The Royal Scamp (7 page)

Esther saw a sparkle of mischief in Fletcher’s blue eyes, and lauded him for his quick-wittedness. “Tour of the inn?”
he asked, frowning. “I’m afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Meecham. Our tour is of the village. Miss Lowden has kindly agreed to show me the shops. Such a fine day—what we are really after is an excuse for a walk.”

Mr. Meecham looked a little embarrassed. “That will teach me to eavesdrop!”
He laughed.

“Yes,”
Esther said, smiling but rather mockingly.

She and Fletcher walked from the inn, to lend credence to Fletcher’s lie. “What a mushroom the man is!”
he scoffed.

“Why, because he wanted to tour my inn?”
she teased. “Take care what you are about, sir. Meecham is not the only gentleman who has asked that favor! Perhaps he wishes to buy it. I told you he is looking for a house. It’s Meecham I should be giving the tour. You are merely curious,”
she said, and looked sharply for his response.

It could hardly have been more gratifying. “You mean you would sell! It would suit me right down to the heels!”

“I’m not eager to sell, but I might consider it if the price were right.”

While they dallied along the walk, Mr. Meecham’s mount, a dark horse but not black—it was a deep chestnut with a white blaze on the forehead—was led to the door. He mounted and cantered down the road toward Heath Abbey. Mr. Meecham rode well and made an attractive figure as he darted along, with his wide shoulders limned against the horizon.

Watching the direction of Esther’s interest, Mr. Fletcher said, “A penny for your thoughts. You don’t have to tell me. I was just thinking the same thing myself—that Meecham fits the general description of the Royal Scamp. Those shoulders have a fine, military look. One can’t help overhearing rumors, you know. Lady Gloria Devere has been whispering in rather a loud voice that Meecham uses a ladder to enter his chamber. Have you given any thought to turning him off, Miss Lowden? A few of the clients were wondering if you would.”

“I cannot like to do it. He is a good friend of Mr. Ramsay—not Buck but Joshua Ramsay, a local worthy.”

“I did just wonder, when he was so eager to attach himself to our tour. The Royal Scamp might have some interest to learn all the nooks and crannies and hiding places of your inn.”

“Oh, dear! You’re giving me the megrims, Mr. Fletcher. You don’t suppose that’s why he wanted to join us.”

“I don’t ignore the more obvious reason, that he wanted to enjoy your company, as I do. Perhaps you should ask your manager to keep an eye on him.”
She nodded, worried. “Now that he’s gone, shall we proceed with our tour and see if we can come to terms?”

“I haven’t said I’d sell. The inn is a very profitable, going concern. I would expect a stiff price for it. All my renovations and two years’
work must be taken into consideration. Goodwill and so on. The location, too, is attractive.”

“Spoken like a true Cit,”
he said, the sting softened by a charming smile. “What price did you have in mind?”

“I haven’t given it serious thought at all. It’s just an idea that occurs to me from time to time.”

“It would be best if you mull it over for a few days,”
he suggested. “There’s no hurry on my part. Naturally you will display every reluctance in order to raise the price, and I will be at pains to disparage all your finery to lower it.”

“So that is how gentlemen conduct business with a lady, is it?”
she asked archly.

“Why, ma’am, it goes without saying, ladies don’t conduct business. It is their indifference to turning a guinea that makes them ladies—and dead bores.”

There was little formality between them after this interlude. “We might as well begin with the kitchen, as you are familiar with the dining room,”
Esther mentioned.

Mr. Fletcher had a keen mind and was swift to see advantages and disadvantages. From the kitchens and the cheese and storage rooms under the eaves to the wine cellars, they toured it all, omitting only the rooms occupied by guests. Mr. Fletcher jokingly found fault, and Esther praised every doorknob and window.

“Do you have any secret panels, any priest’s hole, or that sort of thing?”
Fletcher asked.

“Nothing so romantic. Not even a ghost, unless you count Lady Gloria Devere.”

“The old shawl-draped lady? She has an ethereal air about her. One would never take her for nobility.”

Mr. Fletcher went along, tapping at walls and testing cupboards. “You have a deal of waste space here,”
he pointed out as they walked through the airless attic storerooms. “If you pitched out this lumber, you could turn this area into half a dozen small rooms.”

