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‘Barchester Hall is situated around twelve miles from London,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I am afraid that at the moment it is a bit of a wreck. Externally, the house is solid, and the grounds are lovely, but it has been shockingly mismanaged by the previous owner for many years and that shows.’
His glib condemnation of her brother and the home she loved so much rankled, but she managed to hide her anger. She could not properly gauge his expression through Aunt Beatrice’s reading glasses, and the thick lenses were beginning to give her an awful headache.
‘Obviously I need to make some urgent renovations. The whole interior needs remodelling, furniture and things will need to be bought to replace what is there currently, and I will need to recruit enough decent staff to run the place. Do you have experience of recruiting servants, Mrs Preston?’
Hannah nodded. This was one thing that she could talk about without lying. When she had lived at Barchester Hall they had had great difficulty retaining staff. This had been largely due to the fact that her brother had had a tendency not to pay their wages on time, if at all, and she’d constantly had to replace the never-ending line of servants who had refused to stay.
‘Yes, indeed. I have had to recruit many suitable servants and I am well aware of the sorts of things that entice the best servants to work at a house.’ Wages were their main priority. That she knew for a fact.
‘You look a little young to be a housekeeper.’
‘I am thirty-five, sir.’ Hannah smiled tightly and hoped that she looked drab enough to be that age. The brown day dress was the most awful thing she possessed, and the lace cap, which she had bought as an afterthought yesterday, covered her wheat-coloured curls. ‘I can assure you that I am eminently suitable for the position.’
‘Hmm...’ He had picked up one of her references and was reading it.
Hannah could feel her one chance slipping away. She opened her mouth to speak but Jameson spoke again before she could say anything.
‘I think that I have heard—and seen—everything I need to. Reggie is already smitten with you. That is good enough for me.’ He turned to Hannah with a friendly smile. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Preston—the position is yours. I will expect you at Barchester Hall next weekend. Please leave me the details of your lodgings so that I can send you the necessary formalities.’
He stood up and shook her hand vigorously and then walked her towards the door at a brisk pace.
Bemused, Hannah could do little but smile at her unexpected good fortune—although she was unsure exactly how it had come about. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she managed to mutter before she found herself standing alone again on the street as the door closed firmly behind her.
Not quite believing her luck, and just in case he retracted his offer, she decided not to tempt fate. She scribbled the inn’s address on a piece of paper and popped it through the letter box before hurrying to the nearest waiting hackney. Finally, after seven long years, she was going home.
Chapter Two (#ulink_94397bc2-bd7e-5278-a377-2be85763f808)
Hannah arrived at Barchester Hall late on Sunday and was immediately engulfed in Cook’s warm embrace.
‘My goodness, my lady, you look well. You have barely changed in all these years.’
Hannah hoped that she had. It would be disastrous if one of the locals recognised her. She was overwhelmed with emotion. Happiness at finally seeing the house she had always loved warred with the humiliation and sadness that had led to her departure from it all those years ago.
‘Oh, Cook—I have missed you.’ Hannah happily sank into a chair around the large oak table and accepted the reviving tea that was thrust into her hand.
‘The place has not been the same without you, my lady. Your brother never should have sent you away. We could have weathered the storm and restored your reputation. I just know we could have. When I think of how abominably you were treated—why, it makes my blood boil.’ Cook dashed her sleeve across her eyes to wipe away more tears. ‘If you had been here perhaps we would not be in this mess.’
Never a truer word had been spoken. There was no way Hannah would have allowed this shocking decline if she had been here. She would have been able to guide George and help him to make better decisions. She would have taken control of the accounts and managed the funds better—if George had relinquished them, of course, which was highly improbable in reality. George had never, ever listened to a single word she had said. He had probably forgotten she even existed the very same day he had put her on that coach headed to York.
‘Never mind. I am here again now,’ she responded happily, keen to change the subject away from her banishment. ‘And I have no intention of ever leaving again. But if my deception is going to work you really must stop calling me “my lady”. From now on I am Mrs Preston.’
