Chapter Three #2
“That won’t do. There’s no kitchen in the place. They have children. She must have a place to cook and do the washing.” Fiona’s lips were compressed into a thin line. “What about the dower house? No one’s lived there since your mother passed.”
Robert’s eyes widened. “Rather a grand place for laundry and cooking.”
Fiona buried a chuckle in his shoulder, then turned pleading eyes to her husband. “Yes, but it is available and large enough to accommodate them. Besides, don’t they deserve a little luxury after what they’ve been through?”
Robert agreed, and the family was told. Surprised by this fortunate turn of events, I doubt they took in anything Fiona said about sending over some clothing for the children. “I don’t want you going back into the cottage until the tree is removed and we know it is safe.”
“Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Bayless said. “Thank you, ma’am.”
With that, we headed back to the manor house. On our way, we came across Mr. Spencer, the estate manager, as he set out to check on the tenants. Robert gave him the details and instructions. By the time we arrived back at the house, it was nearly nine and none of us had broken our fast yet.
We met a bleary-eyed Hetty in the dining room, sipping coffee in company with a heavily built man sporting orange-tinged whiskers. He came to his feet when we entered the room.
“This is Sergeant Hewitt,” Robert said, introducing George and me. His lips formed a grimace. “Seeing you in my dining room leads me to believe things are not all well and fine in the village.”
“The village has suffered some damage, mostly flooding, but we are all breathing a sigh of relief that it wasn’t worse.”
Robert took a seat at the table, while Fiona instructed the footman to let the cook know we were ready for breakfast. “Don’t tell me you came here just to give me good news,” Robert said.
“I’m afraid the bad news is to the east of us—mostly along the coast. Houses and other buildings need to be shored up quickly, or another storm might send them into the sea.
The coastline has taken a beating from the storm, and as you know, erosion was a problem to begin with.
Telephone lines are down, and pole climbers won’t get out there until after Christmas.
The worst part is the roads leading out to the coast are flooded or blocked by downed trees, making it hard to get help through.
I’m taking two of my constables and looking for more men to help with clearing the roads from here to the coast.”
“That’s admirable, Sergeant,” Fiona said. “But won’t that leave the village with no police protection?”
“I’ll be leaving a constable in charge,” he told her, then turned back to Robert. “Is there any chance some of your tenants would be willing to join us?”
Robert sucked air between his teeth. “I’m afraid we suffered some damage on the estate.
” He went on to explain what had happened to the Baylesses’ cottage.
“I’ve just given them paid employment to repair their homes.
Though I’m sure they’d want to help, I don’t think they’d be willing to give that up. ”
“I wouldn’t mind lending a hand, if you think I can be of any use,” George said.
“We’ll gratefully accept the help of any able-bodied man,” Sergeant Hewitt said. “If we get enough volunteers, we can be done in two or three days,” he added with a hopeful lift of his eyebrow.
Given that Christmas was four days away, that was cutting things rather close.
“Then count me in, as well,” Robert said. When Fiona objected, he held up a hand. “We have been very lucky the storm caused so little damage on the estate. This is the least we can do.”
“You are right,” Fiona agreed. “But try to be back home by Christmas Eve, won’t you?”
George, Robert, and the sergeant left right after breakfast. They were to take the train to North Walsham, assuming the tracks were clear, then travel on foot to the villages along the coast. They would use the train for shelter at night while they cleared the roads from east to west. I had to agree with Robert; it was only right that those who had sustained little damage from the storm helped those who had suffered more.
Still, it was with a pang that I sent George off.
I pushed that bit of selfishness aside and decided to do something productive. “Perhaps we should take a walk to the village and see if there is any assistance we can render,” I suggested.
The three of us, Hetty, Fiona, and I, were in the drawing room.
Hetty came to her feet at my statement. “I’m afraid I am far too tired to be of help to anyone.
The children apparently had no difficulty sleeping last night and were in need of supervision this morning.
” She struggled to suppress a yawn. “I volunteered. Christine and Lissette slept in, but now I think it’s time for me to wake them and find my bed. ”
“Of course, Aunt Hetty. Thank you for taking care of them.” I turned to Fiona.
“In fact, why not let the older girls sleep and take the children with us? They must be in want of some fresh air and sunlight.” I twisted to peer out the window.
“Yes, I think the mist has lifted and a few rays of sun are breaking through the clouds. I daresay they are eager to be outside.”
“They are working on their book,” Hetty said, “but if you can convince them to leave it, then yes, it would be good for them to get some fresh air.”
“I’ve never known my children to say no to an outing,” Fiona said with a bright smile.
We walked with Hetty up to her room and continued to the third floor, to the nursery, where we found the children in the schoolroom, working at an old table, which must have been used by generations of Nash children.
Ours barely noticed our approach. Grace was studiously writing on her side of the table, while Gregory helped Rose with a drawing.
“Do you plan to have illustrations in your story?” I took a peek over Rose’s shoulder, then peered a little closer. “Good heavens, what is wrong with that man?”
“He’s dead,” Gregory said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“That’s Mr. Scrooge,” Rose said. Then she added in a hushed voice, “He was murdered.”
Fiona and I shared a curious glance. “Is this the same Mr. Scrooge from A Christmas Carol?” I asked.
“No, but he’s enough like him that we decided to keep the name,” Gregory said. The two girls bobbed their heads in agreement.
“I’m a little confused,” Fiona said. “If Mr. Scrooge is dead, how is he to be redeemed? How is he to become a better person?”
“This is a different story, Mama.” Grace turned over the top page of her writing, hiding it from our view. “This is ‘A Christmas Murder.’ Scrooge is murdered, and the detectives, Frank and Georgianna, are going to find out who did it.”
I clearly needed to have a talk with Rose, but first things first. “We are going to the village to see how they weathered the storm and if anyone is in need of help. Now that the weather is clear, we thought it would be good for the three of you to get out of doors.”
“We really want to finish this by Christmas,” Gregory said with a frown.
“You shall have plenty of time,” Fiona said. “But it’s our duty to offer help if it is needed. We can gather some greenery to decorate the house on the way home.”
Reluctantly, they all obliged us, and while they dressed in their outerwear, we engaged the two remaining footmen to carry baskets of prepared foodstuffs and blankets for any families who were without gas.
By eleven o’clock, we were on our way. Though some low clouds had rolled in, the temperature was still balmy for Norfolk at this time of year.
The village was in the opposite direction of the tenant farms. It was nearly a two-mile walk if we stayed to the lanes, but Fiona thought we could halve that distance by cutting through the fields.
It would be muddy, but we all wore gum boots, and soon the children were scampering around us, running ahead and circling back.
We had passed through a stand of trees on the edge of the estate and had just reached a clearing when I saw something on the field ahead. Thinking it an animal, I called the children back. Though they all stopped and glanced at me, none of them returned.
Naturally.
“Stay clear of that creature up there,” I said, still walking toward them. “It might be hurt and strike out at you.”
“If it’s hurt, shouldn’t we help it?” Gregory was following my orders to the letter by not moving his feet, but he leaned so far forward, he was likely to tumble right on top of the thing.
Fiona was at my side when we caught up with the children.
“Of course we should help,” she said, “but we must approach with caution.” She gestured for them to stay put while she and I took a few wary steps forward into the field.
By then, we were less than six feet from the object on the ground, and it had become clear this was no animal.
“Dear heavens, I think it’s a person.” Fiona clutched my arm. We took one more synchronized step forward and froze.
It was a person. A man. Lying face-down in the muddy field.