The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter eleven - A meeting of like minds

Woodside was a modest, neat structure; its recent façade of red brick hiding an older property beneath. It sat in a small walled park, with an orchard and stables to the right and an ornamental shrubbery on the other side. In all outward appearance Fielding thought it a respectable property for a country gentleman with a moderate-sized estate, although it was scarcely larger than the vicarage that his father had rebuilt at Meltham five and twenty years earlier.

Mr. Latimer was sitting by one of two tall windows that looked out over the carriage drive and front lawn. He wore a capacious silk banyan over his shirt and black breeches, while the grey hairs beneath his cap made him look older than Fielding had imagined. A table at his side held a pile of books and ledgers, while another smaller pile had grown on the floor by the chair.

Shrewd grey eyes assessed him over wire-framed spectacles as Miss Latimer made the introductions, but other than repeating the usual social pleasantries, both men remained silent and watchful until the heavy door closed behind her.

Once they were alone, Mr. Latimer waved his hand around the room. "Please forgive me for receiving you in these less than formal surroundings. I have been forbidden from attempting the stairs until otherwise instructed."

"I quite understand, sir." Fielding glanced at the man's extended leg, resting upon a cushion, swathed in bandages. "Does the injury heal to your satisfaction?"

"It proceeds at far too slow a rate for my peace of mind, but there is little I can do. Nature works to its own clock and will not be hurried, or so Mr. Jones assures me. But you did not come here to pander to the ramblings of an invalid, I am sure."

"Your desire for a speedy recovery is understandable, given your circumstances. It must be difficult when you have so many responsibilities and cannot attend to them personally."

"Ah, yes." The older man nodded. "Anabelle told me you did not wholly approve of her assisting me while I am unable to leave the house."

Fielding bit his lip to hold back his first response. That Mr. Latimer would willingly send his daughter out to do a man's job, with no thought to her safety or reputation, still rankled. "It is not for me to approve or disapprove. She is your daughter."

"That is correct," Mr. Latimer observed in a pleasant tone, as though commenting on the weather. "She is."

The two men stared at one another in silence before Fielding's gaze fell and he brushed a speck of dust from his knee. Despite his strong opinions on the subject of Anabelle Latimer's welfare, it would not serve his purpose to antagonise her father.

"You must understand," the older man continued, "I would not have allowed Anabelle to attempt these tasks on my behalf were she not both willing and capable."

"But for her to walk alone—"

"She loves walking."

"With no chaperone?"

"We are in an inconsequential corner of Hertfordshire, not half way down St. James' Street. Anabelle has only been visiting families she has known since she was a child."

Fielding recalled the moment she had first entered the steward's room at Blackwood Hall, her eyes bright, and her cheeks glowing from her walk through the woods. How differently might the meeting have progressed if Mr. Burgin had been sat in that office instead of him, or any other man for that matter? The thought sent ice down his spine. "Would it not be safer for her to travel on horseback?"

Mr Latimer threw a disgusted look at his afflicted leg. "As safe as I was on Sampson? Those damnable rabbit holes are everywhere! Besides, Anabelle does not care to ride, and of all my daughters she is the only one with sufficient understanding for the tasks."