Page 29 of A Lyon’s Lesson

Chapter 15

Bidenden arrived in the village of Haynes toward dusk. It was too late to push on to his cousin’s house; arriving after the dinner hour would be too rude, and he wished to garner himself an invitation to stay indefinitely. He would thus have to spend the night at the Wounded Dog in the village. He had been here before when he did his reconnoiter of Cecelia’s property and met the steward, as the village bordered her land.

He had been forced to sell one of his jackets to hire the horse he was riding and give him enough to pay for meals along the route. He had spent last night in a barn in a field off the main road from London. It would have been cheaper to come on the stage, but then he would have had to walk a considerable distance and carry his bags, since the stage stopped only in Bedford itself, not this quiet, out-of-the-way little village in the countryside.

The Wounded Dog was a double story, redbrick, shingle-roofed inn with white painted, mullioned windows and a green front door set in the center of the building. The publican, he remembered, was a comely woman by the name of Catherine Freeman. The food had been good and the sheets clean and dry. In his current straightened circumstances, he couldn’t ask for much more.

Entering, he found the landlady behind the bar, wiping down the counter. He summoned his most charming smile and asked if she had a room for the night.

“I certainly do!” she said, returning the smile with a tilt of the head. She narrowed her eyes. “I remember you, Mr. Passmore, you’ve been here before. A few months ago, wasn’t it?”

“You have a good memory, Mrs. Freeman.” He had not advertised his title on his previous visit and saw no reason to do so now either. Knowing how quickly gossip spread in the country, it would take no time at all for Lord Kenrick to hear of Viscount Bidenden being in the area. But plain Mr. Passmore? No one would gossip about him or even mention his name.

He secured a room, washed and changed, and returned downstairs to partake of the meal he had ordered in the public dining room. The room itself was cozy from a crackling fire and quiet, with only a handful of patrons, although the public tavern room was noisy. He had almost finished his excellent dinner of beef stew served with fresh bread, cheese, and pickles and accompanied by a quality porter, when he noticed a steady trickle of persons entering and crossing the dining room to another room behind it. Some sort of local event or meeting, he supposed, and would have thought nothing more about it if he hadn’t looked up from mopping up the last of his stew with a piece of bread to see Mr. Baines, the chief tenant of Cecelia’s estate, a middle-aged fellow with a round middle, high color, and greying hair, entering the room. Bidenden had come looking for the steward Falconbridge, but Baines might be just as useful for what he had in mind. His curiosity was piqued by what might be going on in that room.

He tossed his napkin on the table, leaned back in his chair sipping the porter, and wondered.

When Catherine Freeman came to collect his dishes and flirt with him, he took advantage of her interest to ask casually what was going on, with a nod to the private room.

“Oh, that’s a meeting of the tenants from the manor. Miss Cecelia’s married a duke’s son, Lord Kenrick Layne. They arrived last night, and everyone is agog to know what it means for them. A change of ownership is always worrying for folk, isn’t it? Mr. Monk was a harsh and absent landlord. Folks are hoping for better from the new one but fearing the worst. Mr. Baines is going to address them, settle them down a bit.”

“Where’s Falconbridge? Shouldn’t he be doing that?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? He’s absconded. Run off with the till, they say.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true or not. Just as likely he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere. A body’s not safe in their own beds these days, not since the war ended. Desperate soldiers all over looking for work and not finding it. Everyone’s doing it tough.”

“I didn’t know that.” Bidenden chewed on that bit of information, then gave her a generous tip and a smile that promised more, if she was inclined to take him up on it. “I met Falconbridge last time, and I was hoping to catch up with him again—a matter of business. But perhaps Mr. Baines can help me. Will anyone object if I poke my head in?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” she said, wiping down the table and picking up the tray of dirty dishes. She turned away with a last flirtatious look and sashayed off. Mrs. Freeman was obviously a lonely widow. If she was looking for a bedwarmer, he wouldn’t say no.

He rose and joined the stream of people entering the room. It had a low ceiling with exposed beams and one window on the outer wall. The walls were plastered and whitewashed and the floor bare boards. He propped himself against the back wall and watched the room fill up and the buzz of conversation rise. The younger men stood at the back, like himself, leaving the chairs for the older men and the few women and children who were present. He noticed a particularly attractive redhead with two small children among them. Baines stood at the front. He was a big fellow, his outlandish waistcoat on full display, and behind him stood three younger versions of himself. Big, muscular young men—his sons, Bidenden surmised.

Eventually, Baines took out his watch, looked at it, slipped it back in his pocket and rang a little bell sitting on the small table to his right. His sons took the three seats behind him and the noise in the room gradually quietened.

“I thank you all for coming,” he said with an unctuous smile. “No doubt you have all heard the news by now that we have a new landlord. Miss Cecelia has married Lord Kenrick Layne, and control of the property has passed from Mr. Monk’s hands to Lord Kenrick’s. Equally, no doubt you are wondering what this means for us, the tenants of Woodrow Manor.” He paused, took a sip from the tankard beside him, and went on. “I had the privilege of meeting Lord Kenrick today.”

A murmur went around the room, and Baines waited until it died down before he said, “I am here to tell you that nothing will change. The status quo will remain. Lord Kenrick has requested my help in finding another steward. Mr. Hendrix assures me that Lord Kenrick has little interest in estate management and, in fact, has expressed the desire to return to London as soon he can. Lord Kenrick is a gentleman of leisure who clearly prefers London to the country. I do not expect he and Miss Cecelia—Lady Kenrick, I should say—to remain here very long. He will naturally expect the same level of income to be derived from the estate. I am pleased to tell you, though, that he has indicated that he wishes to see certain assets that have lately fallen into neglect repaired to ensure ongoing prosperity of the estate. A new steward will attend to that forthwith.”

This provoked a louder murmur, and eventually a man rose to his feet and cleared his throat. He was thin and elderly looking, old before his time, Bidenden thought. His skin was mottled with sunspots and his cheeks sunken.

“Yes, Mr. Sparrow?” said Baines.

“Which assets are to be repaired, then?”

“The house, I expect, is top of the list. I will be escorting his lordship on a tour of the tenancies tomorrow. No doubt he will compile a list of additional repairs after that,” said Baines smoothly.

“Where’s the money coming from? Who pays?” asked Sparrow. The murmurs behind him showed that he was speaking for everyone.

“Well, His Lordship will determine that, but I’d steel yourselves for an increase in rents—”

At this, the murmurs turned to cries of protest, and the rest of his sentence was lost to the noise. Then something odd happened: Baines’s sons rose slowly from their seats. They didn’t say anything, but the sound died down, and Baines added, “I shall suggest that it is a small, temporary,” he emphasized the word, “increase in rents to cover the costs, but you will each benefit from the repairs.”

Sparrow looked around at the other men behind him, and Bidenden noticed that the men by and large refused to meet his eyes, dropping their heads and shuffling their feet. He noticed the redhead pulling her children closer and likewise dropping her head.

Sparrow turned back to the front of the room and said clearly, despite the quavery tenor of his voice, “That isn’t fair! Why should we pay for what Falconbridge stole? We have no more to give. Monk’s wrung us dry for years!”

“A new steward will set all to rights, and this unfortunate situation will be put behind us in no time,” soothed Baines.

“Will it?” challenged Sparrow. “I heard a rumor that Falconbridge is dead. Got too big for his britches, maybe? Anyone hear that?”