His humor was a balm. “Thank you. Such a task is far beyond what you should have to do.”
“I don’t mind, miss. It’s better than having no task at all.”
She clutched her arm to her belly, his words a direct hit. “About that, I should like a word with you.” Retracing her steps, she shut the door.
“Must be serious,” he rumbled.
“I am afraid it is.” She faced him, fighting the need to nibble one of her nails. “As you know, taxes were due yesterday, and I was not able to pay the full amount. As such, I expect a possession order to arrive on Monday morning that will detail the eviction date. I am told it shall be soon, for the properties acquired this quarter are to be auctioned off at the beginning of the year.”
His brows drew into a thick line. “You’re losing the manor, then?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I am.”
“It’s a sorry business, miss.” Morning light streaming through the single window cast a shadow on half his face, his cheeks not nearly as rounded since Mrs. Pottinger’s baking was now nonexistent. Little flecks of plaster rained from his hair as he shook his fist in the air. “Abominable business, if you ask me!”
“Yes, well, there is nothing we can do about it.” She crossed to the desk and picked up a pen, giving her hands something to do. “I am packing up what belongings I have left and am taking a position on Monday as a lady’s companion. I should be grateful if you would remain here and ready the house for auction. The larger the sale, the sooner the manor’s debts will be paid off. And once those relics are purchased, I am hopingto provide you and the staff an extra stipend to get you by until you are situated elsewhere.”
“It’s very generous of you, miss, but...” His angular jaw worked a moment, a muscle rising and falling on the side of his neck. “What of yourself and Miss Penny?”
“I imagine we shall get on brilliantly. My sister is being well cared for by the generous sponsorship of Mrs. Mortimer, and I shall want for nothing as a companion to Mrs. Pempernill.” How happy the words sounded, as if Penny were off on a grand tour, and she were a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She rolled the pen between her fingers, warding off the urge to snap it in half. “It is you and the staff that concern me.”
“Don’t trouble yourself on our account, miss. Such is the life of those in service. Would you like me to tell them?”
His thoughtfulness stuck in her throat. “That is very kind of you, but no. It is my responsibility, and I shall do so tomorrow after Sunday morning service. Until then, I would appreciate it if you kept this information to yourself.”
“As you wish.”
“Thank you, Sinclair. I would never have made a go of it this long without you at my side.”
A hefty sigh deflated him. “It were a hard hand you were dealt, yet you played it very nicely, miss. You can count on me to ready the house for sale. I know a man in Bedford who’ll pay for a load of furniture.”
She pursed her lips. Surely Sinclair knew she’d already sold everything that would bring in a coin or two. “There is no furniture of value remaining. What is left is worn beyond salability or in need of repair.”
“He’s a scrapper, miss.” The steward shrugged, sending another good dusting of plaster bits to the floorboards. “He’ll take anything. If I load up the wagon today, I can leave tomorrow and be there on Monday morning when he opens up.”
“I see.” Slowly, she nodded. “I guess this is good-bye, then.” She set down the pen and offered her hand.
“Aye, miss. It’s been a pleasure serving you and your family all these years.” He gave her hand a hearty shake, the crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes knitting into tangled lines. His Adam’s apple bobbed several times as he pulled away. “I’ll see to any remaining paperwork and stay till the end.”
“Once again, I thank you. You are a good man, Mr. Sinclair.”
“May God bless you, miss.” He grabbed his hat off the wall hook and strode to the door, where he hesitated. “Only, I can’t help but wonder...”
She angled her head. “Yes?”
“Well ... never mind. Weren’t important. Good day.”
He strode out the door, leaving her to ponder what he might have said, though deep in her heart, she suspected what he was thinking.
If she’d left the cursed acres alone, she’d have not met with such a foul end.
27
Eva had never enjoyed the Sunday morning shuffle down the aisle to shake the reverend’s hand at the end of service. Mr. Blackwood’s fingers were too cold. His stare too intense. And though for the one day a week he wasn’t garbed head to toe in grey, the black frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers he replaced it with were as solemn as a crypt. Did the man never once wish for a burst of colour when he opened his wardrobe each morn?
“Miss Inman.” Mr. Blackwood dipped his head as he collected her hand. “I trust today’s message about God’s sovereignty was nourishment to your soul.”
“Yes, thank you.” She pulled away lest lightning strike them both in one zap. It hadn’t been a lie so much as an exaggeration, but surely that was just as bad. The truth was, she couldn’t remember the first half of his sermon. She’d been too preoccupied glancing around every few minutes to see if Mrs. Mortimer had arrived.
