He hesitated. “Henry sought my father’s approval, I think, but Father was often from home, and even when he was there, he did not seem very interested in any of us. His heir was no exception.” He took a deep breath. “But likely he has my father’s attention now, for they live under the same roof together and my mother is long since dead.” He shrugged. “In any case, it’s all water under the bridge.”
“How much older is Henry than you?”
“Some five years.”
“So, he is a young man still.”
“He must be five and thirty now,” Armand replied. “But Henry has never seemed young. He married a widow from Great Derring, which just added to his old-womanish ways. She was in her mid-forties when he met her, and she has at least a good ten years on him, if not more.”
Una nodded. “And who is your younger brother more like? You or Henry?”
“Roger?” Armand considered. “I scarcely know. He was so much younger than the rest of us, and I had gone away to squire, while he was still in leading strings. Still,” his frown cleared. “He was studying for the priesthood last time I heard, so we can hardly be kindred spirits.”
They had walked about the ruin now and were contemplating the winding staircase that was exposed to their gaze, for a good deal of the outer wall of the tower had worn away. Funnily enough, Abelard chose this moment to show some independence of mind and trotted over to it sniffing at the bottom step. Una called him away.
“It does look dangerous,” she admitted as the dog returned to her. “Did you really climb it? Right to the top?”
Armand nodded. “And waved my hat out of the window to prove the feat. My godfather whipped me soundly afterward with a switch.”
Una shivered. “He was probably a good deal frightened. That top chamber looks balanced so perilously up there. One day it will probably come crashing to the ground.”
Armand murmured in agreement, looking up. “Aye, more than likely. That’s why it’s best if you stay away from this spot altogether.”
*
After they had returned to the house, Una set about viewing the rooms and making her plans, while Rose and Abelard trailed after her, the very picture of two faithful companions.
Otho returned from the village with a strapping laborer called Peter, who didn’t have much to say for himself but had plenty of muscles. Armand was in the stable seeing to his horse, when Otho confronted him with a rather defiant air. “He can start right away, and we don’t need to put him up at the house for he lives in the village with his widowed mother.”
Armand glanced the bashful lad over. Peter hung back in the shadows, as if embarrassed by his own size. He looked no more than one and twenty at the most. “If you think he’s suitable, then set him to work,” he answered with a touch of impatience, for he was brushing down Arturo who expected a good deal more attention than he had received the previous day. “I put you in charge of the hiring, Otho.”
“I can help out in the stables too,” Peter piped up unexpectedly. “My father was a blacksmith, so I’m used to being around horses.”
Armand glanced up. “Well, then that’s fine,” he said, directing a look at Otho. “Well done.”
Otho’s face relaxed and he sent Peter outside to start on tidying the kitchen garden at once. “I also found a possible cook,” he started, folding his arms, and jutting his chin out. Armand wondered if every conversation with Una’s brother was going to be as confrontational as this one.
“Yes,” he answered, striving for patience. “Well, that’s good isn’t it?”
Otho’s lips thinned. “He has a somewhat checkered history,” he admitted cautiously.
Armand straightened up. “What does that mean?”
“He used to be a successful baker in a city about ten miles from here, but he’s had to move in with his wife’s family in Little Derring.”
“Why is that?” asked Armand, reaching for a brush.
“He burned his premises down.”
Armand lowered the brush. “He burned it down?” he repeated slowly, as Otho stared resolutely back at him. “Some kind of whim or fancy took him?” he hazarded.
Otho’s expression grew stony. “By all accounts, he used to have a problem with the drink, but he’s abstinent now so …”
Armand sighed. “It’s your decision, Otho,” he said, applying the brush to Arturo’s long back. “If you say the man is reformed, then by all means give him a trial.”
“We needn’t furnish him with lodgings, for he has a wife and child at the family home to return to.”
Armand nodded. “By the way, how many servant bedchambers are there?”
“Four,” said Otho looking scandalized that Armand had to ask. “But there’s room for more than one bed in all of them.”
“If you keep employing villagers, we won’t need to double them up,” Armand observed sagely. He crouched beside Arturo’s great legs then realized Otho was still lingering. “Is there anything else?” he asked looking up.
“That girl,” Otho said, not meeting his eye.
Armand grit his teeth. Otho’s attitude over Rose was starting to seriously annoy him. “Well, what about her?”
“If Una wishes to keep her around, she’ll need demoting. She’s not fit for a housekeeper.”
“Agreed.”
“She needs moving out of the housekeeper’s room into a smaller one.” His jaw hardened. “You should see the state of it.”
Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Is it dirty?”
“It’s not that,” said Otho in clipped tones. “It’s crammed full of wildflowers! Looks more like a meadow than a bedchamber.”
“Well, I suggest you cross that bridge when you’ve found a new housekeeper,” Armand observed dryly. “Otherwise she’ll be spouting tears for the next week and it is your sister who will suffer for it.”
Otho rocked back on his heels looking much struck by this argument. “There is something in what you say,” he admitted grudgingly.
