Read Online Ravenscliffe by Jane Sanderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jane Sanderson
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eyes were the interesting burnished brown of new conkers and on anyone else they might have been a winning feature; but now they alighted on Jem with their customary cold indifference. Miserable little sod, thought Jem, but he said: ‘Morning, bailiff. Those leases on t’Harley End fields expire next month, isn’t that so?’
‘Michaelmas Day,’ said Absalom immediately, without recourse to any paperwork.
‘Aye, as I thought,’ said Jem. He could have looked this up quite easily but why bother when the human compendium of estate facts occupied the neighbouring office?
‘If t’master asks after me, that’s where I shall be, then.’He waited for a second, wondering if he might elicit a response, but Absalom was back at his ledger, scratching figures in columns, his lips moving as he wrote, but without making a sound. Jem left him to it and whistled for his terrier, which came barrelling out of the stables with joyful alacrity.
‘You been eating ’orse muck again?’ said Jem cheerfully, and the little dog responded in the affirmative with a short series of excited yaps. It came to summat, thought Jem, when a man’s dog was a better conversationalist than his colleague.
He sauntered out of the courtyard and Absalom listened with satisfaction to the sound of Jem’s boots receding on the cobbles. It pleased him to know he was alone now in the estate offices. If he had appeared affronted by Jem’s appearance at the door, it was because he most certainly was. The land agent, with his bluff manners, disconcerting directness and incurable habit of never knocking, was an irritation at the best of times, but today – dishevelled, informal, coated in perspiration – he was beyond the pale. Absalom sniffed the air cautiously for traces of body odour and his worst fears were confirmed. He trailed his fingers through a bowl of pot pourri that he kept on the desk for just these emergencies, and brought them up to his nose. Bergamot and citrus filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply, in and out, and he savoured the aroma and the silence: his equilibrium, so grievously disturbed by Jem’s visit, began to settle back into place.
An hour passed. Two hours. Accounts were cross-referenced, inventories amended, figures adjusted. Once, years ago, the earl had suggested that his bailiff have an assistant to share the administrative load, but this idea was repellent to Absalom. His office was his sanctuary: he would as soon share his bathtub.
Presently a new footfall became audible outside. There were no appointments in his diary and few people – other than Jem, or perhaps the earl – dropped in on Absalomunannounced, so he sat poised, his pen aloft, his head cocked, waiting for the footsteps to move on but they did not. Instead they stopped by his door, and there came three sharp raps. Oh well, he thought: at least this individual knew how to seek admission in the proper manner.
‘Come,’ said Absalom with chilly authority.
The door opened and a man entered, well dressed and debonair, a stranger, who carried himself with graceful authority. He smiled and approached the desk with his right hand extended, which rather forced the bailiff to take it and shake, an activity he preferred to avoid unless he was wearing gloves. When he spoke, the stranger’s voice was pleasant without being obsequious, and there was no trace of a Yorkshire accent. This immediately elevated him beyond the ordinary: the bailiff’s own origins were in Hertfordshire and every dropped aitch and flat vowel he was forced to listen to in the course of a day reminded him of his own superiority in this county. Absalom listened attentively as the man, urbanely and without unnecessary preamble, introduced himself and explained his business: he would be a few months in Netherwood and needed a permanent base.
‘There’s a house set apart from the town,’ he said. ‘A little neglected, perhaps, but its size and location are very much to my
‘Michaelmas Day,’ said Absalom immediately, without recourse to any paperwork.
‘Aye, as I thought,’ said Jem. He could have looked this up quite easily but why bother when the human compendium of estate facts occupied the neighbouring office?
‘If t’master asks after me, that’s where I shall be, then.’He waited for a second, wondering if he might elicit a response, but Absalom was back at his ledger, scratching figures in columns, his lips moving as he wrote, but without making a sound. Jem left him to it and whistled for his terrier, which came barrelling out of the stables with joyful alacrity.
‘You been eating ’orse muck again?’ said Jem cheerfully, and the little dog responded in the affirmative with a short series of excited yaps. It came to summat, thought Jem, when a man’s dog was a better conversationalist than his colleague.
He sauntered out of the courtyard and Absalom listened with satisfaction to the sound of Jem’s boots receding on the cobbles. It pleased him to know he was alone now in the estate offices. If he had appeared affronted by Jem’s appearance at the door, it was because he most certainly was. The land agent, with his bluff manners, disconcerting directness and incurable habit of never knocking, was an irritation at the best of times, but today – dishevelled, informal, coated in perspiration – he was beyond the pale. Absalom sniffed the air cautiously for traces of body odour and his worst fears were confirmed. He trailed his fingers through a bowl of pot pourri that he kept on the desk for just these emergencies, and brought them up to his nose. Bergamot and citrus filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply, in and out, and he savoured the aroma and the silence: his equilibrium, so grievously disturbed by Jem’s visit, began to settle back into place.
An hour passed. Two hours. Accounts were cross-referenced, inventories amended, figures adjusted. Once, years ago, the earl had suggested that his bailiff have an assistant to share the administrative load, but this idea was repellent to Absalom. His office was his sanctuary: he would as soon share his bathtub.
Presently a new footfall became audible outside. There were no appointments in his diary and few people – other than Jem, or perhaps the earl – dropped in on Absalomunannounced, so he sat poised, his pen aloft, his head cocked, waiting for the footsteps to move on but they did not. Instead they stopped by his door, and there came three sharp raps. Oh well, he thought: at least this individual knew how to seek admission in the proper manner.
‘Come,’ said Absalom with chilly authority.
The door opened and a man entered, well dressed and debonair, a stranger, who carried himself with graceful authority. He smiled and approached the desk with his right hand extended, which rather forced the bailiff to take it and shake, an activity he preferred to avoid unless he was wearing gloves. When he spoke, the stranger’s voice was pleasant without being obsequious, and there was no trace of a Yorkshire accent. This immediately elevated him beyond the ordinary: the bailiff’s own origins were in Hertfordshire and every dropped aitch and flat vowel he was forced to listen to in the course of a day reminded him of his own superiority in this county. Absalom listened attentively as the man, urbanely and without unnecessary preamble, introduced himself and explained his business: he would be a few months in Netherwood and needed a permanent base.
‘There’s a house set apart from the town,’ he said. ‘A little neglected, perhaps, but its size and location are very much to my
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