Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Winston woke with the lingering sense of wonder that only dreams could summon.
A dream of firelight and a voice like balm, reciting words he had half-forgotten.
He had seen her, clear as the dawn, an angel with pale hair and green eyes, her lips shaping verses with a grace that stilled the gnawing ache inside him.
What a dream! If that is the product of the brandy bottle, then I will happily imbibe every night.
His head ached, and his mouth was dry, throat sore.
But these were physical discomforts only.
The memory of the golden-haired angel transcended those inconveniences.
He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding at the front, seeking a comfortable position where he lounged.
His hand shifted. The worn spine of a poetry book lay beneath his palm.
A blanket was draped over him, the faintest trace of lavender clinging to the wool.
And in his other hand, clenched tight as though he had guarded it all night, was the cameo.
His eyes flicked open. He tightened his grip on the cameo, eyes seeking but not seeing the empty box, disguised as a book. The metal was warm in his hand. Shame bit at him.
I could have done more. It was my duty. It does not matter that there was no love in our marriage. I had a duty!
Then his attention shifted to the book. He held it up to his face, frowning at the title. Something about it tickled his memory, but the feeling was fleeting, a frightened bird which leaped and bounced away across the fields of memory to be engulfed by mist.
A book of poetry. No wonder I dreamed of an angel reading poetry…
Was it all a dream? If not, who was the golden-haired angel? He thought back to the passionate clinch just a few days before, into which they had thrown themselves after their conversation had thrown up sparks.
We are flint and steel, striking sparks off each other. Setting light to ourselves.
Had Adeline been present in the library? Why? Was she following him? Spying on him? He frowned, closing his eyes and trying to reconstruct the events of the evening. But brandy had drawn a veil over it. He could not penetrate that veil.
“Papa!”
A bright voice rang through the library door before Louisa pushed it open. She hurried to him, her hair loose from the night and her cheeks pink with morning joy.
“There you are,” she declared, climbing into his lap as though she were still five years old instead of on the edge of girlhood. “I thought you might have forgotten me, and then who would bring you to breakfast?”
Her ritual, her gift. She had done it since she was small, padding into his rooms or his study each morning to claim his hand and tug him toward the day.
Winston’s chest ached with love so sharp it bordered on pain.
He slipped the cameo into his pocket before she could see it and brushed her hair back from her face.
“As if I could ever forget you, little one.”
Together they went to breakfast, Louisa holding his hand, chatting about the pony she hoped to ride and the story she wanted Adeline to read later.
The women were already at the table. Cordelia gave her son a look that weighed him, though she said nothing.
Adeline met his gaze, and Winston felt the flicker of unease return.
Was it her voice he had heard last night?
Or had his mind woven her into his drunken haze?
He studied her while he ate. She seemed calm and composed.
Too composed? Hiding something.
Winston felt out of sorts because of the after-effects of the brandy. He was unwilling to look at the world with the bright expectations of his daughter. Cynicism came far easier. Distrust was simple. Trust took effort.
“You had an enjoyable evening?” Cordelia asked, primly. “I thought that the Earl of Duskwood had left us.”
“He has. I was alone,” Winston said.
“Ah, drinking alone. A fine example to set for your daughter.”
“My daughter would not have known whether her grandmother not revealed it at this table,” Winston shot back.
His eyes strayed to Adeline, who was looking at her plate. He looked away as he caught the first movement of her head, her eyes seeking his. The cameo weighed heavily in his pocket. None knew of its existence except him.
“I know, Papa. I always know,” Louisa said.
Winston stopped in the act of raising a teacup to his lips.
“You know?”
“Does it happen often, child?” Cordelia said at the same time.
Louisa looked from one to the other as if not sure which one to answer first.
“Do not talk over me, Mother,” Winston said, raising his voice slightly and regretting it.
“I will talk over the drunken oaf who claims the title of Duke,” Cordelia said, archly, not reducing the volume of her voice and producing a deeper wince from Winston.
“I have an herbal solution to the problem of mal de tete,” Adeline said, suddenly. “I even have a supply of it made up. I will fetch it from my room.”
