mind. She had enough to be getting on with just now—she didn’t need to borrow trouble. If she could not keep the children from disturbing Captain Radcliffe, she feared he might turn them out long before Lady Villiers arrived to collect her nieces.
Gideon had intended to catch a few days’ rest before plunging into his new duties as master of Knightley Park. But after the collision with his young cousin on his way to breakfast, he decided a dignified retreat might be in order. If Miss Murray could not keep the children out of his way, then he must take care to keep out of theirs.
His belly was still a little tender where the child’s sturdy head had butted it. That did not smart half as much as the memory of Miss Murray’s accusation. Her tone and look made it abundantly clear her opinion had been turned against him before he ever set foot in Knightley Park. Was that the case with all the servants? He’d hoped the vile gossip about him might not have spread this far into the countryside. Apparently, that had been wishful thinking.
Such thoughts continued to plague him as he rode around the estate, investigating its operation. What he discovered provided a distraction, though not the kind he’d hoped for. Everywhere he looked, he encountered evidence of idleness, waste and mismanagement. By late that afternoon, his bones ached from the unaccustomed effort of sitting a horse for so many hours. His patience had worn dangerously thin by the time he tracked down the steward of Knightley Park.
“Pray how long have you been employed in your present position, Mr. Dutton?” Hands clasped behind his back, Gideon fixed the steward with his sternest quarterdeck stare.
Unlike every midshipman who’d ever served under him, this landlubber seemed not to grasp the significance of that look.
The steward was a solid man of middling height with bristling ginger side-whiskers and a confident air. “Been here nigh on ten years, sir. Not long after the late master’s marriage, God rest both their souls. In all that time, Mr. Radcliffe never had a fault to find with my service.”
“Indeed?” Gideon’s voice grew quieter, a sign his crew would have known to heed as a warning. “You must have found my late cousin a very satisfactory employer, then—easygoing, content to leave the oversight of the estate in your hands with a minimum of interference.”
“Just so, sir.” Dutton seemed to imply the new master would do well to follow his cousin’s example. “I didn’t presume to tell him how to hunt his foxes and he didn’t tell me how to carry out my duties.”
The man was drifting into heavy weather, yet he appeared altogether oblivious. “But there is a difference between those two circumstances, is there not? My cousin’s hunting was none of your affair, while your management of this estate was very much his. Now it is mine and I have never shirked my duty.”
At last the steward seemed to sense which way the wind was blowing. He stood up straighter, and his tone became a good deal more respectful. “Yes, sir. I mean…no, sir.”
From his coat pocket, Gideon withdrew a folded sheet of paper on which he had penciled some notes in the tight, precise script he used for his log entries. “From what I have observed today, Mr. Dutton, you have not been overseeing this estate so much as overlooking waste and sloth. I fear you have left me with no alternative but to replace you.”
“You can’t do that, sir!”
With a raised eyebrow, Gideon inquired what prevented him.
“What I mean to say is, I’ve got a wife and family and I’m not as young as I used to be.” Dutton’s former bluster disappeared, replaced by fear of reaping the bad harvest he had sown. “If word gets out that I’ve been dismissed…”
“I have no intention of broadcasting the information,” replied Gideon. “Though I could not, in good conscience, provide you with a reference.”
“Please, sir. Perhaps I have let things slide around here of late.” The man looked a proper picture of repentance. “But if you give me another chance, I’ll lick the estate into shape. So help me, I will.”
Though he knew the importance of decisiveness in maintaining command, Gideon hesitated. Granting second chances had not worked well for him in the past. One might argue that it had contributed to his present predicament. Too often, offenders looked on such a reprieve as a sign of weakness to be further exploited. And yet, there was Dutton’s family to consider. His wife and children had done nothing wrong, but they would suffer for his conduct, perhaps more than he.
“A fortnight.” Gideon fixed the man with his sternest scowl, so Dutton would be in no doubt this was an undeserved opportunity he had better not abuse. “I will give you that long to persuade me you are worth keeping.”
Ignoring the man’s effusive thanks, Gideon turned on his heel and strode away. He hoped this decision would not prove as much a mistake as his last one.
Making certain Cissy and Dolly did not disturb Captain Radcliffe was proving a great deal harder than she had expected. Marian reflected on that difficulty as she put the girls to bed one evening, a week after his arrival at Knightley Park.
Part of the problem was the captain’s unpredictable comings and goings. She could never tell when he might be spending time in the house, out roaming the grounds or riding off around the estate. If she knew, perhaps she could have adjusted the children’s schedule of lessons to take advantage of his absences. As it was, she could not take the chance of encountering him out in the garden or on their way down to the music room.
Since their disastrous run-in, Dolly had taken an unaccountable fancy to the captain and would no doubt pester him for attention if they met again. Cissy clearly resented his presence and might offend him with a rude remark.
Neither of the girls took kindly to being confined to the nursery after enjoying the run of the house during their father’s time. Just that morning, the governess had overheard Cissy muttering about being “kept prisoner.”
Marian found it difficult to discourage such an attitude, since it mirrored her own far too closely. In all her time at Knightley Park, and especially after Mr. Radcliffe’s death, she’d felt at liberty to come and go as she pleased, even free to borrow books from the well stocked library. Wistfully, she recalled the master’s hospitable answer when she’d first asked if she could.
“By all means, Miss Murray! Those books might as well serve some better purpose than giving the maids more things to dust.”
Since Captain Radcliffe’s arrival, she had not even dared return the last volume she’d borrowed for fear of meeting up with him. Considering the captain’s reluctance to have his young cousins around, Marian doubted he would tolerate a servant making use of his library. She knew she must soon put it back, before he noticed its absence and blamed someone else.
Perhaps now would be a good time, with the girls off to bed and the captain occupied with his dinner.
“I won’t be long, Martha,” she informed the nursery maid, who sat by the fire darning one of Dolly’s stockings. “Just a quick errand I have to run.”
And run she did—first to her own room to fetch the book, then down the back stairs. She was in such a hurry that she nearly collided with the butler on the landing.
Poor Mr. Culpepper seemed more agitated than ever. “Miss Murray, have you heard? Mr. Dutton has been threatened with dismissal! I fear I shall be put on notice next.”
