Memories

Chapter 1-2

He took his purchases into his house and stored them neatly. The house was small, but again, it had been perfect for him. A large room with a big blackened range, comfortable chairs, and a table, a large separate bedchamber with a soft bed that was a delight. It had sheltered porch with outhouses for cold storage, too. In short, everything he needed and quite possibly the closest thing to home he had felt since…well, in a long time. He stoked the fire, put more vegetables into the stew in the pot hung over the range, and then set off to do the last check and lock up at the Manor. All the staff were now gone. Being alone didn’t bother him in the least, but seeing good, loyal servants who had worked for the family all their lives turned off had infuriated him beyond words. The injustice of it all was staggering.

He walked the short distance from his cottage to the main house, past the stables, and watched as an unexpected burst of early evening sun danced burnt orange from the windows. It was a handsome-looking house. Not too big, the sort of thing he one day wanted to own. Perhaps that was why he had become so attached to it. He rarely became attached to things, and this reminded him forcibly why.

When all was checked, he turned the key in the main door and closed his eyes for a moment before shoving the instrument into his pocket.

Damned Holbrook family. The familiar gravel crunched under his workman’s boots as he stomped his way back to his cottage. The Manor had belonged to the Holbrook family for some years, ever since the dowager countess had married into the family. Apparently it had been part of her dowry. Will sighed as he walked. He missed her. Missed her sharp tongue, her gruff offers of advice, and her sly sense of humour.

When he realised she had bequeathed Denton Manor to the younger son, and not the current Earl of Holbrook he had been surprised. The younger son, a Captain in the King’s army, had a shoddy reputation in the village. Womaniser, gambler, drunkard. When he heard the man had gambled away his fortune and his inheritance, including Denton Manor, Will had been apoplectic. He was no stranger to young men losing their all on the gaming tables, but this was the first time he had been so affected by such careless disregard.

He jammed his cap on his head as he stewed on the matter yet again. He kicked at the gravel and swore. If he ever got his hands on the bastard…He had just two weeks left. Two weeks in which to find another post and somewhere else to live. Granted, it was better than the rest of the staff, but Christ. He had enough to tide him over, but he begrudged using his hard-earned savings to meet his living expenses. He hoped Dearne would remember to pay him once the two weeks was up.

He walked to the stables, to where he had left his horse in the now almost empty stalls, and took the time to look out over the green lawns and vibrant flowerbeds. He had done as much of the work needed to prepare for the coming months as he could, including in the huge walled garden to the rear where the vegetables grew; it was now in the hands of the new owner. His horse whickered as he approached and he smiled and pulled half an apple from his pocket to give him. “Here you go,” he murmured as Socrates nuzzled in his hand for the treat and crunched as he butted him with his head. Will scratched his ears, and in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, wrapped an arm around the warm strong neck and laid his forehead against the horse. “I know,” he muttered. “I know.”

A sound in the distance stayed him, and made him look up. Giving the horse a last pat he emerged from the stable and peered into the setting sun. The house was remote. People only travelled this way if they were visiting the Manor, and Will certainly was not expecting visitors. He made out a travelling coach heading towards them at some speed in the distance. His heart sank. It could only be a member of the family, or possibly the new owners. It was highly unlikely any news that either came to impart would cheer him.

Wiping his hands on his handkerchief, he settled the horse, and then strode out to meet the carriage now barrelling up the drive to the house at an almost reckless pace. The driver pulled the carriage to a stop in front of him, throwing up dust and gravel. Irritation threatened to spill over into outright anger and Will pulled himself upright, crossed his arms, and waited.

The driver looked like a groom. He jumped down, and with an insouciant grin in Will’s direction, headed to the carriage door and pulled it open. Will was shocked when a woman stepped down and headed for him with a terrifyingly determined look in her eye. She was only small, but there was a force of will there which made him hesitate.

“Are you Marsden?” she demanded, standing before him. She barely came up to his chin, and he wasn’t particularly tall.

“I am.” He didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

“I am…Lady Araminta,” she said, chin in the air.

Her bravado didn’t falter when he maintained his stony glare. “How might I be of service?” He presumed she was the daughter of the family. The one who had never visited her grandmother in the months he had worked there.

The tiny woman squared her shoulders. “Would you be so good as to take me to the housekeeper? I will probably need the butler, too,” she said as she frowned and rubbed her forehead.

“I’m afraid not. They are all gone. The house is locked up and it will be just me here for the next few days.” He watched as this appeared to hit her with the force of a blow, and felt unreasonably guilty when she stared at him, eyes a little wild.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

Will sighed. “Gone. The place has been sold and the staff turned off.”

“It hasn’t been sold. It can’t have…”

“I’m afraid it has.” There wasn’t really anything else to say.

She put a shaking hand to her head. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God.”

Will frowned, and then looked over at the groom who was watching with his arms folded. He’d had the impression the granddaughter was older.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, against his better judgement.

She pulled herself together a little, and stuck her chin in the air. “In that case, I need your help. I need you to help my brother.”

Will stared. “Your brother? Lord Holbrook?”

“My younger brother.”

Will actually laughed. It would be a cold day in hell before he would lift a finger to help him.

“You mean Captain Dearne? The one who inherited the Manor? Why would I want to do that? Your brother has just put me out of a home and a job.”

The woman faltered and put her hand to her mouth. “He what?”

