Читать книгу Her Longed-For Family - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Wiping his hand on an oily cloth, Jacob watched the steady motion of the beam engine that had taken him and his assistant two days to repair. The great beam rocked in and out of the opening high in the front of the three-story building. With every motion of the wooden beam, that was thicker than he was and twice as tall, water was pumped out of the mine and sluiced away.

“Seems to be working now, my lord,” his assistant, Pym, said.

Treeve Pym resembled a well-fed cat. Short and round, he was topped by thick brown hair. As always, he smelled of oil, sweat and too many days without a bath.

Jacob had grown accustomed to Pym’s reek. The man was a genius when it came to figuring out what was wrong with the beam engine and fixing it. Maybe he would be better described as a foxhound. He had the ability to sniff out a problem before Jacob could discover the cause.

“It does.” Jacob ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the pendulum motion of the beam. “Any idea what caused the trouble?”

“One of the screws connecting the bob to the rod outside the building loosened.”

Jacob picked up the beef pasty he had brought with him at dawn when word was delivered to Warrick Hall that the beam engine had halted again. He had been fortunate his cook rose earlier than the sun. He unwrapped the pasty as he climbed the stairs so he could look out and watch the great beam which Pym called a bob.

He leaned his elbow on the thick sill of the window that gave him the best view of the beam. As he watched, he could not determine how a screw holding it to one of the cylinders could have come loose.

Taking a bite of the beef and potato pasty, he smiled. He appreciated the efficiency of a Cornish pasty, which the miners carried underground with them. Because it had a thick edge almost two inches wide, they did not have to remove poisonous tin from their hands before they ate. The crimped edge allowed a miner to hold the pasty while eating the inner crescent-shaped dough and filling. Once he was finished, the miner tossed the outer edge away. It was, Jacob had decided, a brilliant idea, and he had asked Mrs. Trannock to prepare the same fare for him when he worked at the mines.

He wondered if Lady Caroline ever dined on something as commonplace as a pasty. Now, where had that thought come from? The lady had slipped into his thoughts often while he should have been concentrating on fixing the beam engine, and not only when he inadvertently touched his sore cheek.

Pym asked from behind him, “See anything to tell you what went wrong?”

“Nothing but a properly working beam engine.” Jacob pushed himself away from the window and started down the stairs after Pym. “If you see something that gives you an idea of what happened, let me know.”

“I can’t say now why it stopped, my lord, but I will try to find out.”

Thanking him, Jacob took his greatcoat from a peg and shrugged it on. He pulled on his gloves and set his hat on his head. Outside, his horse Shadow waited patiently for him. While the beam engine had been converted to steam, Shadow had stood outside the building the whole night on several occasions. He knew there were those in Cambridge who would call him a fool for spending time and money updating the mines. However, he was determined to make a success where his uncle had failed, leaving the mines in intolerable condition and the mining families on the precipice of starvation. Only the generosity of the Trelawneys and the Porthlowen church had kept them from slipping over the edge.

It was not as if the miners’ families had other opportunities to make a living. The poor, thin soil of the moor did not allow for farming. Jacob knew the best and perhaps only way to provide for the people on the estate was to keep the mines open. They had been neglected by Maban Warrick. Some miners had turned to thievery and other crimes. Those caught had been hanged or transported, leaving their families in an even worse state.

The thump of the beam’s motion was a comforting sound as Jacob rode to Warrick Hall almost two miles higher on the desolate moor. He did not look toward the scorched ground, but the wind coming off the land blew the odors of burnt brush and gunpowder to him.

Yelland had made himself scarce since that debacle. Pym had asked several times if Jacob intended to dismiss the mine captain. Jacob wished he could. He knew Yelland had intimidated the miners. Firing the man for his insolence and outright stupidity would cause trouble in the mines. The miners would be forced to join a protest against his dismissal.

To own the truth, Yelland did an excellent job...when he worked. The men willingly followed him, and after almost a year, they still did not trust Jacob. The sorry truth was Jacob needed the mine captain to keep order in the mines and production moving smoothly. With the beam engine claiming too much of Jacob’s time, he had few opportunities to show the miners he respected their skills and hard work.

Now, somehow, he had to find time to repair Warrick Hall enough to make it suitable for his family’s visit. Also, he had to arrange to take lessons in etiquette with Lady Caroline so, if anyone from neighboring estates called, he would not shame his family with his unrefined manners.

