossed her ankles under her chair and clasped her hands together, only to release both of them, stand up, and walk to the window. The implications were clear, and Kate was intelligent enough to follow them quickly. Only, she didn’t want to believe them. Certainly her uncle wouldn’t have kept her inheritance from her. “Would you explain the concept of interest? You said I’ve been benefiting from the interest for some time, yet I am afraid I do not follow.” She tried to give Mr. Montgomery a sweet smile and was rewarded with a condescending one. He turned in his chair and let out a sigh as if he was preparing to address a child, lowering his voice a bit.
Kate bristled but clenched her teeth and let her irritation pass.
“Your father was the oldest son and heir to the estate of Split Tree Manor and all that his own father possessed. The estate was not entailed, so when your father and mother died, it was passed on to you. Of course, as you were only a small child at the time, the property was placed in the hands of your guardian until you were either married or turned the age of twenty.”
Despite her request for further understanding, Kate was no simpleton. If she’d heard the man correctly, then she should have gained the rights to manage Split Tree on her last birthday. An unwelcome snake coiled in her stomach. “But I’ve been twenty these six months past and I’ve heard nothing from my uncle about any of this.”
Mr. Montgomery paused, as if pondering the new information. “It is my understanding that your Uncle Bartholomew was not entirely coherent this past year. His illness was advanced. He must have been unable to contact you and begin the transfer of the money and property to you, the rightful owner. Of course, with the extent of Mr. Kingston’s illness, it may come as no shock that the manor has fallen into slight disrepair.” At this point he looked up into her eyes and tried to give her a hopeful grin. “But it is nothing that cannot be put to rights with proper time and money, both of which you have.”
“Neither of which I have,” Kate said unthinkingly. “Well, I suppose…” Her mind drifted into a mass of jumbled thoughts. She turned toward the window and watched from the second story as the townspeople and Lytle’s servants continued setting up for the school social. A smile tilted Kate’s lips at the community she was so thoroughly involved in. She did not have a family who cared about her, but she had a family of neighbors whom she loved, who loved her in return. She wasn’t prepared to leave the only pleasant home she’d ever had.
She supposed Split Tree had been that for her once, but Kate had been an orphan for so long now, she hardly spared a thought for the parents who’d once loved her. The only things she held in her heart associated with Split Tree Manor were unpleasant memories of a tyrannical, controlling uncle.
She heard the din of voices behind her as Mr. Montgomery and Mrs. Presley spoke to one another, but she couldn’t focus enough to listen to what they were saying. Letting out a shuddering breath, Kate wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tightly.
“What if I don’t want it?”
“Pardon me?” Mr. Montgomery said. Kate had spoken so quietly she did not realize she had been heard.
“Shall we adjourn for the day, Mr. Montgomery?” Mrs. Presley asked, leaning forward on her elbows as they rested atop her desk. “This is quite a lot to take in for Miss Kingston, and perhaps it is better digested in small doses.”
“Absolutely.” He stood. “Forgive me for bearing such news.” He gave Kate a sorrowful look that she accepted with a small nod and an automatic curtsy. She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Presley escorting Mr. Montgomery away before the woman returned some minutes later and closed her door with a soft snap. Gently, she guided Kate to the small sofa on the other side of the room and helped her to sit before taking a seat beside her.
“This is a lot to take in, my dear.” Mrs. Presley spoke in a soft voice. “Perhaps you would like to take some time to consider your options before coming to any decisions.”
Kate nodded automatically. She was obedient to a fault. While her personality had always been a bit more difficult to suppress into a small, graceful package, she was used to taking and obeying commands. It is what had made her such an agreeable student and then employee these past eight years.
“I cannot say I am surprised that he would keep my inheritance from me,” Kate said, her voice sounding small. “Uncle was a tyrant and a brute.”
Mrs. Presley seemed to weigh her words carefully. “I realize we’ve discussed this scarcely in the past, but you once assured me that your uncle did not injure you. Please, be frank with me now. Is that true? Did the man ever—”
“No, he never hurt me. Not beyond taking a switch to my backside. Which I daresay is not the height of abuse.” She continued to stare ahead as memories of her time at Split Tree Manor arrived in her foremind as snatches and images. “I was four when my parents die
d and was sent to live with a family outside of the parish. I am unsure why, but I always assumed my uncle did not want the burden of such a small girl, so he passed me on to someone of his acquaintance.”
Mrs. Presley nodded, listening intently.
“I was nine years old when I was pulled from that house and brought to live with my uncle, but never given a reason why he suddenly wished to have me at Split Tree—nor do I understand it now. When I first arrived, he merely locked me in my room with a nurse. He didn’t know what to do with a child, I suppose, but he never treated me with any more regard than he did his servants. He was highly irregular, and I am certain I shall never understand him.”
Mrs. Presley offered a sad smile.
“Then I came here, shortly after I turned twelve.” Kate looked at her mentor and schoolmistress, warmth blooming in her heart. “I found a home here within the strict rules and rigid schedule. I thrived on it.”
“What shall you do?”
Kate felt the ripple of shock flow through her once more. Mrs. Presley was asking what she was going to do? That was a first. She had a choice for the first time in her life. Even when she had been offered the position of art teacher, she had not had a choice—not really. She’d had nowhere else to go.
“I do not know.”
3
Peter
There was nothing worse than wishing to chop a full brace of firewood and being forced to cease after two puny logs.
Peter Evans tossed the chopped wood into the pile and stuck the ax into the trunk, rubbing his injured shoulder as he surveyed the land. He had been home for a year now and still the place did not feel as though it belonged to him. Although, Martin probably had something to do with that.
The land never would truly feel like it belonged to Peter while his younger brother maintained control over the management. Peter would have been happy to pass the property, house, and all it encompassed to Martin had the estate not been entailed and passed directly to him. It was out of his hands.
A Forgiving Heart Page 2