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Cecey caught up with her on the bottom step. “Where are the other servants?” she asked.

Mrs. Hendrix flushed, lifting her bombazine skirts and climbing the stairs. “The house hasn’t been occupied for five years, my lady. We have been operating on a skeleton staff, and—well, not being apprised of your change in circumstances, we haven’t had a chance to employ anyone else yet.”

“I see.” Cecey noted the dust on the carpet and the stairs and, looking up, some cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. “Well, there is certainly a great deal of work for them to do. We shall set about recruiting some more servants tomorrow.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Mrs. Hendrix reached the second floor where one leaf of a large double door stood ajar. The housekeeper pushed the door open farther and motioned Cecey to enter a large bedroom suite decorated in faded dusky rose with walnut furniture. The atmosphere was old-fashioned and heavy, and there was still a faint smell of dust in the air. Mary stood in the middle of the room, flushed and with her hair falling out from under her cap. Her apron bore dark marks, and there was a smudge on her snub nose. And Cecey had never been so glad to see her.

“Your maid has been busy,” said Mrs. Hendrix with a slight thinning of her lips at Mary’s disheveled appearance.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hendrix,” said Cecey, pulling herself together. “Mary can do all I need.”

The housekeeper inclined her head. “Elsie and Tom will be up with hot water for your bath, which is in your dressing room.” She nodded to a door in the left-hand wall. “Welcome home, my dear.” she said again, and the word sent a warm curl of hope through Cecey’s heart.

She closed the door behind her, and Cecey’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Oh Mary, you have been working so hard, I can tell.”

“There was a lot to do, my lady.” She wiped her face with her apron. “When we arrived this morning, the Hendrixes were ever so surprised; so you find the household somewhat unprepared.” She stepped forward. “Let me help you undress. Your bath should be almost ready by now.”

***

Rick entered the hall to see his wife disappear upstairs and dragged his attention back to Hendrix who was still talking.

“Reynolds informs me that your groom will be coming from London in stages with Your Lordship’s horses.” said Hendrix.

“Yes, I’m expecting him to arrive in a couple of days.”

“My son Tom,” Hendrix nodded to the young man in shirtsleeves and breeches who appeared both out of place and uncomfortable, “looks after the livestock for the home farm: horses, cows, sheep, pigs and chickens, and does general jobs about the place. We mostly have working stock in the stables for the home farm, my lord. The gardener, old Jameson, only has two boys to help him, so the house gardens have been somewhat neglected, as they concentrate on the food crops, vegetables and greenhouses, as per instructions from Mr. Monk. Would you care for a tour of the house?”

Rick nodded. “Later perhaps. Where are the stables? I’d like to see them first.” He signaled to Reynolds to accompany him.

“Of course, my lord. Tom will show you the way.” Tom Hendrix, galvanized by his father’s sharp nod of the head, led them to a door on the left of the staircase. Behind the door was a corridor leading toward the back of the building. On the left, a staircase led downward. “That goes to the kitchens and the servants’ hall, my lord,” he said continuing straight ahead. “The stables are situated behind the west wing of the house,” he added, bringing them to an exit that was clearly designed for the servants.

“Is there no other entrance to the rear of the house than this one?” asked Rick.

“There is, my lord, but it is via the ballroom, which is shut up, and the gardens are a right mess,” he said, holding the door open.

Rick stepped out onto a landing with a set of stone steps leading down into an open area, which was clearly the continuation of the drive. It swept around the west wing of the house to an L-shaped outbuilding that had to be the stables. Behind him, a row of trees obscured what must, he assumed, be the ruined terrace young Hendrix had spoken of. Their guide strode ahead of them, his head down.

Rick approached the stables in his wake. There were four buildings in a row, semi-attached. The first building was built partially of stone with a timber upper story which was thatched. Rick guessed this was the original stable and the others were later additions. They were single story and, apart from a low base of stone, they were built entirely of timber and thatch. Each building had large double doors, all but one of which were closed. The one at the farthest end from the house was open.

At Tom Hendrix’s approach, two large collies boiled out the door barking furiously. He addressed them directly with a simple, firm command. “Sit.”

The barking stopped immediately as the creatures recognized a master worthy of the name and sat on their haunches, tongues lolling as they panted, and their plumy tails twitched with hopeful joy. Rick noted this with approval; it boded well for the young man’s handling of horses. Rick approached the dogs.

“Good fellows,” praised Rick, bending to stroke each head. Straightening, he said, “Well lead on. I want to see the horses and how they are accommodated.”

“Yes, of course, my lord. We mostly have working stock. Haven’t had good quality horseflesh here for a while. Please come in. This is where we keep the draft horses. In the next building we have the ponies for the gig, and there are two riding horses for household use. We have no carriage horses. Although the old carriage that belonged to Miss Cecelia’s parents is still there.”

An hour later, Rick was satisfied that young Hendrix knew his horseflesh and that the animals in the stable were well cared for, even if their surroundings were a little neglected. He did note that, on the whole, the stables seemed in better shape than the house and grounds. The dogs’ names, he learned, were Nero and Caesar. Rescued as pups from near drowning in a pond.

Leaving the stables, Rick headed back toward the house with Reynolds

“Does it strike you that something is not right?” he asked the other man.

“It is clear the place has been sorely neglected for some time, my lord.”

“The last tenant left five years ago, I was told, so I knew it hadn’t been lived in for a while. But I did not expect this level of neglect. Monk assured me that the home farm and rents from the tenants made the property profitable. It is pretty obvious that none of that profit has been used on the upkeep of the house.”

“Yes, my lord. Hendrix implied that was as per Monk’s instructions.”