Chapter Five
‘Henry, is there anything I should know about our bailiff Mr Warren?’ Hypatia asked, as nonchalantly as possible, as the footman poured her more tea.
Despite her having told him she could do it very well herself, and all they had witnessed her doing these past days, it seemed both he and Mr Langton refused to forget she was a countess, the lady of the house, and therefore insisted some ceremony was required. On occasion, at least.
It wasn’t that she minded terribly. In fact, it was rather nice in its heartfelt nature, and particularly considering all the three of them had achieved together since her arrival, she found their solicitude supremely touching.
Henry paused, then realising he couldn’t remain thus lest her cup literally overflow with the best of what scraps of tea their pantry held, he straightened and returned to the sideboard to busy himself.
Hypatia waited, sipping her tea, munching on her toast and eggs, which lacked salt and butter as those too were scarce—in fact the larders and pantries were rather lacking, though not to the point of being unable to make do, which was a blessing—knowing that silence was in most instances the best extractor of secrets.
She waited some more then, her eyes turning to the newly cleaned windows—all intact in here thankfully—and the gorgeous, breezy sunshine-filled day outside.
‘Why do you ask, my lady?’ Henry finally said, still, from what she could tell, examining the wood-panelled walls and pretending there was more to be done despite her small, and un-extravagant breakfast needs.
‘Why match my question with a question, Henry? After all we’ve been through recently, I thought we’d quite gotten the measure of each other, and established some trust.’
Hypatia turned in her seat, raising her brow, and searing the back of Henry’s head with a meaningful glare he surely felt, for he sighed heavily, his shoulders bowing inwards.
‘He’s a clever man, knows his business well. Knows how to make himself indispensable, and appreciated by those required, and advantageous.’
‘Neither category do I apparently fall into, as Mr Warren has been so inevitably detained these past days, unable to even call and meet the new Countess of Gadmin. Not that I find myself truly regretful of such a slight.’
Indeed, she wasn’t.
It had given her if not ample, then sufficient opportunity to get an objective measure of the man, his skills, abilities, as well as a summation of the work he’d done for the estate.
Henry’s words, diplomatic as they were, did however confirm the suspicions she harboured having spent what waking hours she hadn’t on getting the house into somewhat of a liveable state and studying up on the rearing of swine, on sorting through the mess that were the account books and ledgers which had been left here—though presumably Warren had the most recent ones in his possession.
Though I suspect they will tell the very same tale—or perhaps an even more fantastical one, for he’ll have had time to prepare them for the new master.
Yes, she rather suspected such preparations were what had been occupying Mr Warren since news of her and Thorn’s imminent return here had come; what had prevented him from ingratiating himself with whom he likely suspected was the new, silly little countess.
He must’ve breathed much easier knowing Thorn wouldn’t arrive for a few more days…
And perhaps she should wait for her husband before she did what she was about to, however, Thorn had still not returned, and though she didn’t truly doubt he would at all, he had made her lady of the house, and she would not shirk her responsibilities.
‘Henry, would you have Ian prepare two horses please? I am going to visit our farm.’
‘Two horses, my lady?’
‘Yes, Henry, if you would accompany me, I should be rather grateful of the company.’
And a witness.
Even if she didn’t say the latter, she was quite certain Henry heard it, though he made no comment, and simply went off to do as he was bid, while she finished her breakfast, and prepared herself.
No amount of preparation, however, could’ve sufficed, or so Hypatia discovered as soon as they traversed the small wood behind Gadmin Hall’s gardens, and emerged onto the outer limits of the land constituting the pig farm—the previous earl’s final project; his last hope to save the earldom from complete ruin.
It was her nose which first alerted her to her lack of preparation, and though she couldn’t claim to be particularly squeamish—or at least not half as much as most people she knew—she found herself having to raise her arm to cover her nose before her breakfast found itself somewhere other than her stomach.
When she’d managed to recompose herself just enough, she shot a glance over her shoulder at Henry, who seemed intently occupied by his horse’s mane, shame written in every part of his countenance.
Oh dear.
And as she found the further they advanced, oh dear didn’t even begin to encapsulate the magnitude of the despicable sights and goings-on; she found not even the worst expletives in her repertoire—of which there were shockingly many—could even begin to encapsulate it.
The corps de ferme was, if at all possible, in worse shape than the house had been—roofs holeyer than not, pieces of white Caen stone missing, and those still in place, hardly so.
Doors with more patchwork than a quilt hung from rusty hinges, and boarded-up windows.
That wasn’t even to mention the lack of tending to the patches of land between the wood and U-shaped farm buildings, nor the muddy disgrace of the courtyard—though surely there must be stone somewhere beneath it—the state of the pieces of equipment and tools lying about, nor the complete lack of well, anyone.
Of anything, save for a putrid stench, and the sounds, by Jove, the sounds.
Wretched, sad, mournful, and gut-wrenching.
In a trice, Hypatia had dismounted, and was stomping towards the nearest of the buildings, slipping and sliding in mud—or so she preferred to believe.
