Page 1 of The Beast of Barendale Manor

Tendrils of fog twisted past the windowpane as the clock struck eight in the evening. Edmund sat at his desk, wearily contemplating the paperwork before him.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the latest missive from Timmons, his man of affairs. Nothing about it made sense to him, and his continuing financial woes were throwing him into fits of despair.

Losing patience with the endless ream of papers, he stood up, walked to the fireplace, and stabbed at the flames. As the glowing logs tumbled into ash, his fingers unconsciously moved to the line of his collar. The length of his cravat was tight against his skin, heat building beneath it.

The tips of his fingers traced the familiar ridges of the scars on the surface, and he grimaced as he returned the poker to the stand.

Glaring into the flames only made images of his past more vivid. He reluctantly turned back to his desk but felt a spike of anxiety at the mounting troubles he was facing.

How have things become so dire?

He huffed a sigh, returning to his desk and re-reading the base of the most recent ledger. Timmons had sent him an extract from the bulk of the accounts for the maintenance of his country estate.

Barendale Manor was not small by any means, but the dwindling state of his affairs seemed excessive. He looked down the list of items for repair. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary; even the cost on each line seemed reasonable.

Then how have the debts mounted to such a degree?

He longed to speak with Jonathan. His steward and confidant of many years had been a guiding rudder in all his recent decisions. He was one of the few people Edmund still associated with regularly, and he would go so far as to call the man his closest friend—though he would never tell Jonathan such a thing.

The gloom of the room about him felt oppressive, and the thick pea-soup of a fog that floated through the London streets did not help. Walking to the window, he could barely see a foot in front of him; the oil lamps casting a soft glow over all in their vicinity.

Edmund caught a glimpse of his reflection, the sight of the mottled skin on the right-hand side of his face only lowering his mood further. He unhooked the curtain and drew it across. If only he could ban windows as he had banned mirrors, he would not have to see how low he had fallen.

There was a sharp knock at the door as his butler entered. A strict, sensible man in his late fifties, Croft had been with Edmund for almost ten years. His rather severe expression didn’t waver as he looked at his master. The man rarely smiled but was one of the best servants Edmund had ever had.

“There is a Lord Longford, Baron Longshire, to see you, my Lord,” he stated, one hand still resting on the door handle. “Shall I admit him?”

Edmund had completely forgotten about the appointment and nodded swiftly. As the butler retreated, he made his way to his desk, shuffling all the papers together and putting them to one side. He barely had time to do so before Lord Longford came in.

He was a lean man of indiscriminate age, perhaps in his late forties. Edmund had been impressed with him when they had been introduced through a mutual business acquaintance. The baron had an easiness about him that Edmund could never hope to emulate but also possessed a rather pompous expression, as though he were looking down his nose at you.

Edmund came out from behind his desk and shook the man’s hand. Longford glanced about the room, squinting slightly at the lack of light, and gave him a faint smile.

Edmund indicated the seat before his desk and sat down opposite him. The other man settled neatly in the chair. He was perfectly put together, with a suitable grasp of modern fashions, but with a sense of withered glamour about him.

The Longfords were on the rise through the ranks of society, but they were far below enjoying Edmund’s status and reputation as the Earl of Barendale. He almost envied them.

“Good evening, my Lord,” Longford said eagerly. “Thank you again for entertaining the lateness of this meeting.

“Did you complete your business in town?” Edmund asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

“I did, my Lord, I thank you.” Longford’s eyes skimmed over the desk, and Edmund wished he had had time to place the accounts in a drawer. The man’s beady gaze seemed to absorb everything in a matter of minutes. Edmund knew he could not move them now without rousing suspicion and simply hoped the man could not do arithmetic upside down.

“When we met, we discussed the potential leasing of your estate,” Longford began, getting right to the point, which Edmund appreciated. “Are you still amenable to such a deal?” The man’s eyes were urgent in their intensity—this deal was important to him; that much was obvious.

“I am,” Edmund replied. The baron seemed a little taken aback by his brevity, but if he was expecting a long-winded and extensive conversation, he would be disappointed. Edmund’s days of lively discussion and labouring a point were over.

“Capital! I am most pleased to hear it,” the baron exclaimed.

“Hunting, wasn’t it?”

“In part, my Lord, yes. I hope to enjoy a good hunt on the edges of my own estate, but primarily, I will use the land to expand my tenant's holdings.”

Edmund eyed him warily. The baron had sweat adhering to his brow and was clearly very eager for this deal to go ahead. He did not know much about the Longfords except that they were a family reaching for the top, and the baron clearly possessed a great deal of ambition.

Edmund knew Longford’s prospects would be greatly increased by his patronage. The modest estate he planned to purchase adjacent to his home would at least mean Edmund was on good terms with his country neighbours.

Not that anyone ever visits me anymore.

“We discussed five hundred acres,” he continued.

