The Lion's Daughter (45 page)

After
giving Esme exactly three seconds to do so, she went on, “Gerald
is desperate for money. Even without knowing how bad it was, I
wouldn't give him any. Not until I could be sure his troubles weren't
his own stupidity. I don't throw good money after bad, as I hope you
understand by now.”

“Yes,
Grandmother, but
—”

“
The
chess set,”
Lady Brentmor said
impatiently. “Worth thousands
—
complete,
that is. That's why Percival kept the queen hid from his pa. The boy
had that much sense at least. He knows Gerald can't be trusted.”

This
Esme did not find difficult to believe. In Corfu, not only had her
uncle been cold and insulting, but he'd lied about her grandmother.
All that talk about trying to soften her toward Jason and about her
threats to disown Percival
—
all
lies.

“Gerald
must know about Diana's bequest, but he ain't mentioned it,”
the dowager continued, “though the set's worth little to any
buyer with a piece missing. That tells me he ain't given up hope of
getting the queen back, and won't give the set up easy if he does.
Soon as he finds out we've got the queen, there'll be trouble. For
one, he'll surely threaten to contest Diana's will in Chancery.”

Esme
frowned. “I have heard these lawsuits are very expensive. Also,
Percival told me some Chancery suits have continued for generations.
How can my uncle
—”

“When
he's got next to no money? He don't need to actually go through with
it. Only threaten. Or maybe spend a few quid to get things started.
Then what's Edenmont to do, when
he's
got less than nothing? I'll tell you
what. Settle out of court for some measly sum. Or, if he's wise
enough to call Gerald's bluff
..,”
Lady Brentmor shook her head.

“No,”
Esme said firmly. “No ominous hints and shaking your head at
me. Tell me plain what you suspect.”

“Ain't
you seen enough among them heathens to work it out for yourself?”
Her grandmother gestured at the ledgers lining the room's walls. “Any
business that can't be writ down plain for all the world to see is
dirty business, in my experience. Which means one's dealing with
dirty people. If Gerald's sunk to that and he's desperate, he could
sink deeper.”

It
required little imagination to take the hint. Esme felt chilled. “You
mean violence. Like hiring these dirty people to
—
to
put Varian out of the way. You truly believe my uncle would do such a
thing?”

“When
I smell something bad, I usually find rottenness at the bottom of it.
There's a stench about Gerald since he come

back.
Worse than usual. Now you know as much as I do. Now you can think
about it, like I've been doing, since the curst day I found that
be-damned chess piece.”

Esme
didn't need to think. She'd seen the evil men could do, for lust, for
greed, even for the pettiest reasons or no reason at all. Her father
had been murdered on her account. She would not tempt another villain
to rid her of her husband. She looked at her grandmother. “Will
you tell me one thing?”

“That
depends what it is.”

“Do
you believe the chess set is rightfully mine, for my dowry, and must
be given to my husband?”

“Bother
the child!” The old lady's scowl was fearsome.

“
D'y'
think I've no conscience at all?
Of course it's yours
—
or
that pretty-faced lackwit's, if you insist. I only wish you wasn't so
moony about him. I wish you could've been sensible and listened to me
and said, 'Yes, Grandmother. Whatever you think is best.'“ “I
am sorry, truly, Grandmother.” The scowl eased ever so
slightly. “It ain't right for a young get to be dragged into
these filthy doings. It ain't right for you to know anything about
'em. You got enough trouble, with that
papers
kulled
debauchee roistering in the cesspits of London. Damn and blast that
son of mine! If he hadn't gone and got
himself
killed, none of this would have happened. If he wasn't dead already,
I'd throttle him myself.” Esme
rose and walked round the desk.
She bent and dropped a kiss on her grandmother's papery cheek, Lady
Brentmor's eyes widened. As Esme straightened, she discerned a
glitter in those eyes. Tears? But h
er
grandmother gave an indignant
snort, and the glitter vanished. “I'm forgiven, I take it,”
she grumbled. “It's I
who should seek forgiveness,”
Esme said. “To tell you frankly, I did not wish to give Varian
money he would be tempted
to spend on women. I am very
jealous, and the women would vex me more than drunkenness or gaming.
Still, I believed it was my duty.” “So it was,” the
dowager grudgingly agreed. “Also. I must have some faith in
him. I told you yesterday how he has been good to me. And brave.
Perhaps you see this, too
—
else
you would not care what my uncle might do to him. Yet you see a great
deal else in my husband that troubles you, and you wish to spare me.
1
am
not certain you are altogether correct, but I must believe in you,
too.”

This
earned Esme a sharp look. “Does this mean you'll hold your
tongue about your dratted dowry? And stop plaguing me?”

“For
now, yes, because you think there is a chance my uncle will harm
Varian. Still, you are very clever—and I am not altogether
brainless. We will think of something.”

Another
snort.
“We,
indeed.”

“Yes.
We two. In the meantime, I shall cease my 'moping' and choose gowns,
if that will please you. Also, I will have the dancing master
—
and
whatever else you believe will help make a lady of me.”

Esme
straightened her shoulders and walked away from the desk. “If
—
when
Varian returns to me, he must have
no cause to be ashamed. And if
—
when
he mends his troubles, he must have
a worthy baroness beside him.”

