Moss Manor, page 8
Reuben smiles and nods before retreating to the barn once more.
Lady Moss returns her attention to Mr. Jackson. She’s slightly startled when she catches him watching her. “Good day, Mr. Jackson.” She offers a swift curtsey before leaving.
“You will be most pleased, my dearest Abigail,” Mrs. Warren proclaims when she enters the home.
Lady Moss gapes in astonishment. “You have sold everything?” She looks around the foyer and lower rooms.
The floors and walls are bare, revealing some stains and much-needed attention.
“Most,” Mrs. Warren affirms. “And, I’ve fetched a pretty penny for many. I had posted about the sale in town the day you left. I made an advertisement in the city papers also. Mrs. Sheldon and Mrs. Martin were most helpful with certain items, insisting on more than I would have.”
“Intriguing,” she praises.
Mrs. Warren nods excitedly. “Many wanted to meet you. They were so disappointed. Most said they have only seen you in passing.”
“I’d like to keep it that way,” Lady Moss admits.
“That will not be possible, I am afraid.” Mrs. Warren winces when her friend looks at her.
“How so?”
“I promised them a ball,” she informs regrettably.
“What?” Lady Moss swallows hard.
“There were so many here at once,” Mrs. Warren explains. “They were vying for the items and your presence. They were outbidding each other for many pieces and the mention of a ball, and my confirmation of it, enticed their spending and aided in the clearing of the undesired items.” She waits for her friend to comment, but Lady Moss stands in shock, unable to speak. “I may have also sold a few items that were not on the list.”
“What items?” she inquires.
“Nothing of yours,” Mr. Warren quips, striding down the steps.
“What do you know of what is mine and what was the late Lord Quincy’s?”
“My wife,” Mr. Warren informs proudly.
“He tried to sell your afghan…the one from your wedding. I told him—“
“You should have sold it,” Lady Moss states.
Mrs. Warren’s head pulls back. “You—“
“I wish to think I loved Mr. Woolridge, but I am not certain.”
“It was a wedding present,” Mr. Warren reminds. “He didn’t give it to her.”
“It was from my Aunt,” she confirms. “Which made me less fond of the item.”
Mrs. Warren’s eyes widen. “I’ll write to Lady Grant and see if she’s still interested.”
Lady Moss nods in agreement. “Offer her less if needed to compensate for the confusion.”
“How was your trip?” Mr. Warren inquires, inspecting his friend from head to toe. “You look…horrid.”
“Hoping I would have been gone longer?” she teases.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Warren objects. “Don’t you dare say such a thing.”
“You can have your wife back,” Lady Moss informs. “I am done with her services.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren scolds. “That is no way to treat a friend.”
The ladies laugh after a few seconds.
“Must we leave?” Mr. Warren whines. “I’ve grown rather fond of this place.”
“You may stay as long as you’d like. However, it is not for sale, Mr. Warren,” Lady Moss declares. “I doubt you could afford my price on your salary.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren warns playfully, swatting at her.
Lady Moss shrugs. “You could move to the country. Start your own practice.”
Mrs. Warren beams with excitement at the idea.
“Don’t put such daydreaming thoughts into my wife’s head, Abigail.”
“Why not? Anything is possible. I think you should inquire in Oakshire,” she adds. “I’m sure there’s an old lawyer who’s ready to retire, allowing you the opportunity to see over other estates here.”
“That would be grand,” Mrs. Warren declares. “It’s much more relaxing and peaceful.”
“You will be the death of me, Lady Moss,” he whines.
“Charles, don’t say such a thing,” his wife scolds.
“Regardless, you are welcome any time. Stay or go. It is up to you,” she informs.
“Sadly, we must leave,” Mr. Warren admits. “I’ve avoided the bulk of my work for far too long.”
“You are required to return for the ball,” she returns.
“I thought….” Mrs. Warren pauses for a moment. “You’re going through with it?”
Lady Moss reluctantly nods. “It seems that there are many rumors about me.”
