'Miss Linton!' I was just about to climb into the coach when, glancing back, I caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose marching towards me at full steam. 'What is this I hear about you dismissing all the staff of my manor?'
You mean the delivery men of Ambrose's Furniture Emporium?
I refrained from saying it out loud, though. Instead, I gifted him with a cheerful smile. 'Ah, yes. I'm so sorry about that. I'm just about to remedy the situation.'
He gazed at me for a moment. 'So...you've seen the error of your ways?'
'Definitely. We need staff. And I intend to see to it that we get it.'
Suspicion glinted in his ice-cold eyes. 'You mean you intend to hire back the men you dismissed without my permission, correct? That is what you are going to do?'
I just gave him another charming smile and swung myself up into the coach. 'I'm going to do what you've always wanted me to do: take charge of your house.'
'Now, wait just a minute!' Taking a step forward, he reached out. 'I forbid you—'
'Karim!' I hollered. 'Now!'
A beautiful Punjabi curse rose into the English country air. A whip snapped. Before Mr Ambrose could grab hold of me, the coach jerked forward and started rolling down the driveway, away from the manor. Leaning out of the window, I started to wave at my favourite iceberg.
'Don't wait up for me, honey!' I called. 'I'll be a while!'
Turning to Karim, I pointed forward, down into the valley, where, from beyond the trees, I could see the smoke of a settlement rise into the air.
'Let's see if this isn't the famed village of Collundale, shall we?'
Karim uttered a half-groan, half-growl. 'I'm going to pay for this later.'
'You probably are,' I allowed. 'But if I manage to get some staff, at least you won't have to put on an apron and serve as combined footman, stable hand and scullery maid. Won't that be nice?'
In response, Karim cracked the whip again and urged the horses to go on faster. I guess the mental of image of him in a frilly white apron was an even better motivator than the wrath of Rikkard Ambrose.
It wasn't long before we rounded the woods and rolled out onto a winding road that offered a beautiful view of the valley and all that lay within. My breath caught for just a moment when I caught sight of the village of Collundale for the first time. I had always been a city girl at heart. But something about the little village snuggled up against the side of the hills tugged at my heartstrings.
'Let's get down to business, shall we?'
I wrapped my parasol against the roof of the carriage. 'Drive, please.'
When, a few minutes later, the massive black coach that had more in common with a hearse than with a wedding carriage rolled into the village of Collundale, the whole village seemed to freeze. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the vehicle, clearly expecting it to roll right through, just like everything else did.
Then the coach came to a halt in front of the inn.
Pushing open the door, I stepped out and took a sniff of the despicably fresh country air. No smoke. No sweat. Not even a hint of dog droppings. Oh well, I suppose you couldn't expect country people to know what real air was.
Not waiting for Karim to extend the stairs, I jumped down into the muddy lane, dusted off my dress and stepped towards a boy who was sitting against a wall not too far off, cleaning an old pair of boots.
'Hello there, young man. You wouldn't happen to know the local place where a lady can stock up on all the necessities of the finer life? Preferably some place where one can have a nice little chat?'
The boy's jaw sagged, and the piece of straw that had been stuck in the corner of his mouth almost toppled out. Quickly, he caught it. Staring up at me with two big, round, blue eyes, he pointed a spindly arm down the street.
'Mrs Jenkins' down the street, Miss. The shop with the big red sign over the door.'
'My thanks.' Reaching into my pocket, I fished out a penny and threw it to the boy. Instead of catching it, he ducked, as though it were a bomb. Only when the little metal disk landed in the dirt in front of him without blowing up did he cautiously peek at it.
'You...you're giving me money, Miss?'
'Yes.'
'And...I can keep it? Just like that?'
Dear Lord. Mr Ambrose must have already spent quite a lot of time here.
'Yes.'
A hand flew out and snatched up the penny.
'Thank you! Thanks so much, Miss!' The little brat gazed up at me with wide-eyed adoration. 'I'll be out here cleaning boots for a while yet. If you need anything else...'