The chilly wind crept past his collar, and he shivered. Last winter had been one of the worst anyone could remember. Signs pointed to another cold and snowy one.

Coming over a ridge, Jacob saw Warrick Hall in front of him. It was a dark, hulking building. Oddly enough, Warrick Hall had not sustained any damage from the gunpowder explosion. The contour of the moor had protected the ancient house from the concussion. That was good, because the shock from the detonation could have done far more damage to the run-down structure than break a few windows. He was grateful the roof did not leak or had fallen in as ones had on some of the outbuildings.

The house had only two servants indoors as well as the lad who tended the horses and cleaned the stable. The two servants were both so elderly, Jacob felt as if he should serve them. Mrs. Trannock, the cook, oversaw the kitchens, which were as out of date as the mines had been. Wherry was butler and footman, and he would have been Jacob’s valet if Jacob had allowed it. The wizened man could barely climb the stairs, but insisted on answering the door and attending the table during meals.

As Warrick Hall seldom had visitors, Jacob did not have to worry about them being left out in the rain or cold while Wherry shuffled his way slowly to the door. He had solved the other issue by telling both the cook and the butler he preferred to collect a tray from the kitchen and eat in his room while he read reports or toiled over the paperwork that never seemed to end. He should hire an estate manager as well as someone to handle the mine’s accounts, but he did not have time to interview anyone.

The wind grew stronger as he rode toward the house. He would order a cup of something warm from the kitchen and sip it while he handled the week’s correspondence. Actually, the correspondence was almost a month old, and there was no more room on his desk for another piece of paper.

He was relieved when he saw Howell standing in the stable’s doorway, ready to take Shadow. Thanking the lad, Jacob rushed to the house. There were closer doors than the front one, but they opened into sections of Warrick Hall where the floors could not be trusted. Something he had learned shortly after his arrival. He had been exploring the vast house. The floor had broken beneath him, and he had nearly fallen into the cellar.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” said Wherry when he opened the door to usher Jacob in. His white hair was brushed back from his face, and not a speck of lint ruined the perfection of his black livery. “She is waiting for you in the gold parlor.”

“She?”

“Lady Caroline. She said you were expecting her.”

Was he? He could not recall setting a date or time for Lady Caroline to visit Warrick Hall. His heart had begun a cheery dance in his chest at the mention of her name, and his lips wanted to turn up in a silly smile.

“I trust having her wait in the gold parlor was what you would have wanted, my lord,” Wherry continued.

He was astonished how excited the butler sounded that Lady Caroline was calling. Again it was as if Lady Caroline made everyone’s life brighter simply by being a part of it...as she did his. He swallowed his chuckle as he imagined how she would laugh at his frivolous thoughts.

His urge to smile vanished as he glanced around the entrance hall. The heavy wood on the walls had been painted a deep black that consumed every bit of light. For some reason, his uncle had had wood installed over the windows, so no sunshine could enter. The rest of the house was as dark and dreary. The gold parlor, called that because of a hideous gilt frame around a mirror on the chimneypiece, was one of the least grim rooms. It did reek, however, of the tobacco his uncle had used, an odor so overwhelming that Jacob avoided the room whenever possible. He could not leave Lady Caroline sitting in the stench.

“Thank you, Wherry. I trust a fire was laid and lit in the room.”

“Most certainly.” The butler acted offended that Jacob had asked such a question. “Shall I have a tea prepared for you and the lady?”

“Thank you.”

Wherry bowed his head, then walked away at the best pace his bowed legs could make.

Jacob went to the gold parlor. He took a bolstering breath before he walked through the parlor’s open door. He must not make another faux pas while greeting Lady Caroline, though that might be difficult when he did not know what he had done wrong before.

He almost groaned when he saw the state of the room. It was in no condition for a lady. Canvas was draped over the furniture. Pictures were wrapped in linen and leaning against walls beneath the lighter rectangles where they once had hung. Even the mirror that gave the room its name was draped. The rug had not been unrolled. It remained beneath the bay windows on the far side of the room. A fire burned merrily on the hearth. At least someone had opened the draft, because the smoke rushed up the chimney.

