Chapter Nine
Tristan leaned back on the high driver’s seat, listening to the laughter of the children behind him as he let the late afternoon sun warm and relax him. It had been a good day, a very good day, one of many, Tristan hoped. Next to him, Marcus flicked the reins, making the matched pair of grey’s pick up the pace and earned a squeal of delight and then laughter from the children. The children had rarely been for a carriage ride of any kind, so the ride in the topless landau was a treat for them. Marcus slowed the landau as they approached the gate of Avondale and then drew the landau to a halt. Barely visible behind the thick rhododendron hell was an unfamiliar black carriage.
“We have company, Captain,” Marcus said, nodding towards the carriage.
Tristan could just make out two men in rough clothes dragging what appeared to be chairs out of the house. Then he heard a soft feral screech and saw Mrs. Jenkins race out the front door of the house and begin striking one of the men with a broom.
“Is something wrong?” Arabella asked behind him.
“Aye, we are either being robbed or its debt collectors, but a debt collector would have to bring the sheriff, and I don’t see him. Marcus pull the landau off to the left and hide it by the wall. Ladies, once the landau is stopped, take the children and go hide behind some of the trees, and don’t come out until you hear either Marcus or me call for you.” Tristan said, twisting in his seat to look back at the woman and children. “What does Mr. Lester look like?”
“He has brown hair and he wears it with too much pomade, brown eyes, and a long hawkish nose. He also wears the brightest, most garish clothing, perhaps to conceal his lack of physique. Why?” Arabella asked, gripping the side of the landau as Marcus began backing it up.
“Because I have the feeling that he has come for a visit, and is making off with anything of value,” Tristan replied as Marcus eased the landau off the lane and onto the grassy verge before the wall. “Are you armed?”
Marcus deployed the brakes and nodded as Tristan turned, preparing to climb down. “I’ve my knives and you?”
“My pistol, I’ll go first. I’ll go down the drive and distract them. Once the ladies are safe, follow me. Go around the bushes and stay low so you can outflank them.” Tristan ordered. He didn’t wait for Marcus to reply, just dropped to the ground and quickly headed through the open gate.
Tristan moved slowly down the drive, keeping to the shadows and using the massive rhododendron to conceal his approach for as long as possible. The scene opened up before Tristan, and he studied the scene before him as he weighed his options and counted the number of opponents he might be facing. All but the two footmen were lined up before the left side of the house, with Jenkins and Mr. Hardwig on their knees with their hands bound before them. The three maids and the cook’s assistant were huddled together behind them while one of the men was attempting to wrest the broom away from Mrs. Jenkins.
Tristan pulled the pistol from his inner pocket and aimed it at the man struggling with Mrs. Jenkins.
“Take your hands off her or I’ll put a bullet in you, and from his distance I’ll not miss,” Tristan said evenly.
Everyone froze instantly. A moment later, the man holding Mrs. Jenkins turned to face him, while his companion dropped the chair he was trying to place in the boot of the carriage. Another man who was about thirty- five and dressed in a bright blue jacket and lime green silk stepped out of the house holding a silver teapot.
“Who are you and what are you doing on my property?,” The brightly dressed man demanded, giving Tristan a scathing look, then reaching for a pistol in his waistband.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. I’m a damn good shot, and this is my property, not yours. I am Sir Tristan Sizemore, the Earl of Rawlings, and the new owner of Avondale. And this is my house, and those are my things. Now, before I put a bullet in one of you, drop the gun to the gravel, and the tea pot then step away from my people.” Tristan took a step closer, looking the older man up and down. Narrow-faced, eyes like a weasel, and a long hawkish nose, it had to be Mr. Lester.
“Nay, nay, you can’t be. He’s not to return yet?” The man protested eyes wide in apparent shock.
“Ah, but I am, now I’m not asking again, drop the guns and the tea pot.” Tristan used his thumb to cock the pistol. “I’m guessing you are Mr. Lester, the distant cousin and the man who has been harassing Miss Layden and Mrs. Riley. I don’t think well of any man who tries to intimidate women.”
