The Two Lords of Wealdhant Manor (4 page)

The two of them stared at each other for several seconds.

“The gate’s in rather poor condition, though,” Mr. Clarke added, which instantly lit Jasper’s temper back to its former heights.

“Well, it won’t be your concern for long, you damned interloper!” Jasper snapped.

Mr. Clarke’s temper was just as quick to flare, and he clenched his fists with barely-contained rage. “I still don’t see what concern it is of yours,
groundskeeper
. Doesn’t that mean that you work for me, now?”

“It does
not
, you upstart little impostor!”

Mr. Clarke arched an eyebrow, most likely intimating that he wasn’t the
littler
of the two of them, which only increased Jasper’s urge to throttle him.

Taking a deep breath to try and settle himself, Jasper pronounced his words with exacting care. “I oversee Wealdhant and the village. Whatever it is that you’re after, your claim is fraudulent. I don’t know whether this mess is your contriving or if you’re a misled cat’s-paw for the railway, but you are an impostor and an interloper.”

Mr. Clarke scowled at him. “Huh. If you’re the overseer, why haven’t you stepped foot in Wealdhant in all your life? If, as you say, no one has been within it in a hundred years.”

“Because it’s
haunted
, you sapscull,” Jasper snapped, annoyed because any of the Wilston locals could have told him that, and should have.

Entirely startled, Mr. Clarke stared slack-jawed at him for a moment before breaking into laughter.

Jasper reconsidered the option of throttling him.

“Haunted!” Mr. Clarke repeated, still laughing. “My
dear
Mr. Waltham, I don’t know what quaint country beliefs you hold, but I am a man of
science
, and I can assure you that there are no such things as ghosts.”

Jasper glared at him, but he wasn’t about to argue the point. Mr. Clarke would experience the proof of it soon enough.

Sobering, Mr. Clarke folded his arms and tilted his head. “In Wilston, Mr. Cranston referred to you as Lord Jasper.”

“They call me that,” Jasper admitted, still feeling surly even though the immediate heat of their quarrel had cooled. “On account of how I see to things in Wilston.”

“I think I understand. You’ve been serving as the
de facto
lord of the manor, is it? And bandying stories of haunts to chase off anyone who might come inquiring.”

Raising his shoulders in immediate fury at that, Jasper puffed himself up again. Mr. Clarke reflected it right back at him and they glared at each other nearly nose-to-nose.

“I’m not leaving,” Mr. Clarke informed him.

Jasper’s nostrils flared. He was nearly as furious at himself as Mr. Clarke. After all, he’d known this day would come. By all rights, Wealdhant should have defaulted back to the crown a century ago. All Jasper and his family had ever done was delay that eventuality. No one had cared about Wealdhant. No one had inquired. No claims upon it had emerged in the past hundred years other than an unproven family legend about Jasper’s great-grandmother.

And then this damned railway had come along to stir up trouble.

Mr. Clarke took a step back and made an attempt at formal bearing. “Mr. Waltham. I think we’re both a bit short-tempered. But the truth of the matter is that I am here to stay, and I would very much like to have you as an ally. Clearly you know more about Wealdhant and the estate than anyone else. Would you perhaps be willing to help me go through some of the records and property of Wealdhant? They may themselves hold the proof to the question of the inheritance, and without your aid I risk disposing of something important or significant.”

It was a reasonable offer, and more of a gesture than Jasper supposed he was owed, if this Mr. Clarke’s paperwork really did turn out to be authentic. More importantly, it gave him an opening to supervise within Wealdhant and to minimise the amount of damage.

“I accept,” Jasper said sharply, picking up the dusty book and returning it to its place on the shelf.

“Tomorrow then,” Mr. Clarke said with equal sharpness. “Since I don’t believe you’re in any condition to do so at present.”

Prickling indignantly, Jasper clenched his jaw. His nose itched with the inclination to sneeze, but he absolutely refused to catch cold—wet clothes or no. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, and whirled about, leaving the room without another word.

J
asper was
in a foul temper by the time he returned home.