If Lady Caroline was bothered by the disarray, he saw no sign of it as she rose gracefully from the only chair not covered with dusty canvas. Her dark red velvet coat matched the ribbons at the bodice of her gown. A cut velvet bonnet the same color perched on her black hair. The shade accented the deep rose brushing her cheeks and complemented the sparkle in her blue eyes. When she walked toward him as if they stood in the gallery of a fine palace instead of a run-down house, she did not offer her hand.

He was relieved because he obviously had done something wrong when he bowed over her fingers at Cothaire. Now he did not have to chance repeating the error.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Jacob said as he stepped around the mound of canvas that had been swept off her chair and left on the floor. He hoped Wherry had handled that task rather than expecting the lady to do it herself.

She faltered. “Surprise? I thought you wished my help with preparing your house for your family’s visit.”

“I do need your help, and I am delighted you are here.” There. That sounded like something a titled gentleman would say. Emboldened by the thought, he said, “I am glad you are here. Do you think Warrick Hall can be made presentable in a month’s time?”

* * *

Caroline wondered if the air had been sucked out of the room. She could not draw in a breath. When she had been shown into the parlor, she had guessed it was because the room was ready for guests. What a shock to discover its abandoned state! She clasped her hands in front of her, wondering if the parlor truly was the best available space to receive people. Certainly the entry hall offered no welcome.

“A month...” Caroline repeated while she tried to determine how best to answer without insulting Lord Warrick and his home. To own the truth, she doubted the house could be repaired to the point of welcoming guests in anything less than a year.

“It is a herculean task, I realize,” he said, and she guessed her thoughts had been on her face.

She walked to where the door hung from one hinge. She fought the urge to push it straighter, because she had the irrational thought that moving a single item could bring the whole structure down on their heads. Looking into the corridor, she stared at the peeling wall coverings and damp stains. The reek of mildew filled every breath she took. She wondered how Lord Warrick managed to live amidst the ruin of what had once been a grand house.

“It is impossible,” she said, then wished she had not been blunt when his face fell.

His fingers folded into frustrated fists at his sides. “If it is impossible for you, then...” Turning away, he picked up the canvas and tossed it atop another chair. “Thank you for calling, my lady. I am sorry to waste your time.”

“Wait a moment!” she called as he took a step toward the door. “I didn’t say I would be unwilling to try.”

Hope flared in his dark eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.” She drawled the word out, searching his face. His relief was so strong. “May I ask you a question which is truly none of my bread-and-butter?”

He chuckled. “You cannot ask any question that I would take the wrong way.”

“You may not think so when you hear my question.”

“Fire away.”

For a second, Caroline considered saying something other than what had been on her mind from the moment he first beseeched her assistance; then she asked, “Why is having both this house and yourself make such a good first impression with your family so important to you?”

“A fair and honest question, and I shall give it a fair and honest answer.” He folded his arms in front of him. “My stepmother is bringing a young woman who she believes would make me the perfect bride.”

His tone was bleak. When she could not restrain her laugh, he regarded her with bafflement.

“I thought you might have empathy for me, my lady,” he said.

“Forgive me, but you sounded as if you were about to be marched off the plank by a band of rapacious pirates. Surely you are accustomed to matchmaking. An unmarried man with a title often finds himself the target of eager mamas.”

“I am not accustomed to it. Perhaps if I had spent time in London, where matchmaking has been raised to an art form, I would be. My brother is very happy with his wife, who was introduced to him by our stepmother. Do not mistake my words. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on the young lady. May I be blunt?”

“Please do,” she said, even though she wondered how much more straightforward he could be.

“It is the not the young woman herself I object to, for I have met her on occasion, and she seems quite pleasant.”

“Faint praise is no praise.”

“That was not my intention. I don’t object to the young woman in particular. I am not like you, my lady. I cannot balance children and a household and the needs of my family at the same time. Certainly not with the ease you display.” He smiled wanly. “I know I must marry one day because the family’s title requires an heir, but my focus at present is on keeping the mines operating and safe. I have no time now for courting or a family of my own.”

“I understand.”

His smile became more genuine. “I am glad. No one else seems to.”

“There are expectations on every member of the ton, especially...” She halted herself before she could say something untoward. To discuss her inability to conceive was sure to embarrass both of them. After all, she did not discuss such an intimate subject with her own family.

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I see you have been the target of matchmaking, as well.” He did not give her a chance to respond before he went on. “I came to Cornwall as soon as I received my title because I had reports of the sorry situation with the mines.”

