Chapter Four

Philip had been warned. But he found Highwood Hall in an even worse state than he expected. “The house in Feldon Roding has been the main seat of the Calnes for hundreds of years,” the lawyer had said, “but your uncle hasn’t lived there for fifteen years, or kept it staffed for ten. And he refused to allow money to be spent on repairs. I understand the roof has failed in places, in the main house and in the outbuildings.”

The entire west wing had failed, the roof collapsed into the crumbling walls that were all that remained. The centre block was still largely intact, but the east wing was going the way of its counterpart, with gaping holes instead of tiles and the rafters showing through.

The stables were in no better case. Philip tethered his borrowed horse where it could reach water and grass, and poked around as best he could without risking life and limb. He’d hoped to be able to do some repairs in order to increase the possible sale price, but razing the place to the ground might be the best use of his meagre savings.

One thing was certain. He would not be staying in his own house tonight. He’d better get settled at the local inn and walk back later, to make a start on a proper assessment.

A day with her aunt only deepened Lalamani’s concerns.

Adidiah—Addy—was happy to express an opinion, as she and Lalamani scrubbed the kitchen floor. “It’s a crying shame, Miss Lalamani. Mrs Thorpe don’t have but a pittance for herself. If not for the people roundabouts, why, she’d starve.”

“But, Addy, she has an income. She could even sell this house and move into a smaller place if she needed to.”

“Is that a fact, Miss Lalamani? Rector, he gives her a bit of money now and then. Don’t know about no income, though. I never heard of such.”

Lalamani wasn’t sure of the details of the trust; it had been set up before she began acting as her uncle’s secretary. But her uncle loved his sister, and he was a wealthy man. Why, the house itself attested to his generosity; shabby though it was, it was large, well built, and had lovely proportions.

An interview with her aunt was in order, and afterwards, perhaps a letter to Lalamani’s lawyer who had served her uncle well over many years.

“Aunt Hannah,” Lalamani began as they took a break from housework that afternoon to walk the two miles to the village, “it is impertinent of me, I know, but I am concerned about you.”

“You do not need to be, dear Lalamani.” Aunt Hannah’s eyes watered again. “I have all I need. Everyone is so generous to me.” A shadow crossed over her face. “I do wish, though, I was able to pay my dear Addy. I worry about her, dear, I do indeed. If anything should happen to me… Well, I must just pray about it and trust God would look after her.”

“Aunt Hannah,” she tried again, “what happened to the money Uncle Herbert left you?”

She stopped in her tracks and peered at Lalamani, her pale blue eyes bewildered. “Money, dear? He paid for the house; the man from London came and found it for me. That was so lovely of Herbert, sweetheart. Though I could wish it was closer to the village, but Miss Wagley—she’s the rector’s sister, dear—she told me it was better I put a bit of distance between myself and the village. The people needed to get used to calling on her, she said. And she was quite right, no doubt, but I do find it hard sometimes, my dear.” She began walking again, shaking her head.

“But the money, Aunt Hannah,” Lalamani reminded her.

“No one told me anything about any money, my dear. I was not very well, of course. Such a terrible ague. So many people died. My poor dear husband. The inn keeper. Twelve babies they told me, so sad, I always think, when a baby dies.” Her eyes filled again.

Lalamani was becoming inured to the easy tears and carried on regardless. “I’m so sorry to make you think about that sad time, Aunt Hannah, but it is important. When did you hear about the house?” It must have taken some time for word of Uncle Thorpe’s death to get to India and for Uncle Herbert to send back his instructions to his lawyer.

“Let me see, dear. Mr Thorpe took the ague in January. He was one of the first in the village. I nursed him, of course, and we thought he was rallying, but he died in early February. Too much strain on his heart, dear, the doctor said.

So many sick people in the village and out on the farms. So sad, my dear, especially when it started in the foundlings’ home. I did what I could, but I was so tired, and then I fell sick myself. If not for Addy, I would have died too, I expect.

“How mysterious are the ways of God, for me to be spared and not those little children. A useless old woman like me, living past her time.” Paradoxically, Aunt Hannah seemed cheered rather than depressed by this and blew her nose enthusiastically on the handkerchief with which she had been dabbing her eyes.

“So, when did Uncle Herbert’s lawyer come to see you about the house?” Lalamani asked.

“Oh, I never met him. He visited while I was sick. I had the ague again twice more that year, and he came the second time, in the summer it was. Indeed, by the time I was well enough to go about a bit again, they had already moved me into the house. I was so grateful, for I cannot deny the cottage they found for me when they moved me from the rectory was draughty, and the roof leaked. But there. I must not complain, and it was good of the people to find me a place.

