Chapter Three
It turned outthat the servants, when they’d been informed of what had happened, which was not something Miranda had relished doing, without exception insisted on helping their former mistress.
“The new baronet isn’t here yet, my lady,” Crawford said, all stiff indignation. “And as he’s not here to tell us what to do, he won’t know anything about us helping you. I certainly shan’t tell him, and neither will any of the other servants. You can rest assured of that.” He gave a loud sniff of what could only be construed as disapproval for someone who was so rude and unfeeling as to take over Windrush from under his real mistress’s nose.
Miranda, not for the first time this morning, felt tears spring into her eyes, accompanied by a ridiculous impulse to hug Crawford. She didn’t though, but not because it would be wrong of her to do so. Rather, she refrained because Crawford would find it below his dignity to be hugged by anyone at all, even his adored mistress.
All the servants rallied round with similar enthusiasm.
Mrs. Lockhart, the housekeeper, organized the housemaids and Thomas the footman to go down and help Betsey, Miranda, Megs, and Miriam clean the farmhouse from top to bottom.
Melissa, having reiterated her extreme fear of spiders, many times, was given the task of helping Mrs. Barnes the cook in the kitchens in supplying the work force with plentiful food and drink all day long.Young Archie Miller, the groom, and his father Joe, the coachman, were sent down to sort out the barn that was to be used as stables into something resembling suitable accommodation for the family’s horses. And a tearful Miss Garvey, Miranda’s lady’s maid, was detailed to take care of the packing for everyone.
This left Stan Roper, the Hall’s gardener, and his boy, the sturdy Dick Fisher, along with Dick’s younger and much smaller brother, Arthur, to attack the weeds in the yard and try and fight the jungle that was the farmhouse garden.
And the dogs, all six of them, got under everyone’s feet without fail, often with a lot of barking which they no doubt considered helped everyone.
Mr. Charlton, the tenant of Home Farm, kindly brought a wagon over and loaded it several times with the firewood from the log store at the Hall, something that had been suggested by Crawford, a man of eminent good sense. “You’ll be needing to light the fire in this hearth to do your cooking,” he pointed out to an aproned but very grubby Miranda, who was in the process of cleaning years of accumulated soot from the hearth in question. “And if we don’t fill one of your sheds up with wood, I don’t know where you’ll get it from.”
Miranda had to acknowledge this as a good point, although she also admitted to herself that it rather smacked of theft. She salved her conscience by telling herself several times over that as it had been Geoffrey who had ordered the supply of wood for the winter it surely didn’t form a part of what Mr. Pratt had vaguely referred to as “fixtures and fittings” as it was loose and not at all fixed down in one place. Although, of course, the trees it had come from had been. Never mind.
Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Lockhart, backed up by Melissa who now saw herself as their equal where kitchen matters were concerned, presented a united front in pointing out that this too applied to the contents of the larder, in particular the conserves and dried goods. Sothe wagon was next loaded up with as much food as Miranda thought it wise to liberate, something she chose to oversee herself.
“Food for the horses,” Melissa, carrying well-filled boxes out to Mr. Charlton’s wagon, puffed. “Winter’s coming and they have to eat something.”
“I can do you hay and straw for them,” Mr. Charlton said as he staggered past with a large sack of flour. “And we’ll get that strapping lad Archie to put a good few sacks of oats on my wagon. That should tide you over nicely for a bit. Until you gets straight.”
“I’ll go and supervise that,” Melissa said, setting her box down on the back of the wagon.
Miranda’s brow furrowed. Perhaps she did have a slight interest in handsome young Archie after all. It might be a wise idea to get her oldest daughter away from the charms of that particular young man. Even for a girl with no dowry, a lowly groom, especially one with sawdust for brains, was not a match for the daughter of a baronet, nice as he might be.
She sighed and turned her attention back to the house, out of which Thomas and Joe Miller were emerging with a dismantled bed.
Her eyes widened. “Where are you going with that?”
Thomas, who had the lead, stopped. “Excuse me, my lady, but Mr. Crawford told us to take it down to the wagon. He said you have to have furniture at the farmhouse.”
Thomas had been with the family since just after her marriage to Geoffrey, when he’d been the boot boy, so she’d known him most of his life. He was a bright, personable young man and had made his way from lowliest of the low up to first and only footman at speed, given a helping hand by the fact their previous footman had upped and run off with one of the housemaids ten years since.
“I’m not sure we should be looting the house like this,” Miranda said, as little Arthur, who seemed to have escaped clearing the abundant weeds at the farm, came staggering out with his arms full of bedding.
Crawford followed in his wake, carrying an upholstered chair she was sure came from the drawing room.
Miranda held up her hand and the cavalcade of looters came to an untidy halt. Crawford set down his chair, which must have been heavy, and eyed it as though he would have liked to have sat on it for a rest.
She surveyed the three of them, hands on hips, and rather wishing she didn’t look so dishevelled. Difficult to maintain an air of command in such a situation. In fact, they all looked as disreputable as she did, but this was of no comfort to her. Crawford had removed his black coat and rolled his sleeves up above his elbows, and Thomas appeared to have taken a leaf out of Archie Miller’s book of how a groom ought to dress. Only Arthur looked as he normally did, which wasn’t saying much.
She had turned her servants into burglars.
“I don’t think we should be doing this,” she tried, but had to admit there was a certain lack of confidence in her voice.
Crawford drew himself up to his full height and puffed his chest out. “My lady, if we do not take some of the house furniture down to the farmhouse, you will be living in it with no beds to sleep on and nowhere to sit. I can assure you that we’re not taking anything that will be missed. I have been most subtle in my choice of furniture. The new baronet will never know any of it has been taken. And unless he is an ogre, he will not object even if he finds out.”
Miranda hesitated. A large part of her agreed with Crawford, but there was still a small part of her that recoiled at the idea of taking just what they wanted from the house.
Crawford’s right hand moved, as though for a moment he’d thought of patting her on the arm in reassurance, but then it dropped back. She’d never seen him reassure anyone so he was unlikely to start now, even if it was needed.
However, he managed a smile. “I’m sure Sir Geoffrey wouldapprove, my lady. He would not want you and your daughters to be left…er, without furniture.”