'...I'll know where to find you.' I inclined my head. 'Till next time.'
And I strode down the road, off towards the shop with its big red sign.
Five minutes later, a bell rang as I pushed open the door to Mrs Jenkins' Clothing & Accessories for Ladies of All Ages.
The shop was...
Well, to call it a 'thriving business' would have been an exaggeration. Apart from myself, there were only two other people in the place: a boy who seemed to have fallen asleep while re-stocking the wares, with a hat still in his hand, and a little old lady who looked as if she'd come to beg for castoffs, and yet for some reason was standing behind the counter. I tried to calculate the chances that she might be the owner of the shop, and decided they were slim.
Still...there was nobody else here. So, who else could she be? Well, there was only one way to find out. The little old lady had her nose buried in a book, so I stepped closer and cleared my throat.
Blinking like an owl through oversized glasses, she gazed up at me.
'W-who are you?'
Raising an eyebrow at the enquiry, I pointed at the bonnets and gloves filling the various racks on the walls. The woman's eyes widened in incredulity and wonder at the miracle unfolding before her.
'A...customer? A real, honest-to-God customer?'
For a moment she remained frozen behind the counter—then suddenly, she rushed around the counter and curtsied.
'Welcome, Miss! Welcome, welcome, welcome to my humble establishment. How may I serve you? What would you like? Bonnets? Shawls? Gloves?'
'Well...' Thoughtfully, I gazed down at my hands and rubbed my still-aching knuckles. Removal men had hard jaws. 'My gloves have been seeing a lot of wear, recently. And I have a feeling, the way things are going it's going to continue that way.'
The old lady—Mrs Jenkins, I presumed—beamed like a gunpowder lamp: bright, and with a short lifespan. 'Gloves! How wonderful, Miss! Simply wonderful! A fellow passionate gardener, are you?'
'Ehem, well...I definitely might be making use of a shovel or some other hard tools in the near future.'
'Well, let's have a look at what I have on offer. Please, follow me, Miss!' Bustling down the row of shelves with astonishing speed for someone who looked as if she could be broken in half by a stiff breeze, Mrs Jenkins pulled one box after another down and peeked inside. 'Would you be so kind as to share your favourite colour, Miss?'
'Oh, I don't really care. Just make sure it's something sturdy and practical.'
'Certainly, Miss. May I ask...are you just passing through or planning on staying in the area for a while?'
There was an almost desperate longing in the woman's voice. No wonder. With Mr Rikkard Ambrose as the only resident representative of the gentry, I could imagine a store for lady's finery had considerable trouble with finding a customer base.
Well, let's see what we can do to change that, shall we?
'Actually, I'm planning on settling down here.'
Mrs Jenkins nearly dropped the entire stack of boxes and herself. Eyes wide, she wobbled around on spaghetti legs to face me. 'You...you are?'
'Yes. This seems to be a lovely little village.'
Mrs Jenkins's shoulders slumped.
I raised an eyebrow. 'What, you don't like it here?'
She gave a sad little shake of her aged head. 'Don't misunderstand me, Miss. This is a lovely place. A little piece of heaven on earth. But even heaven may not be perfect when Satan sneaks in.'
Frowning, I took a step forward. The poor old lady looked so vulnerable just then. 'What? Do you mean to tell me there are some undesirable individuals in the neighbourhood?'
If so, they wouldn't be here for long! This was my territory now!
Mrs Jenkins glanced from left to right in a way that clearly signalled, 'I'm itching to gossip bu...'
'You can trust me,' I told her earnestly, placing a hand on my heart. 'You don't need to be afraid of whoever is throwing his weight around in these parts. I won't breathe a word of what you tell me.'
'Well, Miss...' She leaned forward, lowering her voice. 'You look like a nice young lady, and you said you planned on living here, so I have no choice but to warn you. But please don't let this go any further, will you?'
'Certainly not.'
'Things have been going downhill around here for a while now. Ever since he arrived.'
'He?' I leaned closer, all ears. 'Do tell! Who is this sinister personage? Maybe I can do something to help.'
