Moss Manor, page 4
He lets out a snort, shocked to hear her confession.
“Miss,” Nydia calls from the doorway. “My apologies for interrupting.”
“It’s alright, Nydia. What is it?”
“You wanted me to bring the mail as soon as it arrived.“
Lady Moss stretches out her hand. “Yes, thank you, Nydia.”
The girl swiftly moves to hand her the letters. She offers a curt glance at Mr. Jackson as she exits the study.
Lady Moss counts to five in her head before saying, “She fancies you, you know?”
“Pardon?” Mr. Jackson coughs.
She smiles, pleased with her revelation. “All of them do.”
Mr. Jackson rolls his eyes.
“I don’t blame them,” she muses. “I can see why.” She pauses, watching for his reaction. “You are pleasing to the eye.”
Mr. Jackson remains quiet as he becomes more uncomfortable.
“From what I’ve witnessed, Mrs. Doyle is the only one who does not feel the same.”
She cannot speak of the same for Mrs. Sheldon, Mrs. Joel, nor Mrs. Martin since they have not been around Mr. Jackson when Lady Moss has been present.
Mr. Jackson lets out a snort.
“You don’t care for Mrs. Doyle?”
“I didn’t—“
Lady Moss chuckles, enjoying herself more than she thought. She was never one to tease anyone who wasn’t family or a dear friend. She never dared tease a man, not even her deceased husband, but her newfound position has given her a bit of confidence that continues to blossom. Several family members have called her strong-willed and spirited, but she didn’t consider the implications until arriving at the manor.
“It would do you good to get out on occasion, Mr. Jackson.”
“There’s plenty to do here, Miss.”
“What displeases you of the young girls? Is it because they work here? Is it their silliness? Or, is it that all women have ill-effect on you?”
Mr. Jackson regards her for a moment. “Entrapment, Lady Moss.”
“The young girls or my question?” She offers a sly smile.
“Your question,” he returns sharply. “Women are a delight to look at, but nothing more.”
She leans forward, placing her head between her palms. “One would almost think you do not know the pleasures of the flesh, Mr. Ja—“
“The pleasures of the flesh is a form of entrapment, just like the pleasures you enjoy flinging from your tongue, Lady Moss.”
She bites back a smudged expression.
“Good day, Miss.” He does not give her a chance to reply and exits the study.
“We will resume this conversation at a later time, Mr. Jackson,” she calls out.
“Not likely,” he returns further in the house.
Mrs. Doyle enters the study. “I have your tea.”
“Thank you, dear. You are too kind,” she replies.
Mrs. Doyle is taken aback by Lady Moss’ continued pleasant demeanor. She’s never experienced a Lady to be so cordial. She’s done it on numerous occasions each day, particularly when she chooses to dine in the kitchen rather than in the main dining area.
“Is Mr. Jackson bothering? I can—“
“Not at all, Mrs. Doyle. It is I who is bothering Mr. Jackson. Besides, I rather enjoy his heated tongue. It reminds me of my brothers.”
Mrs. Doyle chuckles. “Are they still living, Miss?”
“Three,” she informs. “James, Byron, and Henry. William passed by way of the fever when we were young.”
“God rest his soul.”
“Thank you,” Lady Moss replies. “It wasn’t easy, but I was younger than the others when it happened.”
“You are the youngest, then?” Mrs. Doyle inquires.
“William was younger than I, but only by two years,” she confirms. “I’m five years from Henry who was the third youngest.”
“Do they plan to visit soon?” Mrs. Doyle inquires. “Your family, that is?”
Lady Moss lets out a sigh.
“My apologies, Abigail. It is not my—“
“You have every right to know such things,” she interrupts. “You are in charge of the manor. It would make sense for you to understand certain aspects of my life.” She glances down at the letters before her. “It is not likely for my family to visit.”
“What of your late husband’s?”