She nodded. “You have made many improvements, and I know people are grateful.”

“Doing that takes the majority of my time. I have not been able to convince my stepmother of that. If she sees the pitiful condition of the house, she will be even more determined I need a wife.”

“What you need are a carpenter and a maid with a dusting rag,” she said drily.

A roar of mirth burst from him. He laughed hard and had to lean forward to put his hands on his thighs while he struggled to regain control of himself.

Caroline smiled. Since she had first met him months ago, she had never heard such lighthearted laughter from him. Usually he was serious about the obligations that weighed upon him.

Raising his head, he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “I thought one had to be less blunt within the strictures of Society.”

“Yes, but beyond the polite and prim conversation at formal events, you will find people speak plainly. The goal is never to hurt another’s feelings.” She smiled. “I did not think you would be insulted by my comment.”

“Quite to the contrary.” He motioned for her to lead the way into the passage. “You must have known the situation was dire when I came begging for assistance. Maybe you did not realize how dire.”

Caroline decided silence was the best answer. The house was a disaster. As they walked along the corridor, she kept up a steady patter about cleaning and airing the draperies and rugs and the need to get all the cobwebs out of the corners of the intricate crown molding. She had no idea how many servants worked at Warrick Hall. As they toured the ground floor, she saw a butler and a cook, but two old retainers would not be enough to bring the house to a suitable state to receive guests. She was about to say that when she heard a skittering as she and Lord Warrick entered another room.

“You will need to do something about the mice,” she said. “Many women are frightened of rodents, no matter how small.”

“They don’t seem to bother you.”

“Not during the daylight. I would not appreciate waking up to the sight of one of them crossing my room, but that will not happen if their numbers are lowered. The best way is to bring cats from your outbuildings into the house. A good mouser will rid a home of vermin very quickly, especially if you make sure there is a fresh bowl of milk available as a treat.”

“A dandy idea.” He halted, putting his hand on a table hidden beneath a cloth. When a cloud of dust rose from the spot he had touched, he shook his hand clean. “I assume there are cats around, because I have not seen many mice in the stable. However, I have not seen any cats, either.”

“Your uncle used to complain there were more of them here than fish in the sea. I am sure we can find a couple to bring into the house.”

“Shall we look now?”

Caroline was about to say she needed to return to Cothaire, but halted when chiming came from a short-case clock hanging on the wall. In spite of the dust, Lord Warrick’s butler must have kept it wound.

“I can stay a bit longer,” she said, more pleased than she expected to be that she could help Lord Warrick with this small task. “I want to be at Cothaire when Joy wakes from her nap. She is peevish with teething.”

“It should not take too long to recruit a cat for mousing duty.”

Lord Warrick showed her the way to the stable. It was, she noticed, one of the few outbuildings with a door. The stable was in better condition than the house, but only slightly.

When they entered, the three horses inside stirred and regarded them with curiosity before returning to munching their oats. The space was surprisingly large and had as many cobwebs as Warrick Hall. Faint sunlight came from windows in the hayloft overhead.

A lad rushed out of a room beyond the stalls. “My lord, what may I do for you?” He put his fingers to his forelock as if tipping a cap as he glanced from Lord Warrick to her. “Shall I have the carriage readied?”

The baron stiffened. What an odd reaction to a commonplace question!

Then she wondered if she had seen something that was not there. Lord Warrick’s voice was unchanged. “That is not necessary, Howell. Have you seen any cats about?”

“Cats?” The lad nodded, eager to please. “There are always some about. Do you want me to try to find some and bring them to you?”

“No, just point us in the right direction.”

He looked toward steps at the far end of the stable. “They seem to gather in the lower haymow.”

“Thank you.” Lord Warrick offered his arm to Caroline, surprising her.

When she put her gloved hand on his coat sleeve, her fingers sparked as if she had grabbed a bolt of lightning. She almost jerked her hand away. Somehow, she kept her fingers on his sleeve, so she did not call attention to her reaction. If he felt it as well, she saw no sign, because his smile did not waver.

Bits of hay crunched beneath Caroline’s boots, releasing the aroma of dried grass to mix with the ancient dust dancing in the sunlight. She wondered how long it would be before the new stable at Cothaire smelled like this instead of freshly cut wood and paint.

