The Two Lords of Wealdhant Manor (5 page)

“Mr. Clarke?” Jasper said, drawing attention to the fact that Algernon had paused to stare.

“Yes, forgive me,” Algernon said, resuming his path up the stairs. He plumb forgot that the next step was the missing one, and his foot went straight through it.

Jasper grabbed him with a broad arm around Algernon’s chest.

Heart pounding with the rush of energy from missing the step and the feeling of Jasper’s steady chest pressed against his back, Algernon grasped the railing to steady himself, and Jasper let go of him.

“Thank you, Mr. Waltham,” Algernon said, breath still quick and ragged. “How scatterbrained of me!”

Straightening his spine, he stepped over the missing tread and continued up the stairs with as much dignity as he could manage. Jasper trailed after him without comment.

Once the stairs were cleared, they walked abreast down the hallway to the first fork, where they both paused.

Algernon bit the inside of his cheek.

“East is that way,” Jasper said, pointing.

“Ah!” Algernon said, tightening his jaw with irritation at Jasper’s perceptiveness. “To be sure.”

They turned east.

A few turns in their path brought them to a long, straight hallway, lined with doors, which seemed a likely candidate for being the east wing.

Algernon opened the first door, which was a dusty old bedroom, and shut it again. When he looked over, he found that Jasper had likewise begun opening doors and was so enthralled by the exploration that he seemed only half aware of Algernon’s presence. There was a sort of awe on his face, like an orphan child opening a Christmas present, and Algernon paused in his own exploration to watch.

It was fascinating and endearing how Jasper approached each new room with a mixture of reverence and proprietary satisfaction. Algernon was so caught up in watching him that he found himself honestly disappointed when Jasper opened door and turned back to announce, “I found the library.”

“Splendid,” Algernon said, annoyed when Jasper strode straight on ahead into the library without waiting for him. He followed after quickly, pursuing Jasper into a vast, two-storey library.

Jasper had stopped just inside the threshold, and Algernon collided with his shoulder. Both of them gaped at the vast, dust-coated collection.

“That’s a lot of books to check for bookworms,” Algernon said.

Jasper made a coughing sound that might have been a laugh.

“Where do we start?” Algernon asked.

“I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen so many books in all my life.”

“I think it might take you a lifetime to read them,” Algernon said. A massive old globe to one side of the room caught his attention. It was a century out of date, with peeling paint and cracking wood, and Algernon couldn’t resist giving it a spin.

He regretted it at once as the globe gave a torturous creak, spun out a massive cloud of dust, and then produced an alarming cracking noise.

Jasper glared at him. Algernon put his hands behind his back and stepped away from the globe.

The next thing that caught his eye was a massive tome set upon a display stand to one side of the room. He went over to it, blowing the coating of dust off of the pages and leaning over to look. The letters were formed in old-fashioned script which Algernon could barely read, and each page was beautifully illuminated with red and gold ink. “What is this, a grimoire?”

“A
grimoire
?” Jasper repeated. He sounded deeply exasperated, and came over at once to investigate. “Exactly what sort of profligate, godless life do you live in London? It’s a Bible. Have you never seen a family Bible?”

Algernon bristled. “In London, Bibles come in perfectly normal sizes that fit on normal bookcases.”

“It’s an heirloom,” said Jasper. “Don’t touch it.”

As soon as Jasper moved away to inspect a different part of the library, Algernon touched it.

The pages were crisp and heavy, different from any paper used in the modern printing presses that Algernon knew. He flipped through it, preparing the excuse that he was checking for damage from bookworms, and found blank pages at the very back which puzzled him. They were preceded by several pages that listed names in a variety of tight, old-fashioned hands.

Upon closer inspection, Algernon realised that he was looking at a family genealogy. Many of the names were difficult to interpret, but he was easily able to find the last four entries, all names that he recognised.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch that?” Jasper asked.

“Look, it’s my great-grandmother Tabitha,” Algernon said. “Tabitha Mills Allesbury. And her older sisters, Sarah and Ruth. None of them with a listed wedding or death.”

Jasper pushed him out of the way in order to take a look. “Her name wasn’t Mills. It was Millicent.”

“It wasn’t!” Algernon objected. “It says right here, Tabitha Mills.”

