A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (28 page)

She sought the eyes of the young buck who thought Addie had a point. “Mr. Humbolt, you’ve lived at Fairland your whole life. When your mama was birthing little Georgie and she had troubles, my sister Claire took care of her. Do you remember how much your papa paid for that help?”

Humbolt looked at his knees.

“Not a thin ha’penny,” Ellie answered.

Humbolt ducked his head, pulled his cap down, and mumbled into it. “And I appreciate it. Me family appreciates it, but it stands to reason that a man should be paid for his labor.”

“What’s that?” asked Ellie.

“Baron Wadsworth’s offered me a raise and all the back pay I’m owed if I’ll work for him,” Humbolt announced.

Addie shot to his feet, knocking Ellie from her position in the center of the crowd. “Ay, lads, the baron is willing to give us all top wages, and back pay, too. This is a man understands the hardship of the working folk.”

In her most formidable roar, Ellie shouted, “Baron Wadsworth is out to destroy my family. He is an evil man, and he’ll fire you as soon as we’re forced to abandon Fairland.”

“’E’s got fifty-thousand solid acres the Prince Regent give him,” Addie cried. “The baron ain’t firing, he’s hiring, and he’s got the backing of the crown for surety!”

“By God, Addie, sit down!” Ellie barked over the din of excited voices.

The bow-legged groom hobbled back in triumph to his seat on a tack box.

“Quiet, please. Quiet!” Ellie said. When the noise subsided, she sought a pair of friendly eyes in the crowd. But the hands fidgeted with their hats, picked dirt from their coveralls, or stared out the window. “All right,” she said, trying to keep vexation from her voice. “I’ll see what I can do to get you some money right away.”

• • •

“Papa, a word, please,” Ellie said, bursting into the library.

John Albright, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at a series of hieroglyphs spread out before him, looked over his glasses in startled surprise.

“I need you and Mama, Peggity, Claire, and even Snap to help get in the hay. You must ask the servants to help, too. We’re short-handed. It has to be done at once before the rain.”

“Daughter, what are you talking about?”

“Everybody on this estate must work to get the hay in or we will surely go bankrupt. It’s urgent, Papa, or I wouldn’t ask. Could you ring the camel bell?”

He remained on the floor, squinting up at her as if he’d just noticed a puzzling trait in a scientific specimen. Ellie’s heart ticked in her chest like a clock counting the minutes. “Please.”

His mouth formed an “O” and he slapped his thigh. “I should have paid closer attention to Lank,” he said, unraveling his legs and scrambling to his feet.

“You weren’t used to running an estate. Uncle Sebastian died so suddenly, you had no time to learn.”

Her father shook his head, a look of shame in his eyes. “It disturbs my conscience.”

Seeing him so vulnerable tore Ellie’s heart. She put her arms around his waist, leaning close to touch her cheek to his chest. “There’s still time to save everything. Trust me.”

He patted her head, disengaged her arms, and from the library table picked up a large brass bell ornamented with Egyptian patterns. It’s what they rang to warn the household of thieves, of sickness, of fire — it rallied the help of every person who held a stake in Fairland. “Trust is exactly what you’ve earned,” he said.

A prick of conscience rattled her. She longed to confess all of her misdeeds to her father, but the bell unmoored her thoughts. Clang, clang! The sound echoed down the passages of the old Tudor mansion. Clang, clang, clang!

In a moment, Ellie heard the footsteps of every member of the household, servants included, headed down stairs, across rooms or through doors as they made their way to the front hall.

She ran to her room, dumped her jewelry box on the bed, and selected the most valuable pieces from the pile. Her gold combs, the sapphire necklace, and a few pairs of earbobs. By the time she was halfway to the hall, all were assembled.

Stopping midway down the staircase, she said in a voice ringing with an authority she didn’t feel, “The first cutting of hay must be stored or we’ll lose Fairland by October. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has to help. Adult servants will receive three shillings a day for their labor in the fields along with their normal wages. Children get a shilling.”

Ellie held the jewelry aloft for all to see. “This guarantees payment,” she said.

“Now, get into your worst clothing and come to the fifty-acre field immediately. Please.”

All were silent. Then Snap began to cry. “What is Ellie doing with her pretty combs?”

“She’s trying to save our home,” Lady Albright whispered, patting the child’s shoulder.

Alonso looked horrified. “The fields?” he snorted. “Where the horses eat?”

