Chapter 5

THE ENTIRETY OF THE next day was hell on earth.

While Martha allowed William a most respectable lie-in until mid-morning, he had woken to her frantic pacing outside the door. Eventually, she had grown tired of waiting for William to rise on his own and bustled through the door, dropping a glass of water on the bedside table before angrily crossing the room and violently opening the curtains.

“Out with it, Martha,” William managed to croak, reaching for the glass. The water was blissfully cool, and he wished nothing more than to sink back into his lumpy bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

“Oh. ’Tis nothing, sir,” she snapped before making a shooing motion from the end of the bed.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” William groaned, pushing himself into a semi-sitting position. He stretched outwards, cringing slightly at the series of pops coming from his body. God, his head throbbed, and he knew without needing a mirror that his eyes were bloodshot, his skin tinged with grey and lips cracked. What had he done last night? He’d gone to his brothers and – ah, yes – the sore hand would be from the punch he threw.

But why did the rest of his body feel like he’d been thrown off a horse?

A series of criss-crossing scratches up and down the length of his arms told him he’d either lost a fight with an alley cat or had ended up in a cluster of brambles as he’d stumbled home last night. He pulled off the sheets and – damn it! – his trousers, which he had fallen asleep in, were torn at the knee. A small crusting of blood was visible on his exposed knees.

“Damn it, William!” Martha said, smacking him on the back of the head before bending down to inspect his trousers. “You only have two pairs left now! And” – she tsk ed as she grabbed hold of his arm and inspected the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt – “look at what you’ve done to this! There’s ink all over it!”

Ink? He barely remembered the walk home, and he certainly didn’t remember writing to anyone. He didn’t think he knew anyone to write to.

Martha huffed as she took a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Sorry, Martha,” William said. He felt immensely guilty and hated the fact that he had now added to her workload because of sheer foolishness and overindulgence.

Martha narrowed her tawny eyes at him, which usually meant she was about to reprimand him for something. “May I speak frankly, sir?” she asked sharply.

“When have you ever needed my permission to speak frankly?”

Martha frowned. Her usually full, rosy cheeks had begun to hollow from weeks of rationing their food, and William felt a stab of guilt that he’d spent a portion of what little copper they had left on ale last night.

“Do you know why Martin and I have stayed here with you on this decaying estate?”

He shook his head. If Martin and Martha were smart, they would have left years ago. If he was kind, he should have made them. Unfortunately for the trio, however, they were like a ragtag family, whose loyalty to each other would be their downfall.

“Because you are unlike the others. You don’t care that we are merely servants. You are kind and fair and, above all else, you are honourable. I have never known you to take advantage of others, especially when they are at their lowest.”

Martha’s eyes bored into William. His head throbbed, and after a night of heavy drinking, decoding Martha’s compliment cloaked in obvious distaste was not something he was mentally equipped to do.

“I ... well, thank you for your kind words, Martha,” William finally said.

Martha made a hmph sound through tight lips. Her eyes narrowed further, if such a thing were possible, as she placed a spindly hand on her once plump hip. William cringed. Martha had been slowly losing weight over the past year as the last of the money dwindled. While she wasn’t skinny by any means, a few more months like this and she would be. Martha, despite being thirty years his senior, had always been comely, with bright eyes, a round face and flushed cheeks. She didn’t suit the lean arms and angular face the last few months of frugality had forced upon the trio.

Finally, her eyes softened. “On another note, may I ask something of you?”

William rubbed his temples as he nodded.

Martha twisted her apron nervously. “Are you selling the estate?”

His brows knotted in confusion, which only intensified his headache. “Sell the estate? I can’t lie to you, Martha, it is a possibility should we not be able to pull ourselves from this hole. But that would only happen if absolutely necessary.” At the look of Martha’s worried expression, William added, “But should that happen, and I’m forced to downsize, you needn’t think you’ll be getting rid of me. I’m afraid you and Martin will be required to downsize with me. ”

Relief flooded Martha’s face. “Ah, good. I just worried, what with the valuation this morning.”

“Valuation?” William asked, jolting upright and immediately regretting it. It felt like his brain was sloshing about in his head, and a wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to overcome him.

“Aye, sir. ’Twas only a quick visit. He looked around the grounds and outhouses and had a quick glance inside the house.”

