Author: Abigail Agar
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/abigail-agar/page,15,548238-loving_tales_of_lords_and_ladies.html
Jeffrey reached for the ledger, sweeping through the pages to find the latest one. He cleared his throat—a disgusting sound, very much like cleaning out a drain. Then, he began to list out the Queens’ instructions for the instruments, the price per violin, per cello, per bass. The Duke allowed his head to fall back against his desk chair, listening to the drivel as it passed through his ears.
“So, as you can hear, Duke. It seems we’ll make a profit of at least 20 thousand quid, if not more …” Jeffrey stammered. “If that isn’t enough to get us through …”
“20 thousand quid,” the Duke said. He shot up from his chair, gripping his cane. He stumbled towards the far end of the room, his head spinning. He had to remember this number, for, somewhere in the chaos of his belly, he felt that he’d made an improper choice. In what reality did Charles wish him any ill will? “I’ll remember that. 20 thousand …” he continued.
“Of course, sir,” Jeffrey said.
Was it the Duke’s imagination, or was Jeffrey acting a bit strange? A bit guarded, perhaps? He spun at the door, staring towards the area in which he assumed Jeffrey stood. But silence hung heavy between them. “I suppose I’ll return to the floor,” the Duke said. “I can’t imagine anything better than being amongst my workers, who will fight back from this ruin. We won’t allow the company to falter, now, will we—Jeffrey?”
“Ab—absolutely not, sir,” Jeffrey said. “In no way will we do that.”
The Duke stepped into the workshop, dropping his cane to the far wall and placing his hands behind his back. As he marched amongst the workers, he allowed his imagination to spring forth—allowed himself to see, really see the workshop, as it had been, and as it was now. For this reason, his feet could easily find the proper paths around the machines; his ears guided him from the sanding table, to the stringing table, and back in a loop. This workshop was an ecosystem he’d always understood, surely. It was in his very soul.
At the head of the workshop, he paused, tapping his knuckles against a mighty table and making one of the craftsmen leap. Everyone quieted down, awaiting his words. The Duke hadn’t addressed his men in several months, sometime prior to the blindness—and certainly around the time that rumours had begun to swirl around the business, making it seem that they were designing themselves for ruin.
“Good afternoon,” the Duke said, his voice booming out.
Nobody returned a greeting. He imagined them all poised above their instruments, which gleamed that near-red, mahogany colour. The memory of colour was such a bizarre thing, evoking such emotion. The Duke swallowed, pushing through the pause.
“As many of you have just noted, one of our nearest and dearest for many years, Charles, has taken his leave of the business,” he said. “As he grows deeper into his 60s, Charles understands that his commitment to the work simply cannot maintain itself. He will be given a marvellous pension. We at this business will not let him down. Which brings me to my final statement …”
Several of the craftsmen had begun to mutter to one another. The Duke felt a wave of judgement, cast over him. But what did he care if they didn’t approve of his decision? It was certainly no concern of theirs whether the business lived or died. The business was the Duke’s lifeblood; it sizzled with the memory of his father, of his father’s father. And he wouldn’t allow it to sink.
“It’s come to my attention that Leeds and the surrounding villages have crafted a kind of dialogue about our business. One that involves …” the Duke paused, wondering exactly how to verbalise his (albeit tentative) sense of confidence. “One that involves the fact that, perhaps, everything is not completely solid in the record books. But I must assure you. With this new order from the Queen, the business will not only rebound to its old standard; it will prove, once and for all, that it is the best and most respected musical instrument shop in Great Britain, nay, the world.”
There was a smattering of applause. The Duke took a tiny step back, sensing the disbelief. In the back of the hall, he heard Jeffrey call out, “Remarkable, Duke. Thank you for this announcement, as, I’m sure, it fills us all with hope and assurance. We will get through this trying time together.”
There was a sliver of menace in Jeffrey’s voice, one that seemed to flash a bit of fire beneath the other workers and make them clap louder, harder, longer. The Duke remained poised at the front of the hall, a small frown beginning to curl over his eyebrows.
Charles had planted a seed in his head. A seed that, perhaps, all wasn’t exactly right. But frustration brewed up within him: frustration at his lack of sight, at his inability to hold all his cards at once. He’d always been a prosperous, devoted man. And relying on others made him feel stunted. Childish.
He resolved to keep his ears open, to watch his step as they proceeded to the capital. Perhaps there was no inconsistency to find.
And also, perhaps, he was being made a fool.
Chapter 18
It was nearing the end of October. The mornings were chilly, making Marina dive deeper beneath her sheets as the sunlight tried to shrug itself out from the foggy darkness. It was a part of her duties to awake far before the children, to assist with their laundry and prepare their lessons for the day.
