Chapter 10

Daniel

Late December 1860, two weeks later

The carriage rattled along the cobbled road as it headed towards Stanton Hall. Inside were Daniel, his cousin, Grace, and Benedict Sedgwick. All three sat in silence, deep in sombre thought. Earlier that day, Daniel, accompanied by his cousin, had gone to fetch Benedict, the curate of the village. It was on the behest of the earl, who lay sick and frail in his bed, knowing the end was near.

The carriage now drew up outside the front steps and without delay, all three descended and made their way inside the house to the earl's bedchamber. Daniel, along with the rest of his family, sat outside the room while Mr Sedgwick administered the final rites. A heavy weight was on everyone's heart. Even his brother, Benjamin, who had no great affection for the earl, seemed deeply affected. None of them had truly experienced the passing of a life from this world to the next.

"Do you think a person is aware of what is happening to them the moment of their death, or is it like falling asleep?" wondered Benjamin out of the blue.

"What sort of inappropriate question is that?" snapped Isabella, his younger sister.

"I would think it is entirely relevant, given the circumstances we are in now," riposted Benjamin.

"You do not need to be upsetting Papa or Uncle Jasper at a time like this with such a question," admonished Isabella.

"It may have escaped your attention, Bella, but they're upset enough already," fired back Benjamin.

Daniel sighed inwardly. Those two were always bickering. Before he could step in, a sharp voice belonging to Auntie Ruth, Uncle Jasper's wife, interrupted them. "That's enough, both of you!"

Isabella was about to speak again in her defence, but Daniel sent her a quelling look. With a huff, she sat back in her chair, silenced. Beside Daniel, his mother's gentle voice soothed their ruffled feathers. "To answer your question, Benjamin, I would think it is a bit of both. A person may be aware that the end is near and then feel themselves slipping away from consciousness as we do before sleep. I would like to think that when the time comes, I shall meet my death from the comfort of sleep rather than from full consciousness of what is happening to me." At these words, his father squeezed her hand tight in silent communication.

Poor Papa, thought Daniel. He was taking this badly. Uncle Jasper too. He wondered if this moment would have been any easier had there not been an estrangement between the earl and his children all these years. As if on cue, the door opened then and Benedict Sedgwick stepped out of the sickroom and invited them inside.

Addressing the two older Stantons, he said, "I hope you do not think me forward in saying this, but I do believe it would ease the earl's mind to hear some words of forgiveness. I sense a deep regret in him about things he may have done in his life, perhaps thing to do with the both of you. It would comfort him in his last moments to be forgiven."

Uncle Jasper sighed, "I forgave him long ago."

"And I too," murmured Papa.

"Let him hear the words," said Mr Sedgwick gently.

Daniel watched as his father and uncle entered the room, each taking it in turn to approach his grandfather and speak words of forgiveness into his ear. Yes, he thought, the long estrangement had created a gulf between father and sons which had not been fully bridged, despite their return from America. If there was one lesson to be learned from this, it was that rifts between loved ones caused pain to all involved, and no matter the rights or wrongs of each side, were not in the end worth the pain of the rupture.

For the first time, Daniel considered the viewpoint that in turning their back on their father and leaving for America, both his papa and uncle had done wrong. Yes, his papa should have gone after the woman he loved and married her, but then it would have been better if he had come back to England and tried to mend fences with the earl. Instead, year upon year had been spent with the family torn asunder.

And now, with estates on both sides of the ocean, Daniel envisioned that the Stantons would continue to be split between England and America. Those vast lands, tenant farms and manor houses he had visited over the last few weeks could not simply be abandoned when the family returned to America. Someone would have to stay on and care for this land that the earl loved so much, this land that had been part of his family's heritage for generations. Daniel knew already, with a deep sense of conviction, that he would stay on in England after his grandfather's death, regardless of the terms of the will.

He felt a tightness in his chest at the knowledge this would entail a separation from his family and the home he had known all his life. So be it, he thought. This was the result of the chain of events that had been set in motion twenty-five years ago when two headstrong young men had boarded a ship and headed to America. All this time later, the family was reaping the rewards, good and bad, of this decision. The only difference this time, he hoped, was that the separation would not be built on bitterness and disappointment.

Daniel vowed to himself also that he would heed the lesson clear to him today. Never, by word or deed, would he do anything to sever the precious connection between himself and his loved ones. He gazed at his brother and sister, sitting in sulky silence after their little tiff, and smiled inwardly. They could be annoying and drive him to distraction, but he loved them all the same. He would not let anything drive a wedge between them.