“I do not feature small rooms here; I run an elegant establishment,”
Esther replied.

Mr. Fletcher looked around at the trunks that lined the walls, the broken chairs and accumulation of rejected household objects. “There are occasions when you could rent a cubbyhole or cupboard for a decent rate. The boxing match next month, for instance—fellows will pay an arm for any place to lay their heads at such a time. If I know anything, you’ll end up having bodies here, sleeping between the trunks.”

“I think not,”
Esther objected. “That would crowd the dining area and cause a ruckus in the stable and lobby.”

“You don’t plan to use this space during the match, then?”

“Only for storage.”

“You’re giving spiders free rent,”
Fletcher told her, as he brushed a cobweb from his shoulder. He was soon shoving trunks aside to search for secret panels.

“You’re wasting your time, Mr. Fletcher,”
Esther said. “There are no secret panels, no ghosts. Really a very dull building when you come down to it.”

“What size of a wine cellar do you keep, Miss Lowden?”
he asked.

They went to the kitchen and got a brace of candles before descending to the wine cellar to admire the dusty bottles and black beetles scuttling into dark corners. “Is there just the one doorway to reach the cellar?”
he asked. “What I am thinking is that wine could easily be stolen if there is access from outside.”

“There’s no outside door,’
she assured him. “Just the one from the pantry and one from my manager’s office, which used to be the butler’s room. I don’t worry that he is stealing from me; he may have any wine he wants without asking. That’s about it,”
she said when they finished touring the cellars.

“You haven’t showed me the door to your manager’s office,”
he reminded her.

“It’s in that little passage behind the hogsheads," she said, and pointed it out.

Mr. Fletcher had to see it for himself, test the door, and would have gone up to Ramsay’s office if Esther hadn’t stopped him. “You’ll give poor Buck heart failure,’
she warned. “No one uses that door but him.”

They returned upstairs. “You will have seen the grounds and stable yourself,’
she mentioned.

“Would you mind pointing out to me how much of the land belongs to the dower house, and how much goes with the inn? I noticed you keep your mounts at the inn stable,”
he said. “Do you not have a stable at the dower house, Miss Lowden?”

“Not a usable one.”

“Then you would want to keep enough land to build one. You won’t want to pay stabling fees at the inn after you sell it.”

“I’m sure we could work out something on that score. There’s a derelict barn out back,”
Esther mentioned. “The lot could be divided to include that tract with the dower house. I didn’t get a formal severance, as I owned both properties.”

“I don’t remember seeing any stable near your place.”

“It’s overgrown with vines. There’s a tall thorn hedge between it and the house. It hasn’t been used in decades, as the dower house wasn’t occupied.”

“I expect you won’t want to go tramping through wet grass in your dainty slippers. We'll do that another time. May I walk you home, Miss Lowden?”

As they walked along the path to the dower house, he first thanked her for showing him the inn, then said, “How many acres go with the place?”

“I kept ten, including the dower house and its land. Say eight at the maximum for the inn.”

“It doesn’t leave much room for expansion,”
he pointed out.

“But on the other hand, you wouldn’t be paying for land that stands idle, and you might be able to buy up a few more acres from neighboring properties if you want it in the future.”

“I see I’ll get no bargain from you, Miss Lowden,”
he bantered.

“No, indeed. My being somewhat reluctant to sell prevents that.”

They reached her door, and Mr. Fletcher bowed himself away, promising he would call soon to continue bargaining.

It was only half past eleven, and Esther decided to change into walking shoes and rougher clothing to go over her land and see how much of it she should maintain for the dower house. Renovating the old barn might be cheaper than building a new stable. She was becoming excited about the possibility of selling, but her eventual plans didn’t involve living year-round in the dower house. It would be only a summer home, while she rented a flat in London for the dull winter months. Perhaps some obliging relative might even find her a parti....

Esther wrapped herself in last year’s pelisse and put on her oldest walking shoes for the short trip. Once she was off the beaten path, the tall grass hampered her walk. The barn was so overgrown with vines that only its roof was spotted between the trees, and thorn bushes had sprung up along the way. She’d have to cut a new path to the barn if she decided to turn it into a stable. Her hem was wet with dew by the time she finally reached the structure.

