The Girl in the Gatehouse (7 page)

“I will hold you responsible for any damage to the property.”

“Understood. I also plan to invite a fellow officer to lodge here for the summer. He is scraping by on half pay and is injured as well.”

Prin-Hallsey leaned back in his chair. “Charitable fellow, ey?”

“Not especially. He is no stranger, after all. And, now I think on it, my former lieutenant might feel more comfortable under his own roof. Are any estate cottages available?”

“No. But there is an old gatehouse we no longer use as an entrance. It is occupied at present, but I have reason to believe it will soon be vacant.”

“How soon?”

“Very.”

Matthew thought of the girl who had helped him recapture his horse. “Well, no hurry. I shall invite him to join me in the house for now. Certainly large enough for the two of us. It is a bit farther from the coast than I would like, but I negotiated a satisfactory sum with your steward. The terms are agreeable?”

“You are a man who likes a bargain, I see. And I will agree to the lesser amount on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“That I am allowed to return, allowed access to the place even while you are in residence.”

Matthew felt his brows rise.

“I will let it furnished and staffed as you requested,” Prin-Hallsey explained. “But since the death of my father’s second wife, I have had insufficient time to sort through many old family papers and ledgers and the like.”

Matthew frowned. “You might box them up and take them with you. I shall have no need of such. You are leaving your steward to oversee the accounts.”

“Yes, but . . . well, it is more than papers. There are several family heirlooms and things of that nature that have become, well, misplaced. The woman had a different idea of organization than did I, or my mother before her. I need to find . . . several items. I am not sure how long it will require, nor how exactly I will split my time between the task and my . . . responsibilities . . . in town.”

Matthew studied the man. He knew there was more going on than he said, but had no interest in prying. He did not like the idea of paying rent to the owner and then having the man come and go as he pleased as if he still owned the place. But the truth was he did.

“I cannot stop you from coming,” Matthew allowed. “It is your house, after all.”

Prin-Hallsey casually crossed his legs. “True. But if you are agreeable to the terms, the place is yours for six months beginning April first.”

Matthew said, “I don’t suppose you would consider selling outright?”

Prin-Hallsey hesitated, twisting his lips to one side. “Afraid I can’t, old boy. Not yet. Perhaps in future, if you are still interested, I might be able to part with her.”

“Is the estate entailed?”

Hugh stroked his chin. “No. But it has been in the family for years.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” Hugh rose, signaling the end of the meeting. “At all events, the steward, Hammersmith, will manage things for you and see to troublesome tenants, useless servants, and the like. He is a man who gets things done.”

“Here he comes,” Mariah whispered to herself, standing at the kitchen window with mounting dread. She realized she had unconsciously been awaiting the steward’s call ever since Hugh Prin-Hallsey mentioned his intention to “redress” her situation.

She watched Mr. Hammersmith as he tottered up the drive, dressed in black, his round upper body and thin stockinged legs giving him the look of a stuffed goose on peg legs. One of his arms was crooked behind his back, the other bore a green ledger. Mariah’s heartbeat began to quicken in time with the man’s choppy, brisk steps.

When she opened the door to him, he lifted his black hat in the faintest of acknowledgements before replacing it on thin fawn-colored hair.

“Miss Aubrey. How do you do. I am Hammersmith, steward to – ”

“Yes, I know who you are. Won’t you come in, Mr. Hammersmith?”

“Thank you, no. This won’t take a minute.” He adjusted his spectacles but did not open the thick ledger. Mariah wondered if he carried it merely as a sort of shield. “I am here to inform you of an increase in your rent to twenty pounds per quarter, effective immediately. You have until the thirtieth of April to pay or vacate the premises.”

Twenty by the thirtieth?
Impossible. That was only six weeks away. It had been nearly a month since Henry took the manuscript, and she had yet to hear one word from him. Had the publisher even looked at the book yet? What else could she sell? She thought of her aunt’s chest. But surely if Aunt Fran had possessed anything of value, she would not have left it in the gatehouse attic.

How could she raise the funds?

Mariah was on her feet, pacing. So when a knock sounded on the kitchen door, she answered it herself.

Her aunt’s man, Jeremiah Martin, stood there, letter in hand, looking decidedly uncomfortable. There would be no further summons to Francesca’s bedside. What could he want?

“Hello, Martin. May I help you?”

He breathed in slowly. “Unlikely, I fear.”

There was a quiet dignity about him, Mariah noticed, though he could not be an educated man.

“Did you need something?”

“I don’t need much, Miss Aubrey, you will find. And I am useful in my way.”

“I am sorry. I don’t – ”

“Your aunt has left me to you.”

Confusion buzzed in Mariah’s brain. “Excuse me?”

The man sighed and handed her the folded paper in his hand. “I trust this will explain her wishes.”