She shook her head, wildly. 'No, please don't try! You'd only get yourself in danger. This man is ruthless, and without a modicum of conscience or decorum. And worst of all...he's the lord of the manor!'
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
'P-pardon?'
'Aye, you heard right.' She nodded solemnly. 'The lord of the manor.' She pulled her wrinkly face into a grimace. 'Or perhaps I'd better call him the furniture salesman of the manor. He...he...' She lowered her voice until it was a mere whisper. 'He sells things! A lord who sells things! Out of his own home! Can you imagine?'
'Somehow, I can, yes.'
'Well.' Mrs Jenkins huffed. 'I don't know what's fashionable in London, but such things are not considered proper around these parts. Lords are there to be lords. To own land and be lordly, not to interfere in normal people's business. Not that his abomination of a "store" would be competition for me.' Straightening her crooked back with pride, or at least trying to, she gestured around at her dilapidated little shop. 'I sell ladies' items, nothing like those fancy luxury things up at the manor. But ever since the old lord died and this...this person from London bought the estate, there hasn't been a single ball up at the manor! Not one! Even though that new lord stayed at the place more than once, there wasn't a single time he invited guests over for a ball or a picnic! Isn't that incredible?'
'Oh, I don't know,' I murmured, my voice low. 'I find it quite credible.'
'What was that, Miss?'
'Nothing, nothing. Do go on.'
'And since no guests are coming to stay any more, practically no ladies end up coming to my store. And as for the new lord of the manor himself...'
'Let me guess. He's not interested in ladies or ladies' finery?'
'Do earthworms fly?'
Smiling, I reached out to finger one of the gloves the old lady had spread out on the counter for me. 'I've seen stranger things.'
'Well, if he has any interest in ladies, he certainly doesn't spend any money on them. There's a piss-rich penny pincher if ever I saw one!'
I grinned. 'From your tone I gather he's not very beloved by his neighbours around here.'
The old lady snorted. 'About as well as I liked the last diet prescribed by my doctor. It was cheap and slimmed me down, but...'
'But you'd like to take a mallet to your doctor's head if he ever suggests it again.'
'You take the words out of my mouth, Miss.' Mrs Jenkins sighed. 'It wouldn't be so bad if any of the business from his fancy establishment spilled over into the village, but I tell you, the minute that man sees even the hint of a possibility of a profit, he grabs it and holds onto it for dear life. He even offered his own coaching service, and was building a restaurant next to that soulless mausoleum that used to be the local lord's house.' She shook her head sadly. 'I pity the poor girl who'll have to marry that man one day.'
I cleared my throat, delicately.
'Um, well...why don't you show me your bonnets as well, Mrs Jenkins? And while you're at it, tell me a little more how things have been in the village since that cheapskate up in the manor arrived. He truly sounds deplorable! I imagine he doesn't employ many servants?'
'Ha! He would pull his own coach if he'd find a way to fit the bit in his mouth.'
I winced. The old lady had no idea how right she was. Thank heavens for large bits and heavy coaches.
'Why do you ask, Miss?' A hopeful expression appeared on her face. 'Are you looking to hire a few people? I knew some young folks, all good boys and girls, but out of work since that son of a bachelor took over. If you're looking for a maid or stable hand, it would be wonderful if you'd be kind enough to give one of them a position.'
'I already have a maid. But still...' I smiled at myself in the mirror, fitting a fiery red bonnet on my hair. 'I have a feeling I'll be doing some hiring.'
'That's marvellous, Miss!' Mrs Jenkins clapped her hands, nearly doing a little dance on the spot. 'Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated. Ever since that crazy man up at the manor arrived, many of the tenant farmers have been struggling, and some have even lost their homes, poor fellows, and can hardly feed their families. They have it so much harder than me. It's past time good fortune came their way.' She sighed. 'I only wish it were someone powerful enough to take on that stone-hearted skinflint in the manor.'
