Otho glanced back at Una and the pack animals. “If we take adequate breaks, I think it could be done,” he replied.
Armand dropped back further to pull abreast with Una. “If we ride through the night, we could reach home by noon tomorrow,” he said. “I’m aware that probably doesn’t sound very appealing, but it might be for the best, all things considered.”
“I quite agree,” Una answered with a bright smile. “You must not think I am fatigued, for I have done such things before.”
He paused at that. Of course, she had. “We’ll press on then,” he answered, and she nodded.
It was a hard slog. Even Armand found his eyelids drooping and he could hear Otho’s smothered yawns behind him. It was as well that he was familiar with the way or they might well have stumbled or taken a wrong turn in the dark.
They stopped at intervals, giving water to the horses, and finishing off Una’s bread and cheese. The little dog gobbled down the last of the pork. They met no one after night had fallen, and though Otho scanned behind them frequently in case of pursuers, there were none to be seen.
By the time dawn broke, they were a weary bunch indeed, though the rising sun cheered their party greatly. Armand turned in his saddle. “We’ve made good progress and covered more ground than I thought we would. It should only be a couple of hours till we reach Lynwode.”
Una looked relieved, “Oh, that’s wonderful news,” she responded with a tired smile.
“Should we stop again?” he asked, giving her a shrewd look.
“Let’s keep going,” Otho growled. “She needs sleep, not to sit on the grass.” Armand kept his gaze trained on Una.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I just want to reach home.” She flushed slightly after saying the word “home” and Armand started to get an inkling of how much the idea meant to her. He spurred on his horse and they carried on apace.
It felt an age later as they rode through the small village of Little Derring. People were just starting to go about their day and the procession of horses incurred considerable excitement. Folk stopped what they were about and stared. Small boys ran alongside them with round eyes. Armand dug in his purse for any small coins he could find and flipped them in the air to accompanying whoops of delight as they were caught by eager hands.
“Where be you headed for, sir?” shouted the boldest of the bunch.
“Lynwode,” he called back. “Let it be known Sir Armand de Bussell and his lady have returned home.”
This produced another burst of excitement and much jostling of elbows. He glanced back to see Una nodding and smiling at the gathering crowd. Otho had a face like thunder, but Armand ignored him.
The same boy pointed at Otho. “Is it ’im?” he asked Armand.
Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Certainly not. I am Sir Armand, and this is my good wife, the Lady Una.” He swept his arm in her direction.
Another boy encouraged by this exchange shouted, “Welcome home, good sir and your lady too.”
They had soon passed through the village and after another five minutes had reached the turning for Lynwode. They rode past the unoccupied lodge house and rounded the bend which revealed the grey stone edifice of the house, with its four gables of differing heights and its large arched doorway.
He eyed the house critically, trying to imagine he was looking at it for the first time, as Una was. The tall, gothic windows with their curved masonry cunningly wrought into petal and trefoil shapes were probably the most impressive feature of the house. He could not deny that it was a handsome pile in all, with its grey brick mellowing to a pleasant yellow. Although not as sprawling as Anninghurst, his father’s house, it was large enough and the green creepers encroaching over the stone perhaps made it even more appealing in the morning light.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Una breathed. “From the way you spoke, I was not expecting anything so lovely!”
Armand felt a slight swell of pride and wondered at it, for he had never more than visited the place since his godfather had left it to him. Still he heard himself ask her if she liked it and received her enthusiastic response as if it were his due.
“Trees need pruning,” Otho said shortly. “Where’s the stables?”
“Around the back, along with the vegetable gardens and fruit orchards. We can secure the horses out front until we’ve found the housekeeper. I suppose I’ll need to employ a groom.”
“Well, you should be able to afford one now,” Otho pointed out.
Armand rolled his eyes, dismounting and holding his hand out to Una to help her down. They were all stiff and sore, and after tethering the horses, Armand knocked at the door. He turned back to the others. “Mrs. Challacombe is a little deaf,” he said, then noticing the door was not locked but ajar, he gave it a push. It fell open with a creak, disclosing a very strange sight.
There in the hallway was a young woman twirling around and around so the skirts of her rose-pink gown flew wide and her flaxen hair spun around her in a cloud. The light from the window was shining down on her, so she looked like some ethereal vision, and she was singing to herself in a sweet, lilting voice.
Armand stared at her in bewilderment. Who the hells was this? Suddenly, she dropped into a very low, graceful curtsey, not in their direction, but facing the opposite wall as though to some object of her fancy. Then she straightened up and turned toward them still humming the snatches of her tune.
Catching sight of them, she gave a high-pitched scream and dropped the bouquet of meadow flowers she had been holding, scattering them all over the dusty floor. Her wide blue eyes stared at them in dismay.
Armand could feel Otho’s accusing gaze burning into him at this point. “I thought you said she was old and deaf,” he said ominously.
Armand ignored him. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded, “And what are you doing in my house?” His abruptness seemed to send the girl into a frightened confusion. She gasped, and shrank back with a cry, flattening herself against the nearest wall as though he had drawn a blade on her.
“Armand,” Una muttered reproachfully, advancing into the hall. “You’re frightening her.”