Frowning, Mariah unfolded the sheet and saw that it was a brief letter signed by her aunt. The words seemed out of focus, so little sense did they make.

Mariah,

I leave you my manservant, Jeremiah Martin. He has been with
me for more than a decade, the only servant I brought with me when
I remarried, for reasons which would take longer to write down than
I have left.

Hugh has never liked him and will no doubt sack him before the
last shovel of dirt fills my grave. So, I give him to you. I have left him
a bit of money, and he shall work for you in return, for as long as he
is able, or until Hugh runs you off the place. Insufferable boy. Never
liked me, of course. And never approved of my letting you have the
gatehouse. Did it to irk him, you know.
Well, until we meet again on the other side of that river.

Francesca Prin-Hallsey

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s all right, miss. Never cared for chatty girls. Look, I know it’s irregular. So either tell me where to sleep or send me on my way. Makes no nevermind to me.”

Dixon appeared at Mariah’s elbow and asked in a terse whisper, “What does
he
want?”

Wordlessly, she handed the letter to her. While Dixon read it, Mariah’s eyes were drawn to the man’s hunched shoulder and hook. It was difficult to look, but almost impossible to look away.

“Saints preserve us,” Dixon muttered. “We don’t want him here.”

Mariah forced a smile. “Would you excuse us one moment, Martin?”

“Aye.”

Mariah closed the door gently and turned to Dixon, a finger to her lips.

Dixon whispered, “The old lady must have lost her mind when she lost her health. Him, here, with the two of us? In this little place?”

“You read the letter; he’ll have no place to go.”

“I could tell him where to – ”

“Dixon, that is not very kind in you.”

“Have you smelt the man, Mariah?”

“Perhaps we can devise a way to . . . tactfully mention it. Consider all the work he could do around the place.”

“With that hook? I don’t see how. He didn’t even help us move in here.”

“It will be different now, if he lives with us. I am certain there must be some tasks he can do to ease your heavy load. You do too much.”

“You’re the one who does more than you should. Fine young lady like you . . .”

Mariah huffed a laugh. “Hardly.” She said more soberly, “Remember that stormy night you were out and a strange man came to the door? I was frightened to be home alone. Having a man about the place might be wise in many respects.”

“But this man is far stranger than the last.”

Mariah held her gaze. “Looks can be deceiving, Dixon, as we both know.”

Dixon hesitated, then threw up her hands. “Where would he sleep?”

“The pantry?”

“The smell of him, the stable would better suit.”

In the end, they laid the options before Martin. He decided that as long as the weather was fine, he would make his bed in the stable loft, which was dry and private and where he might come and go as he pleased without disturbing the ladies. When the weather turned cold in the late autumn, he would resign himself to a cot in the narrow pantry, but he obviously did not look upon the prospect with relish.

“I suppose I have been spoilt all these years with your aunt. Become accustomed to having a room of my own. With not only a bed, but a desk and chair besides.”

Mariah bit her lip. “I don’t think any of us should become accustomed to our quarters here. Martin, I think it only fair to tell you, before you throw in your lot with us, that there is every likelihood we shall not be here much longer. Mr. Hammersmith has stipulated a rent beyond my ability to pay. Dixon and I are contemplating options, but I don’t know how likely we are to succeed.”

“Do you really think Mr. Prin-Hallsey would put us out?” Dixon asked.

Martin nodded. “I would not put it past him.”

“I imagine he would have done so before now had my aunt not been here to sway him.”

Dixon grimaced. “What can we do?”

Mariah straightened her shoulders. “I shall have to think of some way to endear myself to Hugh. Charm him into allowing a
dear cousin
to stay.”

Dixon gave her a sidelong glance. “Careful, Miss Mariah.”

“Don’t worry, Dixon. I am not about to attempt anything foolish.”

Martin cleared his throat. “I would not mention
my
being here, miss,” he said. “It will not aid your cause.”

The footman led Mariah into the Windrush Court library, announced her, and took his leave.

Hugh Prin-Hallsey, seated behind a large carved desk, rose. “Ah. Miss Aubrey. What a surprise.”

“Is it? I thought you might expect me.”

“Not at all. Why, I barely see you, so rarely do you venture from your seclusion
en pénitence
.” He gestured toward one of the chairs before the desk.

She sat and adjusted the skirt of her favorite gown of rose-pink, a color she had been told flattered her complexion. She had made a point not to wear the black. Her straw bonnet with a matching ribbon was tied beneath her chin.

She clasped damp hands in her lap. “I hoped to ask you for a bit of grace in the new rent your steward proposed. It is all such a surprise, when my aunt had so generously allowed me to live in the gatehouse
gratis
.”

“Your aunt is dead, Miss Aubrey. And this is not a charitable institution.”