The two women caught up on years of gossip over the course of several cups of tea. By the time Hannah finally hauled herself into her new bed she was feeling decidedly uneasy. She had not realised how dire things at Barchester Hall had become. There was a rag-tag group of four young maids and two very fresh-faced footmen. None of the old staff remained, apart from Cook. That was fortunate. The fewer people who knew her true identity the better—however, the village was still filled with familiar faces so she would have to avoid it at all costs. That would be a challenge, but not impossible.
It had grown too late for her to take a proper tour of the house, but Cook had painted a very grim picture as they had wandered around the ground floor. The gardens were decidedly unkempt and the pastures were long empty. All the tenants were now gone—largely because her brother had neglected the upkeep of their cottages and had then doubled their rents as a way to get more money.
George had also sold most of their valuable antiques, one by one, in a desperate attempt to keep the wolves from the door. However, any money he had raised had not been invested in the house but used to pay off his ever-rising gambling debts. Hannah had Jameson to thank for that. Now all that was left was a hotchpotch of old and dilapidated furniture that was barely fit for purpose and the shell of a once great house in bad need of some care.
The situation was dire. The way George had neglected the house was criminal and, had he still been alive, Hannah would have given him a piece of her mind—not that he would have listened.
Nobody apart from Cook and those few scattered maids and footmen had lived in the house since George’s death, so the decline had continued unabated. A sad fact that was hardly their fault. None of them had known what was going to happen. Everybody had assumed that the house would be sold by its new owner, and the servants had received no clear direction. Then, out of the blue, Jameson had turned up a month ago and declared that he intended to live in it after all. Since then, as Cook had acknowledged, there had been some improvement.
He had already procured labourers to fix the leaking roof, and hired a head gardener and a gamekeeper who were both due to start work within the week to fix the grounds. The fact that he had also employed her as his housekeeper suggested that he meant business.
Her biggest concern was how she would react around him without giving herself away. How, exactly, did one conceal so much hatred and disgust? When she had first met him she had wanted to slap his face. She still did. Her brother had always admonished her for her sharp words and forthright opinions. Now she was to all intents and purposes a servant, so she would have to watch her wayward tongue with Jameson or risk the sack.
With any luck they would have little to do with one another. Masters tended to stay well away from the help unless absolutely necessary. Surely she could manage under those circumstances? Especially as she was certain that it would not take long to find conclusive evidence of his crimes and take her rightful place as mistress of the house.
* * *
Ross tried to get some much-needed blood into his long legs by stretching them. This was no easy feat in the confines of the carriage, with Reggie taking up most of the space.
‘How much longer?’ the big man asked, without taking his eyes off the scenery rushing by. Poor Reggie was sometimes like a child, with the attention span of a puppy. He had asked the same question at least twenty times already and the journey from London was less than an hour.
‘We should be there in a few minutes, Reggie,’ he said, smiling. ‘When was the last time you visited the countryside?’
The big man screwed up his face as he gave the question some thought. ‘I can’t say I remember—but I’m sure that I have been.’
That sentence, in a nutshell, summed Reggie up. His memory was shot—thanks to far too many years in the boxing ring—so sometimes he recalled things and sometimes he didn’t.
‘Will there be food when we get there? I’m starving, Ross.’
Reggie’s entire life revolved around food, and he could get quite unreasonable when there wasn’t any, so Ross nodded. This appeared to placate the big man, who continued to watch the road as if his life depended on it. One of Ross’s first jobs upon arrival, he knew, would be to make sure that Reggie knew exactly where everything was and how far he could wander.
Aside from the fact that the sight of him would probably scare the locals, Reggie panicked when he was lost or confused, and when he panicked he could be difficult to handle. Ross would also have to make sure that the rest of his motley crew of staff were made aware of Reggie’s particular needs and peculiarities. He didn’t particularly want any of them to be frightened either.
Just thinking about the prospect of having staff made him smile. Apart from Reggie, he had never had a servant before—and Reggie hardly counted as one of those. Ross gave him things to do because it made him happy to do them. In reality, he was far too clumsy to do more than fetch and carry effectively, and Ross was used to doing things for himself anyway.
