The long stare she'd earned from her housekeeper pressed Arabella to clarify her expectations of their tenure. “Solicitor Griggs explained the situation and Mr. Harrow is receiving payment—generous payment I might add. Wasting my time was not part of the bargain. Should he call, you will attend him, and I will be left unmentioned.”
Magdala left the room muttering phrases under her breath, phrases Arabella was sure involved the words stubborn and foolish... if not a few choice Spanish expletives as well.
Though she'd been with them for the better part of two years, Magdala still didn't understand her ways. But the housekeeper was faithful, even when in open disagreement with her renegade employer. Magdala wanted Arabella to be happy, to wear fine dresses and socialize with her peers... to accept callers. Most days the woman would be pleased just to comb all that blazing hair into anything beyond matted tangles.
For Arabella, it changed nothing. At Crescent Barrows, the baroness would live as a servant in her own house, Magdala’s high manners be damned.
Sneering, sick of looking at Mr. Harrow, of hearing about him, Arabella t
urned her eyes from the window and went back to dusting weighty books of sermons she'd rather be struck with than listen to.
* * *
Mr. Harrow plodded across Crescent Barrows's overrun courtyard. Little had changed since the meager household's arrival. There were no servants scuttling about, all was overgrown, quiet. Sneering when glazed windows reflected the swollen clouds instead of revealing what was behind them, he dismounted. He knew she was in there, he could feel it, and had given the old dame two weeks to settle in before it was clear she was refusing his civility. Harrow mulled over the snub, the ridiculous circumstances he had unwittingly agreed to, and grew mighty aggravated the crone found herself, in her low circumstances, too fine for his company.
Gravel crunching underfoot, he stalked towards the heavy portal. Two loud bangs and the African servant appeared. Unconcerned with proper admittance Harrow pushed past, almost tripping over a twitching maid scrubbing the floors.
Rail thin, the girl toiled, unblinking eyes trained on the ground, oblivious to the gawking intruder.
“Welcome, Mr. Harrow,” Payne offered a flat greeting. “I am afraid her ladyship is not in residence to attend you.”
“And where exactly would her ladyship be?”
Payne stood stolid. “I am ignorant of her present location, sir.”
Harrow paced deeper into the manor, inspecting the rooms, surprised to see how well the hovel had been put to order. The great hall's hearth blazed, the room brighter for it, almost inviting, and empty... as if the one it burned for had vanished in a puff of smoke. Suspicious, he moved towards the only alternate exit, passing through the kitchen and found nothing. There was no old woman dressed in black, no more servants... at least not inside the house. Through the window Harrow found a sturdy workhorse tied to the hitching post, and a scrawny boy working carefully to brush the animal down.
“You, boy!” Harrow barked, bounding out the door. “Where is your mistress?”
Startled, pale lips struggled to form the words, “Shhhe... sheeee's out.”
“Where?”
The boy shook his head, eyes wide as plates.
There was something pitifully familiar in the cowering servant.
Sizing up the useless sack of bones, eyeballing the boy's new clothing, Harrow flat out laughed. “Well if it isn't the wretch from Harding. How on earth did you come by a place here, you little thief?”
Jaw agape, lips opening and closing like a fish, until Hugh stuttered so badly his frantic explanation made no sense. On and on he tried to inarticulately defend himself until the youth’s eyes welled.
Payne interceded just as the boy ran off. “Would you care to take some tea, Mr. Harrow?”
* * *
Thunder boomed, Arabella pressing onward until her mount's flanks foamed. She was so angry her hands were bloodless, her ears plagued by the sound of Hugh's weeping. For hours she’d tried to convince the youth he would not be cast off because her guest found fault with him. The child could not bring himself to believe her.
All because of one blackguard.
At her insistence, Mamioro jumped the gate to land in the courtyard outside Harrow's homestead. Dogs set to barking, nipping at flank and heel, before the pack was sent running from a few well-placed kicks once she’d slid from her horse. Uncaring for civility, eager to return the courtesy of Mr. Harrow's earlier visit, Arabella burst into his house.
A weathered kitchen maid rushed forward, searching out the cause of all the racket. “Gypsy robbers!”
“Silence, woman.” Snarling, Arabella shoved the crone and her insults aside. “Where is your master?”
She could hear him already cursing at the loud disturbance and followed the braying down a wood paneled hall. A polished door flung inward, the man himself set to emerge.
Arabella seethed the instant he was in her sight. “You had no right frightening my stable boy! Hugh's life has been hard enough without some arrogant bully’s abuse. Considering your position, you should be setting the example as a gentleman.”