“Much obliged, my lord, much obliged.”
Chiara watched the male solidarity with growing disgust. They reminded her of a pair of guard dogs, large, tail-wagging dogs capable of ferocious growls and fearsome bites.
Rafael perched his hip on the corner of the table. “There is one thing you need to be aware of. Last night, before I returned to the Meriwethers’, they found a groom in one of the empty stalls with a mighty sore head.”
“Oh no!”
“Mother of God!”
“Indeed.”
“Do ye think it be connected to the wheel coming off?”
“Could be. I don’t believe in coincidences.” Rafael sipped his coffee.
Chiara looked from man to man. “If someone was trying to kill Rafael, killing a groom would be insignificant.” The social structure of England being the way it was, that statement held a great deal of truth.
For several minutes, they contemplated the uncomfortable reality and its consequences.
“Rafe, who would hate you enough to want to kill you?”
“M’mother?”
“She may dislike you,” Chiara refilled her coffee cup, “But that in itself isn’t reason to try to kill you. Would she be any better off if you were dead?” He shook his head. “She’s not a small woman, but even if she hated you enough, but I seriously doubt that physically she could notch the axle and bash a groom hard enough to knock him out.”
Rafael rolled his coffee cup in his hands and contemplated her over its edge. “You could.”
Sam, in the middle of taking a drink, nearly spewed his coffee.
Chiara looked at him repressively.
“Coming from his lordship, my lady, that’s high praise. I just didn’t expect it being said in a toff’s parlor.”
“Be that as it may…”
“Ye’re right, though, Lady FitzHenry, the other Lady FitzHenry, couldn’t. I’ll find the menservants who came with her and see what they have to say, just to be sure, though.”
“You know, just before the fire started, I was thinking of people who were new here, and your mother was on that list. I actually started a letter to my uncle seeking any information he had on her when I realized there was a problem in the house.”
“Um, he might know something, perhaps some gossip.”
Sam had a far-away look in his eyes. “My lord, you know there’s one aspect of that incident we haven’t considered. Lady Chiara was in the curricle with you.” Two startled pairs of eyes faced him. “There’s the possibility that she was the target.” He scratched his chin. “Or both of you.”
“Bloody hell,” Rafe’s eyebrow went up. “That settles it. Goode, you will arm yourself, and if Lady Chiara so much as sets foot outside the door, you will be there like her shadow! Understood?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Now see here, Rafael. You do not have the ordering of my servants.”
Rafael held Sam’s gaze with perfect man-to-man understanding. With a small grin, Sam pulled back his coat to reveal a knife in a shoulder holster under his left arm. “I’ve been carrying this ever since you got back.” Rafael’s eyebrow rose again but he remained silent. “I’ll be taking care of things directly from here.”
“I don’t need…”
“Don’t even think about trying to circumvent Mr. Goode.”
“I can take care of myself!”
“Are you as fluid in self-defense as you were on the Swiftsure? Would you take the same risks as you did then?”
He was right, damn him, she thought, and slumped into a sulk.
“I thought not. Mr. Goode is protection for both of you.” He pointed at her tummy. “Remember that.”
“Very well,” she said with ill-grace.
“Absolutely. Now, when are you leaving for London?”
“Leaving for London? Are you joking? I can’t leave for London now! I have too much to do. I have to get the factory fully functional before spring, I have my house to rebuild, and on top of that, you’ve just reassigned my foreman for me, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I want you in London, where I can keep an eye on you. There’s been one attempt on your life, maybe two…”
“Two?”
“The fire.”
“The fire was probably a kitchen accident. And the curricle wheel may be nothing to do with me.”
“Nevertheless, you’re going back to London!” He pulled out the chair next to her and slouched into it with the insouciant grace of someone who knew his rightness would prevail.
“No!”
“May I remind you, madam wife…”
“May I remind you, my lord, that you cannot prove that I am you wife?”
“Would you like me to tell you what you risked your life for when you went into a burning house?” His voice had the charming, sinuousness of a viper.
