A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) (3 page)

“Well, there ain’t much, but me and the Mrs. have a roof over our heads in the back.” His eyebrow, which had returned to its normal position, shot up again, apparently to gauge the two visitors’ reactions. “Come on, then.” He bade them enter and closed the massive door. He motioned for them to follow, moving down the corridor toward the left. “It’s not fit to travel out there. ’Orrible cold, miserable, it be.”

“And we had most wretched luck, our rig’s ran aground in a snowdrift.” Freddie was concerned about his arms and how much longer he could maintain his grip. Hoped they soon would arrive someplace where Trevor could rest.

“Where ye gents headed?” The man did not bother to face them when he spoke.

“Perhaps you might direct us in the morning.” Freddie began to feel a bit more optimistic that they’d found a place to stay the night and a local who might set them in the right direction. “We’re looking for Penshaw Manor.”

“Wot?”
The man stopped, swung around, and faced them. His chuckle grew into a great laugh that wracked his entire body. “Oh, my! Ho! Ho! Ye daft young nobs. Don’t ye know? This
is
Penshaw Manor.”

Chapter Three

T
his
was Penshaw Manor?

“Freddie . . . 
Freddie
?” Trevor’s grip on his friend tightened.

“I know, Trevor.” A sudden wave of shame and guilt came over Freddie.

This was
his
house?

He had been informed by his father the country house was in need of minor repairs, thus the generous increase of his quarterly allowance until the estate could sustain itself.

Only minor repairs?

It was his father’s wish that his son apply himself and learn something of estate management and making improvements, but instead Freddie had lost all his blunt gambling.

This
was Penshaw Manor?

Freddie gazed about him with the new realization. This was not merely another crumbling pile. It was
his
crumbling pile. The tumbledown walls and ceiling became more imposing, not because of their decay but because the weight of their repair suddenly came upon him.

“Come along, then, lads.” The man tamped down his laughter and urged them farther into the corridor.

Freddie had his arm around Trevor and, by this time, bore nearly all of his weight. Just before he rounded the corner, Freddie detected the faint scent of wood smoke from a banked fire which conjured the promise of comfort and warmth. He soon stepped into a makeshift kitchen. He studied the interior in the dim light from the cooking hearth, half grateful he could not see the details of the room. Had this once been the dining room? A parlor?

“Who’ve ye got thar, Jacob?” A sturdy woman, presumably his wife, appeared busy with a number of pots over the fire and straightened from her toil.

The ornate fireplace, created for a fire that would gently warm a room, not blaze with intensity for cooking, held a dilapidated, makeshift grate. A large table provided a usable work area; various types of chairs lined the wall. Indeed every useable piece of furniture must have been brought here to add comfort to the inhabitants’ lives.

“A place to sit!” Trevor reached out to grab hold of a chair back and eased into it with a groan. Freddie took that moment to straighten his own aching back.

“We ain’t exactly made proper introductions but this here’s Mr. Freddie and Mr. Trevor. Been on the road and fell into a bit of bad luck, they has, with the bad weather an’ all.” Jacob moved into the room, set the lantern on the table, and motioned for the visitors to follow. “Ye don’t mind, de ye, Hetta?”

“I don’t know what we’ll do, Jacob . . . two extra mouths ta feed.” She glanced up at them. Lines creased her brow and Freddie thought she might have it in mind to refuse. “There’s barely a roof o’r our heads but we canna turn them away. ’Tis Christmas, Jacob, we’s got to be welcomin’ ta strangers.”

Today was Christmas?
Freddie had lost track of exactly how many days had passed and had no notion of how close they had been to the approaching holidays.

“How did ye manage ta get all the way out here? The pair of ye daft travelin’ in weather such as this?” Hetta wiped her hands and glared at the newcomers.

“You two don’t happen to be looking for Lord Brent, are ye?” Jacob ground out and raised one of his eyebrows high, widening his eye to glare at them.

“Lord Brent?”
Freddie echoed the name Jacob had uttered with great contempt and disdain then glanced at Trevor.

“Aye,
the earl
bought the place and don’t seem interested in settin’ ’is foot in it.” Hetta glanced at her pots and returned to minding them. “If ye be thinkin’ ta meet up with ’im, ye be addled in yer upperworks, fir sure.”

“No, we had not thought of meeting him here and we’re not
friends
of his, exactly,” Freddie lied. “We attended the same school, Eton.”

“No ’mount of schoolin’ gonna teach that nob carin’ ’bout others,” she mumbled and returned to her stove top.

The distain in her voice alarmed him. Freddie had no wish to confess he was the detested earl to whom she referred.

“I thank you, ma’am. Your hospitality has far greater value than the quality of the accommodations. Thank you for taking us into your home.” How she determined they were fit guests, Freddie had no idea. Their unkempt appearance told nothing of their character. He was extremely grateful for her kindness.

“’Tis not our home, it’s just where we make do fir now.” Hetta glanced up at them then nodded to Trevor. “What’s wrong with yer friend, there?”

“I’m afraid he’s come out the worse from the accident.” Freddie still detected the pain reflected in Trevor’s face. “He’s not bleeding any and we’re fairly certain nothing’s broken. Must have twisted something, I ’spect.”

“Well, it’d be best if he keep quiet for a bit and let him mend, then.” Hetta addressed her husband. “Jacob, make up a pallet near the fire in the other room fir ’im. Find Drew and have ’im help ye, there.”

“Aye, we’ll see ta it, Hetta,” Jacob replied.