“So good of you to say so,” Armand muttered as Otho strode purposefully out of the stable. Arturo whickered as though in sympathy. He patted his horse. “Exactly so. I’m glad I may depend on you at least.”
Their midday meal was another haphazard affair. Armand made his way into the great hall without great hopes of sustenance, but it seemed that word had spread in the village of Lynwode’s occupation. Several tradesmen had presented themselves at the kitchen door that morning and Una had purchased a keg of ale, a baked ham, and three loaves of bread.
He and Una sat at the head of the freshly scrubbed table, on a raised dais, under a high vaulted ceiling and a minstrel’s gallery and ate their simple meal with relish. If it seemed incongruous to be sat eating bread and ham in such an impressive setting, neither of them saw fit to mention the fact.
It seemed Una did not pass as many morsels of ham down to her little dog as he would like, for at one point, he timidly cast a glance in Armand’s direction, smacking his lips. Discreetly, Armand dropped some meat at his own feet and the dog darted forward to retrieve it before returning to his mistress.
Once Abelard had settled again at Una’s feet, Armand let his eyes travel up her skirts appraisingly until he reached her face. She was gazing at the decorated wooden screen that concealed the three doorways to the kitchen, pantry, and buttery, no doubt thinking about furniture polish or some such thing. Armand found his thoughts wandering to less practical matters.
He rather liked her height he decided, with surprise. He certainly appreciated her long legs when they were wrapped around him last night and he liked that she could kiss him like she had that morning, without struggling to reach his lips.
“I wonder that the others do not join us,” Una frowned. “Is that not something that is done in the South?”
“What’s that?” asked Armand, who had been distracted with his inventory of her charms.
“In the North, the servants join their masters at table for their meals, only we would sit at
the head and they would be further down. Is it not the same here in the South?”
Armand shrugged. “Depends on the household. If that’s what you want, then I’m agreeable. You may have to run it past your brother first though,” he added.
Una looked surprised. “Why do you say that?”
“Otho seems to think some order needs to be restored at Lynwode,” he answered. For a moment he debated telling her of Otho’s plans to oust Rose from the housekeeper’s quarters, then realized he could not be bothered. “Has he told you he thinks he has found us a cook?” he asked, sticking to important matters.
“He mentioned giving someone called Mr. Beverley a trial in the kitchen for tonight’s supper,” she agreed. “Though at present there is precious little for him to work with.”
“Maybe you’ll receive more visitors plying their wares this afternoon?” Armand replied.
“I hope so. What a good thing it was that you announced our arrival yesterday.” She smiled at him and Armand was tempted to bask in her approval a while. He suppressed the impulse but it was a struggle.
7
Armand retrieved the attic key from their room after they’d done eating and headed up to peruse his newfound wealth at his leisure. Meanwhile, Una walked through to the kitchen and found Otho, Rose, and a large young man sat around the kitchen table partaking of the same simple meal she and Armand had shared. When the young man went to pull back his chair and hastily stand, Una begged him not to trouble himself in the midst of eating.
“This is Peter. He’ll tend the garden and help out in the stables,” Otho said, swiftly glancing up.
“I am pleased to meet you,” Una said. “In future, Sir Armand and I would like the household to take our meals together in the great hall,” she asserted, though Otho scowled and Peter looked terrified at the notion.
Abelard danced up to Rose and pawed her knee with a familiarity that astonished Una. Rose smiled at him and promptly gave him the entire portion of ham from her plate. When Otho opened his mouth to reprove her, Una gave him a stern look and he bit back his words unspoken.
“Would you like some more ham, Rose?” Una asked her, as the girl watched Abelard fall upon the bounty with enthusiasm.
“Oh, no thank you, milady,” she said with a shake of her head. “In truth, I do not care to eat the flesh of animals at all.”
Otho lowered his knife and looked at her with even more disapproval, if that were possible, but to Una it explained perfectly the mystery of the empty pantry. She nodded and left the kitchen to inspect the buttery, which she had overlooked so far. To her surprise there were several dusty casks of what looked like wine, but the only barrel of ale was the one she had purchased that morning. They would certainly need more delivered, she thought as she pulled back a piece of sacking and discovered a supply of candles.
Wondering if the wine would be quite sour by now, she left the buttery and returned to the kitchen. “We need more ale delivered,” she told Otho, “As soon as possible now our household is expanding. She turned curiously to Rose. “What did you drink throughout the day, Rose?”
“Water, my lady,” Rose answered absently.
“Water!” Otho burst forth disgustedly.
Rose nodded. “It’s clean and fresh from the well.”
Otho looked forbidding as the girl rose to her feet. “You needn’t think you’re prancing off now,” he said witheringly. “You can wash these dishes before you run after your mistress.”
Rose looked crestfallen but started collecting the empty platters obediently enough.
“Have you found any suitable kitchen maids?” Una asked in a low voice, as Peter too rose from the table and let himself back out into the kitchen garden with all haste.
“There’s a girl coming for me to look her over this afternoon. And a prospective housekeeper,” he added loudly, presumably for Rose’s benefit.