Wet and uncomfortable in his muddied clothes, he stormed through the front door in hopes that if he made it to his room with adequate urgency he would be able to avoid the inevitable interrogation from his younger sisters.

“Jasper!” Phoebe, the youngest, gasped in horror as he passed through the main room of their cramped four-room cottage. “Jasper, what in heaven’s name has happened to you? You look like a beast of the wilds!”

Intrigued by that description, Ginevra popped out of the girls’ bedroom and began laughing. “Oh, no, Jasper!”

“What did you
do
?” Phoebe demanded.

“There was an collision in the village, I helped to set things to rights and slipped in the mud while so doing,” Jasper said, continuing past them into his own room. “And you may inquire further once I’m dry!”

He shut the door in their faces, changed out of his wet things, and opened the door some time later to find both of them still waiting curiously on the other side. His face fell in long-suffering exasperation. “It isn’t that interesting of a story.”

“Nonetheless you must have it out,” Phoebe said.

Ginevra took his pile of muddy clothing and went to deposit it with the other things to be washed.

“There is very little to tell. Mr. Clarke’s new and poorly-matched coach and four spooked in the middle of the village and caused a tangle with Mr. Cranston’s wagon, which lost a wheel—I know not how—and had to be set to rights. That is all.”

“But who in the world is Mr. Clarke?” Ginevra asked, not about to allow her brother to get away with his abbreviated version of events.

Phoebe took hold of his elbow and began to steer him toward the kitchen as they spoke, putting the kettle on for tea.

“Mr. Clarke,” Jasper said, puffed with exasperation, and had to compose himself before he could continue. “
Mr. Clarke
thinks himself to be the new owner of Wealdhant!”

“Oh, is he?” Ginevra said. “I was wondering who it would be.”

“What the deuce do you mean, you were wondering who it would be?” Jasper exclaimed. “There oughtn’t be anyone at all! He is most certainly
not
the heir of Wealdhant. He claims descent from Tabitha Allesbury, with very little evidence, and it is entirely clear that the whole matter is trumped up by the railway trying to run their tracks through the Wealdhant lands.”

The girls exchanged a look before Ginevra continued, more carefully this time. “I meant that I was only wondering, having seen the new servants and the wagons arriving with new furnishings and supplies.”

“You can’t say that you hadn’t noticed, Jasper!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Why, I heard they even had to call a locksmith to replace the lock upon the front door.”

Jasper scowled at her, and she made an odd coughing noise and coloured as she pressed her hand over her mouth.

“How long did you know about this?” Jasper asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We did say something, Jasper,” Ginevra said. “Phoebe and I have been chatting about it all week. It is your own affair if you never listen to us.” She lifted her chin, folded her arms, and sniffed indignantly.

“Is he handsome?” Phoebe asked, measuring out tea leaves from the tin and putting them into their blue teapot with the cracked lid.

“It is hardly any concern if he is handsome,” Jasper said, “since he is a usurper and a cat’s-paw for the railway and cannot be allowed to stay.”

“It might not be of any concern but it is indeed a point of interest, Jasper,” Ginevra said. She laid a hand across his forehead to check for fever. He brushed her away.

“He is rather handsome and very tall,” Jasper revealed. “And you are both strictly to stay away from him. You aren’t to go inside Wealdhant. New owner or not, that hasn’t changed. We don’t cross the threshold.”

Ginevra put her hands upon her hips. “Jasper, why have you got that look? You should know that you’re perfectly transparent when you have a secret.”

Jasper tensed his jaw, resistant to revealing the details of his meeting with Mr. Clarke. Phoebe mirrored her sister with her hands upon her own hips, and they glared at him in unison.

“I crossed the threshold in order that I might speak to Mr. Clarke.” Jasper admitted, since he knew that he could not keep secrets from his sisters and he was incapable of lying. “You are still most certainly not to do so.”

“Yes, Jasper,” Phoebe drawled, and rolled her eyes toward heaven before going to fetch the kettle as it began whistling.

T
he morning dawned
fine and clear, and Algernon gazed out across the moors as he breakfasted. He didn’t know what the moors would look like in the summer, but in January they looked desolate and harsh, patched here and there with islands of packed snow which hadn’t fully melted from yesterday’s rain.