LORD
EDENMONT GAZED unhappily about him at the shabby interior of the
small cottage. He had left London the day after he'd sent Willoughby
the brief note. He'd been at Mount Eden for five days, and this was
the first cottage he'd mustered the courage to enter.

It
was tidy, despite its shabbiness, as were the six children
—
ranging
in age from thirteen to two. This brood stood behind their noticeably
pregnant mama and gazed at him in unblinking wonder.

“Gravity
again,” said Gideon, coming away from inspection of the
chimney. “It's pulling down the chimney and the roof.”

The
mother of the brood flushed. “John's not had a chance to mend
the roof, my lord. He's had to take work where he can get it, and
that's took
—
taken
—
him
to Aylesbury this month.”

Varian
suppressed a sigh. John Gillis was only one of many who'd been forced
to abandon the land his family had worked for generations.

While
Varian considered how to respond, he saw Annie give her eldest
—
a
lanky, tow-haired boy
—
a
sharp nudge.

When
the boy didn't react, she whispered something. The boy backed out of
the room.

“Well
...”
Varian glanced uneasily at his
brother. “Well, Annie,
there's not much to be got out of
farming
...
here.
I cannot
...”
He
trailed off as the lanky boy re-entered, bearing a small earthenware
jar.

As
the boy gave it to his mother, his shoulders sagged, but he shuffled
back into position beside her without a word. Annie emptied the jar's
contents into her hand. “It's all here”, she said. “Every
last farthing for the past five years' rent. No one ever
come
—
came
—
for
it, and there was nobody at the great house to give it to. So we put
it aside.” “The rent?” Varian repeated numbly.
“Five years?” “Aye.” She held it out to him,
a pitifully small pile of coins. Judging by the chagrin on the eldest
boy's face, however, she might have been offering up a fortune. So it
was, Varian reflected. To them. To take it was criminal. To refuse
would insult her, and she was proud. She and John would not have
saved those precious funds if they were not. Varian thought quickly.

He
accepted the money with polite thanks. “It must be properl
y
invested, of course. In the
estate.”

“Yes,
my lord.”
.
“Wh
ich at present means it
must be invested in people. The land is worthless unfarmed. If men
must go away to work, they're not fanning it. We must persuade
them
—
and
make it worth their while
—
to
return. It would appear my income would be most wisely invested in
that way. Don't you agree, Gideon?”

“Very
wise,” came the stolid answer. “Then it's settled.”
Varian carefully counted out the coins and gave all but one shilling
back to the bewildered Mrs. Gillis

“These
constitute John's advance wages,” he said, “to make it
worth his
while
to work my land again. When he returns, perhaps he'll be so good as
to call on Gideon, who'll discuss the practical details with him and
put the agreement in writing.”

Gideon
nodded composedly, just as though he was fully prepared at any given
moment, to provide every sort of detail about everything under the
sun.

Annie
stared at the coins in her hand.

Varian
turned his attention to the lanky boy. “You are old enough to
work, and strong enough, I'd say.”

Annie
tore her gaze from the money. “Oh, yes, my lord,” she
said eagerly. “He's the man of the house while John's away.
Does what he's told, Bertie
—
Albert
—
does,
and quick, too. And he can read and write as well,” she added
with pride. “I learned
—
taught
him.”

Varian
remembered that his mother had devoted a good deal of time to seeing
local young people educated. She'd insisted both sexes must be
taught, despite strong opposition to education, not only among her
peers but among the older tenantry as well. Yet the people had loved
her for it, and his father, too, for other reasons. The heap of coins
was proof of that affection and loyalty. Certainly Varian had never
earned it.

Aloud,
he said, “If Albert can be spared, I should welcome his help at
the house. Mount Eden must be made presentable for its mistress, and
we are all at sixes and sevens.” Varian held up the coin. “I
should like to engage you to help us make a start, Albert.”

“Indeed
he will,” Annie answered for the dumbstruck boy. “This
cold weather will put the planting back, and John can manage well
enough without him, and anyhow
...”
She hesitated a moment. “It'll
be good to have the family among us again, my lord.”

After
naming a time tomorrow for Albert to report for work, Varian took his
leave of the Gillises and set out with Gideon through the new-fallen
snow.

They
trudged a ways in silence, each brother reflecting in his own way
upon the scene they'd just left.

“That
was well done,” Gideon said finally. “By sunrise, we'll
find a line of tenants at the door, ready to strike their own
bargains with us.”

“I'll
let you do the bargaining, if you don't mind. I've no head for these
matters.”

“You
did well enough on the spur of the moment. I shall follow your lead.
Those as honest as John Gillis and his wife will come with their rent
and get the same offer. The others I'll persuade to work on
speculation or some sort of trade arrangement. Or perhaps a reduction
in rent. We won't see

much
income at the end of the year, but the land will be worked at least
and, as you said, it's no good unfarmed.”

“Good
heavens. Was I really so sensible? I had better lie down the instant
we get home. On second thought, I'd better
not.
Gad, I do wish we might have
salvaged a few beds at least.” Varian laughed in spite of
himself. “Do you know how Often I dreamed of home and a soft
bed? I slept on the bare ground, and wet it was, and on wooden
floors. How Esme will laugh when I tell her
...”