Lester turned an interesting shade of puce and turned to his men. “Don’t just stand there, get rid of him, he’s just one man. Just shoot him, Bert.”
The man who’d dropped the chair reached for a pistol in his belt and, without even turning, Tristan fired his pistol, the bullet hitting Bert in the left shoulder. Bert staggered backwards, crashing into the carriage wheel before dropping his pistol and dropping to his knees. The man who had been holding Mrs. Jenkins lunged forward a moment later to grab the dropped pistol when a knife appeared in his back, and he dropped to his knees, as Marcus stepped around the carriage, another knife in his hands.
“I suggest you drop the gun carefully, pop-in-jay it, I’ve two more knives and a deep dislike for any man who hurts women. I’d just as soon kill you now, but it might cause a bit of a problem. Now drop the knife.” Marcus said menacingly.
Lester looked from Marcus to Tristan and back. He dropped the teapot and then the pistol and, stepping over his injured men, moved to climb into the driver’s seat of the carriage.
“Not with the silver service, or the chairs from the dining room,” Mrs. Jenkins protested moving towards her husband and helping him to his feet. “He stole from you sir.”
“Well the Pop- in-jay we have a problem don’t we, you can either leave the carriage or unload what you stole.” Marcus said leaning against the side of the carriage and motioning with his knife.
“Nay tis mine, I’ll have you up on charges of theft if you don’t get out of my way,” Lester shouted making Marcus shrug.
Tristan stepped forward to hand his pistol to Mrs. Jenkins, then, pulling a knife from his boot, used it to slice through the ropes holding Jenkins and then Mr. Hardwig. As he freed them, the missing footmen, Matt and Ernest, staggered out of the house. Both men were mussed and winded and very angry-looking.
“My lord, I’m sorry, he had a pistol and that one,” Matt pointed to Bert, who was moaning and clutching at his bleeding shoulder, forced us both into the downstairs coat closet. We had to break down the door to get out.”
“Well done, men, if you would remove everything from the carriage that belongs to the house, then we shall let Mr. Lester leave for now,” Tristan said.
“Are you sure Captain? We caught him stealing, tis our right to make him pay, we should at least tie him up and hold him till we can summon the sheriff.” Marcus asked.
“Aye, you are right, tie him up and the other two and stick them all in the ice house. Treat those two wounded men first; I don’t want any murder charges against us. Then after our things are returned to the house take the carriage here to Thornton with Patrick,” Tristan paused to look about. “Where are Patrick and Jeremy?”
“That one locked them in the pantry closet, they were having tea when he burst in,” Mrs. Jenkins said angrily pointing at Mr. Lester.
“Wonderful, Marcus I’d be obliged if you’d tie Mr. Lester up, Mrs. Jenkins after you free the coach man and see to the staff please see to the wounded men, but not before they are tied up. Matt, Earnest be sure that those two don’t have any weapons on them before you tie them up.” Tristan directed.
“Aye sir,” Matt and Earnest replied as one.
“You move and don’t try anything I might not be able to kill you but nothing says I can’t break your nose for mistreating these people,” Marcus said motioning for Lester to move.
“I’ll have you all arrested for this and thrown in jail. This is my house,” Lester protested as Marcus gave him a hard shove.
“I’m going for the ladies, and Marcus, be sure he can’t get loose,” Tristan directed. He turned back to check on the servants. “Are you all right? Are any of you injured?”
“Oh no sir, just shook up, thank you.” One of the maids, whom Tristan thought was called Marigold, replied.
“Excellent, everyone, back inside.” Tristan took his pistol back from Mrs. Jenkins, then slipped it into his inner jacket pocket as he pondered what to do next.
* * * *
Tristan had persuaded Arabella and Mrs. Riley to move into the manor until matters with Mr. Lester were settled. Arabella had been hard to convince, but Mrs. Riley had readily agreed, and she had help talk Arabella into agreeing to stay at Avondale for now. After the women were settled, Tristan with Mrs. Jenkins help tended the two injured thugs. They had happily told Tristan that Mr. Lester had paid them to help him remove articles from the manor that the people living in the manor had stolen the house from him and he was only reclaiming what was his.