“Do not bother,” Winston said.
“It is no bother, Your Grace,” Adeline replied.
“I mean, I don’t…” Winston raised his voice again and could not continue speaking.
Adeline smiled, and he met her eyes. The smile seemed genuine. Empathic and compassionate.
“Very well. Thank you,” Winston sighed.
As Adeline rose, there was a sharp knock at the door, and it was opened to reveal the butler, Mr. Lavender.
He was a tall, thin man with a weak chin and dark hair desperately combed to conceal a bald patch.
His nose was raised, and his lips pursed as though he moved in a perpetual fog of unpleasant smells.
“What is it, Lavender?” Winston asked.
“A man has presented himself, Your Grace. He seeks a position as a valet. He was, he claims, previously employed at Harston Manor.”
There was a crash of crockery, and Adeline screamed, shooting to her feet and furiously wiping at her dress. Louisa jumped. Winston’s eyes darted to Adeline, who had managed to upend a cup of tea over herself in her haste to get to her feet.
“I am so sorry!” she blurted, as tea dribbled off the edge of the table to the floor. “That was clumsy of me.”
“You must change your dress and give that one to your chambermaid. It will need to be attended to immediately to avoid a stain,” Cordelia said.
“Does the name Harston Manor mean anything to you?” Winston said quietly as he carefully watched Adeline’s reaction.
He thought he had caught something in her face. A flash of emotion.
But what? Shock? Recognition? Guilt?
It had been swiftly masked, and she denied his question with an emphatic shake of her head.
“I know nothing of Harston Manor,” she said.
“Where is it that you come from?” Winston asked.
“This is no time for an inquisition, Winston,” Cordelia chided, “and I have told you the answer to that already. She hails from Clifford-Edge. She is the daughter of a Viscount. Go, my dear, and get out of those clothes.”
Suspicion coiled tighter in Winston.
Head full of brandy fumes or not. I did see a reaction to that name. But even I do not know who lives at Harston Manor. Or even where it is. Nowhere in this district.
He knew he could consult DeBretts, a copy of which was in the library. It would tell him everything he needed to know about the family living at Harston Manor. But then so could this man who had come seeking work.
“Very well,” Winston said. “I shall see him.”
Adeline hurried through the door, almost running, wiping her dress with a napkin.
Winston excused himself and went to the small receiving room where the man waited.
Robert Grebe was thin and sharp-eyed, with the hungry air of a fox at the henhouse.
He bowed, introduced himself, and launched into his history.
“I served at Harston many years,” he said, “but I could no longer endure my master’s…habits. A drunkard, Your Grace. The household crumbled under it. I kept things as best I could, but, well, a man of my ability deserves better.”
Winston sat while Grebe stood. Winston listened, unimpressed. He had no need for a servant who gossiped about his master. But then perhaps that was unrealistic. Didn't all servants gossip about their employers’ foibles? He had no need of another servant, but he was curious about Adeline.
“I know little of the household that you come from. I believe your master is an Earl?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Where is Harston?”
“Five miles beyond the village of Kensington, Your Grace.”
“Kensington? That is the other side of the river from here and ten miles or more distant. What made you come all this way? There must be other country estates closer.”
“I have tried them all, Your Grace. I’ve done a fair amount of walking in the last two days. My master’s reputation goes before me. I never got to see the inside of any of them. I thought somewhere further afield where they’d not heard of him, I’d get a fair hearing.”
Winston nodded thoughtfully.
“Who else is resident at Harston? Family, not servants.”
“Well, there’s just the Earl now, Your Grace.
There was Lady Harston until about two years ago.
They had no children.” Winston was surprised.
He stared at Grebe, trying to discern the truth.
He’d expected to be told that Lady Adeline had been a resident.
Perhaps, she was even the daughter of the Earl.
He had deduced all this simply based on her reaction.
“None? How long had you worked there?”
“Since I was a boy, Your Grace. Twenty-five years or more.”
“Why leave now?”
“As I said, Your Grace. His Lordship’s behavior was getting to be too much. Too wicked. Too much drink. I’m a good Christian and that isn’t right.”