“When have rumors bothered you?” Mrs. Warren replies.
“They don’t,” she admits. “Yet, it will ease people and get them to forget me more quickly.”
“I doubt that,” Mrs. Warren snickers.
“I expect you to visit once my niece or nephew is born.”
“You would see them as such?” Mrs. Warren asks, becoming teary-eyed.
Lady Moss takes her friend’s hands in hers. “We have been like sisters since the day we met, have we not?”
Mrs. Warren nods emphatically.
“As long as you come to visit us,” Mr. Warren reminds.
Lady Moss lets out a sigh, not fond of the idea of returning to the city. “For my niece or nephew, I will happily.”
Mr. and Mrs. Warren stay for the remainder of the week, parting with sorrow and joy in their hearts. Despite the returning quietness of the house prior to her friends’ visit, the house feels a little more solemn than usual to Lady Moss.
“Mail, Abigail,” Mrs. Doyle announces, entering the study.
“Thank you, Mrs. Doyle.” As she is about to open the first letter, commotion is heard beyond the window in the courtyard.
“Guests have arrived, Miss,” Minerva announces, rushing past.
Lady Moss lets out a heavy sigh as she prepares for the unexpected visitors. It is not uncommon for neighbours to arrive unannounced. She was hoping to get more work done at the manor before anyone else visits.
As she rounds the corner to the foyer, two booming, male voices spark a smile to erupt onto her face. Lady Moss hurries to the door, happy to greet them.
“Papa!” she shouts. Her arms stretch out to hug him.
“Abbie,” he replies, matching her excitement.
Their bodies collide eloquently and he lifts her off the ground, spinning her around. “It is good to see you, my dear.”
Once her feet are settled, Lady Moss steps back, keeping her hands on his shoulders, and studies his face. “How did you steal away from the—“
“It is not every day a father finds out that his widowed daughter has claim to a manor nor a farm,” he replies.
“It’s grand!” sighs James, her eldest brother, as he looks up at the building.
Lady Moss happily greets him. “Where are Byron and Henry?”
“They send their love,” her father informs. “They’ll visit next time.”
Lady Moss nods while biting back her disappointment. Henry and she were always close considering they were the nearest in age. She, James, and Byron got along well too, but Henry and she have a bond unlike the others.
“I understand.” She takes in the sight of the men before her. “Where is Mary?”
“With the boys,” her father states. “The children are too young to travel.”
“Nonsense,” Abigail counters. “The train is perfectly safe and I have plenty of room—“
“How about a tour?” her father inquires changing the subject.
Knowing her father and brother, Lady Moss takes them in the direction of the barn. They’ll have little interest in seeing the manor itself until they know that the farm is operating smoothly.
“Some good steeds,” Mr. Moss praises once he’s thoroughly inspected five of them. “The mares aren’t bad either.”
Lady Moss smiles, pleased with her father’s remarks. “We lost a mare recently, but the foreman got a good price for the hair, hide, and meat.”
Mr. Moss offers a pleased expression. “Where is this foreman?”
“Right here, Sir,” Mr. Jackson replies, standing behind him.
Mr. Moss studies the man for a moment. “I’ve heard you’ve worked on this farm for a long while.”
“Who’s asking?”
“Mr. Jackson,” Lady Moss warns.
Mr. Moss steps toward him. “Did you fetch enough to cover the cost of a replacement?”
Mr. Jackson studies the man and his ladyship for a brief moment. He nods. “More than.”
Mr. Moss scoops up some hay that is on the floor. “Needs tending.”
Mr. Jackson nods. “Been gone for a few days. Planned—“
“What for?” Mr. Moss quips. “Your boys unable to work when you’re not around?”
“Papa,” Lady Moss scolds.
Mr. Jackson’s demeanor softens. “No, Sir. I had changed it the morning we left. Expected myself to take care of it when back since the boys have their own work to do.”
“Which is the new mare?” Mr. Moss asks.
