but surely you cannot have forgotten everything we did together?”
Cyril poked at the ground with the toe of his boot, and Nicholas frowned. “Very well, Cyril. Why don’t you take some time to think about it? You know where you can find me. Please feel welcome at any time. Good day.”
He untied his horse and swung up into the saddle. “I’m sorry about your father, by the by, It’s a terrible shame. I hope he’ll recover.”
Cyril went even redder, then ducked his head and turned his back, disappearing inside the house. Nicholas looked after him, trying not to be hurt by Cyril’s reaction. Cyril had been only a young lad, he reasoned, when Nicholas had been forced to leave, and God knew what stories he’d been told. Maybe it would take a little time to win him over but he had plenty of that, not that he had any intention of begging. Let his actions speak for themselves. But the stutter the boy had developed surprised him, for he had always believed that speech was firmly established at an early age, and Cyril had never had any difficulty in that direction. He would ask Georgia. Maybe she would have some insight into the situation.
He urged his horse toward the Close. He had a feeling he was going to need privacy on his first full exposure to the ruin it had become.
An hour later he returned to the inn and ordered a large tankard of ale. Then he called for Binkley.
“Raven’s Close is marginally prepared for inhabitance, sir,” Binkley announced, returning from his mission. “It is not an attractive sight for a wedding night, but there will be a meal, the back bedrooms are readied, and there is moderate warmth. Mrs. Daventry’s room has been prepared as you desired. I have also lit a fire in the next-door bedroom as you requested, although there was not enough furniture available to make it pleasing.”
“Thank you, Binkley. Let me just go and collect Mrs. Daventry, and then you may take us over. You have provided the extra touches, I assume? I want this night to be as pleasant as possible.”
“Yes, sir. The wine has been decanted. The candles are lit. In the dark one cannot see quite how unfortunate the conditions are. One could hope that Mrs. Daventry might in the morning see it all through a happy haze—”
“Binkley! You shock me.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but extreme measures are called for. Your own happy haze will also be required, sir, in order to absorb the conditions fully tomorrow. The upper story will need complete restoration. The roof, from what I could ascertain, is barely holding.”
“Hmm. That bad. Never mind, Binkley. We shall prevail. You are a brave man indeed to take us on like this.”
“You need me, sir,” Binkley said pragmatically. “I shall await your pleasure outside.” He left, his habitually measured pace unruffled by the recent turn of events. But then, nothing had ever ruffled Binkley that Nicholas had seen in their eight-year career together. He thought it might very well take an earthquake to shake a single hair on Binkley’s solid head.
Georgia stood in front of Raven’s Close, giving it a long, hard look. It looked no better than it ever had. The five pointed gables that fronted the three wings were missing great chucks of tile, the gaps showing white against the gray slate. Poor house, she thought. But at least it would finally have inhabitants to fill it, and eventually it would all be put to rights. It served as a welcome reminder of why she had married Nicholas Daventry. Together they would bring the house back to life.
Nicholas came over to her and took her hands between his own. “Georgia, you’re cold as ice. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and put up at the Cock and Bull until we have made the house more livable?”
“I do not, Nicholas, as I told you earlier when you asked. This is to be our home and we might as well begin straightaway to make it so.”
“But on your wedding night?”
“What difference does it
Cyril poked at the ground with the toe of his boot, and Nicholas frowned. “Very well, Cyril. Why don’t you take some time to think about it? You know where you can find me. Please feel welcome at any time. Good day.”
He untied his horse and swung up into the saddle. “I’m sorry about your father, by the by, It’s a terrible shame. I hope he’ll recover.”
Cyril went even redder, then ducked his head and turned his back, disappearing inside the house. Nicholas looked after him, trying not to be hurt by Cyril’s reaction. Cyril had been only a young lad, he reasoned, when Nicholas had been forced to leave, and God knew what stories he’d been told. Maybe it would take a little time to win him over but he had plenty of that, not that he had any intention of begging. Let his actions speak for themselves. But the stutter the boy had developed surprised him, for he had always believed that speech was firmly established at an early age, and Cyril had never had any difficulty in that direction. He would ask Georgia. Maybe she would have some insight into the situation.
He urged his horse toward the Close. He had a feeling he was going to need privacy on his first full exposure to the ruin it had become.
An hour later he returned to the inn and ordered a large tankard of ale. Then he called for Binkley.
“Raven’s Close is marginally prepared for inhabitance, sir,” Binkley announced, returning from his mission. “It is not an attractive sight for a wedding night, but there will be a meal, the back bedrooms are readied, and there is moderate warmth. Mrs. Daventry’s room has been prepared as you desired. I have also lit a fire in the next-door bedroom as you requested, although there was not enough furniture available to make it pleasing.”
“Thank you, Binkley. Let me just go and collect Mrs. Daventry, and then you may take us over. You have provided the extra touches, I assume? I want this night to be as pleasant as possible.”
“Yes, sir. The wine has been decanted. The candles are lit. In the dark one cannot see quite how unfortunate the conditions are. One could hope that Mrs. Daventry might in the morning see it all through a happy haze—”
“Binkley! You shock me.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but extreme measures are called for. Your own happy haze will also be required, sir, in order to absorb the conditions fully tomorrow. The upper story will need complete restoration. The roof, from what I could ascertain, is barely holding.”
“Hmm. That bad. Never mind, Binkley. We shall prevail. You are a brave man indeed to take us on like this.”
“You need me, sir,” Binkley said pragmatically. “I shall await your pleasure outside.” He left, his habitually measured pace unruffled by the recent turn of events. But then, nothing had ever ruffled Binkley that Nicholas had seen in their eight-year career together. He thought it might very well take an earthquake to shake a single hair on Binkley’s solid head.
Georgia stood in front of Raven’s Close, giving it a long, hard look. It looked no better than it ever had. The five pointed gables that fronted the three wings were missing great chucks of tile, the gaps showing white against the gray slate. Poor house, she thought. But at least it would finally have inhabitants to fill it, and eventually it would all be put to rights. It served as a welcome reminder of why she had married Nicholas Daventry. Together they would bring the house back to life.
Nicholas came over to her and took her hands between his own. “Georgia, you’re cold as ice. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and put up at the Cock and Bull until we have made the house more livable?”
“I do not, Nicholas, as I told you earlier when you asked. This is to be our home and we might as well begin straightaway to make it so.”
“But on your wedding night?”
“What difference does it
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