“My lord, my lady! I don’t want to get in the middle of what is obviously a very private…uh discussion. However, I’m obliged to point out that, no matter who was the target of the sabotage, the list of possible suspects is smaller here than in London. Locals are known, and strangers stand out like turds on snow.”
Rafael’s laughter barked. “You’re absolutely right, damn your eyes.
“I might add, my lord, that if only you are the target, announcing that Lady Chiara is your wife may actually put her in danger.”
Rafe rested his elbow on the table and put his forehead in his hand as he shook his head. “A pox on you, Sam Goode, a pox on you!”
Chapter 20
Lacey drove Sam Goode and Chiara to Stoneacre. Rafael rode alongside. The grey, lowering sky seemed to Chiara to be the perfect counterpoint for her first view of the corpse of her beloved home. She spared a thought for all the history and memories that now lay black and smoldering.
“Stop, please, Lacey.” The carriage halted as Chiara took in the sight. From the distance, people scuttled around like field mice.
Rafael reined his horse beside her. “I’m so sorry, Chiara. It’s terrible to lose your home.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “but at least no one was hurt. We can rebuild a house. We can’t replace friends.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
As they approached, people began to gather. Stable hands, tenants, and house staff crowded around the carriage. Sober faces looked up at Chiara. She heard a few sniffles. From the back of the group, a cry rose, loud and strident.
“Hush, ye nodcock, ye’ve nothing t’wail about.” The sobs faded into whimpers.
Chiara stood up in the carriage. She looked out over the sea of faces. Most of them had been born at Stoneacre. Some of the families had been there as long or longer than hers. The fire was not just a personal tragedy for her. It was a monumental loss for the entire community. Part of their birthright, as much as hers, was gone forever.
“My friends,” whatever murmur remained in the crowd ceased. “I want to thank you all for your help and support during this tragedy. I want you to bow your heads and say a silent prayer of thanks that no one was seriously hurt during the fire.” Brown, blond, red, black, and white hair replaced the faces looking up at her. After a few moments, she said, “Now we need to look to the future. My first priority is not the house, it’s the factory. I want it fully functional for the May berry harvest. Remember, you have a stake in this venture from both your labor and your investments. I’m looking forward to a profitable enterprise.”
“Hear, hear!” came from the crowd, as well as applause.
“In the meantime, I’m going to have designs drawn up for the new house. As soon as they are finished we will begin construction. I suspect that there will be plenty of work to do in the next year or two. If you have friends or family looking for a job,” applause and whoops burst from the crowd, “Mr. Jeffries will be supervising the factory construction from now on, and Mr. Kingston will be in charge of the house. Direct any workers to them. We’ll also need people working the fruit.” She looked at Sam. “Who can we…?”
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“Charlie Waters, my lady. He’s young, but he knows what he’s about.”
“Very well.”
While Chiara laid out her plans and instructions to her newly-deputized foremen, Rafe strolled around the grounds. The acrid stench of burnt wood stung his nostrils. He remembered other fires, fires aboard ships where the smell of burnt flesh added a fillip that made you gag. Thank God the air was clear of that malodorous tang. He looked up at the sky. If his years on the quarterdeck were any gauge of his ability to read the weather, they were due for a storm. That would settle the worst of the ash and cool any remaining embers.
The gardens around the house lay trampled and broken. Some of the larger bushes and trees still stood, soot covered if not singed. He rather thought they looked like mourners at a funeral.
Even with the house still smoldering in places, workers pulled rubble out, piling partially burnt wood to the right, trash to the left and a pitifully small pile of salvaged items on a tarp in the middle. Rafe nudged a silver candlestick with the toe of his boot. His marvel was two-fold. First the silver survived the fire, second it survived looters. His lady’s regard for her people obviously returned to her.
He glanced up to see two men trying to move a fallen board. The far man dropped his end with a yelp. Cradling his hands, he allowed his companion to lead him away. Chiara wasn’t going to be happy about her people getting hurt in her service.
