"You have to let him go, Father," Susanna said.
John Farley patted the coverlet beside him and when Susanna sat down, took her hands in his, dirt and all. "My dear, you've worked yourself into a state. You'll unbalance your humors. Take a deep breath and tell me what ails you."
"Nothing ails me."
"You did not take a breath."
"Father!" Why was she surrounded by frustrating men? She breathed deeply, not because it was what her father wanted but because it helped soothe her fractured nerves.
"There," he said, not letting go of her hands. His palms were warm but the fingers cool. The backs were covered with freckles in every shade of brown, as were his nose and cheeks. The skin underneath was pale and stretched so tight over the bones it looked as if it would fray like an old cloth washed too often. "Better?"
"No," she said, rubbing his fingers to warm them. "There is a man in my garden who will not leave. He says you employed him. I want you to dismiss him. This instant."
Farley sagged into his pillows and regarded her with one of those looks. The sort he always gave her when he thought her being foolish or difficult. "I cannot dismiss him. Ah, Bessie, there you are," he said when the maid entered carrying a tray with cup and bowl on it. "You understand, don't you, Bessie?"
"Aye, sir." Bessie was as old as her father, perhaps older. It was difficult to tell. She'd always seemed aged to Susanna, with her rounded shoulders and gray hair peeking out of the front of her large brown caul. She'd worked at Stoneleigh for as long as Susanna could remember. Indeed, all three of their remaining servants had. They were as much a part of the manor house as the stone walls. Susanna suspected they would still be there even after she and her father passed on, haunting the place for generations. The idea appealed to her. The ancient Farley line would end with her, but there would be continuity at Stoneleigh as long as the spirits of the servants lingered.
"Father," she said, heavily. "That man Holt...there's something about him. Something I can't put my finger on. I don't trust him."
"But he's not even been here a day." He took the cup Bessie offered and cradled it in his hands. "How can you not trust him when you don't know him?"
"I've seen enough of him to come to that conclusion. He's...arrogant."
"You say arrogant. I say charming."
"He doesn't know anything about growing orange trees."
"Show me an English gardener who does."
"He, he doesn't know his place," she said.
Her father laughed, making his snowy beard shake and his eyes moisten. "Did you hear that, Bessie? A servant at Stoneleigh who doesn't know his place."
Bessie grinned, lighting up her entire face. Susanna had always loved Bessie's smiles. They were big and bold and brought joy into the dreariest of rooms. "I know my place," the maid said, stirring the bowl's contents with a spoon. "It’s doing Cook's bidding."
Farley laughed harder. "Shouldn't you be doing my bidding?"
Bessie passed Farley the bowl and took the cup. "I'm more afraid of Cook, sir. She's bigger and has more large knives at hand."
Farley sniffed the steaming broth in his bowl. "Ahhh, and she's a marvel in the kitchen. I don't know what we'd do without her."
"Starve," both Bessie and Susanna said, then laughed.
Susanna's laughter quickly vanished. "Be serious for a moment, Father. Why did you employ Holt without knowing anything about him? It's most unlike you to do something like that on a whim."
"I couldn't help it, my dear. He was so insistent. I couldn't say no." He shrugged as if he couldn’t have denied Holt any more than he could stop a sneeze.
He had not always been so easy. When he was younger and Stoneleigh's estate larger, he'd been careful and thorough. His wishes had always been followed and he commanded respect from his family, servants, and the villagers. Never a cruel man, he did, however, expect to be obeyed. And everyone had.
