Saving Grace (15 page)

“How bad is it?” Nicholas asked his butler. “Are some in the crowd carrying pitchforks and threatening to break down the door?” He braced his hands on the desk, preparing himself for the worst. Kingsley’s face, white and drawn before the study doors he’d hastily closed, indicated that Nicholas was about to hear that very thing.

Likely no less than I deserve,
he thought ruefully. For as long as Nicholas could remember, and likely as long as Sutherland men had run this estate, tradition had been that the first Tuesday of each month was set aside for meeting with tenants. During the last few years of his father’s life, Nicholas had made the rounds a time or two with his father. But that had been long ago, the last instance being the Tuesday after his father’s death, when instead of going to visit the tenants to inquire about their needs, Nicholas had invited them to the house to pay their respects to the former Earl.

That had been twenty-two long months ago, and ever since, Nicholas had seen to it that he was never home on the first Tuesday of the month. Until now. He glanced toward the doors, eyes flitting upward, as if he could see through them to the rooms above. He wouldn’t have been home today were it not for the ailing woman presently sleeping in one of his guestrooms. He might have muttered a curse about it — or about her — had it not seemed entirely unholy to curse one already hovering near death.

But since she was here — and he was too — there seemed no point in avoiding the necessary. So he’d invited his tenants to meet with him today.

“How bad?” Nicholas repeated, expecting an answer now that Kingsley had been given a good, long minute to think on it.

The butler’s face grew thoughtful, the lines on his forehead bunching as his graying brows drew together. “Do you recall the plum puddings Mrs. Hancock used to make at Christmas?”

“Used to?” Nicholas asked, disappointed to think that one of his favorite treats from childhood had disappeared.

Kingsley frowned. “She hasn’t made them these two Christmases past. Not since you said there was to be no more celebrating.”

“I didn’t mean forever.” Nicholas cleared his throat uncomfortably. He vaguely remembered saying something like that, but then, his father had died shortly before Christmas, and they had all still been mourning Elizabeth, as well. It wouldn’t have been proper to celebrate the season then.

And the Christmas after that he’d spent in London with his mother. The atmosphere between them had been strained, the whole affair quiet and solemn. But he’d never considered that the holiday had passed the same way at Sutherland Hall. He hadn’t intended that, hadn’t intended for what used to be good and right — for all the people here — to be stopped with Elizabeth’s and his father’s passings.

Though I cease to enjoy life, they needn’t
.

“It was not my intention for cook’s famous Christmas pudding to be gone forever. Be sure to tell her I wish it reinstated next holiday.”

“As you wish.” Kingsley nodded.

“But what has that to do with today?” Nicholas asked. “Have one of the tenants come to complain — all these months later — about my lack of generosity at Christmas?”

“I could not say, milord. Only that whatever their complaints be, they are sure to be many. I’ve not seen a crowd like this since Mrs. Hancock’s puddings were distributed at Christmas.”

“That
is
bad.” Nicholas drummed his fingers on the desk.

It was a good analogy. He well remembered the line of tenants outside the kitchen, eagerly awaiting the once-a-year treat.

“Would you like me to ... stay?” Kingsley offered — rather bravely, Nicholas thought.

“Kind of you, but no,” Nicholas said. “I believe I’ll need you most manning the doors out front. I shall have to bear myself up. After all, this is my own doing.” His father’s agent had quit months ago, furious with Nicholas over what he’d termed “an extreme lack of leadership and authority that would make your father roll over in his grave.”

Likely true,
Nicholas reflected, feeling no little amount of shame.

But he was making a start, wasn’t he? He’d invited his tenants here today, believing it would be the simplest and most efficient way to begin catching up on long-neglected matters. He could have spent the day visiting with some of the people — but whom to choose had become a delicate situation. Worried it might be seen as favoritism if he spent time with some families, then left again for months before meeting with others, he’d decided instead to offer the opportunity of visiting to anyone who wished. Here. Today.

Perhaps that had been a poor idea, Nicholas thought as he glanced out the window at the line curving around the house.

“Good luck to you, milord.” Kingsley backed out the door, nodding as he went — whether in sympathy or simply as a farewell, Nicholas could not tell.

“Give me a moment more, and then send the first one in.” Nicholas tugged at his cravat, feeling the noose of guilt tightening around his neck. Being away so much, it had been easy to forget all that went on here. But now that he’d been back a short while ...

I’m beginning to see what a proper mess I’ve made of everything. No wonder Mother refused to stay.

Preparing for an onslaught of the irate, he removed a ledger from the desk, opened it, and readied a quill and ink beside. He also took out his father’s record book. A good portion of those coming today would be after money for this or that improvement, or some other such item they felt entitled to by virtue of living on and producing goods upon his land. Most would be justified in their requests, and he had no qualms about providing funds to keep crops growing, animals breeding, and wool spinning as it should. He had ample rent money and could afford to return a portion of it to its origins.

For those few whom money would not satisfy, a decanter of brandy and a few snifters stood at the ready on the sideboard — a tactic he’d learned from his father. Remembering the previous Lord Sutherland’s diplomacy, Nicholas felt the beginnings of a smile curve his lips. His father would have been appalled at the state things had come to, but he would have had a jolly good time setting them right. He’d always loved a good challenge, especially one involving his uncanny ability to win anyone over.

“We shall see if I have any of the old man in me at all,” Nicholas said somewhat good-naturedly, and he felt slightly better than he had all morning. “We shall see.”

Kingsley stepped inside the study doors and shut them behind him, leaving one Myra Lane, wife of Joseph, whose sheep had not been reproducing at a satisfactory rate, alone to find her own way out.

