Anna Jacobs (14 page)

He sighed. “Then I’ll send Jem for the doctor and ask him to come immediately. Excuse me a moment.”

Deborah walked across to stare out of the parlour window, admitting to herself that she was worried sick about Elkin staying on. It wouldn’t take much to set him and Matthew at each other’s throats, and they were both tall and strong so who knew which would win if it came to a fight?

Or Elkin might have some dirty tricks planned. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more sure he would have. He wasn’t going to give up Marymoor without a struggle.

Well, neither was she.

* * * *

Elkin rang for his servant half an hour later, but it was a while before he came down. He was dressed with his usual elegance and professed himself greatly upset that his mother was still ill. “I do hope you’re not going to turn us out?” he said to Deborah.

“No, of course not.”

“Is that man of mine around? I asked him to make sure there was some breakfast ready for me.”

“I’ll ring.”

He was at the door already. “No need. I’ll go and say good morning to Mrs Simley while I’m in the kitchen. She’s an old friend of mine, distantly related to Seth. I’ve known her since I was a boy.”

“She’s upstairs packing.”

“Ah. I’d forgotten your husband dismissed her. Shall you turn her into the street or shall you need her services to look after your guests?”

As if he didn’t know the answer to that, Deborah thought angrily. He was just mocking her, as usual.

“I believe she’s come down now to join her husband.”

“I’ll go and speak to them, ask them to stay on.” Deborah found the Simleys in the kitchen, sitting at one end of the table eating some bread and cheese.

“We’re waiting for Mr Elkin,” Mrs Simley said, without waiting to be addressed.

“Mrs Elkin is ill. We need you to stay on for a day or two longer.”

The woman opened her mouth, clearly about to refuse, but a voice behind Deborah said softly, “We’d be very grateful, Mrs Simley.”

There was another heavy silence, then the housekeeper said graciously, “Well, since you ask me, Mr Elkin, I shall be happy to do so.”

Deborah could only accept this as calmly as she could manage. “Thank you. I’ll see that you’re paid for the extra work. And now I’d like some polish and some rags.”

Merry got them for her and she went back to the small parlour, which she intended to use, rather than the larger drawing room.

A short time later Deborah heard voices in the hall. Tiptoeing to the door, she saw Elkin speaking to his man in a low voice near the door into the kitchen. Both had their backs to her. Standing very still she watched them, seeing the servant give his master a small silver flask, which Elkin slipped into the pocket of his fine brocade coat.

“When I’ve seen my mother, I’ll stroll into the village.” Although he spoke quietly, his words carried clearly to the listener.

When he went up the stairs, Seth went back to the kitchen, so Deborah went out into the hall and walked quietly up the bottom few stairs, pausing where at the bend to listen. Upstairs she heard Denise trying to keep Elkin out of her mistress’s room.

“Your mother’s just fallen asleep, sir. Please let her rest a while.”

“Get out of my way, if you value your job!” he said with sudden acid in his normally drawling tone.

This was followed by a squeak of shock, as if he’d pushed the woman aside, and a door banging open. Then it banged shut again and Deborah could hear nothing else. But she stayed where she was, hoping to hear more and praying no one would come and catch her eavesdropping.

When the door above her opened again, she heard the sound of Mrs Elkin sobbing in the background, but didn’t wait to hear more. Tiptoeing quickly back into the small parlour, she began to polish the wood panelling, a task which pleased her, because it seemed a positive step towards setting her house in order. As soon as the Simleys had gone, she would take stock of the larder and set the kitchen in order, she decided.

“Can the maid not see to that?” Elkin asked from behind her. “It’s demeaning to see a Jannvier doing menial work.”

Deborah jumped in shock, not having heard him come in. “Merry has more than enough to do and the whole house has been let run down. Mrs Simley isn’t good at her job.”

“And you are a good housekeeper?” His lip curled scornfully.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it, either.”

“Fine mistress you’ll make for a house like this!” he scoffed and swung on his heel. “You’ll be working in the dairy next or serving ale at your husband’s inn.”

“If he asks me to, I will. There’s no disgrace in earning an honest living.”

He made a scornful noise and left.

