Obviously, it had been too long if the mere prospect of freedom for a few days could affect him like this.
Recalling the meaningful look Hopkins and Ostley had shared, Richard wondered what had been behind the exchange. Perhaps it was simply that, with gentlemen like Wallace sniffing about their lady’s skirts, the men—devoted to a fault, Richard had no doubt—considered that having a gentleman like him, younger and more able than Hugh Tregarth, on hand about the place wasn’t a bad thing.
Richard reached the side door, opened it, stepped inside, and inwardly admitted that, in that regard, he, too, thought him remaining at Nimway Hall for a few more days was an excellent—nay, inspired—idea.
Chapter 4
When Richard entered the breakfast parlor the following morning, there was no one else there. However, seconds later, Cruickshank whisked in with a large teapot and the information that the platters were on their way. The footmen duly ferried the covered dishes to the table, and Richard settled to assuage his appetite.
He always slept well in the country, and last night had been no exception. Nimway Hall was old and its timbers creaked and even groaned, but he’d grown up in houses nearly as old, and to him, those sounds were the equivalent of a lullaby.
Ostley’s and Hopkins’s predictions of his continuing welcome had proved accurate. On returning to the house after speaking with them, Richard had gone to the family parlor; once again, he’d found Hugh and Elinor there. As before, both had happily extended the household’s welcome for however long he required, and later, when he’d joined the family in the drawing room before dinner, Jacqueline had added her voice to the chorus. Graciously, she’d declared that, in light of the service he’d rendered to the Hall over the stream, he was welcome to remain for as long as he wished.
Over dinner, he and Jacqueline had described to Hugh and Elinor the structure that had diverted the stream’s waters. After considerable discussion, it had been agreed that, as they had only Richard’s memory of a voice on which to base an accusation, better they kept their counsel and did not warn Sir Peregrine that they were aware of his perfidy, but rather, being forewarned, kept a close eye on his activities henceforth. Given that, courtesy of his acquisition of the farm to the north, Wallace was now a neighbor of sorts only strengthened that argument; having a feud with a neighbor was not a situation Jacqueline wished to court.
Richard wasn’t certain he agreed with what he saw as Jacqueline’s leniency toward Wallace, but as a guest in her house, he’d held his tongue and, outwardly at least, deferred to her decision.
Later, Hugh had mentioned to Richard that Wallace had come by the deed to Windmill Farm via a wager and a game of cards that others present had thought strangely one-sided. But again, there was no evidence sufficient to accuse Wallace—just a suspicion that he had cheated. Richard had little doubt that Wallace had; it seemed the man was a cad through and through.
Warmed by the bright morning light streaming through the breakfast parlor windows, Richard was considering ways and means of dealing appropriately with Wallace when Jacqueline walked into the room. She was garbed in her riding habit, which, from Richard’s perspective, boded well.
She smiled at him and went to the chair opposite, which Cruickshank hurried to hold for her.
Once she’d sat and poured herself tea, then helped herself sparingly from the various platters, Richard ventured, “I confess I find myself somewhat at a loose end.”
Her gaze flicked up to his face, then her lips curved, and she said, “I intend to ride down to our farms—they lie to the west below the escarpment—to see how well the stream is recovering. I would like to get some idea of how quickly we might expect the flow to return to normal, especially with respect to the millstream. If it’s going to take some time, we might need to think of carting water down from the lake.”
He nodded and skewered his last slice of ham. “How is the lake? Is it full yet?”
“I checked it this morning. It still has some way to go, but within a day or two, it should reach capacity.”
He frowned, chewed, and swallowed. “Will the spring continue to fill it, so that it overflows?”
She widened her eyes. “It hasn’t in the past, so I presume it reaches some sort of balance.”
He nodded; he’d seen similar systems elsewhere.
She caught his gaze and continued, “Would you like to accompany me on my ride? And later, perhaps we can take a look at the lake.” She frowned abstractedly. “I was wondering if it might be possible to construct a tunnel, similar to the diversion tunnels, and use that as a channel to lead water to the stream, to supplement the flow if and when required.”
