The Heir to Evercrest Hall

by Andrea M. Theobald

  The tall man had his back to us. He was not interested in a drink, and following the point of the innkeeper’s finger, he marched in long strides to where the two men were seated.

  “Hello, Mack. Hello, Spike?” His broad Scottish voice boomed.

  “What makes you think we be any one of those?” snapped the uncouth man who could be no other than Spike.

  “Because I know who you both are,” snapped back the man.

  “That blawdy innkeeper told ya. Well ‘e ought to be mindin’ ‘is own damn business, eh, Mack?” Spike looked over his shoulder and eyeballed the smiling man at the bar.

  “I’m here to give you your payment,” the man said impatiently. He forced Spike to slide along the seat before sitting down.

  “About bloody time, we’ve been waiting ‘ere… ‘ow long ‘as it been now, Mack?”

  “Who are you first of all?” asked Mack with a casual air.

  “Bob Smith,” said the man loudly for all to hear, as he looked about the inn and gave us brief eye contact.

  Davenport, with a twinkle in his eye, leaned in close, and whispered, “He is not a relation by any chance?”

  I gave my companion a look of contempt.

  “How can we trust you? What ‘appened to that bloody—” Spike was cut off when Mack kicked his leg beneath the table. “Ouch! What did ya do that for?”

  “Well, I’ll be. That’s a great disguise, boss,” whispered Mack with a big grin. “Even the voice sounds like me old skirt-wearing uncle.”

  “No pulling the wool over your eyes then.” The man retrieved something at his waistband beneath his coat before the sound of its contents clanked heavily onto the table. “There. That is for the last job, now we have another one lined up.”

  Davenport strained to hear what they were saying. Meanwhile, I stared at the lip movements of the three men. It helped that Spike and Mack repeated the keywords, for example, “Dorchester?” “How many cows?” “Shush, you twit!” “Yes, Spike, they are in-calf” “This Friday?” “Ten o’clock?” “Closest gate to Davenport’s” and “Of course, you bloody idiot!”

  I whispered, “Wait ‘til I tell you what they’ve said.”

  “Yes, please do,” whispered Davenport.

  I leaned in close to his ear, and whispered, “If you want to know if they are the men, I can tell you that the answer is a big fat ‘yes.’” Davenport darted his stare back at the table across the room. The tall man left the inn without further acknowledgment toward his workers.

  Davenport swiveled around to face me. “Spill out to me everything you claim they said.”

  “We’d better follow him before he gets away,” I urged.

  “No, it’s best not to.”

  “But you might find out who he is,” I nearly cried out.

  “We don’t want that lot over there getting suspicious, that is if they are the scoundrels who robbed me.”

  Spike’s voice interrupted. “You should’ve bloody counted it first before you let ‘im off.”

  “No counting. We don’t want to be showing lack of faith. We need all the work we can get. Anyway, let’s finish these up and get out of ‘ere.” They gulped down their drinks and then just as quickly departed.

  “I’m pleased that I brought you along,” said Davenport. “Tell me exactly what they said.”

  I did as bid and filled him in on everything.

  Davenport went into deep thought. “That man was certainly not an old man. Think about it, Miss Smithers. Why would a man disguise himself during the light of day?”

  “Perhaps he likes dressing up to fool people for the fun of it, like someone I know.” I gave Davenport a side-glance and took a sip of cider.

  “I don’t think he was doing it for fun, my dear. He was disguising himself because he did not want anyone to associate him with those pair of ragamuffins. You know what I think?”

  “Do tell!”

  “That man is someone who frequents my society. He knows the workings of my household and that of my neighbor’s. You see, Dorchester is holding a ‘coming out’ ball for his daughter on Friday. What better time to plan a theft than when the owners are preoccupied. The night I lost my cattle, I was holding a large dinner party that ran late into the evening; afterward, we played cards.”

  I exclaimed, “That is what the man with the uppity voice said, he needed to rush back to a poker game. That means that he was one of your guests! So you would have seen who left.”

