A knock came at the door.
‘Come in, Branston.’
‘You’re sitting in the dark, sir.’
Branston’s voice was a little slurred and Sarette smiled to herself.
‘Yes, I suppose we are. It’s pleasant, sitting here talking in the firelight.’
‘Yes, sir. Is there anything you need?’
‘Some cold cuts with bread and butter, a pot of tea and a slice each of that excellent fruitcake cook baked. The rest of the night is your own.’
‘Yes, sir. Shall I turn up the light?’
‘Not until you come back.’
The door gently closed behind Branston as he left.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
‘You might be later.’
She drew in a deep breath and called on some courage. He seemed to be in a mellow mood, and for her own peace of mind she needed to get to the bottom of this legacy question. ‘There’s something I wish to ask you, Magnus. When we were at the ball, someone mentioned that your uncle has left me a legacy. Today, Gerald mentioned the same thing.’
‘Ah, I should have realized you’d notice his slip of the tongue. May I ask who told you at the ball?’
‘The contessa.’
‘Isabelle!’ He cursed. ‘How the devil did she know?’
‘Perhaps you talk in your sleep,’ she said drily, and could have bitten off her tongue when a frown coloured his voice, shattering the rapport between them.
‘I haven’t seen Isabelle for months. But why am I explaining something that is clearly none of your business?’
‘Unfortunately, strangers seem to know more of my business than I do, and they’re gossiping. Obviously they get their information from somewhere. Tell me about the legacy, Magnus.’
‘My uncle has left you a house in Bournemouth, and some investments.’
‘When were you going to tell me about this?’
‘After the addendum to his will had been through probate, and the funds had been released and transferred to me, as your legal guardian.’
‘What does addendum, and probate mean? They sound like medical terms.’
He laughed. ‘The addendum is the addition he made to his current will, citing you as a beneficiary. It has to go through a formality to be proved legal and correct. It takes a little while.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about this before?’
‘I didn’t see the need. The house was tenanted up until a few weeks ago. I was discussing it with Ignatious earlier today. I’ve suggested that when a new tenant is found, that the rent be paid directly to you, to spend as you wish.’
‘Perhaps I’ll choose to live in the house.’
He rose and turned the lights up. The mood was lost and the room was filled with a brightness that made her blink. ‘The house is fairly modest in size, but too big for one person to manage, and you wouldn’t be able to afford the upkeep, or servants.’
‘I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I could take in paying guests or turn it into a school.’
He gave an easy laugh and sat beside her, cajoling, ‘Are you telling me you want to leave me, Sarry?’
‘Yes . . . no. Of course I don’t. I love . . .’ She only just stopped herself from telling him she loved him! ‘I love it here at Fierce Eagles. I just wished you’d told me before someone else did. It was kind of Mr John to have made all these arrangements for me. I’m grateful that he sent me to Mrs Lawrence, clothed me and fed me. But I’m not a relative or anything, and I didn’t deserve it, and all this time I’ve been feeling as though I was taking charity. Now I feel even worse.’
‘You’re miffed, aren’t you?’
‘Yes . . . no. I don’t know. I think my feelings are hurt, even though I’ve got no right to complain.’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you have a pretty mouth?’ He ran his finger gently over the curves then stopped in the middle of her lower lip. ‘I like that little pout.’
She blushed. ‘Stop trying to distract me. Magnus. Are you listening to anything I’m saying?’
‘No, I have no inclination to be lectured. You’re sitting under the mistletoe and I’m in the mood to kiss you.’
She groaned. ‘Being kissed under the mistletoe has got me into enough trouble today.’
‘Then the answer is no?’
‘No . . .’
His mouth claimed hers in a tender caress. She gave a little sigh and her mouth parted under his. His palms cupped her face, his thumbs were a gentle caress behind her ears and his little fingers rested against her cheekbones.
When Branston gently coughed, they sprang apart.
‘How long have you been standing there, Branston?’
The butler’s eyes rounded in innocence. ‘Who, me, sir?’
Sarette giggled when Magnus said, ‘Yes, you, sir. I can’t see anyone else called Branston in the room.’
Branston looked around him. ‘Neither can I, sir. Where would you like your supper?’
‘Place the tray on the usual table. Branston . . . have you been drinking?’
‘Yes, sir. It was the brandy you gave the staff for Christmas.’
