Chapter 14 #2
“I? Nothing threatening, Lady Branstoke.” He rose to his feet and stepped back, his face once again a mask of bonhomie. “On the contrary, I would have you know you and your husband are involving yourselves in matters that do not concern you.”
She looked up at him, confused.
“And what matters would that be?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Gideon’s cousin invited us to help solve some disquieting events happening on his estate, so I can turn your question around, why should what happens on Monteith property concern you, Mr. Entwhistle?”
“What is of concern to my employer is a concern of mine.” His voice had returned to his previous friendly tone.
“What have you done to yourself, now, Cecilia?” they heard James call out good-naturedly as he and Gideon approached them riding up the Roman road.
“A pebble in my boot which has managed to rip a hole in my stocking. I was attempting to pry it out when Mr. Entwhistle approached offering his assistance.”
James swung down off his horse to come up to Cecilia, forcing Mr. Entwhistle to take another step back. “And where is Sarah?” he asked, arms akimbo. “I requested you take Sarah with you on your ambles about the estate.”
“She went on ahead to see how far it is to the tenant farm that Mr. Thornbridge told me of.”
“Ah, I see. Excuse me, Mr. Entwhistle,” James said, forcing Mr. Entwhistle to move back. James bent before Cecilia and picked her up.
“James!” protested Cecilia with a laugh.
He sat her on his horse then went back to where she’d been sitting to pick up her discarded boot. He ignored Mr. Entwhistle.
From within the safety of James’ arms, Cecilia saw Mr. Entwhistle smirk and then bow.
“Good man!” his cousin said. “And good day to you, Mr. Entwhistle.” Gideon urged his horse onward.
James gathered the reins of his horse and led the animal with Cecilia on its back after the earl. “You can remove the stone and don your boot again from the Houstons’ farmhouse,” he said.
Just ahead, Cecilia saw her maid coming up the hill from the other side.
She ran toward Cecilia, then skipped back a pace when she realized she’d gotten too close to the horse.
“Oh, I am so sorry, my lady! I became captivated by a pair of birds with their young in a nest. I stood there longer than I should.”
Cecilia laughed. “As you can see all is well. Perhaps on our way back to Pomum Court you can point them out to me.”
“What was going on with Mr. Entwhistle?” James asked Cecilia softly so no one else could hear.
“The man believes he is the dream personified of every woman who walks the earth. I made the mistake of not responding to his flirtatious ways in the manner he expected. Very bad of me. I should have simpered and cooed.”
“Not your style, my love. That would never have been believable.”
“I am offended! You have seen me take on other manners before!”
“Yes, but not in response to a man of Mr. Entwhistle’s size.”
“True. But James, something else. I believe he is the man who walked away from the fire.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It was his bow. It was exaggerated in the same manner as the man on the ridge did. And his hat looked the same.”
“We’ll talk more later,” James said as they were approaching the Houstons’ farm.
“My lord!” Alfred Houston said, his voice going from surprised high to low. He cleared his throat and turned to throw the pitchfork he held into a bundle of straw at the entrance to his small barn and wiped his hands on his pants as he strode out to meet Gideon.
“Is something amiss, my lord? Can I help you?”
“Yes, and no, Alfred. We had come to speak with your wife if we might, but my cousin’s wife’s boot took a stone that has gone into her stocking. I’d hope for a chair to sit her in so she and her maid might set her to rights.”
“Speak to my wife?” Alfred repeated. He tensed, and his brows descended into a deep furrow between his dark eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, about wot?”
He took off his hat in respect; however, Cecilia thought he retained the wary posture of an uncertain animal.
“I spoke to Mrs. Wayne last night and—” Cecilia began.
“No!” Alfred Houston returned sharply before she could finish.
“What?” Gideon exclaimed, looking intently at Alfred. He slid off his horse.
Alfred looked from Cecilia to the earl and back to Cecilia. His hands clenched his hat. “It were a long time ago, my lady,” he said, breathing deeply to calm himself. “We weren’t married then, but I know it gave her nightmares.”
“Your wife did something kind. I merely want to ask about that day.”
“No one listened to her then.”
The heavy door of the farmhouse opened. “Alfie?” his wife called to him.
“Get back in the house, Julie,” Alfred said gruffly.
“We are listening now,” Cecilia said.
Julie did not close the door.
“Alfred,” Gideon said, walking up next to him. “Everyone knows my brother and I did not get along. But he was my brother. I deserve—he deserves for the truth to be known.”
Alfred looked down at him. “I don’t know the ways of lords or even gentry folk. That was a lord’s death. Men above us decided how it was done and wots to be done. Not for the likes of us to question.”
Cecilia heard his weakening resolve.
“I don’t mind,” Julie said. “Truly. And, Lord Monteith deserves the right to make his own decision. It was his brother’s death.”
“Julie, you told me you had terrible nightmares for weeks afterward.”
“I did. Then. But I have you to hold me in the night now.”
Cecilia felt her eyes grow glassy at Julie’s simple statement. Her husband looked like he could melt into a puddle on the ground.
Alfred Houston straightened and tried to look fierce, his lips in a stiff straight line. “If you are sure, I will allow it.”
Cecilia heard Julie laugh lightly.
“But I’m staying with you the entire time you speak to them.”
