(Midwinter Manor)Poacher's Fall (4 page)

“But really, there’s no need to be quite so formal,” Philip protested.

“Well then, how about I call you Mr. Luccombe, and you can call me Danny, if you’ve a mind to?” There was a teasing light in those black eyes of his.

Philip smiled. “Well, then, Danny, will you tell me how you’d go about catching rabbits? In, er, some hypothetical place that was well-stocked with the creatures? I mean,” he added hastily, not wishing to appear totally ignorant of country practices, “I’ve seen the men at it, of course, with nets and dogs. But that’s always struck me as rather a noisy business, and besides, you don’t have a dog, do you?”

“No, I’ve no dog, nor did my da.” Danny hesitated a moment. “Would you have known my da, Mr. Luccombe?”

Philip felt a little hot. “I remember him, of course, working on the estate. I don’t suppose we ever spoke, more than to wish each other good day.” Should he offer Danny his condolences? The man was three years dead, after all, and Philip had no wish to dampen the rather pleasant mood between them.

“Well, when my da was alive, he’d use a net, as you’ve seen, and instead of a dog, I’d be the beater for him.”

“Oh! Like shooting grouse, you mean?”

“Aye, but Da never owned a gun. Never needed one. No, he’d lay out his long net, and I’d drive the rabbits to it for him to kill. But since I’ve been on my own, I set snares. It’s slower work, mind, but quieter. And I can do it alone. Toby’s getting big enough to help, but mam won’t let him come, no matter how much he mithers her.”

Philip nodded. “Given what happened to you, I can understand her fears for his safety.”

Danny gave a short, bitter laugh. “Wouldn’t be trees she’s afraid of.”

“No?”

“No, it’d be that—begging your pardon, sir. Not my place.”

Philip stared, confused, and then it came to him. “Drayton? But the worst he’d do would be to call the constable, surely? And I doubt the magistrates would deal harshly with a child, particularly for a first offense. If it even came to court.”

Danny gave him a long, hard look and then seemed to come to some decision. “Well, now, sir, would there be anything else you’d want to know about poaching? For if not, I reckon I’d best be trying to sleep, now.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry; I hadn’t realized how late it had become. I’ll let you rest. Ah, good night, Danny.”

“Good night, Mr. Luccombe.”

Banished from Danny’s society, Philip felt curiously bereft. He wandered irresolutely to the drawing room, but the whisky decanter seemed to have lost its luster. Philip hadn’t realized until now just how tired he felt. But of course, that would be due to the afternoon’s exercise, he recollected. Perhaps he should make that a regular activity? He really thought he might be able to sleep tonight without the help of alcohol.

It was a curiously uplifting thought, and Philip retired to his room with an unwonted smile upon his lips.

C
HRISTMAS
Day dawned bright and clear. Frost had painted merry patterns on the windows in honor of the season, and Danny was sure the aches in his chest and leg had lessened. He had a warm bed, the prospect of good food and pleasant company later, and he knew his mam and the kids were provided for. Danny couldn’t remember a Christmas these past few years when he’d awakened so content. Even the grief that thought brought with it didn’t chase away his good humor. He fair beamed at Mrs. Standish as she brought him his porridge.

“Well! And you’re in fine fettle this morning for an invalid, Daniel Costessey!” she exclaimed with a pleased expression.

“It’s seeing you, Mrs. S. Does my heart good to have a good-looking woman bring me food in the morning,” he teased.

“Get away with you! We’ll have no more of that nonsense or Mr. Standish will have your hide, that you can be sure!”

Danny grinned as she bustled out in mock outrage. Sure enough, she was humming a merry carol as she went back to her more usual duties.

S
ETTLING
back after he’d finished his breakfast to read some more about Marley’s ghost, Danny was surprised to look up after a page or two and find Standish hovering at his elbow. “Bloody hell! Begging your pardon, Mr. Standish, but you might want to warn a man you’re here.”

Standish gave him a long, considering look. “I’m just on my way to bring Mr. Luccombe his morning tea, and I thought it would be a good time to have a friendly word with you, Costessey.”

Danny grinned. “And here was me thinking you couldn’t wait to wish me a Merry Christmas! Well, come on then, out with it, though I’m blowed if I know what I can have done to upset you, laid up in here like this.”