‘I gave you brandy for Christmas? I thought I gave you all a cash bonus.’
‘You did, sir, and it was very generous of you. The staff are all pleased that you decided to carry on the brandy tradition that Mr John Kern began, as well. He was thoughtful, was the late Mr Kern, and he brought you up well, if I may take the liberty of saying so. The staff of Fierce Eagles is pleased to be of service to you. Merry Christmas, sir, and to you, Miss Maitland.’
‘Thank you, Mr Branston,’ Sarette said.
Magnus opened his mouth, then thought better of what he was about to say and shut it again. ‘Please close the door on the way out, Branston.’
‘Yes, sir, and rest assured, I’ll make sure the staff doesn’t tell anyone about what I observed tonight.’
When the door closed behind Branston, they gazed at each other and began to laugh.
Less than two miles away Flynn Collins sat at the farmer’s table and tackled a slice of fruit pudding swimming in custard. His stomach was already distended to capacity by the huge dinner he’d consumed.
He envied the farmer his plump, rosy-faced wife, and his comfortable farmhouse with the fire roaring up the chimney. It was a cosy rookery, and something he’d never have now. He was a criminal, sentenced to death for murder, and his only hope was to get away to America and start a new life. But first he had to make sure that the price on his head was no longer valid.
He’d barely finished his pudding when the woman of the house said in her round Dorset voice, ‘Another slice of pudding, then, Mr Doyle?’
For a moment he wondered which bit of pudding she was referring to, for the farmer’s wife had proved to have a need in her that her older husband seemed unable to satisfy.
‘Thank you, Mrs Perkins, but it will take me a week to sleep off what I’ve already eaten.’
Cheerfully, she said, ‘No sleeping on the job now, Mr Doyle. And you need your strength while there’s still a furrow to be ploughed.’ She plonked another dollop of pudding on to his plate.
Farmer Perkins sighed, scooped up the last spoonful from his dish and patted the expansion of his stomach as he moved to the rocking chair by the fire. ‘Though I do say so myself, my Betty be the best cook around here. Not even the cook at Fierce Eagles can bake a pork pie like my Betty. It’ll be open house there over New Year’s Day. Annie and myself will be taking advantage of his smuggled brandy. The Kerns allus kept a good cellar. I’ve heard tell that Mr Kern has a woman staying with him, Betty. ’Tis said she’s a pretty piece.’
‘I heard she was the old man’s fancy first. And Magnus Kern had his own fancy woman. I heard tell that she’d run off and married a foreign count. There’s no accounting for taste. Mr Kern be keeping it in the family, I expect.’
Flynn remembered the girl who’d been with Kern in Dorchester. A pretty little thing. He wouldn’t have minded a go at her himself, but she was quality, and girls like her didn’t go for rough types.
Betty snorted. ‘The gentry has different ways to ours, and it’s not for us to comment on them if we knows what’s good for us.’
‘To be sure,’ Flynn said, and sent Betty Perkins a sly wink.
Betty placed a glass of port in the hands of the men and they sat in silence, sipping it and gazing into the fire. After a while Alfred’s eyes closed and he began to snore loudly.
The empty glass was plucked from the farmer’s fingers before he dropped it. It was placed on the table. Gazing at him, Betty smiled. Softly, she said, ‘Well, Mr Doyle, do you have a little Christmas gift for Betty Perkins?’
Despite his full stomach, Flynn swelled against his trousers.
She placed her warm, plump hand against him and chuckled. ‘That’s a lusty little pigeon, and I’ve got just the place to hide him in.’
‘What if Alfred wakes?’ he whispered.
‘He’ll sleep for two hour, at least. If you delivered your gift right here on the table he wouldn’t even stir.’
Flynn swallowed. He wasn’t about to risk it. ‘Come out to the stable in a little while.’
He shared his accommodation with the plough horse, an amiable creature with a broad back. The farmer worked them both hard, but kept them comfortable. He had fresh straw for his stall every night. The stable was built of solid stone and was warmed by a stove.
Betty joined him in the stable loft and spread herself on the blanket-covered mattress between the bales, which kept out any draughts. Her thighs were thick, strong columns and her breasts large enough to hide his head between and suffocate, if he’d a mind to.