He grinned. “Taking something positive from Wallace’s attack?”
Her lips firmed. Her eyes refocused on his, and she nodded. “Just so.”
He set down his cutlery and inclined his head. “I’m entirely at your disposal, Miss Tregarth. Whenever you’re ready, lead on.”
After making a quick breakfast, she did. They stopped in the kitchen to pack a light luncheon into their saddlebags, then, side by side, walked to the stable. She’d sent word requesting that the horses they’d ridden the previous day be saddled. When they reached the stable yard, Hopkins had both horses waiting. After securing the saddlebags, they mounted and rode out.
On the back of the chestnut gelding, almost as powerful as Malcolm the Great, Richard felt his heart lift as he followed Jacqueline and her mare at a quick jog-trot down a bridle path that led west from the stable. Minutes later, the trees ended and Jacqueline drew rein on a clear area of rocky ground at the edge of the escarpment. The trail led on, snaking downward over what was, at that point, a gentle enough descent. But Jacqueline’s gaze had gone outward, scanning a view that was simply breathtaking.
How far they could see, Richard couldn’t even guess, but between them and the hazy horizon to the west stretched a patchwork of fields in myriad shades of green, some tinged with the golden hue of ripening grain. Low hills lay to the south and the north, natural boundaries to the vast plain of the low-lying Somerset Levels. In the far distant past, history said the area had been mostly underwater and riddled with springs and bogs. Like the fens not far from his boyhood home, over the centuries, the land had been drained, but in wet seasons, areas could still become waterlogged.
Jacqueline pointed to the northwest. “That’s the Tor. And if your eyesight is acute enough, you should be able to glimpse the ruins of the old abbey.”
Richard recognized the unmistakable outline of Glastonbury Tor. Nearby, the crumbling arch of the abbey glowed as the sun, now well risen, danced over the ancient stones. “Yes—I see it.”
After a moment, he glanced at Jacqueline and found her watching him, patently waiting to gauge his reaction. He smiled. “This is a stunning vista.” He directed his gaze toward the nearer fields, intending to ask which were attached to the Hall, but trees growing up just below the lookout obscured the closer view.
“Come on.” She shook her reins and sent the mare over the lip of the escarpment and on down the descending trail.
Lighthearted and eager, he followed.
The trail tacked back and forth as it wended its way down the escarpment. Several times, the path drew near the rocky stream, now gurgling and gushing—a cheery sound as the waters splashed over rocks in a rush to reach the lower ground.
At the base of the slope, the trail skirted a spot where the reinvigorated stream flowed into a small pool before burbling on. While the stream was clearly running freely, the pool was only half full.
Slowing her mare to an amble, Jacqueline studied the pool and the stream leading from it. “It’s already much better than it was, but it looks as if it’ll take several days to build up to its usual state.”
She tapped her heels to the mare’s sides and led the way on, and Richard followed.
The trail became a well-beaten path that, not long after, joined a cart track that led between fields, green and lush and burgeonin
g with grain. To any countryman, the view was an exceedingly pleasant one, and for Richard’s money, it was made even better by the vision of Jacqueline Tregarth, neatly garbed in green velvet with a jaunty cap perched atop her golden curls, seen against the landscape of wide fields and arching skies. After several moments of covertly drinking in the sight, he turned his head and scanned the fields about them. “Are these the Hall’s farms?”
“Yes.” Jacqueline threw him a glance. “My ultimate goal for this visit is the mill, but I usually call in at the farms on the way.”
He waved her on. “By all means.”
Her gaze lingered on his face, then she faced forward and nudged the mare into a canter. After a moment, she called, “Are you interested in farming?”
He drew in the gelding alongside the mare. “My father’s lands lie in Essex, so although this isn’t exactly the same sort of country, the fields are low-lying and fertile…there are similarities.” He paused, then added with a smile, “I’m sure there will be enough of interest to keep me amused throughout our ride.”
