“I will have a lad bring your luggage to you, my lady,” Elliot said.
Before she followed Mrs. Branwell, Cassandra said, “One moment.” She reached into the post chaise for the Maria Edgeworth book. She’d lost one book in a coach and she didn’t wish to lose another.
They entered the house. Two of the hounds started to follow but stopped at the door. “They won’t come in, my lady,” Mrs. Branwell said. “Unless Lord Dewsberry allows them in.”
“Does he do that?”
“Lord Dewsberry is fond of dogs.” There was a beat and then she said, “His mother is not.”
Cassandra could have guessed that answer.
The floor of the main hall was stone with a leaping stag carved into it. The stag of the Yorks. Cassandra had always heard of it but had not thought to see it.
The walls were a deep red with white wainscoting that needed a coat of paint. A display of polearms with different hatchet heads and long, sometimes carved poles lined the walls. It was an impressive entrance.
Arabella was not there, either. Cassandra had thought perhaps she might be, to frown her displeasure some more, if nothing else.
The stairs leading to the first floor were through a set of doors at the left of the hall. “There is a second stairway exactly like this on the other side of the main hall,” Mrs. Branwell informed her as they climbed.
“Very good,” Cassandra murmured. The honeyed, slightly resin scent of beeswax was in the air. No dog hair lingered in the corners. Mrs. Branwell ran a tight staff.
Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. Or at least, Cassandra and Susan’s did. Mrs. Branwell seemed to float.
At Mayfield, it had been obvious by the rectangle discolorations of the paint that pictures had been removed, presumably to be sold off. Cassandra remembered thinking that Camberly should have seen to a good coat of paint.
In Pentreath’s halls, there were no discolorations because if pictures had been removed, it had been some time ago. However, paint would do wonders. The walls were a dirty, aged yellow. But the place was clean and Cassandra said as much, complimenting the housekeeper.
“Thank you, my lady. Lady Dewsberry is quite strict.” Mrs. Branwell stopped at the last door before the end of the hall. “This is the countess’s suite. Susan, fetch fresh cloths and water.” The maid hurried to do her bidding, taking the back stairs. Mrs. Branwell opened the door.
The countess’s suite had a canopied bed with burgundy drapes and coverlet. The walls were a shade of blue that was not to Cassandra’s taste at all. The furniture was nice, but heavy. Thinking of their financial state, she knew she’d make do—although she would encourage Soren to invest in buckets and buckets of paint when they could afford it.
Mrs. Branwell crossed the room and opened another door. “This is my lord’s set of rooms.”
How convenient.
The furniture in his room was as heavy and dark as hers. Burgundy again was the color of choice for bed clothing although the walls had been painted a creamy ivory. His room was also twice the size of hers, with a lord’s-sized hearth and a cozy chair before it. There was a writing desk by the window. Both rooms had large wardrobes.
“Susan will return shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady, before supper? Would you like some refreshment?”
Cassandra thought of Soren out searching for his son. She could not sip sherry as if nothing was wrong. “No, I’m fine. I need a moment to take it all in.”
“The meal will be served at half past five.” Mrs. Branwell acted serene and as if there weren’t scores of men scouring the countryside for a lost boy. Cassandra found her attitude disquieting.
“Now, with your permission, may I leave, my lady?”
Cassandra nodded that she could leave, but then stopped her. “Please tell me, was Logan upset before he left? Had something happened?” Mrs. Edgeworth’s observations about the tender nature of children were fresh in her mind.
“If I may be candid?”
“Please do.”
“He is a wild boy, my lady. Almost like a wolf’s cub, he is. You can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”
Cassandra protested, “He’s but a small lad.”
“He is the most remarkably stubborn child I have ever met. Now, if you will excuse me, my lady, I’ve said more than my share of words.”
“I do not mind plain speaking, Mrs. Branwell. Thank you.” Cassandra wondered how many of her strong feelings were shared by the staff.
