Yorkshire (7 page)

“Is she better now?” Martha asked.

“She seems to be, thankfully. Her aunt and I were seriously concerned by her distress, but we gave her some laudanum and she’s asleep now.”

Martha asked me. “How is Lord Strang? He looked so pale when they carried him in.”

“He lost a great deal of blood, much more than can be thought comfortable.” Trying to be tactful, I remembered Martha’s squeamishness about blood and forbore to give her any more detailed information. “He’ll recover. He had a deep, clean wound and his valet stitched it. He’s resting now.” Relief showed in the various faces. “I don’t think he’ll want to stay much longer, but I don’t know what sort of patient he is. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be up in a day or two, as long as he keeps the arm still and he doesn’t do too much.”

Martha smiled, and I felt sorry that my next news wasn’t as cheerful.

I reached for my cup. “I met the doctor before I came down. The new Lord Hareton doesn’t seem to be recovering as well.” Martha’s expression returned to one of serious concern. “He’s not conscious. He seems to be deeply asleep and that’s never good.” I took a sip of coffee, relishing the bitter taste. “I couldn’t find anything seriously wrong, there’s no broken bones, but he’s not well, Martha.” Martha looked at James, her eyes wide with alarm. She knew what would happen if this Lord Hareton died. Neither wished for that. To give up a handsome estate and comfortable life for a broken inheritance, even if it included a title, wasn’t a comfortable thought.

Mr. Kerre and Lizzie joined us after a time. While Lizzie had changed her clothes, she’d cajoled help from somewhere, as she was far more becomingly attired than me. I smiled, not jealous, long used to being cast into the shade by Lizzie’s beauty. She was getting into her stride, using this sad situation to her advantage. It couldn’t be helped, but none of this was our doing, so why not?

By the time we finished our meal, the doctor had arrived. I went out to the hall to meet him and found him with Lord Strang’s valet. Carier assured the doctor Lord Strang wouldn’t be in need of his services.

The same surly servant who showed us in the day before took the doctor straight up to the new earl’s room. I accompanied them, to see if I could assist in any way. I seemed to be the unofficial nurse, for now.

Lord Hareton lay on his comfortless bed. Extra bedding had been procured, probably by Martha, and piled on top of the coverlet. A fire had been lit. The room’s austerity startled me, even compared to the ones we had. I had thought the occupants of the house must have some extra comforts, but it was not so. No ornament or drapery lifted the mood here. A well-thumbed Bible by the cheerless bed was the only book in evidence.

The new earl was alarmingly pale. His breath came in small, shallow gasps. “There’s no time to waste.” The doctor lifted out his knife case. I was relieved to see the instruments were reasonably clean.

He rolled the man’s sleeve up several turns, glancing at his face as he felt for a vein. Nodding, he directed me to the bowl on the nightstand. I picked it up and held it under the arm as the doctor cut deeply into it. I stood back as far as I could as I’d had enough of blood for one day. I had just changed my dress, and my supply of fresh clothes wasn’t limitless.

The blood dripped into the bowl. The doctor watched it closely. Lord Hareton still slept, breathing heavily, not in the least disturbed by the bloodletting.

The doctor felt Lord Hareton’s forehead with his free hand. “No fever. That’s good.” He staunched the wound, binding it tightly. I put down the half-full bowl carefully, watching the discarded blood leave small dots of intense colour where it swilled around. The doctor stood back, assessing his patient.

He put a hand up to his chin, and sighed heavily. “I can do little more for him. We must let nature take its course. Either he recovers, or he doesn’t.”

He examined Lord Hareton’s head more closely, running his fingers over the scalp. “Ah. There’s a bad wound here, but little blood. The poor man seems to have received a blow to the back of his head which has crushed part of his skull. It’s soft and yielding.”

Despite my lack of squeamishness, I paled at the thought and made no move to examine the wound. I could imagine it only too well. “Can we do anything?”

“No. We must keep him kept quiet and as still as possible.” We stood by the bed and watched the shadow of a man laid out so straight under the thin covers.

