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Chapter seven

I tossed and turned the night through. But thanks be to God, Cecily did not.

Since arriving several days ago, she’d taken a turn for the better.

She was intrigued by Burtins and the grounds.

The housekeeper had quite made a pet of her.

More often than not, she begged to retreat to the kitchen, only to return to me in a few hours with smudges of flour upon her cheek and apron and a plateful of her attempts at biscuit making.

Twas as if glory itself had opened up to the child.

Thankfully, Tobias had only encouraged her in this below-stairs activity, one not befitting a lady in the least. I smirked at the social rules.

If society knew what being a lady really meant in old English, they would choose new, more polished titles.

It simply meant: She who gives bread. To be a proper lady meant something far more precious than wearing silks and attending Almacks.

Furthermore, a lady is one who performs a task, not out of duty but charity.

A kind vicar once told me this upon my marriage.

My husband had been of lower status, and I’d received a criticism from a woman after church on a Sunday.

He’d heard and sought to encourage me. Not that I’d learnt to make bread—but I did understand his meaning.

While my marriage to a lower-class gentleman had been endorsed by the vicar, he could not have known how his words had impacted me over the years.

I slipped from bed early and quietly dressed for the day. I was surprised to see Mr. Mulls out of bed to join us for breakfast, this time, more properly attired.

He stood and bowed at my entry. “Good morning.”

I curtsied.

“Mrs. Fredrickson tells me I was a bit brutish t’other day when you’d arrived.” He grimaced. “I apologize. And to you, nephew.”

“Uncle.” Tobias nodded. “It is understandable after everything you’ve been through of late.”

The old man’s bushy brows rose as an odd smile lifted about his lips. “Right. Isn’t every day a young lad pops in and tells one he ought to be dead.” He laughed. “We all got our time. I’ll have my real death notice someday.” He tugged at his much-yellowed cravat. “But not today. Not yet.”

I served myself some porridge and berries with fresh cream. A pot of steaming coffee waited on the table, beside the tea. I reached for the coffee.

Tobias eyes lifted in surprise. “You take coffee?”

“I’d a troubled rest. Coffee will revive me.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I’m heading to the village this morning to have another meeting with the magistrate and constable.” He tapped two letters on the table. “And I’m writing to Joseph for advice.”

“Good idea.”

“Tis a pity about young Samuel’s death, nephew.” Mr. Mulls filled his mouth with eggs and chewed. “Haven’t seen him since he was sixteen, there about.” He lifted a piece of toast to his lips. “The young ought not die. No, indeed.”

So. He hadn’t been aware of Samuel’s visit.

If he had been here at all—if he’d been the one to steal the silver as a ruse—if indeed Cecily had heard right.

If she had not, then why had Samuel bribed her silence?

No, it must be true. He’d come to Burtins in secret.

Why hide his identity? Being a Chinworth, the firstborn to inherit the mighty Mayfield estate, he’d be welcomed incautiously. Especially here.

Tobias caught my train of thought with his own. “Whatever he came for would have been of benefit to himself. He did nothing unless it served himself.”

Mr. Mulls poured more coffee. “What do you say, lad? Speaking ill of the dead?”

“I do. My brother left much ill in his wake.”

Mr. Mulls offered a compassionate nod. “I’d such a brother.

Mounting debts left from Manchester all the way to London.

Then he popped off…” he snapped his fingers, “without so much as a by your leave. Buried in the graveyard where debts pursue no man. Well…” he pursed his lips, “I suppose there’s the Big Debt, outside the mercy of God. Rather sobering, isn’t it?”

Tobias chose to ignore the painful truth. “Tell me, Uncle, what do you think of my tenant, Mr. Ode?”

“Finer man never walked the face of the earth.”

“Would he make a decent steward?”

“He’d be a far sight better than Cummins, I can tell you that.

But I’ll also tell you the man’s got it in his hands to farm.

You see what few crops fill the land? Those are his doing.

” He pointed his finger. “You should put him in charge of the farmable land. Entirely. The cottagers trust him. They look up to him. Get him on your side, the rest will follow.” He nodded.

Tobias scribbled a note on some foolscap. “What stopped him from plowing the rest of the fields? If he is as good as you say?”

“Lad, I didn’t take you for a dolt. But there you sit.”

Tobias winced at his blunt words, as did I.

