13
To care for the plant is to care for the grapes, for the fruit is nothing but the overflow of what a plant is fed.
—Notebook of a viticulturist
For the second time I perched atop the black stallion puffing from his massive nostrils, but now we climbed down the hill and daylight warmed our backs. I clung to the man before me for safety, only now he was not quite a stranger. Below us the road wound down into the village where it was lined by identical little cottages with a long stone fence.
“How long has it been since you’ve walked through the village?” His voice carried back to me over his shoulder.
“Long enough.” The truth was, I’d never been to the village. My childhood days had been full of my governess and tutors, without a thought for the village lying just past our woods. Now, the idea of riding into the midst of this place, walking among the people now working in my vineyard for no pay, made me recoil.
We trotted down the ribbon of dirt road that separated two long rows of homes, and the scene was surprisingly pleasant. Sunlight glinted off the waters of the distant channel, and feathery mounds of wisteria spilled over the matching fences running along both strings of homes.
Donegan reined his horse in before a neat green door with hens pecking at the bare yard. A crooked flower box held a few sad flowers. Dismounting, he helped me slide off the stallion’s back and then knocked at the door. A quiet greeting ushered us in. An older couple sat before an empty hearth, one working at a table and the other reclining in a rocker.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Hagan. Their three sons serve in the fields, and the eldest rents this home.”
I looked at the tiny cottage. “They live together?”
Mr. Hagan, a scrawny man in a faded shirt with a red scarf about his neck, sat at the table, painstakingly piecing together a chipped cup. His careful handling of those mere remnants squeezed my heart. “Had me own cottage when I worked in the fields. Over twenty years I gave this vineyard, but you’d never know it, the way I was cast aside as soon as my body gave out. Neatly tucked away in this here place with promises of my own cottage, but now that he’s gone I’ve got nothing.”
I bit my lip, eager to promise him a small pension for his service, but I couldn’t. I had nothing to give yet.
The tightness inside me eased only when I determined that this man would receive the first outpouring of the fortune when I found it, after estate notes were paid.
“It isn’t so bad, Mr. Vance.” The old woman rocked in and out of the shadows, her arms wilted onto the arms of her chair. “We did love that Master Harlowe. Like a father to the village, he was, and always fair. He’d have never left us out in the cold, at least. Besides, our boys are good to us and we manage.”
I lifted grateful eyes to the sweet woman. They deserved much more than they had. Their weary bodies evidenced years of loyal service, which should be amply rewarded.
“No one who serves one master so long should have to simply manage.” Her husband grumbled these bitter words.
“It wasn’t always this way, Mr. Hagan. Don’t forget that.” Her soft voice blanketed the rough edges of her husband’s bitterness. “He was good to us for many years, and we have plenty. Save your pity for folks like the McEvoys. Since the storm, they still set out a pot when it rains.”
Donegan grumbled. “No one’s been to repair the roof?”
Hagan shook his head. “Not since the master . . .” His voice trailed off as he shifted uncomfortably at the mention of death.
When we took our leave of the place and walked farther down the road, I followed Donegan to a house across the street and down a little. He knocked and called out as if he were a regular visitor.
“How do you know all these people? I thought you’d just arrived.”
“I always make it a point to know the families I work with. Besides, I did stay here for a time while waiting for the ladies of the house to return to Trevelyan.”
I hesitated behind him. “Where exactly did you come from?”
“I’ve lived in Newcastle, Scotland, Cornwall, East Sussex. Most recently, though, I’ve come from a vineyard in the South of France.”
“That isn’t what I mean. It’s just . . . you seem to have walked out of the mist, yet it seems you’ve been here forever too.”
I wished he’d answer my question, although I almost dreaded the dark secrets of his past that he might reveal. I’d come to depend on him in many ways, yet what if his character came into question? Did I keep him on, giving him the journals only he could interpret and entrusting him with the vineyard only he seemed able to save?
The second door opened to us. “Mr. Vance.” A wiry woman with rolled-up sleeves and a strip of cloth securing her frizzy hair stood in the doorway, her stiff posture and lifted chin evidencing the respect that Donegan seemed to elicit wherever he went. He introduced me as a friend and the woman greeted me with a formal nod, but she asked no further questions about my identity.
She ushered us into the dim space full of children in patched clothing, all tumbling over one another. The scarcity I saw there twisted my heart even further, and I wondered at Father’s stinginess toward them. Donegan hovered at the fringes with a deeply shadowed expression, but I moved toward our host and apologized for calling on her without warning.
