Page 5 of Grasp the Thorn
Climbing back up the hill, dodging the worst of the torrents, he teased at the picture he’d formed, but it didn’t make sense. Why on earth was a lady of Miss Neatham’s quality living in such a hovel?
Pelman would know, but would he tell Bear? Bear had an uneasy feeling that Pelman knew her story all too well.
CHAPTER 4
A few minutes’ walk along the better maintained road at the top of Miss Neatham’s alley brought him to Pelman’s gate. He soon knocked on the door, which was opened by a maid. She took his coat and hat to hang over a drip tray, and carried off his card to present to her master.
This was more the sort of house where Miss Neatham belonged; a substantial dwelling with several reception rooms and probably a dozen or more bedrooms. The hall in which he waited was wider than the Neatham’s entire house, with a handsome staircase at one side broad enough for two people to ascend abreast. Opposite the staircase, portraits and landscapes adorned the wall, with room for half a dozen chairs and several side tables.
Pelman followed the maid back into the hall before Bear had time to do more than glance around.
“Gavenor. What on earth are you doing out in weather like this?”
On the spur of the moment, Bear decided to go fishing. “I’m on a mission for a lady, Pelman. Miss Neatham called on me this afternoon.”
Bear didn’t miss the worried crease between Pelman’s brows, hastily smoothed and replaced with a sneer. “Hah! I might have known she would complain to you. Don’t believe her, Gavenor. She has no right to that cottage. None at all.”
Pelman gestured. “Come on through to the parlour. You’ll want to dry beside the fire. The bi— female must have been convincing to drive you out in this weather.” Almost a question, the way his voice rose at the end of the sentence. One Bear had no intention of answering when Pelman spilled so much information without further effort on Bear’s part.
Sure enough, the silence prompted him to continue. “Mind you, I don’t deny that the baron may have promised the cottage to her—quite likely, under the circumstances—but he put nothing in writing.”
Interesting. The ill feeling obviously went both ways. What circumstances made it likely that the baron lied about giving Miss Neatham the cottage? Some men did not consider it dishonourable to lie to their paramours about future benefits, and a wise mistress took her promises in the form of a contract. Gavenor had trouble associating such sordid affairs with his indignant fairy. Let it sit. Undoubtedly, all will become clear.
“His will left everything to his nephew, including the cottage and—as I told the lovely Rosabel myself—all its contents. You purchased everything. So, there you are.”
Bear resisted the urge to push Miss Neatham’s personal name down Pelman’s throat, but remained silent, watching Pelman out of the corner of one eye while seemingly intent upon the fire.
“I told her she could take only what she could prove she owned. I was looking out for your interests, Gavenor.”
Very revealing. Bear tucked the information away to consider later.
“I am not here about Miss Neatham’s housing,” he said, as peaceably as he could manage, “though she must find her new accommodations very poor after Rose Cottage. Could you not find her anything more suitable?”
Pelman’s tense shoulders relaxed fractionally. “In an instant, if she can afford to pay.” His smirk invited Bear to make common cause with him. “You are a businessman, Gavenor. You know how it is. She has no income, and will not be able to afford the place she is in for long. She will need to come to an arrangement with me then.”
Bear, guessing what type of arrangement, stood speechless for a moment, fighting to keep from wrapping his hands around Pelman’s throat. Over his dead body would his fairy be forced into accepting whatever degrading offer this scum had made.
“Pride is cold comfort when the roof leaks.” The new voice was redolent with satisfaction. This would be Pelman’s sister. No fairy this one—rather, a hearty country woman with the resemblance to a well-bred horse that seemed characteristic of the type.
Pelman returned his sister’s smirk, oblivious to the danger in which he stood. “Livia, allow me to present Mr Gavenor, the gentleman who purchased the Hurley estate. Gavenor, my sister.”
Bear bowed. “Charmed, Miss Pelman.” A lie, but a social lie.
She simpered. “Mr Gavenor, how delighted we are you have joined our little community.” She prattled on about the paucity of social equals and the joys of a visit to Liverpool, not far distant across the Mersey.
The proximity to Liverpool was a prime attraction of the estate. Many of those making their fortunes in Liverpool’s shipping and woollen industries wanted a country estate. Their purchase of a second house where they could retreat from the city would mark their arrival in the netherworld between their middle-class origins and the upper classes who would never accept them. Thorne Hall was ideally suited, particularly if the planned steam ferry service was more successful than the one that failed a couple of years earlier.
Bear had spoken to the people behind that project, which was why he had told his agents to look for properties in the Wirral Peninsula. The current Baron Hurley, a London man to the bone, had been glad to get rid of the place he had inherited from his uncle six years ago and visited once since. Bear had paid a price that would make the venture profitable even if he had to raze the ruin to the ground and start again.
Miss Pelman was attempting to discover his plans. He ignored her hints. Time enough to address her disapproval after his plans were accomplished.
“You may be able to help me, Miss Pelman,” he said.
She simpered again. “Pelman told me you have need of a housekeeper, Mr Gavenor, and I would be willing to fill the position. On a temporary basis, as a favour. You understand I would need maids to do the actual work, of course.” She ran her hands over her gown as if to draw attention to its quality.
Bear shook his head. “I do not need a housekeeper, Miss Pelman. Though it is kind of you to offer.”
She frowned. “Oh? Then you have someone?”
