He was perfectly cordial, and his plummy accent suggested education and good breeding. But for some reason, I did not take to him. It may have been his eyes. They were slightly bloodshot and set too close together. Along with his whiskers and thin lips, it gave him a weaselly appearance.
‘Mr Hart did not say you would be joining us,’ I said.
‘Oh, it was a last-minute decision. Dory told me you were all taking a jaunt and invited me along, but I was unsure I could make it. But my plans fell through at the last minute, so here I am. I arrived this afternoon to surprise you all.’ He gave a short bark of laughter.
‘And his father doesn’t mind so many of us being here?’ Jane asked.
That gentleman we had yet to meet, and I was growing unsure that he even existed. By now, my mind was throwing up all sorts of scenarios.Had they done away with him? Were they going to do away with us?
Mr Smith-Withers looked over at Mr Hart and said in sotto voce, ‘It is a large castle, and Dory and his father keep on opposite sides of it—a turret each if you will.’
‘Oh,’ said Jane, frowning. ‘Of course, I see.’
No more was said on the matter, but from that, I assumed Mr Hart and his father did not have a good relationship. Mr Smith-Withers changed the subject to a book he was reading, and Jane was happy to comply as she had read it too.
I listened to them with half an ear until I saw Maurice enter the room through a servant’s door at the back of the room. He was struggling to hold a soup tureen aloft. Alarmed that he would drop it, I excused myself from Jane and Mr Smith-Withers and went over to help him place it on the table.
‘Thank you, Mrs Fitzroy. It was heavier than I expected.’ He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘I shall fetch the bread and cheese.’
‘Please, let me assist you,’ I said, feeling sorry for him.
He blinked at my request but did not stop me as I followed him out the servant’s door.
‘Do you not have a cook or a maid?’ I asked conversationally as we made our way down the narrow passage to the kitchen, which, from its direction, seemed to go around the back of the staircase. He obviously used itfrequently as there were half-burnt candles set in sconces and blobs of wax dripped down the wall. The pungent smell of tallow in the close space was overpowering, and the smoke made my eyes sting.
‘No, Mrs Fitzroy. There is only me, though I did poach a maid from the inn to help me with the setting up of your rooms.’
Gracious, I thought.Maurice is a one-man band.I suppose there is no point having a full retinue of servants with only Mr Hart’s father to look after.But still, it seemed like a lot of work for one person to run a castle all on their own, especially as he could not move around that easily. I felt a bit guilty that our party had turned up and created extra duties for him. It was another black mark against Mr Hart in my mind. Looking after our servants, namely making sure they were well provided for and not overworked, was important to Max and me.
When we returned to the parlour with a board of bread, cheese, and a few other condiments for the meal, I found everyone seated at the rectangular oak dining table. Jane was playing mother and ladling meat broth into bowls from the soup tureen.
The only spare seat on the bench was on the end next to Mr Hart, so I reluctantly took it. He did not move over for me as an agreeable gentleman would have but stayed put. Ihad to squeeze in beside him, which meant our bodies were touching from the shoulders all the way down to the knees. It was most improper!
Being forced to sit this close to him, I could clearly feel his hard thigh muscle and smell the spicy cologne he had applied while freshening up. It was distracting enough that I had difficulty concentrating on spooning broth into my mouth. And by the way that uncivil man kept flexing his leg against mine under the table, I could tell he was rejoicing in causing me to squirm. I elbowed him sharply in the ribs to make him stop, and he let out a huff of quiet laughter.
As I was engaged in a private battle with Mr Hart under the table, I was not taking much notice of the polite supper conversation, and it was only after a comment from Mr Smith-Withers that it came to my attention that I had been blatantly ignoring Lucinda.
‘Mrs Fitzroy, your niece has been attempting to speak to you for the last five minutes, and you have been in a world of your own,’ he said, giving me a stern look, as if I were a naughty child.
I collected my senses immediately and nodded to him.
‘Thank you, Mr Smith-Withers. I must be more tired than I realised. My apologies, Lucy. What were you saying?’
‘I was only curious to know where you went, Aunty Fliss. I saw you disappearing with the butler.’
By this time, Maurice had retreated to the kitchen, so he was not privy to our conversation. So I did not mind replying to her.
‘Yes, I thought he might need some help since he is the only servant here,’ I said, directing my remark somewhat pointedly to Mr Hart to make him feel bad about it.
‘That is a lot of work for one person indeed,’ said Lucinda. ‘Mr Hart, we must rally round and lighten his load. I was a little frightened of him at first, but he seems like a kind soul. I would hate to think he is tired out because of us.’
Good for you, Lucy, I thought, pleased with her.
‘Well, Miss Fitzroy’, said Mr Hart in a mock peeved tone, ‘if you wish to don an apron and spend your time with Maurice in the kitchen rather than with me, then you must do so.’
‘Oh, I did not mean ...’ began Lucinda, her face falling.
‘It is all right. I am just teasing you. I know our butler has a certain je ne sais quoi.’ Mr Hart dipped a piece of bread in his soup. ‘It is his deformity. All the ladies want to mollycoddle him, but in truth, he is perfectly capable.’
