Looking down at the village, Richard asked, “Is
everyone down there a Wargrave tenant?”
“Yes, in the sense that the estate owns the cottages.
Most of the villagers earn their bread with different
skills. There’s a blacksmith, of course, and a shoe
maker, a baker, a shop with a smattering of useful
items. Much like any other village.”
“How do the people feel about the Davenports?”
Chelmsford considered his reply for a moment be
fore answering. “They don’t confide in me, but my impression is that they are wary and watchful. Fifty years
ago most of the villagers farmed the common land.
Then the old earl had a private Enclosure Act passed
and fenced off much of the estate. In most cases the vil
lagers’ shares of the common rights were too small to
support themselves. Many had to sell their land to the
earl and leave.”
“Where did they go?”
The lawyer shrugged. “Some to the mills in Lan
cashire, some to the cities, some to the colonies. I doubt
if there is a person in the village who hasn’t a cousin in
Canada or the United States. One of Julius’ quarrels
with his father was over the enclosures. He thought it
disgraceful that people were forced off land their fami
lies had farmed for centuries. He did what he could. I
know of half a dozen cases where he gave families
enough money to emigrate, and I suspect there were
more.”
Richard gazed down at the village, imagining the
rage and helplessness of those forced out of their an
cient homes. “It certainly sounds like my father. From
what I read in the newspapers, struggles over Enclo
sure Acts are still going on.”
The lawyer said shrewdly, “If you are interested in
social reform, you will have far more power as an earl
than as a former Army officer.” As he saw Richard’s
face close, he decided a change of subject was in order
and continued. “I think most of the villagers
are hoping that Reginald Davenport will quickly sell
out to Lord Radford. There have been some disloca
tions at Wildehaven, but he has done a good job of min
imizing the human damage. He is considered an
enlightened landlord. And of course he’s not a for
eigner.”
“What constitutes a ‘foreigner’?”
“Anyone born more than fifteen miles away,” was
the prompt answer,
The captain laughed. “In that case, I would hardly
qualify as from this planet.”
“Perhaps. But Julius is still remembered fondly here. There would be no lack of cooperation.”
“If we may turn this discussion to the present, what
time will dinner be served? Riding has given me a
country appetite.”
“Whenever we’re ready,”
The captain turned his horse and they headed back
to the stables. Richard’s effortless control dismissed
any concern Chelmsford had felt about his riding abil
ity. As long as the boy could talk to the horse first, he’d be all right.
Chapter 9
The next morning, Caroline gave a delicate catlike
yawn behind her palm before sipping the cup of
coffee. Her aunt grinned at her with the ruthless cheer
of the natural early riser. “I thought I heard you moving about late last night. Were you composing some
thing?”
Her niece swallowed her coffee and said, “I became involved in a new piece for the harp. The instrument at
Wargrave Park inspired me. Before I realized, it was al
most two o’clock.”
“You were born to be a night owl, Caro. Here you
sit, barely alive for your breakfast at nine o’clock. I
have already been for a ride, taken a bath, and written a letter. Why, the day is half over!” Jessica said teas
ingly.
Caroline eyed her with disfavor. “I
f we shared a house, the only thing that would
prevent me from committing morning violence is that
my body would not obey commands to move
quickly.”
Jessica gave her rich throaty chuckle. “If you had
Wellesley pouncing on your feet at first light you’d
wake up early too. I actually did consider a little violence on him this morning, but he was too fast for me.”
Caroline moved to the sideboard, shuddered at the braised kidneys, then decided she could face an egg with her toast. “Perhaps you could leave him free to prowl at night. I should think everyone in the house
hold knows of him by now, so he should come to no
harm.”
“I might try that. I love morning rides, but after a
late night they needn’t be as early as that worthless cat demands. Are you going over to Wargrave Park again
today?”
Caroline was beginning to feels as if she would survive the day. At her aunt’s words, she brightened and said enthusiastically, “Oh, yes! It is the most wonder
ful place. In the three days since Lord Radford left, I’ve
hardly touched the surface of the music library, and
the instruments are just wonderful.”
She stopped, then said guiltily, “Unless you would
rather do something together today. I’m ashamed to
admit it, but until this moment I hadn’t given a
thought to how you are spending your time. I hope
you haven’t been too bored.”
“Not in the least,” Jessica replied. “It’s
been wonderfully relaxing. I’ve caught up on my cor
respondence and finished a dress I had cut in London.
And of course I’ve done a lot of riding. Lord Radford’s
horses are superb. Since he gave me the freedom of the
stables, I’ve been exploring every inch of the estate.”
She smiled impishly. “I bought a shirt and breeches
from one of the stable lads and have been riding
astride again—at least in the early morning.”
Caroline shook her head with amused resignation.
“Incorrigible as always. Which of us is the chaperon?”
“I am working on becoming an eccentric old lady. I
assume a man invented the sidesaddle as a way of
handicapping female riders, and riding astride is my
way of protesting.”
“I have never heard that a sidesaddle slowed you
down. Still, you might as well enjoy your freedom
here. I think that is why I prefer the country. London
was too full of rules and critics.” As an afterthought,
Caroline added, “I shouldn’t think you would have to
work too hard on becoming eccentric. It’s the ‘old’
part that people won’t believe.”