Marcus and Patrick had taken Mr. Lester’s readily available carriage to Thornton to find the sheriff and bring him back to deal with Mr. Lester and his henchmen. Mrs. Jenkins despite the uproar had managed to create a fine meal of roast herbed chicken and seasoned potatoes, with carrot cake for dinner.
Tristan was sitting with the women in the library when he heard the sound of hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels. The clock in the corner struck eight as he rose to his feet and motioned for Arabella and Mrs. Riley to remain seated. Tristan moved quickly from the library and into the large foyer and was reaching for the handle of the front door when it opened, and a tired Marcus stepped, in followed by Mr. Alerton and a young man in a dark jacket with a serious look on his face.
“You made good time; Mrs. Jenkins is keeping food warm for you in the kitchen,” Tristan said. “Sheriff Alerton, welcome, and this is?”
“My assistant, Mr. Hudson, is here to take statements and help me take the prisoners back. I have a prison wagon coming; it was right behind us when we left.” Mr. Alerton replied.
Jenkins appeared as if by magic and bowed to Mr. Alerton and Mr. Hudson and moved to take their hats and gloves.
“Would you care for something to eat, gentlemen? My cook is excellent and made roast chicken and potatoes for dinner.” Tristan asked. He could see the men were weary, and he knew the drive from Thornton took almost two hours.
“Why, yes, that sounds delightful, but Mr. Hudson and I are eager to question the men you have detained, and we need to speak with you in private. I have some important information, my lord that can’t wait,” Mr. Alerton said.
“If I might suggest, Sir, the gentlemen could eat in the breakfast room and the umm, men in the ice house could be brought in for them to question while they eat,” Jenkins suggested.
“Why yes that is a capital idea. When the guards and driver arrive they will need refreshment as well, if it isn’t a bother.” Mr. Alerton said.
“Of course sir, I shall let my wife know. I have already asked Patrick and Jeremy to see to the horses,” Jenkins said.
“Thank you Jenkins, could give us a few minutes for the gentlemen to settle in and then ask for Matt and Earnest to bring in the man I shot first?” Tristan asked and Jenkins nodded disappearing down the corridor towards the kitchen.
“Come gentlemen this way.” Tristan motioned towards the corridor Jenkins had gone down.
Tristan stepped around his guests to open the breakfast room door and step inside the small, cheery room. Inside, Marigold was lighting the lamps while Beatrice was setting places at the highly polished oak table. The maids bobbed quick curtsies before disappearing through the door to the kitchen.
“There is something you need to tell me?” Tristan asked as Mr. Alerton he took one of the empty chairs, while Mr. Hudson set a leather folder down atop the table and took another seat.
“Yes, after our last meeting I had my men look into Mr. Lester and his claims against your property,” Mr. Alerton said, “And it could cause problems if you press charges against him.”
“A problem, he broke into my home, assaulted my servants, locked them up, and tried to take my belongings, and there is a problem with charging him?” Tristan asked as Marigold stepped back into the room carrying a laden tray, holding two overflowing plates of food, a basket of food, and two tankards. She set the tray down on the table and quickly set down the plates, bread, and tankards.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Marcus, but Mrs. Jenkins has your food in the kitchen,” Marigold stated softly, then gave Tristan and Marcus a shy smile.
“Thank you, Marigold, I’ll be right there,” Marcus said. Marigold nodded again then disappeared back through the door, leaving the men alone.
“Yes, about what we were discussing, Sir Tristan, Mr. Lester’s mother, Mrs. Lester, has a powerful friend, a very powerful friend named Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins is a businessman and has hired a solicitor for Mr. Lester and Mrs. Lester. They have again petitioned the court, saying that Avondale should have gone to Mrs. Lester and not your aunt. It will come to naught, the magistrate has assured me, but until then, it is best not to upset them too much. If you press charges against Mr. Lester, it will only further aggravate the situation. The fact that you have him tied up in your ice house will only help his claims against you,” Mr. Alerton said.
