Page 27 of It Takes Two to Tumble
Lindley Priory was much older and grander than Barton Hall, but the gardens were overgrown and there was no sign of the army of servants that would be required to maintain a place like this. A surly footman opened the door, and after some confusion, showed him into a dusty, sparsely furnished parlor. It suddenly struck him that he’d be glad to return to Barton Hall. Barton Hall was as properly run as his ship, and he felt a pang of belated appreciation for Caroline, that even two years after her death the household still operated like clockwork. At some point in the past week he had gone from loathing the place to being almost comfortable there. It wasn’t the dark home of his childhood, but rather a place where his own children were happy. And there was Sedgwick, radiating joy and making Phillip almost believe that he could perhaps deserve some happiness of his own. Almost.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door. Sir Martin Easterbrook stood there, plainly annoyed. In the light of day, Phillip could see how young the man was. He was closer to Ned’s age than to Phillip’s.
“How can I help you, Dacre?” Easterbrook snapped impatiently, and any sympathy Phillip had been feeling for the young man entirely evaporated.
“I came to offer you the use of my land agent. If you’re in need of ready money, Smythe can help you figure out better ways to get some than strong-arming your tenants.”
The young man sneered. “I have my own land agent.”
“Yes, the fellow who thought my children had been poaching on your land. Pardon me, but I doubt the man’s judgment.”
“I can’t afford to pay him proper wages, so he takes a percentage of the rents he brings in.”
“You can’t afford to pay him?” Phillip repeated. But he looked around the room more closely, and noticed that it was devoid of any art, vases, or decent furniture. Anything that could be sold already had been.
“It’s only natural that he’s a bit zealous, but I’m certain his actions are within the letter of the law.” There was a shadow of doubt in Easterbrook’s face, though, and Phillip had to wonder if the younger man was in well over his head. Managing an estate, Phillip was learning, was fraught with complication. If Ned had been left the running of Barton Hall’s land, and he hadn’t had the guidance of a man as fair and practical as Smythe, might he have behaved as badly as Easterbrook? Phillip doubted it, but he could see how Easterbrook had gotten into this mess. “My father died with a great deal of debt,” Easterbrook went on, “and as I’m saddled with this place, I need to figure out some way to make it pay for itself.”
“Sell it off. Sell the Priory, the land, all of it.”
“It’s entailed,” Easterbrook said with obvious bitterness.
“Marry, then.” That’s what Phillip had done when his own father died penniless.
Easterbrook’s face crumpled, and for a moment, Phillip thought the younger man might break down in tears. But then he straightened his spine and resumed his earlier surliness. “Thank you for your advice, Captain Dacre, but I have an estate to run.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Talk to the vicar,” Phillip said in a flash of inspiration. “He could surely figure out a way to help you that didn’t quite punish your tenants so much.”
“I’m well acquainted with Ben Sedgwick. I’m entirely too acquainted with all the Sedgwicks, in fact, and if I have to see any of them again I don’t think I could resist slapping the smiles off their faces.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For the Sedgwicks to be happy and comfortable while I’m sitting here without a penny to my name is just a bit much, Dacre.”
“What on earth do the Sedgwicks have to do with your predicament?” He was trying to remember precisely what the cook had told him about the late Sir Humphrey. If Sir Humphrey hadn’t given the living of St. Aelred’s to Ben, it could have been sold off; this was a common enough practice. It seemed far-fetched that Easterbrook’s resentment stemmed from what had to be a trifling sum of money, however.
“You don’t know.” Easterbrook sat back in his chair and regarded Phillip with something like amusement. “You really don’t. Well, my father spent every last farthing on that family.”
“Why?” Phillip asked, baffled.
Easterbrook’s mouth curved into an angry smile. “I’m not going to tell you. Ask your precious vicar.”
As he left Lindley Priory and headed home, Phillip wondered whether Ben knew how bitterly Easterbrook resented him and his family. He doubted it, recalling Ben’s confusion that night when Peggy and Jamie had been caught on Easterbrook’s land.
Ned and Jamie waylaid Phillip on his path back to Barton Hall. “We’re having a picnic by the lake,” the younger boy shouted. And indeed, they were carrying a picnic hamper between them. “Peggy and Mr. Sedgwick are already there.”
Phillip was in no condition for company, but the sight of his children laughing and struggling with the basket made him smile. And wasn’t that something. When he arrived a week ago, he would have been annoyed with how loud, dirty, and undisciplined they were. He would have grumbled that they ought to have been studying, that they ought to have been eating a proper meal rather than whatever cakes they had pilfered when the poor put-upon cook had her back turned. But now he took the basket and gestured for them to lead the way, his heart already a bit lighter for having seen them happy, and for knowing he was about to see Ben.
They found their little party disposed on a blanket in a clearing by the lake. Peg was braiding flowers into the dog’s hair while Ben leaned back on his elbows, his long legs crossed at the ankles before him. His coat was slung on a low branch of the nearest tree, and his sleeves were rolled up. He hadn’t yet noticed Phillip’s approach.
Phillip felt the doom of impending awkwardness. What the hell could even be said after last night? He had let Ben see a part of him he hadn’t ever wanted to acknowledge to himself, let alone show to anyone else. Now he felt raw and vulnerable and somehow embarrassed; the old familiar cloud began to descend upon him. He was better off on his own, far away, where he couldn’t disappoint anyone. He didn’t belong here after all; he belonged on thePatroclus, where he was in control, at a safe distance from anything that might pierce his defenses or expose him as lacking.
But then Ben turned his head, and when he saw Phillip, his face broke unhesitatingly into a smile. Phillip smiled back despite himself. How could he not? He couldn’t even muster up any icy reserve. This man was the antidote to chilliness. He was a counterweight to Phillip’s natural inclination to aloofness.
Phillip set the basket down and then sat on the blanket at a discreet distance from Ben, near enough so that they could talk without being overheard, but not so near that they could touch. He didn’t trust himself at closer range.
Jamie distributed the contents of the hamper. Cakes, cakes, and more cakes, as Phillip had expected, but no matter. If Mrs. Morris enjoyed making cakes and tiny little tarts and lemon biscuits, and the children enjoyed eating them, then everyone won. He watched as Ben’s eyes lit up at the sight of the biscuits.
“What did you do today?” Phillip asked, and was regaled with tales of sheep shearing and medieval queens and square roots. He wasn’t sure how the topics came together, or if they even did, only that three happy, smiling faces were turned towards him, telling him their stories as if they wanted him to know.
