Page 32 of The Consolation Prize

Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Certainly not. I am Sir Armand, and this is my good wife, the Lady Una.” He swept his arm in her direction.

Another boy encouraged by this exchange shouted, “Welcome home, good sir and your lady too.”

They had soon passed through the village and after another five minutes had reached the turning for Lynwode. They rode past the unoccupied lodge house and rounded the bend which revealed the grey stone edifice of the house, with its four gables of differing heights and its large arched doorway.

He eyed the house critically, trying to imagine he was looking at it for the first time, as Una was. The tall, gothic windows with their curved masonry cunningly wrought into petal and trefoil shapes were probably the most impressive feature of the house. He could not deny that it was a handsome pile in all, with its grey brick mellowing to a pleasant yellow. Although not as sprawling as Anninghurst, his father’s house, it was large enough and the green creepers encroaching over the stone perhaps made it even more appealing in the morning light.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Una breathed. “From the way you spoke, I was not expecting anything so lovely!”

Armand felt a slight swell of pride and wondered at it, for he had never more than visited the place since his godfather had left it to him. Still he heard himself ask her if she liked it and received her enthusiastic response as if it were his due.

“Trees need pruning,” Otho said shortly. “Where’s the stables?”

“Around the back, along with the vegetable gardens and fruit orchards. We can secure the horses out front until we’ve found the housekeeper. I suppose I’ll need to employ a groom.”

“Well, you should be able to afford one now,” Otho pointed out.

Armand rolled his eyes, dismounting and holding his hand out to Una to help her down. They were all stiff and sore, and after tethering the horses, Armand knocked at the door. He turned back to the others. “Mrs. Challacombe is a little deaf,” he said, then noticing the door was not locked but ajar, he gave it a push. It fell open with a creak, disclosing a very strange sight.

There in the hallway was a young woman twirling around and around so the skirts of her rose-pink gown flew wide and her flaxen hair spun around her in a cloud. The light from the window was shining down on her, so she looked like some ethereal vision, and she was singing to herself in a sweet, lilting voice.

Armand stared at her in bewilderment. Who the hells was this? Suddenly, she dropped into a very low, graceful curtsey, not in their direction, but facing the opposite wall as though to some object of her fancy. Then she straightened up and turned toward them still humming the snatches of her tune.

Catching sight of them, she gave a high-pitched scream and dropped the bouquet of meadow flowers she had been holding, scattering them all over the dusty floor. Her wide blue eyes stared at them in dismay.

Armand could feel Otho’s accusing gaze burning into him at this point. “I thought you said she was old and deaf,” he said ominously.

Armand ignored him. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded, “And what are you doing in my house?” His abruptness seemed to send the girl into a frightened confusion. She gasped, and shrank back with a cry, flattening herself against the nearest wall as though he had drawn a blade on her.

“Armand,” Una muttered reproachfully, advancing into the hall. “You’re frightening her.”

Armand passed a hand over his eyes. “I’m tired, in need of hot water and a clean bed. Can you point us to someone who can help us with these things?” he asked of the girl, but again was met with nothing but a stunned gaze.

Una stepped past him. “Perhaps you can help us?” she said in a soothing voice. “My husband here is Sir Armand de Bussell, and this is his home. He was expecting to find a Mrs. Challocombe in residence as custodian. Perhaps you know what has become of her?”

The girl gulped. “Good sirs, she died some twelve months past.” She dropped again into an elegant curtsey. “I am her granddaughter Rose and have been filling the post since then.”

Armand snorted, looking about at the cobwebs and dust, but Una laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“So then, you are acting housekeeper here at Lynwode?” she asked gently. The girl nodded her head uncertainly. “Well then, that is fine,” Una said smiling. “We are all vastly tired from traveling and desire to wash and take our rest. Do you have bedchambers fit for our purpose?”

“I’ll require one in the servant’s quarters,” Otto growled and the girl stared at him with undisguised terror.

Armand felt himself lose all patience. The girl was either half-witted or being deliberately obtuse. “My wife and I require the master bedchamber to be made ready,” he said in a clipped voice. “Kindly see to it forthwith.”

That was when the wretched girl began to sob, great fat tears rolling down her cheeks as unrestrainedly as a child. He glared at her, threw up his hands, and leaving Una to deal with the creature, he strode in what he remembered was the direction of the kitchens.

His progress through a faded great hall full of dirty tapestries and filmy windows, did nothing to mitigate his poor impression of Mrs. Challocombe’s granddaughter. If she spent all her time dancing and picking flowers, he thought with disgust, then it was no wonder the house was filthy.

When he reached the kitchen, he paused on the threshold with an oath. It was a complete shambles. Pots and pans littered the central table and the shelves were cluttered and untidy. The large fireplace was filled with a great heap of ashes, which did not look like they had been swept out in a twelvemonth. His mouth tightened.

One might expect the girl to be unable to maintain so large a house with no other help, but the kitchen at least should have been kept in some semblance of order. He heard the clatter of Otho’s boots behind him and moved away from the door to let the other man see the chaotic room.

Otho swore. Walking forward he peered into one of the pots on the table. “There’s a nest of mice living in this one,” he announced without expression.

Armand groaned and massaged his temples a moment.

Otho turned and looked him full in the face. “You claim you do not know this woman?”