Page 16 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
Mr. Babbage listened with sympathy, rummaging through a stack of papers as she talked. When she was finished, he asked her again what kind of work she sought.
“I don't really have any skills apart from housekeeping,” she said sheepishly. Suddenly, she felt ashamed for her lack of working experience. She knew it was not her fault, as no noble lady ever expected to find common employment. In fact, gainful employment was considered scandalous and quite beneath even the lowest ranking noble person. Still, she could not help feeling embarrassed as she spoke to the clerk.
Mr. Babbage, however, gave her a pleasant grin.
“That is all right, Miss White,” he said. “It is more common than you might think for people in situations similar to yours to come in needing work. I am quite sure I can find you a suitable position.”
Serena sighed with relief, grateful for the man’s kindness. Evelyn reached over and took her hand, which comforted her.
The room was silent for a few moments while Mr. Babbage skimmed through the papers before him. At last, he found her letter, reading it briefly before setting it aside. Then, he took up some more papers, reading them more slowly before returning his attention to her.
“All right, Miss White,” he said, looking up at her. “As it happens, I do have one housekeeping position open at the moment. It has only just come in, and I would be glad to offer it to you. However, I must speak with the employer first. I would feel terrible if I offered you the position, only to find that the earl had either filled it or needed someone with more experience.”
Serena looked at the man, intrigued.
“Earl?” she asked.
Mr. Babbage nodded.
“Yes, and a rather new one, from what I understand,” he said. “He needs a housekeeper for his country home in Bedfordshire, which is a day’s journey from London.”
Serena glanced at Evelyn, who nodded with approval.
“Very well,” she said, allowing herself to be hopeful once more. “What must I do?”
Mr. Babbage handed her two papers and pushed the ink well across the desk toward her.
“After I speak with the employer, I will know if he wishes to interview you,” he said. “At which point, I shall write to you and have you come back in to finalize some details and arrange your interview. For now, you can go ahead and fill out this paperwork, so it will be ready should you secure a position.”
Serena smiled as she filled out the paperwork. Though it was not itself a guarantee of employment, she believed Mr. Babbage was a man of his word. He already had a position in mind for her, and she would wait patiently for word from him. It was better news than she’d started the day with, and it was enough to give her new hope.
With any luck, she would have a position confirmed within the next few days, and she would be able to reject Mr. Tate’s proposal with confidence. She told herself to believe that, after all the misery she was enduring, she might, at last, have come to deserve just a little bit of good.
Chapter Eight
Edward awoke the following morning with a dull headache and a sick, empty stomach. He asked Emily to bring him some bread and cheese, and a strong cup of coffee to chase away the hangover that would otherwise linger all day. He forced himself to eat most of the food, washing it down with all the coffee.
Physically, he felt better for having done so. Mentally, however, he wanted to crawl back into his bed and stay there. He hardly saw what it would matter if he did. There was no one left depending on him, and the estate was already in ruins. It could not do any harm to lie in bed for a day, and the temptation nearly claimed him.
He shook off the self-pitying thoughts. Of course, his mother was depending on him. And the tenant farmers and estate workers, not to mention Clarke, Emily, and the sick housekeeper, Mrs. Chantry. He thought of his mother’s frail, unconscious frame lying motionless in her bed. He could not know for sure, but he suspected that her current condition had likely started with ideas much like his own. If he succumbed to his desire to get back into bed, he might never rise again.Perhaps, that would be for the best. . .
Again, he forced such thoughts from his mind. He dragged himself from the bed, where he had taken his makeshift breakfast, and over to the broken wardrobe. Fortunately, the shirts and suits inside seemed intact and clean, but rather dusty, and the shirts were a little yellowed.
Nevertheless, he selected a shirt, a plain black jacket, and matching trousers, brushing them down and quickly dressing. He pulled his worn black coat over the top against the chill of the house. Then, he trudged down the stairs, through the servant’s entrance, and out to the stables.
The mad stable-hand was nowhere in sight, but the scrawny mare was chewing on half a bucket of grain. Edward walked over to try to pet the poor beast, but she shied away from his touch. He turned to fetch his horse, which was haphazardly tied to the back of one of the stalls without a door. Fortunately, the steed had not realized his tether was loose and that he could have easily escaped.
With a sigh, Edward removed the rope, saddling and mounting the horse, then guiding it out of the stables. He relieved his initial shock and heartache as he took another look at the estate. But avoiding his mother’s fate was not the only reason he had dragged himself out of the manor.
Judging by the unplanted fields and empty, fallow pastures, the estate farms were clearly in as bad a state as his family’s home, something which could not be ignored for long. He was due to meet with the tenant farmers in just a couple of hours. He dreaded the meeting, as he expected them all to be justifiably angry and concerned. He had no idea how he would make amends with them beyond repairing their farms.
His dreary mood grew darker still as he surveyed the land more closely. Things were even worse than he had initially thought. The long-term neglect, through no fault of the farmers, had rendered the soil almost barren, without the proper nutrients to produce a proper harvest.
Edward could see broken plows abandoned at the end of half-tilled rows in several fields, which differed from the untilled halves only in that the soil there seemed barren rather than overgrown. And as he rode on, he could see many barns and other outbuildings that were literally crumbling in on themselves. There were no supplies in any of the dilapidated buildings, and what few cows and sheep were left were clearly starving and weak.
Nothing short of a miracle will save these farms,he thought to himself, swallowing a wave of bile that rose in his throat. Now, he not only had to bear the wrath of the tenant farmers, but he also had to tell them there was little he could do to help them, not immediately, at least. He desperately wanted to flee back to the manor and bury himself.
But it was not about him anymore, and he felt shame for wallowing in self-pity. His father, God rest his soul, would be ashamed of him for being so easily defeated. He was a captain of the Hussars, by God, and he knew he must start acting like one. He would, indeed, hear what the farmers had to say. And then, together, they would come up with solutions to improve and restock the land, repair the farms, and produce an adequate harvest income to get them all through the winter.
