Author: Virginia Vice
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/45305_3
"Mr. Gudheim is already deeply in debt to the estate," Deaton observed with a razor-eyed glare. "And in the matter of debts, we have much to discuss about the nature of your father's business, Lady Duskwood. Please, if we could—"
"Gudheim has been a loyal client and friend to this family since I was a little girl, Deaton," Lady Duskwood insisted. Her voice cracked and shook as she tried to boom at the trustee. "As I'm now the executor of this estate, I demand an accounting made of his debts so that we might relieve him of that particular burden." Deaton's snakelike glare turned to Isobel instead; she always hated that look. Deaton's stern, businesslike demeanor had always startled the poor girl.
"Lady Duskwood, if we are to forgive everyone in Upton who owes us a debt, we may very well not have a single shilling, parcel of land or title to our name by nightfall," Deaton growled cuttingly. "And we will need every shilling we can, in fact, get our hand on, to sort out financial matters. Now, please, follow me," Deaton beckoned her into the hall. She shook weakly; what had father done? What had he gotten the village in to?
"We... we will discuss this sometime soon, okay, Gudheim?" she spoke softly to the organist, who nodded in a gesture of silent thanks. Carrying her gown with her Isobel rushed along the dusty carpet, kicking up a small cloud of the stuff at her feet as she ran into the hall. She remembered this hall, too - a grand hall, with a grander staircase, which in her youth had always basked in afternoon light streaming through the foyer's grand, stained-glass windows. One window had been broken; a sheet wafted in the wind over where it had once been. The other, most likely, had been sold, replaced by a cheap pane of misshapen glass that let a draft flow through the room. Shadows now clung to every corner, keeping Duskwood Manor in a state of decaying disrepair.
Isobel followed Deaton up the stairs, along a twisting side hallway and down a dark corridor she had always known in her childhood as the 'business hallway'. Where men like Deaton - there used to be many more than just he - buzzed about all through the afternoon, negotiating trade deals and debts and profits and merchant caravans and issues like these 'Merry Bandits' that Gudheim had mentioned. She approached hesitantly; she had never felt comfortable in this wing of the manor, and the dark oak-paneled business hall felt even more oppressive now, with the knowledge humming in Isobel's troubled mind that now she had to deal with whatever troubles emerged from the studies and smoking rooms behind these dusty, darkened doorways.
Seeing Red - VampireCheck out the best interactive novels on Whispers: Interactive stories.
"Here, please?" Isobel's nerve-wracked trance faded as Deaton's voice startled her out of it. His head poking from a corner door, he beckoned her to follow. Isobel had never been in these rooms. She had never even snuck in as a child, when her father forbade her from disturbing the great minds within. She entered, taking a deep breath, finding heavy, high-backed leather chairs arrayed around a long table covered, nearly to the ceiling, with books and books; stacks upon stacks of papers, many of them sorted haphazardly. More papers litter the floor, to the point each of Isobel's hesitant steps crunched and crunched atop parchment below. She stepped lightly, eyes wide as Deaton collapsed grumpily into the chair at the far end of the room, near a dead fireplace, coated in soot, which looks to have not been used or even cleaned in years.
"Deaton," Isobel sighed, shivering, "why is the estate in this manner of disrepair? Truly? I had imagined my father's declining health had contributed to our estate's issues. But I've noticed the lack of servants. The state of the foyer. The state of the chapel, the—"
"M'lady, Isobel," Deaton exhaled sharply. "We have a lot to discuss. In the time you were away—"
"Please, Deaton... I've no mind for business. I've no husband, yet, to help me. Be plain in your words," she requested, with a harsh edge. Deaton sucked in a deep breath, cons
idering the Lady Duskwood for quite a long moment, his nose curling in distaste.
"Very well, Lady Duskwood. The estate is a last priority, at the moment. Your father, may he rest peacefully - left us in a very difficult place."
"Deaton, please," she clasped her fingers to her forehead.