Jacqueline tipped her head in acknowledgment and rode on. So his family hailed from Essex and actively farmed; she tucked the tidbit of information away.
Minutes later, she slowed and turned down the path to the first farm. After halting her mare in the yard before the farmhouse, she slipped her boots free of her side-saddle’s stirrups and slid to the ground—before Richard could dismount and lift her down. She caught the faint frown on his face, but ignored it—she was no helpless ton lady—and walked forward to greet the woman who had come to the farmhouse door.
Jacqueline wasn’t surprised to learn that the farmer and his sons were out in the fields, but the farmwife was delighted to welcome them. On its route to the mill, the stream ran through the farm at the rear of the farmhouse; the farmwife took them to view it, pointing out that the level of the stream was steadily rising. “Way it’s going, it’ll be back to normal in a day or two, we think.”
Jacqueline agreed. After parting from the farmwife, she walked directly to the mounting block in the yard and used it to clamber into her saddle. Again, she felt Richard’s gaze on her, but when she didn’t glance his way, he snorted softly and went to catch the gelding’s reins.
Once they were mounted and settled, she led the way back to the cart track and continued cantering west. The mill sat to the south of the track, some way farther on. The millstream was a branch off the main stream; it steadily narrowed, increasing the pressure of the water pouring through, until the tumult reached the mill race and forced the heavy water wheel around. Immediately beyond the mill lay the millpond, a deep pool with an outlet through which the waters rejoined the main stream.
The track they were following would lead them on a circuit past farms and mill; she’d never been one to miss an opportunity to let her people tell her if anything was awry.
She and Richard were still some way from the track to the next farm when a high-pitched wailing had them reining in. The big gelding danced, and the mare tossed her head as Richard and she circled, looking and listening, trying to pinpoint the direction of the forlorn sound. Then it came again, drawing their gazes to the right of the track.
Lips setting, she urged the mare on. “There’s a path to a cottage just ahead.”
She found the path between two fields and rode quickly down. The wailing came again, growing louder and more insistent the closer they got to the worker’s cottage set between the fields.
A large old oak tree grew before and to one side of the small whitewashed cottage. As Jacqueline slowed the mare and trotted into the yard, she saw an aproned woman crouched beside a young girl of about six or seven years, trying to console the wailing child.
The harassed-looking mother glanced up as Richard followed Jacqueline into the yard; the woman’s eyes went wide, and she shot to her feet. “Now see who you’ve brought with your wailing, Ginny.” As Jacqueline slid to the ground, the woman smoothed down her skirts and bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Tregarth. I’m so sorry, miss, but it’s nothing, really.”
Jacqueline smiled reassuringly, but her gaze followed Richard as, after fluidly dismounting, he followed the little girl’s fixed gaze into and up the oak tree, then he walked to stand beneath the wide branches and stared upward. The girl, freed from her mother’s enveloping arms, darted after him; she skidded to a halt by his side and gazed upward, too.
Richard glanced down at the girl’s dark head. “Your kitten?”
The girl turned her head and looked up at him—all the way up to meet his eyes. Hers were huge and swimming in tears. “Timmy,” she whispered. Her lower lip trembled. “He’s gone up, and he can’t get down.”
Richard was fairly certain the kitten—a small, furry, orange-and-white lump sitting wedged into a fork high on the trunk—would eventually find its way down. But that might not happen until nighttime or even the next day, and until the child held the kitten in her arms again, she would fret; that much was clear.
The mother and Jacqueline joined them. The woman put her hands on the child’s shoulders. “Ginny—I told you. Timmy will come down when he gets hungry.”
The little girl’s eyes remained trained on Richard’s face. “But what if he doesn’t come down soon? What if the owls in the wood get him?”
Unanswerable questions, and from the mother’s silence, also valid ones. Richard looked up at the bundle of fur and spotted two small greeny eyes staring down at him. The kitten was quivering, plainly wanting to come down. As he watched, it tentatively put out a paw, but even as it tried to shift its weight, its back legs slid, and it immediately scrambled back to huddle once more against the trunk.