Then many things happened. The first husband John Farley had found for his only child proved to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. Once he'd lost his fortune, he took his anger and frustration out on Susanna, beating her for no apparent reason except that he could. Fortunately he died before the beatings became unbearable, and not a single soul mourned him. At the same time, the weather conspired to ruin the crops at Stoneleigh for four years in a row and money became tight. Farley was forced to sell all productive lands to his neighbors to make ends meet. Then, worst of all, his beloved wife, Susanna's mother, died and he went mad with grief. Her death changed him in other ways too. His health failed, his mind went a little wayward, and all vitality seemed to leech out of him. Where once he was strong and capable, he became helpless and easily led. That’s how Phillip had talked him into agreeing to a marriage between himself and Susanna when her father had wanted to keep her at home awhile. To be fair, it was a good match for an untitled widow with a small dowry, and Susanna had desired the man and the marriage anyway. She'd been reluctant to leave her father, but Sutton Hall was only across the fields from Stoneleigh.
With only a few servants to aid her father, the remaining land ceased to make a profit and had to be sold. Weeds infiltrated the garden at an alarming rate, choking out most of the herbs and orange trees which her father managed to keep alive as a loving tribute to his wife who'd planted them. The outbuildings fell apart, and even Stoneleigh itself began to look like a tarnished trinket in need of loving care.
Then there was the loss of her two babies in the early stages of the pregnancies. It had devastated her father almost as much as it had devastated her.
"You will have to say no," she said, digging her heels in. "I don't need him."
"My dear, you do." He sipped his broth. "I know how hard those trees can be in these cold months. I fear you'll work your fingers to the bone and lose your pretty looks."
"I don't care about my looks."
"No, but a husband will. You can't expect to catch another if you look like a tired old hag."
She shot him a withering glare, but he was concentrating on his broth and didn't see. She appealed to Bessie, but the maid bustled about, tidying up the bedchamber, and didn't seem to be listening. "You agreed you would not make me wed again."
Farley glanced up sharply. His face softened and she realized she must have looked quite pale. The thought of marrying again always made her feel ill.
"I'm sorry, my dear, you're right, but that's not what I meant. I won't force you again, but that doesn't mean you won't want to marry."
"I won't."
"You may," he said and returned to his broth. "If the right man comes along."
She sighed and shook her head. "None of this changes the fact that we cannot pay Holt. We don't have enough money."
"We could pay him in marmalade." He chuckled but caught her narrowed glare and sobered.
"Perhaps I can offer a compromise," Bessie said.
"Please do," Susanna said, suddenly feeling tired. There was so much to do and here she was arguing with her father over money matters. Sometimes she wondered if he really knew how desperate the situation at Stoneleigh was.
"Offer him board and food in exchange for his work in the garden," Bessie said, placing a folded blanket in a trunk.
It was what Holt himself had suggested. "Yes, but..." It didn't solve the issue of having a man like Holt working in her presence. Too close.
"Tell him he is free to come and go as long as he achieves a minimum amount of work each day, an amount which you both can agree to, m'lady."
Interesting. It sounded like a good compromise. Servants and laborers valued their free time since they were given so little of it. It didn't solve the problem of Holt himself. He unsettled her, made her nerves stretch. He was so much like Phillip in that regard. So...smooth. Phillip had a way of slipping under her defenses without her realizing until it was too late, and then he would get what he wanted. What he wanted usually included forcing her to entertain guests she didn't like or stopping Susanna from visiting the villagers he thought be
neath them. Then there were his lovers...so many lovers.
Bessie's sympathetic gaze fell on her. "Since he is in your house and you are his mistress, he will do as you say or be forced to leave."
Then it will not be like it was with Phillip. Is that what she meant or was that merely Susanna's interpretation?
She pushed her palms down her thighs to still her shaking hands. Her father continued to sip his broth and Bessie bent to the fire and stoked the glowing logs until a small flame leapt to life. The room seemed unnaturally quiet, as if they both waited for Susanna's approval and she realized with a start that she was mistress and master of Stoneleigh. Her father wasn't capable of running the place anymore. It wasn't just her home. It was her own little kingdom that she ruled over.
"Very well," she said. "Bessie, please prepare the attic room for him." It was the smallest, most dreary closet in the servants' wing. No point in letting Mr. Holt get too comfortable. He would not be staying long.