Page 86 of A Provincial Peer

As though she wished to be rid of them, the maid chose a spot two chairs down from the bags.

“Why don’t you tell us what this is all about,” Benedict’s father said.

“And there is no need to be afraid, dear,” his mother added. “You are amongst friends.”

It should not have surprised Benedict that while he had noticed where Rachel sat, his mother had noticed her distress. Caroline would have done the same thing.

“Thank you, m’lady.” Rachel clasped her trembling hands together tightly. “I’ve been cleanin’ th’ cottage, ya see. Every nook an’ cranny. Set fires in every fireplace t’ clear th’ bad air. Took out all th’ rugs an’ beat ’em. Washed all th’ curtains.” She took a breath. “Seein’ as I ’ad the rugs off, I started on washin’ and polishin’ the floors. I were cleanin’ under Mr. Rowe’s desk in ’is office this mornin’ when I noticed one o’ th’ boards were loose. Popped up, it did.” She shook her head helplessly. “Must ’ave stood on it funny or somethin’. Anyway, I went t’ push it back in place when I spotted th’ bags in th’ ’ole underneath. I know I shouldn’t ’ave taken ’em out, but I didn’t know what t’ do.”

“You were perfectly right to take them out,” Benedict’s mother said. “You were cleaning, after all.”

“Yes, m’lady. That’s what I was doin’.”

“And once you had them out, you opened them?” Benedict’s father asked.

“Yes, m’lord.” She was wringing her hands again. “I shouldn’t ’ave done that neither.”

Benedict exchanged a look with his father and then reached for the nearest bag. He untied the string around the top and peered inside. A note written in Rowe’s tidy script sat atop a thick bundle of bank notes. To be used to replace the aging millstones and waterwheel.

The air left Benedict’s lungs. Surely not even Mr. Blyton—with all his praise of Rowe’s loyalty to family and forward thinking—would have anticipated that the man would steal from the Farwell Estate to prepare for future repairs to the Blyton’s gristmill. He opened the second bag. This, too, was filled with bank notes, but there was no accompanying tag. Perhaps this one had been designated for Rowe’s personal use in the years ahead.

“Benedict?” The urgency in his father’s voice shook him from his stupor.

He gave his father a subtle nod and cleared his throat. “Lord and Lady Farwell and I are in your debt, Rachel. It seems that you have discovered a large sum of money belonging to Farwell Farm that has been missing for some time.”

“You . . . knew o’ this money?” Her eyes darted from Benedict to his father.

“Only that it could not be accounted for,” his father said. “Without your assistance, it is unlikely that we ever would have recovered it.”

“Then, I really did do th’ right thing?”

“Without question,” Benedict’s father said. “Your honesty and integrity are to be highly commended.”

His mother might not have known what Rachel’s flustered arrival was all about, but she had undoubtedly sensed the elation underlying the praise his father had offered. Without so much as a questioning glance at either gentleman, she gave the maid an encouraging smile. “Such values should also be rewarded,” she said. “I assume it is too soon after Mr. Rowe’s passing for you to have secured a new position.”

“Yes, m’lady. This is th’ first time I’ve left th’ ’ouse since th’ gentleman became ill.”

“That is fortunate for me,” Benedict’s mother said. “If you are willing, when you have finished your work at the cottage, I would like to offer you a place as a house maid at Farwell Hall. I have no doubt you would be a wonderful addition to our staff.”

Rachel looked as though she might burst into tears. “Thank you, m’lady. I would be ever so grateful.”

“Excellent.” His mother rose, and the young lady immediately did the same. “Come with me, Rachel. We shall visit the kitchen. You must have a cup of tea before you return to the steward’s cottage.”

As soon as the door closed behind the two women, Benedict dropped into a chair.

“Good heavens,” his father said, staring at the closed door as though he thought someone else would suddenly appear. “I don’t think either of us could have anticipated that.”

“Never.” Benedict ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you wish to do first?”

“Reconvene in my office. We shall see just how much money is contained in those bags and attempt to settle the books. The bags and their contents can go in the safe tonight. Tomorrow, I shall travel to London to deposit the money in the bank and to start making inquiries about hiring an honest steward.”

* * *

Six hours later, Benedict watched his father lock the bags of money in the safe with an uncommon mixture of relief and exhaustion. They had combed through all the ledger books, tallying the figures on each page multiple times until they were sure every pound, shilling, and pence was accounted for. They were short seven pounds, two shillings. It was unlikely they would ever recoup the money, but it was impossible to regret the loss given the amount Rachel had recovered.

“I think we missed luncheon,” Benedict said, glancing at the clock on the mantel as he tugged at his already loosened cravat.

“We did, indeed,” his father responded. “And no matter what your mother says to the contrary, a cup of tea and a biscuit sustains a man for only about twelve minutes.”