The Art of Inheriting Secrets(58)

“I see. The south would be the parlor and dining room; is that right?”

“Yes. And I’ve talked to the garden club about doing some of the work in the rose garden. They’re absolutely delighted.”

One of my lessons had been to enlist the village and tenants in the process as much as possible to give them ownership. “Good girl. What’s the reward?”

“It seems they want to be able to volunteer once the gardens are open to the public. And I suspect a couple of them want to be employed.”

“Good. Plenty of work for them.”

“I’m sure.” I gave a report on the homework for the week, another set of meetings, and meals with the tenants of the farm. One wanted to discuss the possibility of pig farming, which I felt would be too much just this minute, and the other, a young family, had some excellent ideas for pasturing chickens, the eggs and meat of which brought in a much higher price.

Claudia, the niece who took care of him, popped in at one point. “How are you, Olivia?” she asked, then touched her uncle’s shoulder. “And you, Uncle?”

He waved her away, annoyed. His cheeks were a little flushed, his color beneath it wan, but he was as well-groomed as ever—his thick hair brushed away from his face, his shirt crisp. “Leave me alone,” he growled. “I’ll call you if you’re wanted.”

She met my eyes, and I read the message clearly. This was one of his bad days. I gave a barely perceptible nod. I’d keep an eye on him and leave early, pleading weather.

“Lunch is ready,” she said. “Shall I wheel you?”

“Yes, yes.”

The usually charming alcove was as dreary as the rest of the world, though there were fresh flowers to brighten the table and snowy linens and the china that had been in the family for generations. As we settled in our places, I said, “I would like your opinion on a few things, George, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course, girl, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

The soup course was a clear lemony broth dotted with parsley and scrolls of spring onion. It filled the air with a sunny fragrance, and I thought the cook was a genius to make such a dish on so dark a day. The flavor held as much sunshine as the scent. “This is remarkable,” I said and wished I could snap a photo on my phone, but I always left the phone in my purse, and the earl wasn’t exactly an Instagrammer.

“Mmmm.” He took his cook and fabulous food for granted. “Tell me what I can help you with.”

“The first thing I need is a reliable accountant who can look over the books at Rosemere and tell me what’s going on.”

“Easily done. I know just the man. I’ll ring him when we are finished with our luncheon.”

“I had a feeling you might know the right person,” I said with a smile.

“Are there problems?”

“I’m not sure. The reports I received from Haver are complicated, and it’s not always easy to trace the money. There’s an account in India that received funds for decades, but there’s no explanation for what it is or where that money is now.”

“Hmm. Could it be to support a love child or cover something up, perhaps?”

“Good question. I assume that’s where my uncle went, but no one can find him.”

“It would be logical.” He touched his chin delicately with a napkin. “I gather he was dragged out of India kicking and screaming.”

“That’s odd that both Violet and Roger wanted to stay there, even though they’d inherited Rosemere.”

“Is it odd, though?” George asked with customary wisdom. “Did you want to come here when you inherited?”

“Well . . . I didn’t mind. I didn’t really think I’d stay, though. I thought I’d come and get things settled and then go back to my life.” I lifted a shoulder.

“India had been their home their entire lives. What use was England? Violet was widowed by cholera shortly after Roger was born, so she had the run of the place—heady freedom for a woman in those days.”

“But wasn’t everything getting unstable in India then?”

He wiggled his nose. “Perhaps excitement is preferable to boredom. I would say Violet always felt that way.”

“She was a woman in charge when she returned to England too.”

“Oh, but English society would never offer a woman like your grandmother the same power as India would have in those days.”

“I suppose that’s true.” The woman who served all the meals, named Janet, cleared away our soup, piled the dishes on a rolling cart, and served a steaming portion of white rice and fish dotted elegantly with fresh green peas.

“Kedgeree,” Janet said. “One of your favorites, my lord.”

“How marvelous. We’ve been talking about India, and here we have an Indian dish for luncheon. Thank you, Janet.”

She nodded and gave me a wink. They cooked his favorites so that he would eat. For dessert—pudding, I supposed—there would be rhubarb crumble, a child’s dish, but he loved it covered in thick custard. Rhubarb soup, I teased.

“What else is on your mind, Olivia? The shine is not as bright today.”

“Isn’t it?” I didn’t want to share the news of Grant suing me. Instead, I said, “I just can’t figure out what my mother was thinking—I told you that I think she had to have known I would discover the business of the house. I mean, everything was right in plain sight in her office. So why not tell me ahead of time, help me get a handle on what she wanted me to do?”