Chapter Seven
During a pleasantbreakfast with the Reverend Mastin, Harry had learned, amongst other interesting local facts, the reputed origin of the church’s unusual tower decoration. The rector, evincing great pleasure, informed him that the large brass ball on the top was said to be a small part of the loot brought to England by Sir Gyles Allington in the sixteenth century. With a proud smile, the reverend recounted how some bright soul, possibly a past rector or even one of Harry’s ancestors, had installed the ball in pride of place on top of the church tower, where it had rested, in all its uniqueness, ever since.
With breakfast over, and having avoided disclosing too much of his personal history to his inquisitive new friend, Harry parted from the rector on good terms, having promised to attend church on Sunday. A prospect he didn’t find particularly enthralling, but one he felt was probably his duty as the new lord of the manor.
It was in the lane outside the rectory that he had encountered the strange child.
She was standing in the dusty road, staring at him, as though transfixed, out of the most startlingly blue eyes he’d ever seen. An elfin child, with her pointed chin, high cheekbones and slight build. For a moment the suspicion that she might be a changeling struck him, only to be dismissed. This wasn’t the Dark Ages and he wasn’t a believer in magic of any kind.
By stark contrast, the heavy-jowled dog sitting at her feet was oneof the ugliest he’d ever laid eyes on, its coat being of a dirty white, festooned with old scars, and its only hint of color being a black eyepatch. It regarded Harry out of small yellow eyes that were slightly bloodshot, and curled its lips back to reveal a couple of broken teeth. Not a dog he’d have liked to encounter on a dark night in a back alley.
He surveyed the dog’s apparent owner, who was glaring at him as though he were the focus of her intense dislike, with a scrutiny that matched her own of him.
On this closer inspection, he realized with a jolt that she had to be one and the same with the smallest of the girls he’d seen spying on his new house from his bedroom window. And of course, they’d had a dog with them that must have been this rather fearsome looking creature.
There was something about her that was quite fascinating. Honey blonde hair hung in a tumble of curls down her back, and she possessed the most challenging gaze he’d ever encountered. But why did she seem to be so angry?
“Good morning,” she said, as though being polite was more than difficult. Those blue eyes fixed with what he could only have described as open aggression on his own.
Despite this rather inauspicious start, he noted that she was very well-spoken for a farm child and that her dusty boots were new. Could his new friend the rector be her father? But if he was, surely she’d have been brought up to be more polite than this? He glanced back over his shoulder, but the rectory door was now closed.
He made her a small bow. “And good morning to you.” He’d had very few dealings with children, still less small girls. Probably best if he talked to her as if she were an adult. Not that he had much experience with adult ladies either, as neither the pauper hospital in London nor the army had proved to be ideal meeting places.
She smiled, but it was the smile of a predator, showing the neat white teeth of a young feline. After a pause, she spoke. “Am I right inassuming you are my Cousin Henry?” She managed to make it sound as though this was not something good.
A very adult turn of phrase. Was she older than she looked? Along with not being used to dealing with children, Harry also had no aptitude for guessing their ages.
However…Cousin Henry? Was this child some sort of relation of his that he didn’t know about? He eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she might be a little deranged and he should humor her. “I might be. But who are you?”
It was possible she might be a grandchild of the Lady Madeley who’d vacated the manor so promptly. He rather wished he’d enquired further from Mr. Pratt about his predecessor’s family. Shock at the revelation of his inheritance had knocked all thought of asking sensible questions out of his head.
She pursed her lips for a moment, as though considering what to reply, but the frown didn’t waver. “Why, in that case, I suppose I should tell you that I’m your Cousin Margaret.” Her unwillingness to reveal this was evident.
Harry nodded. “I had no idea I possessed a cousin as young as you.”
Her fists clenched by her sides, the knuckles whitening. “Please do not refer to me as young. I can assure you I am of an age to have access to a firearm. And what’s more, I am well acquainted with how to use one.”
Surely not? A girl, quite a little girl at that, virtually threatening him with a gun? Without a gun, in fact. To be exact, with a theoretical gun. Harry began to see the amusing side of this exchange. That this child did not like him was abundantly obvious. Perhaps he could win her over. As she appeared to be his cousin, that might prove a good idea. Not a good thing to have deranged, gun-toting members of his distant family wandering around hating him. Even if they were only nine or ten.
“Well, Cousin Margaret, perhaps you already know that I am a soldier, returning from the war, so firearms are most familiar to me. I was thought to be a crack shot. If you require any extra instruction, I am your man.”
The frown lessened a little and her fists relaxed before she remembered herself. Her dainty nose wrinkled in scorn. “That hollow claim will get you nowhere in our house. We are all crack shots.” This rather came out as a threat. How many of them were there and were they all as inclined to violence as this child?
Harry shifted his feet for his leg was sore from standing still, and her eyes flicked down to his cane.
He followed her gaze. “I should inform you that it is considered quite unsportsmanlike to attempt to shoot a wounded man. For I am indeed a wounded soldier. Or rather, I was nearly four months since. I have been recovering at my sister’s house in Suffolk. She would also be your cousin, I imagine.”
Her eyes widened, reducing her aggressive appearance a little. “We have other cousins?”
He nodded. “You do indeed. I have four older sisters, and three of them have children of their own. I have thirteen nephews and nieces. Rather too many for me to even attempt to remember their names and ages. You have many cousins.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, if you were to die, would one of them inherit your possessions?”
Good heavens. They were back to threats again. He nodded. “Without a doubt. My oldest nephew, I presume, who is my sister Prudence’s boy and is up at Oxford, would get it all. Unless I make a will distributing my newfound wealth amongst them all, that is.” He began to see where these questions and the threat of her so far absent firearm were going. “Although, I could not pass my new title on to my nephew, I fear, as it cannot be inherited through a woman. But all the property and money could go to him. I have no brothers who wouldinherit my new title, so I fear it would go into abeyance, I think it’s called.”
Margaret deflated, her shoulders sagging. “So no one would become baronet after you?”
He nodded. “There would only be another baronet if I were to have a son.”
