Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
True to his soldier’s habit, Sebastian woke with the first light of day.
He rose feeling stiff from the long coach ride, but otherwise better than he had felt in weeks.
He knew Bennet would be firmly of the opinion that he should rest, but if he had to endure being cooped up in his bedchamber for any longer, he would start looking for someone to kill, beginning with Bennet.
He dressed himself, not bothering with a neckcloth, pulled on his old boots, and, feeling like a fifteen-year-old playing truant from school, tiptoed out of his room and down the back stairs.
He passed the kitchens, which were a hive of activity, unnoticed and escaped into the cool, clear air of what promised to be a beautiful summer day.
Swinging the ebony cane, he took a deep, grateful breath and set out down the long, winding driveway, scattering sheep who had strayed on to the path.
As he passed the gatehouse that stood to one side of the magnificent gates, surmounted with the now familiar Somerton crest, he paused to greet the gatekeeper, introduced himself to the astonished man and his wife, and asked the directions to the village.
A few hundred yards past the gate, he entered the village of Brantstone. The residents had begun to stir and he stopped at the inn, interrupting the publican who was .rolling empty wine barrels out of the front door. The man gave his name as Wilkins.
‘My lord, ’tis early, but will you step into the parlour for some breakfast?’
Sebastian knew he probably should have refused, but the smell of frying bacon wafted out into the street.
Wilkins preceded him into the cool interior with a bellow of ‘Mrs. Wilkins! Put on some extra bacon. We’ve a guest.’
A red-faced woman poked her head out of the kitchen.
‘Good mornin’, sir,’ she said. ‘’Tis early for a traveller.’
Sebastian opened his mouth to introduce himself, but Wilkins was ahead of him.
‘This ain’t no traveller, Martha. This ’eres the new lord.’
The woman dropped into a hasty curtsey. ‘Oh sir, I should have known. One look at you and I could sees you’re a Somerton. You take a seat in the parlour and I’ll bring you a breakfast to remember.’
Sebastian ducked his head to enter the parlour, his heels ringing on the spotless flagstones. Wilkins pulled out a chair at the table and Mrs. Wilkins appeared almost immediately with a pot of small ale in one hand and a heaped plate in the other.
‘You won’t get better up at the Hall,’ she said. ‘We heard how as you was wounded at Waterloo, and may I say you still look a mite peaky. A good breakfast’ll set you straight for the day.’
Sebastian tucked in with relish. He indicated for Wilkins to sit with him while he ate and the publican complied.
‘Tell me about the village,’ Sebastian asked.
‘Depends what you want to know, sir,’ Wilkins responded.
‘Mr. Bragge has given me the formal facts and figures but I want to know about the people.’
He wanted to know about their lives, their children, their concerns, and who better to inform him than the landlord of the pub?
Wilkins seemed happy to comply and chattered on while Sebastian ate his meal. As Sebastian mopped his plate with a hunk of still-warm bread he asked about his cousin’s accident. The landlord leaned back in his chair.
‘Ah, ’twas a sad business with his late lordship. I was in the search party that found him.’
‘Tell me where the accident happened.’
‘His lordship liked to take a shortcut across the fields. He’d done it a hundred times afore.’
‘I heard the girth broke.’
Wilkins nodded. ‘Saw the saddle myself. It had come off, of course, when he fell. Brand new it was.’
Sebastian leaned forward. ‘And Lord Somerton? What were his injuries?’
Wilkins pulled a face. ‘His neck was broken, you could see that as soon as look at him. Not a pretty sight, but you’re a soldier, my lord. I don’t need to tell you ...’
‘Quite,’ agreed Sebastian. ‘Were there any other injuries?’
‘Broken leg and… no... I think that was it.’
‘What are you gossiping about now?’ Martha Wilkins swooped down on the table. ‘I tell you, m’lord, he’s worse than an old woman.’
‘His lordship was asking about the late lord’s death.’
Mrs. Wilkins shook her head. ‘That was a terrible shock. God’s punishment for his wicked ways, I say.’
‘Now then, Mrs. Wilkins ...’ the landlord protested, but Sebastian ignored him.
‘What do you mean?’
Mrs. Wilkins bridled, smoothing an imaginary crease from her spotless apron.
‘I’m not one to gossip but they do say he was over visiting that Lady Kendall.
A frequent visitor, from what I hear, and he’s not the only one.