“We’ll get him comfortable first,” she suggested. “Then we’ll see ’bout gettin’ ye summin’ ta put in yer bellies. Perhaps Mr. ’amilton could have a look, if we can manage ta send word ’round ta him.”

“I’ll see to it.” Jacob took hold of his lantern once again and with the jerk of his head motioned for them to follow. “You’ll be stayin’ down this way.”

“Come along now, then, Trev.” Freddie helped his friend stand with considerable effort. He renewed his grip around Trevor’s torso and led him through the room in the wake of their host. “Is Mr. Hamilton a physician?”

“No, but he knows quite a lot about carin’ fir cattle and sheep,” Jacob replied and left the room through the far doorway.

“Oh well, that’s all right, then,” Freddie replied, regaining his hold around Trevor and half dragging him after their host. “Nothing but the best for you, Trev.”

“Oi, lad, come ’elp yur father, eh?” Jacob yelled down the darkened corridor. No sooner had he ducked into the next doorway on the right than Freddie heard the scramble of small feet. The running footsteps grew louder then came to a sudden stop.

“Wot is it, da?” a young voice inquired.

“We’s got guests ’nd yur mum wants us to set ’em up.” Jacob paused then replied, “Aye, go ahead and get that fire lit. We’s got Mr. Freddie and Mr. Trevor ’nd Mr. Trevor’s hurt. ’E’ll need a place ta rest.” The sound of bumping and scuffling followed, the preparations for their stay. “Fir sure ’e’ll need a pallet, as comfy a one we can manage to rig up fir ’im, I ’spect.”

“Come on, Trev,” Freddie encouraged his friend. “It’s not much farther, just down a bit more and into the room just over there.” He took a few steps, supporting the ailing Trevor.

Freddie slowed before reaching the doorway, finally coming to a standstill. He could swear he could hear someone, or something, breathing down the corridor in the darkness beyond. Although heavy in his arms, Trevor’s breaths had not been labored. He could not have been the source. What Freddie heard were guttural, animal-like sounds. He stared into the darkness and still could not puzzle out the unsettling noise.

“Come on, best get you comfortable straightaway.” Freddie managed to get his friend to the doorway where they had paused. Inside a boy squatted near the hearth encouraging a fledgling flame while nearby his father tended to making up a pallet.

By the looks of the room it might have been the library. Two of the walls held half-empty, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the third had a massive desk pushed against the paneling, which might make this room
Freddie’s
library.

This wasn’t the comfortable place he’d imagined, where he and Trevor would sit and put their feet up and have a good laugh at their minor misfortunes while enjoying brandy.

“Com’ on in, gents.” Jacob beckoned them with a wave. “This here’s ma son Drew.” A brown-haired, slender lad, dressed in the same worn, tattered clothing as that of his father, looked to be about twelve but Freddie suspected he was a few years older.

“How-de-do?” Freddie offered and nodded to their hasty, informal acquaintance.

“Lad, that’s Mr. Freddie there, and the fella that’s lookin’ poorly is Mr. Trevor.”

“Sir.” Drew tugged his forelock. “We can put Mr. Trevor on this pallet here near the fire where it’s warm.”

“Aye, let’s get him settled.” Jacob helped guide Trevor toward the pallet. “We best ’ave his coat off first. We’ll ’old him, lad, and you work it off.”

It took the three of them to remove the garment. Trevor’s jacket came off next. One might have thought it could have survived the accident unharmed but both sides of the tailored Stultz creation had been torn apart.

“Mayhaps we leave his wescot on, might be all that’s keepin’ him ta-gether,” Jacob suggested and squinted an eye while he reached under his hat to scratch his head.

After having his boots removed, Trevor finally lay on the pallet with both his jacket and greatcoat covering him. He had fallen fast asleep.

“I’m sure the Mrs. will have summin’ ta say ’bout wot’s ta be done wi’ him, and if the pair of ye knows what’s best fir ye, ye’d listen to ’er. She knows best, Mrs. Morley does.”

No doubt Jacob was correct; Freddie would not attempt to contradict anyone. If he had learned anything this last fortnight it was that he had no head for traveling or gaming, nor would he even contemplate offering advice on medical care.

“We’ll leave ye to get settled and check ta see if the Mrs. has summin’ fir ye ta eat.” Jacob clapped his son on the back. “Let’s move along now, lad.” Father and son shuffled away, disappearing into the blackness of the corridor.

Freddie stood alone in the warmth and quiet. He’d already removed his greatcoat, what there was left of it being not much more than shredded material with sleeves. His jacket looked worse. He feared there would be no repairs for the once-stylish, lavishly embroidered silk garment.

While Trevor, who had packed a small trunk with a few items, was able to remove his evening wear for a more appropriate dress during their very first overnight stop, Freddie could not. His book satchel, as Trevor called it, contained only a few starched cravats, shaving kit, and dancing pumps. Enough, or so Freddie thought, to see him to Penshaw Manor, where he could step into a set of new clothes. He had no notion from where this wardrobe would appear, certainly not from the bowels of
this
establishment.

There was no need to contemplate the complexities of dressing himself in new clothing when he had difficulty extricating himself from his current attire without the aid of an experienced pair of hands. If it had not been for the ruinous state of his current rigging, undressing himself might have been an unmanageable chore. Ah—to be without a valet!

Perhaps next time, and he sincerely hoped there would never, ever be a next time, he would be able to make better preparations. All of this, on every level, was completely and entirely his fault.

Freddie had managed to remove his dampened boots, giving his lower limbs and trousers a chance to dry. He would certainly not go about in his small clothes so he retained his shirt and the very same waistcoat that had garnered so many flattering compliments nearly a fortnight ago in London.