The new earl took several deep, dragging breaths. The last ended on a choke, the kind I’d heard once or twice before in my life, and hoped not to hear again.

The doctor didn’t need to tell me what had just happened. That sound only meant one thing, together with the eerie silence that followed it. The man died as he had lived—quietly, without fuss. I had barely heard him speak. The fifth Earl of Hareton was dead. Long live the sixth earl.

My God. James. My own breath nearly stopped at the thought.

The doctor went on to Mr. Pritheroe’s room, but he could set a simple break on his own and tired now, I went downstairs to see my family. I left a tearful maid to do the laying-out. I wasn’t sure how my family would take the news.

Mr. Kerre, James, Martha, Lizzie, Steven, and Mr. Fogg the lawyer all sat in the small parlour. It was crowded but warm now, unlike when Lizzie and I had found it earlier in the day. Chairs had been brought in from the dining room. I sat, gratefully. Mr. Kerre lifted his head and stared at me.

“There seems to be no danger to Lord Strang, but we must pray the wound doesn’t become infected. They can kill so easily when that happens.” I stopped abruptly, choked by the thought.

Mr. Kerre promised to send word to Miss Cartwright when she awoke. He added, “I wondered if I should leave to inform our parents, but I don’t think there’s any need if Richard is in no immediate danger. I’ll write.” That surprised me; I would have thought his mother would want to be present, but I supposed he knew his own family best.

“The minister’s leg is broken,” I continued. “The doctor is setting it now.” Martha nodded at the news. There were a few polite murmurs of sympathy.

When I thought of the news I had to convey to them now, I tensed. Martha must have seen the way my jaw clenched, something I knew I did when nervous, for she immediately put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in alarm.

“The new earl died a few moments ago.” I was too weary to be tactful, to break the news gently. “So that leaves you, James. You’re the Earl of Hareton now.”

Chapter Five

A long silence fell as everybody absorbed the news. James looked horrified, dark eyes wide in his pale face. Inheriting a crippled title with a ruined manor and estate hadn’t featured in his plan of life. We had a comfortable existence in a completely different part of the country. To leave all that, the estate he’d worked on so hard, all his friends, his whole life up to this point, would be a terrible blow.

Overcome, Martha indulged in no outward show, other than a short gasp. Only because I knew her so well could I interpret her stillness of expression as distress. As always, she thought first of her husband. She leant forward and laid her hand gently on James’s arm. “Never mind, dear, we might be able to wind things up here and then go home.”

James’s face cleared. He smiled back at her, and his broad, handsome face took on its usual expression of contentment. After all, nothing had to change except the title he used, if he wished it.

Lizzie could barely hide her elation but, knowing her as well as I did, I saw the gleam of excitement in her eyes. If we’d been alone, she’d have clapped her hands together in delight, as she usually did when something excited her. This meant she had a stake in society, she didn’t have to stay on the edge of things in Devonshire. When we visited Aunt Godolphin in London next year, we would have a new status. This gave her a chance, the opportunity she had longed for all her life.

I couldn’t condemn her for her excitement, but I felt nothing but shock and disbelief. I felt as if I stood apart, watching a very vivid dream and I wished with all my heart to wake up in my own bed at home.

The lawyer looked as pleased as a lawyer can. He knew James, a right thinking man, wouldn’t wish to break the entail. He couldn’t, even had he wished to. I thought of his son and my nephew, Walter, who now would one day be the Earl of Hareton, and this realisation went a long way to bring me back to normality. The thought of that scamp ever having the dignity to hold the title of earl lifted my spirits.

Mr. Fogg rose and cleared his throat. “I am delighted to be the first to welcome you into the Abbey as the new Earl of Hareton,” he said formally, extending a hand to James. My brother stood and took it, still bemused, but beginning to come to terms with it all. James was a slow thinker, but he always got there in the end.

Mr. Kerre also got to his feet. “I presume there’s a great deal for you to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry to impose my presence on you at such a time, but I should like to ensure my brother is perfectly comfortable before we leave.”