'You never know. Miracles have been known to happen.' Winking at Mrs Jenkins, I handed her the red bonnet and two pairs of solid leather gloves. 'I'll take those. Will you wrap them for me, please? And please write the addresses of those people down for me. The ones that might be interested in a job, I mean. Oh, and those farmers who have lost their houses, as well.'
'Th-the farmers, too?'
'Yes.'
'Certainly, Miss. Right away, Miss.'
Mrs Jenkins hurried to fulfil my request. When she handed me the wrapped package, she grabbed hold of my hand, as if she still couldn't quite believe I was real. 'So, you'll really be staying, Miss? In spite of all the horrible stuff I told you about this place?'
'Yes, I'll be staying.' I pulled open the door and turned back one last time to wink at Mrs Jenkins. 'At the manor, with the piss-rich penny-pincher, to be precise. I'll make sure you get an invitation to our wedding.'
Whistling, I stepped outside.
***
The news spread through the village like wildfire. The lord of the manor, who had driven the village practically to ruin, had arrived with a bride in tow. And, even more astounding: she was not a heartless marble statue with the conscience of a harpy and the greed of King Midas. She seemed, at first glance, actually to be a human being. And she was buying things. And hiring people. For actual money.
Just a few minutes after I'd made my first visit to prospective employee number one, the first people started pointing and whispering at me. Then, curious bystanders started to assemble, following me as I went on my tour through the village and its surroundings. I couldn't remember acquiring a fascinated following this fast since Patsy stuck a 'kick me for kicks' sign on my back last April Fool's Day. And, just like back then, some watched me with fascinated horror, others with sincere pity.
'So...you are the one?' The old lady stepping towards me was a total stranger. Still, that didn't keep her from clutching my hands and patting my shoulder in sympathy for the tragedy I was about to endure. 'You've got to marry that...person up at the manor?'
'Well, I plan to marry him, yes, but—'
'What is it, poor girl?' She squeezed my fingers a little harder. 'Does he have something on you? Did your mother and father talk you into it because they're hard up for money? You can tell old Emma, dearie. I know the vicar, and if I put in a good word for you, he'll help you get away from that man.'
'Um...very generous of you, ma'am. Thank you. But I think I have to decline.'
The old lady gave a sigh, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. 'So brave. So strong in the face of horror.' She gave my hands another squeeze. 'You're a good girl! If ever you need someone to talk to, I'm here.'
'Thanks, ma'am. I'll remember that.'
The old lady peeked around me to throw a suspicious glance at the hulking figure of Karim. 'Good God! He has this behemoth watching you?'
'Err...yes, I suppose so. In a way.'
She shook her venerable old head. 'Well, you just remember, we're on your side. Any time you need help, you let me know.'
I couldn't help but grin. Well, well. This was shaping up nicely so far. I liked my new home already. The people here apparently had excellent judgement.
'You're friends with the vicar, you said?' I enquired.
'Oh yes. I've known him ever since he was a boy.' The old lady cackled. 'It does provide some amusement on Sundays when I watch little Bertie Evans who I used to chase round my garden with a broom for pinching apples from my trees preach about Christian values.'
I grinned. I liked this lady. 'How would you like to introduce me to him? I have a few things to discuss in regard to my wedding, anyway, and I'd like to meet him before we start planning the ceremony.'
The old lady beamed as if she'd just been offered the chance to introduce the Queen of England to her favourite nephew. Latching on to my arm with surprising force, she beamed up at me.
'Why, of course! I'd be delighted to. Let's go to the church right now, shall we? The vicar usually tends the church garden around this time.'
And, helpless as a kitten, I was dragged towards the tower of the church sticking out from among the modest village houses. It wasn't long before the church itself came into sight and, in front of it, the vicar, tending to a little patch of beautiful roses.
'Hello? Hello, Vicar?' My captor waved energetically with one arm, while keeping me firmly imprisoned with the other. 'I've brought someone very special to see you!'
'Oh?' The vicar glanced up with a slightly nervous expression. He was a young man still, and to judge by the look in his eyes as he glanced at the old lady, he very well remembered a certain broom. Relief flooded his face when he saw that what the old lady was bringing today was by no means as bristly. 'Who is the young lady, Mrs Ritson? A relative of yours?'
