Page 63 of A Feud with the Duke

“Visitor?” Alice asked with ice forming in her stomach. “Who would that be?”

“Henry Gladwell. The new Earl of Rochester. He is looking for a wife but missed the beginning of the season in town because of the death of his father. I persuaded him to take luncheon with us to meet you.”

Simon beamed as though what he had done was a boon. Alice smiled weakly in return.

“I shall ensure I return for luncheon,” she said, with no intention of being anywhere near the house when the Earl was expected.

But perhaps I should. If Harold has given up on me then maybe I should be looking in other directions now. Accept the inevitable.

She left the house and strode down the broad path that led from the front of Lindley Manor through the park. Soon, trees closed in on the gravel path that led from the house to the Ardle Road. In one direction, it would take her through settled farmlands to the town of Ardle, three miles distant. In the other, it would run through the Thropmore Woods, around the outskirts of the estate, and up onto the desolate Ardlemoor.

Alice’s mood took her that way. The road was full of ruts and pits, the substance of it turned to mud by the recent rain. Tangles of willow, ash, and maple crowded the road and formed a green wall of vegetation to either side. After a mile, an ancient, moss-covered, stone wall became visible on one side. It was the boundary of the Lindley estate, though the trees had grown up to it and over it, rendering it largely obsolete as a barrier.

Ahead a small, red brick house appeared. It was a single-story structure with a single chimney and a neat garden around it. The old wall was broken here by two imposing gate posts between which a cart track ran to disappear into the trees beyond.

It's the old gatehouse. I haven’t been here in years. Mama used to bring me to visit with the groundskeeper and his wife. I wonder if they still live here? I have not thought of them in such a long time.

The answer came quickly. As she approached the house she saw a stoop-shouldered, old man with a few strands of white hair projecting from beneath his cap, hoeing weeds from a flower bed under a window. His name came to her suddenly.

“Master Hitch? It is Master Hitch, isn’t it?”

The man turned, squinting in her direction. For a moment, his face was blank. Then recognition spilled warmth across it.

“Why, it's young Miss Alice, isn’t it? My pardon, Lady Hathway now isn’t it?”

“It is. But, please call me Alice.”

Hitch took off his cap and smoothed the few strands of hair back as though to tidy his appearance. “Well, bless my soul Miss. I haven’t seen you since you were shorter than this here rose bush.”

“In truth, I had quite forgotten the old gatehouse here,” Alice said. “I did not know you were still here.”

“Yes, the old master granted me the house, being as the gate was moved a mile down the road to the south side of the house. My son, Charles, now works the grounds for Lord Simon. I just tend my little bit of garden here.”

“And Mrs. Hitch?” Alice asked, remembering a cheery lady with red cheeks who had always seemed to have flour on her hands.

“Sadly, taken from us two winters ago, my lady,” Hitch said.

“Oh, I am sorry. It is so remiss of me not to have known.”

“Well, you have plenty to think about up in the big house. I don’t expect you to notice all the goings on with us folk. Lord Simon paid for a very decent funeral service in Ardle. I was most grateful. Would you join me for a cuppa and a bite to eat? I’ve got a fresh loaf and good piece of ham in the house.”

An early luncheon and tea with Mr. Hitch was infinitely preferable to the company of an Earl that had been invited to inspect her. Alice smiled and accepted. Hitch showed her into a small, low-ceilinged kitchen that was warm from the stove and full of the smell of freshly baked bread and wood smoke. Memories returned as she sat at the kitchen table.

“Last time I was here I think that I could barely see over the top of this table,” she said.

“Aye, that’s how it was. Your Ma, I beg your pardon, Her Ladyship used to bring you to see us. Kind and decent lady she was. We were very sad at her passing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hitch,” Alice said.

As the former groundskeeper bustled about the kitchen preparing tea, Alice looked around. Like Harold’s private rooms in Middleton Street, the room was a veritable goldmine of objects. Tools lay next to the sink, a hammer and chisel. A variety of age-dark carvings hung on the wall, Alice could not quite make out their subject though it appeared to be scenes of landscapes.

A frame hanging above a low doorway that led from the kitchen into the rest of the house, caught her eye. She stood and walked over to it, peering upwards. It was a map of the county; she recognized the distinctive shape of Ardwenshire, with the beginnings of Middlesex to its south. It had been drawn onto paper or parchment that was now yellow with age but the glass front of the frame had been recently dusted.

“This is a fine map of the county, Master Hitch,” Alice said.

“Aye, it is. Given to me as a gift by Lord Edward a few years back. He found it in the attic of the big house by all accounts. It's of an age, according to him. See there…”

The old man shuffled to her side and pointed with a finger as gnarled as an old root.

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