"Our coffers are empty. Your father, the dear man, had an obsession with fixing everything for the people of Upton. It's left us not only destitute, but deeply in debt," Deaton summarily announced, thumbing through a book at the table. "The last few years' accountings have been numerous. Endless, even. Each subject in Upton owes us considerable amounts of money - and we owe everything, our entire land, estate, the manor - everything, in debt, to the Duke of Norbury."
"The Duke of Norbury?" Isobel's face lit up. She recognized the title - though, not the man. The man, whom she had never seen, had requested to be married to her a great many times. Her father had always resoundingly denied the request, and she never quite understood why. "I've heard that name before, Deaton. The suitor, who had sought my hand, through my teenage years."
"Lord Brighton did indeed aggressively pursue your hand," Deaton lamented. "The truth, is that while your father despised the man, the man's father and yours had long-standing ties. Upton had produced great wealth for Norbury, and Lord Brighton's father always worked with yours. It was not until the... younger, Lord Brighton, took hold that Upton fell upon difficult times. Lord Brighton honored his father's dedication to yours, and to Upton... though I've no doubt he did it for his own, selfish reasons," Deaton hissed. "The man is a dissolute animal. Your father was right to turn away his hand in marriage for you, for so long. He was protecting you, and protecting our family name, by keeping you clear of that man."
"And so what can we do, Deaton?" Isobel asked, worry in her voice.
"It's quite simple," Deaton nodded, "we simply request all the debt we are owed, be paid. Here, in these books, is an accounting of every shilling the people of Upton owe us. For simple things - food, repairs, medicine - but for a great many other things, as well. If we call back those debts, we'll—"
"Deaton," Isobel interrupted, horrified, "those are our people. Men like Gudheim, and Porter, at the pub. Shaking these men's pockets for repayment of debt is not exactly the way to endear ourselves to Upton."
"M'lady, we are not a charity, nor are we about endearing ourselves to the citizenry. We need to come up with these debts in the year, lest we put ourselves at risk of losing everything we have," Deaton insisted angrily.
"Where do you think a man like Gudheim, or any of the dozens like him down the hill, are going to cobble together the coinage to pay off what they owe? Do you think my father gave to the people of Upton, expecting repayment on his investment? You knew my father better than perhaps anyone. You know that's not what he wanted, or why he gave them what he gave," Isobel scorned the trustee with her young, naive idealist viewpoint. Deaton grumbled, running his hands across the books stacked high.
"Whether your father expected payment, or not, he certainly did not expect the debts of Duskwood Manor would consume all of our family, or ruin us forever, Lady Duskwood."
"There has to be another solution. The people of Upton can hardly feed themselves," Isobel sighed. "What of this Lord Brighton? His father and mine worked together. They clearly respected one another. Perhaps this younger Lord Brighton shares that respect. Certainly, a man like that - an English gentleman, he can be reasoned with."
"M'lady, the Lord Brighton is anything but a gentleman," Deaton seethed. "I appreciate your approach, but there's little else we can do, if we are to keep our name and your dignity intact."
"Why are you so certain? This man is clearly enamored with me," Isobel admitted. "I'm certain he would listen to reason. Perhaps relieve our debts, or assist us in payment. Come now," Isobel beamed. "I do need to be putting myself out there for a husband after all, don't I? It's what father would want."
"You will not marry that man, not while I still live. Your father would have sent me to suffer in a desert in New South Wales if I'd allowed you to even consider courting him," Deaton's small voice roared.
"I didn't say courting! We're simply going to meet, to discuss this issue," Isobel blushed. "Could you arrange for a carriage for me, Deaton?"
"It'll be one from the village. Don't expect luxury," he grudgingly agreed.
"I'll be quite fine, Deaton. Set a carriage to be sent tomorrow evening," Isobel laughed precociously. "And don't worry."
"It's my job to worry," he snorted with finality.
CHAPTER THREE