Chapter 9 #2
The three were quiet, waiting for the footman, their nerves stretched tight. Cecilia left the window to take her seat. The only sound was the clock ticking on the mantel. Ten minutes later they heard footsteps and there was a quiet knock on the door.
“Enter,” Gideon called out.
The butler entered with a crushed and dirty note on a highly polished silver salver. “For you, my lord,” the man said with all the starched formality of his position, though Cecilia detected a tick at the corner of his mouth that countered the formality.
James looked at the wrinkled, dirty note on the silver tray and began to laugh. Cecilia joined in. Then Gideon. To the butler’s consternation, they were soon laughing so hard they held their sides.
“Put…the…tray…down, please,” Gideon managed between guffaws.
The butler set down the tray, and with his nose held high, left the estate room. His mien only caused them to laugh more.
“Oh dear,” Cecilia said finally as she wiped her eyes. “That poor man.”
“Poor man nothing,” Gideon said. “He knew what he was doing, bringing that ratty note to me on a silver tray as if it were a note from the regent.”
He picked up the note. This one was sealed with brown wax. He took a paper knife from a cut-glass jar on the table and slid it under the seal. He unfolded the note and stared at it for a moment.
“I don’t know of any quote to align with this message,” Gideon said as he stared at the note in his hand, his brow furrowed.
“What does it say?”
“You dig where you should not. Withdraw,” Gideon read.
“Withdraw? From what?” James asked. “Your—what shall we call this person—a stalker?”
Gideon nodded.
“Your stalker has sent mixed messages,” James said.
“I don’t know about that, James,” Cecilia said. “They all deal with wanting Gideon off the land. Though what him being off the land might do for someone, I don’t know, with the property entailed save for the lower orchard land, isn’t that correct, Gideon?”
To Cecilia’s surprise, Gideon ducked his head down, his face screwing up like a city roadmap.
Cecilia could tell by his expression that there was something he hadn’t told them.
“Gideon?” Cecilia repeated his name, drawing it out.
She and James exchanged looks.
“Gideon, what’s happened?” James asked.
Gideon looked from one to the other, his lips compressed in a tight line.
“They broke it,” he finally said.
“Broke what?” James asked.
“The entail?” Cecilia guessed. That was the only thing she could think of that could warrant Gideon’s sudden change of expression.
Gideon inhaled deeply and nodded.
Cecilia fell back into her chair. “What?”
“Good God, man, why?! How?!” James exclaimed. He leaned forward, his face expressing incredulity.
Gideon huffed, a sick, dry laugh. “Money. What other reasons are there? They had no love for the land, the land was simply a money source. When the money source threatened to dry up, they thought to sell the land and split the funds now, so they could go away and live whatever lives they wanted.”
“Did you know they did this before they died?” Cecilia asked.
“No! If I’d known what they were intending I would have fought against it. They didn’t come to me for the paperwork.”
“Isn’t there a fine to pay in order to break an entail?” James asked.
“Yes, and evidently they happily paid it.”
“When did you find out this had happened?”
“After Jasper died, I learned I’d inherited the property fee simple, not under entail. I may not have inherited it at all if Jasper had made a new will right after father died. He could have willed the land to anyone.”
“Who knew they dissolved the entail?” Cecilia asked.
Gideon shrugged. “I don’t know, and I haven’t been forthcoming with that information to many people. From the papers and correspondence, I’ve seen, I believe Mr. Hargrave knew. It was his solicitor who drew up the papers, but he is deceased now.”
“What about his wife? Mrs. Hargrave?”
“It’s possible she knows, I don’t know how close she and her husband were. She knew of his interest in Roman artifacts in the area. I don’t know otherwise. I have told Mrs. Norcroft. I needed someone to talk it through with when I learned the news.”
“Then probably her sister knows as well,” Cecilia said.
She considered what this news meant overall.
James stood up and began pacing. Cecilia looked up at him. He was as disturbed by this revelation as she was.
“Is Chelsea protected?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the small room.
“Yes,” Gideon answered. “I took care of her interests as soon as I learned all the ramifications of what they’d done. If something were to happen to me your parents would be her guardians and you would be the estate executor.”