He spotted the butler and called him over. Handing Taylor a small pile of sovereigns, he said, “Men are getting hurt handling the debris. Have someone ride into town and purchase all the work gloves they have. I’ll make up any difference.”
“Very well, my lord,” Taylor turned to wave someone over then turned back. “Thank you, sir. If I may be so bold, my lord, I believe that you will make a fitting lord for my lady.”
Rafe bowed. “I’m honored.” A young man ran up to Taylor who sent him on his errand.
Rafael examined the house. The west end still stood while the east side, where the kitchen was, collapsed to a pile of smoldering timbers. “Taylor, instead of attacking the house from the burnt end, let’s get some ladders and a bucket hoist into one of the west windows. We’ll cool off any hot spots from there. Maybe there’ll be something we can save in there.”
“Excellent idea, my lord. I’ll see to it immediately.”
Rafe shrugged his beige superfine coat off with some small difficulty. Cut by Weston, it fit without a wrinkle, like a second skin. Even with assistance, it came on and off about as easily. He smiled as he tossed it over a fairly clean bush. Jones, he thought, will keel haul me if the coat sustained damage. His valet upheld the adage that if you met a valet and his employer, the more top-lofty of the two should be the valet.
Some time later, he stood in an upper floor window’s frame, hooking an empty bucket to the hoist rope. He looked down to see Taylor staring up at him, open-mouthed. Rafe grinned and waved. Taylor returned a weak salute. He shook his head as he walked away. Jones might arrive tonight. Rafe thought he’d be wise to burn the shirt and trousers before his man saw them.
The next time he went to the window to trade buckets, Taylor signaled him. “Lord and Lady Meriwether’s barouche approaches, my lord.”
When Rafael reached the ground, Taylor presented him with a damp towel and a dry one. After Rafe washed his face and hands, he tried to brush off the dust and soot with the dry towel. With great diffidence, Taylor moved to take the towel, “If I may, my lord?” He got off the worst of it, and the coat covered the grimy sleeves. When he finished with the boots, they wouldn’t pass muster in a London drawing room, but then, he wasn’t in a London drawing room, he was at the site of a house fire.
“I’d button your coat, my lord. It will conceal most of the soot on your shirt.”
“You’re a handy man to have around, Taylor.”
“Just so, my lord.”
Substantially cleaner, Rafe strolled around the house to greet his hostess.
The Meriwether’s elegant, stately barouche slowed to a halt in front of Chiara. Dunham, none too clean, pulled his white gloves from his waistband under his jacket, to assist Lady Meriwether to alight.
“Oh my goodness, Chiara.” She rushed to embrace her friend.
Lady FitzHenry’s head poked out of the barouche’s door. She wrinkled her nose before she gingerly accepted Dunham’s hand. She pulled her skirts aside to avoid brushing his clothes.
Lord DuBois stepped down next. From the distance, Rafe thought he detected the trace of a smirk on the dandy’s face. Though DuBois was a relation of James Simmons, Rafe couldn’t help but harbor a growing antipathy for him. Dandies always made his skin itch.
Lord Meriwether got out last. He saw Rafe and sidled away from the rest of the barouche’s passengers. “Sorry about the tag-alongs, FitzHenry. Tried to discourage them, but they insisted.” He turned to the house. “Damn shame, Stoneacre burning like this.”
Rafe watched his mother cover her nose with a delicately laced handkerchief. “Absolutely.” He nodded as Lady FitzHenry approached.
“La, Lord Meriwether, come join us. We’re getting a guided tour of the new Appertizing factory.” She ignored Rafe.
“The what factory?”
Lady FitzHenry tapped him gently on the arm. “Why they put food in glass jars, of course.”
“Oh, of course. Be right there.”
She finally looked at her son. “You don’t look fit for polite company, but then you so rarely did anyway.” She strolled off.
Another vehicle came up the drive. Meriwether squinted for a moment. “Ah, our good Parson Underwood and his wife.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw hardened.
“Don’t worry. The Reverend Mr. Underwood minds his manners as long as I’m here.”
“And when you’re not?”
