Page 42 of Reforming Lord Neil

“Then go up the hill, madam.” Mr. Duncan’s smile seemed sad, somehow. “You are perfectly capable, as you said, of doing things without my assistance. Please drink some of your marvelous herbal concoctions and rest.”

The sincerity with which he spoke touched her heart. And reminded her of how gently he had pressed his lips to hers in the kiss that never ought to have occurred. She went hot all over, then shivered with cold.

“Yes. Yes, I must be ill,” she said aloud. “Good afternoon, Mr. Duncan.” She turned about and started up the hill. The hill she had climbed hundreds of times, and come down with ease less than a quarter of an hour before. By the time she made it to the top, the house within view, her state had changed drastically.

Forehead and back of the neck wet with sweat, her heart pounding, and her head as thick with fog as a marsh on a summer morning, Teresa stumbled the last few steps to the kitchen door.

* * *

Repairing a leak in a thatched roof was not nearly so complex as re-thatching an entire roof. Neil stood on a ladder over the corner of Mr. Putnam’s cottage.

“The truth of the matter,” Putnam said as he worked new straw into place, “is that the last time we had thatchers to work here was thirty years past. The very tops of the houses and the corners are seeing problems. We just need to send for a thatcher that’s worth his salt.”

“I cannot say that I have ever seen a thatcher at work.” Neil used bent sticks, shoving them into place, to hold the straw where Mr. Putnam put it. “If you know how to do the repairs, could you not do the entire rooftop yourself?”

Putnam leaned his elbow on the roof, atop his own ladder, and fixed Neil with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Thatching is an art, Mr. Duncan. ‘Tis no easy thing to do a good, quality job when you aren’t bred to it. I can fix this leak, here, and it will be set for a year or two. But a true thatcher can lay an entire roof that will last the length of a man’s lifetime.”

Neil looked over the roof, gray everywhere except where he and Putnam had fixed the leak. “This straw has been up here for thirty years?” Nearly as long as he had been alive.

“Aye.” Putnam started down the ladder. “And it’s time to do it over, I’m thinking.”

“Are thatchers difficult to find? Is it an expensive undertaking?” Neil climbed down as well, his mind already on Teresa’s roof. She had said the only leak was in her bedroom. He now knew how to remove the thatch, replace the wood, and recover it with straw. His work likely would not be even so good as Putnam’s, but if it held long enough to have a real thatcher come recover the roof—

“It’s a dear cost, and one we must pay if we are not tenants. I’ve heard it’s a year’s worth of rents and more to have a roof recovered. My father won our land through his hard labor to our baron. I believe Mrs. Clapham’s land came through a family trust, and so there is no landowner other than she.” He shrugged his wiry shoulders. “Most of us know to start putting a bit of money by before it’s needed.” Putnam stared up at his patch job with a deep frown. “I could pay before winter comes.”

Teresa would not have money put by for such a thing. Especially considering how worried she had been over making enough merely to get through winter.

Neil immediately remembered his mother’s second ruby earring. It might not fetch enough. The job sounded as though it would cost well over one-hundred pounds. If the earring did not suit, the necklace would be at least worth two-hundred pounds.

“What are you thinking, lad?” Putnam asked, his clear blue eyes serious. “Will your Mrs. Clapham have the wherewithal to replace her thatch?”

Neil cleared his throat. “It’s not really my business, is it?” He took the ladder off the roof and slowly laid it down, allowing Putnam to pick up one side. There was no use discussing the subject with the old farmer.

Teresa would not allow him to pay for her rooftop’s replacement. Not outright. “Is fire a concern for a roof such as yours? I would think clay tiles or tin might be a better material.”

The old man snorted. “The whole building is made of wood. It’s all likely to catch fire. But think on this. Clay is hard and brittle, and we’d have to find a way to get it here. Same with tin. And can you imagine the noise of rain on a tin roof?” He scoffed. “Thatching has been part of our homes and our lives for hundreds of years. I cannot see people changing such an important thing any time soon.”

Neil returned to Bramble Cottage with less than two hours of sunlight left. He would have to wait to make the necessary repair. A new board, a bit of hammer and nail work, and then carefully dried straw roped back into place would take more time than the sun would allow.

Muse appeared the moment Neil’s foot stepped onto the property. She approached him cautiously, as though uncertain as to what sort of greeting to give. Neil whistled and bent down, and she hurried toward him with her tail between her legs. Poor girl would need more time to learn she was wanted. He rubbed at her ears, praising her quietly until her tail started to wave back and forth.

She followed him with more energy after that.

He went to wash himself for dinner. He pumped the water from the underground well into a pail, then took that pail with him to the back of the barn where he had created something of a washroom for himself. A tall table held a basin, chipped pitcher, and a bar of soap. On a nail just above, he had hung the shaving pouch provided by Teresa.

After a few minutes, Neil was clean enough for keeping the women company. His alternate white shirt was on the line, and he took it into the barn to pull it overhead.

Muse followed him all the way to the kitchen door, then sat politely. Such an intelligent creature. He gave her a smile and determined to bring her out a portion of his dinner when he had finished.

He entered the kitchen with a ready smile for Caroline, but he immediately saw the girl sitting with slumped shoulders at the table. Her grandmother and mother were not in the room, despite the hour.

“Is something wrong?” Neil looked to the stove, but nothing but a stew pot and kettle were upon it.

Caroline sat up, and when he met her gaze, he could see the worry in her eyes. Her lower lip protruded slightly. “Mama is ill. Grandmama is looking in on her with tea and broth.”

Neil’s stomach twisted. “How ill is she?”

A creak on the stairs alerted him to Mrs. Godwin’s return, and she had apparently heard his inquiry. The first thing she said upon entering the kitchen, looking directly at him, was: “Teresa is quite poorly, Mr. Duncan. We are not certain yet what the illness is, only that it came on suddenly. She has caught a chill only, perhaps, though it is somewhat unusual a time of year for it. She has a fever, headache, and cough.”