Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (14 page)

“Precisely what one might have expected him to do. ’Tis odd he did not do so yesterday.” Jervaulx moved away from the window to a wing chair near the hearth. Resting one slender, well-manicured hand on the chair back, he looked directly at Gideon. “Perhaps now you will be content to let the matter rest.”

The order was clear, and Gideon experienced a sense of being swept backward in time to a period when defiance had been utterly unacceptable. Nevertheless, he said evenly, “Before I can do that, sir, I would like to know how the feud between the two families originated. The oddest thing in all of this is that no one at St. Merryn seems to know.”

“There can be no good cause to rake up old quarrels. Suffice it to say that grievous fault lay with the Tarrants, and the families have not spoken since. No reasonable man requires to know more than that, and at present you would be far better occupied in putting an end to the conflict between your servants before it disrupts this entire household.”

“I’ll attend to that,” Gideon said, accepting the snub for the moment at least, knowing from experience that it would do no good to press Jervaulx any further. “You seem to have a great many papers piled on your desk, sir. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance to you, since I am here?”

Glancing toward the desk, Jervaulx said, “An inexperienced assistant is more trouble than good, but if you wish to learn about this estate, no obstacle will be placed in your path. Put yourself in Barton’s hands. He is an excellent steward and will show you what you will need to know when this house is yours. Most of the papers on the desk concern magisterial affairs. The parishes of Bisland and Alturnun request that new constables be appointed, and the poorhouse in Bodmin requires a new overseer.”

“Really, sir, should you not be turning such duties over to someone else? There must be several competent men, and I own, I find it amazing that you have not already found one, particularly now that you must spend so much of the year in Gloucestershire.”

“One does not shirk prior obligations merely because one ascends to higher estate,” Jervaulx said coldly, “and one must understand the common people in order to serve their needs. Davies Giddy, the member for Bodmin, recently had all his windows broken because the local miners believe—understandably—that with the war over, the food shortages should likewise be over. They want higher wages, but in fact, two more mines will soon close. Pray, who would you suggest should assume the local magistrate’s duties at such a dangerous time? St. Merryn?”

“Have you reason to believe him incapable?”

“There is a good deal to be accomplished here before the Assizes begin next month,” Jervaulx said abruptly, moving to the desk. “Whilst you remain at Deverill Court, you will best serve your interest by submitting to Barton’s instruction. A sensible man will attempt no more until he has gained experience. Once you have learned all Barton can teach you, you may apply to Shilcroft at the Abbey—a very good man in his way—and no doubt Lynmouth will wish to add his mite. But more than likely, you will have found more amusing pursuits before then.”

The marquess took his seat at the desk as he spoke, and Gideon accepted his dismissal. He had little desire to submit to his father’s stewards for instruction, but since the estates would one day be his, he supposed that soon he would have to do just that. As to applying to Lord Lynmouth, the previous marquess’s maternal uncle and primary trustee, he had a strong sense of resistance to the very idea. Deverill Court was one thing. It was his home, and the thought of owning it one day was not particularly unsettling. Jervaulx Abbey was another matter. All his life, the Abbey had been the seat of the senior branch of the family. He had visited it only one time before his father had inherited the title, and only once since then. He had no sense of attachment whatsoever to the place.

As a matter of fact, he felt oddly detached from life as he had previously known it. For as long as he could remember, he had been the younger son, whose primary task was to find his own niche and carve out a place for himself. He had gone from being a quiet supporter of boys that his brother and others of the same ilk had tried to bully to commanding a number of those same lads in Wellington’s Army. He knew he was good at organizing others’ lives and saving them from the consequences of their own folly; he was not so confident of his ability to organize himself.

Having taken leave of Jervaulx, he went to his own bedchamber, a well-appointed and comfortable but at the moment a rather impersonal room, and rang for Ned Shalton.

Ten minutes later, Shalton entered, a stocky man of medium height and middle age with a soldierly manner and a shock of grizzled curls. “Aye, Major, what’s the drill?” His voice was low and gruff by nature, but his light blue eyes twinkled.

