A breath escaped me as I sat up, the sheets and coverlet a tangled mess about my legs. I no longer stood on the ridge. Instead, the four stalwart posts of the bed surrounded me, reminding me that it was my third day in Bramnor.
Plunging a hand through my hair, I tried to even my breathing and my racing pulse. “I’m all right. In the future, please inform your wife that there’s nothing to be alarmed about. It would be better to let me be.”
He took an enormous step away from the bed. “Of course, my lord. Perhaps my daughter’s tales of spirits have us all spooked. Might I commend you on a wicked hook? You nearly took out my jaw.”
A red welt appeared on the left side of his stubbled chin. He rubbed the spot with a rueful smile.
“Ah,” I said, at a loss for words as embarrassment heated my skin. “It’s my turn to apologize.” The dream had haunted my steps all the way to Bramnor. I had alarmed plenty of innkeepers at the midnight hour.
“I’ve met men from battle who’ve gone through similar. War is an ugly affair. It never leaves you.” He offered an awkward bow. “Breakfast awaits at your leisure.”
I nodded, still too caught up in the nightmare. That morning, September27, 1810, would forever remain branded in my mind. Although I had received an honorable discharge and sold my commission, I couldn’t shake my grief. Or my dereliction to keep those I cared about safe.
My friends were few, and those who stayed with me, I kept for life.
I had no one to rely on. No one at all, save an overfamiliar groundskeeper and his odd family.
I shrugged into clean britches and a coat from the warped wardrobe, thinking of my mother’s reliance on God during the hardest seasons. How had she retained hope in the midst of so much suffering? The more I spent time within the abbey, a place of so much sorrow, the more I thought of her. Resolve filled me not to let my father’s legacy taint me any further than it had.
When I reached the solar, the tantalizing scent of sausage links, tea, and porridge greeted me. Mr. Whittle interrupted my moment of respite just as I settled and started to eat.
“Pardon the interruption, my lord. A Mr. Talbot is here to see you.”
Appetite now fled, I left my breakfast unfinished. When I entered the green room, Mr. Talbot stood by the window, his black coat impeccable despite the morning’s mist. His sharp gaze shiftedtoward me as I approached, the weight of his presence already filling the room.
“Mr. Talbot.” A tightness clung to my voice. I already had a sinking feeling as to why he had come. “I was not expecting your visit so soon.”
Talbot wasted no time on pleasantries. “My lord, the Crown demands immediate action. As you are aware, your uncle’s passing has left matters of your estate in a precarious condition, including unpaid taxes. The Office of Woods and Forest has taken a keen interest in seeing if you can restore Hawthorn Abbey to its former standing—and if it will be profitable enough to sustain its people.”
I groaned inwardly.Unpaid taxes?“I fear that you will find my uncle’s records in disarray. Please, I have only just arrived. At least allow me a year to prove that Hawthorn estate will turn a profit.”
He inclined his head, something akin to understanding flickering in his eyes. “Last year, I stood in this very spot, hearing the same assurances from your uncle and I looked the other way. Alas, my position will be in danger if I do not act. The Crown is weary of excuses, and I fear the pressure to act has only intensified. You have four months to present a clear plan not only to revive this estate, but to bring in enough coin to support the village. The road leading to the estate, for example—it’s in disrepair. The tenants have lodged complaints, and I’ve experienced it firsthand, rattling in a carriage. You’ll need to begin rebuilding it at once, or I’m afraid I will be forced to recommend that the Crown absorb your estate immediately.”
I ground my teeth at the threat but kept my composure. Anger boiled within me at the assumption that I would prove no better than my uncle. “The road? I can scarcely afford such a construction if taxes are owed.”
“A full reconstruction, my lord,” Talbot urged. “It would servenot only your tenants but the estate itself. Particularly if you intend to expand the cider business as your uncle promised me—ease of transport will be key. This road is a vital link to the village and beyond.”
“And if I fail to meet these expectations?”
Talbot’s lips pursed. “Then the Crown will likely decide the estate should transfer to other hands—ones more capable of handling its affairs. Truly, I am sorry to deliver such ill news.”
Before I could respond, the door flung open with a loud thud, and Whittle rushed in yet again, his eyes bulging with alarm. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but it’s urgent. The sheep—most of the flock—are running loose through the valley! The tenants are in an uproar.”
“What?” I cried. The estate was already teetering, and now this.
Talbot raised an eyebrow, his demeanor steady despite the sudden chaos. “Perhaps you should attend to your sheep, Lord Hawthorn. Rest assured, we will continue our discussion later.”
I grimaced as I followed Mr. Whittle into the sunshine, where men waited in the courtyard, twisting their felt hats within filthy hands. I had not yet had the pleasure of greeting these tenants. As I walked toward them, I could feel Mr. Talbot’s eyes trailing me, no doubt assessing every movement, ready to report each issue back to the Crown.
The oldest man inclined his head, coughing into his fist. “I’m Hinsley, and this be Mr. Malcolm, Mr. Cobb, and Mr. Dixon. We woke up to see your sheep out in Mr. Malcolm’s pasture. My sons are rounding them up as we speak. When I rode past the Hawthorn bush, I noticed someone had cut the hedge and duga hole directly beneath where the bush was. Big enough for my sheepdog to fit through.”
Hawthorn, just like my namesake, created a tall barrier of sharp thorns to keep the sheep from escaping and prevented predators from entering the pastures.
From behind me, Mr. Talbot cleared his throat, a small noise that grated on my nerves. I knew what he was thinking—another sign of disarray on the estate.
My blood boiled at the impudence of someone intentionally cutting the hedge to let my sheep out. I couldn’t afford another setback. Not with Talbot witnessing my latest debacle.
“Thank you for alerting me, gentlemen,” I said, meeting each of their eyes. “I’ll see to it immediately. And rest assured, the person responsible for this will be found and dealt with.”
