Anne Barbour (3 page)

“Yes, I should imagine he was as bad a master as he was a husband.”

“Worse. Flew into a rage over trifles—I remember him flyin’ out to the stables—always one of his lists in his hand. He was a great one for makin’ lists—put everthin’ on it he wanted a body to do fer the day. Mostly none of it made any sense, yet if it weren’t done just as he said, somebody’d feel the back of ‘is hand—or the toe of his boot. Yet, he let the real bad problems slide right by him. He took your father’s operation here—” Jonah made a sweeping gesture with his arm in the direction of the stables, now dark and silent—”and just let it drift to ruin.” He snorted, “He sold the stock piece by piece when it suited him, and then—toward the end when things began to go bad for him—he let almost all the remaining animals go for pennies, ‘ceptin’ fer Warlock, saints be praised.” Jonah sighed heavily. “Ah, if only yer da hadn’t give up the place to him.”

He subsided into a melancholy reverie, but jerked his head up at Jem’s next words. “My father didn’t give up the place to Carstairs, Jonah. Carstairs stole it.”

Jonah’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean t’ tell me! But—we was told yer dad got to gamblin’ and ...”

“And lost the place to Carstairs when he defaulted on a loan Carstairs had made to him.” Jem was very still, but his voice sliced through the night. He continued in a lower tone. “This must stay between us, old friend. Do you remember Giles Daventry?”

“Oh, aye. Nephew to Squire Fairworthy—used to spend ever’ summer here. The Fairworthys are gone now—lost the place some five years ago. Never did cotton much to young Giles, if ye must know.”

Jem favored him with a mirthless grin.

“Nor I, Jonah. Nor I. I, er, ran into him in London some time after he left the old homestead, and discovered that he knew a great deal about what really happened between Carstairs and my father.”

“Which was?” asked Jonah in fascination.

“It’s a long story. Suffice it to say that Emanuel Carstairs stole Ravencroft from my father through a foul piece of trickery, and then murdered him. Then, he made my mother’s life such a hell that she was forced to flee one night with my two sisters and me.”

Jonah’s mouth opened, but for some moments he did not utter a sound.

“My Gawd!” he said at last. Then, after another few moments of thought... “Are ye meanin’ t’ tell me that’s what yer here for? T’ reclaim Ravencroft?”

“Yes.”

“My Gawd,” said Jonah again. “But...”

“But why didn’t I just walk up to the front door and announce to all within that Jeremy Standish, Lord Glenraven has returned to take up residence?”

“Wull—yes.”

“Because there are a few minor impediments yet to be cleared. There is, for one thing, the matter of proof.”

“But, I thought you said ...”

“I said Giles Daventry knew a good deal about what happened. In fact, without his help Carstairs could not have pulled off his infamous scheme. And Daventry did sign a statement to that effect, but it’s not enough. He made the statement after being arrested for other crimes, and spoke up in return for leniency from the court. A good attorney could make the case that his testimony, therefore is somewhat suspect. However, there is evidence hidden inside Ravencroft, and I must find it before I can prove beyond dispute that the estate is mine.”

“And what about Miz Carstairs?”

“Yes,” said Jem slowly, “what about Mrs. Carstairs, indeed.”

“I dunno what I could do t’ help ye, lad—that is, me lord. And if it means pushin’ Miz Claudia out inta the snow, I wouldn’ want t’ do that. Even before Carstairs was killed, she’d taken over the horse-breedin’ operation—what precious little there was of it—and she’s worked her heart out buildin’ it back up. It ain’t exactly a gold mine yet, but we’re comin’ along. She used what little money Carstairs had left her to buy a few good mares fer Warlock t’ service. She ain’t real knowledgeable about horse flesh, but she has me t’ advise her, and when it comes t’ the business end of the operation, she’s sharp as she can hold together.”

“She could do no better than to depend on you.” Jem laughed and slapped the old man gently on the shoulder. “Tell me, is the estate still supported in the main by sheep?”

Jonah shuffled uncertainly. “As t’ that, I can’t tell ye much. Carstairs sold off some o’ the land, and the sheep, too.
We
don’t have a reg’lar sheep man anymore. I reckon it’s ‘cause we don’t have all that many o’ the animals left. I b’lieve
Miz
Carstairs runs whatever business there is in that direction herself. She don’t say much about it.”

Jem sighed dispiritedly. “Things have come to a pretty pass, haven’t they?”

