Amanda Scott (10 page)

She was surprised when Lady Celeste directed their coachman to drive past the road leading the back way to the manor, for beyond the lovely group of sycamore and hornbeam trees at the crossing, the road might have been no more than a series of cart tracks between tenant farms, rarely with a hedge on both sides, more often with nothing separating track from field or thicket. Here there were no newly-plowed fields but only weeds and scrub, so there was at once a sense of privacy and of freedom. They were on Abberley’s land now, and before long they came to a cottage.

Margaret vaguely remembered that there had once been two cottages here, comprising a single tenant farm. Now there was only the one cottage and a tumbledown shed. The thatch on the cottage was black with mildew, and the walls were filthy. There was none of the feeling of neat cheer that had met them in Mayfield village. Spring seemed not to have touched the farm either. Lady Celeste signaled their coachman to draw up in the weedy yard.

“Aunt Celeste?” Margaret watched her, wide-eyed.

The old lady’s eyes glinted with anger. “That young man wants a good thrashing,” she muttered.

“What young man?”

“Abberley. He should be flogged for letting matters come to this. A man’s land is his heritage. He has a duty, damn him.”

“Aunt Celeste!”

The old lady merely glared at her, and since they had no footman accompanying them, she pushed open the door and let down the steps for herself. A moment later she stood in the middle of the yard, surveying the scene through narrowed eyes. Just then the door of the cottage opened, and two women—one elderly, the other middle-aged—peered at them from the threshold.

“Mrs. Muston?” Lady Celeste raised her voice slightly to make herself heard. “Is that you, Mrs. Muston?”

“Aye,” the older woman replied cautiously. Then the younger whispered something hurriedly in her ear. “My lady? Bless my soul, ma’am, is it yerself, indeed?”

Lady Celeste stepped briskly toward her, holding her skirts up to keep them from catching at the weeds. More slowly, fascinated, Margaret descended to the hard ground.

“Where is your son, Mrs. Muston?” her ladyship demanded.

“Gorn t’ Mayfield,” replied the old lady, dropping a low curtsy and yanking at her daughter-in-law to follow her example, “an it please ye, ma’am.”

“Well, it does not please me, for I wished to speak with him,” said Lady Celeste. “I wish to know why this farm, which was always the best-kept farm on the estate, has been let to fall to rack and ruin.”

The older woman shook her gray head. “There’s been naught to plant, m’lady. The master b’ain’t to ’ome fer the most part, ’n there be no bailiff these past two years an’ more. Times be ’ard all round since the war be over ’n done, but ’is lordship plain don’t care fer the place, ’n that’s a fact.”

“Are the other farms in a like condition?”

“Worse,” said the younger woman quietly. “If my husband weren’t able to find work in the village from time to time, my lady, we would starve. Some of the farms have been abandoned, but my husband’s family has farmed this land for several hundred years. He won’t leave. Says things are bound to improve.”

“Aye, they will if I have a say in the matter, which I daresay I shall,” said Lady Celeste tartly. She eyed the younger woman searchingly. “You’re mighty well-spoken for a farm woman, Mrs. Muston.”

“Thank you, my lady. I was the assistant housekeeper at the hall for several years before his lordship reduced his staff. Mrs. Puddephatt, who, as you probably know, was a lady’s maid in town before she married her husband, taught me a great deal.”

“She did, indeed. Look here, Mrs. Muston, we’re very shorthanded at the manor, thanks to my nephew’s wife’s nipcheese notions. Do you present yourself to Mrs. Moffatt in the morning. I daresay she can find a position for you.”

The woman’s gratitude was painful for Margaret to see. In that moment she thoroughly agreed with Lady Celeste. Abberley deserved to be flogged.

But Lady Celeste wasn’t finished. “You tell that husband of yours that I say he is to draw up a list of his needs,” she said imperiously. “That roof needs rethatching, for one thing. I can see that myself. He will also need seeds and perhaps some new tools as well, but I haven’t the slightest notion what is required, so he will have to help me. Once I know what is needed, I can see that the things are ordered from Royston or from London, if necessary. For the present, until I can find a proper bailiff, we shall make use of Mr. Farley at Caldecourt. I am told that he knows his business. The reckoning, of course, will go to his lordship.”