Una frowned at him, but he ignored her. “There’s no need to be harsh to her, Otho,” she hissed, as she glanced at Rose, who was lathering the lye soap and looking thoroughly miserable.
“There is every need,” he contradicted, his lips set in a firm, straight line. “De Bussell has given me sway over these matters and I mean to take my duties seriously.”
Somewhat taken aback, Una retreated to inspect the faded cushions and flick a dusting cloth over the furniture in the solar, a room that she had so far neglected. The tapestries that hung there were so dirty and faded that Una could not make out their decoration, but the collection of books looked delightful. When she opened their pages, the ink was still strong and vibrant, and she looked forward to spending an hour or two with them, when the place was set to rights.
On one side of the solar was a wide oriel window protruding outward, which afforded a lovely view from the front of the house. Una appreciated this for a moment, before turning to inspect the carved chairs and small, cunningly wrought tables dotted about. They would be perfect for sewing, embroidery, and quiet reading. In one corner stood a harp that was not as dusty as the rest of the items and Una wondered if Rose perhaps played it.
It was a charming room and she was sure she would spend many pleasurable hours in it. It just needed sprucing up, that was all. She spent a good while, setting things to rights before it crossed her mind that Otho must now be meeting with the prospective housekeeper.
Unable to suppress her curiosity, Una descended to the great hall, tempted to interrupt the interview for a glimpse of the woman. However, something about her brother’s expression when he said Armand had entrusted the task to him, stopped her. Instead she vowed to wait for Otho to bring the woman to her and instead plied a cloth over the wooden screen until it gleamed.
From the snatches of conversation, she could catch, it seemed Mrs. Brickenden was a local woman with two grown daughters now settled in their own households. She sounded of middling years and eminently respectable. Una felt sure Otho would hire her and was not surprised when she heard him confirm this aloud. Mrs. Brickenden evinced no great surprise or enthusiasm toward her engagement and Una hastily retreated to the other side of the hall to await her introduction. To her surprise and perturbation, she heard the outside door slam some minutes later and realized the thought must not have occurred to her brother.
She crossed the hall into the kitchen and found Otho alone and looking pleased with himself.
“Well? Did you hire someone?” Una demanded, plunking her hands on her hips.
He nodded. “Aye, a very capable woman by the name of Brickenden.”
“And where pray, is my introduction?”
Otho opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he scratched the back of his head, looking abashed. “I did not think.”
“I would have thought Mrs. Brickenden would have wished to meet her mistress,” she responded indignantly. “Indeed, I think it most peculiar of her that she did not request such a thing.”
Otho looked alarmed. “Nay, Una, don’t take on. It isn’t like you to cause a commotion over so little a thing.”
“So little a thing?” she cried. “This is of the greatest import to me, Otho!” She turned away from him until she had mastered her sudden rush of feeling. “You must understand that I have had no say in the people I have been surrounded with since … since I can remember!” She took a steadying breath. “You seem to forget, brother, that I have been under house arrest for three years! Surrounded by people who were hostile toward me!” She gave him a very level look. “Did you tell this woman that her mistress will be a Northerner?”
Otho blinked. “What does that signify in these times?” he rumbled awkwardly. “If any of these servants even look at you askance, you can just dismiss them after all. You must not attach too much significance to them. They will be beneath your notice in any case.”
“They most certainly will not, Otho!” she retorted hotly. Lowering her voice, she added with spirit. “You seem to forget, I am no longer a princess, but the mistress of her own home! How can the members
of my household be beneath me? Such a notion is ridiculous!”
Seeing her evident distress, he hastened to her side and placed a conciliatory hand on her arm. “Una, I did not think. That is, I did not realize you felt this way. You must forgive me.”
She unclutched her fists at her side and took a deep breath. Outbursts of emotion were not common to her and she always felt wretched rather than relieved in the aftermath. Otho pulled out a chair for her and she sat down as he poured her a cup of the weak ale.
“The girl who wants to be maidservant should be arriving here shortly,” he said awkwardly. “We will see her together, shall we? How would that be?” Una nodded and sipped her ale as she calmed down. “Should we move into the great hall?” he asked. “It’s hardly fitting for you to receive her here in the kitchen—,” he started, but Una shook her head, bringing her palm down on the table sharply.
“In here will be just fine, Otho.” It trembled on the tip of her tongue to point out once again, she was no longer royalty, but she had probably subjected him to enough reproaches for one day. Instead she concentrated on getting her breathing back to normal and letting the flush retreat from her overheated face.
She had no sooner drained her cup, than a loud knock was heard on the door. Otho opened it to greet a buxom young woman who sailed in, looking to the left and right of her with great interest.
She was dressed very plainly in a sage-green wool gown with her dark hair scraped back and braided closely to her head, but the few tendrils escaping at her neck and temples were very curly. She was a plain girl of stocky build, but her eyes were lively and bright and when they alighted on Una, they gleamed with satisfaction.
“Milady,” she curtsied briefly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Una replied truthfully. “Your name is Janet?”
“That’s right, milady. Janet Frampton. My father runs the mill just outside the village.”
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 15