“All things come to her who waits,” her aunt said
serenely. “Especially old age. I may stop by Wargrave
myself to see the magical music room. Perhaps we can
play some duets.”
“That would be nice. I’ll tell the butler, Somers, that
you may be along.” She busied herself pouring a new
cup of coffee, then said offhandedly, “Yesterday the
lawyer who is handling the estate came for a visit. He had someone with him who will be staying for a while.
An inventory-taker, I believe.”
Her mind strayed for a moment. Captain Dalton had such a wonderful voice, rich and deep as hot
chocolate on a cold night. Caroline was always more
attracted by voices than faces; perhaps that was why
she didn’t find Jason as devastatingly attractive as
other women did. Not that his voice was really unpleasant, but it had an abruptness that was most un-
restful. . . . She was recalled from her reverie by
Jessica’s voice.
“Oh? Perhaps the estate will be settled soon. Having
an earl in residence should improve the neighborhood
social life. I hope the heir and his family are pleasant
people. You will likely see a good deal of them.”
“I suppose.” Caroline’s response was lukewarm.
Then she said hopefully, “Perhaps the new earl will be
single and will fall passionately in love with you. We can be neighbors.”
“Earls never stay
single for long unless they have no desire to marry.
And I am sure they are entirely too used to having their
own way to suit me. It would never do,” her aunt said.
“Ah well, if you don’t wish to be a countess ...”
Caroline said mournfully.
“If you can find me a doddering earl guaranteed to
expire within two hours of the ceremony, I promise
you I will consider it. In the meantime, shall we have dinner at seven o’clock?”
“That will be fine. I shall ask the Wargrave butler to remind me to leave at six.”
“And tell him to remind you again at a quarter past
the hour,” Jessica prompted. “I’m sure that one re
minder will be insufficient.”
“Very true,” Caroline said. “I should hate to be re
sponsible for driving Lord Radford’s chef away by my
lateness and failure to appreciate his art. It would be a bad omen for my future here.”
“Definitely. Keeping a cook happy is essential to a
household’s comfort,” her aunt said as she rose from
the table. “Enjoy your day. Perhaps I will see you later at Wargrave.”
* * * *
Caroline was thoroughly awake and filled with un-
analyzed anticipation as she walked to Wargrave Park.
The path passed through light woodlands with occasional clearings and it was popular with all kinds of
wild birds and small animals. She had seen moles, rab
bits, deer, shy red squirrels, and even a badger on a
rare daytime mission. She was mentally working out a
composition to describe the woodland walk: flutes for
the birds, violins for the breeze rustling the leaves and
long grasses.
The sound of real birdcalls ahead distracted her
from her composing. She proceeded slowly. The path crooked, then
passed into a clearing. She stopped on the edge, ar
rested by amazement.
Captain Dalton was seated on a
fallen tree trunk with a number of birds around him,
some even eating from his hand. He was whistling birdcalls that sounded absolutely authentic.
Appar
ently the birds agreed, because more were coming as
she watched. She recognized greenfinches, robins, lin
nets, and a tiny blue tit hanging acrobatically below
his hand. He held some kind of seeds, with more scat
tered on the ground. It was an amazing sight, and she held her breath for fear of disturbing it.
She saw the captain’s eyes move in her direction,
but he continued his silvery trills and chirps. A fight
broke out between an aggressive green finch and a
newly arrived great tit, and suddenly the whole flock
whirled away.
She stepped forward. “I hope I wasn’t responsible
for ending that. I thought only Saint Francis could call
the birds from the trees.”
Richard smiled companionably. “I hope you won’t
tell anyone. It would quite ruin my reputation to be
linked with a saint.”
Unbidden, she sat on the log before he could rise,
noticing how totally relaxed he was, and how his hazel
eyes seemed always on the verge of laughter. “What
were you saying to the birds?”
“I’m really not sure,” he admitted, “but doubtless it
means something like ‘Dinner is served.’ Cupboard
love, I fear.”
“I think it was the most extraordinary tiling I have
ever seen. How did you learn to do it?”
“When I was a boy I always enjoyed watching birds, a
nd since I also liked whistling, one thing led to an
other. We moved about when I was young, so I had a
chance to learn different species. Did you know that
birds have different accents in different parts of Eu
rope? Not as pronounced as human differences, but
definitely there.”
“How remarkable! Do you suppose there was an avian Tower of Babel, cursing them to different lan
guages?” Caroline suggested.
“Perhaps,” he added. “But I’m afraid I can’t ask
them. All I can do is mimic.” His eyes grew distant as
he said thoughtfully, “I didn’t know I could still do
that. I hadn’t tried since I went into the Army eight
years ago.”
Caroline was silent as she thought through the im
plications of that.
“Besides,” he added, “in Spain calling birds might have ended with them in a pot when the supply trains were too far behind. It is very squeamish of me but I
don’t think I could eat a songbird I had just conversed
with. Or any songbird, really.”
She shuddered. “A dreadful thought, Captain Dalt
on! Still, if one were hungry enough ...”
“I have never been that hungry,” he said firmly.
“And I would prefer you not to call me Captain Dalton. I know that military titles tend to follow one
around forever, but I am in the Army no longer and
have not the least desire to give anyone orders. Actually”—he turned his green-golden eyes on her—”I
would prefer you call me Richard.”