“It’s abbreviated,” Jasper said. “M-I-L-L-C, period.”

Algernon looked closer, finding that the S did indeed seem to be a C with a period after it. He scowled irritably about being corrected.

Jasper moved away again.

“So they were the ones who were all murdered?” Algernon asked, following after him.

“What? Who was murdered?”

“The three sisters and their father. Only I suppose Tabitha can’t have been murdered, if she got married and became my great-grandmother.”

“She isn’t your great-grandmother, and they weren’t murdered.” Jasper took down a book from a shelf and slapped it into Algernon’s hands.

Algernon checked the title. “A New Compendium of the Whole Art of Practical Navigation.”

Jasper ignored him. Algernon flipped the book open to check for bookworms. It seemed intact. He knocked the dust off of it and replaced it on the shelf.

“What happened, then, if they weren’t murdered?”

“Who told you they were murdered?”

Algernon took down the next book and checked it. “A knowledgeable local.”

“They weren’t murdered.”

Algernon sighed and knocked the dust off against Jasper’s side. “Then what happened?”

Pausing, Jasper looked over at him and then down at the dust now covering the side of his coat. His nostrils flared.

“What,” Algernon said, putting back the book and taking another one, holding it threateningly as if he might knock more dust onto Jasper, “happened?”

Jasper confiscated the book. “Ruth killed the old man to protect her sisters. They fled, after that.”

“Then who are the ghosts?”

Jasper’s grip tightened on the book, and he glared at Algernon like he was considering a murder of his own. “I don’t know who the ghosts are!”

“So if the girls weren’t murdered, and they all fled, then it is perfectly plausible that Tabitha moved to Nottinghamshire and married under a different name.”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “No, it isn’t.”

Rolling his eyes toward heaven, Algernon turned away and went to work on a different section of the library.

W
hen Jasper returned
to Wealdhant Manor the next day, he brought a basket which squirmed persistently in his grip and made him grateful for the securely fastened basket lid. He was shown into the morning room, where the maddening and yet intriguing Mr. Clarke was breakfasting. Striding into the room, Jasper deposited the basket in Mr. Clarke’s lap. “I brought you a cat.”

A displeased howling noise emerged from the basket.

Mr. Clarke blinked at it. “You brought me a disgruntled basket.”

“With a cat in it,” Jasper said.

“I don’t suppose anyone ever proposed to you alternate methods of cat transportation,” Mr. Clarke said. He got up, placed the basket on an empty portion of the table and gingerly opened it.

A black cat with a single grey ear emerged from the basket and hissed at them. Unruffled, Mr. Clarke introduced it to the plate of kippers, which was accepted as a suitable offering.

“It won’t be much of a mouser if you feed it,” Jasper pointed out.

“Nor will it be much of a mouser if it feels unwelcome and runs off,” Mr. Clarke said. He patted the cat, which made an irritable little yowling noise. “Thank you for bringing me a cat.”

Jasper tensed, not wanting Mr. Clarke to think that this was any overture of friendship. He was merely seeing to the necessary mouse-maintenance of Wealdhant. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, yes, I know. The cat isn’t for me. The cat is for the defence of the books and bedding of Wealdhant. Thank you anyway.”

Annoyed by Mr. Clarke acting like the gracious lord of the manor, Jasper scowled.

Mr. Clarke put his chin into his hands and offered a cheshire smile. “May I ask, Mr. Waltham, why you have relatively little of the local accent?”

“I’e it aplenty,” Jasper drawled at him, satisfied at the way Mr. Clarke’s eyes widened. “We may be country people, Mr. Clarke, but we’re intelligent and much in contact with other shires. I assure you that you’d find me half incomprehensible if I spoke full Wilston to you. Market day English is more like to be King’s English, but ael ot’er daes wae’ll spaek as we do.”

Mr. Clarke grinned at the demonstration. “Do join me for breakfast, Mr. Waltham.”

Jasper shook his head. “I’ve eaten, thank you.”

Mr. Clarke’s face fell and he blinked a few times in confused disappointment. Drawing himself up, Mr. Clarke replaced his playful good humour with a businesslike frown. “Very well. I’ve just finished, after all.”

