Chapter 6
“I do not like her,” Verity said as if such a statement ought to have been the end of the matter.
Alaric sighed. “I cannot help wondering why a mere housekeeper continues to prey on your mind, Verity.”
“She is not preying on my mind,” Verity said sharply.
“And she is far more than a mere housekeeper. A housekeeper knows their place. A housekeeper is one who goes unnoticed. A housekeeper is not a stranger, because they were hired to be here – wanted! Miss Kavanagh is anything but a mere housekeeper. Crispin? Defend me on this, thank you!”
Crispin looked up from his plate. As was often his way lately, he appeared bored and uninterested. “I have hardly seen her. And were it not for how often you speak of her, Verity, I would not have thought about her once.”
Verity’s eyes lit up. “Easy for you to say. You have not spent the last two years keeping this estate from falling apart. All I have done …” She exhaled with frustration. “To have my hard work undermined like this is not right, Alaric.”
“So, it is a question of ego,” Alaric said.
“It certainly is not!”
Crispin sighed. “On this, I must agree with my cousin.”
“Oh, you would,” Verity snapped at Crispin. “Just once, it might be nice if you took my side … but oh, now. Even in that …” She flashed her eyes at Crispin.
“What then?” Alaric demanded of his sister. “You act as if this was my doing – as if I have somehow sought to undermine you. I assure you, Verity, I was just as surprised by our grandmother’s request as you were.”
“But you allowed it.”
“I allowed nothing,” he said sharply, annoyed by his sister’s tone. This was his home, after all, and while he did appreciate all that she had done, she needed to remember it. “You might remember that I asked Miss Kavanagh if she wished to work here. I did not force her.”
“Asked.” His sister blew through her lips. “And there is the first problem.”
“And what would you have me do?” Alaric snapped. “Our grandmother wished it. A request from beyond the grave. Ought I have refused? Should I have besmirched her name? And why, exactly? Because you feel that your authority has been brought into question? Do you hear yourself, Verity?”
His sister curled her lip in distaste, but she held onto her temper. “Of course I do not think such a thing. I just wish … I might have liked to have been asked, is all. So that I could prepare.”
“She is just a housekeeper,” Alaric sighed. “And whatever you might think of Miss Kavanagh, I promise that she is not worth your disdain. Nor is she worth the effort.”
His sister did not look convinced. Thankfully, rather than saying anything else, she went back to her plate. But that did not remove the angered pout on her face, or the coldness that seeped from her body.
What is going on with her? Surely, Miss Kavanagh cannot have upset her to this degree?
The argument was unwelcome, unexpected, and it made Alaric wonder if he ought to have skipped supper and dined alone as he often did. After all, being alone was something he was used to by then.
It was just himself, Verity, and Crispin who dined that evening.
Crispin was his usual sullen self, forever acting as if his thoughts were a hundred miles away. He had been that way for two years now, a commonality in his surly cousin, and something that Alaric no longer wondered about.
Verity, on the other hand, was like a storm in a teacup. It was a mood that she had carried since the funeral, and while she laid the blame for it at Miss Kavanagh’s feet, Alaric was certain there was more to it than that.
So many secrets … lies told … and they carried a weight with them that he could literally feel on his shoulders and in his chest.
“Might we talk of something else?” he sighed as he pushed his plate away. His appetite was gone, and he doubted it would return. “Miss Kavanagh is here now. I am not going to send her away, so make your peace with it, Verity.”
“Why talk at all?” Crispin said as if to himself.
His sister exhaled. “Just be careful around her, Alaric. That is all I ask. There is something not right about her. She is keeping secrets; I am sure of it.”
“Secrets?” He chuckled. “Such as?”
“If I knew that, I would be speaking to her,” Verity snapped. “But it is all so strange, and I know something is wrong.”
Despite his wish to refute such a strange claim, Alaric could not deny the nugget of truth to be found in Verity’s words. His mind returned to the letter that his grandmother had left, vague and cryptic, with an underlying sense that there was more at play than anybody knew.
Grandmother always liked to play games. And I can picture her up there, watching us all, delighting in how we squabble as we try and unweave them.
The remainder of supper passed in silence.
When it was done, Verity announced that she was tired and wished to go to bed. Crispin mumbled something about having work to do and wandered off without elaborating. While Alaric, glad to see the back of his cousin and sister, made his way to the drawing room for a much-needed drink.