“Look,” Will began, his temper on a perilously short thread. The woman didn’t seem to know the first thing about her own family. “Dearne inherited the Manor from his grandmother, and proceeded to lose it in a card game. It has exchanged hands, and all the staff have been laid off. I am here to shut it all up. I’ve watched good people heartbroken at losing their homes and, I repeat, I am about to lose mine.”

“Please…” she whispered and put a small, delicate hand on his arm. “I desperately need help. Captain Dearne is in grave danger.” She fluttered her eyelashes and Will wanted to laugh for real.

“I wish I could say I am surprised,” Will said.

“You don’t understand.”

Well, that much was true. “No, I probably don’t, but your brother still owes me wages, and I have to find another job and somewhere to live because of him.”

She gripped his arm tighter and looked up at him, tears shimmering in pretty hazel eyes, but not quite spilling over.

“I have run out of time, and out of options. My brother is in terrible trouble and I don’t know where to turn.”

Dear God, did the woman really think he was so gullible? Did that actually work with men?

“I’m sorry…”

“I will pay you,” she said and as the tears receded, her rather determined looking chin went up in the air again. She was a handsome woman, dark hair with those hazel eyes, but as always he was unmoved.

“I am owed wages, so I hope your family will honour that even if your brother cannot.”

“Wait there,” she said, and headed back to the carriage. She disappeared inside and emerged moments later clutching what looked like a sheaf of money followed closely by the burly groom. The groom glared in his direction so Will returned the favour.

“I will pay you a hundred and fifty pounds to look after my brother for a week, and I will give you another two hundred and fifty when I come back if he is alive and in good health.” She brandished the handful of money at him. The determined tilt to her chin became more pronounced.

Two hundred and fifty pounds…Will shook his head. Good Christ, that was a ridiculous sum and it made him wonder.

“What has he done?”

“Nothing…I don’t know.” She stared at him for a long moment, and then shook her head and swallowed.

She appeared to reach a decision. “Holbrook wants him dead. He had a good go at killing him. Dearne is gravely injured and in urgent need of help and a safe place to be and someone to nurse him. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who I can trust. I brought him here because…” She stopped and put her hand to her eyes.

Will sighed and shook his head.

“Very well,” she said, a note of panic entering her voice. “Five hundred pounds now and five hundred in a week if he is safe and well.”

Will rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. With that kind of money, he would be laughing. He would be able to buy a place of his own, manage his own estate, everything and more. All he had to do was nurse and care for a man he despised. He weighed up the options, and pragmatism won out.

“Where is he?”

The woman sagged visibly. “Oh God. Oh God, will you help? Will you?” she stood directly in front of him. “He is in the carriage; he is unconscious and has been since yesterday. I am so worried about him, we can’t rouse him. Do you know anything about head wounds?” She was babbling now. “Shall we get him out? Bolton!” she called to the groom.

“Wait.” Will captured one of her hands. “Wait. The house is closed up and cold. You will have to bring him to my cottage. I will look after him there.” He scowled. The money was too much to pass on, but he wondered what kind of man it made him. He pointed to his house near the stables and hopped up onto the back of the coach as the woman got back inside, presumably with Dearne. He glanced at the groom, Bolton had she called him. The man stared impassively. Will stared back.

The horses clattered to a halt outside his home, so Will jumped down and indicated where they could be tethered. He went to help with the Captain, but the groom and another man who dropped from the carriage were already manhandling the unconscious man out of the equipage whilst the woman fussed around them.

Will jumped in front and opened the door to his house and grimaced. The man was a mess. Covered in mud, blood, and God only knew what else. He also stunk to high heaven.

“Good God,” Will said, and went out back to get a tarpaulin. He shook it out and spread it before the fire burning in the range.

“Put him here,” he instructed. The man needed cleaning up before he got anywhere near his clean bed linen.

He watched as the men positioned him and laid him on the floor, and the woman covered him gently with a blanket and put a blood-stained pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t stay,” the woman said as she looked at the man on the floor. “I have to get back before I am missed. I will have to leave you with him.”

She came to him and clasped both of his hands in hers. “You are the best of men,” she whispered and then to his utter surprise she raised his hands and kissed his knuckles. “Above all you must keep Holbrook away from him. I can’t imagine he will work out where I have taken him, but he might. Swear to me you won’t let Holbrook take him?’”

“I…”

“Please?” she begged, taking his hands again and this time pressing her cheek to his knuckles. It made him uncomfortable.

“Very well, I will do my utmost to keep Holbrook from him,” he murmured, pulling his hands free. “Where will I contact you?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, and then turned to the carriage driver. “Bolton?”

The silent Bolton pulled a small ladies reticule from his pocket and the woman searched in it until she came up with a small, delicate card. He pocketed it.

“Give him the money, Bolton.”

Bolton looked at him, a long, challenging look, and then handed over the packet the woman had brandished earlier.

“There is five hundred pounds in there. Do not make me regret giving it to you,” she said with a surprising amount of menace. Will raised an eyebrow, but forbore from comment. The woman turned on her heel, hitched up her gown, and marched back to the carriage, closely followed by the silent Bolton.

Will watched them depart and then closed the door quietly. He looked at the money in his hand, and then at the man who lay in fetid unconsciousness on the floor of his home and wondered what the hell he had done.