Her head sways. “They passed when he was barely a man. He inherited much fortune and managed his dealings well regardless, which is why my Aunt pushed for us to marry. There are no other relatives that I am aware of…hence the manor going to me.”
Though she wishes to understand the Lady of the house to better serve her, Mrs. Doyle doesn’t press further with questions. She knows that information will be relinquished when the time calls for it.
“Do you require anything else, Abigail?”
Mrs. Doyle is starting to become more comfortable with calling her Lady by her first name, though it is still foreign. She insists on calling her Miss when the other servants are around.
“That is all. Thank you, Mrs. Doyle.”
Lady Moss finalizes her thoughts and findings of the manor as she sips her tea, contemplating many things all at once. The current matter at hand, which has taken the majority of her attention the past week, involves the house. The manor feels stuffy and she feels like a guest, which needs to be resolved soon than later.
There are many things of Lord Quincy’s that she does not wish to keep. There are some that are to her taste regarding decor, but most are that of no appeal. It is evident by the number of taxidermies on the walls that Lord Quincy was a bachelor in the later years of his life. She considers the fact that he did not have any children and took Mr. Jackson on as a servant boy. It isn’t common for anyone with a social status to take on homeless children who are not of their blood other than for servitude.
With the papers piling higher in three stacks on the desk as she continues to organize her thoughts, Lady Moss contemplates how she wishes to express her desires to both Mrs. Doyle and Mr. Jackson. Speaking with Mrs. Doyle will be easier than with Mr. Jackson.
Popping into the doorway sometime later, Mrs. Doyle inquires, “Would you like to eat in here, Abigail?”
“Is it lunchtime already?”
Mrs. Doyle chuckles. “If you wish it to be.”
Lady Moss’ stomach grumbles. “No. I should get out of this room. I fear I have spent too much time in it this past week. And, if I shall not venture out of it, I may turn into a foul beast of sorts.”
She snickers in reply. “As you wish.”
“Mrs. Doyle?”
She turns on her heels. “Yes, Abigail?”
“Send for Mr. Jackson. I shall like to dine with both of you.”
Mrs. Doyle’s mouth falls open. “You wish to have that stinky man at your table?”
She chuckles. “It is my table, isn’t it?”
Lady Moss muses the idea, still feeling like a visitor in the manor. She has been sleeping in a guest room rather than the master. She wishes to redecorate, other than a thorough cleaning, before moving herself into Lord Quincy’s former domicile.
“Regardless of whether it’ll be pleasant for either of us, yes.”
Mrs. Doyle nods and curtsies before vacating the room.
Lady Moss peers over her notes, adding a few thoughts before taking a several documents and a pen with her to the dining room.
“You called for me, Miss?” Mr. Jackson inquires.
She takes a second to look up at him. “Yes. Sit.”
“Sit?”
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. I wish for you and Mrs. Doyle to join me for lunch.”
“Why?”
Lady Moss lets out a heavy breath. “I may be in the mood for your twisted tongue and I wish you to be present if such a mood arises.”
Mr. Jackson grumbles before taking the seat across from her.
Mrs. Doyle suddenly enters the room, carrying a large tray along with Iris, Nydia, and Rosemary. Once the food is placed on the table, Mrs. Doyle hands her tray to Nydia and takes the seat next to Mr. Jackson. Minerva enters with a pitcher of water as Nydia has a bottle of wine.
“Wine, Miss?” Nydia inquires. “Yes, please. Make sure you offer to my guests as well.”
Mr. Jackson studies Lady Moss and Nydia takes a moment to comply.
“How are things with the farm, Mr. Jackson?”
“The same,” he replies, not objecting to Nydia pouring him wine. He isn’t one to drink, but he knows better not to refuse.
“The same compared to what, Mr. Jackson? I am unfamiliar with—“
“How a farm operates,” Mr. Jackson says.
Lady Moss’ eyes narrow. “You think that my education from the city would be on topics of anything but farming or business, hm? There is a great deal to learn regardless of who one may be, Mr. Jackson. Men speak freely of dealings when women are present. It doesn’t take long for a woman to understand.“
“Women don’t conduct business,” he reminds.
