Page 26 of An Inconvenient Vow

“I won’t be long,” he added sternly and strode toward the house, flinging open the door and starting down the passageway.

Sabina sat in an agony of indecision. What was she supposed to do? Even if she did manage to slide down off this massive horse, what would be her next move? Mentally, she pictured the rooms and layout of her old home. It would not take him long to stride about the place. Morecotte was not a large property; it had no more than six bedchambers if you did not include the attic rooms where the servants slept.

What would he do? she wondered. Go striding in there and demand to speak to Alfred? She wondered how many of the old servants remained. From the untended state of the gardens, she guessed not many. Suddenly she sat up. Surely, she had heard some sound, like a muffled shout and then a crash? She turned to stare at the door expectantly, and moments later, Sir Jeffree burst from it, dragging someone by the scruff of his neck, before depositing him into the water trough with a huge splash. After an astonished moment, she realized it was Alfred Hendry.

Sabina gaped as two burly manservants emerged from the house, rolling up their sleeves. Sabina opened her mouth to yell a warning but found Sir Jeffree had already turned and was striding now toward them. Sabina shut her eyes, heard a few dull thuds, doubtless body blows and muffled grunts of pain. There was a splash, followed by another splash.

Another figure emerged from the house, an older, scrawnier servant with a stooped back. He surveyed the horse trough impassively and then squinted at Jeffree. Sabina recognized none of them. She cleared her throat. “Where is Master Carter who was head servant here?” she asked.

The old man shrugged. “Never ‘eard of ‘im,” he admitted.

Jeffree disappeared back into the house in search of further quarry. “Is there anyone else within?” she asked.

The old man spat on the ground, though whether from insolence or habit, she was not entirely sure. When she realized he was not willing to answer her, she turned back to where the drenched manservants were clambering out of the trough. Alfred was coughing and sputtering up a storm, but he made no move to extricate himself. Likely he was still sotted from the previous night’s excesses if she judged him on past form.

“Help me, you dolts!” he screamed impatiently, kicking his legs. The two manservants looked at one another with raised brows and then fell back, feigning deafness.

Jeffree reappeared once more over the threshold and the old man straightened up at once. “Good master,” he said in a wheedling voice, clasping his hands together in supplication. “Surely you will not throw an old man out of the only home he’s ever known.” Sabina’s eyebrows rose at this palpable lie. She had not set foot in Morecotte for two years, but this man was not one of Miles’s original staff.

Jeffree ignored him, turning to Sabina. “This is the entire household, save one woman in the kitchen,” he announced as a middle-aged stout woman stepped out of the front door, still wielding her broom. She looked from the horse trough to the dripping servants with interest. “What would you have me do?”

“Dismiss them all,” she answered at once. “I’ll have none of them! Anyone who would willingly serve such a villain as Alfred Hendry must be a wretch themselves.”

The servants had just broken out in a babble of protest when Alfred seemed to notice her for the first time. He gave an indignant yelp. “You! I might have known!”

“You might indeed!” she responded coolly. “As the rightful owner of this house, it is only right and proper that I should reclaim my home.”

“Harlot!” Alfred railed at her, his face turning purple. “Shameless, unnatural woman. Who would—?” He got no further, for Jeffree cuffed him roughly about the head. Alfred let out a howl and cringed back in the trough, clasping his ears.

“Watch your mouth when you speak of my wife!” Jeffree barked. “I will suffer none to scold her save me.” Sabina blinked at this but kept her head held high. “You heard her!” he roared, glancing around at the loitering servants. “Get you gone!”

One of the burly men slouched toward the water trough and heaved Hendry out in a grudging manner. After a moment, the old man hobbled over to join them, muttering under his breath. The three of them squelched resentfully down the weed-choked path, muttering complaints but not daring to raise their voices high enough for anyone to hear.

The woman hurried in her direction at once. “My lady,” she appealed. “I beg you will give me the chance to keep my position. Indeed, I have no love for Master Hendry. He has ever been a poor master and done little to inspire loyalty.”

Sabina surveyed her dispassionately. “Did you serve under the old master?” she asked with a hint of dread.

The woman’s gaze did not falter. “That I did for a sixmonth, but as you can see, I am not the type as would have caught his fancy.”

Sabina forced herself not to flinch. The woman was right. She was plain-faced and on the wrong side of thirty. Miles’s taste did not run in such directions. “Is your family a local one?” she persisted.

“Aye, my lady. My brother runs the pottery at Little Ganford. Until he married, I kept house there right comfortably for him. I daresay, a good deal more competently than that wife of his do now.”

“And your family name?”

“’Tis Chawton, my lady.” She hesitated. “Though my married name is Lancer. Penny Lancer.” She cast a quick look over at the remaining manservant who was stood emptying out his boots of water before setting out for the village.

“If I might make so bold, you might consider keeping on Lancer, milady. If you was to keep one of them on for the heavy work, I mean.” Penny colored slightly and glanced away. “He be my husband, if truth be told.”

Sabina glanced toward the man who looked rough-hewn and sullen. “He is your husband?” she asked softly. Penny nodded. “Do you stand witness to his good character?”

“He ain’t all bad,” Penny answered awkwardly. “Leastways, he’s the best of a bad bunch.”

Sabina sighed. She had heard of the Chawtons at least. They were a local family of good name. “Very well, Penny, you shall have your chance and so shall your husband.”

A look of immense relief swept over the woman’s face. She bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you kindly, milady. You won’t regret it. Without those knaves cluttering up the rooms, I’ll be able to bring some order to the place.”

It was true, there was likely a good deal of work to be done. “You there!” Sabina called impulsively. “Lancer. Is that your name?”