Free A Poor Relation by Carola Dunn Page B

another word on the matter. Pass the pigeon pie, Rowena my dear.”
    With a grateful look, she complied. Six letters of application had gone out in the morning post, but at least she was to have a chance to enjoy herself before taking up her duties as a paid companion.
    “Thank you, Papa,” cried Anne.
    Aunt Hermione patted Millicent’s hand, which was curled into an impotent fist. “You cannot want people to think you selfish, love. I know you are justly concerned for the proprieties, but it would present an odd appearance to keep your sister and your cousin mewed up.”
    “Millie’s jealous because Lord Farleigh deserted her for Rowena for quite five minutes this morning, and Captain Cartwright was talking to me for half an hour. Mama, Rowena needs some new dresses. She does not have many and they are growing shockingly shabby.”
    “Oh, dear, we shall have to find time to drive into Cheltenham, for there is not a decent seamstress to be found in Evesham and no choice of fabrics.”
    “It is pointless to buy new gowns while she is still in mourning, Mama, unless she means to wear grey forever.” Millicent paused to consider. “Or perhaps that would be best, after all.”
    “Oh, no, so depressing. But you are right as always, love—we had best wait until your cousin is out of mourning. As you said, Rowena, it will not be long.”
    Rowena’s spirits sank at the thought of her drab wardrobe. As usual she would fade into the woodwork and Lord... everyone would ignore her.
    Sighing, she finished her plum tart and followed her well-intentioned aunt out of the dining room. Another endless evening of sorting embroidery silks and turning music pages loomed ahead.
    * * * *
    Another endless morning of account books loomed ahead. Chris sighed and hoped for visitors. Quite apart from the inherent tedium of his task, he did not like the look of what he was learning.
    “Why did you halve the rents on the farms?” he asked Deakins. “Let me see, that was just a year ago.”
    “Aye, my lord, right after the old earl went to his reward. Mr. Verity approved the cuts. I wouldn’t take it upon myself to do something like that without approval.”
    “Of course, but why?” Chris tried to be patient but the bailiff’s talent for roundaboutation defeated him at every turn.
    “You’ll need to look back through the past twenty years, my lord.” He shook his grey head. “Never a thought of the consequences.”
    “I have looked. Rents rose steadily.”
    “Aye, my lord, and that was the problem. Oh, I’m not saying some increase wasn’t natural. Prices are up all over, after all. Something to do with the war, they say, but that’s all over now, with Boney safe tucked away on Elba, thanks to you and the captain and the other brave lads, my lord.”
    “What,” said Chris through clenched teeth, “was the problem?”
    “Why, I’ve just been telling you.” The man was surprised! “Rents went up so steeply the tenants hadn’t a penny to spare for improvements. You can’t just let farmland sit there, you know, my lord.”
    “No, I didn’t know. What needs to be done?”
    “Now that’s a long list, if you like. Put a shilling in, get a pound out, I say, and it may be a bit of an exaggeration but there’s truth in it yet. The late earl, God rest his soul, wrung every groat out of the land for his building and never ploughed a farthing back. You can do that for a while, my lord, but it tells in the end, make no doubt.”
    “So I gather.” Chris had reached the end of his patience. “I believe I had best go and talk to my tenants.”
    “You do that, my lord! Just what I was going to suggest. They’ll give you the straight tale without roundaboutation and glad to do it.”
    His lordship counted silently to ten and went to find Bernard.
    It was obvious even to Chris’s untutored eye that the farms they visited were in a shockingly dilapidated state. Since he had not thought to give notice of his inspection, the