“Aunt Celeste—”

“Not a word, miss. I’ll attend to this. You get back in the carriage. I want to visit more farms. There’s work just crying out to be done here. I intend to see it gets done.”

Two hours later, they had seen enough, and Lady Celeste had passed her message to several more farmers. As the landaulette turned past the sycamores onto the road leading the back way to the manor, Margaret let out a long sigh.

“He will have ten thousand fits, Aunt Celeste. You have no right to be pledging his purse right and left as you’ve done today.”

“Nonsense,” the old lady said, straightening her bonnet, which had tilted forward over one bright blue eye. “The hall’s my home, too, is it not? Didn’t I live all my life under that roof until my brother Harold said he needed a hostess after your grandmother died? Wouldn’t I be living there now if I hadn’t agreed to come to the manor with you instead? I say,” she added, struck by a sudden unpalatable thought, “he’s
got
a purse, hasn’t he?” She glared accusingly at Margaret. “Not rolled up, is he?”

“No, of course not. He’s always had more money than he knows what to do with.”

Lady Celeste pounced on the phrase. “Precisely. Well, I know what to do with it, and if Abberley don’t like it, may Heaven protect him.”

Three days passed before Margaret could discover whether Abberley liked the arrangement or not, and she lived in daily expectation of an explosion of some sort or other. But when he rode up to the front entrance of the manor early in the afternoon of the third day, leading a small black pony, he did not appear to be in a temper. Margaret, observing his arrival from the drawing-room window with a surge of pleasure that seemed disproportionate to the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman dismounting from a large bay horse, thought it remarkable that he should look cheerful. In view of the fact that Lady Celeste had been very busy indeed during those three days, his smile when he turned both horse and pony over to an accommodating stableboy seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Margaret was alone when he was announced, but she had scarcely finished welcoming him when her nephew burst into the room.

“Whose pony is that?” he demanded, skidding to a halt with one of the Oriental carpets bunched between his feet.

Abberley’s bushy eyebrows shot upward and Margaret’s hands flew to her hips. “Young man,” she said in a dangerously calm voice, “you will leave this room at once, and you will not return until you can do so in the manner of a gentleman.”

Timothy’s mouth opened and words of sputtering protest tumbled over one another as he looked to Abberley for assistance.

“Straighten the carpet on your way out,” the earl advised with a smile.

Outraged but left without a choice, Timothy turned, dragged the carpet back into place with his heel, and left the room. Neither Margaret nor Abberley spoke. They merely waited. A moment later, the boy reappeared, containing his emotions with difficulty but managing nonetheless to present an appearance of civility.

“How do you do, sir?” he inquired politely, facing Abberley.

“I am well, thank you,” replied the earl, straight-faced, “but you should greet your aunt first, you know.”

“Good afternoon, Aunt Marget,” Timothy said with more haste than sincerity, turning back to Abberley before the last word was out. “Please, sir, I-I saw a pony, a black pony, being led to the stables.”

“Did you, indeed?”

“I did, sir. Is he … that is, will he live here, sir?” Timothy seemed scarcely able to breathe.

“He will,” the earl replied, his eyes beginning to dance.

Timothy released his breath in a long sigh. “He’s mine?”

“He is. You may go and see him, if you like.”

The boy turned on his heel, ready to race for the door, but he stopped himself with a huge effort and turned back, blushing fiercely, to say, “Thank you, sir. Thank you!” He turned again, took a step, then looked back over his shoulder. “Has he got a name, sir?”

“Not yet. I thought perhaps you might be able to think of one.”

“Yes, I believe I’ll call him Theodore.” With that he was gone.

Margaret grinned at the earl. “Whatever possessed you? Now, we’ll never know where he is.”

“Yes, you will because you will give orders both to Timothy and to your stable people that the pony is not to be saddled unless there is a groom to go with him. And that his lessons must be finished before he rides.”

“My, you’re very paternal today,” she said, teasing him.

He frowned. “I know Michael meant to get him a pony long ago. Somehow he just never got around to it. I learned that this one was for sale and decided the time had come for the boy to have his own. I hope you are not distressed.”

“Of course not. I think it was a fine idea.” She paused, watching him, then said carefully, “You seem to be in excellent spirits today.”

“Why not? Spring is in the air.”