“Dare I hope that everyone else has grown tired of waiting, and we are finished?” Nicholas eyed the longcase clock on the far side of the room. A half hour had not yet passed since it had chimed eleven. He had no reason to hope that he’d managed to see almost two years’ worth of troubled tenants in two hours. No reason, but a strong wish.

I am tired of hearing of mutton and mules
.

Kingsley shook his head. “Nor is the midday meal quite prepared.”

“Oh,” Nicholas said, all hope deflated now that Kingsley had denied his second choice — a hearty meal and a few minutes’ solitude.

“A Mr. George Thatcher is here to see you,” Kingsley continued. “He is most insistent that it cannot wait.”

Nicholas looked up from the column he’d been totaling. “I don’t recall any Thatchers living here. Have we let land to new families in my absence?”

Have I been
that
neglectful?

For the hundredth time this morning, during which he’d heard tales of a collapsed roof, diseased animals, and struggling crops, he berated himself for his disregard.

“Mr. Thatcher is not a tenant. He has come inquiring about his daughter.”

“I hoped I knew our tenants surnames. Surely I cannot be expected to know each of their childr —” Nicholas’s confusion turned to clarity. His eyes shifted to the ceiling. “
Her
father.”

Kingsley nodded. “Come from London. He insists he must see you.”

“Well, this
is
splendid news.”

Anything but, more like.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. “Dare we hope he has come to take her home?”

Jasper’s report on George Thatcher still rang fresh in Nicholas’s mind.
Poor as church mice ... has had no luck ... would do anything ...

“I find it doubtful that
she
is what he has come to take,” Kingsley said. “For the past thirty minutes, he has been perusing the hall, examining the paintings and furniture, and attempting to see into other rooms.” Kingsley glanced over his shoulder. “When I asked him to cease his explorations, he did not take it well. He appears to be predisposed of a bad temperament.”

“I see.” And Nicholas did — that his day was about to become even more unpleasant. “Likely she could not be moved anyhow,” he added offhandedly and began to ponder how to avoid being burdened by playing host to her father as well. “I suppose he’ll want to be nearby while she is recovering?”

“He has not asked to see her. Only to see ... ‘the rake who ruined his daughter.’”

Nicholas rubbed his temple, feeling the building of a headache behind his eyes. He hadn’t considered that Miss Thatcher’s father might come. Apparently the man wasn’t too poor to travel.

If news of this scandal has reached London already ...

Likely her father would have an arsenal of questions, none of them pleasant.

Or perhaps just an arsenal.

“Shall I show him in?”

“Not yet,” Nicholas said. “I’ve enough people upset with me already — people who live and work on Sutherland land — and I must think of them first.”

That was true enough, though he also wished for more time to consider his meeting with Miss Thatcher’s father. “Politely explain to the man that this is not the best day for calling. Perhaps he might return tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Kingsley retreated once more. A few moments later, Nicholas welcomed three women whose chief complaint was that he was not producing enough laundry for them to wash in order to support their families.

“When the ladies used to live here, we had work aplenty,” the first explained, a plain woman dressed in gray from the hairs on her head to the toes of her weathered boots.

“And with guests and parties the formal earl — may he rest in peace — used to host,” the second added, “we’d even have some extra wash now and then.” Nicholas’s gaze shifted to her, a stout woman with crossed arms and a stern face.

The first, less-threatening woman, spoke again. “But now we’re not earning enough to buy necessaries. My daughter, barely fourteen, has gone away to Lancashire to work. First time in four generations our family has moved off this land. I miss her terrible, but unless something changes, more of the family will have to follow.”

“What is it you wish me to do?” Nicholas asked. “I can bring back neither my sister nor my father — or their clothing.”

“But your mother might stay again,” the stout one said, giving him a look that would have made a lesser man shrink in disgrace. He read all that it implied:
If you weren’t such a lout and took care of the place, your mother would come home.

“If you were to stay,” she continued, “and if you were to hire more staff again, we’d have the wash from them, too. And with more staff, you could have guests, and they would lead to —”

“More laundry,” Nicholas said. “I see. But I’m afraid I cannot supply what you need. Sutherland Hall will never be as it has been. Those grand times are — unfortunately for all of us — in the past.”

“They don’t have to be, milord,” a timid voice spoke up. Gray Woman and Stern Face parted, and a third woman stepped forward from her place after being nearly hidden behind them. Her eyes, bright and hopeful, sought out Nicholas’s with a look that was part sympathy, part encouragement. Her face wasn’t lined as the others’, and rich, dark hair peeked from beneath her bonnet. With her slight build, he had a difficult time imagining her bent over a washtub.

“You are right,” she continued. “Life here shall never be the same as when your father and sister were alive. But the future can yet be bright. When my Thomas died, I thought life was over, but after a time, I saw that it didn’t have to be. If you’ll but open your heart to new possibilities —”

“I’d prefer to open my pocketbook,” Nicholas said curtly.
What do these women know of my life?
“If you’ll tell me what sum you were paid before, I shall see that it continues, regardless of the volume of clothing you wash. We wish you, and your families, to continue to live as you have previously.”

The three women exchanged uneasy glances.

“It’s kind of you Lord Sutherland, but it isn’t right — getting paid when we’ve not done the work,” Gray Woman said.

Nicholas wondered if the woman realized that she had just described a good portion of the peerage — himself included, at times. “Nevertheless, that is the best I can do — for now,” he added as an afterthought when their expressions remained set. “You are correct in saying that the future may yet bring things we do not now anticipate. Until then, let me allow your daughters to remain at home with their families.”