Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,42
Hangings, upholstery, painting, and wallpapering were needed in every room. Some rooms would also need the hand of a skilled plasterer and one bedroom that of a glazier. It would not be an inexpensive proposition to bring the manor house around, to say nothing of the tenant farms. To what extent did St. Ryne expect her to spend the ready? She chewed her lower lip in thought. It would probably be wise to choose the middle road, still in all, it would be costly.
Damn the man! What did he want from her?
She grimaced suddenly when she saw Tunning ride up to the manor. She’d seen more applicants arrive over the past half hour. Soon she would be forced to sit through another nerve-wracking session with Tunning and his idea of servant material. Yesterday she’d been appalled at what she privately considered the dregs of human life being put forward to her as servants, to say nothing of the children! In the spirit of fair-mindedness, she thought perhaps this was merely an example of the difference between country servants and those available in the metropolis, though she did not remember any quite like this on her family’s estate.
That morning, however, she had done some judicious questioning of the couple of village women still cleaning at Larchside. Their comments, or rather hedging lack of comments, spoke volumes to Elizabeth. She didn’t know why Tunning should be trying to make a May game of her, but she would not acquiesce easily. It had been her intention to leave her shrewish temperament toward others behind her in London; however, Tunning might become an exception, particularly in light of the incident that occurred that morning in regard to the estate room.
It had been her thought to go through some of the old household records to find mention of suppliers in the area who had done business with Larchside in the past. They would be among the first she would approach with her custom. Her mind busy with lists of necessities, she almost slammed into the door when it inexplicably did not open under her hand. Jiggling the doorknob confirmed her suspicion. The room was locked. At first that circumstance was a mere annoyance, for it meant she must sort through the ring of keys at her waist for the proper one. Her mild annoyance rapidly turned to profound irritation when she discovered the key was not on her ring.
Muttering under her breath at the slipshod practices of Larchside’s supposed caretakers; Elizabeth went in search of Mrs. Atheridge for the missing key. She had not liked the smug, triumphant look that appeared on Mrs. Atheridge’s face at her query, nor had she liked the way she clasped her hands before her and rocked back on her heels. If the housekeeper had been a cat, she would have expected to see feathers or a mouse’s tail sticking out of her mouth. “I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t have it.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward. This woman was determined to be an obstructionist. “Well, where is it kept?” she asked patiently.
“I can’t rightly say, as Mr. Tunning keeps the key.”
Startled, Elizabeth spoke her first thought. “Why?”
Mrs. Atheridge shrugged and repeated her last statement causing Elizabeth to grind her teeth.
“And the outside door as well?” she finally asked.
“Yes, my lady.”
Elizabeth dismissed her, then went to her room to change her thin slippers for kid half-boots and to collect her pelisse. Already deducing what she would discover, she proceeded nonetheless out the front door of the manor and around the side to the estate room entrance. It, too, was locked.
She went for a walk then to clear all the cobwebs from her mind. The air was cold but the day was clear and crisp.
She climbed a hill at the back of the estate and discovered from there she could see much of the surrounding countryside. The village was not far away. She saw its stone church at the end of the road through the bare tree branches. To the north was a farm with neat buildings and well-maintained hedgerows. From her vantage point it stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding acres. Due to its proximity, as much as to the curving dirt track leading from it to Larchside, she took it for the Home farm.
Looking at it and its neighbors, Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder how much of what Tunning said was truth and how much fabrication. The feelings he aroused in her breast made her believe it was the