But now he had a gamekeeper, a gardener, a rotund and jolly cook and a sour-faced housekeeper. In truth, he was not entirely convinced that the housekeeper would turn up. She had certainly not appeared to be particularly enamoured of him. He had only given the frog-eyed woman the job because she had shown a modicum of kindness to Reggie. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if she did turn up he and she would part company quite quickly.
‘I can see a house!’ exclaimed Reggie.
‘That has to be Barchester Hall, then—we should arrive any minute now.’
Ross could not quite contain his own excitement. He was going to live in a proper house for the first time in his life, and as soon as it was in a fit state he would bring his mother and sister to live there with him. He had not told them about it yet. He was looking forward to seeing the looks on their faces when they entered such a grand house.
He owed them the security and safety of a proper home, where he would be able to keep a watchful eye on them. They had not lived together as a family in years. Ross had always taken care of them, but his business had demanded his full attention and he had neglected to find them all a home until he had accidentally found himself in possession of one. Even then he had not considered actually living in it, and still would not have unless his sister had declared an interest in leaving the quaint and quiet village he had moved them to in order to spend the season in London. And his mother was happy for that to happen. He still could not believe that.
After everything that had happened—all the years when they had both done their best to keep Sarah safe—his mother was now willingly going to let her loose in London again. The place was still filled with crooks, thieves and wealthy perverts who preyed on the vulnerable. His sister was a young woman, and despite her belief that she was all grown up she would need his protection now more than ever if she was to get through the season unscathed.
She was such a pretty thing. She always had been. He would never forgive himself if she was placed in danger again. The very thought made him feel sick to his stomach.
Therefore Barchester Hall was the perfect compromise. It was close enough to London for them to visit the place freely, but far enough away to keep his family out of harm’s way. If everything went as Ross hoped it would he would finally be able to wave goodbye to the necessity of being in the city for every waking hour, and to the guilt he felt at not being around for his family to oversee their safety personally. Now there would be no more excuses. He could keep a very close eye on his sister or—more importantly—on anybody who came near her.
* * *
Hannah saw the shiny black carriage approach and assembled the small staff on the poorly maintained gravel drive, ready to meet their new master. As it came closer into view she saw his huge bodyguard, Reggie. He was smiling, with his face pressed up against the window. Two of the maids sniggered at the sight and she shot them a pointed look before the carriage came to a stop. Regardless of the peculiarity of the situation, they had no right to be so rude. Both girls coloured under her stern glare and looked down at their feet, and Hannah made a mental note to speak to them both later. Discipline had clearly been in short supply for far too long.
Reggie had the carriage door open before the tiger could get to it, and bounded out onto the drive and stared up at the house in awe.
‘Blimey, it’s big!’ he exclaimed over his shoulder, just as Jameson poked his head out of the carriage and regarded the assembled group with amusement.
Hannah ignored the rising bile in her throat as she dipped into a reluctant curtsy and then stepped forward to greet him. ‘Mr Jameson—welcome to Barchester Hall.’ She could not quite bring herself to say welcome home. It was not his home, and if she had her way it never would be.
He looked her up and down and grinned. ‘You came, then? I was not sure that you would. Especially after...’ He left the rest of the sentence hanging awkwardly.
Hannah nodded in tight acknowledgement and then introduced him to the staff she had only met herself yesterday. He greeted all six of them with surprising good cheer and did a very good job of charming them all—including Cook. But Hannah had expected no less. Swindlers had to be charming. Manipulation was their stock in trade.
When she had dismissed the servants he sidled up next to her before she could escape into the house. ‘Might I have a word, Mrs Preston?’
Hannah turned towards him and he gently took her arm and steered her away from the carriage. His big, overly familiar hand was warm, and it made her extremely conscious of their close proximity.
‘I should probably tell you about Reggie now,’ he confided in a hushed tone, a little too close to her face, ‘because he is going to take a bit of getting used to.’
When they were well out of earshot he stopped walking and faced her.
