for which he was responsible,’ Ned burst out, finally losing his grip on his temper after all the indignities he’d witnessed that day.
To Ned’s surprise, Myles’s impassive face creased into a slight smile. ‘Indeed, sir. Overall Mr Anders weren’t a bad sort. Gave himself airs, always reminding everyone he was Lord Englemere’s cousin and puffing off about his service with Wellington. Though if he did as little in the army as he did here, ‘tis a wonder he wasn’t cashiered out! About the only time he exerted himself was when he ordered some doxy sent out from town. Otherwise, he left everything to Barksdale.’
Myles’s smile evaporated. ‘That one wasn’t lazy a bit. Kept a hand in the business of everyone and everything. Had a mean streak in him, too.’
Ned struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. Myles had just opened up like fertile ground under a sharp plough, offering more words in that one speech than Ned had got out of him in the nearly two days he’d been at Blenhem.
Had Myles been subjecting him to some sort of scrutiny which he had successfully passed?
Hoping that was the case and the butler’s candour meant the beginning of a useful working partnership, Ned said, ‘Thank you for the information, Myles. I shall very much appreciate hearing anything you, the staff, or the tenants can tell me about what has been happening here. I mean to make things right, I promise.’
Myles studied him silently for a moment. ‘I believe you do, Mr Greaves. Let me say then how glad I am that Lord Englemere sent you.’
After refilling the flask, Myles withdrew and Ned went back to his work.
By midnight, his rage had revived. The best he could make out, the harvests on every farm had steadily decreased. Yet rents had been raised, sometimes sharply, at every renewal since Anders took over control of the property. The shoddy state of the accounting in the Blenhem books made it impossible to determine exactly what expenses and income had been. The account sent to Nicky in London must have been a pure fabrication.
In sum, the estate books at Blenhem were completely useless. He would have to begin with the last figures Martin had compiled, then ride the property and consult with each tenant about every detail relating to the farms’ operations before he could make any useful estimates of income and expenses for the current year.
As for the mill, there were no figures whatsoever in any of the ledgers detailing what had happened to the funds Nicky had dispatched for the construction and equipping of that enterprise.
If he could have got his hands on Greville Anders and his henchman at that moment, Ned would have chained them to a plough and sent them out into the darkness to break ground on every bramble-infested field at Blenhem.
Slowly his anger fizzled into fatigue as he downed the last of the spirits. He was snuffing the candles in preparation to retire when he heard raised voices emanating from the front hall, followed by the sounds of scuffling.
He’d risen from his chair to investigate when, after a knock at the door, Myles stepped in, his countenance rigid with disapproval.
‘There is a Young Person to see you, sir. I tried to turn her away, the hour being late and her coming unannounced, but she insists she must speak to you.’
To Ned’s astonishment, the slim, slight figure of a girl pushed past Myles and tumbled into the room.
Chapter Three
The evening was already far advanced when Joanna Merrill climbed stiffly down from the farmer’s cart in which she’d hired a ride after missing the stage-coach run to Hazelwick, the village closest to Blenhem Hill. She’d hoped to arrive there early enough to be able to send word to her brother to come and fetch her before dark, but once again, circumstances had conspired against her.
It had been a disaster of a fortnight. When she had left the Masters estate at Selbourne Abbey, she’d expected to spend no more than a few days on the road, a week at most. Her small stock of coins would stretch for coach fare and perhaps a few modest dinners, as long as she caught every stage on time and spent most of the day travelling.
Instead, during each segment of the journey some accident or disaster had brought her progress to a halt. From a horse pulling up lame on the first stage, to a broken axle on the next, to the wild driving of a drunken Corinthian who’d forced the mail coach off the road into a ditch, she’d ended up each time too late to make her connections and had been forced to spend extra nights on the road.
After splurging on accommodations the first few nights, bespeaking a chamber had become impossible, but even for a dry place under the stable roof she’d been forced to part with a few more precious pence. Her stomach rumbling at the savoury smell of stew emanating from the Hart and Hare, Hazelwick’s inn, while she doled out her last coin to the farmer who’d given her space in the back of his wagon, she tried not to recall how long it had been since she’d eaten.
Though he’d agreed with reluctance to convey her to Hazelwick, that taciturn gentleman had flatly refused to bring her to her final destination. She hoped to wheedle someone at the inn into performing that task, on promise of payment when she arrived at Blenhem Hill.
The prospects of convincing someone to do so had been fair when the trip could be completed in daylight. Now that darkness had fallen, her chances were fast diminishing.
Somehow, she must make it happen. With her purse emptied of its last coin, she could afford neither dinner nor accommodations for the night.
‘Need lodgings, miss?’ The innkeeper of the Hart and Hare walked over to greet her as she entered the taproom. ‘The missus has a right fine stew on …’ As his practised gaze took in her dusty, travel-stained apparel, single bandbox and solitary state, he stopped short and his welcoming smile faded.
No respectable gentlewoman travelled with so little luggage, unaccompanied by a maid or companion to lend her countenance. She felt her cheeks flush with chagrin at what he must be thinking of her character even as he said, ‘The Hart and Hare be an honest house. I don’t let rooms to the likes of—’
‘I don’t require a room,’ she interrupted. ‘I need transport to Blenhem Hill. I have business with the manager there.’
‘I wager you do, missy,’ the innkeeper replied, his tone scornful. ‘Well, I expect if ye’ve coin to pay, Will in the stables might be able to take you, even with night fallen, for I’d as lief not have you standing about the place.’
Though she felt her flush deepen, she tried to infuse her voice with authority. ‘I do not intend to pay in advance. Your man will reimbursed after I am safely conveyed to Blenhem Hill.’
The innkeeper shook his head impatiently. ‘I’m not sending out the boy and my gig without I get payment first. ‘Tis the way we’ve always done it, bad enough business that it is, and I ain’t about to change the arrangement now.’
Joanna worked hard to keep desperation from leaking into her voice. ‘You will be well paid, I assure you. Twice the usual rate.’
She had no idea what the innkeeper normally charged to transport items to Blenhem Hill and could only hope her brother wouldn’t be furious with her for cavalierly doubling the price. But with her strength, her funds and her spirits exhausted, she absolutely must get to Blenhem Hill tonight.
‘Double the rate! Must think pretty highly of yer charms,’