Gideon was silent long enough to see the twinkle fade. Then he said quietly, “I am informed that there has been some sort of a ruckus, Ned. I won’t tolerate that.”

Shalton straightened to a parade ground posture. “No, sir.”

Amused, Gideon said, “Enough, damn you. I’m not going to eat you, as you know very well. What was it all about?”

Relaxing, Shalton ran a hand through his grizzled curls, shook his head, and said, “It’s that horse-faced fopdoodle Kibworth, Major. Man talks like he’s got a mouthful of buckshot, and if he don’t drown in the first squall from holding his nose so high in the air, I’ll eat my hat, and that’s a fact. Can’t be in the same room with him for ten seconds without wanting to draw his cork, much as I
try
to mind my temper, and when he said he don’t know what incompetent fool’s been looking after your traps, ’n all, well, it was more than mind and heart could stomach, and that’s the truth of it. I tipped him a wisty castor, I did. Aye, and I’m glad of it, too,” he added belligerently.

No longer amused, Gideon let the silence lengthen again until Shalton looked defensive, then said, “I won’t have this sort of thing, Ned. It annoys my father and unsettles everyone else in the house, so in future you will keep your temper. Kibworth has his uses, you know. He wields a mean iron and knows just what he’s about when it comes to seeing my shirts and other linens properly laundered and starched. “You, on the other hand,” he added when he saw Shalton’s face tighten with indignation, “have an unmatched talent for putting a gloss on a pair of boots and for looking after my leathers and other traps. The two of you can sort things out if at least one of you will exert a modicum of tact. Is that clear?” His voice hardened on the last words, and the look he bent upon his henchman was implacable.

Shalton had heard the tone and seen the look before. “Aye, sir, it be as clear as daylight.”

“Good. Now, find that rascal Kibworth and send him to me.”

Looking instantly more cheerful, Shalton went to do as he was bid, and it was not long before the valet appeared.

“You rang, sir?”

An entirely different sort of man from Shalton, Kibworth was precise to a pin and carried himself with a good deal more dignity than even Jervaulx did. His face was long and narrow, his lips thin and unyielding, and he did seem to look down his nose at the world. Gideon felt a stirring of sympathy for Shalton. Again he let the silence lengthen, but it seemed to have no effect upon the valet. He merely waited patiently until it should be his master’s decision to speak.

At last Gideon said, “I won’t have discord between my servants, Kibworth. Is that clear?”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“Excellent. No, no, don’t go. I have more to say to you. You are new to my service, and there are a few things you ought to know in order to serve me well. First of all, Mr. Shalton has been with me for some years and knows my ways better than anyone else can ever know them.”

“Shalton is no doubt an excellent man, in his way, to serve a military officer, my lord, but surely now that you are come home and will be meaning to go about in society—”

“Mr. Shalton is still an excellent man, Kibworth, and if there is any more of the sort of uproar there was today, he will be the only man. I trust I make my meaning clear.” He could see that the valet was struggling with his feelings, but training stood the test, helped by the knowledge that he would be unlikely to find another position of such enviable stature in his world.

“I will see that you are not disturbed by such discord again, my lord. Will your lordship be riding again today, or shall I order your lordship’s bath and lay out fresh raiment?”

Satisfied, Gideon said, “I intend to meet with Mr. Barton for an hour or so, but then I shall want to change. You may go.”

Hoping he had scotched the rivalry between the two men and forced them into a semblance at least of unity, he went to find his father’s steward.

Barton, a bald little man with a habit of rubbing his hands together when he was pleased, was uncommonly delighted to see him. “Excellent, my lord,” he said when Gideon had stated his purpose in seeking him out. “I hope this means you intend to take some of the burden from his lordship’s shoulders. He goes a mean pace, sir, and he ought to be taking matters more at his ease these days.”

“Well, he isn’t handing over the reins, Barton, but he did say that I should look to you for schooling.”