The same went for his mother and father. He observed them now with love in his heart. He was close to them and always had been, their relationship loving and strong. He would keep it this way, he vowed, no matter the circumstances. When the time came for any of them to depart this earth, he hoped it would not be with the sort of regrets the earl was facing now.

The vigil continued. Daniel lost track of the time as the family gathered around the dying earl, listening to the prayers intoned by Benedict Sedgwick and reciting prayers of their own in their hearts. Evening turned to night. The fire in the hearth crackled bright while the pungent scent of the incense candles that had been lit wafted all around them. Daniel realised he would forever associate this smell with death.

Late in the night, he sat by the bed, holding his grandfather's hand. It was cool to the touch, the skin fragile and covered in thin veins. Daniel bent forward and kissed it. As he raised his head, the earl's eyes fluttered, opening briefly and looking straight at him. Daniel leaned closer and whispered close to his ear. "I love you, Grandfather. May God ease your soul." Something made him add, "And Grandfather, I love this place. I promise to stay and take care of it. There will be Stantons here for generations to come." The earl gave a barely audible sigh.

When next Daniel raised his eyes, he saw Ambrose standing beside him. How long he had been there, he did not know. Their gazes met in silent communication. Without a word, Daniel stood, letting Ambrose take his place beside the earl. He stepped back, watching as Ambrose took the earl's hand and spoke softly to him. He did not catch the words, though it did not take a genius to know they were words of gratitude and love. Finally, Ambrose stood to go. Their gazes met again, both sets of eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Ambrose gave a slight nod of acknowledgement then turned to leave.

More hours passed. Just before the appearance of the first streaks of dawn, Daniel heard Benedict Sedgwick say quietly, "He is gone." The curate stepped away from the bed and began to recite words of prayer while around the room, soft cries and sobs were heard. Daniel sat down in a chair by the window, numb with weariness and grief. Then, seeing Isabella's distraught face, he sprang into action, taking her into his arms and soothing her as best he could.

"It's alright. It's alright," he repeated over and over, stroking her hair and letting her cry into the soft folds of his jacket.

Over the next hour, Daniel stood by his family dutifully, helping, soothing, standing strong. There was no time for his own grief when others needed him. There would be time enough for that later. Eventually, everyone dispersed, most to get some sleep in their rooms. Daniel too went to his own bedchamber and washed, but though he was tired, he could not think of settling down to sleep. After so many hours closeted in the earl's room, he felt the need for fresh air. He looked out the window. It was a dry and bright December morning, the sun shining for the first time in days, as if in some macabre celebration of the earl's passing. He would go out for a walk, he decided.

He pulled on his coat and hat, then went down the stairs to the main hall. It was deathly quiet, the servants nowhere in sight. Without a sound, he opened the front door and stepped outside. As he did so, he spied a figure seated on the front steps below, his face buried in his arms. He knew immediately it was Ambrose.

Quietly, not wanting to disturb him, Daniel made his way down the steps and went to sit beside him. From the hitch in Ambrose's breaths, it was apparent he was aware of Daniel's presence, yet for long minutes, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. At long last, Ambrose sat up and turned to face Daniel. "I am sorry for your loss, my lord," he said in a voice roughened by emotion.

"Don't you dare my lord me right now, Ambrose," growled Daniel. Then, more softly, he added, "I am sorry for your loss too."

Ambrose nodded in acknowledgement. "I shall miss him," he said simply.

"Me too."

Ambrose went on, "The earl came into my life at a time like this one, when I was feeling the grief of a sad bereavement. We had lost Mother only the year before, and then it was Father. To add to that, not two days after the funeral I learned that we had been left with nothing but debts, and that we would have to vacate the vicarage before the week was out. In days, we sold whatever furniture we could not keep and packed our belongings, readying ourselves to leave the only home we had ever known. Then I took Sarah with me back to Oxford where I used my meagre savings to put her up in an inn while I tried to arrange our affairs. I went to the proctor at the university and informed him of the change in my circumstances, asking for a letter of reference and any recommendation regarding finding employment."

He paused his tale for a few breaths, deep in recollection. Daniel waited patiently for him to continue. Finally, Ambrose resumed the thread of his story. "The proctor told me to come back the following day, when he would have the letter ready for me and some suggestions as to what I could do next. The following morning, when I went to see him, there was someone with him—a tall, imperious looking gentleman with greying hair and turbulent dark eyes just like yours. I was introduced to the Earl of Stanton. He asked me question after question, and I answered them as best I could, unsure where the conversation going. It seemed the earl was satisfied, for in the end, he stood and addressed the proctor, saying, ‘Proceed with what we agreed,' then left without another word."

