“May have?”
“Or they were stolen.”
Dominic frowned as he studied a large cobweb swinging in the draft from a heavy dark beam. “Can we hire back some of my uncle’s staff?”
“I doubt it. The house servants left well before the old earl died. The home farm is still worked, and Clough, the gamekeeper, lives in a tied cottage. Your uncle’s will stated they were to be kept on. He left funds for the purpose.” He shook his head. “But not enough is produced here to warrant it continuing.”
Dominic found his uncle’s generosity surprising. He had doubted his uncle was capable of such benevolence. His father rarely mentioned his brother, but when he did, it was with a decided lack of warmth. They parted over some argument before Dominic was born, and he never came to visit or attend family celebrations. He would have liked to know more about Alberic, but there was no one to ask, as his mother and father died of fever, a month apart a few years ago. His younger sister, Evelyn, had remained at home until her debut at eighteen and her marriage the same year. She might be better informed than he.
“I’m surprised the gamekeeper has been kept on.”
“It’s at your uncle’s directive. Clough culls some birds to feed the poor. You’ll find the woods in better order than the house, milord.”
Again, that baffling view of his uncle. But one didn’t live in the woods. Dominic rubbed his chin. “I’ll need an army of servants to make this livable.”
Williams raised his eyebrows. “I thought…”
He smiled. “That I’d sell it and scurry back to London? I might yet.” What made him question his early decision? His uncle had begun to interest him. The family portraits certainly stirred his curiosity. But might it be the once beautiful, now unloved house steeped in history, which remained a mystery? It certainly appealed that by improving the estate, he might change some people’s lives for the better. Money spent in the right quarters to make the estate more productive, and he would rarely need to come here.
He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to prolong his stay. “I’d be loath to spend more than a couple of days at the inn,” Dominic said as they left the room. “I’ll move in here as soon as we have a few servants. Surely there are some in the area in need of employment?”
Williams led the way to the stairs. “The locals won’t come here after the caretaker left. Spooked by the place. Candlelight’s been seen flickering through the windows at night since the old man died.”
“Any idea who’s behind it?”
The estate manager shrugged. “Someone searching for the supposed treasure? I discovered a jimmied window, rooms in disarray, drawers open, and cupboards searched. Books scattered over the library carpet. Even some of the oak wainscotting ripped off the reception room walls.”
Dominic raised his eyebrows. “Strange business.”
“The rumor persists of a cache of money hidden somewhere in the house. The old earl certainly thought someone wished to rob him.”
Dominic swung around from studying the bleak view of overgrown lawns through the long staircase window. Smoke rose from a distant cottage chimney. “Do you think there’s any truth in it?”
“Seems unlikely, but who knows?” He shrugged. “The old gentleman was known to be a bit…” He tapped his forehead with a finger. “His health declined after a fall riding to hounds some years ago. As for the servants, we might have better luck in Gateshead,” Williams added.
“Then I’ll leave you to deal with that. I would like to speak to the former steward. Is he still living in these parts?”
“Yes, he works for the squire now, at Northoaks.”
Dominic walked to the door. “Show me the earl’s suite.”
On the upper floor, Williams threw open the door to the musty smelling suite of rooms. “In the last few years, your uncle didn’t sleep here. He’d made a bed in the butler’s pantry. I’ve heard he kept a loaded shotgun at hand.”
Dominic suffered a swift tug of sympathy for the old man. He disliked the walls papered in such a dark green, himself. Above the oak, four-poster bed, blood-red curtains spilled from the earl’s coat of arms. Dominic crossed the rug patterned in crimson, green, and gold arabesques to the windows. He pulled aside the velvet curtains, raising a cloud of dust, and opened a window, which overlooked a moss-covered fountain filled with dead leaves, centered in a weedy forecourt bordered by shapeless hedges.
He turned away, growing increasingly disheartened by the task ahead. Not somewhere he cared to sleep. He chided himself. He’d slept in far worse places during his years in the army.
So far north, even in summer, the nights could turn cold here. He crouched down and peered up the chimney flue. He rose, slapping his hands together. “Needs sweeping. Will you see to it?”
“That I can do, milord. And I have a young fellow in mind who might serve as footman.”
Dominic pushed his hair off his forehead with impatient hands. “Well, that’s a start. Any chance of a few housemaids, a cook, and a housekeeper?”
Williams stroked his chin. “A cook and a couple of housemaids maybe, but a housekeeper will be difficult to find. The gentry hereabouts employ the best on offer or else send abroad as far as Newcastle for them.”
Dominic grimaced. “Best see what shape the stables are in. I’ll need to purchase a horse. As soon as I can, I’ll ride over the estate, meet the tenant farmers.” He thought regretfully of Firefly, his gelding stabled in London. It would be impractical to send for him for such a short period.
“The squire of Northoaks keeps an excellent stable. He might sell you one of his thoroughbreds,” Williams replied. “He stables a few hunters for foxhunting.”