  Davenport went into silence. “There were twenty-three invites, but halfway during the card game, I took temporary leave, as well as others.”

  “At least it narrows the culprit down, especially if they are going to attend the Dorchester ball too.” I could have enquired if his Aunt Charlotte was at the dinner that night, but my priority was to catch out these thieves first and foremost.

  “I’m afraid it is not as simple as that. I have received an invite to go to this function at the Dorchester’s property, and all the guests that were at my dinner party have been invited there also.”

  “So, you will go to the party?” I felt a pang of pain, knowing there would be many eligible young ladies wanting his hand in marriage. Not waiting for an answer, I said, “You could warn Mr. Dorchester of the cattle rustlers’ plans.” I thought to myself, Hopefully, you will not be distracted by Miss Dorchester’s maiden charms.

  “It is easier said than done, Miss Smithers. I could be made out to be a complete fool if the criminals pull out at the last moment. No, there is a better way. I think with my cunning, I can catch these criminals out.”

  “You should have someone with you, in case you get hurt.” The concern in my voice made him tenderly look at me.

  “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours, Miss Smithers. Nothing will happen to me.”

  Davenport decided it was time to leave as soon as I had finished the last of my drink. It was now one o’clock, and as I stepped out into the heat, I staggered into Davenport, who quickly assisted me upright.

  “Oh dear, I am sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

  “The cider is having an effect on you,” explained Davenport. He linked arms with me, and we walked to the wheelwright’s where the cart was in full view from the opened shed, but one wheel was off.

  “Why is it not fixed?” asked Davenport to the proprietor; his voice took on its natural haughty tone. I gently reminded him with a gentle squeeze about the arm to stay in his old commoner man role.

  “Many humble apologies, sir. I had a bit of a problem with one toffy nose gentleman. ‘E was wanting something done quickly. Kicked up a right royal stink, ‘e did. But don’t be worried, the job is pretty much finished.”

  The wheel nut was tightened into place, and then payment was exchanged at a great discount.

  “Do ya know the name of that toff?” asked Davenport, his fake gray eyebrows rising.

  “Oh, ‘e’s some fella heading back to the city. ‘E was returning from where you came up from. ‘E said he’d been in a rush to pass on the news about some lass on her last legs.”

  “Did you happen to observe the coat of arms on the carriage?” Again Davenport got a gentle squeeze about the arm to remind him his voice had changed class.

  “Nope,” the man replied.

  Davenport and I exchanged looks. I didn’t need to read his mind to know he knew it was the same carriage that had nearly knocked us off the road. We took leave quickly.

  We rolled along the road. The rocking of the cart lulled me into sleepiness. I was glad Davenport wasn’t engaging in conversation, as there were frown lines on his brow as he looked ahead, and, besides, I did not feel I possessed the right mind to keep up any conversation that required effort.

  “We weren’t in the inn for long!” exclaimed Davenport, nearly scaring me out of my wits and shoes. “If the carriage returned from delivering the message, it didn’t go far if it had time for repairs before we came outside. Perhaps the message was being sent to Dorchester.”

&nb
sp; Or perhaps it was for you, though I did not say that out loud. I could only manage a clumsy couple of nods. The alcohol, although it had only been a mug, was really loosening up my guard. Having left the village behind, having not spoken a word since I turned to him. He wasn’t glaring at the lane up ahead, he looked my way with amusement.

  “What do you find funny?” I remarked.

  “I find the pretty lady to my side entertaining.”

  “Monkeys are entertaining. Do you regard me in that kind of way?”

  “No, you are hardly a monkey, far from it.” Davenport laughed. “You have amusing qualities that I find charming.”

  “Do you, my lordship? Shouldn’t you, you know, being a toff and all, be finding amusement with your own kind?” I had pushed my body forward as if physically urging the words out.

  “I am afraid there is no one as amusing as you in my class, well, not at this present moment.”

  “Why are you afraid?” I was startled to have asked him that.