Tristan felt his anger rise; a claim against his ownership of Avondale was the last thing he needed. He had enough to worry about already.
“And I should just let the man who attacked my servants, tied them up, made threats against my person, and tried to steal from me go free? Tristan demanded.
“I agree with you, my lord, it is a disagreeable situation, but till the magistrate can put this all to rest, it is best to humor the Lesters. We shall eat and talk to Mr. Lester’s helpers. Once we are finished with them, we will speak to Mr. Lester. Out of respect to you we shall speak to him outside. I shall warn him not to set foot on Avondale again, and then I shall send him on his way. Then we shall question your servants and take your statement, and then take our leave. My men shall take away Mr. Lester’s assistants tonight, and based on the statement Mr. Berkley has already given me, I shall be pressing charges against them.” Mr. Alerton replied.
Tristan felt his anger rise and was trying to keep his temper in check when he felt Marcus’ hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at his friend.
“Tris, I know it is infuriating, but Mr. Alerton and I discussed the issue at length on the ride home, and it is better this way, trust me,” Marcus said softly.
Tristan looked into his friend’s blue eyes, saw in them what his friend was trying to say, and nodded in resignation. If Marcus asked him to accept it for now, he would. Over the years, he’d grown to trust Marcus implicitly.
“Very well, for now, I will let the matter drop. Enjoy your meal, gentlemen. If you excuse me, I’ll inform the ladies what has happened. Tristan said.
“I’ll eat and then I’ll join you. Where are the ladies hiding?” Marcus asked.
“The library, I’ll have to tell them what we discussed. I do not think they will be pleased.” Tristan replied, thinking of how Mr. Lester had terrorized the young women. “Go eat, Marcus, and thank you.”
“No need to thank me, but perhaps next time we have a similar problem, you’ll let me take care of it my way?” Marcus said softly.
“Perhaps I will, I’ll even help you dig the holes,” Tristan replied, before turning to slip from the dining room. As he strode down the corridor, he heard the sound of a carriage pulling up before the house.
Jenkins was standing by the front door and gave him a polite nod.
“The prison wagon has arrived, sir,” Jenkins stated.
“I gather, how are you doing, Jenkins. I understand from your wife that you took a rather nasty punch from one of those miscreants?” Tristan asked, looking over the older man and noting a faint bruise on the older man’s jaw.
“I am well sir. My chin is a bit sore, but nothing serious, thank you for asking, my lord,” Jenkins replied.
“That is good. Be sure the wagon driver and the guards have refreshment. I’ll be in the library for now, and thank you again.” Tristan said before turning to step into the library.
Tristan paused in the open door to study the domestic scene before him. Arabella and Mrs. Riley were sitting in the two high-backed wooden chairs by the left wall, silently sewing. It was rather a comforting sight after all the madness of the past few hours.
Arabella looked up from her sewing and sent him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.
“Sir Tristan, what has happened? We heard the carriage return and then voices in the hall, but thought it more prudent to stay here and wait for news.” Arabella said.
Tristan grabbed one of the smaller chairs from the side of the room and moved it closer to the ladies.
“Thank you for your patience. The news is rather unsettling,” Tristan stated. It took Tristan several minutes to relate what Mr. Alerton had said. When he was finished, the woman looked as unsettled and as angry as he was. When he was done, Tristan shook his head in dismay, angry that he could not do more to protect the ladies.
“I’m sorry, ladies; it looks like you’ll be forced to stay here for some time. In the morning, I’ll have Mr. Hardwig go to check on Rose Cottage and to see to your garden,” Tristan said.
“It isn’t your fault, Sir Tristan, and I, for one, would thank you for letting us stay at Avondale. I am grateful for your protection and kindness. Mr. Lester will be leaving soon, won’t he?” Elizabeth asked, her hands folded in her lap.