This was the longest speech Daniel had heard from Ambrose since he had met him. He listened, mesmerised by the sound of his voice and by the emotion imbuing every word. When Ambrose spoke no more, Daniel prompted, "And that was when Grandfather offered you and your sister lodgings at his Oxford house?"

"Yes," replied Ambrose. "Overnight we went from a hand-to-mouth existence to living in luxuriously appointed accommodation, waited on by servants like we had never been before. I could never in this lifetime repay the kindness of that gesture. And then we came here, and I began my apprenticeship under Mr Finlay, who was estate manager then at Stanton Hall. Throughout those years, the earl showed an interest in my progress and in our welfare, never stinting in generosity despite the gruff demeanour he showed to the world."

"Yes indeed, miserliness was never one of Grandfather's sins," concurred Daniel.

"Three years ago, after Mr Finlay's passing, the earl sent for me. I thought perhaps he would ask me to assist whatever new estate manager he had decided to appoint. I was barely twenty-six years old, and this estate is so vast that only a seasoned professional could be entrusted with its management. You may imagine my shock when he offered the position to me."

"I am not at all surprised he chose you," smiled Daniel. "Even on this short acquaintance, I have seen what calibre of a person you are, Ambrose. Grandfather was lucky to have found you."

"I was the lucky one," said Ambrose quietly.

He shivered then, and Daniel said quickly, "You will catch cold, sitting on these front steps. Come inside and have something warming to drink."

Ambrose got to his feet, shaking off the dust on his trousers. "Thank you but no," he said. "It is past time I went home." He faced Daniel who had stood up with him. "What will you do now?" he asked.

Daniel let out a sigh and murmured, "I am restless and thought to take a walk."

He could have been knocked down with a feather when he heard Ambrose's response. "Perhaps then you could walk with me back to Ivy Cottage."

"I should like that, thank you," replied Daniel hoarsely. He had no thought of his attraction to Ambrose at this moment nor of seduction. What he wanted now was a friend who could share in his grief and help assuage it.

Together, they began the short walk along the avenue towards Ambrose's cottage. After a few moments, Ambrose spoke. "I heard what you said to your grandfather, about staying here and taking care of this place. Did you mean it?"

"I meant every word," stated Daniel firmly.

"I saw the earl's reaction to your words. He sighed as if in relief. I think it comforted him to hear them."

"I hope so," said Daniel. Then he felt the need to explain himself. "I had been feeling… I suppose you could call it a sense of disquiet all evening, ever since Mr Sedgwick came over and told my father and uncle that Grandfather was feeling troubled and in need of hearing words of forgiveness. It brought home to me the enormity of the consequences to that decision, twenty-five years ago, to leave everything behind in search of a new life in America. In addition to that I have seen, over the last few weeks, just how well regarded Grandfather is hereabouts and what level of responsibility he took on his shoulders, looking out for the welfare of countless people on this estate. All this, he did without the help of his sons who should have been by his side."

Daniel bit his lip in consternation. He did not like to think badly of his father. It pained him to realise that the man he had looked up to all his life could also be capable of making very human mistakes.

As if sensing this, Ambrose said, very gently, "Do not be too hard on your father, Daniel. From what I gather, your grandfather was a very difficult man when it came to his eldest son, very exacting in his standards and very controlling. Plus, he had decided that only a prestigious political career would do for the viscount. Even had your father stayed, he would not have been tasked with assisting your grandfather here on the estate but with finding public high office. I think it was only later in life, after his sons had left for America, that your grandfather became so involved with the welfare of people on this estate. He also came to understand what kind of a noose he had put around his son's neck and to live with regret for his actions. It is easy for us to judge now, but at the time, I am sure there were reasons aplenty for your father and your uncle to do what they did."

Daniel sniffed, his eyes and nose suddenly running. In an irritated gesture, he wiped at his face and tried not to succumb to the tears he so desperately wanted to shed. In a throaty voice he said, "That might be so, but the consequences were many. These great houses that were destined for my father and uncle and their offspring—these tenants, these farms—are all now left without anyone to care. I know, you see, that as soon as he possibly can, Papa will return to America, my uncle too. That is where they have made their home now. And I cannot bear to think of all of this—" Daniel pointed all around him, "—without the presence of a member of the family that bears its name."

He breathed heavily, emotion clogging his chest.

"If you stay," stated Ambrose, quickly getting to the heart of the matter, "then your family will be torn apart once more. And you will be exiled from the place you have called home your entire life."

"I know it," said Daniel bitterly. He wondered for a brief moment if Ambrose were trying to persuade him to go. Resolutely, he went on, "Yet I am compelled by a sense of duty towards the old man. Perhaps in some way, I wish to atone for the abandonment of my grandfather twenty-five years ago."

