“Miss Russell is quite self-possessed, is she not?” Gareth said. “I am fortunate she agreed to aid me as a newcomer.”
“She is also a formidable opponent, sometimes. Her weakness is she allows sentiment to at times govern what is a natural intelligence.” Trevor sank back into his chair. “I have a family that wants to purchase her property for a handsome sum. She will not sell. She will starve first, I fear.”
“She is from one of the old landed families, is she not? They are usually loathe to sell.”
“Oh, it is understandable. The Russells once owned five hundred acres, an unentailed freehold. But times being what they are... Her father sold much of the land, and her brother’s illness sent their situation into a steep decline, of course.” He spoke like Gareth knew all this. Gareth did nothing to indicate he did not. “She will sell eventually. She will have to. It will be for the best. She will do far better in a small house here in town.”
“I would not count on that happening soon, if it has not already. Once that legacy is gone, it is unlikely to be regained. Property is not easily or cheaply obtained in England. It is why your client wants hers.”
Trevor nodded absently, then focused his attention. “Just how bad is that house you have? Is the roof sound at least?”
They spent the next half hour discussing Albany Lodge’s condition. Gareth left the office with an agreement that Trevor would visit in two days to assess the damage.
He paid a visit to the ironmonger, then walked back to the main lane and entered one of the taverns, the White Horse.
His appearance stopped conversation. Ten men stared at him in the silence. None of them were gentlemen. This, then, was the tavern favored by the longtime workers and tradesmen of Langdon’s End. The new residents, those industrialists building new homes, drank somewhere else.
He sat and called for an ale. The buzz of talk resumed. He took in the dark wood, timbered ceiling, and uneven plastered walls while he drank.
A young man of about twenty-five years, wearing a brown coat, loose pantaloons, and old-fashioned shoes, sidled over to his table and smiled so amiably all his teeth showed. “Are you the fellow who has taken the old lodge?”
“I am. How did you know?”
“All the talk, it is. How some gentleman from London is going to live there now. Mrs. Fleming told Harold there what you look like, so we figured it was you.” He laughed. “Funny, you don’tlookmad.”
Gareth called for another ale for his interrogator. “I must be, though, to take on such a pile of stone, right?”
“Probably. Not that I’m one to judge. Best if someone takes it on, is how I see it.”
“And others don’t?”
The man shrugged.
Gareth gestured for the man to sit when the ale came. “What is your name?”
“Erasmus. Don’t laugh. My father had some odd notions. He sent me to school to learn my letters and numbers, another odd notion, so I guess I can live with the name.”
“My name is Gareth Fitzallen.”
Erasmus took a long drink of ale. “I know. Mrs. Fleming told Harold that too. Also that Miss Russell said anything taken from that house was to be returned.”
“Is anyone likely to listen to that?”
“Could be. Miss Russell is liked, in a respectful kind of way. She’s quality, but doesn’t talk down, like some can. And she has no bother with the new ones much.”
“The new residents are not liked as she is?”
“Nah. Noses higher than the queen’s, but their grandfathers were no better than me.” He drank again, then leaned over the table with a conspiratorial grin. “Few months ago, some of the new ones were in Mrs. Fleming’s shop and got very critical of the wares. This wasn’t good enough and that wasn’t of quality. Miss Russell was there and she told ’em to leave if they were so poorly bred as to not know when to speak and what to say.” He chuckled. “Word is their mouths fell open so far you could’ve seen their lungs.” He nodded. “She is true quality. Like you be. Maybe not so high as you, but a gentleman’s daughter.”
“What is your trade, Erasmus?”
Embarrassed, Erasmus raked his roughly cropped brown hair with his fingers. “My family were tenant farmers. Our place bordered the lake. Real nice land, that. The owner sold, though, and we were put out. Four generations we were there. Now there’s no crops but roses, and big houses full of the new ones. So my trade now is whatever comes along.” He smiled as a thought came to him. “I guess I’m a this-and-that monger.”
“As it happens, I need someone to do this and that.”
“Do ya now? Well, I’m your man. There’s not much this or that I can’t do.”
“Come to the house tomorrow. We will start with the this.” Gareth stood to go.