Like bees to honey ...’ She shook her head in approbation.
‘Three husbands she’s had and not content that she’s got to have someone else’s husband. ’
‘That’s enough now, Mrs. Wilkins.’ The landlord pushed his chair back and stood up, signalling the end of the conversation.
Sebastian, too, rose to his feet, narrowly avoiding bumping his head on one of the low beams.
‘Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins. That was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. You may see me on an early morning stroll more often.’
Mrs. Wilkins picked up the clean platter and smiled with satisfaction.
‘My lord, you are more’n welcome and I won’t think of taking payment for it,’ she added huffily as he set some coins down on the table.
‘Well, save it for someone who needs it,’ Sebastian said. ‘Thank you both for your hospitality. Ouch!’ he exclaimed as he failed to miss the door lintel. ‘I fear your inn was built for shorter people.’
‘You are uncommon tall for these parts, m’lord,’ Wilkins observed. ‘Just like your father. He was a good six fingers taller than his brother.’
A familiar sense of regret at the mention of a father he had never known tugged at Sebastian.
As he strolled past the pond, he wondered if there had been any likenesses of James Kingsley preserved up at the hall, among the gallery of ancestors that seemed to line every wall.
He made a mental note to ask Lady Somerton.
A pretty church built of the local grey stone with a single, squat Norman tower stood on the far side of the village green. Despite the early hour, the door to the church stood partly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside, allowing his eyes a moment or two to become accustomed to the gloom.
A woman knelt on the steps of the sanctuary, scrubbing the well-worn stone. She started at the sound of his boots and rose to her feet, turning to see whom the intruder could be.
‘My apologies, madam, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Sebastian said.
The light from the window fell on her face and he took a step back.
For a moment, just a fleeting moment, he thought he had come face to face with the ghost of his mother.
The instant passed, and he saw just a small, middle-aged woman whose grey hair had escaped her sensible cap with the exertion of her work.
The woman stared at him and then, as if recovering herself, dropped into a curtsey.
‘You’re not disturbing me, my lord.’ She set the cloths down and approached him, her eyes not leaving his face. ‘You are the new Lord Somerton, aren’t you?’ Seeing him in the light, her hands flew to her face, and she gasped. ‘You’re so like your father.’
She reached out as if she intended to touch his face and then dropped as she remembered her place. Sebastian held his breath. Another person who not only knew his father, but probably his mother as well.
She smiled and, for a moment, he caught again that flash of something very familiar in her face as she read his thoughts.
‘I knew them both, my lord. Your mother and I shared a bed from the time we were small girls. I’m your aunt, Margaret, but the family calls me Peggy,’ the woman replied to his unspoken question.
So he had not been mistaken about the family resemblance. Something lost within him had told him that this woman was related to him. Isabel had told him that his mother had left behind a large family.
How did one greet long-lost aunts? Kiss them, hug them, shake their hands? He settled for a foolish grin.
‘I’ve been expecting you!’ his aunt chided. ‘Ever since we heard they’d found you, we’ve been waiting for this day. After all ’twas mother and I who told Mr. Bragge about you and set them off on the search.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘Come and meet your gran. Marjory was always her favourite.’
‘It’s too early... I’m not dressed.’
Sebastian groped for excuses. Accidental encounters with long-lost aunts was one thing, grandmothers quite another.
Peggy took his hand. ‘She’d not care if you came in rags,’ she said. ‘She’s been waiting more than thirty years for this day.’
Sebastian followed his aunt out of the church to the gate of a small cottage only yards away from the church. She paused and turned to look at him.
‘My father—your grandfather, that is—died ten years ago, and the old lord granted us a grace and favour cottage. It’s not much, I know, but it does us well enough.’
The wicket gate opened with a protesting squeak and he followed her up the gravel path to the front door. Peggy opened the door and turned back to him.
‘You wait here,’ she said, and then, as if remembering who she addressed, she added with an embarrassed smile, ‘if you don’t mind, my lord. I need a moment or two to make sure Ma is ready.’
While Sebastian waited, he could hear Peggy’s low voice in the parlour.
He went over in his mind what he should say to this long-lost grandparent, and it seemed an age before his aunt appeared, standing back to admit him to the little room.
Once again, Sebastian ducked his head to avoid the low beams and wondered if the entire village had been constructed by midgets.