When she heard him go outside, she went to peep through the window. He was pacing up and down in front of the house, irritation in every line of his body. Sighing and wishing Matthew were around, she went back to the polishing, taking pride in bringing a sheen to the wood. Beeswax and elbow grease, as Bessie called it.

It helped to keep yourself occupied when you were worried sick about your husband’s safety.

* * * *

Dr Lethbury arrived an hour later. When Elkin went forward to greet him, ignoring Deborah, the doctor stepped back, snapping, “It is my custom, sir, to deal with the mistress when I visit a female member of any household.”

“Mrs Pascoe knows nothing whatsoever about my mother!”

“She does own this house, though, and it would be greatly discourteous of me not to greet her first.”

Deborah smiled and moved out of the parlour to join them. “Dr Lethbury. How kind of you to come so quickly.”

“Dear lady, it’s my pleasure.” He made her a bow and suggested, “Perhaps you would accompany me upstairs to see your guest?”

Elkin again stepped forward, this time going close enough to the doctor to loom over him in a threatening manner. “It’s my mother who is ill, so naturally it is I who will accompany you.”

He does it on purpose, Deborah decided. Uses his height and strength to browbeat people. For all his airs and graces, and his pretence of being a gentleman, he’s an arrant bully.

The doctor puffed out his chest and glared at Elkin. “I’m afraid, sir, that I prefer another lady to be present when examining a female patient. It isn’t at all seemly for a son to be there when I’m examining his mother.”

Matthew appeared at the back of the hall, his skin flushed with fresh air and sunshine. “Pray go upstairs with the good doctor, Deborah. Our guest can wait in the parlour with me.”

“This is outrageous!” Elkin snapped.

Why was he so angry about this? Deborah wondered as she led the way up the stairs. It hardly seemed worth making a fuss about.

The maid opened the door, her eyes going automatically to check that there was no one behind them. With a sigh of what sounded like relief she greeted the doctor, who approached the bedside.

“I hope you don’t mind my being here, Mrs Elkin,” Deborah said.

“No. No, of course not.”

 Deborah stood at the foot of the bed while the doctor questioned Mrs Elkin about her symptoms. The old lady looked white and frail, and was definitely not pretending to be ill.

“It’s merely a summer flux,” Dr Lethbury pronounced in the end, his eyes much shrewder than his gentle words. “I shall send my man to bring you a draught which will help greatly, I promise you, my dear lady, but you mustn’t think of leaving your chamber until you are completely recovered. At our age we cannot take these reverses in health lightly.”

There was a heartfelt sigh of relief from the patient, who then looked across at Deborah and said in a faint voice, “I’m sorry to be so troublesome, Mrs Pascoe.”

“You can’t help it, Mrs Elkin. And your maid is doing most of the work of caring for you, after all, so it’s no great trouble.”

“But you don’t want us here.” She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the sheet. “Anthony is disappointed about Marymoor, and—and he can make things a bit uncomfortable sometimes when he’s crossed.”

Deborah tried to think of a reassuring response, but couldn’t find anything to say. Was Mrs Elkin trying to give her a warning? she wondered.

“The draught will be here within the hour,” Dr Lethbury said as he turned to leave.

Deborah noticed that the maid had taken hold of her mistress’s hand and was patting it. The woman was hatchet-faced and surly, but clearly cared greatly for the old lady, which was good to see.

“Please don’t worry about things,” she said from the doorway. “Just try to rest and get better.”

But it worried her greatly to think of Elkin staying on at Marymoor for longer and she prayed the old lady would recover quickly.

* * * *

When she came back inside after seeing the doctor on his way, there was no sign of Matthew. Elkin was alone in the small parlour, sipping a glass of wine, his long legs stretched out before him, his brow furrowed in thought. He hadn’t seen her, so she tiptoed away and went into the kitchen instead to see what was happening about food that day.

She made a few changes to what Mrs Simley had planned, changes that were received with a scowl and deep breathing. After which, tired of fusses and botheration, Deborah went out through the back door to look for Matthew, breathing in the fresh air with relief, but looking up at the sky and wondering if rain were on its way.

She thought she heard voices near the stables, so went that way, then stopped in shock as the words sank in.