“The new rector—he was the new rector then—came to see me and explained my brother had rented the house for me, though what I will do when the lease runs out I do not know, my dear.

“And he said the parish would look after me, since I had no income. And they have, Lalamani. Why, Dr Wagley even gives me money from time to time. One does need money, unfortunately. At last quarter day, he gave me a whole ten pounds! Think of that. Ten pounds.”

The lease? The house was Aunt Hannah’s free and clear. And ten pounds? Lalamani had spent much more on a walking dress.

They’d arrived in the village, and Lalamani dropped the topic for the moment, but she would be seeking an introduction to this Dr Wagley without delay!

Miss Finchurch was the first person Philip saw as he rode into the village. At first, he did not believe it, since he had been seeing her in every short comely woman he passed for days. But there she was, her face turned his way as she talked to the elderly woman beside her.

She wasn’t aware of him, her focus all on her companion. He noted the shop she entered, a village general store. Should he follow immediately, or take a room at the inn first and look her up after? The hired horse was tired. He should hand it over to the care of the grooms. He nudged it on into the inn-yard and dismounted with his usual care, pleased the damned hand managed to maintain hold on the reins. It ached a bit, but his exercises had helped him to gain and keep some measure of function.

A walk would do him good. He gave his saddle bags to the innkeeper with instructions to prepare a room, and headed out to find Miss Finchurch.

She was still in the shop. He knew her by her lack of height, and by some indefinable knowledge of her shape and the way she moved, though her face was hidden by her bonnet and she was half hidden on the other side of a stack of shelves.

“Oh dear,” the elderly woman was saying, “Lalamani, my love, are you sure? Can you afford it? I should not wish you to spend your money on me.”

Lalamani. What an unusual name. Beautiful and exotic, and somehow precisely right for the lady whose memory had haunted him for days.

“And why not, may I ask?” Lalamani replied firmly. “Who else should I spend it on than the aunt who was like a mother to my papa? Why, it is my Christian duty, Aunt Hannah.”

Philip rounded the shelves and was gratified by Miss Finchurch’s expression of surprised delight before she schooled her face to gracious welcome.

“My lord! What a surprise to see you here! Aunt Hannah, may I make known to you Lord…?”

Philip interrupted, holding out a hand to the lady. “Lord Calne’s engineer, Philip Daventry, madam, at your service.”

Miss Finchurch’s eyes narrowed, but she did not betray his prevarication. “My aunt, Mrs Thorpe.”

Mrs Thorpe held out a wrinkled hand for him to salute. “Mr Daventry? Oh my goodness. I suppose you have come to see to the Hall. Daventry is the earl’s family name, of course, so you must be some kind of cousin. Does the earl wish the Hall repaired? But I cannot think it is fit for anyone to stay in. Certainly, no one has stayed there this past thirty years. More! You will stay with us, of course. Only, Lalamani,” and here she dropped her voice to what she clearly imagined was a whisper, “I’m not perfectly sure we have another whole set of sheets!”

“I have a room at the inn, Mrs Thorpe, but thank you for the offer.”

Mrs Thorpe looked relieved, but insisted, “But you will visit. You must. You have come all this way. And you are a friend of my niece’s.”

“I expect Mr Daventry is as surprised to see me as I am to see him,” Miss Finchurch said.

Philip hazarded his luck. “Yes, but I am always happy to see a friend, Miss Finchurch, and feel very fortunate my duties brought me to the same village you were visiting. I had not hoped to see you again so soon.” Or at all, though he had thought about her more often than he should, given his lack of a decent future to offer her.

Her slight frown was doubtful, but she refrained from commenting, and Mrs Thorpe filled the awkwardness of her silence by declaring she would ask the shop assistant to cut off twenty yards, if dear Lalamani was absolutely certain it would not be too expensive.

Receiving Miss Finchurch’s assurance, she bustled off to make her purchases, leaving Philip to make his explanations. He took the high ground by speaking first. “Thank you for not exposing my title, Miss Finchurch. I hope to avoid the village either toadying to me because I’m the earl, or pursuing me with duns because my predecessors owed them money. And I really am here as an engineer.”

Her face cleared and she laughed. “I cannot blame you, and will support your deception, Mr Daventry. Do you make a long stay? I thought you would be back to your aqueduct.”

“I hope to be able to return once the weather is settled enough for the work to start again, but meanwhile I can use the time to find out what repairs the Hall needs. And you? I did not know you planned a visit to Feldon Roding.”