Algernon wrinkled his nose. Being the lord of a manor was perfectly exciting, but it had so far turned out to be a very dreary manor in the middle of nowhere, and with his ownership contested.

When the maid came in to clear his breakfast dishes, Algernon lifted his head. “Miss Wotton? You’re a local, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

“If you’ll indulge me. I suppose there are ghost stories about an old place like this?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Miss Wotton confirmed, eyes widening.

“Tell me one. If you please.”

The maid hesitated, beginning to set the dishes onto a tray as she thought. “Most of them go back to… what happened, sir.”

Algernon leaned forward at once, pleased to have hit upon either some clue—or some further mystery. “What happened?”

“With the old earl, sir. Everyone knows, well, you see, the old earl had three daughters.”

Algernon nodded. “Yes. I saw their portraits.”

“Well.” Miss Wotton set the tray aside, taking the liberty of sitting across from him at the little table and leaning in to divulge the story. “Mrs. Underwood,
she
says that Sarah—that was the middle daughter—was pregnant, and the old earl was in such a rage when he found out that he threw her down the stairs, and that was when Ruth, the oldest, took up his hunting rifle and shot him. The way I heard it, there wasn’t anybody pregnant, it was just that Ruth was a madwoman, she’d always been mad, and they kept her locked up in the attic because of her wickedness, but one day she escaped and snatched a rifle and shot her own father right dead, would you believe?”

“Shocking,” Algernon agreed, nodding enthusiastically to get her to continue. “And then what?”

“Oh, and then they all just disappeared.” Miss Wotton said.

“Disappeared?”

“If you ask me, I think Ruth murdered them all, and their bodies are still probably lying undiscovered in the cellar somewhere. I’m sure we’ll turn them up soon enough.”

“No doubt,” Algernon said, clearing his throat and making an effort not to laugh at the sensational story.

“And since then the manor’s been abandoned. That’s all.”

“What about the ghosts?”

“Oh! They all haunt the place something awful, all four of them, re-enacting the murder. You won’t catch me spending the night here, no, not with Miss Ruth haunting about looking for someone to kill.”

“That seems a sensible precaution, Miss Wotton. I suppose I’ll have to take my chances.”

Miss Wotton nodded with serious concern as she got to her feet. “I do hope you’ll be careful, Mr. Clarke. One should never cross a ghost, that’s what I say.”

“Very sage advice,” Algernon said, also rising to his feet so that he could head downstairs to the study. “If you see Mr. Cullen, or if you hear the door, I am expecting—” The name ‘Lord Jasper’ rose to the tip of his tongue, and he bit it back with a wry grin. “Mr. Waltham to visit again this morning. Please show him in to me at once.”

Jasper Waltham arrived as Algernon was descending the steps, which was poor timing because Algernon had not yet reached the missing step, and there was simply no elegant, dignified way to descend a missing step. While Jasper watched, he strode over it with his long legs and kept his chin up. It was hardly his fault, after all, if the step was damaged. Jasper made no comment.

“Good morning, Mr. Waltham,” Algernon said, coming forward and extending his hand with a polite smile. “How good of you to come. Have you breakfasted? I can have the kitchen send something up.”

“I’ve eaten,” Jasper said. He was still just as brusque as yesterday, although he was at least properly dressed and dry. His black coat was two decades out of fashion and patched at the elbows, and his top hat was similar: outmoded beaver in a lofty style no longer worn in London and scuffed at the edges. But despite that, Algernon still found him quite handsome in a rugged, country way. His square jaw and Roman nose added to the severity of what Algernon would think was a perpetual scowl if he hadn’t seen Jasper smile when they’d lifted the wagon together.

Algernon gestured toward the study and Jasper went, shoulders tense. Once they were within, Algernon shut the door, wondering what in the world he planned to do and where they ought to start.

“I don’t suppose you know which of these are the old records and accounts?” Algernon asked.

“No,” Jasper answered, and Algernon was reminded that Jasper had never been in the manor in his life.

