Yorkshire (11 page)

I smiled, nodding. “You should rest until you’ve recovered your strength, sir.”

“I know. Carier said that too.”

“That man has too strong a hold on you,” said Miss Cartwright. “After we’re married, I shall ask you to dismiss him.”

“I’m afraid you are doomed to disappointment in that respect.” Richard’s voice regained a chill. “No one shaves me as close as he does or has his way with a neckcloth. He has me hog-tied and I can no longer do without him.”

At least he had looked away from me, but that chill in his voice reminded me that he was formidable, capable of great iciness. He possessed vast experience, much more than I had. I must be wary.

I pushed back my chair. “I should change.” I could eat nothing more, though I’d had very little.

“Wear something old,” Martha warned. “Whatever you wear is bound to become soiled. Those rooms haven’t been touched in ten years or more.”

I changed into my drab travelling gown with a heavy heart. I so wanted to show Richard that I could look attractive when in the right clothes, but I seemed to live exclusively in old clothes these days.

I stepped into a small hoop that wouldn’t get in the way of the furniture. For formal wear and Court appearances side hoops were
de rigeur
, but thankfully, except for Court, much smaller than they’d been ten years ago. Briefly, I wondered if I would have to wear finery every day if I married a nobleman. Miss Cartwright certainly did.

Downstairs, I found quite a crowd in the Great Hall. Martha, James, the two Misses Cartwright, Lizzie, Steven, Richard, Mr. Kerre and a female servant. Quite a crowd.

“This is Mrs. Peters,” Martha said. “She was promoted from head parlourmaid and retained as housekeeper after the third earl died.”

The woman curtseyed. Like the manor’s other inhabitants, she was half starved and thin. Her gaunt face showed unhappiness, stoicism, lines graven deeply, making it impossible to guess her age.

Mrs. Peters took a deep breath, turned to us in a businesslike manner, and began the tour, just as she might have done to visitors, had there been any. She pointed out the treasures of the Great Hall; the life sized statues that had been brought back by the third earl from the Grand Tour. We went upstairs and into the State Rooms.

They must have been magnificent once. “Goodness,” Lizzie said.

The first room was a drawing room. Huge satin upholstered sofas stood against the tapestry hung walls, enormous gilded pier glasses set over half moon tables between the windows, silent portraits of ancestors hung on the walls.

Everything had been shockingly abandoned. This was the realisation of Sleeping Beauty’s Palace, and it looked as though it had been abandoned for the legendary hundred years instead of the actual ten.

“It’s been like this since the third earl’s death, my lady,” Mrs. Peters said.

“Ten years?” Martha dragged her gaze away from the murky magnificence before us to stare incredulously at the housekeeper.

I looked around, hardly daring to draw breath. Who would kill for all this, who would cut the traces of a battered old coach? Someone pained to see treasures like this left to rot, or someone who wanted to get their hands on it all? Even in this condition it was worth a lot of money and the contents of the house wouldn’t be included in the entail, so didn’t have to go to the heir. Perhaps it was for gain, after all. Or to cover something up. It would be easy to steal treasures from these rooms. I studied the rooms with more purpose, looking for where the dust was less thick, revealing the absence of a treasure, but I could see none.

Miss Cartwright repeatedly moved her gleaming lilac satin skirts away from the dust-encrusted furniture. Her supercilious expression showed what she thought of such a ramshackle place—she didn’t bother to hide her disdain. The expression marred her pretty, round face. She would do well to hide it. I chided myself for ill wishing her. She had done me no wrong, not yet. I just didn’t like her.

Her betrothed didn’t look at me beyond an initial cold bow, but joined his brother. They walked around the room, and examined the treasures there. Mr. Kerre seemed very knowledgeable, and pointed out several items of distinction in the cold, unlived in room.

Martha carried a cloth, and from time to time, she wiped away a part of the dirt to see what lay underneath. She seemed satisfied with her investigations, and occasionally made a comment about the quality of the things on display, all of it fine. I joined her, glad of the opportunity to stay by her side.