“What a surprise to have company in the middle of the day.” Her cheery smile doused my concerns with pleasant welcome. “Come, get yourself rested while I bring some food. Bread and honey? My Stephan won’t touch it, so there’s plenty. Says it tastes stale before it comes out of me oven.” The delightful woman walked toward her cupboard and leaned in, still chattering. “Don’t mind the little ones. Just push them aside if you need the space.”
As the cupboard muffled her voice, my attention drifted to the children playing about, and their contagious joy began to lift my burdened heart. The youngest sat on the floor, baby feet spread, arms flapping in delight. One girl braided her sister’s hair while chattering faster than her mother. Three boys tumbled as a cluster over the rug. Another gave the scene lively background music with his fiddle. When the baby fussed, his mother stooped to gather him and thrust the little being into my arms. Surprised, I anchored the tiny whining body to me, praying he did not slip out of my grasp.
The intrigue of something new seemed to capture him, for he abandoned his whines to tug on the cameo hanging from my neck. Within a brief moment, a natural instinct overtook my hesitations and I cradled the little baby close and kissed the feathery blond hair. As the hubbub of many bodies faded to a pleasant blur around me, I looked down at the impossibly tiny face and savored the weight of him in my arms, watched his chubby hands flapping against my chest, and breathed in his sweet scent.
When I exhaled across his face, his large brown eyes jerked up to meet my gaze, eyebrows arched with interest. I smiled at him, for I was capable of nothing else then, and his face melted into a crinkly eyed smile that nearly shattered my heart in a pleasant explosion of longing. Before I could stop it, desire crept in and began to dwell in my heart. In spite of the lack, there were traces of sweet loveliness in this place.
I jumped when I felt someone brush my skirts. A young girl of about fifteen hovered behind me, one slender hand extended to touch the skirt of my gown whose subtle sheen glowed in the dim cottage. She withdrew her hand into her shawl when she saw me looking at her.
“It’s beautiful,” she said in a soft, breathy voice. How she must disappear in this house bursting with noise and chaos. “You do look magical in such a dress, miss. Just like a fairy.”
I smiled. “It’s a favorite of mine.”
Our hostess handed us each a slice of bread, and though it pained me to accept a portion of their meager store, Donegan downed his in a few bites.
“It seems you’re running out of room, Mrs. Campbell.” Donegan’s voice broke the reverie as he grabbed a kitchen chair and tested it, frowning at its wobbliness. Could the man be anything but negative? I silently chewed the coarse bread that tasted of homey warmth despite its sad texture, and continued to clutch the baby. They lacked so much, but they had a great deal too. It was true that there was no room here for an excess of belongings, impressive decorations, or even privacy. There was only room for the family it housed, squeezing them all close together in one happy mess.
“I’ve been pestering my man to be more forceful about what he’s owed, but he’s afeared of losing his position over it. His anger is boiling hotter, though. One of these days it’ll blow and someone will pay. Hopefully old Harlowe’s widow.”
Involuntarily stiffening at the comment, I buried my face in the baby’s fine hair and hid my utter embarrassment. Donegan Vance had discovered a brilliant way to punish and torment me without saying a single word.
“Give me that over there, Mrs. Campbell.” Donegan took the proffered tools and quickly strengthened the chair with a few well-placed nails. He drove them into the wood with sharp bursts of his hammer, as if each strike were a wordless condemnation of my part in their poverty. With one last test of its sturdiness, he rose. “I’ll be sure to have Mr. Campbell home for supper tonight, so make plenty of food.”
“Now didn’t you find my bread wonderful? Come, tell me Stephan is a fool to not appreciate it.”
“I’d never call the man a fool. Nor the bread wonderful.”
I coughed and gulped all at once at his response, but the woman merely heaved a large sigh and let her shoulders fall forward. “Ach, I suppose not. But then I never promised I could cook when he wed me.”
She bounced back to her cheerful self in a moment, even while my heart still smarted a bit from the comment. Maybe they were all used to such behavior, for it seemed natural to her, but I could at least offer a taste of refinement. “It was wonderful, Mrs. Campbell. Truly wonderful bread, and I thank you for it.”
Donegan led me from the house after I surrendered the now-wiggly baby. “Now you’ve seen the state of their homes. I hope it’s had an impact on your mind.”