Miss Finchurch’s eyes sparkled and her lips curved beguilingly, but she did not speak whatever mischief had amused her, saying only, “My Aunt Hannah has lived here for fifty years, and has often written to me about the village. I expect to enjoy my stay, although…” She trailed off, her smile turning to a frown.

“Although?” he prompted, when it became clear she was not going to continue that sentence, but she just sent him another bright smile.

“Aunt Hannah is ready,” she said. “It has been lovely meeting you again, Mr Daventry.”

He followed her to the counter, and swooped on the large parcel before she could add it to her own load, tucking it under his less functional arm so he could reach for her basket with the useful one. “Please allow me to carry your parcels to your carriage,” he begged, to the amusement of both ladies.

“We are walking, Mr Daventry, and would not wish to take you out of your way.”

“On the contrary,” he rallied, “a walk is just what I need.”

Once he knew which direction they were walking, Lord Calne assured Lalamani and her aunt the house was barely out of his way at all, being a mere five minutes beyond the turnoff to the Hall.

Lalamani suggested he could surrender his load when they reached the half-collapsed tangle of wrought-iron that had once controlled access to the Hall’s main carriage way, but now merely wilted against the brick pillars on either side. Lord Calne insisted on escorting the ladies all the way home, and then accepted Aunt Hannah’s offer of a cup of tea.

The arrival of a representative of an earl sent Addy into a brief panic. The parlour, she told Lalamani, was the proper place for such an august personage, but she and Milly had been clearing the other rooms to give them a thorough clean, and the parlour was now full of furniture, drapery, paintings, and ornaments.

But Lord Calne assured Addy he would prefer to have his tea in the kitchen, if she would be so kind, for then he would feel at home, and he had not had a home since his mother died. Which set both Addy and Aunt Hannah fussing over him to make him comfortable, and Lalamani was torn between gratitude at his swift intervention and exasperation at his skilful management of the two older women. Yes, and Milly was a victim of his charm, too, sneaking peeks at him from the stool she reluctantly occupied after he insisted they all sit down, and blushing whenever he smiled in her direction.

The sooner he finished his cup of tea and his large helping of pound cake, the sooner he could take his leave and they could settle to their work, for Lalamani and Milly—with the enthusiastic support of Addy—were determined the whole house would be clean from the cellars to the attics before Christmas Eve.

Lord Calne accepted the second cup of tea Aunt Hannah offered, sipping it as he listened with every evidence of enjoyment to her stories of village life back when she was the rector’s wife. She had a storyteller’s gift for drama and pacing, and Lalamani was soon hanging on her words as much as she had when those stories arrived in letters. Gone was the anxious and diffident Aunt Hannah of today. As she talked about her life so long ago, her voice gained certainty and humour, her posture became confident, and Lalamani caught a glimpse of the warm, calm, loving rector’s wife who had mothered the whole parish side-by-side with her beloved husband.

Lalamani was astounded when Milly began lighting candles and Lord Calne suddenly looked up at the window and said, “It is getting dark!”

“Oh dear,” Aunt Hannah said, “I have kept you from your work.”

“You are too kind to say I have been an importunate guest, far outstaying my welcome,” Lord Calne replied. “But I beg you hold me excused, Mrs Thorpe. I was so absorbed in your stories I quite forgot myself.”

“You must not neglect your work for the earl, Mr Daventry,” Aunt Hannah scolded, and then cast a doubtful look outside.

“I will make an early start in the morning,” Lord Calne promised, “but for now I had best make my way back to the inn while it is still light enough to see my way.”

With a further exchange of mutual compliments, he disengaged himself from the kitchen and allowed Lalamani to usher him to the front of the house and out the door.

She locked the door behind him and slid the bolts, then rested her back against it, closing her eyes for a moment. For seven years, first in India and more recently in England, she had been courted and flattered by one man after another. She was not beautiful, and she was far too short, but she was passably pretty and, though merchant-born, she had the manners and training of a lady and her wealth covered a mountain of deficiencies. But none of her suitors tempted her to forgo her independence; none of them seemed to be aware of her mind or to care about engaging her in interesting conversation; not one could make her whole body tingle with just a smile.

Until now, she would have said, but Lord Calne was not a suitor. He could be, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. He needs your money. With a bit of encouragement… She shook her head but the thought would not be dislodged. What nonsense. As if she would want a husband she could purchase. As if Lord Calne would marry out of his class, even to save his estate. After all, heiresses were not unknown among the gentry, especially for a man as charming and kind as Lord Calne.

She pushed off from the door. A lot of fuss about nothing. Lord Calne would inspect his property tomorrow and then go back to London, and she would stay here and help her aunt. And the first step was to finish the cleaning.