“You know... I hate to say it, but it sounds more and more like you’re going to have to let these medieval people stay out the term of their agreement,” Elliott said once he’d finished. “Consider it from their point of view—they paid to have access to the garden, and had no idea Lady Sybilla was going to sell out from under them.”
Alden emerged from the house to the pleasant heat of a summer afternoon, breathing deeply of air that smelled like baked earth, freshly mowed grass, and salt air that had swept in from the coast a scant quarter mile away. “I agree, but that doesn’t help me.”
“Well, as you said, there’s a lot to keep you occupied in the house itself. It shouldn’t be too bad having them doing a little fake medieval combat in the back garden.”
“If they were confined to that location, I might be able to ignore them, but Lady Sybilla told them theycould stay in the house. Which means they’ll be occupying part of a wing, and then there will be tourists and whatnot roaming around. In other words, everyone will be in my way, getting underfoot when I’m trying to renovate.”
“I think you’re anticipating problems where there are none,” Elliott counseled, but at that moment, a small group of people emerged from a bank of rhododendrons. The leader was a large man with ginger hair, a red face, and intimidatingly bushy eyebrows. Behind him followed two women and one man, all of whom wore binoculars strung around their necks and clutched small notebooks.
“Now, to the west, we’ve spotted three Dartford warbler nests. And of course, the cormorants have their main breeding ground beyond the copse, down on the shore.” The man nodded at Alden. “Good afternoon to you, sir.”
“Hello.” Alden watched in surprise as the man and his group passed by, apparently not intending on stopping. Alden stepped forward and blocked their path. “And just who might you be?”
“I might be the Pied Piper,” the ginger man said with a genial smile. “As it happens, I’m Barry Butcher.” He stuck out his hand.
Alden shook it automatically. “What exactly are you doing here?”
The man’s bristly eyebrows rose in surprise. “I might ask you the same, mate. But let’s start with your name, first.”
“Alden Ainslie.” He cast his eye over the other three people. They seemed to fade in comparison with the boisterous man leading them. They clutched theirnotebooks, identical wary expressions on all three of their faces. “I own Bestwood Hall.”
“The new owner!” Barry clapped him on the shoulder, sending Alden staggering a few steps to the side. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Expect you’re wondering why we’re traipsing through your land, eh? Well, I’ll tell you—it’s our Hairy Tits.”
Alden stared at him, convinced he had misheard.
“We’re with the Hairy Tit Conservancy Trust, you know,” Barry added, just as if that were common knowledge. “Our tits like your land. Specifically, the area between the north copse and the western edge where the cliffs lead down to the beach. We’ve had a record number of tits spotted this year, and we have high hopes that if they’re left undisturbed, they’ll make a full recovery.”
“Their numbers are very low,” one of the women said earnestly, her fingers white on her notebook. “They were put on the endangered list two years ago.”
“That’s right. Only three breeding places in the whole of England, and the biggest is on your land.” Barry waggled his massive eyebrows. “Which brings me to the subject I wanted to speak to you about—that piece of land you have.”
“What piece of land?” Alden asked, mentally pulling up a map of the estate.
“The bit with our tits, of course. The stretch that runs from the copse of oak trees to the cliffs. It’s about ten acres, wouldn’t you say, Poppet?”
The woman evidently named Poppet nodded vigorously. “We’ve looked it up on the county maps. It’s almost exactly ten acres, a mere fraction of your one hundred and twenty acres.”
“We in the Hairy Tit Conservancy Trust would like to purchase that land. To preserve and protect the habitat of the endangered tit.” Barry beamed like he was giving Alden a present.
“That’s... I’m...” Alden tried hard to pull himself out of his verbal stumbling fit. “I couldn’t think of selling any of the land. The estate was cut down to just seventy-two acres, not one hundred and twenty, and almost all of that is leased out to farmers. The house itself stands on less than twenty acres, your bird area included.”
“We’ll offer a fair price, mind you. We don’t intend for this to be a hardship on you,” Barry said, then clapped his hand on Alden’s arm and walked him a few steps away from the others. “Just between you and me, that bit of land isn’t worth half of what the trust is prepared to offer you. It would be a folly to turn up your nose to that sort of money, especially if you’re intending on renovating the old place. I know what sort of money that can run to, and I’m sure you’d be grateful for an influx of cash.”
“I’m sorry,” Alden said firmly. “The land isn’t for sale.”
“You haven’t heard the figure we’re offering yet,” Barry said, and named a sum that had Alden mentally raising his eyebrows. “Tell me that isn’t generous!”
“It’s very generous, but the land simply is not for sale.”
“Now, then,” Barry said, giving him another shoulder punch. “Don’t be hasty in thinking it over. I’ll come back another day when you’re not so busy and we’ll have a natter about it. In the meantime, you think of what you could do with that money.”
“I really don’t need to think about it—”
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Barry said loudly, and waved the others forward. “We’ll continue on to the cliffs, and walk up to the tit sanctuary before turningto the west to check out the cormorants. Nice meeting you at last, Ainslie.”
“A pleasure,” the woman named Poppet said with a little bob before she hurried after the others.
Alden watched in exasperation, partly with himself for not being able to articulate in a manner that made his feelings clear, but mostly for what he could tell was going to be a man who refused to accept no as an answer. “What is it with people feeling they can do whatever they want on my land?”