Digging her head atop her pillow, she sighed, drawing a finger over the pearl buttons on her nightgown. For a long moment, she ached to be a child, herself, once more—to retreat from responsibilities, to fall into long afternoons of giggles, to play the occasional silly prank on the governess (for, after a few weeks there, there had already been several).
After that first devastating day, Marina had felt closeness to the children, to the affairs of the household, in a nearly organic way. It was as if she’d existed in the texture of the estate for years. She could peer at Max’s face and know what to say to relieve his anxiety; could bicker with Claudia in a way that felt more sisterly (older and younger), full of love and silliness.
Lottie now insisted that Marina read her a bedtime story every single night, often the same one of princesses and ogres and trolls. Lottie’s snuggled head against her chest smelled of that lavender soap, just minutes post-bath, and Marina was growing addicted to it—associating it with something rather like familial love.
And then, there was Christopher. Silly Christopher, rushing around the mansion in his wheelchair—calling out for whoever was around to come pick the chair up and carry it to the ground floor, or up a flight of steps. Sometimes, he scrambled from the wheelchair and bobbed around on his one knee and two hands, dragging the broken leg behind him.
“Where on earth do you think you’re going?” Marina had cried when she’d seen him do it the first time.
“I will not be bound to the chair!” Christopher called back, sounding rather like a regal lord, far more than a boy of nine.
“Come now, Christopher. You know you have to remain in the chair. What if you break it all over again …” Marina demanded, exasperated. She hated when she sounded like this—more motherly, an anger that came from worry.
But always, Christopher would mock her back to herself. “Come, now, Christopher!” he would shriek, in a way that sounded just exactly like Marina. Marina would falter, and then crumple into giggles on the floor beside him. She would toss whatever she was holding—a laundry basket, a selection of chalkboards for the lesson later, on the floor, and then dive into him—tickling his belly so that he cackled along with her.
Once, Sally Hodgins had discovered them like this on the ground, both laughing so hard that their faces turned bright red. She’d gazed down at them with burning eyes before turning her hands to the laundry basket (the very one that Marina had dropped), shooting it to her own hip, and then trudging away from them, muttering to herself, “I must be the only adult in this house, truly.”
One afternoon, the children spread out in the playroom—their chalk atop their chalkboards, doing their various assignments. Marina had had to cultivate several different lesson plans, as they were all of varying age. Claudia was fo
cused on mathematics, for example, while Max was learning to spell.
Lottie was hobbling along with a little reading list, trying to articulate words with a sloppy tongue. And Christopher dove through one science book after another, spouting information about reptiles, about faraway lands, about Vikings and pirates and buried treasure (always, it seemed, he returned to this facet of his mind).
Outside, dark clouds parted themselves, revealing a flicker of blue sky. Marina swept towards the window, feeling the blue to be a promise of something, or a last moment before winter crumpled over them, heavy and wet. She snapped her fingers, making each of the children pop their heads up from their books and boards.
“What if we have one last picnic, before winter?” she asked.
Claudia rolled her eyes slightly, tapping her chalk against the board of numbers. “It’s nearly the end of October, Marina.”
“Thank you for your understanding of the calendar,” Marina said, arching her brows. “Always a complete pleasure to know you’ve paid attention.”
Christopher smashed his science book to the ground, drawing the wheels of his chair back and forth and bucking it backward. Always, Marina was sure he would fly back and crack his head open. So far, it hadn’t yet happened. Thank God.
“Come along. Come along,” Marina said, making up her mind. She dove towards the corner of the room, finding a picnic basket, several blankets.
“But what about Christopher? We can’t very well take his chair …” Claudia stammered.
“I’ll push him as far as I can.” Marina sighed. “Why are you acting this way? Seems to me I’d rather be outside eating sweet treats than in here fumbling through mathematics. But of course, if you’d like to remain …”
“No, no,” Claudia said, recognising that her commitment to a bratty “teenager” sensibility wouldn’t land her in anything fun. She reached for her coat, swirling it around her, before helping Lottie sneak her little arms through hers. Max knelt to re-tie his shoes, an act that Marina had taught him only a week before. (It seemed that, after his mother had died, he’d gotten away with not learning. Lottie would have to be taught next, Marina reminded herself.)
The five of them snuck from the playroom, all speaking in hushed tones—as if they were breaking some sort of unwritten rule. If they did run into Sally Hodgins en route to the moor, she would certainly give them grief, asserting her belief that Marina Blackwater hadn’t the proper calibre to be a governess at that particular estate, or anywhere. As such, Marina spoke lightly, grateful that the children followed suit.
At the staircase, Marina and Claudia conducted their usual ritual, gripping either side of the wheelchair and easing it down two landings. Once at the base, they dropped the wheels a bit too hard on the marble, making a CRACK that rang out through the foyer. Marina’s eyes snaked around, hunting for any sign of Sally.