“You haven’t figured it out?” His mouth quirked. “He scarcely had enough money to buy what seed he planted, mind. Precious little at that.”

I watched Tobias squirm in his seat, becoming increasingly aware of his neglect. “I suppose it is too late to plant more?”

“You really know nothing of farming, do you?”

“I am the dolt you accuse me of being.” Tobias opened his hands. “What else can I do to improve the tenant’s lives?”

Mr. Mulls grinned widely. “Sheep. Get you a flock for the fields are quite overgrown and in sore need of grazing.”

“Sheep.” Tobias repeated. He pulled out his notebook again and penciled that in. “Got it.”

Mr. Mulls thunked his thick finger onto the table. “But that’s only the start. Your tenants must survive upon something until the land feeds them enough food and more besides.”

“Indeed, they must. I’m beginning to think, Uncle, that you could be my steward.”

“Nonsense. I’m only fit for kite making.” His face lit as a sudden idea turned within his mind. “Do you think the young lass might desire a kite?”

The barest nod sent the man into raptures.

Mr. Mulls tossed his napkin to the table. “I shall create a kite like no other for the child.” He swallowed a final gulp of tea and set his cup down in a clatter. “You have energized me, lad. I shall get directly to work!” He left the room, singing a song in deep baritone that echoed down the hall.

I couldn’t help laughing. Kite making might well be as important as the rest.

Tobias smiled as he stood. “My uncle is a good sort.” He snatched his notes from the table. “I must ride to the village. Please stay away from the ruins today. I’d rather you didn’t run into Cummins again, no matter his state.”

“Of course.” I certainly didn’t want to see that man again.

He swiped the letters from the table, pocketed the foolscap and left the room.

Cecily still slept, so I decided to write to Emma. I missed her companionship. The few years we’d had together had been sweet, though much confined. I hadn’t minded being out of society’s eye. The quiet life had suited me for the time.

I stepped into the drawing room and opened the secretary desk, hoping to find stationery, ink, and a quill.

The little shelves within were empty but for an old lump of wax melted onto crackled leather of a writing pad.

No one had written at this desk for a long time.

I’d have to borrow from Tobias. I made my way to his small study at the other side of the house, down a narrow little hall where a cool draft snaked around my ankles, regardless of the day’s heat.

I opened the door and stepped within. Such a mess! I’d never known Tobias to be so sloppy. Papers were scattered about the room, even the ink bottle had been tipped and spilled down the front of his desk and onto the rug. A chill prickled across my neck. Tobias wasn’t sloppy. Someone had been here.

A sound shifted near the window drapery. I backed out of the room and shut the door, quickly retrieving my dagger. My pistol was upstairs, hidden from Cecily’s sight. Too far away.

But one thing I could do—the heavy-looking hall table nearby might do to block the door.

Whoever was inside wouldn’t be able to get out except through the window.

I shoved the thick piece as hard as I could in front of the door enough to jam the handle and ran outside, knocking into the young maid in training as I went.

I tossed a finger to my lips to keep her quiet.

Her eyes were wide. “Ye run like yer dress is afire, Miss!”

I retrieved my pistol, careful not to wake Cecily.

She stirred just as I was leaving her room.

I ran even faster out of doors, around Burtins, to the location of the study window.

He’d have to leap to the ground as the study was at a higher level than the rest of the house.

I stood behind a scratchy holly tree, prepping my pistol to fire.

Twas short work. Joseph had trained me to do it quickly, within a minute.

By the time I finished, my hands shook. Could I shoot a man again?

I thought of Cecily and the looming threat on Tobias’s life.

Mr. Mulls, too. I glanced at the study window, squinting as the sunlight grew brighter.

No sign of movement. Fine. I’d wait. My shaking subsided as I took deep breaths.

Courage welled up within me in the still, calming moment. Bravery was a choice, after all.

A scraping sounded—the window shifted, creaking outward. A man propped one leg out and another. He was about to land on his feet. And—

In a swift motion, he dropped to the ground on his knees, grunting. I aimed. “Don’t move.”

Cummins. He’d returned. He painfully grimaced, no doubt still injured from his beating. He spared me a glance and moved to leave. Oh no, not if I had the ability to stop him.

I steeled my voice. “I meant it, you are not to move. I know how to shoot.”