‘He’s a good-natured sort, and keen to help, but he does not have the sense that you or I take for granted. Until he gets his bearings I would appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for him. Make sure he doesn’t stray too far from the house and give him plenty of little jobs to do. Nothing that involves common sense, of course, because he certainly does not possess any—but he loves to help. Even if he is not being particularly useful I like to make him think he is. Could you also alert the rest of the staff to my wishes? Sometimes people can be cruel to people like Reggie. Let them know that I will not tolerate that in this house.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Hannah had certainly not been expecting this to be the first order that she took from her new employer. Despite his black heart he obviously had a soft spot for his poor servant. It was a great shame that he did not have the same concern for all the people whose lives he had ruined—of which she was sure there were many.
‘I am going to take Reggie for a tour of the house first—after I have fed him, of course,’ he said with a smile. ‘Perhaps we can have a chat this afternoon about my plans? I believe that we have a great deal to do, Mrs Preston.’
His po-faced housekeeper smiled tightly and then scurried off. She really was a most humourless woman, he thought as he watched her disappear back into the house. All the other servants appeared to be quite friendly, but Mrs Preston reminded him of an icicle—cold, hard and sharp. He hoped that the woman was at least good at her job; it might well be her only redeeming quality.
Well, that was not strictly true, he realised. Ross had always had a talent for spotting potential in things—especially things that were attractive in a woman. Behind the ugly glasses was quite a pretty face. With a little effort he suspected that she might scrub up quite well. There might even be a reasonable figure under that shapeless sludge-coloured dress as well. It was difficult to tell.
Her letter of application had stated that she was a widow, although she did seem a little young to be one. But he knew only too well that life could be hard, and that some people dealt with its harshness by becoming bitter. Perhaps her attitude would soften towards him in time. And, then again, perhaps not. He had not exactly made the best first impression on her. She probably saw him as a lecher—or worse. The shock on her face at the sight of Francesca reclining on his bed had been quite impressive. But in his experience people thought exactly what they wanted to—regardless.
‘Come on, Reggie,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Let me show you around.’
Chapter Three (#ulink_f1ce03f8-ebff-5141-abeb-6210a55d7329)
Several hours later Ross left Reggie washing pots happily with Cook and went off in search of his prim housekeeper. He found her hovering not far from the kitchen, notebook already in hand, and he ushered her into the large study and sat opposite her at the enormous desk he had brought with him from London.
‘I think I should be brutally frank, Mrs Preston, and let you know now that I have absolutely no idea how to manage a house or staff. I am not completely sure, if I am honest, exactly what a housekeeper does. In that regard, I was hoping that you could let me know what exactly I need to attend to first.’
Ross watched her blink at his admission, but her face did not soften. Instead she pinned him with her scary frog stare, then tilted her head to one side.
The motion dislodged a curling tendril of golden hair from her lace cap, which she stuffed back in ruthlessly. The fact that it was such a lovely shade of blonde surprised him. He had not even considered that she might have hair. Not that he had thought her hairless, of course, but he had assumed that it would be nondescript and colourless—much as his housekeeper appeared to be. But now that he knew that she had such luscious-coloured locks he could not help wondering why she covered it all up in that dreadful mob cap.
Out of habit he smiled flirtatiously at her. Usually that garnered a faint blush at the very least. Mrs Prim-and-Proper Preston, though, was clearly made of granite, and she pursed her lips slightly in disgust at the overture. Then she launched into another lecture.
‘The role of a housekeeper is to ensure the good running of all things domestic. I will need a budget to buy the necessary day-to-day supplies, such as candles, then there are costs such as staff wages, linens, brandy and wine, et cetera. Obviously all expenditure will be logged properly by myself, in the household accounts ledger. Occasionally, as you are not married, I will have to consult with you about menus and such things—usually a housekeeper would go to the mistress of the house for that. Unless there is a mistress I need to be apprised of?’
He could tell by the insolent raising of her eyebrow that that comment was meant to allude to Francesca or a similar type of woman. He did not care for her opinions on his morality.
‘No mistress at the moment,’ he replied with a wolfish smile. ‘Married or otherwise. But I am always open to the possibility.’
He watched her lips thin and stifled a smile. He was actually enjoying irritating her. Something about disapproving people always brought out the worst in him, and as a self-defence mechanism he preferred to find humour in that disapproval rather than allow it to bother him. Mrs Preston was as prickly as a cactus. So far he knew that she disapproved of fornication and flirting, so he had plenty of ammunition already to use to rile her and he had only known her for a few hours.
