So she didn’t, and well, that just made it worse.
Chapter Fifteen
Since they’d returned from market, Thorn had become quiet, and distant, and Hypatia wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it. She’d tried talking to him directly, asking if all was well, or if there was anything preoccupying him, but he’d begun some new sort of behaviour which involved grunting, and moving along, or saying most unconvincingly: ‘I’m fine.’
They still worked the farm together, executed their plans together—making deals with brewers and dairies for their scraps and such, managing to hire one more worker for the farm, and a maid for the house, as well as purchasing some furniture for one drawing room and a bedroom—but it felt vastly different. Not only because Thorn seemed to have lost his sensual interest in her, not growing cold, but neither reaching out for her, seeking her proximity as he had, but mainly because they’d lost what had felt like a certain synchronicity. Hypatia tried not to take it personally, though it seemed to be directed mainly towards her, even if his grim mood carried over onto his dealings with others. She tried telling herself that he was likely just disappointed their first escapade to market hadn’t been a roaring and tremendous success, and that the weight of the estate, and all those other responsibilities he had were simply catching up to him, except none of it really seemed to stick to her heart, as the calming balmit should’ve been. So, at a loss of what else to do, Hypatia simply carried on.
It wasn’t as if their life had somehow become less busy. There were still pigs and fields to tend. Accounts to be done, rents to be collected, harvests to plant, and a house to run. There was still a lot to be done to transform Gadmin Hall’s estate into something prosperous, and well-functioning, and so she strived every day to do so. Each day too, brought its own little surprises, its own challenges, and its own little joys.
Truffél was growing apace, and following Thorn—and sometimes her—around like an eager and surprisingly well-trained sheepdog, which she knew first hand from his control and taming of their lamb, who Niamh had named simply: Lamb.
The embankments near some of the fields along the river crumbled after a significantly tempestuous day, and so crops were lost, and solutions to drainage and flooding needed to be found.
New piglets were born, and they and the sows needed extra care and looking-after.
The Hamptons came over to give some advice about autumn and winter plantings, and Theo let it slip that some of Hypatia and Thorn’s clothes—those Henry had unearthed from who knew where—had actually been his parents’, and hadn’t in actual fact miraculously sprung fromwho knew where. With some gentle coaxing and investigation, Hypatia discovered that in fact anything Henry and Mary had brought into the house since her arrival, be it clothes, garden furniture, tools, or doilies, had been donated by kindly tenants, families of workers such as Danny and Fred, and even Mr Reeves. And while others might’ve taken that gesture poorly, as an insult, Hypatia couldn’t help but be touched, beyond words. In time, she vowed to repay their kindness, and that thought actually brought about the one thing she had managed to talk with Thorn about: tonight’s dinner, towhich all on their lands, all those neighbours who had helped them thus far, such as Reeves, were invited.
Though in actual fact, she hadn’t talkedwithThorn about it, rather, she’d told him what she’d discovered, and what she wished to do, and he’d said, ‘do what you will’ in a tone she wasn’t certain how to decipher. Instead of losing any sleep over it, however, she’d merely put her plans into motion—regarding the dinner, and the surprise she had for Thorn too, which she hoped might make him feel more himself—learning just how far one could stretch a penny or what one could put on the menu when one hoped to feed a rather large crowd without declaring bankruptcy. She, Langton, and Mary worked as terrific allies in getting it done, and Hypatia learned yet more skills.
Making daisy chains, arranging wildflower bouquets, and finding things which might be used as tables and chairs in the unlikeliest of places. I certainly cannot say my life is dull.
No, she certainly could not. In fact, if anyone had asked, she wouldn’t truly have had a bad thing to say about this new life of hers, in which, for the first time in perhaps ever, she felt truly happy. The only thing marring it currently was Thorn’s grimness, but then, hopefully a nice festive evening, and her other surprise, and he would be right as rain again.
Restored, and—
‘Looks beautiful, my lady,’ said a voice, and Hypatia turned away from the lantern she’d just lit, to find Mrs Hampton, a basket in her hands at the dining hall’s door.
It was perhaps the most majestic room in the old house, large enough to receive the numbers they hoped would come; all high ceilings, and exposed wooden beams, fit for a king.
Or friends.
‘Delia,’ she smiled, going towards the woman, who’d insisted she call her by her Christian name. ‘I’m so very pleased you could make it.’
‘The boys have gone to see if Langton or Mary needed help,’ Delia told her, holding out the basket for Hypatia. ‘Well, my husband and brother have. Theo and his cousin went to find Niamh and Lamb.’
‘You are all meant to be guests tonight, not helping, and you certainly need not have brought—well, actually, I take that back,’ she amended with a laugh. ‘Neither Thorn nor I shall ever say no to your rhubarb tart. Thank you. Will you mind though, if I add it to our puddings tonight? Share with the others?’
‘Of course not. Where I come from, that is how a meal is made, by all.’
‘Words to live by. Come, I’ll set it on the sideboard, and you can tell me of any news.’
‘No news, milady. Beyond this place coming alive again,’ she added, staring around at the dusted, clean, and flower and paper fanion chain-decorated hall. ‘D’you know, they used to say Bess herself came here to stay once.’
‘Now that must’ve been a sight. And expensive.’ The women laughed, and Hypatia gestured to the crates of drinks set beside the sideboard full of puddings. ‘Would you care for something, Delia?’
‘Thank you, a cider if you’ve one, Lady Gadmin.’
‘Hypatia, please. I feel no more a countess than Lamb might, and we are friends of some manner now I hope. I’ve a dearth of those, so if you’d indulge me, I’d be forever grateful.’ Hypatia waited, and finally Delia smiled, bowing her head. ‘Thank you. And as for the cider, we have some of Kellerman’s, which I’ve heard is either the best, or inferior to Jones’, though we felt it was a safe bet since as Mrs Wilson advised, the north of this area prefers Kellerman’s, whilst south of Sevenoaks road, ’tis Jones’.’
‘Aye, so it is,’ Delia chuckled, while Hypatia opened a bottle, and poured them each a glass of the stuff.
They sipped for a moment, making appreciative noises, Hypatia for one enjoying the calm before the proverbial storm—the descent of all their guests—wondering vaguely where Thorn had gotten off to, before shaking that thought aside, and merely being grateful she’d had the foresight to change into one of her nicer, but not new, gowns before finishing up this room.
Speaking of which, she glanced around at what they’d managed in here. A long table made up of doors, tables, slabs and random pieces of wood, covered with enough cloths and coverings it looked like a mighty quilt, and that wasn’t to mention the mix of crockery and tableware; tables, stools, benches and barrels for seats, some with mite-worn cushions, others not, flowers aplenty, candles, lanterns, and lamps warming the space, all surrounded by those lanterns, fanions, chains and other homemade decorations, and she thought, it was beautiful.
‘Will yours or his lordship’s family be visiting soon?’ Delia asked, not knowing what a sharp topic indeed that one was, and Hypatia had to try her very hardest not to grimace. ‘Or are they in London now, awaiting your return? We’ll be sad to see you go when you do.’
‘I’m afraid Thorn has no family to speak of. And I am not on the best of terms with my own, so visits are not to be expected.’
