“Ah yes. Of course. I shall tell Mistress Thornton.”
The door opened and the housekeeper bustled in, looking more frazzled than usual. Her dustcap was askew, ready to plop in her eye any moment. Her stained apron hung at an awkward angle, attesting to the fact that she’d been forced to deal with more than her usual duties.
Behind her walked one of the groundsmen, a village youth with a strong back and bulging muscles. In his arms he carried the lord’s frail brother.
“Ye’ll set Master Bennett here by the fire,” the housekeeper ordered.
When that was accomplished, she began directing two serving wenches in her usual shrill manner.
“Not there, you mewing miscreant. Lord Stamford sits at this end of the table.”
Olivia winced, then glanced at her host. He showed absolutely no emotion as his housekeeper continued to browbeat the servants.
“The china here. The crystal there. Not that one. His lordship prefers ale with his meal. Give me that, you pribbling flax-wench.” She sent the two servants back to the kitchen while she finished preparing the table herself. When it was finished she was sweating profusely and dabbing at her forehead with the hem of her apron.
“Ye’ll let me know when ye wish to eat, m’lord?”
“Aye, Mistress Thornton. And would you tell Cook that the lad prefers milk?”
“Milk?” She glanced at the boy, then muttered under her breath, “The lad desires milk.” In a louder tone she called, “I’ll send a servant to the cowshed at once.”
“Thank you, Mistress Thornton.”
She bowed her way out.
With the housekeeper gone, an awkward silence settled over the room and its occupants.
“Miss St. John, Liat, I understand you have already met my brother, Bennett.”
Olivia smiled. “Yes. We had hoped to share a meal together tonight in Bennett’s room. But this is much nicer, don’t you think, Bennett?”
He stared at her in stunned surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe that she was speaking directly to him.
“I hope we’ll be friends.” She offered her hand and he had no choice but to accept her handshake. The fingers touching hers were limp and pale and trembling.
In his innocence, Liat blurted, “Why doesn’t he answer you, ma’am?”
“My brother can’t speak,” Quenton said simply.
“But I heard...” she began before Quenton cut her off with a warning look.
“He may make a few unintelligible sounds when he is asleep, but awake, he is incapable of speech. Would you care to take a seat?”
He indicated several chairs around the fireplace. Olivia perched on the edge of one. Liat climbed up to another, then settled himself back against the cushions.
Quenton was determined to be civil, if it killed him. “I’m told you lived in Oxford, Miss St. John.”
“Yes.” She felt a wave of pain that caught her by surprise. How she missed her home and her parents, and the friends she had known for a lifetime.
Quenton was watching her closely. As was his silent brother.
“Did your father teach at the university?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She swallowed twice before managing, “He was a professor of botany and zoology. My mother and I acted as his assistants.”
“You assisted him? In what way?”
She flushed. “In very minor ways, I assure you. He taught me the names of plants and animals. When he took me into the fields, I was expected to watch for certain species, and collect them for his students.”
“I see. And did you go into the fields often?”
“Every weekend.” Her smile bloomed. “I did so enjoy those times. I thought...if you wouldn’t mind, that is, I’d like to take Liat for walks around Blackthorne and see if he might learn the names of some of the plants and animals.”
He glanced at the lad. “Would you like that, boy?”
“I...suppose so, sir.”
“Good. Then you have my permission, Miss St. John.” His eyes narrowed. “I must insist, however, that you stay away from the cliffs.”
“The cliffs?”
Before he could respond there was a knock on the door, and the housekeeper entered, followed by her serving wenches.
“Come, Miss St. John. Liat.” Quenton signaled to the village youth, who hurried forward to carry Bennett to a seat at the table.
Olivia was left to ponder the wide range of emotions she could read in the two brothers’ eyes before they had turned away so abruptly. A brooding, simmering fury in Quenton’s. And in Bennett’s, stark terror at the mention of the cliffs.
She thought again about what Edlyn had told her. Quenton’s wife had been found dead at the foot of those cliffs. And Bennett had been found nearby, barely clinging to life.
Sadly, whatever Bennett knew about the tragedy was locked away in his battered mind.
Perhaps forever.
Chapter Five
Pembroke stood at attention behind Quenton, who sat at the head of the table. Bennett sat at his left side, with Olivia at his right side and Uat beside her. The housekeeper bustled around the table, directing the servants in the proper way to serve the guests.
Wine was poured in three goblets, though only Quenton tasted his. This was followed by a silver tray of biscuits so light they seemed to melt on the tongue. A second servant followed offering a tray of clotted cream and fruit conserves. There was a platter of new potatoes swimming in gravy, and a second platter of vegetables arranged in a clear liquid of broth.
As each course was offered, Olivia would spoon some onto her own plate and help Liat do the same.
When a serving wench approached the head of the table with a large platter, Quenton glanced at the servant, then at the housekeeper.
“What is this, Mistress Thornton?”
“Mutton, m’lord.”
“Did you inform Cook that my brother dislikes mutton? I specifically told you that he prefers beef. Or kidney pie.”
“Aye, m’lord. But Cook says yer grandfather preferred mutton. So much so that he ordered her to prepare it every night of his life.”
“Then tell her to feed it to my grandfather. And tell her also, if she serves mutton again tomorrow, she may well be joining my grandfather in his grave.”
“Aye, m’lord. I’ll tell that churlish, boil-brained harpy myself.” The housekeeper turned the full weight of her anger and embarrassment on the innocent servant. “Take this maggot-pie back to the scullery and feed it to the animals. That’s all it’s good for.”
Shocked, Olivia looked from Lord Quenton to the housekeeper. “You can’t mean that. You wouldn’t feed this to the animals.”
Quenton glowered at her. “And why not?”
“Because the servants are probably making do with little more than bread crusts and gruel.” The words were out of her mouth before she could snatch them back. Too late, she remembered where such a seed had been planted. By the servant Edlyn. “They would probably consider such a meal as this heaven-sent.”
The housekeeper’s