Free Anna Jacobs by Mistress of Marymoor

her territory and she didn’t want strangers invading it.
    Deborah drew herself up and stared right back at the woman. “I did ring. Twice. I’d like some breakfast and a fire lighting in the parlour. As no one answered my bell, I wondered if something was wrong and came to investigate.”
    “It’s Merry who attends to the bells. The girl’s a lazy piece if ever I saw one. If you’ll return to the parlour,” Mrs Simley hesitated for a few seconds before adding, “miss, I’ll see that she comes and lights your fire. I’ll send some food through in a few minutes. You’ll understand that things are a bit—upset-like today. With the master dying and all. Mrs Gurrey’s laying him out and she does a beautiful job.”
    Even though she was ravenous, Deborah decided not to take issue with the woman, but thought it a poor excuse. “Thank you. I’d appreciate some food.”
    “We’re waiting for the new master to arrive, you see,” Mrs Simley said as she turned to go. “We’ve no one to tell us what to do till he comes.”
    Deborah stared at her in surprise. “But surely Mr Pascoe is in charge and—”
    “He was the bailiff, in a manner of speaking. For the old master. But he won’t inherit because he was born on the wrong side of the blanket, so if you came here expecting any profit, I’m afraid he’s misled you. It’s Mr Elkin as is proper family and will inherit the estate.”
    Mindful of Matthew’s warning, Deborah bit off a sharp response and went back to the parlour.
    Shortly afterwards a young maid came through carrying a shovel filled with burning embers and soon had a fire going. “There,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry I weren’t around when you rang, miss. I was up helping Mrs Gurrey. It burns well, this fire. Soon have the place warm. Proper chilly today, isn’t it? Wouldn’t think it was summer.”
    Well, at least one person wasn’t hostile, Deborah thought. “What’s your name?”
    “Merry, miss. I’ll just go and fetch you something to eat now, shall I?”
    “Please. Anything will do.”
    But all the girl brought was some rather stale bread and cheese, with a wrinkled apple cut in four quarters. Poor fare to set before a guest, but Deborah ate it hungrily. It would hold her until Matthew woke and took charge.
    As soon as she’d finished, she rang the bell again and it was answered more promptly this time. “Where can I find some paper and pen? I need to write a letter.”
    Merry led her into what she called the library. “This is where the old master used to write all his letters. He could write fine as King George himself, Mr Jannvier could. There’s paper, quills and such-like, and I saw Mr Matthew mixing up some ink only the other day.” She peered into the inkwell. “Yes, see, it’s not dried up yet. Eeh, the poor master won’t be needing these things again, will he?”
    “No.” Deborah looked round. The room was chill and damp, for although it was late June the weather had turned grey and rainy. “I think we might light the fire in here as well as in the parlour, don’t you?”
    Merry looked embarrassed. “I’ll have to ask Mrs Simley, I’m afraid. I should have asked her before I brought you in here, really. I daresay she won’t mind, though.”
    “Very well. I’ll wait here while you do that.”
    Deborah looked round, liking the room in spite of its chill. It wasn’t large and had only one bookcase, for all its grand title of “library”, but it had a cosy feel to it as if people had been happy here. Through the leaded window there was a delightful outlook over the rather bare garden and rising beyond it the moors. She would have loved to explore the whole house and grounds, for she still couldn’t believe they were hers, but knew she mustn’t betray that yet. Besides, she needed to write the letter to her mother as quickly as possible. Who knew what further cruelties her uncle Lawrence would be inflicting on his sister?
    She was just picking up a quill