“Please feel free to stay as long as you wish,” said Martha, the new countess. “I shouldn’t like to drive you away under any circumstances.”

“You’re very kind.” Mr. Kerre gave her a small smile and bowed.

“I think I must see to the sad duties of a man of the cloth on these occasions.” Steven got to his feet. He too had a glint in his eye, one I didn’t quite like.

I’d forgotten Steven. I’d determined to break with him before we came here, and now I feared the task would be even more difficult. He must realise that I could further his career more effectively as an earl’s sister than as an earl’s cousin. He looked across the room, caught my attention and smiled meaningfully before he turned and left the room in the wake of Mr. Kerre. My stomach knotted tightly.

We turned our full attention to Mr. Fogg. He reached for a stack of papers that up to now had lain disregarded on a small table by his side. Sitting down again he cleared his throat portentously. “My lord.”

Martha looked at James to see how he would take the new title, but he didn’t move a muscle.

We waited tensely. I glanced at Lizzie. Her eyes were wide and excited. She sat forward in her chair, her elbows pressed hard on its arms. I hoped I didn’t betray myself as clearly. I passed my tongue along my dry lips, not daring to not break the tension by pouring myself a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard. I felt as wrung out as a dishcloth.

“Both of the unfortunately deceased earls had only standard wills, which were drawn up in their father’s time,” began Mr. Fogg. “I was to have drawn up a betrothal contract and two very unusual wills, as well as bringing the necessary documents to break the entail.” He glanced up at James. “I may take it this is no longer necessary, my lord?”

James answered in the affirmative. A silence followed, only broken by the sound of shuffling paper while the man of law sorted through the bulk of his papers and set them aside.

“Then we are left with the original wills. These are standard documents, only altered on the fifth earl’s marriage. Adequate provision is made for his wife in the event of the earl’s death without issue—that is a matter which we must be sure of, by the way—” He pushed his cup aside to make room for the growing pile of papers.

“You mean you wish to ensure Lady Hareton isn’t with child?” Martha was indignant. “The poor lady is distraught. How do you suggest we do that?”

“I suggest that we wait,” the lawyer replied. “No dispositions can be made until the wills have undergone probate, and by then we will know for sure. I shall, of course, expedite matters for you as quickly as possible.”

There was a pause. Eventually, James asked the question we all wanted to know the answer to, interrupting Mr. Fogg’s orderly flow. “Was Lord Hareton bankrupt?”

James clasped his hands tightly in his lap: I saw he feared the worst. The lawyer’s next words shocked us all. “Dear me, no. Oh no. I can see how you would make that error, my lord, but I can assure you Lord Hareton was most comfortably circumstanced.”

He cleared his throat again and I took the opportunity to pour some water out for both of us. I didn’t spill any, but came near to it. I didn’t think I could take many more shocks today. The lawyer accepted the glass with profuse gratitude, obviously more tense than he showed on the outside. I was glad of the drink too.

Mr. Fogg looked down at his papers once more. “The fifth earl disliked ostentatious display. When he fell in with this—ahem—new religion of his, he became determined to dispose of all his property and donate it to his minister.” He looked up at us. “The greater bulk of the estate is covered by the entail, so he could not dispose of it. He salted away his income for years, instead of reinvesting it in the estate.” The man paused, looking round with some satisfaction at the sensation he caused before continuing. We sat still, wide eyed, transfixed by his words. “I can grant you access to some of these accounts immediately, but most will not be free until probate is established. The late earl was possessed of a great fortune in cash, which could be reinvested if your lordship should wish it.”

A stunned silence fell, while we took in the startling news.

Martha found her voice at last. “Why didn’t he sell the treasures in the Abbey? Why did he leave them to rot?”

“He’d planned a grand sale, to rid himself of everything at once,” Mr. Fogg replied. “I should also tell you that a great deal of bad blood existed between the late earl and his father. I think he took some—satisfaction in seeing the treasures his father had amassed so carefully go to rack and ruin.”