Comparing this stable with Cothaire’s kept her from thinking about how Lord Warrick’s greatcoat brushed against her legs on each step. She could not ignore his masculine scent. She told herself she found that fragrance intoxicating because she had not stood close to a man other than her father or brothers since John’s death.

When the baron withdrew his arm to allow her to precede him up a trio of stone steps, regret flooded her. She chided herself. A lack of sleep after trying to soothe Joy most of last night was no reason to act witless today. Lord Warrick was a gentleman to offer his arm, and he was being polite stepping aside to let her go first.

But, for those few moments, it had been pleasant to be on the arm of a man again.

Stop it! She turned the scold into a prayer for good sense. She was no longer a young miss who blushed and tittered whenever a man stood beside her.

Caroline looked around the haymow, which was almost full. When she saw a bright ray of sunlight aimed at the stone floor to her right, she headed in that direction. Cats, whether they lived in a barn or in a house, always sought out a sunny spot for a nap. She smiled when she saw a half dozen felines stretched out in the warmth.

As she approached, they scattered except for one, which arched and hissed. She smiled and squatted an arm’s length from the calico. She held out her hand as she murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Miss Cat.”

The animal snarled again, her white, black and brown hair standing on edge.

Behind her, Caroline heard Lord Warrick say, “Be careful. She will scratch you. Step aside, and give her a chance to escape.”

“She would have fled before if that was her choice. She must have a litter hidden in the hay behind her.” She rose and edged forward, then around the hissing cat. It raced away only a few feet before turning to glare at Caroline, who had not given chase as the cat had hoped. Bending, she shifted the hay and smiled as she heard small mews.

A pair of heads popped up, curious about the noise. One was black with a white blaze on its nose. The other was a gray tiger. They bounced out, ready for battle, though they could not be more than two months old.

“This one seems bold enough.” Lord Warrick picked up the black-and-white kitten. As he balanced it on his hands, the kitten batted tiny paws at him and gave a warning growl.

She scooped up the other kitten who began to purr as loudly as a cat twice her size. “A mother cat and two kittens will be perfect, assuming the mother cat can be caught. These kittens are the right age for her to teach them to catch prey. While they learn, they will be ridding your house of vermin and insects.”

“I will have Howell bring the mother cat to the house, but will she stay?”

“You may have to keep them in a box for a few days, but if you provide food and water and milk, she will realize quickly she is better off in the house. Cats are smart that way.” She stroked the satiny fur on the kitten’s head. “What are you going to name them?”

“Name them? Do they need names?”

“How will they know to come when you call for them?” Smiling, she asked, “Did you never have a cat or dog?”

He shook his head. “My mother said cats made her sneeze, and dogs eat too much.”

Caroline turned away to pat the tiger kitten, not wanting him to see her shock. It was easy to forget Lord Warrick’s upbringing had been different from her own. She thought of the rumors she had heard. How could Maban Warrick hoard his fortune at Warrick Hall and allow his brother’s family to struggle in poverty?

“What name would you suggest?” he asked.

“Something simple.” She saw the mother cat skulking toward them and her kittens. “Mam is the Cornish word for mother. How about that for the calico?”

“Good. What about this bold black-and-white kitten?”

“He appears ready to chase the mice already, so Helhwur would be a good name. It means hunter.”

“And the tiger? What is the Cornish word for tiger?”

She laughed. “Tiger.”

“I think we can do something better than that.”

“Tegen would be a good name for her, because the word means pretty thing.”

He rubbed the kitten’s head. “Would you like that name, Tegen?” A tiny pink tongue brushed his wrist, and he chuckled. “I will take that as a yes.”

She watched as he continued talking to the kittens as if they could comprehend every word he spoke. His hands, calloused from his work at the mine, were gentle on the kittens. Exactly as they had been with the children. Lord Warrick would be a caring and loving father. A twinge of envy twisted her heart at the thought of him holding his own son and teasing him as he had Gil.

Envy was an ugly emotion, but she could not pretend she did not feel it. She was envious of Lord Warrick and his future wife and their children. How many nights had she silently cried herself to sleep, knowing she had failed—again!—to give John a child? He had tried to act as if being childless did not bother him, but she could not forget how often he spoke, in the months after they were first wed, of the family they would have together.

She had to leave before the tears burning her throat reached her eyes. Telling Lord Warrick she needed to hurry to Cothaire, she handed him the tiger kitten. She rushed through the stable, even though she knew she could never escape her greatest failure.