"Then stay," urged Ambrose.

Daniel flashed a glance his way. Perhaps he had been wrong in his earlier thoughts. They had by now arrived at Ivy Cottage and paused before the front gate. Ambrose seemed to hesitate before making the invitation. "Will you come in? I have a bottle of your grandfather's finest sherry which we can share."

Daniel's heart began to pound in his chest. "I would like that very much," he said. "Thank you." He followed Ambrose to the front door, then stepped inside. As soon as he entered the cottage, Daniel was gripped by a sense of welcoming warmth. The cottage was small by Stanton Hall's standards, but it was perfectly formed and well proportioned. He saw Ambrose hanging his coat and hat on a peg, and followed suit. A moment later, there was the sound of footsteps, and Sarah came rushing towards them. "You're back!" she cried. Then, noticing his presence, she came to an abrupt halt. "Pardon me, my lord," she said more sedately. "I have heard the sad news. Please accept my most sincere condolences for your loss."

This was the second time today someone had addressed him as "my lord". He understood of course that it was now his due as Viscount Stanton, but he despised the formality all the same. "Please, do not call me ‘my lord', I beg you. I am easier with just being called Daniel. And thank you for your condolences."

She nodded doubtfully as Ambrose spoke, "Sarah, we are going to be in my study. We are both in need of some fortification from the late earl's fine sherry."

"Of course," she said. "Do you wish me to send in any food? You have missed your breakfast today."

Ambrose looked at him enquiringly, but Daniel shook his head. Addressing his sister, Ambrose said, "No, thank you. I do not think either of us could eat now." With a nod towards a side door, he invited Daniel in. "Shall we?"

Daniel inclined his head politely towards Sarah. On first catching sight of her a moment ago, he had instantly noticed the resemblance she bore to Ambrose. She was of similar stature to him, tall and slim, but in female form. And of course, she had the same grey eyes. He was minded to like her already. "I will bid you good day, Miss Cranshaw," he said to her now with a smile.

"Good day," she said. "Do call for me or Elsie should you need anything." With that, she turned and went back to the room at the back of the house from which she had recently emerged. Daniel followed Ambrose into his study and looked around curiously.

"This place feels just like you," he remarked.

Ambrose raised a brow at Daniel "How so?" he asked, then went over to the fireplace and proceeded to efficiently light a fire using a tinder box.

"Very scholarly and respectable," Daniel mused. "I like it."

"Thank you. I do spend a lot of my time here doing very scholarly and respectable things," said Ambrose mildly.

An image, unbidden, flew into Daniel's mind of doing some most unrespectable things with Ambrose in this room. He batted it away in annoyance. This was not the time or place for such unruly thoughts.

"Do take a seat," said Ambrose pointing him to an armchair by the fireplace. A vigorous fire was now burning in the hearth. As Daniel settled himself in the armchair, Ambrose went to a sideboard and removed from it a bottle of sherry and two glasses, bringing them over to him. Daniel wondered why Ambrose was being so hospitable. Was it merely to condole with him about the earl's death? Or had they reached a greater intimacy by sharing their thoughts? He hoped it was the latter.

Ambrose took a seat across from him and held up his glass. "To the late earl—a generous, kind and ornery man."

Daniel smiled, holding up his own glass for the toast. "I will drink to that," he said, and proceeded to take a long sip of his sherry. "Mmm, this is good," he murmured appreciatively. A few more sips and he had downed his glass.

"Have some more," offered Ambrose, leaning across with the bottle to pour him another shot. Once done, he sat back in his seat and gazed speculatively at him. "Your turn, Daniel. I have told you my story with regards to your grandfather. Tell me something of how you first met him."

Daniel lounged back in his chair, legs outstretched before him and thought back to that first meeting. "I would have been around five years old," he said. "We had just come back from church one day when we saw a strange carriage stopped outside our house. From it stepped out this impeccably dressed older man. Papa took one look at him and blurted, ‘Father?' That's when I knew this was my grandfather from England. My papa talked of him a lot, you see. We then went in the house and this I remember. He looked about him with a regal air and said, ‘I understand you turned your back on Stanton Hall for this.' It was quite awkward at first. It had been six years by then since Pa and Uncle Jasper had left for America. I remember Ben and I thought it very funny that Grandfather had brought his valet with him and always insisted on being properly dressed for each meal. We were used to a much more informal way of life." Daniel smiled reminiscently and took another drink of his sherry.

"It must have been a very emotional reunion after so many years," speculated Ambrose.