Richard looked at the tree’s lower branches; even the lowest was above his head, but the large branch to his left looked to be within reach. He glanced at the girl, then at Jacqueline and the woman. “Stand back.”
The woman drew the little girl with her as she and Jacqueline stepped away.
Richard fixed his gaze on the branch, then leapt, locked his hands over the smooth wood and swung, then he managed to pull himself up until he was sitting astride. It had, he reflected, been quite some years since he’d last climbed a tree. After a second to reassure himself of his balance, he pushed to his feet, into a crouch. He shuffled closer to the thick trunk, then bracing his hands on it, he carefully rose to his full height.
The kitten was still several yards out of reach. He grimaced and set himself to climb.
The beast tracked his approach with wide eyes.
When he paused to settle his weight on a branch, still lower than the animal’s refuge and farther around the trunk, the kitten blinked at him, then mewed pitifully.
“Hopefully, now, you know better.” Moving slowly so as not to frighten the tiny creature, he reached up.
At the last moment, the kitten panicked, but Richard pounced and gripped its head, then gently shifting his gloved fingertips around, he grasped the kitten by the scruff and eased it out of the cleft into which it had wedged itself.
Slowly, he lowered the dangling beast toward his chest, grateful for his gloves as the animal wildly batted and scrabbled with its paws, claws extended.
But when he gathered the furry lump against his coat, the kitten quieted.
A second later, it started to purr.
He snorted softly. He had to let go of the trunk and lean one shoulder against the bole to free his other hand so he could open his coat pocket and deposit the purring lump of fur inside.
That done, with the weight of the lowered flap of the pocket just sufficient to keep the kitten inside, he started making his way back to the ground.
Minutes later, he sat on the lowest branch, then dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch.
Before he’d even straightened, the girl had pulled free of her mother’s hold. She came racing up, her eyes alight. “Timmy!”
Richard grinned. Rather than extract the animal himself, he opened his pocket and bent his knee and, with a nod, encour
aged the girl to reach inside and retrieve her kitten.
Her face a wonder of relief and resurging happiness, she lifted out the ball of fur, cradled between her small hands. “Timmy—you bad cat!” Then she hugged the kitten to her cheek and looked up at Richard as he straightened and resettled his coat. “Thank you, mister.”
Richard let his grin widen into a smile. “That’s quite all right. I think you’d better have a few firm words with Timmy about the dangers of getting too far from your side, at least until he’s bigger.”
“Yes.” The girl held the cat out so she could look into its eyes. “I will have to do that.”
The girl carried off her pet, already talking to it in serious tones.
Unable to keep a highly amused and appreciative smile from her face, Jacqueline approached with the girl’s mother.
The woman bobbed a curtsy to Richard. “Thank you, sir. That was kind of you.”
Richard’s smile remained. “It seemed the easiest way to stop her wailing.”
The woman, transparently relieved, offered them both a smile and a mug of her scrumpy. With a look at Jacqueline, Richard accepted; pleased he had, she accepted the offer, too.
The scrumpy, made from last year’s apples from the cottage’s small orchard, was sweet and delicious and distinctly heady. Beside Richard, Jacqueline sat on a bench by the cottage’s door and slowly drank. She asked the woman what her husband thought of his upcoming crop; all those who worked on the Hall’s farms were used to her inquiries, and the woman answered without hesitation. It seemed that now the issue of an adequate water supply had been resolved, all were looking forward to a bumper crop.
The girl, Ginny, returned with her kitten. Ginny crouched on the grass beyond the end of the bench, and Timmy, in the way of young felines having already forgotten his ordeal, darted in and out, tempting Ginny to play with him. Richard, sitting on that end of the bench, laughed, then when Timmy—hearing the sound—promptly rolled over, exposing his stomach and waving his paws in the air, Richard reached down and obliged both kitten and girl by scratching the kitten’s belly.