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Chapter Five
Sophie stared at the two-day-old copy of The Times and felt her blood boil. It hadn’t been a week since Lord Hockley had asked them to temper their outrage and allow the dust to settle before they reconvened their discussions, and already the sale of every unentailed acre of his estate was advertised in the most influential newspaper in the land!
And by the wording of this article and price he was selling it at, he had every intention of selling it fast. Fifty thousand pounds was a veritable steal when he could probably get half as much again if he weren’t in such a blatant hurry to be rid of them.
But as it stated on page four of this crumpled newspaper in bold black and white, open viewings would commence on the fifteenth of February—only two days hence—and all bids should be sent in writing care his solicitor no later than the twenty-ninth of February. A paltry time frame which gave the villagers less than two and a half weeks to save their village from potential oblivion.
And all this when she was still smarting from the downright selfish treachery of the solemn pledge he had sent them in writing. A pledge which indeed gave them the final choice—but only out of the two choices he deigned to send to them. Both of which they would have no say in whatsoever, and with the very legal-sounding caveat that, as the landowner, he reserved the right to withdraw their choice if their decision was not forthcoming in a timely manner. In case there was any ambiguity of what a timely manner was, he had even ensured that Mr Spiggot clarify that a ‘timely manner’ consisted of no more than seven days. Therefore, it did not take a genius to work out that far from allowing the dust to settle, their fate could be all done and dusted and the entire village given their marching orders by Easter.
If he expected them to take this latest, low blow without a hasty overreaction spewed in anger, then he had another think coming! The inhabitants of Whittleston-on-the-Water weren’t gullible idiots! To get an advertisement in The Times so fast, he had to have submitted the dratted thing before he had met with them all, yet for all his placating talk of ‘early days’ and ‘bolts out of the blue,’ the duplicitous scoundrel had neglected to mention that pertinent little detail of his apparently hazy plan!
Therefore, not only was an overreaction deserved, the oh-so-charming but two-faced slippery snake had it coming. The battle lines were drawn and the gauntlet thrown. When they retaliated it would be swift and aimed at both of his faces!
Incensed, Sophie snatched up the damning newspaper in case her aunt awoke from her afternoon nap and saw it, knowing it would come better from her once she had a clear plan of action to fight it. She rolled it up like a weapon and marched out of her front door ready to rally the troops to prepare for all-out war, then stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a stranger apparently in some distress right outside her back gate.
Her temper already diluted by concern, she rushed towards him. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’
With his head in his hands, the man turned his back to her and hastened to the middle of the lane to frantically glance up and down it, but not before she heard the unmistakable sounds of panic.
‘Sir...can I help?’ He shook his blond head while hiding his face, trying and failing to disappear into his collar, then flinched as she touched his shoulder as if he feared her. ‘Has something happened? Has someone hurt you?’ He kept edging away despite the panic he was in. ‘Are you lost?’ He was a stranger to the area of that she was certain.
He nodded, his breathing laboured as he fought for control. ‘I didn’t mean to...to wander off.’ Even in his panicked state, there was something unusual about his voice. It was slow, a tad nasal with an over-pronounced lisp. ‘Now I can’t find Rafe.’
‘Perhaps I can help you find him?’
The man shook his covered head again. Vehemently. ‘Rafe says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. No matter what.’ His voice was choked. Childlike irrespective of its deepness. His hunched shoulders rising and falling rapidly. ‘I mustn’t speak to people I don’t know.’
‘Rafe sounds very sensible.’ Sophie racked her brains for any memory of a Rafe ever venturing into Whittleston or hereabouts and drew a blank. ‘Who is he to you?’
‘My brother.’
‘And where did you last see your brother?’
‘In the dining room...but he had to work before we could go for our ride...so I went to see the horses...but there was a pretty deer and then...and then...’ All attempts at covering his upset dissolved in an instant and he wept noisily into his hands. ‘I’m not supposed to wander off without Rafe.’
‘There, there.’ He didn’t flinch when she touched him again and allowed her to wrap a comforting arm about his shoulders. She passed him her handkerchief and, as he took it, she saw her first glimpse of his face and his distress all made perfect sense. His features were small and flat. The bright blue upward slanted eyes were filled with tragic tears and his wide, round jaw quivered with confused emotion. She smiled kindly and smoothed his hair. ‘We’ll find Rafe together, don’t worry. I am sure he is not far away.’
He leaned his head on her shoulder for a moment then pulled away, blinking and ashamed as if he had just committed a cardinal sin. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers unless Rafe says it is all right.’
‘That is very sensible advice—but Rafe isn’t here for you to check with, is he? And you are lost and I would really like to help you find him so that you are not lost and scared any more.’ She stroked his arm, trying to reassure him with her fingers that she was more friend than foe. ‘But I think I have a solution which will make it all right for you to talk to me. If we introduce ourselves we won’t be strangers any more—we shall be friends. I am sure Rafe lets you talk to friends, doesn’t he?’
He nodded warily and she couldn’t blame him or his brother for such a reluctance to trust. The world could be a cruel place for people who were different, especially if they were vulnerable. She beamed, dipped into an exaggerated curtsy then stuck out her hand. ‘I am Miss Sophie Gilbert and I am very pleased to meet you.’ He stared at her outstretched fingers uncertain. ‘Now you tell me your name.’
He thought about it for several seconds as he stared at her outstretched palm. Finally, his eyes lifted shyly to hers. ‘It’s Archie.’
‘How do you do, Archie.’ She closed the distance to take his big hand and shook it. ‘Now that we have shaken hands—and just as soon as you say “how do you do” back—we won’t be strangers any more.’
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he nodded. ‘How do you do...’ Then he floundered so she helped him out.
‘Sophie. I am Sophie Gilbert and I live here in Willow Cottage...’ she gestured behind her to the house ‘...with my Aunt Jemima and a grumpy old cat called Socrates. Do you like cats, Archie?’
He nodded. ‘I like horses the best. And dogs too.’ Forgetting the handkerchief he had balled in his fist, he used the sleeve of his coat to wipe his face, oblivious of the fine fabric it was made from or the unmistakable quality of the cut. Clothes which screamed this young man was well cared for. And he was young. By her best estimation he couldn’t be much more than twenty—on the outside at least. ‘Rafe says he’s going to get me a puppy soon. I’ve always wanted a puppy, but they made Papa sneeze. But now that Papa is gone Rafe says that we can have a dog and it can sleep on my bed every night.’
‘Puppies are lovely and your brother sounds lovely too.’ Beyond lovely if he had kept Archie by his side when most would have had him locked away. ‘Why are you and your brother here in this village today, Archie? Are you visiting someone?’ If they were, she was confident she knew absolutely everyone and all their business. It was nigh on impossible to keep a secret in Whittleston-on-the-Water—although she had bucked the odds to manage it.
He shook his sandy head again, his previous distress now lessened because he no longer felt alone. ‘We have to live in the m...m...’ His nose wrinkled as his tongue tripped over the words. ‘Mossy-leem till Rafe can sell it.’
‘Mossy-leem?’ Mausoleum? Not a noun one heard every day yet Sophie had now heard it twice in one week. ‘Is your surname Peel by any chance, Archie?’ He nodded and she sighed, annoyed that it appeared she might have to re-evaluate a man she had already decided she disliked intensely. ‘Then follow me because I think I know exactly where Rafe is.’
