Richard sat looking out the window, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was eager to get out, to leave the house and stride through the countryside, perhaps even ride out on horseback. His parents had always kept an enviable stable of horses and, even though it was a little depleted now, there were still plenty of fine animals to choose from for a leisurely ride.
He wasn’t used to this sedate pace of life. For the last few years it was as though he had been driven by an invisible force, always pushing him to keep moving, to keep himself busy. He wasn’t so naive to think this was entirely altruistic—the busier he kept himself, the less time his guilt had to fester and build.
If he was doing hard, physical labour from dawn until dusk, as soon as he stopped his body would be so exhausted he would collapse into bed, hopefully for a few hours of sleep at some point in the night. The exhaustion was his shield, his protection from the terrible thoughts in his head.
Here at Meadow View, it was impossible to escape the serenity. Everything about life was slower and everything was designed to be calm and quiet so it would best suit Lord Digby, but it did mean he had far too much time to himself. Time in which his own thoughts were starting to take over.
There was a rap on the door and Miss Carpenter entered. She was dressed in a clean, dry dress, similar to the one that had been soaked in the river earlier in the day. It was dark grey in colour with long sleeves and a high neck despite the heat. It was demure, but not completely without shape, nipping in at the waist and flaring out over her hips.
‘Lord Digby is having a rest,’ Miss Carpenter said, hovering near the door.
‘Come in, Miss Carpenter. How are you?’
She looked wary, and Richard realised she treated him completely differently to how she treated his mother. They were both in a position of power, both able to make decisions over her employment status, yet she was both cautious and defiant around him, whereas with his mother she was patient and caring.
‘I am fine, thank you.’
‘You do not feel unwell after your dip in the river?’
‘No,’ she said, but her hand flitted to her chest. He wondered if she had inhaled some water. The river was fast flowing and relatively clean, but if she had breathed some of the water deep into her lungs there was a chance of a serious infection.
‘Good. Please take a seat, Miss Carpenter.’
She perched on the edge of an armchair, her posture stiff and a tension in her demeanour that made Richard wonder if she was preparing for a fight.
‘We need to discuss how best we look after my father while Lady Digby is away.’
‘I agree.’
‘I am aware you have been here for quite some time and have a certain way of doing things.’
‘A way that has been settled on through months of trial and error, of noting down what seems to work well and what does not.’
‘I understand that, Miss Carpenter, but we also have to be adaptable.’
She inclined her head. ‘Yes, adaptable,’ she murmured as if reminding herself of the idea.
‘I think if we stick to my father’s normal routine he will notice my mother is gone, whereas if we change a few things then he will be more focused on the changes.’
‘That is not wise, Mr Digby,’ Miss Carpenter said, her voice clipped, and he could see she was holding something back.
‘Go on.’
‘Your father thrives on routine. It is the one thing, apart from Lady Digby, that keeps him feeling safe. Take away his routine and he is floundering.’
Richard regarded the young woman and considered her words. He could see her point, but he was concerned that if at four o’clock Lord Digby normally took tea with Lady Digby in the drawing room, if they kept to that routine and Lady Digby did not appear it would be distressing.
‘I suggest a compromise,’ he said, his tone firm. He wanted to show Miss Carpenter he was a reasonable man. He would listen to reason, but was not going to sit back and not be involved these next few weeks. ‘We keep to the same general routine, but if there is something that normally heavily involves my mother, we avoid it.’
‘Whatever you wish,’ Miss Carpenter said, although there was a flicker of defiance in her eyes. Richard felt a mild irritation. No matter how good Miss Carpenter was with his father she was still just an employee, a paid servant who should be better at taking orders.
‘I also need you to communicate with me. I do not want to have to find out my father has gone missing from the frantic looks the footmen are giving each other. My father is my responsibility and I need you to understand that.’
‘I understand.’ She said the words, but Richard felt as though she was just saying what she thought he wanted to hear.
‘This is a matter I am insistent on, Miss Carpenter.’
She sighed, and he felt a surge of irritation, wondering if she was so rude to his mother. ‘I will inform you of what is happening, Mr Digby, but it is not my priority. My priority is keeping your father happy and safe. Often that will mean I have to prioritise something I am doing with him over coming to speak to you.’
‘I am not asking you to do that,’ Richard said, his fingers gripping the edge of the chair.
‘I am capable of doing my job, Mr Digby. Your mother trusts me. I have been here for a long time, looking after your father for a long time.’
‘Tread carefully, Miss Carpenter.’
She pressed her lips together, but wisely did not say any more.