“Please come in,” Julie said, “Is there something amiss with the lady? Do you need anything?”
Cecilia let James pull her from the back of his horse and into his arms. “I only need a moment and a chair. I have a stone in my stocking,” she finished with mocking indignity for the audacity of the stone.
Mrs. Houston,” Gideon said, “this is my cousin and his wife, Sir James and Lady Branstoke.”
The woman smiled. “Come in,” she held the door open while her husband saw to Lord Monteith’s and James’ horses.
The interior of the farmhouse warmed Cecilia’s heart.
Whitewash painted the rough stone walls, reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
A large kitchen hearth nearly covered the length of the back wall.
The floors were fitted with stone burnished smooth through years of wear.
A bright red and blue plaid blanket draped over a chair gave the room a spot of warmth and color.
The inside was spotless. It appeared Mr. and Mrs. Houston were good for each other. Cecilia liked seeing that.
Mrs. Houston saw Cecilia seated in what was obviously the best chair in their small farmhouse, the one with the red and blue blanket.
“Let me find that stone,” Sarah said, dropping on her knees in front of her.
It took Sarah but a moment to find the pebble.
“I’ll work it to the hole gently so as not to cause the hole to get bigger…
There!” she said triumphantly as the stone dropped into the palm of her hand.
“And tonight that hole will only take the work of a moment to repair,” Sarah assured her.
She slid Cecilia’s boot back on her foot.
With the foot now shod, Sarah stood up and moved away.
“May I get you something to drink?” Mrs. Houston asked Cecilia.
“No, thank you, my dear. I wish to disturb your day as little as possible. Mrs. Wayne told me a story last evening that I’d like to hear from you, as would the earl. Could you tell us about the day you assisted Mrs. Wayne in preparing Lord Jasper’s body for burial?”
“Yes, my lady,” she said. “I try not to think on it much.”
“I don’t blame you! However, I think you understand how it might be that Lord Monteith would like to hear of it.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Please sit,” Cecilia said to her, gesturing toward the trestle table bench.
The young Mrs. Houston pulled her skirts to the side and sat primly on the bench. Cecilia couldn’t help but smile; however, she didn’t say anything more, merely waited for when Mrs. Houston was ready.
Julie Houston took a deep breath, then told them all of her activities with Mrs. Wayne. How quiet it was in the narthex as they used clean warm water to bathe the earl’s body. They worked together quietly, she told them. “It felt odd, yet strangely right at the same time.”
She told them it was awkward for the two of them to turn him over, yet they managed to do so. She said his hair looked matted and dirty.
“Worse than the front, but we thought nothing of it. I soaked my cloth good, then wrung it out over the back of his head to get his hair wet so we might clean it. But when the water went through his hair, it did not slide away brown with dirt. We saw red… We stared at it a moment, neither expecting that, then Mrs. Wayne, she took her cloth and did the same, then touched the back of his head with her cloth. The cloth came back in her hand rusty. I fetched more hot water from the rectory and together we cleaned his hair. He had thick dark hair, like Sir James, but longer. After the hair looked cleaned, Mrs. Wayne said we should find where the blood came from.”
The woman visibly swallowed. Her husband was by her side in a moment, laying his hand on her shoulder. “Julie—”
“I’m all right, Alfie,” she said softly. “We carefully parted his hair, looking for the wound. When we found it, I looked at Mrs. Wayne, puzzled, as it was not as I expected. She looked back at me and said I know, so I knew I wasn’t mistaking what I saw.”
She paused, and Cecilia tried to imagine what it had been like for a young woman to wash away the blood of a man she considered far above her in social status.
“The wound—it were long, straight, and smooth. Maybe five inches?” she said hesitatingly. “Not done by wood, I’m certain of that.”
“I’d like for you to do something for me,” Gideon said. He looked up at his tenants. “Both of you… I know it will not be easy, but…if I lower my head before you, would you, could you—”
Cecilia sucked in her breath. She knew what Gideon would ask. James put his hand on her shoulder.
“—use your hands to show me the beginning and end of the wound on my head?”
Cecilia saw Mr. Houston look up at her husband. He nodded once, quickly but every muscle in his body tensed.
“Yes,” she told Gideon, her voice a faint whisper.
Gideon bent over and lowered his head above her, taking care not to embarrass her by having his face touch her lap.
Julie’s hands trembled. “It started here,” she said, two fingers of one hand resting where his neck met the blond curls on his head.
“And it went to here,” she said, using her other hand to come to a rest on an angle upward and to the left, about five inches, as she had said.
She pulled her hands back quickly, her fingers curling into tight fists.
“Thank you,” Gideon said, standing straight. “You have given me much to think about.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “And I want you to know that you have also given me comfort.”
Mrs. Houston’s eyes filled with tears. Her body held rigidly.
“Please, my lord,” Mr. Houston implored.
“Immediately, and with my thanks,” Gideon said.
Cecilia followed Gideon out of the farmhouse, followed by James and Sarah.
“I owe them so much,” Gideon said.
“Do not do anything too rashly,” James counseled. “They will not like it. Wait, let things settle, then you might consider some token of thanks to them and the Waynes.”
“Perhaps when Chelsea returns,” Cecilia suggested, for by then wrongs will have been righted.