It seemed peculiar that a country boy would be so superstitious that he wouldn’t snoop inside, even as a child. When Algernon had been a boy, he had never once missed the opportunity to snoop into abandoned and supposedly haunted buildings in London, which had more than once put him at risk for life and limb.

Choosing a shelf at the end, Algernon picked up the first book and pulled it out, dusting it off. It was a very bland tome on botany, and he put it back without interest, taking the next one. By the third book, he had gotten rather a lot of dust on himself and the floor. The fourth book came away entirely too easily and revealed that it was mostly just spine, having fallen prey to mice. He grimaced as he held it up. “I think I’m going to need a cat.”

The faintest smile flickered across Jasper’s face as he looked over. “I’ll fetch you one. There’s a mouser in the village who had a litter last spring and not all of them have homes yet.”

“That’s very good of you,” Algernon said, surprised by the generosity of the offer.

Jasper’s face went cold again. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for the books.”

Sighing, Algernon tossed the book onto a clear spot on the floor, intending to begin a pile for the scrap heap, and reached for the next one. “Well, the
books
are grateful.”

Not bothering with an answer, Jasper started on a different shelf, taking out each book and inspecting it for damage. “Mice aren’t such trouble. It’s book worms that will destroy a library if they get started. Be sure to check the spines.”

“How do you know that?” Algernon said, checking the spine of the book and frowning. “Check them how?”

Jasper came over, taking the book Algernon was holding and flipping it open, fanning through the pages. “You’ll see little holes or damage along the inside, especially near the spines. One of the villagers had a mess of the creatures get into his library—his father didn’t read much and by the time we discovered it, half the library was damaged.”

He was standing very close, and Algernon felt his heart rate quicken, distracted by the straight line of Jasper’s jaw.

Snapping the book shut, Jasper handed it back to him and returned to his side of the library.

Algernon felt a stab of sympathy for him. Jasper had made his position about their mutual situation quite clear, and it seemed to Algernon that the poor man must be feeling usurped. Though Jasper might not himself be the lord of Wealdhant, he was the protector of the place, and he had taken such good care of the gardens that he must care deeply for it. He’d helped take charge of things quickly enough yesterday in Wilston, and it was evident that the villagers liked him.

That was all well and good. Once he saw that Algernon was no threat and here to stay, they could surely become friends.

Perhaps more
, he thought, making a mental note to inquire as to whether or not Jasper was married.

They didn’t speak much as they went through the study shelf by shelf.

“There isn’t much here,” Jasper said at length. “There must be another library.”

“
This
you think isn’t much?” Algernon asked. The books lining the shelves of the study were more than his merchant father had ever kept in their London house. “There are hundreds of books here.”

“The study isn’t that large. House this size? I think there’s another library.”

This immediately struck upon Algernon’s sense of adventure. Another library, with not hundreds of books but
thousands
. “Want to go find it?”

Jasper glanced up, surprised but visibly tempted. He considered for a few seconds before shutting the book he was holding and returning it to the shelf. “Yes.”

Algernon grinned, delighted by the prospect of exploring the old manor in the company of this appealing—albeit surly—gentleman. He dusted himself off a bit and stepped into the hallway, flagging down Mr. Cullen to dispose of the mouse-damaged books which he had left in a little pile in the study. Jasper followed after him, and Algernon glanced back to see Mr. Cullen and Jasper exchanging scowls.

Raising an eyebrow, Algernon looked away quickly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to Jasper’s general hostility. He started up the stairs with Jasper following close behind, and then paused again to look back. “Cullen? Have you found a library? A large one.”

“Yes, sir. Second floor, east wing. Shall I show you?”

“That’s all right, Cullen. I imagine we’ll find it soon enough.”

Jasper had stopped just a step beneath Algernon when they paused, and Algernon became suddenly aware of how close he was. Distracted again by Jasper’s sheer physical power and the heat of his temper, Algernon stared for a moment. He’d always preferred brawny, working-class gentlemen, and the combination of Jasper’s roughness and his obvious intelligence was very quickly working upon Algernon’s lust.