Page 2 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
The curricle emerged from the tunnel into the open, with neatly clipped lawns rolling away to either side. The drive turned slightly to head directly to the oval forecourt before the house’s front door. From the drive, they couldn’t see the ruins of Coldchurch Abbey, on the gatehouse of which Bellamy Hall had been built, but Gregory knew the ruins were there, beyond the rear left corner of the roughly rectangular block of the house.
The neatness of the lawns and the shrub-filled beds along the wide front of the house confirmed his assumption that Timms had continued to run the household and estate much as she had in Minnie’s day, and he felt certain she would have kept on the staff. The only change he knew of was that the previous butler, Marston, and his wife, who had acted as housekeeper, had retired and moved away, leaving the erstwhile underbutler, Cromwell, to step into the butler’s role. Gregory hadn’t heard who the current housekeeper was; doubtless, he would soon find out.
He’d last seen Timms in autumn, when she’d visited his parents and uncle and aunt in London. She’d passed, apparently peacefully, in mid-January, when a bout of icy weather had gripped all of England. She’d been buried a week later, but heavy snowfalls blanketing the country had prevented any of the family from attending. They’d been hunkered down in London, Kent, Cambridgeshire, Rutlandshire, and Cornwall and unable to get through.
As the forecourt neared, he slowed his horses and made a mental note to visit Minnie’s and Timms’s graves.
Under Minnie’s will, Timms had been left the house and estate to manage in a caretaker role until Timms’s own death. Being a decade or so the elder, Minnie had tasked Timms with selecting which of Minnie’s great-nieces or great-nephews should ultimately inherit the Hall, and Timms had chosen Gregory. To his amazement, no one in the family had voiced so much as a quibble or even shown much surprise. The legacy had surprised him, but apparently, others knew or saw something he still didn’t; they all thought he was the right person to take up the reins at Bellamy Hall.
Although he’d asked why, no one had explained other than to imply that Timms’s reasons were obvious.
He inwardly snorted; he still couldn’t see it, but he was there now, about to walk into the house as the new owner of Bellamy Hall.
He didn’t draw up in the forecourt but sent the curricle sweeping on, around the north face of the house to the stable yard beyond.
Inside Bellamy Hall, seated behind the desk in the study, Caitlin Fergusson examined the figures she’d just jotted down, then tucked her pencil behind her ear and smiled encouragingly at the four people occupying the chairs before the desk. “That should do well enough, at least in this season.”
“I’m just glad we’ve got those porkers to sell.” Joshua Bracks, head gardener and principal keeper of the livestock pens, shook his graying head. “I was worried the freeze might have held them back, but they’ve come along nicely, which is just as well, as the hens don’t do well in this weather.”
Caitlin smiled reassuringly. “You’re keeping the kitchen supplied, which is all we need at this time.” She glanced at Julia Witherspoon, sitting beside Joshua. “Your onions should fetch a good price as well.”
A large and handsome lady, Julia managed the Hall’s kitchen gardens and had a well-developed grasp of what produce would fetch a good price at the local market each month. In her usual regal way, she inclined her head. “I believe so, although I think our shallots and garlic will, in toto, bring in even more.”
“That”—Caitlin glanced at her estimation of the likely profits the Hall would make from the market in Wellingborough later that week—“would be very helpful.” It was her job to balance the overall budget for the Hall’s many enterprises, an undertaking that demanded unrelenting attention to detail.
She looked at the others present—Harry Edgar, who managed the Hall’s extensive orchard, and his wife, Jennifer, who ran the cider mill—and arched her brows. “Any thoughts on how your produce will be received this week?”
With a satisfied smile, Harry predicted, “The last of the apples will vanish inside an hour.” A quiet gentry-born farmer, he loved his fruit trees and looked on their offerings with justifiable pride. Still smiling, he glanced at his dark-haired wife. “And I expect we’ll have a rush over Jen’s new plum brandy.”
Jennifer smiled, plainly confident in that assessment. “That old recipe you found worked a treat. Like Harry says, people will be lining up for a bottle once the news gets about.”
“And of course,” Harry added, “we’ve more of our cider to sell. It’s the late-harvest pressing, and that always goes quickly.” He met Caitlin’s eyes. “I was wondering if we shouldn’t add a penny or two to our price.”
The others supported the idea, Caitlin included. “As Barnack cider is so prized locally and the last pressing of the season is a limited run, I can’t see why those bottles shouldn’t go for a premium.”
With that decided, all well pleased, they were about to rise when a rap on the door was followed by Nessie, the Hall’s cook, sticking her head into the room. She saw them, smiled, and came in. “All the people I wanted to see.”
With her apple cheeks, comfortable girth wrapped in a spotless but creased white apron, and gray hair gathered in a knot on top of her head, the older woman was everyone’s vision of an experienced cook. She fixed her bright blue eyes on them, and her smile widened. “Now then, I’m seeking a challenge for dinner tonight. So what can you give me to play with?”
Grinning back, they relaxed in their chairs and set their minds to what they could offer Nessie to sate her imaginative cravings. Being well acquainted with the outcome of such endeavors, they were seriously motivated. In the end, Joshua offered a porker already hanging in the cool store, along with two pheasants, and reminded Nessie of the jelly she’d made from the pigs’ trotters he’d given her weeks ago. Jennifer promised to send their son with a bottle of the prized plum brandy, and Julia and Nessie put their heads together and came up with a list of vegetables to best complement the viands.
Once everyone was satisfied—and mentally licking their lips in anticipation of the evening meal—the others took their leave of Caitlin and, finally, rose to go.
She was fond of them all and loved her position as chatelaine of Bellamy Hall, but when any of them started talking of their passions, the hours flew. With the previous week’s accounts still to be done, she was quietly pleased to see them make for the door.
Then Harry halted and turned to her. “Meant to ask—have you heard anything of our new owner? Are we expecting him anytime soon?”
The others all stopped and looked at her.
She inwardly sighed, but folded her hands and smiled at the group, all of whom were waiting on her answer. “I haven’t heard anything at all, but that said, he could turn up any day.”
Julia humphed. “Typical of that sort of London gentleman, I fear. No consideration for those his arrival might discombobulate.”
Julia wasn’t speaking for herself; she was the least likely of the estate’s residents to be discombobulated by Mr. Cynster, even should he prove to be the most unconscionable libertine. Others, however, were rather more nervy.
“One has to wonder,” Jennifer said, fingers twining, “why he hasn’t visited yet.” She fixed her gaze on Caitlin’s face. “Do you think…that is, what if he’s already decided to sell? The Hall and the estate?”
Firmly, Caitlin shook her head. “Even the most disinterested gentleman wouldn’t sell an agricultural estate he hasn’t stepped foot on for more than eight years. If only to assess what he’s inherited, he will come.”