“There is no daughter in the family? Perhaps living at another residence?”
Grebe frowned. “Daughter, Your Grace? No. His Lordship and Her Ladyship were not blessed. I put it down to his drinking.” Dash it all, this interview has not lessened the mystery one iota!
Winston stood. “I’ve no place for you here,” he said flatly. “And I’ve no use for gossip. Good day to you, Grebe.”
Winston hesitated, then dug into his waistcoat pocket, pulling out a sovereign. He flipped it to Grebe.
“Take this for your efforts.”
Grebe’s face had fallen but now lightened as he made the coin disappear into his pocket with the dexterity of a stage performer.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
As he went to the door, there was a sound from outside. Grebe opened the door to reveal Adeline, a few feet away with her back to the door, as though she had just passed it by. Her cheeks flushed when he stepped into the hall.
Grebe tugged his forelock to her and retraced his steps. Winston stepped into the hallway, looking at Adeline, not his visitor.
“Do you wish to know the subject of our conversation?” he asked, pointedly.
“No, of course not. I have no interest in your household staff.”
“Though you would like to be one and a governess who does not know the household is hampered from the start.”
“I would get to know the staff when I am appointed to the role.”
“Your dress will be ruined by the tea you spilled. This is not on the way to your bedroom.”
“I got lost. This is such a rambling place with passages in all directions. I could do with a map,” Adeline replied.
“I’d be happy to escort you,” Winston replied, “this way.”
He found himself wanting to ask if she had been listening, but dismissed the thought.
If she had it would be easy to deny and impossible for Winston to test. He stole glances at her as they walked.
Her brow was furrowed, lips tight and thin.
He found himself wanting to make her smile, to see her beautiful face unsullied by worry.
Or to discover the source of her worry and solve it.
“Are you going to employ this fellow?” Adeline asked as they ascended a staircase.
“No. I have no vacancies and dislike a man who is prepared to slander his former employer. I require discretion from my staff.”
“What if he spoke only the truth?” Adeline asked.
Winston had been prepared to see Adeline’s anxiety ease upon being told that Grebe was not to be employed. Instead, it seemed to deepen.
“It still should not be spoken aloud. A servant sees and hears much that should not be shared beyond the walls of their establishment.”
“The prospect of being without a home can make one desperate.”
They reached the floor of the guest rooms. Winston stopped.
“I suppose it might, at that. Do you counsel me to employ this man?”
“It is not my place. I merely speak as one who has experienced being left adrift on the waves of our Society. I had nothing when Her Grace the Dowager Duchess took me in. I must go and change before this tea dries.”
“Of course,” Winston inclined his head.
“Thank you for guiding me. I…I may not have so easily found my way back without your assistance.”
Winston had turned but now stopped. The simple solution was to use the bellpulls, which were present in all rooms, to summon a servant.
Or I could wait until she has changed and guide her back. Why would I waste my time like that? To try and gather more evidence against her?
Or to spend more time in her company. With her beauty. That was what made Winston’s heart skip and his mouth dry, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself.
“I will wait then,” he found himself saying even as he wondered at his own credulity.
But his decision was rewarded with the sovereign of her smile. Bright and golden.
“Thank you, Your Grace. That is most kind. It is probably not needed after the time I have lived here now, but the offer is appreciated.”
Winston followed her to the door of her room. He went into the room next door to sit while he waited. But he could not sit. A need to move took hold of him, an itch that he could not satisfy. He stood by the window for a moment, hearing Adeline moving about in her own room.
He went to the cold fireplace, running a finger along the stone mantle and finding no dust. A wardrobe door clicked open next door.
He heard the sound of fabric rustling. He prowled about the room, hands clasped behind his back.
He was not listening but heard every movement and visualized it besides.
He leaned against a door and only then realized that it connected the room he was in to the one Adeline was in.
He jumped up as if stung. Somehow it felt like an intrusion.
The door creaked, as though she had also been leaning against it.
There was a small scream and a crash, followed by a thump.
Winston tore the door open, then the one on the other side.