But instead, a dark figure snuck his head out from the far hallway, near the library. Immediately, Marina felt embarrassment and fear shoot down her spine. The figure drew himself out from the library, clacking his cane against the floor as he drew closer. Around Marina, the children stood in stunned silence. For it wasn’t often that they just “ran into” their father, in the estate. Rather, the Duke kept to himself, if not otherwise scheduled to appear.
“Hello—“ Marina began, trying not to sound as fearful as she did. Despite the rapport she and the Duke had crafted in previous weeks, her knees still clacked together upon his appearance. She was meant to be far upstairs with the children, teaching them multiplication and spelling and other drivel that, if she was honest, bored her far more than the children.
“Marina Blackwater,” the Duke said. “I thought I heard the giggles of my children. Glad to hear they’re not completely unaccompanied. Although, I must say, I would have expected this to be school time …”
“Marina wanted it,” Claudia shot out. “She said that we had to go outside. Because—because it was …”
Marina gave Claudia a half-stern look, and then watched as Claudia crumpled into herself, regretful for being the one to tattle. As if on cue, Sally Hodgins appeared in another doorway, her arms crossing over her chest.
“What do we have here?” she prattled.
“It seems my children are heading out,” the Duke said. Contrary to what Marina had assumed, his voice seemed lined with good humour.
“Well, that’s simply irresponsible, isn’t it?” Sally demanded. “What with the hours required of them for their schooling. I would have suspected …”
“I think I’ll join them,” the Duke said, booming over Sally’s voice.
“You’ll-what?” Sally asked.
“I think I’ll join my children and Ms Blackwater on their little adventure. I felt the sun peeking out from the clouds while I was sitting in the library—sitting in that chair near the window. You must imagine, strange to be in the library with this eyesight. Inhaling the smell of all these worlds, written down in letters you might never see again …”
The Duke was speaking in poetics, something he did so infrequently that it continued to keep the children and Marina in a stunned silence. Sally’s foot stomped on the marble, echoing. “I suppose I’ll come with you, my Duke,” Sally stammered. “I can’t expect someone of Ms Blackwater’s calibre to keep stock of you as well as four children, one in a wheelchair. We all remember what happened last time …”
“Nonsense,” the Duke said. “Marina is completely capable of guiding me.”
“And—and I will be of service, of course,” Claudia said, stepping forward. “Please.”
Marina’s heart sputtered wildly. She made heavy eye contact with Ms Hodgins, who seemed moments from tearing her to shreds, before turning back to Christopher’s wheelchair. The Duke continued his trek across the foyer, meeting them in the centre. And when he reached them, Marina made the momentous, incredible decision to reach out, grip his upper bicep (far more muscular than one might expect), and begin to guide him towards the front steps.
The moment she touched him, the fine fabric of his suit jacket, her fingers and toes seemed filled with uncomprehending warmth. She parted her lips to speak, to verbalise how grateful she was that the Duke had decided to join them. But anything she might say would be ill-suited to the moment as it would snap them out of it. Force them back to reality, perhaps.
And so, she remained silent, until they reached the door—and she remembered. “Oh, shoot,” she said, sounding a bit childlike. “Max, we’ve forgotten the picnic basket. Margaret was crafting it for us. Would you kindly run into the kitchen and grab it?”
Max gave her a furtive nod before rushing down the hallway, beaming past Sally Hodgins as she marched away. Sally Hodgins grunted at the little boy’s quick steps. “I didn’t realise the estate was turning into a zoo,” she said with a sneer.
Once outside, however, all hesitation and awkward air from the interior of the house dissipated. Marina felt awash with pleasure, leaning her head back to feel the final sun rays of autumn atop her cheeks. With her eyes from the path, the Duke’s feet fumbled slightly on the stones. She gripped him tighter, giving out a small shriek.
“Oh, Duke! I’m terribly sorry.”
Claudia rushed to her side, taking the handles of Christopher’s wheelchair for herself. “No reason you should be eyes for both,” Claudia said.
“Especially when I can’t seem to use my eyes for myself, either.” Marina sighed.
To her surprise, the Duke chuckled at this. His cheeks grew pink. He made a slight adjustment in his gait to accommodate Marina’s shorter legs. “It’s quite all right. If I am honest, I grew lost in the daydream of the sun the moment we stepped outside. It’s an easy thing to do.”
The six of them strode out towards the edge of the forest, just until the stony path curved into a small clearing. In the clearing, the brown and soggy leaves had been moved away to reveal off-green grass, on which Max spread out the picnic blanket. The blanket fluttered, a celebration of bright greens
and reds. When it was positioned, Marina and Claudia busied themselves with assisting Christopher out of the wheelchair, while the Duke and Lottie sat at the corner of the blanket. Lottie reached up and patted her father’s cheek, almost cooing at him.