  “I’m not afraid. I was just saying it as a common expression, without thinking.”

  “Well, I’m not afraid of anything. I’m a very brave woman actually.” I looked about the countryside with a raised chin.

  “Of course you are, and you are a beautiful one too.”

  “Oh, is that so. Then tell me, Mr. Davenport, what makes me so beautiful?” Again I was surprised at my loose tongue.

  There was a thoughtful pause on his behalf and a broad grin. “You are asking me questions that will later come back to haunt me. I shall keep my reasons to myself because your head has become swollen with drink.”

  I made a grunt and flapped a hand at the fields. “Huh. Obviously, you haven’t got a woman in your life.”

  “I’m not going to answer that, Miss Smithers.”

  “Why not? It is a simple enough question.” I raised my voice and stared hard at him. “Do you have a woman in your life, yes or no?”

  “Well, your honor, the answer is a yes and a no.”

  “Oh, how ridiculous. I don’t know why I bother talking to you.”

  “What about you, Miss Smithers?” His voice was soft. “You must have a special man in your life.”

  “There is no one in my life at this present moment.”

  “But surely you must have men lining up, wanting your hand in marriage.”

  “No, not like you put it. If any, the ones who are interested are plain boring; they’d have to bind me up to get me down the aisle.” My comment was met with loud laughter.

  “What is it that you want in a husband, Miss Smithers?”

  That was a question that threw me off. I had never really thought about sharing my life with someone. I could only think of a reply I had heard from girls who adored their fathers. “I want a man just like my papa.”

  “What is your father like?” Davenport smiled across at me.

  “He is kind and handsome; always helping the poor people; and loving to Mamma and me.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “He is wonderful…being a missionary in Africa.”

  “Really, where is he situated now?”

  “He is situated in the grave!” I said casually. Or he could be alive.

  “Oh dear, I am sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? It is not your fault!”

  He gently asked, “How did he…?”

  “He was murdered by some bad people who were never captured.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She is dead too. She died in”—I gulped—“a house fire.” My eyes welled up at the only truth I could manage. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Certainly, I understand, Miss Smithers. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  “Why should you thank me? What is so thankful about someone like poor commoner me telling you that?”

  Davenport looked forlornly at me before looking the same way at the road. “Just like you, I lost my parents. They were both murdered. Hearing your story makes me feel, like you, that we both share something deeply in common.”

  Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently for reassurance, and when I looked into Davenport’s eyes, I saw my childhood friend, Alby, tenderly looking back.

  We drew up where he had picked me up earlier in the day. Davenport said, “Well, here we are, Miss Smithers. You have arrived home safe and sound.”

  “We nearly came a cropper, though.”

  “At least it didn’t prevent us from seeing who the cattle thieves were.”

  I smiled. “Well, I hope they get caught.”

  “They will, my dear. And I’m eternally grateful for your lipreading services.”

  “Oh well, that was the least I could do. Goodbye.” I clambered down off the cart before Davenport could dismount and assist me to the ground and began walking off.

  “Wait!” Davenport, forgetting his role as an old man, hurried to me while looking about for any prying eyes. “I haven’t finished speaking to you yet.”

  Turning to him, I said, “Sorry, me lordship.” He reached me in time just before I fell over trying to do a curtsey.

  “Please, Miss Smithers,” he whispered, looking about at the surroundings. “We don’t want people to talk.”

  “About an old man lifting a young drunken woman off the ground?” I burst out laughing.

  “Now, calm down.” He looked about desperately. “All I want to say is for you to be at the servant’s wing at eight o’clock tomorrow. Jackson, one of the head maids, will take care of you thereafter. Afterward, you and I can talk privately.” He hurried back and mounted the cart. As he turned the vehicle about, he added with his phony accent, “Goodbye, me lass.” He tilted his hat and clicked his tongue, and his horse moved off in a trot.

  “You didn’t get the job.” Aunt Pam didn’t look surprised. “Here, I’ve made a nice brew. Now sit yourself down and tell me what happened.”