Mr. Jackson nods toward the animal.
Mr. Moss approaches, inspecting the horse from tail to head. “She’s young.”
“Yes, Sir,” Mr. Jackson affirms.
“What did you pay?”
“A fair price,” Mr. Jackson returns.
“Plenty, Papa,” Lady Moss informs. “This one is a year younger and there was plenty leftover. Mr. Jackson was compensated for his promptness.”
“What happened to the late one?” Mr. Moss inquires.
“Spooked and broke a leg,” Mr. Jackson informs.
“Spooked by what?” James asks.
“Adder,” Lady Moss replies. “It was my fault. I was riding her to inspect the property.”
“How did a—“
“Mr. Jackson was most helpful, Papa,” she adds. “Prevented the horse from taking me down with her.”
Mr. Moss walks to the end of the barn and looks out upon the field as he contemplates what has been shared. He’s shocked by the size of the estate from that which he can see. Lady Moss waits patiently, knowing her father has much more to say and inquire. Mr. Jackson maintains his mild irritation as James watches on with delight, eager for how the visit will garnish many things to share with his wife and brothers.
“Most farms grow wheat,” Mr. Moss declares.
“They can’t compete with Quin…Moss Manor,” Mr. Jackson states. “Same for the legumes and livestock.”
Mr. Moss turns to face him, considering what to say next. He looks at his daughter. “How are the books?”
Lady Moss lifts her chin proudly. “Better now that I’ve got my hands on them. The late Lord, God rest his soul, was not one to pay attention where it was needed most. His profits could have been more if he allocated funds properly and sold other valuables here on the land.”
Mr. Moss smiles. “Maribelle couldn’t do as good as a job since you left.”
“She’s not—“
Mr. Moss shakes his head. “Her eyes aren’t as good as they were.”
Maribelle has been the cook for her father since she was little. She took over the books just after Abigail was sent to the city.
“Mary has been doing a fine job,” James declares proudly.
“She is a bright one,” she praises.
James nods, appreciative of the recognition his sister has for his wife.
A comfortable silence falls upon the group.
“How about something to eat as you look over the books, Papa?” Lady Moss inquires, hopeful to redirect his attention.
Chapter Ten
“Miss?” Mr. Jackson calls.
“Hm?” Lady Moss barely replies, focused on her task at hand.
“Miss?”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Doyle beckons, tapping her shoulder.
Lady Moss jolts, having been in a trance-like state while she kneads dough. Her head lifts. “Yes?” She glances between the people in the room and is shocked to see Mr. Jackson standing before her.
He looks at Mrs. Doyle who quickly ushers Iris and Gale out of the kitchen. When they’re alone, he begins, “I wasn’t aware that—“
“Another assumption you’ve come to realize was false about me?” she quips.
Mr. Jackson’s jaw clenches, hating that she’s correct once again.
“You’re here to apologize again?” she inquires with a smug expression.
Mr. Jackson lets out a huff. “Why are you in the kitchen?”
“Isn’t it the place for a woman according to you, Mr. Jackson?”
“That is not what I—“
“What is it that you mean, Mr. Jackson?” She doesn’t give him a second to reply. “You believe that a woman’s place is in the house and particularly in the kitchen, and when she is doing such tasks as you deem appropriate, you’re astonished by the very thing.”
He does not object. “It is early.”
“What of the time of day, Mr. Jackson?”
He bows his head, unable to conjure the right words.
“My family is here visiting, Mr. Jackson,” Lady Moss reminds. “A blessing that I thought would not have happened unless it was my second wedding day if there were ever to be one. Two brothers and three sister-in-law are not able to attend, let alone my young nephews and a niece, but I am most grateful that my father and eldest brother have graced me with their presence and blessing. It is not easy for a farmer to—“
“I’m sorry, Miss,” he says bashfully.
Lady Moss’ eyes narrow, not in irritation or hatred, but more out of curiosity about the man standing before her.