“Give me some proof. I’ve a young nephew who’s just taken holy orders and is looking for a living. You may have met him the other night.”
Rafael shook his head.
The parson and his wife didn’t alight, but made fulsome greetings to Lady Meriwether and the others, the barest of civilities to Chiara. “We heard about your, um, misfortune. I came to see…if my services would be needed.”
“Thankfully, Parson, no one was seriously injured or killed, but I appreciate your solicitude.” Rafe could see that Chiara caught the hesitation in the parson’s words.
“By God’s mercy.” His tone said he thought God misguided in the extreme. “I will bid you good day, then.” He turned the cart and went back the way they came.
Meriwether snorted rather loudly. “Just as well he left. Now, the fire, do you know how it started?”
“No. We think it was in the kitchen area, though.”
“Humph. Wouldn’t be the first house fire started in a kitchen.”
“Indeed, but coming on the heels of my curricle’s wheel coming off, one has to wonder.”
Meriwether’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think that…”
“I’m thinking.”
“Aye, I’ll bet you are. Let me know if I can help. Any thing at all. We think very highly of Lady Key.” He took a step toward the factory building, and then stopped. “Of you both.” He stepped back to brush a bit of ash from Rafe’s sleeve.
Lady Meriwether, engaged in a spirited conversation with Chiara, looked up as Rafael approached. “My lord, perhaps you can talk some sense into the stubborn chit.”
He made an expression of mock horror. “Most merciful lady, I’d rather face Villeneuve with two corvettes and a fifth-rate frigate. But tell me how I can be of service to you.”
“Be a good lad and convince her that she should come to our dinner party this evening. She still has to eat.” She grabbed the brim of her hat as a playful breeze tried to send it sailing.
Chiara snickered, “Yes, be a good lad and try.”
Lady Meriwether and Rafael smiled at each other with complete understanding. “She’s right, you know. You ma
y as well go and clear your head of smoke fumes.”
“But I have, literally, nothing to wear.”
Lady Meriwether frowned at her and lowered her voice as Mr. Jeffries walked toward them, looking through a sheaf of papers. “I know for a fact that dress you have on is Ann Abernathy’s. It fits tolerably well. I also know that she and Roger have a previous engagement tonight with the Shavers. You have no excuses. I will expect you both at five.” She walked off to join the others already on the tour.
Jeffries nodded to Chiara. “Um, my lady, um did you take one of the, um, factory drawings form the, um, work area?”
“No, why?”
“Um, one of them is missing. Perhaps it, um, blew off, or Mr. Goode was using it. I’ll, um, check again. Not to, um, worry. I’m just, um, getting things sorted, um, out here.”
A few raindrops plunked on the roof of the carriage as it pulled away from the Abernathy’s house. Rafael moved close to her on the seat as he drew the carriage blanket over her knees. He lounged back and turned to look at her with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. The front of her dress peeked out from the enveloping winter cape. “I must say, my dear, that Mrs. Abernathy has done a splendid job of turning you out, especially on such short notice.”
Much as Chiara loved Ann Abernathy, that lady tended to wear her dresses with a little more panache—as Chiara thought of it—than she could carry off. On Ann, the low cut neckline that seemed almost to meet the high waist of the pale green evening dress looked perfect. Pregnancy enlarged Chiara’s breasts to the point that she feared they might fall out of the bodice. She wanted to put a fichu in the neck, but Ann vetoed that idea in the strongest of terms. “You wear it as it is or you go naked,” her friend said. “Besides, with your newly improved bosom, it’s perfect.” Rafael seemed to agree with Ann, but then he was a man.
“Thank you. She’s been an angel, but I’m sure she’s already tired of me raiding her clothes press. I have the dressmaker coming in tomorrow. She knows my size and the styles I prefer, and she has some partially finished items for me to try on. Plus, some clothes are coming from London. I wrote to Lindsey Alder, too. She’d originally planned to come down tomorrow, but that’s not possible. Much as I’d love to see her, I have no place to put her, and I certainly can’t impose my guests on Ann. My man of business is coming down, too, but I can put him up in the inn.”