“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Mrs. Henkings replied, remaining upright, “my first duty is to her ladyship.”
“And mine is to the estate that now bears my name. Those duties are not always at odds.”
She hesitated, then lowered herself gingerly to the edge of a chair, as though ready to spring up if he reached for the silver.
“Your Grace may ask.”
He let his gaze drift around the room. Faded wallpaper, but no mildew. The coal scuttle was half full, not lavish, but not empty. The china was mismatched but carefully handled. There was frugality but not neglect.
“How many servants are left?” he asked.
“Four in place, not counting myself,” she said. “It was nine when his lordship was alive. Her ladyship dismissed those who could not pay without missing meals. The rest went when the wages fell too far behind.”
“And the viscountess?” Blaise asked. “Does she miss many meals?”
Mrs. Henkings’ jaw worked. “No more than the rest of us, Your Grace. There were months when I had to put bread into her hand.”
He pictured Iris’s long fingers, white-knuckled around a heel of bread, and felt something tighten in his chest.
“And the debts?” he asked.
Her eyes slid away. “Mr. Earnest keeps the books for the creditors.”
“But you know what it has been like,” Blaise pressed. “You are here day to day.”
She gave him a measuring look. “I know her ladyship has been answering every man who came to bang on that door. I know she sold nearly every bit of plate with the Hentley crest on it, and I know she mended sheets without buying new ones. She even bargained with butchers twice her size. I know she never once sent me to tell a man she was ‘not at home’ when he came for his due, even when she’d been crying not an hour before.”
Crying.It sat ill with him that any man had seen her weep and turned away without altering his demands.
“And the viscount?” he asked softly. “What did he do?”
Mrs. Henkings’ mouth compressed into a thin line. “Died, Your Grace. That is what he did.”
Blaise huffed a low, humorless breath. “Before that.”
“He brought her here,” she said. “And he left her with nothing but the word ‘widow’ for comfort.”
There was more she would not say; he knew the limits of servant gossip.
“Very well,” Blaise said. “You may go, Mrs. Henkings. When Mr. Earnest arrives, show him to me.”
Her brows rose. “He is expected today, Your Grace? He wrote that he would call on her ladyship.”
“He will speak with me first,” Blaise said. “And you would be wise to bring tea because it will be a long conversation.”
She rose. “If you mean to be hard with her, Your Grace,” she said abruptly, “you should know she has already been pressed near to breaking. There is not much left to squeeze.”
He held her gaze. “I have no interest in squeezing her, Mrs. Henkings.”
Or perhaps I do…
The elderly woman’s expression did not soften, but she inclined her head and left him.
For the entirety of the day, Blaise walked the length of the house looking for faults, but he did not find many. He eventually sorted the paperwork and waited impatiently in the drawing room for Mr. Earnest. When Mrs. Henkings announced his arrival, Blaise was already on edge after going through each paid-off debt. The little man entered the drawing room and bowed before Blaise.
“Your Grace. A pleasure at last.” He glanced around the parlor. “I had anticipated…Lady Hentley.”
“You have me instead,” Blaise said. “Sit. We have business to untangle before she returns.”