“Not where they eat, but what they eat,” Ellie explained. “And we’re particularly counting on you, Alonso, to show the rest of the house staff how to handle this very temporary arrangement.”

“Are you, now?” said Alonso.

“Yes,” replied Ellie.

Lord Albright clapped his hands. “That’s correct. Now, let’s go! There’s work to be done.”

Ellie closed her eyes in gratitude to her father. Holding the handrail, she listened as the household roused to the task.

• • •

Ellie’s hands were blistered and bleeding. When she wasn’t swinging a sickle, she stacked clumps of hay to dry on three-sided tripods until their wooden bars groaned under the weight. Her knees wobbled with exhaustion, but she refused to rest. Hard physical labor would be the price she’d pay for her sins. The look of betrayal on Hugh’s face haunted her — a moment’s hesitation from toil, and guilt, regrets, anger, and a longing so painful it eclipsed her agonized body engulfed her.

The day ended with a showy glow of orange and silver outlining the blackening clouds.

“Mr. Hibbert, how much longer do we have before the rains start?” she asked.

“It’s not well, Miss Ellie,” Hibbert said. He licked his lips and leaned on his scythe. “Maybe morning, maybe less. Quickness’ll be all that spares ye.”

“I suppose we’ve got to work through the night.”

“Aye. Farm hands like meself, we’re used to it, but your house crew isna lookin’ so good.”

Ellie had interspersed farm hands and household servants on the field, making each responsible for a swath. Consistently, the servants covered about half as much ground in the same time as the field hands. Now, the householders were showing signs of wear. They rubbed their backs, called constantly for water, and sopped sweat from dripping brows.

Biting her lower lip, Ellie decided she had to ignore their discomfort. In the gray of dusk, she drove the family coach to the stable yard and gathered every lamp and torch she could find.

The household servants cursed her as darkness enveloped the field. Still, she lit the torches one by one and hung the lamps on sticks driven into the ground. The tall grass glowed copper, the silhouette of each toiling body, black and wavering in the firelight. She couldn’t see how much more of the field needed cutting — night expanded the horizon to infinity.

As midnight approached, Ellie’s attention was attracted by a lamp sputtering in the distance. It went out. As she swung her sickle, she watched, but no one revived the flame. Rage filled her. Weaving with exhaustion, she went to the swath and found the extinguished lamp. There was no one there.

“Hullo!” she cried to a nearby farm hand. “Where’s the person responsible for this row?”

The hand chuckled. “Gone to the land of Nod, I expect,” he said without stopping the swing of his scythe.

Ellie plunged into the inky darkness. Her ankles wobbled and she fell to her knees. A few yards away, she saw a body in the grass. Crawling forward, she spied the white cheek of the upstairs maid. The girl lay asleep. “Daisy Smith, you rise immediately and get back to work,” Ellie hissed.

“Miss Ellie,” Daisy said, her eyes opening startled and wide. “I’m so tired. Honest, I couldn’t cut another clump. I just had to lie still a minute.”

Ellie willed her weary body to stand. “You will cut like the rest of us,” she said, dragging the girl to her feet. “Your wages will be docked for this.”

“I can’t anymore,” Daisy pleaded. “Me arms is going to fall off.”

“Hush your wining.” She took Daisy by the sleeve and forced her back to the uncut swath. “Pick up the sickle,” she said.

“I can’t. I just can’t.” Tears streamed down Daisy’s dirt-stained face.

“Pick up the bloody sickle, Daisy. You do not want to know what I will do to you if you don’t.”

Eyes flashing with resentment, Daisy lifted the sickle from the grass. Ellie watched the maid harvest a few feet of hay. “If I catch you asleep again, I’ll beat you, so help me God.”

Determined to keep the laborers working, Ellie marched down the rows, watching for signs of slacking. She caught Alonso wandering toward the cook fire.

“Enough,” she commanded. “You’ve been taking constant breaks.”

“My hands are as blistered as the pox,” the butler complained, holding torn fingers to the ocher light of the torch.

“And have a look at mine,” Ellie said, shoving her bleeding palms in his face. “When they’re in this condition you may rest. Otherwise, you risk dismissal.”

Alonso huffed, but went back to his swath.

One foot in front of the other, Ellie weaved back toward her place in the field. She must keep going. Bones, bones that didn’t crack even when muscle failed — that’s how she would stand. Just keep the bones aloft.

