you can spare it.’
She was pouring tea into the two fine porcelain cups as he spoke and he saw her hand shake a little.
‘You may have what is left in the pot.’ Still she would not look at him. ‘Mrs Truscott shall pour more water on the leaves for you, but if you will excuse me I must take these upstairs. Papa will be waiting.’
And with that she whisked herself out of the kitchen. The housekeeper let out a whistling breath.
‘Well now, I’ve never known the mistress so curt before. I’ll make fresh tea for you, master, don’t you fret.’
‘No, no, you heard Miss Duncombe. The remains of this pot will do well enough for me. And do you sit down and join me.’
‘Nay, Master Wolf, that wouldn’t be fitting, me being a servant and all.’
He pushed his plate away. ‘I have sat at table with much worse company than honest servants, Mrs Truscott, believe me. And I pray you will stop treating me like some great gentleman.’
‘But you are master of Arrandale, sir. How else am I to treat you?’
‘Like the scrubby schoolboy that used to creep into the parson’s garden and steal the best plums from the tree! Lord, how you used to scold me in those days. What a rogue I was.’
‘Aye, a rogue, sir, but never a villain,’ replied the old woman, her eyes unnaturally bright. ‘That I will never believe.’
But could he ever prove it? thought Wolf. He saw the housekeeper surreptitiously wiping her eyes and he continued cheerfully, ‘Now let us have that tea while it is still drinkable.’
‘It will serve several times yet,’ she told him, fetching more cups. ‘I shall use the leaves again for Truscott and me, and then dry them and give them to the poor.’
‘Times are hard here?’
‘Times are hard everywhere, Master Wolf, what with the war and everything, but there’s no doubt that since your parents died, life has become much more difficult in Arrandale. The steward was carried off in the same epidemic and that made matters even worse, for there was no one to run the estate. These London lawyers don’t understand, you see. They expect their rents every Quarter Day and make no allowances for bad harvests, or sickness. What charity there is in the village comes from Mr Duncombe and his daughter.’ She hesitated. ‘There is some hereabouts that blames you for the troubles, Master Wolfgang.’
‘And with good cause. If I had not been so wild no one would have believed me capable of murdering my wife, I would not have fled the country and my parents would not have died.’
‘You don’t know that, sir.’
‘No, but it is what many believe, is it not?’
‘Aye, sir, it is. Which is why you must take care. There’s some in the village as would give up their own mothers for a shilling.’
‘I am aware of that, but I must talk to Brent, our old butler. Where will I find him?’
‘He lives with his niece and her husband in the house beneath the elm trees, at the far end of the village. His sight is very poor now and he rarely goes out.’
‘I need to see him alone, if possible.’
‘Then this morning would be a good time, the others will be off to market.’
‘Then I will go now.’
He rose and began to pack up the dishes, but Mrs Truscott stopped him.
‘You be on your way, Master Wolf, but be careful. There’s plenty hereabouts with long memories, and though you ain’t dressed like your old self there’s no disguising that tall frame of yours.’
‘I have been disguising this frame of mine for years, Mrs T., but don’t worry, I’ll take the lanes and skirt the village.’
‘Shall I tell Mr Duncombe you will join him for dinner?’ she asked. ‘He’d like that, I’m sure.’
Wolf paused at the door. ‘I would, too,’ he admitted. ‘But what of his daughter?’
The housekeeper gave him an enigmatic look.
‘Miss Grace will come round when she knows you better, sir, you’ll see. You could always charm the birds from the trees and that’s a fact!’
Grace was in the morning room with her father when Truscott informed him that Mr Peregrine had gone out, but would join him for dinner. Mr Duncombe received the news with equanimity, but not so Grace.
‘Mr Peregrine is very sure of his welcome,’ she remarked, when they were alone again.
‘And why not?’ replied her father mildly. ‘We have offered him hospitality, as we would any of God’s creatures.’
‘But we know nothing about the man.’
‘He has a good heart.’
Grace shook her head. ‘You are too kind, Papa, too trusting. I have put him over the stables.’
‘Yes, so I understand.’ Her father chuckled. ‘I am sure he has slept in worse places.’
‘But you will have him sit down to dinner with us.’
‘Yes, dear, and I would remind you of what the Bible says: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.” Hebrews, my love, Chapter Thirteen.’
She smiled. ‘Somehow I do not think Mr Peregrine is an angel in disguise, Papa.’
‘Perhaps not, but I can assure you he is a gentleman and, I think, a man worthy of our help.’
More than that he would not say and soon retired to his study to work on his sermon. Grace tried not to think that he was running away from her, but she was left with the uneasy suspicion that Papa knew more about this stranger than he would tell her. She glanced out of the window. It was a fine day, if she hurried through her household duties there might be time for a ride before dinner.
* * *
Wolf found the little house under the elms without much difficulty. He had taken the back lanes around the village, his hat pulled low on his brow, and he adopted a slouching, shambling gait so that anyone seeing him would not think him a gentleman, let alone Arrandale of Arrandale. The house appeared to be deserted, but Wolf kept his distance for a while, watching and waiting. It was no hardship, for the sun was high and it was a warm spring day. At length the door opened and an old man limped out. Wolf recognised him immediately. The butler looked no older than he had done when Wolf had last seen him ten years ago. The old man sat down on a bench against the wall of the house and turned his face up to the sun. Wolf approached him.
‘Good day to you, Brent.’
‘Who is that?’ The butler peered up short-sightedly.
‘Do