“Indeed, and he has been denied entry to the house. Once he leaves, I’ll have the men take turns standing guard inside the house. If Mr. Lester is foolish enough to set foot in this house again, it shall be his last mistake.” Tristan said emphatically.
Arabella leaned forward to place her hand on Tristan’s, where it rested on his knee. She’d meant to be a quick, reassuring touch, but he turned his hand over to give her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.
“Thank you, Sir Tristan, this isn’t your fault. Mr. Lester and his mother have been trying to take Avondale for years. Mrs. Lester would come so often and be so well, acrimonious that she was finally banned from the house. When she’d come for a visit, your aunt would tell Jenkins to say that no one was home and to refuse her entry.” Arabella said.
Tristan nodded; it was slight reassurance knowing it wasn’t his fault, but it did help ease his conscience.
“I’m afraid we shall have to postpone our outing, Miss Layden,” Tristan said with regret.
Arabella gave Tristan a quick smile, wishing to lighten the somber mood. “It is all right, it will give me more time to finish the alterations to my gown. I’m planning to wear it to the Belmont’s dinner.”
Tristan leaned forward to pick up the peacock silk fabric that was draped over her lap. “This shade will look lovely on you.”
“Thank you, it’s silk. I’ve never owned or touched anything so soft or so fine before. It will feel like a dream to wear,” Arabella replied.
Tristan was about to say that if he had the power, he would dress her in silk every day when Georgette, Mr. Hardwig’s wife, entered the library with the children. Georgette had agreed to watch the children while they were staying at Avondale; she’d raised four children and was only too happy to help.
“Excuse me, everyone but the little ones wanted to say good night to Sir Tristan before they went to bed,” Georgette placed a hand on the back of each of the children to give them a gentle push forward. Mrs. Hardwig was in her fifties, Tristan guessed, by the sprinkle of grey in her russet hair, but despite her years and the grey she was a very attractive woman with light brown eyes in a round face, and a ready smile.
“Of course,” Tristan said with a smile. He rose from the chair and knelt on the carpeted floor, arms open. The children rushed forward to throw their arms about his neck, the force of their impact nearly rocking him backwards.
“Thank you for the picnic,” Young Brian said, breaking the hug and looking up at Tristan with open admiration.
“You are most welcome. Perhaps with your mother’s permission, I’ll teach you how to play cricket tomorrow,” Tristan offered as the children moved to their mother’s side for hugs.
“Mama, may I?” Brian asked as Mrs. Riley set down her sewing in a wicker basket and rose.
“Yes, if you are good, now it is time for bed.” Mrs. Riley said.
“Ah, I’m in time. I was afraid I had missed the little ones. I’d promised young master Brian that I would read him a story before bed,” Marcus said from the door.
Tristan looked up to see that his friend had removed his black jacket and waistcoat and that he had rolled up the sleeves of his white lawn shirt. A sight that would have sent Tristan’s ever-so-proper mother into fits.
The children turned and raced to Marcus, who bent to sweep them up in his arms earning loud giggles as he did.
“Come, poppets, I’ll read you a story, but then you must go to sleep. Now say good night to Miss Layden.” Marcus rumbled.
“Good night, Aunt Bella,” Brian said. While little Megan just waved her chubby hand at Arabella and Tristan.
“Good night and sweet dreams, “Arabella called as Marcus turned to carry the children off, followed by Mrs. Hardwig.
“I’ll tuck them in, then return. I’ll need your help with the sleeves.” Elizabeth said, following the others out of the room.
“They like you,” Arabella said.
“I like them too, you and Mrs. Riley have done a wonderful job raising them,” Tristan replied, standing and strolling to the closest shelf of books to peruse the titles.
“We have tried, but it has not been easy. Brian is of the age when he needs a man as a guide in his life. You and Mr. Marcus are wonderful examples to him. He was fond of your uncle, but your uncle was never well enough to play with him as you and Mr. Marcus have.” Arabella said, focusing her attention on her stitching so she’d not be tempted to stare at Tristan.