"That it was. Oh, and it was also then that Uncle Jasper proposed to Auntie Ruth. Grandfather stayed long enough to attend the wedding before starting his journey back to England. Before he left, he made me promise to write to him. So I did—some very childish epistle no doubt—but we have maintained a regular correspondence since then." Daniel thought wistfully to all the letters that would never be sent now. He gulped down the remnants of his glass and went to pour himself some more, asking, "You do not mind if I get gloriously drunk, do you?"

Ambrose smiled gently. "Not if you will allow me to get gloriously drunk along with you."

Daniel held up his glass. "The more the merrier!"

Time passed as they reminisced about the late Earl of Stanton, then strayed into recollections of their childhood misdeeds and mishaps. As their stomachs were both empty, it did not take long for them to become quite merry, though this was quickly followed by fatigue. Daniel yawned languorously and mumbled, "I should be getting back home."

"In a while, Daniel," came the response from Ambrose. "Why don't you rest for a time on the settee over there?"

Daniel glanced at it longingly. He was too tipsy and tired to attempt the walk back to Stanton Hall. "Good idea," he agreed. Pausing only to clumsily take off his boots, he stumbled to the settee and laid his head to rest on a plump pillow that miraculously appeared there. Distantly, he was aware of a blanket being tucked around him, but already he was slipping away into unconsciousness.

He did not know what time it was when he finally stirred awake. His muscles felt cramped, curled up as he was on the settee that could ill accommodate his tall length. His head too, was not in a happy condition. Slowly, he lifted himself to a sitting position and felt the full brunt of a pounding headache in his temple. He cast a bleary eye about him. Memories flooded back. He was in Ambrose's study, and Grandfather was dead. They had drunk their sorrows away, and Ambrose had finally shed that reserve he had had about him. They had talked without restraint, long and intimately. And then he had slept.

Daniel's gaze landed on Ambrose's still sleeping form. He sat up straighter and studied him. Even dishevelled and asleep, his lips slightly parted as he breathed heavily in and out, Ambrose was a sight to behold. He was the most beautiful being Daniel had ever had the privilege of seeing. He stared at him now, long and longingly, and as he did, it was his heart more so than his loins that reacted to the sight of a sleeping Ambrose. So help me God, he thought. I think I may be falling in love with him.

He huffed quietly. Love! Had he not already learned from his experience with Agnes how deceitful and fleeting this emotion was? This was just another case of infatuation, and one he would recover from quickly enough. And then… then he hoped what would come out of the ashes of his desire was a deep and lasting friendship with this man. His overtures had been rebuffed, and he had few expectations of his feelings being reciprocated. All he could hope for was friendship. This knowledge did not stop Daniel from drinking in the sight of Ambrose for long, fervent minutes. With each minute his heart ached a little more. If this was not love, then it was the strongest case of infatuation ever.

He heaved a sigh and looked about for his discarded boots. As he did so, he noticed a sheet of paper with scrawled writing which lay on the side table, held in place by a paper weight. He reached over for it and read:

Dear gentlemen,

If you have awoken from your drunken stupor and are feeling the ill effects of intoxication, please come through to the dining room where I have left a pot of ginger tea brewing by the hearth which will help chase away the headache. There is also bread, ham and cheese to eat.

Sarah

Daniel smiled and put the note down. Ambrose's sister was quite the character. Spying his boots, he pulled them on and then stood. Casting one last longing glance at Ambrose, who was still sleeping soundly, he tiptoed to the door and quietly let himself out. It did not take too much guessing to find the dining room. There, he helped himself to the vile concoction of ginger tea and forced it down his throat. It burned a little, but he could admit he felt marginally better as a result. His rumbling stomach reminded him he had not eaten anything since yesterday morning. Quickly, he buttered two thick slices of bread and helped himself to some ham and cheese. He ate hungrily, blessing the absent Sarah with each delicious bite.

When he was finished, he returned to the study and examined Ambrose, who still slept on. He gazed at him some more, feeling that same ache in the region of his heart. Then, he forced himself to look away. Going to the desk, he found some paper, a pot of ink and a pen. He wrote two notes.

Dear Ambrose,

Thank you for the sherry, the fine company and the dubious comforts of your settee. Already, my pain at losing Grandfather feels a little less sharp, and that is due in part to you.

Yours,

Daniel

To Sarah, he wrote:

Dear Sarah,

The food was delicious and the tea, though vile, did the trick. I am nearly restored to my normal self. Thank you!

Daniel

He placed Ambrose's note on the table beside Sarah's original missive, then with a last yearning glance at Ambrose, he made his way out, leaving Sarah's note on the dining table. He found his coat and hat, slipped them on, then quietly let himself out of the house and walked back to Stanton Hall.