But that was neither here nor there.
“The Sabbath is a good time to pay calls,” said Samuel, offering up the only explanation he could give. Forcing that witless grin to his face, he added, “I am very pleased to see you out and about, Mr. Norcroft. Being the steward of such a grand estate must be very taxing, and I know you’ve been very busy familiarizing yourself with all your duties, but we’ve hardly seen you at our services.”
“As you say, I am quite busy, though I always ensure that I attend,” said Mr. Norcroft.
Oh, yes. Mrs. Whitcombe would never tolerate her highest-ranking member of staff neglecting his spiritual duties, but that did not preclude Mr. Norcroft from arriving just as services began and slipping away the moment it was over.
“I am glad our paths have crossed, Mr. Godwin, for I wish to speak with you concerning a serious matter,” said the steward, shifting his grip on his reins as his mount fidgeted in place, though Jenny was quite content to avail herself of the feast at her feet. “It has come to my attention that you are assisting members of the parish with the fees they incurred with Langley Court.”
“It is the church’s duty to assist those who are struggling financially,” said Samuel. “The vestry council is followingprocedure and assisting when needed. Should you wish to see the workings of the council, you are quite welcome to attend the meeting—as your predecessor did before you.”
“I plan on doing so once I have a firmer grasp on the workings of the estate,” said Mr. Norcroft. “However, I am certain Mr. and Mrs. Whitcombe would not look kindly upon the parish’s funds—a majority of which come from Langley Court’s coffers—being given to pay fees owed to the estate.”
Samuel’s smile did not falter. “I am certain you are correct, sir. Though we spoke only briefly before, I was struck by your intelligence and insight. I am most concerned that our funds be used appropriately, but with so many fees levied against the parish at present, it has been difficult for many to pay thoseandtheir rent.”
“The parish treats Langley Court as though it is public land, and though the previous steward was happy to turn a blind eye, I will not be derelict in my duty to my master and mistress,” said Mr. Norcroft. “These fees are right and proper, and your interference is hindering the lesson that needs to be learned.”
Samuel felt the familiar tension coil in his chest but kept his expression mild. “I assure you that not a single farthing of parish funds is being given to your bailiff. However, if people are unable to feed their families because of financial hardships, it is our duty to intervene.”
“And by doing so, they do not fear the fees,” Mr. Norcroft replied, his tone hardening. “My duty is to the estate’s solvency. Yours is the care of souls. When those lines blur, everyone suffers. I would advise you to remember where your authority ends, Mr. Godwin.”
Giving his mount a nudge, the steward took off at a quick pace, causing Creeping Jenny to straighten, though she quickly returned to her morning repast. Samuel watched Mr. Norcroft ride off, the man’s back straight and unyielding, and felt the tightcoil in his chest snap; he drew in a slow breath through his nose, then let it out again, sharp and controlled, lest the frustration spill over into something unbecoming.
Saints above.
Power exercised without care did not teach. It crushed. Encroaching on private property was wrong, and the village needed to respect those boundaries, but this was punitive. Mr. Sherwood may have been too lenient at times, too willing to look the other way when a gate was left unlatched and a pig strayed, but he’d known the impact an estate like Langley Court had upon a village, and he respected it.
A strong partnership between rector and steward helped to ensure the proper balance—something that had been clear to Mr. Sherwood, whilst Mr. Norcroft was determined to draw boundaries between their duties, guarding those walls as rigorously as he guarded Langley Court.
Jenny lowered her head again, tugging at a stubborn patch of green, and Samuel let her, his hands tightening on the reins as he stared down the lane Mr. Norcroft had taken. Winter loomed, the fields were already showing the strain of a poor summer, and now they had a steward who was more interested in proving his authority than preserving the fragile balance that kept Kingsmere whole.
Samuel set his jaw and nudged his horse forward at last. Nothing would be solved at this precise moment, and matters would only grow worse if he were tardy to the Sunday services.
The rhythm of Jenny’s gait ought to have soothed him. It usually did. Hoofbeats on hard earth, the familiar bends of the lane, the hedges slipping past in their usual order, yet the farther Samuel rode, the tighter his thoughts drew, circling around Mr. Norcroft’s words, his tone, and the ease with which he had dismissed the hardships levied against the villagers.
Samuel tried to set it aside. No amount of preparation would save a sermon given in anger, and that was far more important than simmering in righteous indignation. But the worry would not be quieted. Every consideration led to the same conclusion: this would not end with a single exchange on a country lane, and if he did not gain control of the situation, the very people Samuel was called to guide and uplift would be crushed beneath it.
Though heaven knew what Mr. Samuel Godwin could do about it. His power was limited to his parishioners, and the Whitcombes were a force unto themselves.
By the time the rooftops of Kingsmere came into view, Samuel’s jaw ached. He drew in a breath and forced his teeth to unclench. The last stretch of his journey passed in a blur. Samuel dismounted at Langley Court without ceremony, passing his horse into the capable hands of a groom. The walk to The Parsonage passed quickly enough, and soon the house came into view; he ought to have felt relief at the sight of it, but the tightness in his chest lingered, refusing to loosen its hold.
Inside, the quiet enveloped him, and Samuel crossed into the parlor to find his wife seated near the window, her attention fixed upon a letter. Sunlight caught in her hair as she read, her attention so wholly claimed that she didn’t notice his arrival.
The sight stirred an unexpected prickle of irritation before he cleared his throat, and when the lady did not look up, Samuel said in an even tone, “We ought to dress for services. We need to leave shortly.”
Mrs. Godwin murmured something in reply—agreement, perhaps, or acknowledgment—but did not rise or set the letter aside. Samuel paused, waiting for her to do or say something, and turned away when the quiet pressed in close.
So be it.
Huffing, he turned away and took the stairs to their bedchamber. Samuel didn’t have the strength or inclination to herd his wife about.
Chapter 10
Morning light poured through the bedchamber window, warming everything it touched. Despite the casement being wide open, only the faintest breath of air swept in, carrying the scent of dust and the murmur of Kingsmere as it stirred to life.
A small dressing table stood in the light, covered with the accoutrements Phoebe required to make herself presentable. Despite having little experience with dressing a lady’s hair, Molly was taking to her new responsibilities with ease, doing as well as any maid Phoebe had used at Dunsby Hall, enjoying the shift in her duties now that the newly hired cook had removed “of-all-work” from the maid’s title.
Once she received a nod of approval, Molly bobbed and departed to ready herself for church, but Phoebe remained in place as her mother’s words ran through her thoughts again and again. Any hopes that her letter would hold glad tidings had been dashed from the first sentence, and the words clung to her like damp wool.
