Part 65 (1/2)
All the furniture she saw was old but lovingly polished, warm oak, most of it.
”There's only the decorating left to do,” Harry informed her as he led her down a short corridor running beside the large room he had described as his study-cure-library. There, the bookshelves had been emptied and polished to within an inch of their lives; piles of tomes stood ready to be returned to their places once the decorating as done.
”But the firm I've hired won't be in for a few weeks yet--time enough to make the necessary decisions.”
Lucinda eyed him narrowly--but before she could think of any probing comment, she was distracted by what lay beyond the door at the end of the corridor.
An elegantly proportioned room, it overlooked the side garden; roses nodded at the wide windows, framing green vistas.
Harry glanced about.
”I haven't yet decided what this room Should be used for.”
Looking around, Lucinda found no pile of shrouded furniture. Instead, her gaze was drawn to new shelves, lining one wall. They were wide and open, just right for stacking ledgers. She glanced about; the windows let in good light, an essential for doing accounts and dealing with correspondence.
Her heart beating in a very odd cadence, Lucinda turned to look at Harry.
”Indeed?”
”Hmm.” His expression considering, he gestured to the door.
”Come--I'll introduce you to the Simpkins.”
Suppressing a snort of pure impatience, Lucinda allowed him to steer her back down the corridor and through the baize-covered door. Here she came upon the first evidence of established life. The kitchens were scrupulously clean, the pots gleaming on their hooks on the wall, a modern range residing in the centre of the wide fireplace.
A middle-aged couple were seated at the deal table; they quickly got to their feet, consternation in their faces as they gazed at Lucinda.
”Simpkins here acts as general factotum--keeping an eye on the place generally. His uncle is butler at the Hall. Mrs Bubbacombe, Simpkins.”
”Ma'am.” Simpkins bowed low.
”And this is Mrs Simpkins, cook and housekeeper-- without whom the furniture would never. have survived.”
Mrs Simpkins, a buxom, rosy-cheeked matron of imposing girth, bobbed a curtsy to Lucinda but fixed Harry with a baleful eye.
”Aye--and if you had only thought to warn me, Master Harry, I would have had tea and scones ready and waiting.”
”As you might guess,” Harry put in smoothly,
”Mrs Simpkins was once an under nurse at the Hall.”
”Aye--and I can remember you in short coats quite clearly, young master.”
Mrs Simpkins frowned at him.
”Now you just take the lady for a stroll and I'll pop a pot on. By the 6me you come back I'll have your tea laid ready in the garden.”
”I wouldn't want to put you to--' Harry's pained sigh cut across Lucinda's disclaimer.
”I hesitate to break it to you, my dear, but Martha Simpkins is a tyrant.
It's best to just yield gracefully.” So saying, he took her hand and led her towards the door.