Page 16 of Weave me a Rope
Aunt Eliza remained in bed for the rest of the day and well into the afternoon of the next day, in a darkened room with a succession of damp clothes over her eyes to ease her headache.
Cordelia left her to the care of their maid and set off to make friends with anyone in the village who could be persuaded to talk to her. “I will have a footman with me at all times,” she promised Aunt Eliza. She instructed Andrew, the footman, to sit outside the tavern, with a tankard of ale. He could see her wherever she went, except when she was inside a shop, so it was more or less true he was with her at all times. Within shouting distance, in any case.
Andrew went beyond his brief, chatting with the tavern’s other patrons. Through him, Cordelia learned that Deerhaven was known as a hard man. High in the instep and convinced of his God-given right to trample on lesser people who got in his way.
Cordelia, on the other hand, persuaded some of the women to talk to her about Deerhaven’s sons. Young Lord John had taken lessons with the vicar’s sons before he went away to school, and was still a frequent visitor to the village when he was at home.
Lord Spenhurst was always polite, and very handsome, but they had seldom seen him since he finished school. Nor did they see much of Lord Deerhaven, even though he frequently deposited Lady Deerhaven at Deercroft and went off on his own. It was said he spent the Season in London, six weeks over the summer at Deercroft, and for the rest of the year traveled around the country, visiting his other properties, and attending house parties.
Lord Spenhurst usually went wherever the marquess went.
Apart from commenting that Lady Deerhaven stayed at Deercroft, none of them would talk about her, not the tavern patrons nor the village women.
That was as much as Cordelia knew when Aunt Eliza woke on the third morning with her headache much diminished and began worrying about them staying in the neighborhood.
“We need to go back to London, Cordelia,” Aunt Eliza said. “What if the marquess finds out you are still here?”
“I am not on his land, Aunt Eliza,” Cordelia reminded the poor dear.
“I do not like it,” Aunt Eliza complained.
Cordelia was determined to stay until she could talk to Lord John, or at least until rumors trickled out from Deercroft to tell her how Spen fared. “You know how ill you get in a carriage when you’ve had one of your headaches, Aunt Eliza,” she said, ignoring the twinges of guilt at using her aunt’s frailties for her own purposes.
She set herself to soothe Aunt Eliza’s worries. “You do not need to worry about Lord Deerhaven. His people shop in the village on his estate. He does not visit here, and nor does Lady Deerhaven.”
“But if he were to come…” Aunt Eliza fretted. “I was so frightened, my dear Cordelia. I thought he was going to hurt us!”
“He will not even know we are here,” Cordelia insisted. “I want you to rest and get better. We will go back to London once I am sure you are well enough to travel.”
Aunt Eliza hesitated, and Cordelia could tell she was thinking about how ill and weak she felt after a migraine passed. That had been Cordelia’s intent all along, since she was hoping her aunt’s desire to stay in one place would win over her fear of Deerhaven. If Lord John did not come within the next two days, however, Cordelia might have a real argument on her hands.
She decided to enlist the rest of her servants to collect information about Deercroft, its owner, and his family. Perhaps she could find a way to get a message to Lord John, or even to Spen.
Chapter Seven
The second dayafter a beating was always worse than the first. The insulating effect of shock was gone, the bruises were at their maximum, and the stinging cuts were still so raw the least and lightest of covers caused agony.
Spen lay on his stomach and endured. The housekeeper visited again, and Fielder popped his head in a couple of times, bringing food and drink and taking away the chamber pot. He remained sullen, but was, at least, no longer actively hostile.
Just after the second meal of the day, Spenhurst heard voices outside of the locked door.
“His lordship said no visitors,” Fielder growled.
Spen strained to hear the response. It was John. Spen recognized his voice but couldn’t hear the words.
“No visitors,” Fielder repeated.
John’s voice again, Fielder gave the same response, and then silence.
So. Spen was to be deprived of his brother’s company. Probably as well. If the marquess caught John anywhere near Spen, it would go badly for the boy. John stayed safe by staying out of the way of the marquess, who was too proud to admit his wife’s second son was not his get, but too volatile to be trusted not to kill the unwanted cuckoo in his nest when he lost his temper.
John, though, hadn’t given up. Spen’s dinner came with a note folded inside the table napkin. It was written on both sides and crossed to keep it small. Spen hid it until Fielder had taken away the tray, then puzzled it out by the fading light shining through the window from the sunset.
Spen, they won’t let me in to see you. Can you come to the window tomorrow morning at half after six by the stable clock? I will be in the oak tree on the other side of the courtyard. Lady Deerhaven is still taking her meals in her room, but her maid says it is only a bruise on her face. The marquess is leaving again tomorrow. The schoolroom maid heard him order the coach for ten o’clock. I told Fielder that and asked to see you tomorrow, but he said his orders were to keep you there and not let anyone in. Your loving brother, John.
Spen hobbled to the window, but it was too dark to see the clock in the little tower on top of the stables. No matter. Dawn at this time of the year was before six. If he watched for the light, he would be up in time to see John.
That wasn’t hard. He was in too much pain to sleep much at all, and restlessly pacing as soon as the sky lightened enough for him to move around the room without bumping into walls or furniture. The little tower room had once been a mirror image of the one at the other end of the building, but in recent times, it had been divided in two by an internal wall and had become a dumping ground for elderly chairs and sofas, all overstuffed and sagging. In addition, it held two chests of drawers, a desk, a couple of tables, a wardrobe with only three legs, and of course, the bed, which was also in disrepair, with one corner supported on bricks.