To his surprise and delight, the drawing room was not empty.
“Alaric! I had hoped that was you! Although a small part of me wished differently, because it would have given me a chance to finish off this delicious bottle of brandy without having to share.”
“Peregrine?” Alaric started in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Drinking alone. Or I was…”
Alaric laughed. It was unexpected, and the sound was strange coming from his tongue. But he accepted the laughter, letting it embrace him like an old friend, realizing as it rumbled from his chest how much he had missed doing so … how needed it was.
Then, he crossed the room and pulled his oldest friend into a tight hug. Again, the action was unexpected, but it served to remind Alaric that he was capable of such a thing. All he needed was a reason.
Sir Peregrine Loxley was Alaric’s oldest friend. They had known one another since boyhood, raised on neighbouring estates and bound by years of shared memories, mischief, and mistakes for which neither had ever judged the other.
Peregrine started at the embrace, no doubt surprised that Alaric had engaged in it.
“What has gotten into you?”
Alaric sighed as he pulled away. “Many things, Peregrine.”
“Do you wish to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Peregrine laughed. “Ah, so you have not changed that much at all.”
Peregrine was rake thin, of medium height, and unassuming to look at.
He was often described as plain, which Alaric always felt was unfair.
Anyone who knew Peregrine knew that plain was as far from how one should think of Peregrine as was possible, because he did not know a man who was more charming, more kind, and more joyous to be around.
In fact, so loved was he by all, that many assumed that he and Verity would one day end up together. It was a union that Alaric encouraged, even if he could not say for sure how Verity felt about it.
“I thought to find you in the library,” Peregrine said as he went back to his seat where his glass of brandy sat waiting. “Alas, you were nowhere to be found.”
“Supper …” Alaric fell into the chair across from his friend, at which point he snatched the bottle of brandy from its place and took a swig. “A rather contentious affair. Verity …” Alaric curled his lip. “She has been in a mood, of late.”
Peregrine chuckled. “Oh, she has fire in her belly. I always rather liked that about her.”
“Fire I can handle,” Alaric sighed. “This is something else. She is …” He bit his lip. “I sense she is hiding something from me, but I have no idea what. Worse, rather than telling me, she seeks to divert my interest by lamenting my new choice of housekeeper.”
“Oh?” Peregrine’s eyebrows lifted.
“It is a long story.” Alaric chuckled at his friend’s reaction. “The short of it is that my dear old grandmother, bless her soul, asked that her companion join my household. I had no idea, of course, but that has not stopped Verity’s complaining.”
“I am sorry to hear about her passing.” Peregrine’s expression turned sad. “Truly, Alaric. You know how I loved her …” He laughed and shook his head. “Perhaps not when we were boys, as much. My backside still hurts from that time she caught us stealing those horses.”
Alaric roared with laughter at the memory. “You could not sit down for a week, if I recall.”
“I still wince at times.”
More laughter was shared, and again, it felt good. More than that, it felt right. Alaric had forgotten how easy it could be to laugh, to be happy and enjoy small moments with friends. And oh, how he needed it.
“I would have come for the funeral,” Peregrine continued. “I meant to do. Alas, I am up to my ears in renovations. What was meant to be a small task has turned into a true undertaking of such epic proportions I am beginning to wonder if I might have bitten off more than I can chew.”
“That bad?”
Peregrine offered a hesitant smile. “That is why I am here, in fact. Feel free to say no, of course, but I had hoped that I might stay here for a short time – just until my home is livable again. The lack of a roof makes for wet and cold nights.”
“Of course you can.” Alaric did not hesitate, and his smile was sincere because the thought of having a friend in his home warmed him even more than the flames burning in the hearth. “You do not need to ask.”
“Thank you,” Peregrine said with a relieved sigh. “It should only be for a few weeks at most.”
“I will be glad to have you. Anything to add some life to these walls.”
Peregrine raised his glass and grinned wickedly. “Now that, I can help with.” He took a sip of his drink, and Alaric had another mouthful from the bottle. “Now, about this housekeeper …” Peregrine coughed and cleared his throat. “It is funny that you mention her, in fact.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I have met her.” He had a casual sip of brandy.
“What?” Alaric sputtered. “When? How?.”
“She was in the library just now,” he said simply. “Tucked away and reading. We had a little chat before I came here.”