Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bennet was bored.
He had polished every pair of his lordship’s boots until they shone like glass. He had rearranged his lordship’s drawers and cabinets three times. He had starched and ironed his lordship’s linen until it could stand by itself.
Mr. Pierce, on the other hand, viewed his lordship’s absence as a holiday and installed himself beside the fire in the servants’ parlour, with the London broadsheets and a steady supply of tea, only proffering advice and instruction to his apprentice when called upon to do so.
Freed of the strictures of military life, Bennet took himself off to the village public house. He settled into the snug beside the fire, pipe in hand, nursing a pint of ale and revelled in the unexpected freedom from duty.
On discovering that he was his lordship’s valet, Wilkins and the locals were quick to share their thoughts about their new Lord Somerton. As he listened to the praise heaped on Lord Somerton, he felt inordinately proud of his officer. Up at the hall, the servants, too, approved of their new lord. Captain Alder had risen to his new position as if born to it. But then he had been born to it, he just hadn’t known.
Mrs. Wilkins seemed especially enamoured of him.
‘He praised my cooking,’ she said, with a dreamy look in her eye.
Bennet didn’t enlighten her. Sebastian would eat anything put in front of him.
The head groom, Thompson stumped into the parlour and demanded an ale. Bennet enquired if the man would care to join him.
Thompson stared at him. ‘Who the ’ell are you?’
‘That’s his lordship’s man,’ Wilkins said.
‘I avoid the stables,’ Bennet said apologetically, but for answer, Thompson’s mouth twisted in a snarl.
‘Not in the mood for company,’ he said and downed the ale. He procured a dark bottle from Mr. Wilkins and left, slamming the door behind him.
Wilkins shook his head. ‘Got the black mood on him tonight, Molly,’ he said to his wife.
‘What do you mean?’ Bennet said.
‘He gets like this every now and then. You heard about his daughter?’
Bennet nodded. ‘I heard tell she took her own life.’
Mrs. Wilkins sniffed. ‘Oh, that was sad,’ she said. ‘Amy Thompson worked up at the house. Good girl, she was. Hard worker.’
‘Drowned herself in the lake,’ Wilkins put in.
Mrs. Wilkins looked around the room and lowered her voice. ‘They say she was three months gone with child. Such a tragedy.’
This was news.
Bennet shook his head and made a suitable tutting sound. ‘Who was the father?’
‘Well, there are those who say it was his late lordship,’ Mrs. Wilkins glanced at her husband, ‘but that never sounded right to us, did it, Mr. Wilkins?’
Wilkins grunted a warning. ‘Now, now, Mrs. Wilkins?—’
Mrs. Wilkins leaned forward, dropping her voice to aconspiratorial tone. ‘I’m not one to gossip,’ she said, ‘but his late lordship... well... how do I put it? He was never one for the girls.’
Bennet took a large swig of ale. This was news to him, a juicy bit of gossip to share with Sebastian when he returned.
‘What do you mean, Mrs. Wilkins?’
‘Between us, Mr. Bennet, it was the pretty footmen up at the hall who were more at risk from his lordship.’
‘But all I’ve heard is how his lordship was one for the ladies,’ Bennet urged. ‘Always off in London, womanising and the like.’