“And when were you going to tell me all this?” James asked, his face a thundercloud, but whether that was from Gideon’s not telling him, or for the circumstance of the broken entail, Cecilia couldn’t tell.
Gideon had the grace to shrug.
“And what about the next heir to what would be an empty title?” James pressed.
“I don’t know!” Gideon said. He slid off his chair and went to stand by the window looking out over the cow pasture to the orchard beyond.
“I know they found me wanting as a Tallevast. The couple of times I came home from school during school holidays I was ignored. Scarcely a hello. I spent most of my time at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Norcroft. They have a son a little older than I. I spent my time with him.”
Cecilia hadn’t realized Mrs. Norcroft had any children. “Where is he now?”
He turned toward her. “India, making his fortune, from what he states in his yearly letter,” he said with a slight laugh. Then sobered again. “I love this place,” he said, turning back to the window. “I don’t understand how my father and Jasper didn’t.”
James rose from his chair. “You can correct their carelessness with the land. You have done well to bring the land back to prosperity, to provide for you and the people dependent on your land. Don’t forget that.
We need to protect that, too, and find out who is attacking you and this land,” he said earnestly.
He laid a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “Come, come back to the table. We need to discuss what we know and what we will be doing next.”
Gideon looked up at him.
“For Chelsea,” James reminded him, “as well as your tenants and staff.”
“It’s nearly tea-time. Under the circumstances, with more to discuss, why don’t we request it served here,” Cecilia said. “You can see the drawing room after dinner this evening.”
Gideon nodded and went to ring the servants’ bell.
Cecilia hadn’t seen Gideon look as despondent as he did at that moment in all the time she’d been here.
With the malicious destruction and the notes, he’d taken it all in with a steadiness that reminded her of her husband’s, so she hadn’t considered it might have been a mask.
He was a strong man, but his will showed signs of cracking.
It was up to her and James to help him find his way again.
She rose and went to the cabinet that she knew held libations. She pulled out the brandy decanter and held it up. Gideon looked at it for a moment, then nodded. She poured the brandy into a small glass and took it to him. She watched him toss the brandy back in a swallow, then smile wryly at her.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She refilled his glass. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Now sit down and tell us about what you found at the cider mill. I haven’t had a chance to visit that location yet, except for being outside in the rain,” she said.
“Yes.” He resumed his seat and got his stool in place again. His face cleared of the anguish he’d felt earlier; he clasped his hands together and leaned slightly forward. He thought for a moment. A long breath was exhaled before he began.
“The cider mill has three areas, with large double doors at either end.
The front is where tools for gathering apples and the apples are stored before they go through the mill.
The ladders, baskets, and crates are here, along with the long handled, wired fruit pickers.
At this time of year, naturally there are no apples there.
“The second area, on one side, is where the stone grinding wheel crushes the apples in a trough. Crushed apples go into the heart of the cider mill, the screw press, which extracts all the juice out of the pulp. From here the juice goes to the third area at the back of the building for selling, fermenting, distilling, and aging. The fire looked to have been set in this third area where our apple brandy ages.”
“You were making calvados?” James asked.
“Yes. It was started by my father. Apple cider needs to be distilled and to age three years to be called calvados—though France reserves that term. It was coming up on three years. I was looking forward to tasting it.”
“And I assume,” James said, “those were the most flammable casks in your mill.”
“Was it well known you were making apple brandy?” Cecilia asked.
Gideon shrugged. “I don’t know about well-known,” he said, “but it wasn’t a secret.”
“Were the casks marked in any way to distinguish them from the other casks in the area?”
“They had to be labeled with the date they were put up for aging. Anything older than one year could be considered aging for apple brandy,” Gideon said.
“How extensive was the damage?” Cecilia asked.
“The back section is nearly burned out. Especially on the right. In the middle, all the roof beams are blackened, I don’t know yet if they will all need to be replaced or not.
The fire did burn through the roof in one area on the right side.
The apple press will need to be replaced.
The metal pieces warped. The grinding stone area did not have fire, nor did the front section so the ladders, baskets, et cetera, did not get burned. ”
“So, if it hadn’t been for the rain, the building could have been a total loss,” Cecilia said.
“I believe that is a proper assumption,” Gideon said grimly.