“Then you intend to remain here for a time, sir. I had thought you would be leaving soon, what with all the house parties and other activities of the autumn to look forward to. ’Tis what young Master Jack would have been doing, I can tell you, God rest his soul. I see you’ve put off your mourning.”

Gideon recalled that his father had been wearing a black coat and pantaloons, but Jervaulx nearly always wore black, and he had not thought much about it. Jack had been dead for less than four months, so he supposed he ought to be wearing a black waistcoat at least. He had not known him well and had not liked him at all, and what with all the deaths at Waterloo and the tacit understanding that the entire nation would not smother itself in black after such a great victory, despite the enormous losses, he had somehow neglected this admittedly important mark of family duty. Odd, he thought now, that Jervaulx had said nothing to him about it.

To Barton, he said only, “I mourn for my comrades in the field as well as for my brother, Mr. Barton, but I believe in getting on with life rather than pondering our mortality. Tell me, sir, where will I find any old letters that might lie amongst the family papers? I am particularly curious to learn more about the feud between the Deverills and the Tarrant family of Tuscombe Park. Perhaps you know what began it all.”

Barton shook his head. “Before my time, that was, my lord. All I know about it is that when your father and St. Merryn had a dispute some years ago about a piece of land, St. Merryn was very mifty. Nothing much came of it, as I recall, but it seemed to me that Lord Jervaulx was displeased even to have had it brought to his attention, and I soon realized that the less he had to deal with the earl, the better. As to old letters, things of that nature would be in the muniments room. I don’t know what all you might find there, but the whole lot could stand a sorting.”

Gideon nodded, agreed to setting a time to allow Barton to begin his instruction, and went to have a look at the muniments room in the northwest tower. He could not remember setting foot in it before, and he soon formed the opinion that no one else had done so for some time other than to add another record book or pile of papers to the litter in the room. His was an orderly mind, and the sight of books piled on shelves lining the walls, scrolled documents, stacks of papers, and general clutter everywhere else both irritated and dismayed him. A writing table near the window overlooked the peaceful home wood, however, so gathering a pile of what appeared to be miscellaneous records, he soon made himself comfortable and began to sort through them.

An hour later, he gave it up for the day. There were records of every sort imaginable in the pile, but it was just as Barton had warned him. They would require careful sorting and examination before he would be able to make any sense of them.

Remembering that Daintry Tarrant liked to ride, he sent orders to the stables to have Shadow saddled for him first thing in the morning, then went to have his bath and change for dinner.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED
bright and sunny, but Charley’s plan to ride on the moor nearly failed at the outset. Knowing that at least one of the little girls would want to get an early start, Daintry went downstairs nearly an hour before her usual time, expecting to have the breakfast room to herself. But to her annoyance, she found Sir Geoffrey there before her, halfway through the large plate of food in front of him.

Daintry smiled at the footman Pedrek, hovering helpfully nearby, replied to his usual query that she would take tea and some hot buttered toast, then turned to the sideboard where enticing odors escaped from a number of covered dishes.

Sir Geoffrey, speaking around a mouthful of food, said, “Good morning. Got your habit on, I see. Good color for you. Matches your eyes, and makes you look almost like a proper lady.”

Reining in her volatile temper with difficulty, she replied over her shoulder, “Thank you, Geoffrey. I believe you meant that as a compliment. I generally do not eat a full breakfast until I return from my ride, but this ham smells delicious.”

“As tasty as if it had come from Yorkshire,” he said, wiping his lips with his napkin and eyeing her speculatively. “Still go dashing all over the countryside on your own, I suppose. I own, I hope you haven’t taught such independent ways to my daughter while she’s been staying here with you.”

Well aware that her response might determine whether Melissa would be allowed to ride with her or be forced to remain at home, Daintry swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips and said as she set her plate on the table and took her seat, “Melissa is an excellent rider, sir. You ought to be proud of her ability. I take both girls riding frequently and have been in the habit of giving them a lesson each morning if the weather permits. There is nothing in that, I hope, to warrant disapproval.”