Tristan was a very fine-looking man; his wide shoulders filled out his black dinner jacket to perfection, which was also pulled taught over his bulging biceps. Unlike Mr. Lester or Baron Belmont’s sons, he needed no padding to fill out his jacket. His chiseled cheeks and chin were covered with fine black stubble, even though Arabella knew he had shaved that morning. Highlights in his dark hair caught the candlelight and shone brightly.
“I could read to you if you wish. What would you like to hear?” Tristan asked.
“Read to me?” Arabella gave Tristan a questioning look.
“Yes, if you like. When I was in India, my commanding officer would read to his wife and children after supper. Marcus also said his father reads to his mother every night as she sews. I thought you might enjoy it as you sew.” Tristan said.
“Oh yes, that would be very pleasant. Perhaps another night we could play chess or cards? Your uncle kept a chess set and cards in the window seat over there.” Arabella replied.
“That would be very agreeable; would you like a novel or poetry perhaps?” Tristan asked, his hand trailing over various leather-bound volumes.
“Oh, poetry, I rarely have time to read it. I’m very fond of Mrs. Browning’s poems.” Arabella replied. “Your uncle kept a volume of her work over there; it has a red cover.”
“Poetry it is then, I have never read her works myself, but I understand she is rather good,” Tristan turned to scan the crowded shelf for the volume in question.
“Oh yes, she is wonderful, her poetry is so moving, “Arabella sighed.
Tristan found the red leather-bound volume and was pulling it off the shelf when there was a knock on the open door, and he turned to see Jenkins.
“Yes, Jenkins,” Tristan asked.
“Mr. Alerton has spoken to Mr. Lester and sent him on his way. I was there, as were Jeremy and Patrick, and I heard Mr. Alerton warn Mr. Lester most sternly that he was never to set foot on Avondale again. That while he might believe Avondale Manor should be his, the items inside are not. And that theft of the silver service and the dining room chairs was severe enough to see him transported. Mr. Hudson had Mr. Lester turn out his pockets before he left and discovered he had five silver spoons in them.” Jenkins stated with a smug look. “Mr. Lester was rather irate to be warned so and furious that he had to drive his carriage himself. Patrick, to help defray the situation, walked his horses down the drive so as not to disturb the little ones, who might be sleeping. I am pleased to say that I watched Mr. Lester drive away myself.”
“Thank you, Jenkins. That is indeed good news, and his men are they gone as well?” Tristan asked, moving to stand closer to Arabella.
“They were questioned by both Mr. Alerton and Mr. Hudson, while I was not privy to what was said, I overheard Mr. Hudson tell Mr. Alerton that their testimonies were most damning for Mr. Lester. Mrs. Jenkins examined the men’s wounds and announced them fit enough to travel. Mr. Lester ordered the guardsmen to have the captives seen by a physician before taking them to the jailhouse; he wants them in good shape to stand trial.” Mr. Jenkins added with a satisfied smile.
“Oh, that is excellent news,” Arabella gushed.
“Mr. Alerton and Mr. Hudson have begun questioning the staff, and Mr. Alerton wants to know if you will be available in about an hour,” Jenkins asked.
“Please tell Mr. Alerton that I shall be available when he needs me, and thank you, Jenkins,” Tristan said with a nod.
Jenkins gave Tristan a nod. “Very good, sir, I’ll let Mr. Alerton know, and I shall ask one of the girls to bring you some tea.” Then Jenkins was gone as quietly as he’d come.
Tristan eased back into his chair as he opened the volume in his hands. He flipped through the volume till a title grabbed his attention, and he began to read. Arabella picked up her sewing as Tristan began to read.
Arabella listened to Tristan’s deep, velvet voice as he began to read one of the poems; his deep, rich voice was soothing and restful to her. Arabella paused in her stitching as she pictured Tristan reading to her every night or playing whist with her. It was a pleasant thought, no, it was more than pleasant, it was a wonderful thought; to never be alone again would be a dream. Marriage to Tristan was looking like a better idea with every passing hour.