Standish’s lips tightened. “It’s Mr. Luccombe. He appears to have taken quite a liking to you, Costessey, and, to speak plainly, I would not wish to see his trust abused. You may not be aware of this, but we at the house are quite… protective of the master.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Oh, aye? Well, I don’t reckon he’s done so well, moldering away in this bloody tomb with you being all
protective
. Seems to me he could do with a mite less
protection
and a mite more… life,” Danny finished awkwardly. He’d been as near as damn it to saying “love,” but he could hardly come out with that in front of Standish.

“I believe I have made my position clear,” Standish said stiffly. “Now, I must not keep Mr. Luccombe waiting. Good day, Costessey.”

“G
OOD
morning, Sir. And Merry Christmas.”

Philip blinked up at the dark figure of Standish placing his morning tea upon the bedside cabinet.

“Thank you, Standish. And to you, too, of course.” Philip was a little surprised to find that he did actually feel something of the joys of the season. It wasn’t as if the hole Robert had left in his heart had healed over, precisely, but there was no denying it didn’t ache nearly as acutely as it used to. “Time, the great physician,” Philip murmured to himself as he set about the business of shaving and dressing.

Once ready for the day, he gave himself a searching look in the glass. Too pale still, perhaps, but he thought he looked a little less haggard than he had done of late. Strangely buoyed by this observation, he set off down the hall to wish the compliments of the season to his guest.

Costessey was looking unusually solemn as Philip walked in, but he soon broke into a smile. “Merry Christmas, sir,” he said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Philip smiled. “And the compliments of the season to you, too. Oh, you’re drinking tea?”

“Just finished, sir.” Danny moved to place his cup and saucer upon the bedside cabinet, and Philip hastened to take it from him.

“Don’t want you upsetting those ribs,” he said by way of explanation of his actions, and also to cover his confusion at the tingle he’d felt as their fingers had brushed. Or had he just imagined it? Yes, that must be it. Philip set down the teacup and turned to find Danny looking at him expectantly. “I, ah, I wondered if you’d like me to read to you? So you don’t get any more of those headaches?”

“That’d be right kind of you, sir, but won’t you be wanting your breakfast?”

“Oh, I don’t tend to eat in the mornings. Not much of an appetite, I’m afraid,” Philip said apologetically, although thinking about it, he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, really.

“You need to get out in the fresh air more, sir. That’ll build you up an appetite right enough.”

Philip smiled. “I think you’re right. You know, I did go out yesterday, and it was… rather pleasant. I, ah, I went to see your oak tree.”

Danny grinned. “Hope you gave it a bloody good kick from me!”

Philip found himself laughing. Lord, how long had it been since he’d laughed? “It was looking sorry enough for itself already, if truth be told. I’d say you gave as good as you got. Now, where did you get to with
A Christmas Carol
?”

“End of the first chapter—or stave, as he calls it. Right surprised I was, to see Dickens writing jokes—‘More of gravy than of grave’!” He chuckled and then turned sober once more. “But he’s a daft bugger, that Ebenezer Scrooge, and no mistake. Rich as bloody Croesus, and never spent a brass farthing, save on the bare necessities. What’s the point of being rich if you’ve no life?”

Philip felt a smile twist his lips, even as he felt a corresponding twist in his stomach at Danny’s harsh judgment of the miserly recluse. “You know, I’d have laid good money on you never having heard of Croesus!” He colored, realizing what he’d said. “Lord, that was terribly patronizing of me, wasn’t it?”

But Danny was smiling. “No, sir, don’t you worry. I’d reckon that’d be true about most of the folk around here, but my mam’s always been right keen on those old Greek stories. Reckon it’s my granddad was to blame, for naming her Helen. She had a book of them stories she used to read us when I was little.” His smile grew broader. “Matter of fact, when I was born, she wanted to call me Jason, but my da wouldn’t hear of it. Said that like as not I’d get enough knocks out of life without some fancy-arse name for folk to laugh at.”