I glanced back at the sparse but cozy home small enough to be a sort of hug, holding the family close together in pleasant disarray, and recalled the feel of the chubby baby against my chest. “Indeed, it has.”
“A bit different than your own, is it not?”
I shot a glance up toward Trevelyan Castle that looked with Malvern arrogance over the little village. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to still the familiar emptiness threatening to engulf me. “Terribly different.”
When we finally mounted his horse and turned toward home, my heart was full. It was not that I didn’t see the pot on the floor to catch the leaks or the crooked table and chipped dishes. My heart had seen and been painfully broken by it.
But like Donegan had said in the woods, there were simply certain belongings money could not adequately purchase.
Near the top of the hill, the man’s demeanor softened. “You’ve been accommodating, allowing me to bring you here and parade you before these people.”
“It was good for me, truly.” I spoke into the fabric of his shirt as I clung to him. The horse ascended the rocky hill with a wobbly gait, moving far more slowly than his usual gallop.
“So you learned something?”
A breath of time passed in silence before I could answer. “That I did.”
We crested the hill that looked out upon the perfectly sloped vineyard, and I breathed in the beauty of my home. If my life was not rich in love and family, at least it was brimming with beauty.
“There is one other thing I learned about your father.” He reined in his horse and slid onto the ground, reaching up to help me down. “It seems the general unspoken belief is that your father stole his fortune.”
“But where would he have gotten it? That’s utterly ridiculous.”
“Is it, though?”
I clasped my hands into fists. “I will not believe such a thing. If he was suddenly wealthy, it’s because he earned it somehow.” I said the words with all the vehemence of one trying to convince the listener as well as oneself.
Evening settled over the estate with a light patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. All day, scenes from the village had been tossing about in my mind, pulling at me and making me anxious. Father could not have left them so destitute, for it was not in his nature to be unfair to them.
Yet my mind quickly drew up that image of the stone in the woods, and everything Donegan had said about Father. What did I truly know of the man and his past?
When I sought out Mother in her small receiving room that evening, the name Malvern had lodged in the shadows of my mind. As soon as I entered the little room, an odd sight caught my attention and tore it out of the clouds—Dr. Caine looked up and dropped Mother’s hand as if it were a handful of stolen farthings and I the constable. I frowned. Had I imagined what I’d just seen? Mother watched me from where she perched in a darkly upholstered little chair by the window, and a forced smile replaced Dr. Caine’s usual warm one, but I moved forward and greeted them with all the grace of one who had witnessed nothing unusual. Such diplomacy where Mother was concerned was as natural to me as taking a meal. “How is the patient this evening, Dr. Caine?”
“Doing well enough to render my visits meaningless in the near future.” He moved away to collect his things and pile them into a bag.
“Oh no, Dr. Caine.” Mother’s voice wafted over us with a pleasant lilt. “I’d never call them that.”
If Mother did not intend to expose her grief, she managed quite well. Not even the façade of grief did she display.
“I thought you were out riding with Andrew. He had plans to invite you, I heard.” She leaned close to whisper. “Have you already abandoned him?”
“I don’t believe Mr. Carrington is staying at Trevelyan any longer. I have . . . changed the nature of our association.” I glanced at our visitor, wishing he’d leave, for surely he could hear this most intimate conversation even at a whisper. “I’m not sure he’ll want to stay.”
Mother’s expression melted into an indulgent smile. “Oh, but he does. I spoke to him this morning and urged him to remain. I explained how distraught you have been and insisted he give you more time to come to the right conclusions concerning him.”
I tensed. “You mean your conclusions.”
“I know your mind better than you, my daughter. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you pined away in your room when he left.”
I clenched my jaw as heat rushed up my neck and through my face. I glanced at Dr. Caine, who silently poked about in his bag, likely attempting to remain inconspicuous.
Clearing my throat, I pivoted the conversation to what I’d come to discuss in the first place. “I have a question for you, Mother, if you feel up to it.” She looked up at me. “It’s about the Malverns. Who exactly were they to us?”
She sighed deeply and toyed with a handkerchief in her hands. “Didn’t your father serve in their fields years ago? I believe they were his first employers and they taught him about vineyards.”
“How did he find the position, though? Had he some connection with them?”
“I have no idea, and why on earth should you care? It isn’t as if it matters anymore.”