Armand passed a hand over his eyes. “I’m tired, in need of hot water and a clean bed. Can you point us to someone who can help us with these things?” he asked of the girl, but again was met with nothing but a stunned gaze.
Una stepped past him. “Perhaps you can help us?” she said in a soothing voice. “My husband here is Sir Armand de Bussell, and this is his home. He was expecting to find a Mrs. Challocombe in residence as custodian. Perhaps you know what has become of her?”
The girl gulped. “Good sirs, she died some twelve months past.” She dropped again into an elegant curtsey. “I am her granddaughter Rose and have been filling the post since then.”
Armand snorted, looking about at the cobwebs and dust, but Una laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“So then, you are acting housekeeper here at Lynwode?” she asked gently. The girl nodded her head uncertainly. “Well then, that is fine,” Una said smiling. “We are all vastly tired from traveling and desire to wash and take our rest. Do you have bedchambers fit for our purpose?”
“I’ll require one in the servant’s quarters,” Otto growled and the girl stared at him with undisguised terror.
Armand felt himself lose all patience. The girl was either half-witted or being deliberately obtuse. “My wife and I require the master bedchamber to be made ready,” he said in a clipped voice. “Kindly see to it forthwith.”
That was when the wretched girl began to sob, great fat tears rolling down her cheeks as unrestrainedly as a child. He glared at her, threw up his hands, and leaving Una to deal with the creature, he strode in what he remembered was the direction of the kitchens.
His progress through a faded great hall full of dirty tapestries and filmy windows, did nothing to mitigate his poor impression of Mrs. Challocombe’s granddaughter. If she spent all her time dancing and picking flowers,
he thought with disgust, then it was no wonder the house was filthy.
When he reached the kitchen, he paused on the threshold with an oath. It was a complete shambles. Pots and pans littered the central table and the shelves were cluttered and untidy. The large fireplace was filled with a great heap of ashes, which did not look like they had been swept out in a twelvemonth. His mouth tightened.
One might expect the girl to be unable to maintain so large a house with no other help, but the kitchen at least should have been kept in some semblance of order. He heard the clatter of Otho’s boots behind him and moved away from the door to let the other man see the chaotic room.
Otho swore. Walking forward he peered into one of the pots on the table. “There’s a nest of mice living in this one,” he announced without expression.
Armand groaned and massaged his temples a moment.
Otho turned and looked him full in the face. “You claim you do not know this woman?”
“I haven’t been in this house in five years,” Armand retorted scathingly. “The last time I came home was to my Father’s house to visit my Mother’s deathbed. I came nowhere near Lynwode on that occasion. I’ve never seen that girl before in my life, and if it’s up to me, she’ll be out on her ass as soon as can be managed.”
Otho still looked suspicious but gave a shrug. “You can’t blame me for asking.”
“She’s not at all the type I admire,” Armand said shortly, which was nothing less than the truth. He liked them womanly and bold, not slender, and away with the faeries. “Gods,” he sighed. “I dread to think what state the bedrooms are in. If you go out and make the stables ready, then I’ll rake this fire to heat some water.”
Otho nodded and headed for the door leading out to the back and Armand turned his attention to the fire.
5
Una was dog-tired, but she turned to the nervous Rose and fixed a smile upon her face. “Rose, if you show me up to the master chamber then you and I can make it ready together.”
Rose perked right up at this suggestion. “Yes, my lady, this way, my lady.” At least she was obliging, thought Una as she mounted the unswept staircase, if nothing else. Beside her, Abelard gamely kept up, unwilling to let her out of his sight. Una dusted the cobwebs off her shoulder as they reached the first floor, then when Rose threw open a door for her, wished she hadn’t bothered. The room was simply under layers of dust. Everything looked quite gray.
“Perhaps, putting the furniture under sheets would have helped, Rose,” she said faintly, looking about her with growing dismay.
“I didn’t think of that, milady.”
Una turned back to her despairingly. “How were you employed before you became housekeeper here?” she asked with curiosity.
“I was personal maid to old Mrs. Gaventree over at Upper Derring for six years until she died, poor thing. She taught me how to embroider and play the harp,” said Rose proudly.
Una deduced Rose had been the old lady’s pet most likely. No wonder she was unfit for practical purposes! “I take it Mrs. Gaventree had no children of her own.”
“No, milady, but how did you guess?” Rose marveled. “This is a fine big room, is it not?” she said turning full circle to take in its size.
“It is,” Una agreed. There was a beautiful wide arched window with three stained-glass panels casting colored lights into the room and a window seat beneath it, which would be inviting, if it were not so dirty. She could not make out the color of the upholstery in its current state, but would be interested to see what it turned out to be.
The ceiling was a vaulted timber frame with dark wooden beams that made the room seem even more spacious, and Una could see it was a well-proportioned and handsome room. The bed was a large wooden affair, set on a raised platform with a canopy suspended from the ceiling from which hung filthy curtains.
On the opposite side of the room was a large dresser, also very decorative, with a large looking glass hanging above it, though you could see precious little in its reflection at present. A tall cabinet, a large chest, a carved table, two chairs, and a footstool were the remaining furniture, and Una looked forward to seeing them without their coating of grime. Abelard who was timidly peering under the dresser, sneezed, before creeping under it to hide.
