Page 62 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Larry Barlow gave him a knowing grin as Gideon glowered balefully at the man.

He had sorely regretted arranging this meeting for seven thirty, especially as he’d been up at six puking his guts up.

“A raw egg whisked into stale ale, that’s the ticket, Mr Bramwell,” Billy Preston said firmly. “Works a treat, it does. Down it in one, and don’t stop to think on it.”

“Nah.” Larry shook his head. “Vinegar with black pepper and a pinch of salt. Or I remember my grandfather, who liked a drink I’m bound to say, well, he swore by cold mutton fat spread on bread with some raw onion sliced thin. He reckoned it lined the stomach.”

“I heard pickled herring in yesterday’s beer worked a treat.”

“Or treacle stirred into porter, with a tablespoon of hot mustard.”

“Enough!” Gideon held up a hand in surrender, his stomach roiling unpleasantly. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s get this over with.”

The men chuckled, and Larry shook his head, looking sheepish.

“Ah, it’s all right, Mr Bramwell, me and Billy had a chat last night over a pint, and I was wrong to accuse him. I see it now, only I was that angry, and he were there, and… well, I’ve a temper I’m sorry to say. But someone is causing mischief, and my tools need replacing, an expense I don’t need.”

“You can borrow mine,” Billy offered, to which Larry nodded his thanks.

“I’ll do that, for it’ll take me a good few weeks to cover the cost of them.”

Gideon looked between them. These men were locals, for he’d done his best to seek local workmen wherever possible, only bringing the most skilled he needed from farther afield. This job meant everything to them, to their families. The hotel would bring prosperity to the town, more work, opportunities. They were not the kind to bite the hand that fed them.

“If I take the two of you into my confidence, can I rely on you to keep your mouths shut?” he asked, looking between them.

The two men exchanged glances. “Aye. Do you reckon it’s one of the men, then?”

Gideon nodded. “I can’t help but think it. The site is locked up tight after hours, and most things walk off during the day. I want you to keep your eyes peeled but say nothing.”

“What you goin’ to do about it?” Billy asked.

“I’m working on a plan. Once I have it tied up, I’ll let you know. All right?”

“You can count on us, Mr Bramwell. My missus hopes to get work at the hotel when it’s done. We don’t want nothing to go wrong,” Larry said earnestly. “And please send Lady Henrietta my regrets again. I’m that sorry, but it truly were an accident. If it makes her feel better, tell her Mrs Barlow had more than a few things to say about it. My ears are still ringing.”

Gideon nodded, hearing sincerity in the apology. If he thought otherwise, he’d have broken the man’s nose himself, but it had just been bad timing. And whilst it had been a risk to confide in them, even a little, he needed allies, and he believed they were good men. Of course, he had thought the same about Ridley at first, so perhaps his instincts were not as reliable as he’d thought they were.

“Right, back to work then. Let’s try to get through the day with no mishaps.”

“Aye, Mr Bramwell.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Billy said, winking cheekily as they headed to the door.

Gideon snorted, waiting until they’d left the hut before groaning in pain and resting his forehead on the desk. “Oh, God, kill me now,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.

Chapter 15

The Truth Between us

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 3rd August 1816

The terrace was a lovely spot on a sunny evening, the glittering sea a soothing backdrop.

Hetty remembered the day Gideon had fallen asleep here and smiled to herself. Impatience gnawed at her. She had been waiting all day for him to call, but so far, she had not seen or heard from him. She knew he was working, so his absence had not surprised her. Still, he could have sent a note, or… or something, and the site would have been closed ages ago. Soon they would have to dress for dinner.

Hetty sighed and then shot a remorseful smile at Cilly, who was regarding her with tolerant amusement. She’d been trying to paint Hetty with mixed results.

“Sorry,” Hetty mumbled, setting aside the book she had not read a word of.