For a long moment they sat staring at each other, as if waiting to see who would crack first. Richard could not believe the impertinence of the young woman and wondered if she spoke to his mother in the same way.
‘I think we are done,’ he said eventually, standing up to dismiss her. She turned without another word and left the room.
Rose was seething. She had known Mr Digby would assert his dominance at some point, but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon after she had been pulled into the river. It was irritating to be told what to do by a man who had not even been in the country these last few years. She was dedicated to the Digbys—she knew how much she owed Lady Digby for taking her in at her moment of need, and she was fiercely loyal. It stung to be told by a man who had all but abandoned his family how she should be doing things.
Rose was aware she was possibly being unfair. She didn’t know all the details, but she did know how much Lady Digby had suffered here on her own. Rose had tried her hardest to alleviate some of that suffering and now she was being ordered to report her movements to a man who had not, in her eyes, earned the right to ask it of her.
Slowly, she exhaled. Her temper had often got her into trouble when she was a girl and it had been a reason she had bounced from place to place when she was younger. She had never been awed by authority, never felt the need to bow and scrape to those who had been born more fortunate than herself.
When her guardians had taken her in and given her a home they had been careful not to crush her spirit, aware it had been one of the things that had kept her alive and fighting for so long. They had, however, shown her the importance of control. Now most of the time she didn’t let slip exactly what she was thinking, although she knew sometimes her expression left a lot to be desired.
‘Miss Carpenter,’ called out Mrs Green, the jovial cook at Meadow View. ‘Why don’t you come and join me for a cup of tea if you have a minute?’
Rose hesitated, but the draw of the cosy kitchen was too great to ignore. She loved it down in the vaulted rooms, loved the smells and sounds, the bustle and the friendly camaraderie between the cook and the maids. Mrs Green had been at Meadow View for decades and, as with all the servants, she had been carefully chosen by Lady Digby for not only her culinary ability, but also her kind nature.
Mrs Green led Rose into the small room off to one side of the large kitchen and set about pouring tea.
‘You did well, my dear,’ the older woman said as she sat down opposite her. ‘Persuading Lady Digby to take a few days away.’
Rose sighed. ‘I think she was near to breaking point.’
‘Yes, it is a burden, but at least Mr Digby is home now.’
Rose let out a strangled grunt of acknowledgement that had Mrs Green smiling. ‘You are not enamoured with the young master, I take it?’
Rose closed her eyes for a second and took a sip of tea, allowing some of the tension to seep from her. It felt safe down here in the kitchens and she knew Mrs Green would never betray her confidence by repeating any of what she said here.
‘I think his intentions are good,’ she said eventually.
Mrs Green chuckled. ‘But his execution is not.’
‘He has been away for so long, yet he acts as though he knows best. He is so superior and stern, but he has not a clue about what his father actually needs.’
‘You must show him, my dear. Guide him, lead him. Put yourself in his shoes. He’s been away for eight years and he returns to find the father he loved so deeply a vastly changed man. Now the person who once guided him, advised him, needs to be cared for like a vulnerable child. Of course he feels uncertain.’
‘He could just ask for help,’ Rose muttered.
‘Yes, he could, but it is not how men of his class are raised. They go off to those terrible schools and are taught to show no emotion, to never ask for help. Mr Digby at least had his parents to counter that message, but it is hard to break what you are taught.’
‘Why did he stay away for so long?’
Mrs Green hesitated, then shook her head. ‘It is not my story to tell. Something tragic happened and Mr Digby blamed himself.’
‘So he ran away?’ Rose was aware she was being uncharitable, but she could not imagine what could keep a man away from his family for so long. She shook her head. ‘Don’t answer that.’
‘People deal with adversity in different ways. Sometimes it feels as though the only way to keep those you love safe is to remove yourself from the situation.’
Rose fell silent and took a sip of her tea. It was sweet and hot and just what she needed right now. She could acknowledge the jealousy that swirled through her emotions. She had never had the chances that Mr Digby had, and until she was ten years old, she had not known what unconditional love was. Mr Digby had grown up with two parents who cared for him, loved him, cherished him, yet he had still abandoned them.
‘Perhaps you should ask him about it yourself,’ Mrs Green said quietly.
With an unladylike snort, Rose shook her head. ‘I do not think we will ever have that sort of relationship.’
‘Give him time. Remember what he has come home to.’
Rose finished her tea in silence, mulling over the cook’s words. Perhaps she was being too harsh on the man. She refused to put his wants above her duty to care for Lord Digby, but she could probably find a way to balance everything a little better.