After a moment, Jonah asked hesitantly. “If ye don’t mind me askin’—me lord, where have ye been since ...”

Jem laughed briefly. “Why, I took up residence in London. In fact, when I realized that it behooved me to choose a
nom de guerre,
so to speak, I chose the month I arrived there. It was nip and tuck for awhile, but I managed to prize a fair amount of gold from the dross that is life in the metropolis.”

“How did ye do that, then?”

“Oh, at first by a little judicious petty thievery. Later I learned to judge to a nicety the cupidity of my fellow man.”

The old man stared.

“Gambling, Jonah. It is a passion that rages from the gentlemen’s clubs of London to the most abysmal of its gin shops. No.” He smiled at Jonah’s dubious expression. “I did not personally participate. Suffice it to say, I merely learned how to use those who do participate to my advantage. I am not precisely wealthy, but I have enough blunt to bring Ravencroft back to solvency—and then some.”

Jonah shook his head in silent wonderment, and Jem continued briskly. “Getting back to my predicament, I don’t know what you can do either, Jonah—at least at this point. What I need most right now is for you to say nothing at all about this to anyone.” Jem paused for several moments, considering. “I promise I’ll make a fair settlement on Mrs. Carstairs.”

“I dunno.” Jonah shook his head. “I just dunno.” He shot another glance at Jem.

Jem drew a long breath. “Jonah, I can understand your wanting to protect Mrs. Carstairs. God knows she’s in a wretched position, but it’s not as though I’m trying to steal something that belongs to her. Ravencroft is my home, not hers, and I want it back. Is that wrong?”

“N-no, but...”

“You’re right—I could go to the courts with the documents I have in my possession—the statements from Giles Daventry—and wait for permission to search the house for the one piece of paper that will prove everything he said. But that will take months, during which time both Mrs. Carstairs and myself will exist in limbo.”

A deep sigh was Jonah’s only answer.

“I tell you again,” Jem said patiently. “The widow Carstairs will want for nothing.”

“Very well,” said Jonah in a troubled voice. “I won’t say nothin’. At least for the time bein’. I have to think all this over some.” He moved from his position against the fence and stretched stiffly. “And now, we’d best be gettin’ to our beds.”

Jem sensed rather than saw the ironic grin that spread over Jonah’s gnarled features.

“Allow me t’ show ye yer accommodations, yer lordship. See that stable buildin’ over there? Ye’ll be bunkin’ in the third stall on the left. It’s empty at the moment,” he added kindly. “Get a good night’s sleep; tomorrow’l  be a long day.”

But sleep was a long time coming for Jem. He settled himself into the worn blanket Jonah had laid over clean, sweet smelling straw and folded his arms behind his head. Gazing into the darkness overhead, he listened to the faint sounds of mice busy about their nocturnal activities, and the snuffling of the horses as they slumbered nearby.

He smiled into the night. He was home—even though his return was not exactly as he had envisaged it. There were no pennants flying or crowds of eager tenants raising their voices in glad welcome, but then he had known that was nothing more than a dream fashioned by a boy struggling for survival in the hard streets of London.

How many nights had he spent sobbing himself to sleep in one of the countless unspeakable crannies that festered in London’s rotten underbelly? How often had he sought shelter in attics and cellars and sometimes in crumbling doorways. For so long, all that had kept him going was his dark, glittering vision of vengeance. He would return to Ravencroft someday to right the terrible wrong that had been done to his family. Countless, profitless hours were spent in imagining Emanuel Carstairs perishing in agony from a sword thrust to the gut, or writhing on the ground as a skillfully wielded whip flayed the very flesh from his bones.

Of course, when he grew a little older, and reality reared its prosaic head, his plans had shifted. Revenge would still be his, but it would take a subtler form. Public disgrace, perhaps, or transportation to a lifetime of misery in Botany Bay. The boy had survived, grown to manhood, and prospered, for even among the grimy, inescapable tentacles of unrelenting poverty there was money to be made if one were quick and bright and not overly scrupulous.

His smile curled ironically. Now, at last he had realized his dream. Sure in his righteous invincibility, he had gathered his accumulation of worldly goods and his precious packet of documents and prepared to storm the battlements of Emanuel Carstairs’ evil empire, only to be met at the gate by a sturdy little person with a musical voice and execrable taste in clothing who blasted his grand designs and set him to mucking out the stables. His mouth curved downward, anger still boiling in him that Carstairs was beyond worldly justice. If only it had not taken quite so long to see Daventry punished for what he had done not only to Jem, but to a man Jem had come to call friend.

