Page 4 of Lady Controversial
Isolda wondered how long it might take to fix a henhouse but refrained from asking. Every question she put to Mr Bruton evinced a convoluted explanation. She hoped fervently that he worked faster than he talked. But since he was the cheapest man available, she had no choice but to prevail upon his as yet unproven services.
They agreed upon a price that made Isolda blink but which she assumed had to be reasonable. She offered the man her hand in order to seal their bargain. He stared at it, looked highly affronted and took it briefly and reluctantly in his own, barely making contact with her fingers. The moment he released it, he wiped his palm down the side of his breeches. Isolda chose to be amused rather than offended. Shaking hands with a woman clearly offended Mr Bruton’s dignity.
Consoling herself with the thought that once the roof was repaired they would have access to much needed space, Isolda set about the most urgent matters on her never ending to-do list. By mid-morning she had done all that she could accomplish without help and asked Mrs Compton if there was anything she could do to be of assistance to her. She was all too aware that Mrs Compton bore a heavy load on her shoulders and was no longer in the first flush of youth. She would likely be grateful for a helping hand.
‘Bless you, love, I can cope in the kitchen but still, if you feel the need for some fresh air there are some things I need from the village.’
‘Tell me.’
Isolda made a list. ‘Any sign of Jane?’ she asked, more in hope than expectation. After all, it was still only eleven in the morning.
Mrs Compton rolled her eyes and didn’t bother to respond.
‘Well, when she does deign to put in an appearance, make sure she helps Gladys with the polishing. The roof will be mended next week and we shall be able to use that room, but it needs sweeping and dusting. Might as well start now and then there will be less to do once the roof is secured. The chimney will have to be swept as well. I poked a broom handle up it the other day and a bird’s nest tumbled down.’ Isolda gathered up her list and a basket. ‘Anyway, I shall harness Henry to the gig and drive into the village. It’s a lovely day and Henry needs the exercise. He will get impossibly fat if he keeps eating all that grass but does no work to earn his keep.’
‘You’re going like that?’
Mrs Compton eyed Isolda’s breeches with scepticism. Ordinarily, she didn’t take much notice of Isolda’s unorthodox attire since she understood the reason for it despite lamenting the need. Isolda had lost count of the times that Mrs Compton had expressed her view, most forcibly, about Isolda’s father’s reckless gambling. Be that as it may, she clearly didn’t want word of her rebellious ways spreading through the village. It was a little late for that, Isolda thought, given that she had interviewed Mr Bruton dressed as she was now. She suspected that he would be a regular in The George’s taproom and would enjoy telling highly exaggerated tales about Isolda’s eccentricities.
‘Ah, good point.’
Feeling like a chastised child, Isolda went to her room and changed into a divided skirt and a respectable blouse, over which she wore an enveloping cloak. She twisted her hair into a bun and concealed it beneath an ugly straw bonnet that just happened to be comfortable. She glanced dispassionately at her image in a long mirror and decided that she looked respectable enough to be unremarkable; easy to overlook in a crowd, which was just the way she preferred it. Unlike Jane, she wasn’t out to impress anyone.
A short time later, with a lively and obliging Henry harnessed to an ancient gig with questionable suspension, Isolda slapped the reins against his ample rump and Henry moved off at what was, for him, a fast trot.
Ellery leaned back in the chair behind what had once been his father’s monstrosity of a desk. He hated it. The desk was typical of the sort of status symbol he despised, and he vowed to change it for something more modern and with less unpleasant memories attaching to it just as soon as he could find the time.
His father had possessed a short temper and lacked patience with both his sons—especially Ellery, who could never measure up to his expectations. He lost count of the number of times he had been obliged to bend over that desk while his father had whipped his backside for some minor transgression or other. As he grew older he often wondered if administering the chastisement aroused the old devil. Given his debauched behaviour, nothing would surprise Ellery.
Sighing, Ellery returned his attention to the here and now, and more specifically to Lawson’s report.
‘I have spoken to the local Alderman, Griffiths, my lord. He is responsible for keeping the land records for the district, as you are aware, as well as the census.’
‘What could he tell you about Rose Cottage?’ Ellery asked, leaning back a little further and elevating his booted feet onto the edge of the hated desk. It amused him to imagine his father’s reaction to such reckless abuse.
‘It belonged to the late Lord Crawley, I’m afraid.’
‘Damn!’ Ellery took a moment to consider. ‘So Brooke might have a legitimate claim?’
Lawson lifted a shoulder. ‘That I cannot say, sir. He certainly inherited Lord Crawley’s estate, which he won at the gaming tables.’
‘It wasn’t entailed?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Damned fool. Crawley, that is.’
‘Quite. He left behind two daughters and it is they who now occupy Rose Cottage.’
‘Never had the pleasure, at least not as far as I can recall.’ Ellery flexed a quizzical brow. ‘Quite a come down for them, given that they are the daughters of a viscount. If the cottage is near derelict and they have chosen to live there, it implies that their situation must be desperate.’
‘Possibly, but it’s common knowledge in the village that the younger daughter is to be presented at the same time as Lady Jemima this season.’
‘Who is her sponsor?’
‘Her maternal aunt, Lady Bellingham.’
Ellery rubbed his chin. ‘If she can afford to present the chit then surely she could also offer her nieces a roof over their heads. A roof that doesn’t leak, that is. Hardly seems fitting that two unmarried girls should live unchaperoned.’ Ellery paused. ‘I assume they are both unmarried.’