  “Please, Aunt, I just want to go to bed.” I was scared she might sense I had been drinking, a great sin for a woman she would often tell me.

  “You will do nothing of the sort. Look at how pale you are. You never had your breakfast, and I suppose you had nothing to eat for lunch either.” The bustling woman pulled out some bread and butter and slices of cold meat, placed them before me and tended to the teapot. “You spent quite a long time up at the big house. Did she work you too hard to see if you were up to the job?”

  “I was shown about the place and was asked if I’d had any experience as a maid.”

  “I suppose you said ‘nowt?’ And based on that, you did not get the job.” Aunt Pam shook her head. “How is a girl going to get experience if no one bothers to employ her? I mean, look at that Cathy girl. She doesn’t know what the meaning of hard work is, yet she was fresh out of nappies and into a job. Why not you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumbled. “I don’t feel very well.”

  Aunt Pam suggested I go to bed early, and for failing getting a job, she said I could have a nice lie-in in the morning for trying so hard to get one. She didn’t need to know that I had been given employment and that I’d decided against taking it; my reasons, I was determined never to become anyone’s overworked maid, even if it meant lying!

  Chapter Seven

  I woke up to the sound of industrious footsteps, followed by the grumblings of Trevor about why his cousin wasn’t helping his mother with the breakfast. I heard my aunt defend me, saying I was not well, snapping at Trevor to put a stop to his grumbles. After the men left for work, I could not fall asleep because anxiety built inside me, and more so when a sunlight beam pressed around the edges of the curtain. At the same time, the aroma of Aunt Pam’s teacakes made my mouth water so much, I was nearly lured out of my bed, but I fought against the urge in order to make the most of Aunt’s rare offer of a lie-in. The clock called out in the sitting room, each gong rebuking my conscience eight times. You should be waiting in the servant hall! You should be waiting
in the servant hall! You should be waiting…!

  The door opened, sending in a wave of teacake aroma. I quickly shut my eyes. “Poor wee lass,” said the voice. The door clicked shut again.

  Eventually, I must have nodded off, but it was loud banging that jolted me awake. I heard Aunt’s voice cry out, “Why, top of the morning, milord. What brings you here this fine and beautiful morning?” That had me leaping out of the bed and fumbling to find my dress and shoes that were nowhere in sight.

  “Hello there, Mrs. Broughton. Is Miss Smithers about?” The man’s voice was authoritative.

  “Ah, why she is still in bed, milord.”

  “Is she unwell?” His voice softened.

  “Well”—I heard Aunt give one of her nervous laughs—“she didn’t cope with the news that she hadn’t got placement in your household, milord.”

  “Oh dear, is that so?” His voice boomed out a reply.

  “Please do come in, milord.”

  Panic seized me. I heard the tread of his riding boots hitting the floorboards of the living area, stopping at the wall opposite where I stood, biting my thumbnail.

  “Could it be, Mrs. Broughton, that she did not tell you that she had employment in my household because”—his footsteps paced backward and forward—“she finds the very thought of work an abhorrence?”

  “Milord, there must be a grave misunderstanding.”

  “Is the truant maid awake?”

  “She…she went to bed early. She was very tired, and she didn’t talk much—”

  Afraid his angry lordship might burst forth into my room, I spared Aunt the indignation of an explanation as I grabbed the doorknob and swiftly yielded the door open.

  “Good morning, Aunt.” I rubbed my eyes as I walked deep into the room.

  I pretended to ignore the pale face of the woman while well aware that he stood somewhere behind me. Still wearing my nightdress, two plaits resting over each shoulder, I stretched out my arms and let out a noisy yawn. When I turned to face the fireplace, my arms still upward, I let out a small cry, for there was Davenport residing there with a glare. I took the defensive action and enfolded my arms across my bosom, as was a lady’s prerogative. He in turn, without turning to face the mantel clock and still regarding me with hostility, raised his index finger toward the sound of ticking.