It was a low, spreading building, stone at the bottom, with the top finished in lumber. Whatever paint might have once decorated it had long since worn away, leaving weathered wood that looked rather pretty peeping out behind the vines.

She took a step through the broad opening into the dark, cool space. There was no wooden floor, just damp earth underfoot. The earth and the vines at the window openings gave her a feeling that she was not in a building at all but in some leafy glade. Sunlight filtering through the perishing roof completed the effect.

But what was it that lent that feeling of eeriness? A definite shiver tingled up her spine. Some sixth sense told her she was not alone in the deserted building, and her heart pounded.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she looked to the far corners of the barn but didn’t advance farther into the building. What was that shadow? It moved, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“Did I frighten you? I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Esther swallowed her heart as a tall shadow detached itself from the far corner and advanced toward her. It quickly took on the form of a man.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Meecham?”
she demanded.

He stepped into the light, smiling sheepishly at being caught. “Merely satisfying my curiosity,”
he said. “When I learned Mr. Fletcher was touring the inn, I assumed it was with the intention of purchasing it. If it is for sale, I am interested as well.”

“Who said Mr. Fletcher was touring the inn?”
He gave her a laughing look that caused the light in his brown eyes to dance most attractively. “I am neither deaf nor blind, Miss Lowden. After a short ride I returned to the inn. I saw the two of you coming down from the attics and entering the kitchen. But please don’t be embarrassed at having conned me. Actually it was Fletcher who told the lie. You were only an accessory after the fact.”

Esther felt a warm flush suffuse her cheeks. “It was a business tour. I didn’t know you had any business interest in my inn, or you would have been welcome to join us. I expect Mr. Fletcher wanted my total attention. Naturally he had a great many questions to ask.”

“What sort of thing was he interested in?”

“Everything,”
she said comprehensively.

“Secret passages, that sort of thing?”

“That possibility always arises in these ancient houses."

“And does the Lowden Arms have any such features?”

“No, it hasn’t. If I’d realized there was such an interest, I would have had a few installed while I was renovating.”

“It has plenty of space at any rate. This barn might be turned into a dance hall for guests at the inn.”

“I hardly think so. Only servants dance in barns.”

“Horn and hoof, Miss Lowden,”
he said, wagging a shapely finger at her. “The farmer’s creed, but it ought to be followed by us all.”

“But you’re not a farmer. Mr. Ramsay mentioned you were looking for a private house only.”

“That’s true, but my being a gentleman farmer’s son makes me alive to farming possibilities.”

“Where does your family farm?”

“In Devonshire,”
he said vaguely. “It will screw Fletcher up to a good price for the inn if he thinks he has some competition.”

The truth of this was not slow in registering. Esther began walking around the barn. “I had thought I might rebuild this into a stable for myself,”
she mentioned.

“I hardly think it warrants rebuilding. The roof is shot.”

“But the walls are still quite stout,”
she said, and went to examine them more thoroughly.

She had the impression Mr. Meecham wanted to stop her investigation. He didn’t try to do it by force, but when she headed for the west corner of the barn where he had been hiding, he distracted her a few times by pointing out spots in the wall where light came through, and mentioned the lack of a hayloft.

“I don’t intend to keep a commercial stable, Mr. Meecham. A pair of carriage horses and a mount for myself is all I would require,”
she said, and walked briskly to the far west corner.

In the loose earth there were fresh horseshoe marks, traces of oats, and the lingering aroma of animal. “It seems the poachers use this isolated spot,”
he said. “I’ve noticed small game is plentiful. There’s a wine bottle with the dregs still wet, in the corner here.”

Esther had already spotted the gleam of glass and picked the bottle up to read the label. “This comes from my inn!”
she exclaimed. “It’s our most expensive brand.”

“Really!”
Mr. Meecham said, and took it from her. There was an air of excitement about him that she couldn’t account for. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. My manager buys this from a London firm. None of the locals use it, so far as I know. And poachers certainly couldn’t afford it.”