“And yet, here I am. The first woman to own a manor and farm, Mr. Jackson.”
“Watch your tongue, Theodore,” Mrs. Doyle warns under her breath.
“Please, don’t,” Lady Moss baits. “I rather enjoy his honesty. There is no price one can place on honesty for it does not come often enough.”
“Sorry, Abigail.”
“Please, do not apologize, Mrs. Doyle. This change is not easy for any one of us.”
Mr. Jackson leans over to Mrs. Doyle to whisper. “You dare call her by—“
“Upon my request, Mr. Jackson,” Lady Moss states with a warning tone.
His gaze darts back and forth several times between the two women. Though Mrs. Doyle referred to their ladyship by her first name the day she arrived, Mr. Jackson has yet to hear it spoken directly in her presence. He finally mumbles something under his breath, too low for them to decipher.
“My inquiry about the farm has no reflection on your ability to run it, Mr. Jackson,” she informs sternly.
“Good.”
“I….” She pauses, deciding what to say as she realizes that she does not need to explain herself to anyone. Lady Moss lets out a giggle. “We’ll tend to the business once I’ve completed things here at the manor.” She takes a sip of her wine. “This afternoon, before dinner, I need all staff members to come to the house.”
“For what?” Mr. Jackson inquires.
“Are you my husband, Mr. Jackson?”
His eyes narrow. “No.”
“Then, why must I explain myself to you?”
Mrs. Doyle chuckles as she takes another bite of her food followed by a sip of her drink.
When Mr. Jackson doesn’t reply, Lady Moss continues, “Now….” She takes a bite and enjoys it before continuing. “While you were gone selling the mare, I saw to—“
“What did you do to my farm?”
“I did nothing to it,” she returns. “If I had, you would have noticed. And, even if I were inclined to do so, it is my farm, Mr. Jackson.”
He grumbles as he pushes food around on his plate.
“Either eat it or leave it be, Mr. Jackson,” Lady Moss instructs. “Mrs. Doyle and the girls did not waste their time preparing a fine meal for you to merely tend to it like a child.”
She mentally chides herself for her harshness, sensing that she is letting out some pent-up energy as well as allowing some of her past irritations of great aunt Norma Jenning, who she lived with while in the city until she married, emerge.
Mr. Jackson purposefully allows his fork to drop out of his hand before leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms at the same time.
“Now, as I was saying,” Lady Moss says with a huff. “While you were gone, I inspected the house where you men live and—“
“You what?” he gasps.
Lady Moss rolls her eyes. “Mrs. Doyle was with me. And, after looking at both the interior and exterior, Mr. Sheldon confirmed much of what I had speculated about the building.”
“Which is?”
“That is not suitable for you men to be living there.”
“It’s suitable,” Mr. Jackson counters.
“It has not been suitable for some time,” she challenges. “It—“
“It is more than suitable for us,” Mr. Jackson interrupts.
“It is also farther from the barn, mill, and manor, Mr. Jackson. I do not wish to increase the amount of time to conduct work that you gentlemen do nor take away your personal time. I—“
“Good! Then leave us be.”
Lady Moss sets her fork on the table. “There’s an entire area that is meant for workers and the girls are barely taking up their side. And, even if there wasn’t, there are plenty, more qualifiable accommodations here at the house. Far more than I would ever need to—“
“No.”
“This is not a request, Mr. Jackson.”
His jaw clenches and his gaze cuts to Mrs. Doyle. “You agreed to this?”
She shrugs. “That house is less than livable, particularly in the wintertime. Plus, it would be amenable for—”
“No!”
“Mr. Kurt is older and deserves better living arrangements. The cottages could use fixing as well and Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon—“
“What?” he balks, interrupts his ladyship.
