Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(13)
She needn’t explain further—the steward nodded sagely and invited her in. “He’s just this way.” Once they reached a well-polished set of stairs, he added, “Would you like me to carry this?”
She would indeed, but it struck her that she’d have little reason to stay if she handed over the bag. If she’d walked all the way here, she might as well get a good look at the squire’s accommodations. See if he’d changed anything. Hidden anything. To sate her curiosity.
“I’m fond of the exercise, Mr. Parker.” She smiled. He looked only a little perplexed as he offered her a gracious nod and led the way through the house.
It was a far larger house than a simple squire should have, in Elsie’s opinion—more suitable to a baron. The sparse yet costly décor had not changed, nor did it seem to have aged, although her perspective was slightly different since she’d grown several inches in the interim. It struck her that perhaps the squire had kept things the same because he had not yet managed to convince a woman to marry him and refresh the place. All wood was polished, all windows were free of smudges. Every light fixture seemed dotted with crystal. Something with thyme in it was being baked in the kitchen, but Mr. Parker led her into the courtyard before she could determine what.
The courtyard was completely engulfed by the house, about twice the size of Ogden’s studio. A stone path looped through gardens lush with greens and spindly trees. A bench sat in the shade on the far side. Brick lined the walls of the house where the garden met them, and atop it was a border of plaster. Or rather, the start of one. Elsie imagined that Ogden’s artwork would be carved into that plaster, providing visitors with something to admire as they walked the stone loop. Elsie had tried to walk that loop once, but the housekeeper had caught and scolded her. She’d had her hand switched for “going where she didn’t belong,” which had made scrubbing pots the next day miserable.
Ogden crouched at the northeast corner, barely visible behind some well-trimmed dogwood.
“Mr. Ogden, you’ve a guest.” Mr. Parker spoke with the slightest hint of cheer. How anyone could be cheery in Squire Hughes’s employ, Elsie didn’t know.
“Not so much a guest as a deliverer,” Elsie said as Ogden turned around. His eyes immediately went to the trowel bag, and relief lit his face.
He crossed the path—“You’re an angel”—and took the bag.
“More so Emmeline. She’s the one who noticed it.”
Ogden gave her a look that said, I know you and your desire to ogle, which she steadfastly ignored.
Brushing off her skirt and checking for remnants of plaster dust, Elsie said, “Well, that will be that. I’m afraid I’ll get lost in this enormous house, Mr. Parker.” It had been ten years, after all, and her station had been so low she’d rarely seen the main floor. “Would you see me to the door?”
The steward smiled. “It would be my pleasure. Good day, Mr. Ogden.”
Ogden nodded and returned to his work.
Once inside, Elsie said, “Is it a lot of trouble, keeping on top of all the workings of such a large household?”
Mr. Parker shook his head. He moved at a leisurely pace, which allowed for good conversation. “Not at all. I keep all the books in order, and the squire isn’t a frivolous man. Makes things simple.”
Feeling daring, Elsie remarked, “I’m not sure anything would be simple, with the squire.”
To her relief, Mr. Parker merely chuckled. “I understand your point, Miss Camden. He has been out of sorts lately, what with the passing of the viscount.”
The viscount?
She’d hoped for some talk of the baron, who’d stayed with the squire two summers past if the Wright sisters were to be believed, but who was this viscount?
Elsie’s stomach did a little flip at the promise of gossip. Yet Mr. Parker had said it with the assumption that she would know to whom he referred. He was not baiting her. Thinking quickly, Elsie asked, “Is he distraught?”
“Of course.” They entered a long hallway. “There was only an empty bedroom between them. Right under his nose, yet no one heard a thing. He hasn’t been himself since returning from London. They were not terribly close, but it is a reminder of our own mortality.”
Her mind spun, craving the pieces of the puzzle she was missing.
As they neared the entry hall, the squire himself came around the corner, tall and brooding. Elsie was so involved in her own mind that he startled her, eliciting a small gasp from her lips, which she quickly shut. Decorum mandated she not speak to her better first, and she was grateful for the excuse to ignore him.
Unfortunately, Squire Hughes did not ignore her. He stopped abruptly, eyeing Elsie as if he were some bull and she a red flag. His fiery gaze flew to Mr. Parker. “What on earth are you doing with your time, Parker? Who is this woman, and why is she in my house?”
Anger burned up Elsie’s neck. She bit down so many heated retorts her teeth hurt. At least he didn’t seem to recognize her from their brief meeting in London.
“Just an aide to Mr. Ogden, who is doing fine work on your inner courtyard. I’m seeing her out now. I do believe Markson was looking for you regarding your luncheon.”
Squire Hughes’s lips curved in a most unpleasant fashion. Instead of answering, the despicable man merely pushed past the both of them and continued on his ornery way.