Jasper felt a moment of regret at having spoiled Mr. Clarke’s good mood. Aside from his presence as an interloper and his stubborn gall about it, Mr. Clarke seemed to have a friendly and charming demeanor which Jasper found almost magnetic.

Tossing down his napkin, Mr. Clarke got to his feet and walked past him into the main hall. “I have a mind to see the grounds of Wealdhant today, Mr. Waltham. I would be very much obliged if you would be willing to conduct a tour, since it is clear that you are the unparalleled expert on that subject.”

Jasper hesitated, accepting his hat and coat once again from the hands of the butler. He didn’t want to indulge Mr. Clarke’s requests, he wanted him to simply leave. But if Mr. Clarke was going to stay, it was preferable that he should know the basics about the estate in order that he should not do anything especially stupid out of ignorance.

Besides which, Mr. Clarke had called the gardens ‘beautiful’, and the prospect of further praise and appreciation on that topic was not entirely unwelcome.

The weather outside was misting a cold, icy precipitation that wasn’t quite snow.

Jasper turned east along the front of the house, leading him around to the side and the thick, healthy orchard. The trees were bare in January, but Jasper had plenty of reasons to be proud of the stout branches. He explained some of the basic maintenance and scheduling of the trees, which were an admirable variety of damsons, sloes, pears, and apples, and gave some advice on their upkeep.

“I hope you aren’t planning to leave us, Mr. Waltham,” said Mr. Clarke.

Taken aback, Jasper shook his head. “Certainly not.”

“Then I hope you will be staying on to continue this maintenance, and to pass on your wisdom to any assistant gardeners I hire?”

Jasper tightened his shoulders at the insinuation that he was a mere gardener whose work was for Mr. Clarke’s benefit. “I’m staying.”

“I’m glad to hear that. What use have you made of the orchard’s produce?”

“I sell much of it, for the funds and supplies I need to maintain the place,” Jasper said, already defensive of the prospect that Mr. Clarke might make some claim upon the fruits of his labour. “My sisters see to canning the surplus, and it feeds us through the winter.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Clarke said. “I hope you’ll be willing to share the produce with the Manor, and you may from now on apply to me whenever you need funds or supplies for the estate’s maintenance.”

Jasper clenched his jaw and glared straight ahead, refusing to answer. Mr. Clarke would certainly not be staying. His thin claim, perpetuated by the morally-questionable railway company, must be proved to be unsubstantiated, and then Jasper could be rid of him. No matter the circumstances, Jasper would not be
answering
to him as the lord of the manor.

If the circumstances had been different, if Mr. Clarke had been a charming and adventurous new face in Wilston without the nonsense of the railway or the inheritance of Wealdhant, Jasper might have enjoyed his company. He was handsome, and Jasper was aware of a constantly lurking desire in his own heart to press Mr. Clarke against the nearest wall and kiss him breathless.

And if Mr. Clarke did stay, if he could not be deposed, Jasper supposed that there were less pleasant men who might be installed as the lord of Wealdhant Manor. If Mr. Clarke were willing to be reasonable, they might be able to come to terms, and Mr. Clarke might understand and respect how Jasper tended to the lands and people within the bounds of the Wealdhant estate.

His heart ached with longing for such a circumstance, and his mind threatened to wander further into the territory of guiding Mr. Clarke’s management of the estate in between sessions of intimacy and kisses. He thought of sitting behind that grand desk in the study with Mr. Clarke breathless and aroused in his lap.

“Are those the Carrick woods?” Mr. Clarke asked, interrupting Jasper’s wayward reverie.

“What?” Jasper asked, gaze following Mr. Clarke’s pointing finger. “Certainly not. The Carrick woods are on the southern side of the estate, near Cairkby. That’s just a stand of trees.”

“It’s a very large stand of trees,” Mr. Clarke said.

Jasper questioned his own sense for ever having considered amorous advances toward the fully maddening Mr. Clarke. “Aye, but it’s hardly a
wood
, Mr. Clarke. The Carrick woods, even just the portion on the estate proper, are deep and dark enough that you could be lost for hours within them—days, perhaps, if you’ve poor enough sense. But the railway has much of that land south of here, now, and I imagine they’ll cut a harsh swathe through the ancient forest to lay their iron tracks.”

“That local accent of yours is very rustically charming, you know,” said Mr. Clarke.