Steven moved closer to me but I tried not to look at him. I wanted to hold my happy secret to myself, just for this day, and not face any problems until tomorrow.

The interior decoration in the room wasn’t particularly distinguished, like a plain wooden box that held diamonds inside it. The treasures in the rooms indicated collectors of rare and beautiful things. “The third earl,” Mrs. Peters told us, “always planned to decorate the interiors as elaborately as the outside of the Abbey but at his death everything changed, and the rooms were all closed.” The curtains had been drawn and some of the great windows opened, but the fusty, unpleasant smell of disuse still permeated the air. Black mould encroached at the edges of the ceiling, and if left unchecked would destroy everything here.

The great Rooms of State were arranged in enfilade at the front of the house, so when the doors all lay open, the onlooker saw the end of the procession of rooms from the beginning. They were grand indeed, but in their heyday they would have intimidated, too. I understood why Martha had been so nervous at the prospect of another visit here, even when she assumed the house was being run properly.

“We’ll come again in a day or two,” Martha said to me. “Then we can bring a notebook and make our plans.”

I saw Martha had already cast me in the same mould I had at home—that of dutiful spinster, a helpmeet to my sister-in-law. To help with the revival of such a great house had its appeal, but one way or another, I would have a life of my own, with or without my newfound love. I shot one or two looks at him, and Lizzie saw me once and frowned, but he seemed sublimely unaware of my presence. He didn’t look at me once. I found his self control unnerving; I wondered if I could live with that.

At the end of the enfilade Miss Cartwright declared she would like to go back to her room and rest, so Richard offered to accompany her. I was glad to see him go, as I found his presence increasingly unsettling, afraid someone would notice. He didn’t look at me, but his hand gently brushed mine, as though by accident, when they passed close by me.

With him gone, I felt entire once more, as though he had leeched me of my own self. Then I understood what Lizzie had meant last night, that I should keep myself intact in his presence. It would have been so easy to succumb without reserve, to do whatever he wanted me to do, but I would have to fight to retain my own independence of spirit.

Steven also left us, saying he had arrangements to make in the chapel. He had found the old vestments and sacred vessels locked in a cupboard, and commandeered all the maids he could find to clean and polish the chapel in readiness for the funeral the next day. “The maids won’t work there on their own.”

“Why ever not?” Martha asked.

“Because of the two earls lying in state there.”

“Afraid they’ll jump up and attack them?” Amusement coloured Mr. Kerre’s voice.

Steven glared at him. “Just so. But I’d like to check on the progress and make certain everything is ready for the funeral.”

Steven left, with a speaking glance at me. He wanted to meet me, perhaps to make good his hold over me. He must have known it had been weakening for weeks, but he couldn’t know by how much.

To our surprise, the elder Miss Cartwright decided to stay. To our greater surprise, when on her own she proved to be a capable, practical woman, offering useful suggestions.

We went into the wing at the end of the enfilade, and found a dismal series of rooms. Before the Haretons had abandoned the greater part of the building, these had been the family rooms. An old piece of embroidery, still only half finished, sat in its frame by a window, and books lay on tables. Dust smothered everything.

“I’d like to restore this wing,” said Martha. “We’ll live in the west wing, for now, and move here if we stay. It’s a shame to waste such potentially pleasant rooms.”

“Do you plan to redecorate?” asked Mr. Kerre.

“I shall have to decorate some of the rooms. The upholstery is perished and there’s mould creeping in. If only they had used dust covers.” Martha sighed deeply, giving her ample bosom some exercise, her mind evidently on all the beautiful things that had been destroyed here by simple neglect.

We left the rest of the east wing for another day.

Martha took Lizzie to the kitchen, to direct the maids in a thorough scrub down. “For it’s clear they need personal direction, and I won’t eat out of the gutter any longer.” That was Martha’s way of indicating that the corners hadn’t been swept in a long time.