'Oh no.' The spindly old lady—Mrs Ritson—puffed up her triple woollen undershirts for lack of a chest. 'It's the young lady what's going to marry the Lord up in the manner, that's what! What's your name again, dearie?'
'Linton.' Freeing myself from her grip, I stepped towards the vicar and curtsied. 'Miss Lillian Linton.'
'Oh.' Eyes widening, the vicar hurriedly dropped his garden shears. 'I'm so sorry! Please excuse my rudeness.' He bowed to me, deeply. But the glance he shot at Mrs Ritson made me think he might be more worried about offending the broom than offending the lord of the manor. I couldn't help a grin from spreading over my face. 'Welcome. Welcome to our little village.'
'Thank you. And what a beautiful village it is.' Leaning forward, I sniffed the roses in his little garden. Yes, I was a city girl, but I had wandered through enough parks in my life to appreciate a bit of greenery here and there. 'Your garden is particularly lovely.'
'You like roses, do you?' the vicar asked, his face lighting up.
'Oh yes.' I took another sniff, giving him an innocent smile. 'My favourite one is Rosa Annoyinga Bodyguarda.'
From behind me, I heard something that sounded like a cross between the croak of an indignant bullfrog and the groan of a steam engine, ready to explode. Without bothering to turn around, my smile widened, and I waved over my shoulder.
'Ah. Karim. So you've finally caught up with me, have you? You really are getting slow in your old age.' I turned to see Karim standing a few feet away, looking perfectly in his prime and, to judge by his expression, ready to eviscerate and kill. 'Come and join us. The vicar and I were having such an invigorating conversation about botany.'
Beside me, the vicar gave squeak. He and Mrs Ritson stared wide-eyed at the figure of Karim stepping around the corner of the church. They both looked as if they were a lot more interested in escapology than botany right then and there.
'I shall forgo that pleasure,' Karim informed me, his face a bearded block of wood. But his eyes...they were sparking fire.
'Err...' Inconspicuously, the vicar glanced at the sabre at Karim's hip and tried to take a step behind me. 'Who is this...gentleman?'
'This is Karim. He works for my fiancé.'
'Oh. Really?' The vicar's Adam's apple bobbed. 'In what...capacity?'
Karim fixed him with a glare that could have made much braver men wet themselves. 'I remove undesirable things. Permanently.'
'Oh. A removal man?' The vicar brightened, looking somewhat relieved. 'How interesting.' Hurriedly, he turned back to his little patch of roses, trying to banish the sight of the sabre from his universe. 'So, Miss Linton—you said your favourite rose is named Rosa Annoyinga Bodyguarda, right?'
I turned to beam at him. 'Yes, indeed.'
'Hm...Strange. I haven't heard of that one before.'
From somewhere behind me came a growl. My smile widened. 'It doesn't surprise me. It's originally from India and only blooms very rarely in this climate. But when it does...oh, I guarantee you, you will never see petals that are its equal.'
'How lovely! Do you think you could get me seed?'
I didn't quite manage to press a hand in front of my mouth to suppress my snort. Karim wasn't quite as successful in stifling the noise that erupted from his throat, however.
'I...I...think that might be rather difficult, Vicar. But I'll try my best.'
'Wonderful!' The vicar beamed at me. 'You're such a kind, giving woman, Miss Linton. I can already tell you'll fit in wonderfully in our congregation.'
I beamed at him. 'So glad to hear you say that, Vicar. It brings me to what I've come to talk to you about. You see, I've talked to a few people and they've told me how things have been in the village ever since my husband-to-be moved into the manor. So, I thought about the matter, and I have a few little suggestions to make...'
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
I feel in a flowery mood today. My garden is blooming beautifully in the summer. Here, take a bouqet of Rosa Anoyinga Bodyguarda. I hope you're not allergic? ;-)
Yours Truly
(a flower-loving) Sir Rob