“Don’t tell my wife about this, Jem.”

“Don’t you think she should know, Matt lad?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. George isn’t badly hurt and will take more care how he goes next time.”

Deborah stepped backwards, feeling as if she had moved on to quicksand. What did he mean George isn’t badly hurt? She had been thinking that the young groom would have arrived in Newgarth by now, that her mother and Bessie would know she was well and would be starting to pack.

Matthew might be trying to keep bad news from her for her own good, but she would have preferred to hear the truth, however bad.

She hesitated, debating whether to go and confront her husband and demand to know what was happening. But just as she was preparing to do that, a hated voice spoke softly behind her, startling her, and the moment was lost.

“Enjoying the morning air, Cousin Deborah?”

Elkin walked up to her. He must have been watching her, seen her stop and listen! She made sure her voice was loud enough to be heard by Matthew and Jem. “I’m looking for my husband and am far too busy to stroll about aimlessly, as you must surely realise.”

“Ah, yes. The fair châtelaine,” he drawled, “taking possession of her new kingdom.”

“Is there any reason I should not do that?” she demanded.

“No.” He smiled. “Enjoy your triumph while you can.”

Was he threatening her again? But before she could challenge him, she heard footsteps coming towards them.

“Ah, behold, your lord and master approaches,” Elkin drawled. “I’m desolate that our pleasant chat is to be interrupted.”

Matthew frowned at these words, looking narrowly at Deborah, and she realised Elkin was deliberately trying to giving him the impression that they had been chatting for a while.

“I was taking a breath of fresh air when our guest joined me,” she said curtly, “and now must return to my duties.” She exchanged glances with her husband, then turned on her heel and marched back to the house. She would speak to Matthew later about what she’d overheard.

“Will you tame her, do you think?” Elkin asked. “There’s more fire beneath that practical exterior than is immediately obvious. She’s lovely when she’s properly dressed. I wonder you can bear to see her clad like a maidservant—and working like one, too.”

“Some of us look beyond the clothes,” Matthew said shortly. “And see no shame in honest toil. Enjoy your stroll.” He turned on his heel, his eyes going for a moment towards his wife, who was just disappearing into the house.

Elkin gave a short laugh. The fool really was fond of her. It was a weakness to bear in mind. “Get on with your work while you can, oaf!” he muttered as he swung round to stare at the house, its grey-gold stone lit up by the morning sun. “I shall not give up what is mine by right.”

Behind the barn, Matthew picked up the fork, then slung it down again so that it landed in the muck heap, tines firmly embedded, handle quivering. “God damn the bastard! He’s counting on the fact that we don’t want to be seen throwing him out when his mother’s so sick. But if he continues to taunt me, he may find how little I care about what people think.” It was only for Deborah’s sake that he was paying attention to appearances—and because at least he could keep an eye on Elkin while he was at Marymoor.

Jem watched him sympathetically. “His man’s been nosing around the stables. I don’t know what he expects to find here, though.”

“Well, keep an eye on him and I’ll watch the master.” Matthew grunted and walked off. Not even to Jem could he say that what upset him most was to think of Deborah alone with Elkin. The idea of that scoundrel filling her ears with his lies made him want to grind his guest’s face into the ground, then drag his wife off to the bedroom to make her his own in more than name. He should have woken her last night when he went to bed, had wanted to because she had looked so beautiful lying there in the moonlight.

But then he’d remembered how tired and sore she was from their ride through the night, and that she was a virgin. She deserved better than a tired fumble the first time they made love.

Had he been mistaken in her? Would she ally herself with Elkin against him? Was she impressed by fine clothes and fancy manners? No, surely not?

* * * *

Elkin strolled on towards the village, hoping he had stirred up suspicion between that clod Pascoe and his wife, ignoring the stares and mutters from those he passed. Let them gape as much as they wanted. Gentlemen dressed with style and elegance, and he would not lower his standards to suit the villagers. What did he care about these yokels, who had never made him welcome here? It was the house and land that mattered. Without land you were nothing. And even if you bought land, it wasn’t the same as inheriting it from your family. In his new life, he needed the status of landed gentry, hungered for it.