Martha had instituted the kind of meal we were used to at breakfast the next morning: a sideboard packed with dishes of hot food to which we helped ourselves. It was pleasing to have such a semblance of normality, almost as though we were at home again.

Richard still had his arm in a sling, but his colour was healthier and his posture better than on the previous day. He still wore a country coat. “Carier is fonder of my coats than of me, but that is what one looks for in a valet, after all.” That drew a laugh from most of the company.

I had reason to believe this wasn’t true, but he must wish to hide his valet’s obvious devotion to him. Careful not to meet his look at all during the meal for fear I might give myself away, and deeply aware of my inexperience, I kept my head down. My night had been broken by fitful dreams that I couldn’t remember properly after I’d woke up.

The door burst open, admitting two manservants carrying Mr. Pritheroe. In my agitation, I had forgotten his plight, and I felt guilty that I’d neglected him. The men struggled over to a vacant seat and installed him.

The self-proclaimed minister was dressed in aggressively simple homespun country clothes, and gave out his good mornings unsmilingly. “The doctor has instructed me to eat, to restore my strength. I do not indulge unduly in pleasures of the flesh, but I must think of my people.” For a man who ate so little, he carried much excess weight. He had considerable presence. One must notice him, listen to him, though his words seemed to me to be nonsense when I thought them through properly. I began to see how he could attract people to his cause.

“I hope you will permit me to preach a short sermon this morning.” He seemed to have only one pitch for his voice, and that was very loud, developed from years of preaching in the open, I presumed. Steven had to agree to his request, although he’d previously told us he planned only a small ceremony.

We’d barely known the late earls. It seemed hypocritical to mourn them with great ceremony, though the County would expect it, if only because of the consequence of the two dead men.

Lady Hareton had said her husband and his brother wouldn’t have wished for any great ceremony, but they must be laid to rest in the family vault. It mattered little to me what they did. Ladies were not usually required to attend funerals, so I would spend the day helping Martha and Mrs. Peters. I wouldn’t pretend grief for someone I’d met once, and disliked. Neither would I parade this, so I kept quiet.

“I was a Great Sinner until I found God.” Now, we were forced to listen to Mr. Pritheroe’s stentorian tones, as it would have been difficult to talk over them. “Then, one day, in the middle of a corn field, He made His desires known to me.” I heard Lizzie suppress a snigger, and I too suppressed a giggle, just as though we were schoolroom misses.

Mr. Pritheroe didn’t seem to notice. “He needed a valiant band of people to travel the world, spread His word, help His people see the light.” So far, it sounded reasonable, if unusual. “I sold my property and took my wife and child to see the world. God said, unless I followed His word to the letter, He feared disaster.” His voice rose at the end of his sentences, as though he preferred to make announcements, rather than conduct conversations.

The preacher began to hit his stride. He buttered toast while he spoke, and then took great bites and sprayed the assembled company with his half-masticated crumbs, showing all of us the tender morsel in his mouth as he spoke and ate. Fortunate to be at the other end of the table, I tried not to look. “I read the Bible from cover to cover and I strongly recommend you all to do the same,” our lecturer announced. He looked round at his fascinated audience. “It will show you the error of your ways, the sin the rich are subject to, and the punishments which await the sinners in Death.” He lowered his voice dramatically at that last word and paused for effect.

“What would they be?” Richard enquired, with no trace of irony detectable in his voice.

“They are eternal damnation for the rich who keep their riches to themselves and flaunt them in sinful ways,” roared Mr. Pritheroe. “There are punishments for the immoral that will make you shudder in your skin. It is all there for anyone to read. Pestilence will visit the vain, and send them boils dripping pus and blood.”

Martha tutted. Mr. Pritheroe glanced at her, and turned his speech a little. “The immoral will lose the offending parts and be made to suffer foul torment.”