“Mr. Stewart, I simply could not stay away.” Robert gestured at Michael. “This is my brother, Lord Michael Ashton. He is here to help with the stables. Lord Michael, Mr. Peter Stewart, who worked this estate for more than twenty years before Broxley tried to destroy it.”
Another bow, this one in Michael’s direction. “And my father before me. Lord Michael.” Peter Stewart, shorter than the brothers by several inches, had a wiry build, probably gained from walking frequent and lengthy rounds of the surrounding countryside. “The house was maintained the longest, for the comfort of the owners. But, as you can see, the neglect to the stables has been substantial.”
Michael lowered the handkerchief from his face. “There certainly seems to be plenty to do.”
Stewart’s mouth twisted. “I should not speak—”
Robert waved a hand. “Speak freely, Mr. Stewart. You will be under no judgment from us. We both despised Broxley, peer or not. What he and his kin did here is reprehensible. And my brother is quite free with his opinion, even when it is unwarranted or unrequested, a habit not even our mother has been able to dissuade him from. Too many altercations in London’s finest pubs, I am afraid.”
Michael glanced at Robert but addressed Stewart. “I do not have my brother’s gift for blather, I will admit. But he is right that we must be straightforward with each other if we plan to return the stables here to their original glory. What do you believe is our first step?”
Stewart looked from Michael to Robert, flinching a bit as his gaze rested on Robert’s injuries. He cleared his throat. “Lord Robert and I have discussed hiring the staff first. As you can tell, quite a bit of cleanup is needed before any stock is brought in.”
“And did you have anyone in mind?”
Stewart glanced at Robert again, who nodded his encouragement. “I have, my lord. The head groom, who worked here for many years, has a new position at another estate nearby, but he is not entirely happy there. I believe he would return. There are several boys, good boys, in the local village who would be ripe for apprenticeships as groomsmen.”
Michael paused to survey the stables again. Located more than fifty yards from the main house, with an overgrown garden between them, the stables were laid out in a long rectangle, with the main two-story stone building at one end. Along each side and the far end, one-story wooden buildings, although with matching gabled roofs, looked to be additional stalls and storage. The open area in the middle held pens for livestock along one of the buildings, with the remaining open area meant for staging and training. According to Robert, beyond the far building were several otherménagesfor training and exercise, along with an extensive park and trails. The open countryside beyond had once been the scene of massive hunts.
He glanced again at the four blacks. “Mr. Stewart, since my brother has been here before, am I safe in assuming there are stalls and rooms for our team and coachmen ready?”
“Yes, my lord, for the team.” He nodded toward the main building. “The rooms for the staff are on the second floor... but need a bit of work.”
“The coachmen have been staying in the house,” Robert muttered. When Michael’s eyebrows arched, he explained. “With the other servants. I still need to hire several footmen. They stay in those rooms.”
“I suppose flexibility is key in a situation like this.”
A brief smile crossed Stewart’s face. “Indeed, my lord. And you will get used to the smell.”
Michael grinned. “I will take your word on that. But let us get those boys in here as soon as possible. And I’d like to get your groom here quickly.”
“I will send him a message right away.”
The groom arrived late that afternoon, along with four boys from the village. After brief conversations with Michael and Mr. Stewart, they were put to work immediately. The next three days became a clamor of activity as shovels clanged against stone. A wagon and team borrowed from one of the tenants began hauling massive amounts of manure and other waste away from the stables, and two of the boys began raking the dirt in the stable yard and clearing out the pens. Robert retreated to the mansion to finish establishing his office and hold meetings with an architect.
Word spread quickly that the Broxley estate’s new owners were hiring more staff, and three footmen and two more grooms appeared the next day looking for work. Michael immediately put the grooms under the charge of the now head groom of the estate, a burly, rough-voiced man named Whitby Little, who had a firm but gentle demeanor with both the boys and the horses.
And, much to Booth’s dismay, on day two Michael cast off his coat and cravat, rolled up his sleeves, and grabbed a shovel. He loaned handkerchiefs to all the men and boys as they shoveled, raked, and hauled. He doused his own in cologne, as he never did get used to the smell. But by the dawn of the fourth day, as the borrowed wagon returned with loads of fresh hay, the area began to take on the more familiar smell of a well-tended stable. Robert put two of the workers from the house onto the stable roof, two more to painting the peeling sides of the wooden buildings, and the signs of neglect eased. Although several more weeks of work lay ahead of them, Michael knew they had hired a competent group who could handle the changes, and he began marking the days with a bit more hope, his eyes firmly on that two-month deadline Wykeham had set as he made detailed plans.
But as Michael and Little began an inventory of the remaining items in the stables, they discovered that most of the tack had been sold, and any blankets, grain, or barrels still on site had rotted. Disgusted, Michael kicked over a barrel that had been shoved to the back of a storage room. It cracked wide, releasing a flood of blackish water that reeked of the dead rats floating in the deluge. He and Little backed away from it, and Michael reached for his handkerchief again.
“The surprises never end do they, Little?”
“Apparently not, my lord.” The man’s face was stoic, but dismay clouded his eyes.
Michael turned to face him. “Little?”
“Yes, sir?” He looked up at Michael.
“Tell me again how long you worked here.”
“Twenty-two years, my lord, before I left last winter. Like Peter—Mr. Stewart—my father was here, brought me on when I was just a lad.”
“So you remember its heyday.”
Little’s eyes brightened. “Oh, yes, sir. A dozen or more thoroughly bred horses for the hunts and races, matched teams for the carriages, ponies for the children. The earl—the old earl—had house parties that went on for weeks. Nobles showed up with their horses, and we got to care for some of the finest in the country. Beautiful animals from the best lines.” The man’s enthusiasm shone in his face and voice.
“You understand my brother’s vision for the estate?”