With difficulty, but pure rage fuelling her, she tugged and pulled at the door until finally it gave, opening onto a horror she by now expected, yet still wasn’t prepared for.
The bastard.
Dozens of pigs had been packed into the long building that had once been something other than a giant, disgusting sty; trapped and shoved together without care nor reason, to rot in their own filth. It was beyond inhuman; it was something which didn’t have a name.
Hypatia wanted to cry, and retch, and strike the beast who had done this to the poor creatures, and—
‘My lady,’ Henry said gently from the doorway, looking as green as she felt, though she suspected he knew some of what had happened here, and they would have a talk later. For now, however, she followed his gaze, moving so she could see what he attempted to show her.
The beast himself.
‘Mr Warren, I presume,’ she said loudly, clearly, though every bit of her was clenched and ready to flay him alive as she stomped across the courtyard.
He hadn’t been expecting her, that much was certain from the widened eyes as he dismounted, though to his credit, the debonair, much too slickly handsome for his own good idiot quickly hid it, smiling brightly as he hailed her.
No bow? How very, very, disappointing, Mr Warren.
‘My Lady Gadmin, what a pleasant surprise! I must offer my apologies—’
‘There is no penitence of any kind which could ever suffice as regards your sins, Mr Warren,’ she said, shaking her head, as they met in the midst of the courtyard, coming toe-to-toe.
He was taller than her, bigger than her, and she could tell he still thought his cleverness and good looks might win her over—insincere regret flashing in crystal blue eyes—but she felt mightier than Boudica just then.
‘If you believe in a God, I suggest you begin your prayers this very instant, and spend the rest of your days on this earth repenting, but even then, Mr Warren, even then, I doubt redemption will ever be yours.’
‘My lady, I must ask you to calm yourself, I understand such business as can be seen on a farm can be rather shocking and distressing to persons of refinement, however—’
‘Do not even attempt to patronise me, Mr Warren,’ she warned him, somehow managing to not raise her voice, and yell, and scream—which would surely lose her this battle, and indeed this war.
Calm myself, indeed. ‘The only words I will hear from you are yes, my lady, I shall be gone, my things cleared out within the hour, and the ledgers from the past year in your hands by that time as well.’
‘You cannot, the earl, your husband—’
‘I am the Countess of Gadmin, and you are a despicable wretch who has been thieving, swindling, and torturing innocent animals for the sake of laziness, profit, and greed, and you will be gone. It is your only chance at escape, which you do not deserve, but which I grant you now for the sake of peace. Either way, be certain, proof of your misdeeds will be handed to the magistrate without delay, and some day, some day, Mr Warren, your years of fraud, and theft, and whatever else I am bound to uncover—for you are not even half as clever at covering your tracks as you believe yourself to be, I’ve seen illiterate butlers more adept at concocting accounts than you—every single thing you have ever done wrong in your damned life, will catch up with you.
And you had better hope, or pray, or beg the Devil for all I care that it will merely be gaol waiting for you.
Be grateful now that I am not my husband, though if ever I was tempted to strike a man until he could move no longer, it would be today, and if you test me, I am quite certain I could find the will, and the strength. ’
Breathing hard, she raised a brow, meeting the ice-cold, dagger-filled gaze of Mr Warren, who she was very sure, wanted to throttle her, or strike her, or perhaps feed her to the pigs, and so they were alike in that.
But perhaps he saw the wisdom, the boon which she offered—though it hurt her to offer it—for finally he relented, sucking through his teeth, and nodding viciously as he stepped back.
‘Yes, my lady,’ he bowed mockingly.
‘Henry shall accompany you to fetch the ledgers, and you shall advise him, if he doesn’t already know, the names of those you’ve employed to do your horrid bidding. They too, are dismissed.’
‘You’ll regret this,’ Warren threatened, whispering, still backing away, a smile that spoke of retribution on his face.
‘Come near me, mine, or my land, threaten me again, and they won’t even find a hair of yours to bury. I know as well as the next person how useful such animals as are plentiful here can be,’ Hypatia warned him, with a touch of chilling sweetness that wiped that smile right off his face.
Not once did she lose sight of him as he rode off, Henry on his heels, and though she knew she had to go begin taking care of those poor animals—and all those she hadn’t seen but could hear in the other buildings—she couldn’t move.
All she could do was stand there for a long while, getting her breathing and heart back under control, getting her emotions back where they belonged, and returning to her more useful self.
Badly done, Hypatia. Badly done. You should’ve gone to the magistrate first, or waited for Thorn, not let your emotions cloud your judgement…
What is done is done. So be still, and clean up this mess.
Finally, she turned around, ready and stable enough to do what she must, only to be confronted with a sight she hadn’t expected: that of her husband, standing right there, by her horse, looking at her with something so utterly confounding and for which she had no name; something that held her completely frozen in place, her heart so mightily struck as it was.
And feeling somehow utterly relieved that I am no longer alone.
‘You’re back.’