“It merely seems a rather weak reason to be so entirely obsessed with them, especially for a man of strong principles like Father. The Malverns sounded like dreadful people, always destroying and overworking their staff, and it seems he became like them in the end. Why did he not attach himself to an honorable family?”
“Honor defined those people.” The sharp assertion came from Dr. Caine, who had been quietly placing vials and tools in his black leather bag.
Mother and I both turned to the man and the clock behind us ticked in the silence. I looked then upon his distinguished, angry face as an untapped storehouse of vital information.
Mother’s voice cut through the uncertain silence. “Let’s not dwell on such matters. I’m glad to be done with that family now that Josiah is gone.”
But I wasn’t sure that we were.
I pondered this information as I walked Dr. Caine out of the room later. He did not seem comfortable enough to utter a word as we wound around to the first floor. The stairs were too narrow to allow us to walk beside one another, so we descended in silence.
However, there were many answers I needed from him, so I began as soon as we reached the landing. “You knew the Malverns.” I kept my tone casual.
“Many years ago, yes. I served as their physician when they summered here. They were known as one of the wealthiest families in the south of England, once upon a time, but they were decent people too. I owe them everything I have, for it was the eldest Malvern who sponsored my education.”
“Cassius?”
As soon as the eerie name slipped from my lips, I regretted it, for all manner of anxiety passed over the poor doctor’s face. After a brief silence, he cleared his throat. “No, that was the son. It was Cassius’s father, Edward Malvern, who so generously provided for my studies.”
I hesitated. “I’m sorry for what I said of them before. They’ve been a bit of a thorn in my side, being this big secret Father refused to speak about.”
His smile once again crinkled the skin around his eyes, but it appeared sadder this time. “Quite understandable, my dear. Pardon my behavior upstairs. It was improper of me.”
I wondered which incident he meant.
“Did they perhaps sponsor my father’s education too? Or a business venture?”
He sighed and rested a calming hand on my shoulder. “None of that matters now, Miss Harlowe. Your mother was right about that. I never should have said a thing about them. It’s just that they were so kind to me, and being in this house again . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced up at the high ceilings filled with gold trim and chandeliers.
“You must know how they were connected then, my father and the Malverns.”
He stooped to collect his hat from the table. “Every man deserves to keep a few pieces of his past private.”
“Surely you cannot mean Father wronged them. He was so upright and splendid, and . . .”
He lifted his eyes so full of gentle pity, and I could not stand to look at them. It wasn’t like this man knew my father the way I had.
“The only perfect father is the one in heaven. Never forget that.”
I clung to my loyalty with desperate tenacity, forcing the doctor’s words from my mind. The human part of me couldn’t be satisfied with having a vague spirit father in some distant realm, and the little-girl part of me refused to give up on my earthly father and the hope of a true relationship with him.
“I always tell my patients to focus on the next thing and nothing beyond that. Too many of them are carried away in worrying over the future—what the illness will mean for them, how they’ll pay for care, all of that. In your case, it’s the past that has you so distracted. It’s time to let it go.”
“But, Dr. Caine, I have to understand what happened so I can at least locate Father’s fortune. It’s becoming a matter of urgency.”
He hesitated. “Miss Harlowe.” The gentle face wrinkled with concern. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps it no longer exists? Forgive my intrusion, but I cannot help but notice the reduced financial position of the estate. Your father did take out a loan with that Prescott fellow, did he not? And he has neglected to pay his laborers.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“You’re too smart for this, Miss Harlowe. Only a young pup will sniff around the same place for his meat long after it’s stopped appearing, while the older dogs are off looking for a new source.”
“Then the old dog merely gave up too soon.” My voice came out weak and soft. “Besides, the pup knows no other source.”
“Where there is creativity and God, there is always another source.” He squeezed my shoulder and took himself away.
I saw him out the courtyard entrance where his horse waited, then moved back into the house. God, what sort of new source is out there for us? Truly you cannot expect me to follow Mother’s advice and marry—
Distant voices broke through, drawing me to the tall windows. A group of men with bobbing lanterns marched toward the castle. I flew through the hall toward the foyer. Amos rounded the corner from the servant’s hall and nearly collided with me as we reached the front door at the same time. With a worried glance toward me, Amos grabbed the handles and yanked open the doors. There beyond our steps, a crowd of disheveled laborers crossed the drawbridge and approached the castle with swinging lanterns and a cacophony of voices lifted to the cloudy night sky. Two men toward the back sang loudly as they marched.