He rolled over and buried his face in the aromatic roughness of the blanket. The important thing, Jem reminded himself just before sleep finally took him, was that he was home. He was Jeremy Standish, Lord Glenraven, and he had come to reclaim his birthright. No matter that all he had laid claim to so far was a humble little portion of his rightful domain. It would all be his in time. In due time.

* * * *

Dawn came early the next morning, announced by the sun slanting in through the window above his head as well as by the hopeful whickering of the other residents of the stable. Yawning, Jem stumbled into the yard and made his hurried ablutions at the pump. He was met there by Jonah, who was proceeding leisurely from the direction of his own quarters, a comfortable lodging above the main stable building. Lucas, too, shambled on to the scene after a few moments. Of Mrs. Carstairs, there was no sign.

“Hurry about yer business this mornin’, my lad,” said Jonah, after cursory good mornings were said among the three. “The missus wants you up t’ the house later on. It appears she has more use of y’ as a butler than a stable hand.”

Lucas sniffed resentfully. “Or mayhap ye think yerself too good fer stable work, now that you’ll be in the big house?”

Jem grinned. “Hardly, but I’ll have to take care, won’t I? Won’t do to be ushering guests into the manor with manure on my boots, will it?”

Lucas guffawed and turned to go about his own chores as Jem faced Jonah.

“Is that what I’m wanted for?” he asked. “To take over Morgan’s position?”

“I reckon,” returned Jonah laconically. “Miss Melksham— Miss Augusta Melksham, that is, Miz Claudia’s aunt, has been natterin’ at her to replace old Morgan, and with her sister and brother-in-law arrivin’ any time now ...”

“What happened to Morgan? Did he pass away?”

“Aye, last month. He were gettin’ on in years, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose he must have been. He was here ever since I can remember. How did he die?”

“Oh,” replied Jonah. “He just sort of faded away, ye might say. Them in the house said it was from a broken heart—he wanted to go with yer mother when she left, y’ know.”

Jem nodded. He remembered with clarity the tears that had stood in the man’s eyes as his mother shepherded her children from Ravencroft, never to return.

“On t’ other hand, if it was a broken heart, it took long enough to crack open.” Jonah’s rusty chuckle sounded. “And, after all, he did see Carstairs put into the ground. Happiest day of his life, he said afterward. No, I think old Morgan just plain wore out. Happens t’ us all,” he concluded philosophically.

‘Tell me about the aunt.”

“Ah. She come to live here after Carstairs died. Miz Claudia couldn’t very well live here on ‘er own, after all. She ain’t a bad old bird. Kinda lean and gristly, but there’s a good heart in her.”

“And the sister and brother-in-law?”

Jonah snorted. “Name’s Reddinger. Rose and Thomas Reddinger. She’s a simperin’ wigeon and he’s as greedy a maw worm as you’re likely t’ find under any rock. When Carstairs was alive, we never saw hide nor hair of him from one end of the year t’ the other, but now he’s here as often as the postman, it seems.”

“Oh?”

“The people in the house say his fat fingers are a-twitchin’ to get control of Ravencroft.”

“But didn’t Mrs. Carstairs inherit it free and clear? Theoretically, at least?”

“Yup, but Reddinger seems t’ think he can control his sister-in-law like he does his wife. She ain’t bendin’ so far, but now he’s trotted out a feller for her to marry. Name of Fletcher Botsford. He’s a skinny, pompous lackwit who’s right under Reddinger’s thumb, and doesn’t even know it. If Miz Claudia marries Botsford, Ravencroft will go to him, which, thinks Reddinger, is nigh as good as it goin’ to hisself.”

Jem whistled. “High drama in the Cotswolds, forsooth. Perhaps Mrs. C. will be pleased to be out of it all, once Ravencroft is returned to Standish ownership.”

Jonah grunted, and turned away.

Thoughts of his upcoming foray into the main house filled Jem’s thoughts for the remainder of the morning. He fetched and carried and swept and shoveled and helped Jonah minister to the still unfoaled Jenny, while wondering all the while what changes would be apparent when he finally made his way past the kitchen and scullery into the manor’s great hall and the environs beyond.

At last, Jonah signaled him to a halt. “Ye’d best go see what Miz Carstairs has in mind for ye. Just go into the kitchen, and one of the maids will take ye to her.”