The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(6)

“You are not suggesting…?” Mr. Hopple looked stunned, rather like a gaffed halibut in a lavender wig.

“Yes, I do suggest.” Anna nodded. “I think it will be just the thing. Shall I report to Ravenhill at nine or ten o’clock tomorrow?”

“Er, nine o’clock. The earl rises early. B-but really, Mrs. Wren—” Mr. Hopple stuttered.

“Yes, really, Mr. Hopple. There. It is all settled. I shall see you tomorrow at nine o’clock.” Anna patted the poor man on the sleeve. He really did not look well. She turned to go but stopped when she remembered a very important point. “One more thing. What wage is the earl offering?”

“The wage?” Mr. Hopple blinked. “Well, er, the earl was paying his last secretary three pounds a month. Will that be all right?”

“Three pounds.” Anna’s lips moved as she silently repeated the words. It was suddenly a glorious day in Little Battleford. “That will do nicely.”

“AND NO DOUBT MANY of the upper chambers will need to be aired and perhaps painted as well. Have you got that, Hopple?” Edward leapt down the last three steps in front of Ravenhill Abbey and strode toward the stables, the late-afternoon sun warm on his back. The dog, as usual, followed at his heels.

There was no reply.

“Hopple? Hopple!” He pivoted, his boots crunching on the gravel, and glanced behind him.

“A moment, my lord.” The steward was just starting down the front steps. He seemed out of breath. “I’ll be there… in… a… moment.”

Edward waited, foot tapping, until Hopple caught up, then he continued around the back. Here the gravel gave way to worn cobblestone in the courtyard. “Have you got that about the upper chambers?”

“Er, the upper chambers, my lord?” the little man wheezed as he scanned the notes in his hand.

“Have the housekeeper air them,” Edward repeated slowly. “Check to see if they need painting. Do try to keep up, man.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hopple muttered, scribbling.

“I trust you have found a secretary.”

“Er, well…” The steward peered at his notes intently.

“I did tell you I needed one by tomorrow morn.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord, and in fact I do have a-a person who I think may very well—”

Edward halted before the massive double doors to the stables. “Hopple, do you have a secretary for me or not?”

The steward looked alarmed. “Yes, my lord. I do think one could say that I have found a secretary.”

“Then why not say so?” He frowned. “Is something wrong with the man?”

“N-no, my lord.” Hopple smoothed his terrible purple waistcoat. “The secretary will, I think, be quite satisfactory as a, well, as a secretary.” His eyes were fixed on the horse weather vane atop the stable roof.

Edward found himself inspecting the weather vane. It squeaked and revolved slowly. He tore his gaze from it and looked down. The dog sat beside him, head cocked, also staring at the weather vane.

Edward shook his head. “Good. I will be absent tomorrow morning when he arrives.” They walked from the late-afternoon sunshine into the gloom of the stables. The dog trotted ahead, sniffing in corners. “So you will need to show him my manuscript and generally instruct him as to his duties.” He turned. Was it his imagination or did Hopple look relieved?

“Very good, my lord,” the steward said.

“I will be traveling up to London early tomorrow and shall be gone through the rest of the week. By the time I return, he should have transcribed the papers I have left.”

“Indeed, my lord.” The steward was definitely beaming.

Edward eyed him and snorted. “I shall be looking forward to meeting my new secretary when I return.”

Hopple’s smile dimmed.

RAVENHILL ABBEY WAS a rather daunting sort of place, Anna thought as she tramped up the drive to the manor the next morning. The walk from the village to the estate was almost three miles, and her calves were beginning to ache. Fortunately, the sun shone cheerily. Ancient oaks bordered the drive, a change from the open fields along the lane from Little Battleford. The trees were so old that two horsemen could ride abreast through the spaces between them.

She rounded a corner, gasped, and halted. Daffodils dotted the tender green grass beneath the trees. The branches above wore only a fuzz of new leaves, and the sunshine broke through with hardly any impediment. Each yellow daffodil shone translucent and perfect, creating a fragile fairyland.

What sort of man would stay away from this for almost two decades?

Anna remembered tales of the great smallpox epidemic that had decimated Little Battleford in the years before her parents moved into the vicarage. She knew the present earl’s family had all died from the disease. Even so, wouldn’t he have at least visited in the intervening years?

She shook her head and continued. Just past the daffodil field, the copse opened up and she could see Ravenhill clearly. It stood four stories high, built of gray stone in the classic style. A single central entrance on the first floor dominated the façade. From it, twin curving staircases descended to ground level. In a sea of open fields, the Abbey was an island, alone and arrogant.

Anna started on the long approach to Ravenhill Abbey, her confidence fading the closer she got. That front entrance was simply too imposing. She hesitated a moment when she neared the Abbey, then veered around the corner. Just past the corner, she saw the servants’ entrance. This door, too, was tall and double, but at least she didn’t have to mount granite steps to reach it. Taking a deep breath, she tugged on the big brass knob and walked directly into the huge kitchen.