“Amos, who are these people? Are they vineyard laborers?”
He clasped his gloved hands behind his back. “A rather unseemly bunch, aren’t they? Perhaps a bit too intoxicated to keep appropriate company with yourself, Miss Harlowe.”
“Fetch Donegan Vance.” Those whispered words dispatched my faithful butler into the depths of the dark house as I, having no alternative, went to meet the men myself. How on earth did they find money for the pub if they supposedly hadn’t enough to feed their families?
“We’re here to speak to the head of the house.” The one in front, a tall, lanky man with overgrown blond hair, stepped forward and held his lantern aloft. “We’ve things that need saying.”
Chin up, I stepped out the door and stood guard before it. “That would be me.”
He swapped glances with the men standing on either side of him, then they all turned to look up at me, their eyes glowing in the lantern light. “We’ve come for our wages and we’re not leaving without them.”
I stared down the direct gazes of the men in front, wondering what had suddenly lit this fire in them. What had Donegan Vance said to them? “You’ll simply have to wait. I’d be happy to give it to you immediately if I could, but circumstances beyond . . .”
The men grumbled among themselves, their voices echoing in the night.
One man in work-worn clothes and tall boots stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ve a right to our pay. Unless you can supply it, we’re on strike from the vineyard to have ourselves a treasure hunt.” He marched forward. “Come on, men. Let’s go find it.”
Ragged villagers swarmed up the path and I ran down the steps, hands out. “Stop! You cannot trespass.”
“Hold up.” A single deep voice rolled like thunder over the crowd, stilling the chaos into low murmurs. “This is not the way to go about it.” The motley collection of laborers shifted apart as Donegan Vance strode through their midst. He paused before the leaders of the strike and spoke in hushed tones. I strained in vain to hear what they said.
Finally he strode up the path to me, arms folded over his chest. “It seems you have run out of time to pay what is owed, Miss Harlowe. You will have to find a way to settle up or lose your vineyard to neglect and your possessions to the men to whom you owe money.”
“It’s illegal for them to simply plunder our house for the fortune.”
“That is so.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket and held it between our faces. “The law offers about this much protection from a band of determined and hungry men, especially in the country. You’d best settle with them soon.”
“With what? You know my position. I’ve nothing to pay them.”
He arched one eyebrow and cast a glance behind me at the vast estate that was my home.
“What, are you suggesting I distribute candlestick holders and gilded mirrors?”
“I’m merely suggesting you settle with them sooner rather than later, however you must.”
I pushed past him. “If they force their way in and steal from my family, I’ll—”
He grabbed my shoulder to stop me and stepped close, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “Keep in mind who you speak to before you unleash your anger. They’re hardworking men trying to protect their families just as you are. That one who spoke has six children and two aging parents. He works twice as hard as you do and lives on a fraction of what you have.”
“As if you know what I have or do not have.” The words slipped out of my tense lips before I could stuff them away. I remembered with vivid clarity the joyful little cottage full of children, the wonderful smells of baking, the chubby baby. With a deep breath, I lowered my voice and finished my statement as warmth poured over my skin, heating my cheeks painfully. “There is wealth and there is lack in everyone’s life.”
His hard look evaluated me thoroughly, but I did not wish to explain further.
Stepping past him, I approached the small knot of men. “I need a little more time. Set a date in the future and I will find a way to meet it.”
“Friday.” Donegan Vance strode toward me. “Give her until Friday.”
Three days? I shot him a look.
“I cannot do without them in the fields longer than that. You’ll simply have to find a way to give them something by then or they’ll make good on their threat to search out the fortune themselves.”
I forced a swallow and straightened. “All right, Friday.”
But I had no idea what I’d have to offer by then.
As I slipped back inside, heart pounding and temples throbbing, I heard whispers. Amos and Margaret lingered in hushed conversation that ceased the minute my footsteps echoed on the floor.
“Bad news?” I forced myself into their conversation as only a lady of the house could.
Margaret fidgeted with her apron. “It seems there’s been a fire at James Prescott’s country house last night.”
I frowned. “I do hope he’s unharmed.”
“We’ve not heard yet, but they did say everyone escaped.”
I simply nodded as I passed through the hall to the stairs, wondering why on earth the servants thought the matter held enough weight to speak so secretly of it.