“Not that I am required to explain myself to you, but Mrs. Joel and Mrs. Martin need better resources to aid Mrs. Sheldon. So—"
“Then, they can move to the house if they’d like,” he states, cutting her off once more.
Lady Moss offers a devious smile. “All of them would like a change.”
Mr. Jackson’s eyes narrow. “How would you know that?”
Lady Moss raises a defiant brow.
“You’re turning my own men against me?” he scoffs. “How dare you!”
Lady Moss doesn’t comment nor flinches at his reaction. Instead, she crosses her arms.
“I’ll stay in the house and the lot of them can move here if that is what pleases them,” Mr. Jackson quips.
Lady Moss nods but doesn’t say a word.
He studies the two women for a moment. “There will be mayhem in this house when the men and women are sleeping under the same roof.”
“It is not uncustomary for workers to—“
“Mayhem!” he insists.
“No different than when Lord Quincy was here with the girls,” Lady Moss quips. She waits for his reply which doesn’t come as she expected. “I know how people behave, Mr. Jackson.”
“You know how women behave,” he counters.
“I know how men behave,” she says, leaning forward. “I have a father and three brothers. I had a husband and I was privy to many conversations that he and his fellow friends had over the two years we were married.”
“Not privy enough if you couldn’t give him a child,” he quips heatedly.
Lady Moss sucks back a breath of air, holding her chin up as she peers at the man. Mrs. Doyle shoots daggers from her eyes at Mr. Jackson who deliberately avoids looking at her. His expression falters, knowing he has spoken out of turn.
It takes Lady Moss a moment to compose herself, barely, before continuing. “Aside from the change in living arrangements, I wanted you both to know that before making any changes here at the house, that I was going to allow everyone to pick something that was Lord Quincy’s for them to keep. A memento…a token that is of sentimental value to you. I do not know the level of relationship he had with each of you, but it is the least I can do before making changes. It is an extension of my olive branch to the people who have kept this farm and manor running long before I got here. It is my way of acknowledging your time, your efforts, you as people and not as servants.” She rises, standing still for a few moments before headings out of the room without another word.
Mrs. Doyle smacks Mr. Jackson in the back of the head and takes her plate to finish eating in the kitchen. Mr. Jackson sits idly at the table, regretting most of his words.
Chapter Six
When the afternoon arrives, all of the staff, except for Mr. Jackson, are in the manor foyer. Lady Moss stands on the second step of the stairs, not to tower over them, but to allow herself to look each of them in the eye.
“Thank you for coming. I know you’re all busy, so this shan’t take long. On behalf of Lord Quincy, I would like to thank you for your service. I am aware that I did not know the man, but that does not mean that I cannot speak on his behalf as the new Lady of the house.” She looks down at her fingers, contemplating how to proceed. “There will be many changes happening here at the manor.” She gestures to the foyer walls. “Many of…this is not to my taste.”
“What’s wrong with them heads?” Mr. Kurt teases.
Lady Moss smiles. “And, with that being said, and before I do as much as move a single item out of place, I wish that you each decide to pick an item that you would like to keep for yourselves.”
The staff look around at each other and then at Mrs. Doyle who nods.
“It does not matter what relationship you had with Lord Quincy. If there is something that reminds you of a fond memory of him, or your time working for him, I wish for you to have it. If there is something that has always pleased you in any fashion, I wish for you to have it. I’d rather an item to go a more appreciative individual than that of a stranger.”
“Anything?” Britney inquires.
Lady Moss smiles and nods. “Anything.”
“Honestly?” Reuben asks eagerly.
“It can be small…it can be grand. Just make sure that it will fit in your room here at the house.” Her smile widens when she sees the faces before her beaming with excitement. “You do not have to decide right now if you are uncertain. All I ask is for you to do so within the next day or two. When you have chosen your item, inform Mrs. Doyle. Everything that will not be staying will be sold.” She glances at the five taxidermy heads there in the foyer. “Well, I hope you understand.”
“Thank you, Miss,” states Mrs. Doyle.
