Page 13 of Her Christmas White Knight

Chapter Seven

Julia found herself swept into the house along with Myall. As a myriad of bolts were slid to behind them, she resisted the urge to turn around and escape. Myall’s father had the look of a madman.

The man’s hair had clearly not been cut in months, nor his beard trimmed. He was stick-thin, with haunted, dark eyes. Though dressed in what must have been expensive clothing, his doublet and hose were shabby and dirty. The house was almost as cold as the room she shared with Hal.

Aside from these alarming discoveries, she was impressed by the size of Myall’s family home. It was easily as big as Glemham Hall, where Walter de Glanville had once lived, and it was richly furnished with tapestries, decorated cabinets, and chests. The walls boasted portraits in ornate gilded frames, and there was even a well-stocked bookcase in the entrance hall. A passageway stretched off into the gloom, where the kitchen and pantries must be, and a carved staircase rose to the upper floor.

There was no sign of any servants, and everything exhibited an air of neglect—much like Myall’s father. Cobwebs draped the plaster ceiling, and every surface was covered in dust.

“Come within.” Master Farrar opened a door and ushered them into a large room. It had a flag-stone floor covered with a drugget carpet, and every seat boasted a velvet cushion. How hard it must have been for Myall to give up such comfort! She knew well enough the pain of so drastic a change in one’s circumstances. But perchance something better was in the wind.

“Who is this? Is she friend or foe?” Master Farrar peered at Julia.

Myall’s face was an impenetrable mask. He bowed stiffly. “This is Mistress Julia Wentworth, a dear friend.”

“Good, good.” Master Farrar sketched her a bow. She noticed his gaze was darting around the room as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

“What has happened here, Sir? Where are all the servants?” Myall dusted off an upholstered chair and offered it to Julia. She sat—and tried not to stare too much at his scarecrow of a father.

“I couldn’t afford to keep them. I had to let them go—all but Sarah. She cooks and mends for me. But she’s getting old, too, and there’s only so much she can do. I suppose I should ask her to bring refreshment now that you’re here, though we can barely spare anything.”

“In good time.” Myall indicated a chair and waited until his father was seated before settling down himself. “What manner of catastrophe has occurred that means you can’t afford servants anymore?”

“I can’t afford anything, Boy. All this will soon have to be sold.” He gestured around the room.

“Are you telling me you’ve spent your entire fortune on drink?” Myall’s voice was hard with anger.

“Nay. Nay, Son. I gave up a good half-year since. But my vintner keeps coming around and demanding I buy from him again. He’s a monster—he’ll bleed me dry. Or attack me. I’m afraid to leave the house.”

Was the man telling the truth? Myall exchanged glances with Julia, and she could tell he was completely at a loss.

“If you’ve not been buying wine, what have you spent the money on?”

“I don’t know. The household accounts? Mayhap things are just more expensive now. I haven’t sold a bolt of cloth in months. No one can afford it.”

“Our woolen cloth was always very reasonably priced. Are you saying no one’s been buying, or that you haven’t attempted to sell? Mayhap I need to talk to your clerk about the accounts.”

“I had to let him go, too. The business has collapsed. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. That vintner will have the constables on me. And you’ll have me locked up in the Bethlehem Hospital—I know you will.”

Myall left his seat and knelt by his father’s chair. “I swear on my life I’ll never let that happen. Stop worrying. I’ll sort out this vintner, go over the ledgers, and check the cloth store to see if what remains is in good condition. I won’t leave you again until everything is put to rights.” He grasped his father’s hand, and the look of gratitude the old man gave his son warmed Julia’s heart.

Suddenly, the door opened and a middle-aged woman entered.

“Goody Sarah!” Myall stood and treated the newcomer to a disarming grin.

“Oh! It is the young master back again. Oh, Sir, I’ve been so worried—your father is not himself at all. I wanted to send for a physician, but he said he couldn’t bear the expense. I’m sorry to gainsay him, but that’s nonsense. He is no poorer than he was when you left home, even if he has stopped selling the cloth. He’s hidden his money, is what he’s done—and now he can’t remember where he put it, or how much there is, and it’s not my place to go hunting for it. Oh! I am so glad you are come to visit him. I was about to despair.”

She let out a noisy sob, then threw herself into Myall’s arms. He held her, patted her consolingly, then eased her away to look her in the eyes.

“Don’t fret, Goody. I’ll see everything back just the way it should be. I shan’t abandon you.”

Julia’s throat constricted. There was so much love being shown to Myall—he was clearly a man who inspired it.

“I reckon finding my father’s hidden treasure would be an ideal job for Hal.” Myall gave her a wink, and her heart missed a beat.

She smiled ruefully. “I can’t promise that he won’t pocket a few coins.”

Myall shook his head. “If I’m right, there’s no dearth in this house. What say you, Father? Shall we find your missing money and have ourselves a Christmas feast on the morrow?”