Deborah Simmons - The Dark Viscount

While the two men watched, Sydony began trying the keys in the lock, one by one, but none fit. ‘How odd,’ she murmured, struck once more by the peculiarities of their new home.

Meanwhile, Kit took the ring from her and attempted the task himself, in the manner of males everywhere. Since brute strength was not required, Sydony thought his efforts wasted, but said nothing. After all, he was her brother and much beloved.

‘The place has been shut up for a long time,’ he noted, when his attempts failed, as well. ‘For all we know, some rooms might be blocked off for a reason.’

‘Such as an infestation of bats?’ Sydony suggested.

Kit grinned, but she didn’t bother to glance at Barto, whose circle probably outlawed smiles as beneath them.

‘The solicitor will have a full set,’ Kit said, handing the ring back to her.

‘Not if it’s the same one he used to lock up the house.’

As usual, Kit ignored her dry comment, but Barto gave her a studied look. Perhaps, if she truly offended his arrogant sensibilities, he would leave. Momentarily diverted, Sydony considered ways in which to do so, but she was hard pressed to come up with something worse than what she had already done—running into his arms to clutch at him like a long-lost lover.

Lover? Sydony froze. She had no idea why that word came to mind. She had run to him just as she would have her brother or her father or perhaps even the younger version of Barto—for comfort from a fright. Any other interpretation was ludicrous.

Her face suddenly flushed, Sydony turned and headed down the staircase. To her relief, when she reached the open area, the solicitor had arrived, and she had a good excuse to avoid her old neighbour as she and Kit adjourned to the library.

As Kit led them inside, Sydony glanced curiously at Mr Sparrowhawk, who looked more like a sparrow than a hawk, except perhaps for his large hook nose. Otherwise, he was small and bony and rather drab. He also appeared to be nervous, his dark little eyes behind spectacles darting about, as if he expected something to jump out of the shadows towards him at any moment.

Maybe he knew about the bats.

Sitting down on the very edge of a straight-backed chair, his hands clutching the satchel in his lap, the solicitor cleared his throat. ‘Well, obviously, you found the place without any problem,’ he said.

Or assistance , Sydony wanted to add.

‘As I made clear in our correspondence, as your father’s son and heir, you, Mr Marchant, are now the owner of the property of Oakfield, which includes a manor house, stables, various outbuildings, gardens, orchards and a substantial amount of acreage, formerly in the possession of one Elspeth Marchant. Here is a complete list, as well as the various accounts available to you.’

The solicitor presented papers for Kit’s signature, impatiently tapping a finger while her brother read through them all. He seemed intent upon concluding his business rapidly; when he gathered up the documents, Sydony leaned forwards.

‘Do you have a set of keys for us?’ she asked.

Mr Sparrowhawk looked startled, whether by the question or Sydony’s presence, she could not guess.

‘The building was unlocked and unattended when we arrived, and since you are holding some of our goods, I thought you might have a set of keys, as well,’ she explained.

‘I do,’ he replied, as if her words had reminded him of the fact. Reaching into his satchel, he handed over a heavy ring to Kit, seeming glad to be rid of it.

Mr Sparrowhawk then cleared his throat. ‘I apologise for missing your arrival,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I confused the time.’ He glanced down, as though unable to look at them, and Sydony wondered just how successful the man could be.

‘And the servants?’

Mr Sparrowhawk eyed his knuckles intently. ‘I did make an effort to find you some staff, but without knowledge of your circumstances and needs, I hesitated to—’

Sydony cut him off. ‘We need someone immediately, Mr Sparrowhawk, two housemaids, at least, and a cook.’

‘And a groomsman,’ Kit added.

‘It is a rather remote location,’ the solicitor muttered, shaking his head.

‘But I assume it was staffed before? What happened to the former employees?’ Sydony asked.

Mr Sparrowhawk frowned. ‘I’m not certain, but I shall make inquiries.’

‘As well as send on the rest of our household goods?’

He nodded tersely, moved even closer to the edge of his chair, as though anxious to make his escape, then paused. ‘I do have some other business to present to you,’ he said. ‘As your solicitor, I am bound to report that I have received an offer on the property.’

Sydony’s opinion of the man rose immediately. If someone was interested in the house, she and Kit might take the money from the sale and return home, or at least to their old neighbourhood, where they could buy or lease something else. Sydony leaned forwards, hardly daring to hope, but when Mr Sparrowhawk named an amount, she slumped in her seat.

‘Why, that’s not half the worth of the house, let alone the property,’ Kit said.

‘Yes, well, I am only reporting it.’

‘Perhaps if we formally put the place up for sale, we might get a more reasonable offer,’ Sydony suggested, without glancing at Kit.

Mr Sparrowhawk cleared his throat. ‘As you can see, Oakfield isn’t quite what it used to be. And yet, as you say, it is still worth a goodly amount. But there aren’t many buyers around here with that kind of money.’ His bony hands gripped the satchel tightly.

There was something he wasn’t saying, Sydony could tell. ‘Is there anything wrong with the house?’

The solicitor appeared flustered by the direct question. ‘Well, um, there are many old stories, as I’m sure you’ll hear. I wouldn’t pay them any mind. You are young and just may turn the place around.’

‘From what?’ Sydony asked.

She could hear Kit stir beside her. ‘From a bit of neglect, which I’m sure we can remedy,’ he said, his firm tone obviously meant to silence her.

Sydony ignored it. ‘Can you tell me why all the windows facing the gardens have been secured, either with boards or shutters that have been nailed shut?’

Mr Sparrowhawk’s beady eyes looked as though they might pop from his head, and for a moment Sydony thought he would not answer at all. But after a long pause, he cleared his throat. ‘Did you know Miss Marchant well?’ he asked.

Sydony shook her head. They had rarely seen their father’s Aunt Elspeth, though she sent them religious tracts, rather…well…religiously on their birthdays.

‘She seemed a very pious woman,’ Kit noted.

‘Yes. Quite devout,’ Mr. Sparrowhawk said, looking down at his hands. ‘But she was also getting on in years and developed some peculiar notions.’

Sydony eyed the man expectantly.

He lifted a finger to loosen his collar. ‘Yes, well, as to the windows, I understand that Miss Marchant didn’t care for the maze. She claimed she saw lights bobbing about in it and did not want to look upon it. She was a superstitious woman.’

‘But why would she be superstitious of a maze?’ Kit asked, obviously bewildered.

‘As I said, she developed some peculiar notions,’ the solicitor repeated. ‘I understand that she thought someone was breaking into the house, though she reported no thefts. And there was talk of her wanting to burn all the books, though I don’t know whether she did or not.’

With that, Mr Sparrowhawk stood, apparently having said all he intended on the subject. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to conduct this afternoon.’

He slipped out of the library quite neatly, but was prevented from reaching the door by Barto, who stood as though waiting for an introduction.