‘I think we should start by deciding upon the new household budget, sir,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘What figure did you have in mind?’
Ross did not have a clue. ‘My solicitor advised me on costs when the property deed was stamped, but as I have never owned or lived in a grand house with a full staff before I shall have to defer to your expertise.’
The housekeeper blinked, and allowed herself the merest huff of exasperation before answering. ‘That depends on how much you are willing to spend, sir. At the moment the budget really only pays the servants’ wages and provides the basics. Some houses are run on a tight budget, and some of the grandest houses require vast sums of money—especially if the owner does a great deal of entertaining.’
‘Mrs Preston, I work with numbers. Would you be so kind as to clarify, in pound notes, exactly what you mean by “tight” and “vast”?’
Her sandy eyebrows drew together as she considered this, and she chewed her bottom lip for several seconds. ‘Realistically, with new servant costs included, the minimum yearly budget would have to be around five hundred pounds, sir. But that would mean that I’d have to be particularly thrifty. I suppose we could reduce that if we closed up part of the house in winter and reduced fuel costs. We could also purchase the cheaper cuts of meat.’
Ross screwed his face up in disgust. ‘We do not need to be “thrifty”, Mrs Preston. Give me a figure that will not leave me cold and chewing on gristle.’
She smiled ever so slightly at that, but quickly covered it. Underneath all that frost she might possess a sense of humour at least. Of course it might have been wind. The expression had been so fleeting he could not be sure.
‘A sensible budget of around eight hundred pounds a year is probably more than enough—assuming that you do not want an army of servants, sir?’
‘Heavens, no! There is only me—and in a few months my mother and sister will be coming to live here. I have no need of an army.’
Hannah could not hide her surprise. ‘You have a mother and a sister?’ She had not discovered that titbit in all her research.
He regarded her with amusement. ‘Of course I have a mother. Did you assume that I had been created by some other miraculous method?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ she said hastily, ‘but I had not considered the possibility that you had a family.’
A look of pleased affection crossed his features. ‘I do—although they drive me to distraction and nag me incessantly. At the moment they both live in a lovely quiet village in Kent, but my sister is twenty and she is begging me to bring her to town for the season. Why? I have no idea. But for the sake of peace I will do it. I thought I would surprise them with this house when it is finished. I think my mother might actually be lost for words for the first time in her life.’
His admission made her curious. ‘Why do they live in Kent?’
The moment the question popped out she regretted it. Servants were not meant to ask personal questions.
However, he did not appear to mind and answered happily. ‘My business requires me to be in London, mostly at the docks, but that is not a particularly...safe place to live. This house is a good compromise. It is only an hour away from town, but far enough away not to be too close to all the dirt and danger.’
Danger? That was an interesting word for him to use, and it said a great deal about him, in Hannah’s humble opinion. He must regularly mix with some shady characters indeed if he feared for the safety of his family in the city. Hannah had certainly never felt unsafe there. From what she remembered, Mayfair had been a charming place.
‘One of your main duties will be to get this house shipshape, Mrs Preston. Many of the bedrooms are in a shocking state, and the whole place looks as if it needs a touch of paint. I take it that you have had a good look around the house? Tell me, what things do you think need doing first?’
His question startled Hannah, so she answered honestly, forgetting to be demure as a good servant should be. ‘The main family rooms need to be sorted out first and foremost. The morning room and the dining room are looking very shabby.’
She had been shocked at just how shabby they had become in her absence. George had certainly run the house into the ground after he had banished her to Yorkshire.
‘I agree,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I hate this room as well.’ He waved his hand dismissively at the oppressive panelled walls.
Hannah had always loathed how dark the stained wood made this room. Even so, his criticism of it irritated.
‘I think the panelling adds a certain gravitas to the study,’ she countered, and watched his dark eyebrows draw together as he considered her words.
‘But it is so dingy in here,’ he finally ventured. ‘It is far too depressing to work in.’
‘What sort of work is it that you do?’ she asked politely, wondering how he would answer. He would hardly admit to swindling people, robbing them blind and driving them to suicide.
