When they came to the walls of the estate it was as well the iron gates stood open because the gatekeeper’s cottage was deserted. From a slight sag, she suspected the gates couldn’t be moved without a mighty struggle.
“That isn’t a recent problem,” he said as if she’d remarked on it. “My father felt it was unseemly to have closed gates, as if the local people weren’t welcome.”
“I like that.”
“He was a very likable man. Very generous and trusting.”
And thus used by Maurice. Thank heavens Van didn’t hold that against her.
Weeds tufted the long drive, evidence not just of neglect but that little traffic had passed this way. The drive took them straight up to the square house with the two curving Palladian wings on either side.
The windows were dirty, and a sad air of neglect hung over the place, but there was no sign of serious decay. He directed her down the side of the house to a separate stableyard at the back. A middle-aged man came out lethargically to take the horse.
Van greeted the man as Lumley, but there seemed little fondness there. Probably the few staff remaining in the house were short on wages and tired of neglect.
Van assisted her down. “Let’s do the guided tour, but even at its best, Steynings wasn’t a jewel. I suppose some architects must be better than others.”
As they toured the house, she saw what he meant. In places the proportions were not quite right, and some doors were inconveniently placed. All the same, it was a pleasant home, and ghosts of happier times lingered in pictures on the walls and arrangements of cloth-shrouded furniture.
She looked at one excellent portrait of his Dutch ancestor. “You never thought of selling this?”
“All or nothing.”
Victory or death, even in financial matters. Infuriating in one way, but she couldn’t help admiring it.
They ended up in a small drawing room, where the cloths had been removed and tea set out. She sat to pour. “I don’t see that much needs to be done here other than cleaning.”
He roamed the room restlessly. “There’s some leakage from the roof. Brickwork needing pointing. Possibly dry rot in one section of the basement. Not obvious things, but if neglected the place will crumble about somebody’s ears one day.”
She passed him a cup. “The nine thousand will cover it?”
“Oh yes. And the servants etcetera.”
It seemed invasive to quiz him on his affairs, but he needed to focus on them. “And the estate? Is it profitable?”
A look suggested that he thought it was invasive, too, but he answered. “Slightly. Times are hard now the war’s over, but we’ll make do once some money’s been plowed in. Drainage, fencing, marling. All the things tenants put off. I should have been here helping, shouldn’t I? I should have sold the damn pictures and plowed in the money.”
She sipped, deliberately calm. “Why didn’t you?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “Now, I’m not sure.” He looked around the room as if it represented the whole house. “I couldn’t bear to peck away here like a crow pecking out the eyes of the dead—”
He stopped, and she could find no words to invade that silence.
He suddenly put down his cup and saucer and said, “Come upstairs. There’s something I want to show you.”
They’d toured all the main rooms, but she rose and went with him up the wide stairs and along a short corridor. Heopened a door and invited her in. She entered and looked around curiously at what was probably the master bedchamber, shrouded in white cloths.
Then she saw his expression. “No, Van.”
It was instinctive and she didn’t entirely mean it, but she knew she must.
He came close to rest warm fingers on either side of her face. “Why not?”
Her wretched body was already shimmering with excitement but she knew she had to do what was best for him. He was running away into something simple. “The servants...”
“Aren’t likely to come up here unless ordered to.” He unfastened her bonnet ribbons and tossed it aside, then her cap, then began on her hairpins.
She whipped herself out of his hands and retreated clutching her wanton hair. “No!”