Peggity went by. Her face was white and dotted with patches of unhealthy red. The girl’s eyes were glassy, she was unsteady on her feet, and dirt crusted her neck, chest, and arms to the elbow.

“I’m aching, Papa. I can’t cut hay anymore,” Peggity said to Lord Albright, who toiled a row over from where Ellie cut.

“Bloody hell,” Ellie raved. “Does no one else care about losing our home?”

“Let me sit … just a minute,” Peggity begged. She sank into the stubble.

The ground had beckoned to Ellie for hours. Determination was all that kept her on her feet, and the sight of Peggity heaped in the grass shattered her last ounce of self-control. “Get up!” she screamed, grabbing a pail of drinking water. She dumped it over her sister’s head.

“I hate you!” Peggity wailed.

“Hate me. You’ll hate the poorhouse more!”

Lord Albright rushed to them. He dragged Ellie out of earshot of the workers. “You must calm down,” he said. “You must control your temper. Everyone is at the end of their rope. They’ll leave if you don’t curb your tongue.”

“Where will they leave to?” Ellie fumed. “The estate is gone unless the hay is in.”

“No matter how dire our circumstances, you are not to act like a slave driver,” her father said. “Apologize to your sister, keep your ill humor to yourself, and give everyone a few minutes’ rest.”

Peggity moaned and wiped the water from her face. Tears of exhaustion streaked the dirt on her cheeks. Yet not an ounce of sympathy stirred in Ellie’s heart. She glared, first at her father, then at Peggity. She wanted to shake them both until … until what? If someone shook her, she’d punch them and run. Chances were, every worker in the hay field longed to do that to her. Ellie put her face in her hands.

“Please everyone, take a little rest,” she announced. “Have some water. Get something to eat. God knows, we’ve all earned it.”

She went to Peggity and sank into the grass beside her. “Forgive me,” she said, a thick lump rising in her throat. “I’m frayed to unkindness.”

Peggity’s eyes were red with misery. “Oh,” she said, burying her face in Ellie’s shoulder, “will hunger be easier?”

The two girls sobbed quietly, holding each other as if their lives depended on it.

• • •

For the third day in a row, Hugh loaded his pockets with apples and carrots. As he approached Manifesto’s stall, he prayed today would be different. The warning neigh, the scrape of hoof against floorboards gave him little hope. “Come on, big boy. Visit me, I’ve got treats,” he said, standing at a respectful distance from the stall door.

An instant later, Manifesto lunged at him, neck outstretched, mouth open to bite. Hugh stumbled backward.

The stallion paced, swishing his tail like a whip.

“We tried to clean his stall this morning, my lord,” Roger, the barn manager, said, approaching Hugh. “Two boys went in, each armed with a pitchfork — one to ward off the horse, the other to clean up the muck. The beast charged them just the same. Drove ’em right out, he did, and they barely escaped with their lives. I can’t get any of the grooms to handle him now.”

Hugh eyed his latest purchase, shook his head, and sighed. “We don’t have a pasture with a fence high enough to hold him. Manifesto chooses which fences he’ll stay behind.”

“’E wants that lad you hired.”

“Well, he can’t have that ‘lad,’” Hugh replied, adding a little more emphasis on “lad” than he’d intended.

Roger shrugged. “Worth asking,” he said, and walked away.

Manifesto picked at his hay, twitching his sides and snapping viciously at a fly. Hugh threw a carrot over the Dutch door. The stallion snorted, turned a menacing rump toward him, and warily munched down the treat.

What would the horse be doing right now if Ellie were here?
Ellie …
Hugh shook his head. “What do you admire in her?” he asked Manifesto. The stallion swiveled his ears in Hugh’s direction. Ellie’s abysmal archery skills, her failed flirtations … an unexpected laugh escaped him thinking of her tipping from the sidesaddle. “Gad, how could someone that incompetent be so devious?” But he couldn’t hold onto the rancor as images of High Tor cinched his heart. He rubbed his chest. “She ducked through my guard,” he told the horse. “Did she do the same to you?” Manifesto’s ears flicked.

Hugh ran a hand through his hair. “Now that she’s touched my heart in her own deceitful way, I believe I miss her.”
Maybe letting her past my guard wasn’t so bad. I’ve always intended to fall in love. How else could a young lady wake me to desire?