“I didn’t ...” William thought for a moment. The ink on his shirt – had he been so drunk that, in his desperation, he’d written to have his property valued? Or had someone simply seen a crumbling estate they wished to purchase? Would he be receiving a ridiculously low offer for his mother’s estate? A stabbing pain throbbed through his chest, because he might just have to accept an offer if his spate of bad luck continued.

“Now,” she said authoritatively, “up you get, sir. You’ve wasted enough of the morning, and there is plenty of work to be getting on with.”

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS went past in a blur. William and Martin somehow managed to make the roof reasonably watertight using materials from the estate. Reluctantly, the pair had salvaged some slates from one of the long-deserted cottages. It had upset William to strip the cottage. But realistically, he knew he would never find tenant farmers willing to take on the land in the condition it was in.

Martha, who still had a bee in her bonnet over something, had made the laborious journey back and forth to the small town selling what she could of William’s heirlooms. Each piece sold cut a little hole in William’s heart, but it managed to provide the funding for an old Clydesdale stallion (who would probably be joining Polly in her retirement field before long) and to secure Martin and Martha’s salaries for another six months.

William prayed to God that the new horse, Blaze, was up to the job of ploughing through his neglected fields. And if William could just get a couple of the cottages filled with farmers, he might be able to keep this hovel going a little bit longer. If not, he would have no choice but to sell. He supposed he might be able to buy a small house somewhere in the town. He might have enough money to keep on Martin and Martha for a few more years. But his financial skills were lacking, and he had no trade and no education to fall back on. He just felt it in his bones that he would soon be in the same position again down the road.

The three of them settled around the table, all three of them aching from the week of toil. William threw some cutlery and plates on the table, Martin fetched one of the few bottles of wine remaining in the cellar, while Martha began dishing out a game stew.

The trio ate in blissful silence as they wolfed down the first meal in months that didn’t contain oats in some form or other.

Finally, after washing down his last mouthful with a large swig of wine, William said, “What a week.”

Martin and Martha nodded in unison.

“We’ve done well,” Martha said.

“Aye, that we have,” Martin said, patting his slightly bloated belly. “But there’s still much to do. I’ll be takin’ yon new horse out to the fields tomorra. We might be a little late on the planting, sir, but if we start now, we might still be able to make a small profit come harvest time.”

“And I reckon I’ll be able to get on top of clearing the outhouses. I’ve spied an ideal space for a coop. Oh! The thought of fresh eggs in the morning!” Martha sighed wistfully.

“Well, I for one plan to fix the fences in the small paddock and clear the old parlour out,” William said, spurred on by the other’s enthusiasm. “I think two cows ought to get us going again. ”

“Aye, sir, you’d make a fetching milkmaid!” Martin bellowed heartily. Wine spurted out of Martha’s nose, and a barked laugh so fierce erupted from William that he surprised himself. For so long he’d been miserable, but the thought that things might finally be going in the right direction had William as giddy as a maiden after her first sip of wine.

When the laughter calmed down, Martin’s ears pricked.

“Do you hear that?”

William strained but heard nothing.

“I think that’s someone rapping at the door,” Martin said.

“Probably that broken window rattling in the breeze,” William said dismissively. William hadn’t had a visitor to the manor in a good few years – if you excluded Martin and Martha’s extensive family, that was.

Martin was already on his feet. “Best go check anyways, sir.”

“Pick up another bottle of red on your way back!” William called as Martin scurried off.

“Surely you shouldn’t waste another bottle on the likes of us, sir,” Martha said.

“Why ever not? I doubt I’ll ever hold an event here. Besides, if it can’t be shared with friends, then who can I share it with?”

Martha blushed. After a moment of silence, she laid her hand gently on William’s. “We will do it, sir. I have faith. I saw it in me tea leaves, I did.”

“Saw what, Martha?” William asked.

Martha, for all her common sense, still enjoyed dabbling in her pagan tea leaves. While William didn’t believe in that sort of thing, Martha’s predictions had always been eerily close to the truth and, reluctantly, William had learned the hard way to heed Martha’s readings.

“I saw a change in fortunes, sir,” she whispered. “ Your fortunes.”

The sound of Martin’s footsteps echoed down the narrow servants’ hallway, and a moment later, the door burst open .

Panting, Martin said, “Sir. Someone to see you, sir. Says he’s here on behalf of Aunt áine.”