them, bent at the wrists in a gesture to push away an unseen figure. He had been so close. Her palms tingled as though from the imagined friction of superfine cloth against skin.
Hester rubbed her palms together briskly. That cool, polite manner and then that moment of quite shocking intimacy as he had gazed into her eyes! His closeness—the implication of his words—if not his tone—was suggestive of his desire for even greater closeness. Hester shook herself; he had wanted to throw her off balance and he had succeeded, that was all. It was nothing she was not perfectly capable of dealing with. Why, then, did she feel so disturbed, so…apprehensive?
Jethro reappeared, looking pleased with himself, Susan at his heels. ‘That was very good, Jethro. Your first member of the aristocracy and you carried it off well. Oh, thank you, Susan, I think it will brush away easily enough.’
‘I didn’t drop his gloves nor nothing.’ Jethro met her eye and carefully corrected himself. ‘Or anything. Do you think his lordship meant it when he said I could talk to his butler? I mean, that wasn’t something he just said because he was making up to you, was it, Miss Hester?’
‘That is a most unsuitable expression, Jethro. I am sure Lord Buckland will be a man of his word.’ Again that ripple of apprehension lapped at her nerves. He had said that he wanted the Moon House and somehow that had seemed not a request, but a statement of what was going to happen. Surely he would not stoop to attempting to suborn her staff? Oh, if only Prudy would stop snivelling; she could hardly think.
Susan was whispering urgently to Jethro. When they realised she was looking at them they fell silent and regarded her apprehensively. Finally Jethro said, ‘Are you going to sell the house to him, Miss Hester?’
‘Certainly not. This is our home now and I am not going to be turned out of it by some town buck because he has a whim to own it.’ Their relief was palpable: already they were beginning to put down roots here.
Lord Buckland’s departure left a flat feeling of anticlimax behind it, but Hester could not find the energy to change her clothes again and tackle any more housework.
‘We will take the rest of the day as a holiday from housework,’ she announced briskly. ‘The heavy luggage should arrive tomorrow, so let us explore outside and look at the garden and yard. Yes, you too, Prudy, I know it is cold, but at least the rain has stopped. Some fresh air will do us all good.’
Susan ran for their bonnets and cloaks, Jethro swathed himself in a vast baize apron to protect his finery and they set to exploring the back yard.
Hector the cob watched them curiously over his stable door as they poked about in the outbuildings lining the yard, one or other of them emerging from time to time with a treasure from amidst the cobwebby jumble. A coal scuttle, a flower basket, a large bag of clothes pegs full of woodworm.
‘It is too dirty to move anything, and it is getting dark,’ Hester announced after they had investigated the last lean-to. ‘I think we must definitely find a man to do the rough work and clear the garden and perhaps two women to finish the cleaning in the house. If they prove suitable, perhaps we can retain one of them as cook. I do wish the vicar would call, then I can ask his wife if she could recommend anyone.’
Jethro cleared his throat meaningfully and Hester turned to find a portly man in clerical black regarding her benevolently over the folds of a heavy scarf. He doffed his hat. ‘Good day, madam, I trust you will excuse my calling without notice and at rather a late hour, but my parish duties have kept me somewhat occupied today. However, I could not let the sun set without welcoming a new parishioner to Winterbourne St Swithin. My name is Bunting, Charles Bunting, and I am the vicar of this parish.’
Hester spared one despairing thought for the state of her skirts after dragging the coal scuttle out, and held out her hand. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Bunting, how very kind of you to call. I am Hester Lattimer, this is my companion, Miss Prudhome.’
She was aware of his quick downward glance at her ringless left hand as he took her right.
‘Then welcome to St Swithin’s, ladies. I do hope you will be able to join us in church on Sunday; I have taken the liberty of bringing a small pamphlet with our hours of service to which I have appended a few notes on the history and antiquities of the parish. Others have been kind enough to say they found it of interest.’ Hester took the proffered leaflet with suitable expressions of thanks and assurances that her household would most certainly be attending services. ‘And is there any other matter with which I may assist you, ma’am?’
‘Well, yes, in fact there is. But please, do not let me keep you standing out here, Vicar, may I offer you refreshment? A cup of tea, perhaps?’
‘No, no, Miss Lattimer, thank you. I must decline the pleasure today as I have a sick parishioner to visit shortly. In what way may I assist?’
‘I was hoping that perhaps Mrs Bunting might recommend some reliable women for the heavy cleaning work and perhaps a man for clearing the grounds and outbuildings.’
‘But of course! My wife will be most pleased to call with some names; there are many deserving families hereabouts who would welcome the work. And as for the outdoor duties, there is no one better than Ben Aston—he does odd jobs all around the village. I will send him along to see you. Good day to you, ma’am.’ And with a neat doff of his broad-brimmed hat he was off into the twilight at a surprisingly quick pace for such a rotund gentleman.
As he reached the gate he stopped and hurried back. ‘Forgive me for asking, Miss Lattimer, but are you quite comfortable in the Moon House? If you are taking on staff, I assume you intend to stay? I only ask because it has been empty for so long and, well—’ He broke off in confusion. ‘I should not have said anything, the villagers do gossip so. Good day, Miss Lattimer.’
‘Well,’ Susan said roundly as he vanished from view, ‘and what did he mean by that, other than to make us all uncomfortable?’
‘I have not the slightest idea.’ Hester’s brow wrinkled. ‘I think he spoke without thinking, then realised that the direction he was taking led to something he could—or should— not discuss.’
‘But you are staying, Miss Hester?’ Jethro persisted. ‘I mean, you said you weren’t sure yet whether we could afford any staff?’
Hester suppressed a smile at Jethro’s unconscious use of ‘we’: he and Susan were ‘family’ indeed. ‘Certainly we are,’ she said firmly, marching towards the back door. ‘I do not care whether I can afford the extra help or not; I intend demonstrating to my lord the earl that I am here to stay and an increased household will make that point very plain.’
‘No good, Miss Hester, this dratted stuff won’t shift. I’ll need a longer stepladder and some shears.’
Jethro jumped down from the folding steps set somewhat askew on the flags before the front door and glowered up at the mass of ivy, which obscured half of the façade of the house. ‘Why don’t we wait until that chap Vicar said he’d talk to comes round? I ’spect he’s got his own ladders.’
Hester stood beside him, hands on hips, head tilted back to regard the frosted green tangle. ‘Ben Aston? Yes, he can do all of the rest of the front, I just want to see what is over the door. There is something, you can just glimpse the odd bit of carving.’
She
