5 A Place To Sleep #2
Entering the house again by the garden door, which never seemed to be locked, Cal made his way to his own room, collected his ancient woollen cloak and a blanket, and left the same way.
The moon was still high enough to light his way through the parterre and under the new bridge to the front of the house, and thence along the lake shore to the stepping stones.
It was only on the far side, as he entered the woods, that he found himself having to stop and let his eyes adjust to the gloom.
He made his way cautiously up the hill, watching out for the narrow path to the hut.
He almost missed it in the dark, but the clearing where the hut sat was open enough to be filled with moonlight, visible through the enfolding trees.
Unable to see the path, he forced his way through the brambles to the clearing, and entered the hut.
Opening the shutter to let in the night air, he curled up on the floor near the table, the least cobwebby spot, wrapped himself in his cloak, and with the rolled-up blanket as a pillow, let the soft soughing of the trees lull him into a dreamless sleep.
He woke only twice, once to the patter of rain on the roof and the sweet smell of the damp forest in his nostrils, and the second time to early birdsong. Both times he smiled, rolled over and went back to sleep.
The next time he woke, it was full daylight. From the window, the shadows on the lawn suggested that it was close to eight o’clock. Time to return to the house.
In his room, the fire was burning merrily, and a cup of chocolate, now cold, sat on his bedside table.
He drank it gratefully, wishing he’d thought to take some provisions with him for an early breakfast at the hut.
The official Staineybank breakfast didn’t even start till ten o’clock, which was far too late for a man used to keeping labourer’s hours.
He washed in last night’s cold water, shaved and changed into his Sunday best. Then he sat on the window seat with the window thrown up to breathe the clean air, with only the slightest taint of smoke about it.
Robert came in at a rush with warm water. “Sorry I’m late,” he said cheerfully. “Bit of a flap in the kitchen. Enjoy your walk, did you?”
“Walk?”
“Guessed you’d woke early and gone out for a walk.”
“You didn’t notice that my bed wasn’t slept in?”
Robert looked at the bed in surprise. “Thought you’d made it yourself, like you did yesterday. Single man, used to doing for yourself… that’s what I thought. Found yourself a lady friend, did you? Good for you!”
Cal laughed. “Chance’d be a fine thing! I slept at the charcoal burner’s hut.”
“Oh.” Robert thought about that, as he set the ewer down on the washstand. “Well! Not as comfortable as your bed, I’d wager.”
“No, but I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had since— in weeks.”
“Ah. Well, rather you than me. I like a proper bed, me, and someone to warm it, too. Which doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.
But if you ever want company, Mary-Anne the dairymaid’s very friendly, and not too expensive.
Don’t go to those women in the village. Well, Sarah’s not too bad, but Jane and Lizzie’ll bleed you dry.
Pretty, though, especially Jane. She’s got lovely… you know.”
He gestured with both hands to indicate Jane’s particular loveliness.
“Thank you, Robert,” Cal said gravely. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
***
Cora was the first down to breakfast, and she was well rewarded for her eagerness, for Cal arrived not two minutes later, greeting her with obvious pleasure and making her treacherous heart beat rather too rapidly.
For a brief moment, she was alone with him.
That would not last long, for several of the men of the household were customarily early, too, so she did not hesitate to take advantage of the situation.
“Did you sleep well?” she said, quite unable to think of any conversation less banal.
To her surprise, he grinned widely. “I slept very well. Best night’s sleep since the wretched woodcutters arrived and started chopping down my forest.”
“Oh.” She was aware that her eyes had widened at this interesting communication. What did it mean? Was it because of her? Could he mean that—?
“I slept at the hut in the woods,” he said, the grin widening even further.
“Oh!” She had not expected that! “But there is no bed.”
He laughed. “I don’t need a bed. I’d have liked the place a bit cleaner, that’s all, and maybe a fire to cook myself a bit of breakfast. I’ll take something with me tonight.”
“You plan to sleep there every night?” she said, astonished.
“Unless the duke forbids it. I can’t breathe in this great cave of a place. I feel like I’m trapped.”
“You are a creature of the forest,” she said slowly, “just like the deer and the fox… and the beetles!”
He looked pleased. “I think I am. Never happy away from the trees, that much is certain.”
“But how will you manage when you go home? Your trees have gone.”
He shrugged. “There are other trees. The Garths’ neighbour, Colonel Fenton — he has trees. Not quite the same, but they’ll do.”
“Or you could stay here,” she said tentatively, hoping the eagerness was not showing in her face.
“I’ve no place here. Lampton is my home, born and bred there. Can’t imagine living anywhere else.” He hesitated, then added, “Besides, his grace doesn’t seem to want me to stay. I’m to tell the bailiff how to manage the woods.”
“Mr Monk? My son has no very good opinion of Mr Monk. Hester, dear! You are up early. Why do you not take your breakfast in bed?”
Hester Merrington, pale and wraithlike, came in with Froggett and a footman in her wake, settling herself next to Cora, as Froggett held the chair for her.
“I do not like to cause so much trouble,” she said, her voice a mere thread.
“Charlotte was so kind as to organise trays, and someone to sit with me, but it is not right that I should be waited on, as if I am an invalid. I cannot always summon the energy for dinner with everyone, but breakfast… I can manage that.”
The rest of the household began to arrive in ones and twos, and Cora’s daughters all in a group, and the conversation became more general. After a while, James Hammond, the duke’s secretary, put his face round the door.
“Mr Garford? Mr Monk will be here at noon for your preliminary instructions.”
“What precisely am I to tell him? His grace wasn’t very clear.”
“I have no exact information on that score,” Mr Hammond said. “Just… whatever you think needs to be done.”
Cora’s son, Richard, grunted, and set down his coffee cup. “It hardly matters what you tell Monk, Garford. He will remember none of it. I never saw a more useless bailiff.”
“He is very good with the tenant farmers, Cousin Richard,” Hester said tentatively. “He is most efficient, and very well liked.”
“Naturally he is well liked,” Richard said.
“A tenant has only to say that the roof leaks or a fence is down or he needs a bigger barn, and Monk sends a team of workmen at once, and never mind the expense, but he never notices when a field is constantly wet from lack of proper drainage, or a road needs repair. I have to point out every little thing.”
“But when you do so, he sees it done, does he not?” Cora said.
“He does, but that is nothing to the point. Remember Thornton, the Leahollow bailiff? Whenever I had occasion to point out a deficiency, he would say, ‘In hand, sir. Carpenter will be here on Thursday to fix it.’ Everything was always in hand. With Monk, nothing is ever in hand. One always has to ask, and then the man for the job is busy until Michaelmas and he has to pay through the nose to get the thing done. A little planning is all that is needed.”
Cora smiled. “I expect the baby kept you awake all night, and now you are as cross as crabs. You always did need your sleep, even as a boy. Can you pass me the currant cake, dear?”
Richard merely grunted and glowered at her, but settled himself to his breakfast without further speech.
Cora turned to Cal. “I am sure Mr Monk will do the required work perfectly well.”
“Dare say he will. I’m none the wiser as to what to say to him. I’ll just walk him through the woods and show him what needs doing. That seems to be the way of it, with him.”
But he looked uneasy about it, all the same.