Page 12 of Haunted
Mr. Paston blushed slightly, and George said at once, “No, no, that is not my complaint. My problem was merely that there were no rooms available at the inn, and some of the locals directed me—maliciously, I now suspect—to Hazel House. In my naiveté, I imagined it to be a lodging house of some kind, not the private residence of a gentleman’s widow and her child.”
“Ah,” Mr. Paston said. “I trust Mrs. Hazel has not caused you offense?”
Goerge felt his jaw drop. “Mrs. Hazel? Of course not. Because of the storm and my own semi-drowned condition by the time I got there, she felt obliged to give me shelter. Sir, my concernis that I was sent there as some kind of trick. These tricks seem to have become a habit with certain elements within the village. What is more, those same people subject Mrs. Hazel to insult and inuendo on an almost daily basis. And they are growing bolder.”
“Mrs. Hazel’s reputation—” Paston began apologetically.
“Is being slandered daily,” George interrupted. “I am aware of it. I doubt you can be, sir, for I am aware the lady has made no complaint to you. However, when I returned to the house this afternoon, with the intention of collecting my baggage and removing to the inn, I found two of the same villagers who had sent me there last night, in the midst of some ploy or other. They seemed to be trying to put Mrs. Hazel’s cat down the well in her yard, no doubt with the aim of frightening her. And when she attempted to send them about their business, their manner was undoubtedly threatening. I hate to imagine what might have happened had I not arrived on the scene.”
“I’m sure you are worrying unnecessarily,” Paston said, with just a shade of anxiety. “Who were these men?”
“One Jack Forest and Bill Kell, I believe.”
“Ah. Wastrels, to be honest. But not dangerous, I assure you.”
“I hope you are right,” George said at once. “Because I very much doubt that if your wife was left a widow—God forbid—you would like to think of her being harassed, insulted, and jostled by such apparently non-dangerous wastrels.”
Paston blinked rapidly. George could almost see him weighing what he knew against the gossip of his wife and, hopefully, imagining her in a similar situation. Certainly, he looked alarmed for the first time. George pushed his point home.
“As you know,” he said mildly, “the fact that she once played music on the stage does not deprive her of the protection of the law. My own feeling is that the matter need not progressto formal complaints if informal steps are taken now. If they are not, I fear a genuine tragedy that will affect the whole community.”
Again, Paston looked startled. He licked his lips. “These menarebullies,” he replied. “I’ll have a word with them and with a few others tomorrow. It should be enough.”
“Thank you,” George said. “I believe it will be.” He rose to his feet. “Ordinary people often follow the lead of their betters. Perhaps if the local gentlemen’s wives were to call on her and include her occasionally…”
Mr. Paston looked appalled.
“Ah. You have forbidden your wife from calling on Mrs. Hazel?” George said innocently.
“Of course not,” Paston said, looking genuinely shocked. “My wife chooses her own friends, and I have never interfered. In fact, when Hazel was alive, he and his wife dined here more than once.”
And the fact that she had clearly not been invited since would not have been lost on the villagers.
Paston must have realized that, for he cleared his throat. “Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention.”
“I believe Mrs. Hazel was too proud to ask for your help. But I could not in all conscience leave the area without making you aware of her plight.”
“When do you leave us, sir?”
“Tomorrow, when my chaise should be fully repaired. In the circumstances, I shall stay tonight at Hazel House. My faith is in you to quash any unseemly rumors of my reasons.”
“Oh, quite, Sir Arthur. Quite.”
George offered his hand. “Good day!”
Mr. Paston gravely shook his hand.
*
By the timeGeorge came back, Francesca had pulled herself together, able to concentrate on the humor of the confrontation at the well rather than on her own terrible feeling of powerlessness.
He came in through the kitchen, as if he had known that was where she would be. It was odd the way her mood instantly brightened, not only with relief but with a curious sense of ease, as if now everything was right. It was not, of course. He would leave tomorrow.
“Paston will have a quiet word in the first instance,” he said at once. “He might even persuade his wife to call upon you later. I doubt you wish to be friends with her, but you should probably accept her for the good of your reputation in the neighborhood. She owes you that much and more.”
Francesca laid down the knife with which she was cutting vegetables and wiped her hands on her apron before pulling it off. “How did you manage that?” she asked cynically.
“I think I got him to consider his own wife in such a situation. I have found that many people lack the empathy to imagine themselves in another’s position. I used to be one of them. I have learned. Others can too. To some, of course, it is an inconvenience because they wish to believe someonelessthan they are. I call it dehumanizing.”