“Meeting your father explains so much about you,” Mr. Jackson states.
A smile curls on her lips. “And, what have you learnt?”
“Where your stubborn pride comes from,” Mr. Jackson quips.
She snickers. “I don’t dare object to one thing I’m proud to have inherited from my upbringing.”
Unsure of what to say, Mr. Jackson heads for the door. He stops and looks over his shoulder. “You have learnt more than that from him.”
She bites back a smirk. “You may join us for breakfast.”
Mr. Jackson spins to face her.
“You’ve given my father quite an impression, Mr. Jackson,” Lady Moss reveals. “I’m certain he would enjoy speaking further with you.”
“You wish for me to dine with your—“
“I have had you and Mrs. Doyle dine with me on several occasions, have I not?”
His head bobs slightly.
“What makes this any different?”
He shrugs.
“I’ll send one of the girls to fetch you when it’s ready.”
Mr. Jackson nods and leaves. He steps to the side to be out of view and halts with his back pressed against the wall. Confusion and intrigue swarm inside him along with fear of what conversations with Mr. Moss may entail. They hadn’t spoken much after their initial meeting despite his and James’ appearance and assistance on the farm through the rest of the day.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Doyle asks.
Mr. Jackson looks down at his feet.
“What—“
He vacates the hall and is out of the building before Mrs. Doyle’s next breath.
“For all the years I’ve known him, that man is still just as strange as ever,” Mrs. Doyle announces entering the kitchen.
“Who?” Lady Moss asks, looking up.
Mrs. Doyle pauses for a second, having forgotten that the Lady of the house was in the kitchen. “No one, dear.” She rights herself quickly. “I can take over from here so you can wash up if you’d like?”
“Once we get these finished,” she says with a sigh. “I’m happy to relinquish your kitchen.”
“It is not my kitchen, Abigail.”
Lady Moss glances up at her. “This kitchen is more yours than mine.”
Mrs. Doyle doesn’t comment, unsure of how to reply.
“With the way my father and brother eat, you’ll most likely need to call on Mrs. Sheldon, Mrs. Joel, or Mrs. Martin for some added assistance. Let them know I’ll happily pay them for their time.”
“That won’t be a challenge,” she replies. “They’ll be happy to be useful, so I’ll relay the message.”
“Good. Thank you.”
A commotion is heard beyond the door and Lady Moss realizes that her family is up earlier than she anticipated. Her hands spring off the dough and she rushes to wipe them off on the apron.
“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Doyle, I—“
“Go,” she encourages.
“Papa,” Lady Moss calls, scurrying to follow him. “Breakfast is almost—“
“We’ll have it soon,” he replies.
“What are—“
“We’re farmers, sweetheart,” he states. “We don’t know anything else.”
Lady Moss considers his statement as she glances at him and her brother. She understands what her father is inferring and wants him to feel welcome which includes allowing him to work alongside her farmhands. They did it the day before and she knows it’s one of the things that comfort them—to put their hands to use.
“I’ll join you,” she offers.
“Nonsense,” her rebuts sweetly. “You are a Lady…have been for some time now.”
Her eyes narrow.
“I didn’t mean it in that way,” he returns when he sees her challenging glare. “I just—“
“I’m just as capable,” she reminds.
Her father smiles at her lovingly, knowing that the conversation does not need to continue. Mr. Moss and James head toward the barn as she follows after hanging up her apron. Mr. Moss speaks with Mr. Joel as James assists Reuben with milking the cows.
Lady Moss retrieves a pitchfork and begins cleaning the first empty stall.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Mr. Jackson quips.
“Leave her be,” Mr. Moss instructs. “It’s best not to—“
“Best not to what, Papa?” she inquires sternly with a hint of playfulness.
Mr. Jackson takes in his surroundings and realizes that there are two other people in the area working yet again.
“The sooner we’re done the sooner we can eat breakfast,” Mr. Moss states. “What are you waiting for, boy?”