“I suppose he was right,” Philip said with a grimace. “Still, I think it would have suited you,” he added, his mind already conjuring up an image of young Danny in white tunic and sandals, dispatching screeching harpies with sword and dagger. With his dark coloration and curling black hair, he could pass very well for a Greek hero. “Of course, Jason came to a rather unhappy end,” he remembered.

“Ah, but that was only because he made too many promises to too many women,” Danny reminded him with a knowing smile. “I reckon I’m in no danger of that.”

“You’ve only made promises to one?” Some of the cheer went out of Philip’s morning. Of course he would have. A fine-looking man like Danny? It was a wonder he wasn’t married already.

“No, sir. You misunderstand me. I’m beholden to no lass, nor doubt I ever shall be.”

Philip felt a strange, not-quite-uncomfortable sensation in his stomach at that and covered his confusion by opening the book once more. “‘When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarce distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber….’”

T
WO
hours later, Philip’s voice was starting to grow hoarse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken for so long. “Well, I suppose I’d better go,” he said reluctantly, closing the book and stretching the kinks out of his shoulders.

Danny nodded. “I won’t keep you, sir. But it’s been grand, having a bit of company, so I’ll thank you for that.”

Philip didn’t know quite what to say to that. “I feel rather a low sort, taking credit for altruism when I’m sure I’ve enjoyed the morning at least as much as you have,” he said, shrugging a little self-consciously. When he passed the book back to Danny, their fingers brushed again and this time, there was no mistaking the spark that inflamed Philip’s nerves.

Danny’s smile grew warmer; Philip felt as though the heat from it reached to where he stood. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

Philip really couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply gave an awkward nod, and left, the fingers of his left hand unconsciously rubbing those of his right, where Danny had touched them.

N
O
MORE
than half an hour later, Danny looked up to see Luccombe in the doorway once more. Seemed as how he couldn’t stay away. Well, Danny had no objection to that. The man looked strangely ill-at-ease, though, for all that there was the glimmer of a smile chasing across his face like a fawn startled in the woods. He picked up a book from the bedside cabinet without looking at it, and turned it over and over in his hands.

“I, well, I thought it was a bit silly, me sitting in the dining room all alone, and you up here, so I thought I might have my Christmas lunch in your room. If that’s agreeable to you, of course,” Luccombe added with an air of apology. Danny wondered if he realized he was going to break the spine of that book, twisting it in his hands like that.

“I’d be glad of the company, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Will we manage, do you think?” He raised an eyebrow as he threw a glance around the room. It wasn’t over-large, and neither was there a lot of furniture that could easily be adapted into a dining table.

“Well, you’ll have to have a tray, of course, but I’ve asked Standish to have a folding table brought up for the occasion.”

And right enough, there was Standish himself, bringing in the table and setting it up by the bed.

“I could fetch a chair from the dining room, if you would prefer, sir,” he offered, giving Danny a glance that said plain as day, “I’m watching you, lad.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary, do you, ah, Costessey?” Luccombe gave Danny an apologetic smile, although whether it was for calling him by his surname once more or for his assumption that Danny wouldn’t mind him sitting on the bed, Danny couldn’t tell. Both, probably, knowing Luccombe. Danny felt a sudden surge of protective fondness for the man.

“No, sir, we’ll be just right as we are,” he assured Luccombe, and he was rewarded by the smile turning genuine.

Lunch, brought in by Mrs. Standish and one of the girls, was the finest meal Danny had ever seen in his life. There was roast goose and buttered parsnips, all drenched in rich, thick gravy that put Danny in mind of the book he’d been reading. There was even wine, although just a couple of glasses, broken heads and alcohol not being generally supposed a good mix.

“I feel like a Cratchit,” he commented, remembering to finish his mouthful before he spoke.

Luccombe smiled. “I hope you’re not likening me to Scrooge? I like to think I’m a little more generous to the people who work for me.”

“Oh, that you are, sir, I’ve no doubt. I don’t reckon folks’d stand for that kind of treatment nowadays,” Danny said, spearing a roast potato with his fork. “Times have changed, now.”

“So many things have changed,” Luccombe agreed. “Since the War….”

His face grew somber, and Danny hastened to speak of something lighter. “Are there any others of Mr. Dickens’s books you’d think I might enjoy?”