Una squared her shoulders. “Is there any clean linen for us to remake the bed?” she asked turning resolutely to Rose. The girl blinked, looking uncertain. “There is no linen cabinet in the house?” Una said with surprise.
Rose hung her head and drew her slippered toe through the dust on the floorboard. “I don’t know, my lady,” she whispered.
Una was left to conclude that Rose had never done an inventory of the house. “Never mind,” she said briskly. “Let us get these curtains down first. Fetch a chair to stand on, and you start this side and I’ll start the other.”
Rose nodded and ran to fetch a chair. Yes, thought Una, she is willing, just badly in need of someone to give her orders. After they had taken down the curtains, they stripped the bed of its coverings and then bundled them into a large pile for washing. Una was just dragging this to one corner when Armand came into the room.
He stood for a moment, looking about him with a jaundiced eye, sent a withering look in Rose’s direction, and then addressed Una. “I’ve lit the kitchen fire,” he said. “Water’s on to boil.”
“Wonderful. We are just setting things to rights in here,” Una said quickly, hoping to forestall any remark he might make to send Rose in a quake again. “We need clean bedclothes and dusters. I don’t suppose you have come across such things in your wanderings?”
Armand closed his eyes briefly a moment, as though mustering strength. “Surely to gods—”
“No, she doesn’t,” Una said swiftly, and Armand drew in a sharp breath before speaking again.
“I’ll undertake to find one,” he said through gritted teeth. He turned sharply on his heel and left the room.
Rose’s bottom lip trembled. “I don’t think the master likes me,” she said in a woebegone voice.
Prudently, Una did not comment on this but asked the girl to fetch a basin of clean water and some soap if she had it. Rose trailed off, casting mournful glances over her shoulder. Una suspected she did not want to encounter Otho below stairs, who had looked rather fierce.
When Armand reappeared moments later with cloths and a pile of sheets and blankets, Una welcomed him thankfully.
“The sheets smell a little musty,” he admitted. “They’ve probably sat in that cupboard since Mrs. Challacombe died.”
“Very likely,” Una agree with a tired smile. “We’ll need the mattress restuffed.”
Armand suppressed a sigh. “I’ll see what can be done.”
He had no sooner hauled the mattress from the room, than Rose reappeared with a jug, a basin of water, and a hard cake of soap under her arm. She retrieved it and held it out to Una. “I’ve never used it, as I don’t like the smell.”
Una took a sniff. “That’s because it’s lye. It cuts through grease and dirt, but it’s very harsh on the skin.” Rose looked down at her rosy fingers in concern. “It has to be done I’m afraid,” Una told her bracingly. “All the furniture needs washing down. We’ll do it together.”
They then set about it with gusto, and even Rose put her back into it. To her delight, Una found the dresser was carved charmingly with intertwining leaves and flowers that were replicated on the matching trunk. The cabinet had beautifully painted doors with scenes of ladies walking beneath trees and embracing unicorns.
“Isn’t it lovely!” Rose had cried. “Why, I don’t remember ever seeing this before, though I suppose Granny must have shown it to me.”
“Where is your room, Rose?” Una asked.
“I took over my grandmother’s room in the servant’s quarters,” Rose told her happily. “It’s very comfortable, though not fancy like this one.” Una privately reflected that the housekeeper likely would have the best of the servant’s rooms, save perhaps
for the steward.
“Do your parents live locally, Rose?”
Rose shook her head. “My mother and father died of a fever sickness when I was fifteen. I was only spared because I had left four weeks before to take up my post with Mrs. Gaventree. I have no one left now to me in all the world.”
When the mattress reappeared an hour or so later, it had been restuffed, and they set it on the bed and dressed it in the clean sheets. It looked so inviting to Una at this point, that she was tempted to simply fall onto it. Instead she sent Rose in search of a broom, and the twiggy threadbare thing she returned with was just about fit to sweep the mounds of dust out of the door and into the hallway.
Abelard was very disturbed by the appearance of the broom and Rose had to coax him out from under the dresser. “Poor little creature!” she exclaimed. “Why he’s trembling.”
“He has been very cruelly treated by his former owner, I’m afraid. He may likely have been struck with a broom,” Una reflected. “Perhaps you should take him up in your arms while I do this?”
Rose was happy to oblige and cooed and fussed over Abelard while Una finished sweeping. She had just finished when Armand strode back into the room carrying a steaming jug and basin, which he set down on the dresser.
“You, out,” Armand said briefly to Rose. “You can get down to the kitchen and start washing those pots.” Rose’s face crumpled, but she set Abelard down and fled after a quick curtsey in Una’s direction. “Well, you’ve worked miracles,” he said. “But now it’s time to wash and sleep.”
Una was frankly too tired to even think about disagreeing. When she fumbled with her lacing, he came over and helped her with an efficiency that made her wonder if it was not the first time he had helped a woman undress. She did not ponder it for long, however, as the hot water was too appealing. She washed with a thankful sigh, then crossed to climb into the high bed.
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 12