She realized then that he could not yet know of Lady Celeste’s activities. He was too relaxed, too amiable, and she knew from past experience that he would not welcome the old lady’s interference in his affairs. Nor would he contain anger beneath a mask of cheerful unconcern. Briefly, Margaret wondered if she ought to tell him what their grandaunt was up to, but before she had thought the matter through, Lady Celeste herself entered the room.

She was dressed becomingly in flowing pink silk, an afternoon frock nipped in just under her small breasts, and cut high to the throat and long to the wrist. The upper part of each sleeve was slightly puffed, and there was a narrow ruffle edging the neckline. Lady Celeste greeted the earl with an easy smile, but Margaret realized she was watching him measuringly, as though wondering if he meant to take her to task.

“His lordship has brought Timothy a pony, Aunt Celeste,” Margaret said, her eyes twinkling. “Wasn’t that kind of him?”

Lady Celeste looked at the earl. “Uncommon kind,” she said slowly. “Turning over a new leaf, Abberley? Thoughtfulness don’t seem to be your long suit.”

He refused to be offended by her words. “I merely fulfilled an intention the boy’s father had,” he said. “It is nothing.”

Lady Celeste seemed about to agree with him, before an arrested look in her eye told Margaret that she had remembered there might be shoals ahead. Instead, she muttered something nearly amiable, then asked if he would care for tea.

“His lordship doesn’t drink tea, ma’am,” Margaret said with a laugh. “Perhaps Moffatt can find some of Michael’s sherry if Jordan hasn’t drunk it all.”

“I’d prefer Madeira,” his lordship said when the order was relayed to Moffatt.

“At once, sir.”

When they had been served, the conversation continued desultorily, but nothing was said about the tenant farms or the condition of the Abberley estate. His lordship took his leave half an hour later, promising to give the orders regarding the new pony at the stables, and Margaret looked accusingly at her grandaunt.

“You ought to have told him, ma’am.”

“Fustian, he’ll find out soon enough. I’ve placed a number of orders in Royston in his name. Someone will send him a reckoning soon enough.”

They saw nothing of his lordship the next day or the next. Nor yet the next. But on Friday, just as Lady Annis was wondering what was keeping Moffatt with her tea and Margaret was beginning to become bored by both her ladyship’s conversation and the bit of embroidery in her own lap, his lordship entered the drawing room in such a way as to remind her forcibly of the way in which Timothy had burst into the same room some days earlier, demanding to know about the pony.

Before the earl could speak, Lady Annis snapped, “Good gracious, Abberley, where are your manners? And where is Moffatt?”

“I didn’t wait for him,” Abberley retorted in the same tone before turning his fierce gaze upon Margaret. “I want to speak to you and to Aunt Celeste. Right now,” he added harshly, making it clear that he would brook no argument.

“A
UNT CELESTE HAS GONE
for a drive,” Margaret said more calmly than she felt. Her heart was pounding, for he looked furious, and she was a little afraid of that look. Even Lady Annis had not dared to say another word in the face of it.

Abberley glowered. “Gone for a drive, has she? Meddling again, no doubt.”

“What on earth is he talking about, Margaret?” Lady Annis asked, reaching for her salts. “Abberley, I wish you will not speak so loudly. You have already startled me so that I’m sure it will be hours before my nerves recover. Not that you consider that, of course. You do not even have the civility, sir, to inquire after my health.”

Abberley ignored her, so Margaret said with more gentleness than she might otherwise have employed, “Pray, do not distress yourself, Annis. Clearly, his lordship is annoyed about something, but it has nothing to do with you. Of that I’m quite certain.”

“And so you should be,” muttered his lordship wrathfully. But he turned at last to Lady Annis and made an effort to redeem himself. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. If Miss Caldecourt will be so kind as to escort me downstairs to the front parlor, there will be no further need to impose upon your solitude.”

“That is out of the question, Abberley,” Lady Annis said irritably. “You cannot take an unmarried young woman into a private room. Whatever can you be thinking about?”

Seeing that his lordship’s patience—what there was left of it—was being sorely tried, Margaret interposed. “Do not trouble your head about such trivialities, Annis, I beg you. I have been accustomed to looking after myself in all manner of situations for some years now. Matters are not quite the same on the Continent, you know, as they are here in England.”