The first time, she’d approached him she’d said, ‘I’ve been wed to Alfred for five years and I have a pressing need for an infant to suckle at my breast. Don’t reckon I’ll get one from my husband after all this time. You’re a good-looking feller with a brain between your ears. I could carry one of yours if you’ve a mind to be generous. No one need know.’
Her words had touched Flynn. Betty would be a good mother, and any child she had would be received into a loving home. He liked the thought of knowing that when he went to America he’d be leaving a little cuckoo in the farmer’s nest. It would make up for the low wage.’
‘No luck yet then, Betty girl?’ he said now.
She gave a secretive little grin. ‘There be signs, but it’s early days yet. Anyway, I like the way you do it to me, with all the touching and stuff. It makes me feel real good. Two minutes and it’s all over with Alfred. I reckon he learned how to do it from the ram. Do you love me, Mr Doyle?’
‘Of course I love you, Annie,’ he lied. ‘And there’s something I want you to do for me the next time you go into Poole. Deliver a letter. It’s a secret, mind.’
‘Not if it’s to a woman,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not sharing you with anyone else.’
He could have pointed out her own behaviour to her, but let it pass. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘That’ll be the day after tomorrow then.’ She reached out and cupped him in her hands. ‘But tell me where, afterwards, Mr Doyle, for I’ve got a real pressing need on me now.’
Magnus had been right. Gerald did apologize for his bad behaviour.
‘I got a frightful dressing down in Pa’s study. He was furious, and threatened to send me up North to work in the Liverpool branch with brother Oscar if my behaviour doesn’t improve. I felt as though I was still ten years old. Still, something good came out of it. Jessica Fenwick hasn’t spoken to me since, but her injured expression says it all. Olivia gives me the cold shoulder. She’ll come round eventually, I expect. I don’t know what she sees in Jessica. The woman is a spiteful pest.’
Magnus laughed. ‘Rather you than me.’
Now, I must talk to Sarry. I want her to know that my proposal was sincere, and I need to know what her answer is.’
‘Save it for New Year, Gerald. Sarette is dashing about the house like a gadfly. She’s busy trying to sort out the guest bedrooms, something Verna forgot to do. She’s very efficient, and has the household staff organized. You would have thought she was brought up to it. She’s rewritten the menu, and has made me a list. She has me organized too. I’m to take her into Dorchester tomorrow to gather it all together.’
‘Has she indicated any interest in my proposal.’
‘Actually, I think she’s forgotten all about it, Gerald. I wouldn’t count on Sarry accepting. In fact, I’d wager she’ll turn you down.’
‘How much?’
‘I wager ten guineas.’
‘You’re not risking much.’
‘Fifty guineas then.’
There was a short pause, then Gerald said, ‘She hasn’t accepted
you
, has she?’
‘Good Lord. I haven’t even asked her. I’m much more subtle than you with a woman, my friend. In fact, I’ve been thinking that we should abandon this first wager we have on her. She knows about the legacy now, thanks to you. How would she feel if she knew we’d laid bets on which of us will marry her for it. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s enamoured by me.’
There was a sudden draught down the chimney and a click behind him. The papers on his desk flurried. ‘Excuse me a minute.’ He placed the earpiece on the desk, strode across the room towards the door and yanked it open. The hall was empty. It must have been a draft that closed the door. He went back to the telephone. ‘What were we talking about?’
‘You know very well. You said Sarry is enamoured with you? Did she say so?’
‘I can tell.’
‘You couldn’t differentiate between love and concussion from a clout on the head. And it’s not just the legacy with me, Mags. Sarry’s a fetching little thing and we have fun together. I’m quite taken with her.’
‘You’re only taken with Sarry because you feel threatened by Jessica Fenwick.’
‘Damn you then. I’ll take your fifty guineas, and I’ll take the girl off you.’
‘The wager is still on then.’ Magnus hung up.
From her position on the landing, Sarette watched Magnus stride from the library and cross the hall to the drawing room. He opened the door and looked inside. ‘Sarry?’ From there he went to the morning room and did the same.
She composed herself and began to descend. As he turned, she smiled and said, ‘Magnus, did you call me?’
His gaze searched her face, then he smiled. ‘You look flushed. You should stop rushing around.’
‘Yes, I should. What did you want me for?’
‘Gerald was on the telephone. He wanted to apologize to you. Too late now. He’s gone.’