The baron’s face heightened in colour, and he brushed his fingers over his hat awkwardly. Edmund clenched his jaw. Any hopes of an annual lease of a few thousand pounds were dashed. He had been a fool to hope.

“Three hundred, my Lord. I would be willing to increase it after the year is up, once I have assessed its profitability.”

Edmund sat back in his chair.

The baron seemed nervous now, anticipating a refusal. He was not to know that Edmund would take anything he could get. It was a burden to feel as though the crumbs of any financial aid were acceptable, but he had little choice.

The baron looked almost alarmed as he met his gaze. Edmund was aware of how intimidating he must appear, looming behind his desk, scars across his face in the dimly lit room. It was the main reason few people ever saw him these days. He hoped Longford was not one to gossip. It was tiresome hearing of his ghastly appearance through third hand information.

“Three hundred is acceptable,” he murmured.

“And my terms? I know you gave a generous offering when we spoke.”

Yes. Too generous by half now I come to be faced with it, but desperate times…

“An annual fixed fee of three hundred and twenty-five pounds, paid monthly...”

“Of course, my Lord. That would be quite suitable for the time being.”

The baron was certainly a high-flyer. Edmund could see in him the tenacity he used to have himself, the desire to drive forward and improve one's life. He could not even remember what that felt like now. The world was a dull, colourless place.

“We appear to have a deal.”

Edmund’s gut clenched as the baron’s eyes drifted again to the pile of papers beside him. Longford’s gaze skimmed down the numbers to the bottom of the page and back up again.

“If I may, my Lord,” he began, “I was surprised you would wish to lease the land for so little.”

No one else wants to live beside a crippled beast.

“I have been considering it for some time,” he muttered.

It was bold, not to say impertinent, for the baron to even mention his reasoning, but Edmund knew he could not conceal his situation forever. Even leasing the land had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I mean no offence, of course!” Longford stammered, his fingers clutching the brim of his hat rather tightly.

Edmund continued to stare at him, feeling the power balance in the room wax and wane as his companion tried to determine if he had offended him.

Leaning forward, Edmund glanced at the accounts papers himself and almost groaned as he saw the negative total written boldly at the base of the page. Even a child could have seen that things were not as they should be.

“I thank you, my Lord,” he managed. “The Barendale Estate has met with some more difficult times of late, but I am sure things will improve as the season approaches.” Annoyed with himself for revealing too much to a relative stranger, Edmund frowned as he watched Longford shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Perhaps there is another solution, then, my Lord,” Longford said suddenly, his eyes sparking with an idea that set Edmund’s teeth on edge. “My eldest daughter Evangeline is just out in society. She is uncommonly beautiful, accomplished, and well-mannered. I have long been thinking of an advantageous match for her.” He let the sentence hang in the air between them.

Edmund was utterly staggered at the man’s daring. They had met on one occasion before this. Longford had seen his ghastly appearance and his lack of social interactions. What on earth could be wrong with his eldest child that he must pawn her off so easily?

“There is a substantial dowry connected to her intended marriage, almost ten thousand pounds in total,” the baron continued, growing in confidence again as Edmund did not immediately refuse.

Suddenly nervous, Edmund’s hand moved to the tight cravat around his neck; the scars across his palm and the back of his hand seemed almost deliberately emphasized by the firelight.

Lord Longford leaned forward, his eyes moving almost deliberately over Edmund’s injuries.

“I believe it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the baron continued. “You would be able to secure the funds that would settle your issues with your estate. I myself would be greatly appreciative of your patronage and having the Longshire name linked with Barendale would be an honour for us all.”

The man was becoming more obsequious by the second. He was now sweating profusely, more with excitement than uncertainty.

Edmund wanted to refuse outright. There could only be one explanation for this man wishing to marry off his daughter in such a way—she was disagreeable or not the famed beauty he claimed.

His thoughts scattered as the pressures of his estate mounted at the back of his mind. Despite his best efforts to avoid it, his eyes skittered back to the papers on his desk. Things were worse than he could ever have imagined. The reports were damning on every front. He would be lucky to last the year if things continued as they were.

His mother’s fortunes were linked to his own, ensconced as she was in Barendale Manor. He had a plethora of people to support, including his tenants and a number of exceedingly loyal servants who he wished to protect at all costs.

Longford was sitting upright in his chair, his lips smoothing over themselves obsessively, his tongue peeking out occasionally to moisten them. He reminded Edmund of a snake about to spring forward and sink its fangs into its prey.

Edmund’s fingers clenched against the arms of his chair. Was he truly going to accept this man’s offer so willingly?

With the annual leasing and the dowry, he would be a fool to refuse. Longford knew it; his whole body was tense with anticipation.

“Very well,” Edmund whispered, dread swamping him as the words left his lips.

Longford stood, gripping his hand so tightly Edmund winced.

“I shall be in touch, my Lord. I have never been happier to have such an esteemed addition to our humble family.”

With that, he stalked from the room.

As the door closed behind him, Edmund sank back into his chair and closed his eyes.

What have I allowed to happen?