Chapter 5 #3
They were in rural Yorkshire, for pity’s sake, not Mayfair, and a midday meal on the terrace was hardly a clandestine tryst. More to the point, she was Alice Singleton. Who in the entire shire would suspect her of putting on any airs, much less airs above her supposed station?
Alice sat up very tall. “I will visit in the kitchen while you enjoy your meal, sir. I can return to the library in, say, an hour?”
He liked watching her write, he enjoyed her turn of phrase on the page, and he seemed to be developing a taste for her negotiations.
“Very well, Alice, consign me to a solitary meal. Leave me to the pitying glances of every domestic gawping out a window, when I could instead be seeking your counsel about that dratted Gooseberry. I vow he looked penitent when I went down to the stable this morning.”
Alice directed a considering glance at Cam’s abused hand. “What were you doing in the stable?”
“Conferring with the stable master. You are right that the horse is a menace, and had I not been wearing gloves, I might be missing some fingers.”
The scowl became thunderous. “Or worse.”
“Or worse, hence the need to teach the beast better behavior. Burnside says you do well with difficult creatures.”
“I’ve had some success with ailing or injured dogs and cats, but that’s mostly Grandpapa’s expertise combined with Mrs. Shorer’s herbal remedies.”
“About Mrs. Shorer…” Tiny, aging Mrs. Shorer, who had no designated understudy. “Why isn’t she in charge of tending to the minor ailments here at the Hall? Why bother you to see to my hand?”
“Your hand needed seeing to.”
That was an opening. “Alice, I am all at sea here. In his final months, Alexander had no interest in acquainting me with my prospective duties. Only a ghoulish younger brother would have asked him for assistance as he lay dying. If I seek Lady Josephine’s guidance on the smallest matter, she will invade like ivy climbing a southern wall.
She’s planning an invasion anyway, but taking my measure first. I cannot manage the Hall, much less manage it from London, without a firm grasp of who is on my staff and where their capabilities lie. ”
“From London?” Two words, but they had a satisfyingly plaintive ring.
“My business is in London. My life is in London. That cannot change just because a brother I’d seen little of in the past ten years finally went to his reward.”
“London is so far away.” Alice organized the newspapers on the reading table, then rose and dumped the quill shavings in the pen tray into the dustbin. “You cannot move your business here?”
Novel thought. “Not easily. Have lunch with me, and I’ll explain why.” He knew she was tempted. She wanted to see the horse put to rights, of that much he was sure. “Deny me the next hour of your time because of what the staff might think, and I will call you a hypocrite.”
Such a look she gave him. Brooding, disapproving, considering, and ever so slightly relenting, like the silver lining shining about a thundercloud.
“We will discuss your business over sandwiches and soup. It is my charitable duty to aid your transition into your new role, and the less said about returning to London, the better.”
Victory. Cam knew better than to gloat. “You may tell Lady Josephine that none of my correspondence from Town is personal. She’ll want to know that.”
Alice winced. “She will, and that is certainly none of my business—or hers.”
“Placate her with a few crumbs, and she’s less likely to snack on my peace or invade my citadel. Let’s eat, shall we?”
Having put on a show of reluctance, Alice nonetheless consumed a hearty meal and asked insightful questions about the business. When a tray of pears and cheeses was brought out, Cam wandered back around to the delicate topic of his senior staff.
“Why are you wielding the medicinals, Alice?” Why was she Aunt Josephine’s preferred familiar? Why was she the veterinarian recommended by the stable master?
Why wasn’t she married?
“Mrs. Shorer’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Grandpapa pointed out that she doesn’t write her recipes down. I started asking her about her herbal so her wisdom might be recorded.”
Cam’s hand was painful, but it wasn’t throbbing. Much. “Isn’t that something for the under-housekeeper to take on?”
“The under-housekeeper found other employment in a household to the south. She was not very well lettered in any case, and it’s a short step from writing down Mrs. Shorer’s remedies to following her directions for their use. The pears this year are marvelous.”
The sight of Alice savoring a pear was marvelous. That Cam would entertain such a thought must be the invidious influence of fresh Yorkshire air, a painfully bright blue sky, and a breeze that bore the scents of green grass and scythed wheat.
“You stepped into Mrs. Shorer’s shoes by default?”
“Grandpapa calls it stealing a march on the enemy. Some of Mrs. Shorer’s remedies are nearly as unpleasant as the ailments they purport to treat, as Grandpapa has learned firsthand.”
“Others are quite effective, as I can attest. What else occupies your time?”
Alice finished munching her pear. “A bit of this and that. Shall we get back to work?”
“In a moment. Tell me of Beaglemore. He’s moving slowly, and St. Didier says colder weather will result in worse symptoms of rheumatism.”
Alice patted her lips with a table napkin. “The problem is as much stubbornness as sore joints. If Mr. Beaglemore would keep a proper fire in his bedroom and allow himself some willow bark tea or ginger tea or even a drop of the poppy, he would be plenty comfortable.”
Said with some asperity, meaning Alice’s efforts to offer relief had been rebuffed.
“He doesn’t want the footmen thinking he’s wasting coal, in other words, and he doesn’t want the maids delivering him trays of ginger tea at the end of the day. They will all say he’s getting on.”
“He most assuredly is getting on,” Alice observed, “but he needn’t be getting on in such pain. One thing I will say for your brother, he willingly availed himself of relief from pain or fatigue. He accepted what care we could offer.”
This was news. “You did duty in Alexander’s sickroom?” Did every responsibility at the Hall fall upon Alice Singleton’s sturdy shoulders?
“I sat with him from time to time. He liked me to read to him. Novels, plays, anything light and humorous. He became self-conscious of his appearance and spent more time in his apartment toward the end. If you’ve felt guilty for not coming to see him, forgive yourself. He did not want to be seen.”
“He wrote to me to that effect.” And yet, Alice’s words brought some comfort. “I thought I ought to come see him anyway, but a man should be taken at his word.”
“In this case, yes.” She helped herself to another slice of pear. “He also asked that Lady Josephine be kept from the Hall to the greatest extent possible. He found her hovering ghoulish, to use your word. Bernard told Lady Josephine to let the man die in peace, and she did, for the most part.”
“While she counted his silver and the porcelain?”
Alice nodded. “Alexander didn’t care about that, as long as she didn’t inflict… As long as she didn’t interfere with his privacy.”
Alexander? “Alice, were you in love with my brother?” Was that why Alice hadn’t married? She pined for the charming, wealthy, witty, tragically declining baron?
She shook her head. “I liked him. I suppose we were friends of a sort. We were not in love, and you will never ask such an impertinent question again. I will meet you in the library.”
She rose, taking a slice of pear with her and leaving Cam to enjoy the lovely day in solitude.
Or as close to solitude as could be had when half the curtains on the first floor were still twitching, and a procession of three different footmen had found it imperative to bring a single dish to the table or take one away.
Worse than a lot of junior clerks.
Cam put the remaining pear and cheese slices on a plate and followed Alice into the house. She hadn’t been in love with Alexander, but Cam would bet his next shipment of Peruvian bark she was, or had been, in love with somebody.
And Peruvian bark was worth a great deal.