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Authors: Jane Sanderson
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taste.’
Absalom nodded. ‘Indeed. I believe you mean Ravenscliffe. A fine dwelling, currently empty. Would you like to view the property?’ He spoke with calm professionalism, which disguised a rising swell of grim satisfaction. Here was an opportunity indeed. He had two days ago declined an approach from Mrs Williams for the said property and this fact had since weighed heavily on his mind. Not because of any sense of unfairness on his part, not remotely: Mrs Williams had forever forfeited her right to fair play at his hands. But it ran counter to all his bailiff’s instincts to keep a houseempty when it could be filled, and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that Mrs Williams might take her application to the earl, with whom she was on distressingly friendly terms. Absalom had imagined a hideous scenario in which he must attempt to defend his position to Lord Netherwood while Mrs Williams looked on, triumphant. He had given her the power to humiliate him when he offered – and she rejected – his suit: he had feared, when he lied and told her Ravenscliffe was taken, that he had made himself vulnerable again. Now, however, it seemed she was to be denied the pleasure of belittling him professionally as well as personally. A lease could be arranged with this impressive gentleman, Mrs Williams would be thwarted and Absalom’s integrity could not be called into question.
‘Actually, I don’t think so. I’ve seen all I need to and I’m happy to proceed,’ said the man now. ‘I can make a down payment on the rent immediately, if you wish, and supply references as to my character and liquidity.’
‘Well, payment in hand would be desirable but as to references, no, no, I think that won’t be necessary,’ said Absalom, barely able to credit his good fortune and anxious to hasten the completion of this timely transaction. ‘How long do you wish the tenancy to run?’
‘Shall we say twelve months, renewable, from the end of September?’
‘Twelve months. Renewable.’ The bailiff opened a drawer and withdrew a pristine new tenancy agreement on which he wrote, in his impeccable hand, Ravenscliffe, Netherwood Common and alongside it the date. He signed it – Absalom Blandford, Bailiff, Netherwood Estate – then slid it across the desk and offered his tight, unsettling little smile which the stranger returned, but warmly.
‘You’d like my signature?’ he said.
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Just above my own.’
The man signed. Silas Whittam, he wrote. Then he smiled again.
‘What a very great pleasure it has been, Mr Blandford.’
‘Indeed Mr, er’ – he looked at the signature – ‘Whittam.’
‘Does this conclude the paperwork?’
Absalom nodded. ‘Indeed,’ he said again. He was still a little stunned at this fortuitous turn of events.
‘In that case,’ said Silas, ‘here’s a down payment against the rent.’ He produced a soft calfskin wallet and slid a slim fold of banknotes across the desk towards the bailiff. ‘Perhaps I might have a key, in return? I’d like to have a look inside; acquaint myself properly with the property.’
‘Certainly,’ said Absalom. He stood, and from a wall-mounted wooden box he took four keys. ‘Front and back doors, two sets,’ he said. ‘Always wise to have a spare.’
‘Thank you,’ said Silas. ‘I shall inspect it directly. Just as soon as you’ve had it cleaned, that is.’ He laughed lightly, and Absalom, appalled, attempted to do the same. How to say, without giving offence, that it was customary for incoming tenants to clean their own property?
‘Ah, well, now let’s see,’ he said.
Silas looked at him enquiringly and said: ‘Shall we say by the end of the week?’
The bailiff, helpless, caved in. ‘End of the week. Absolutely. Even if I have to do it myself,’ he said, in a rare attempt at humour.
Silas acknowledged the jest with a generous laugh, bid the bailiff farewell and beat a retreat. He crossed the courtyard
Absalom nodded. ‘Indeed. I believe you mean Ravenscliffe. A fine dwelling, currently empty. Would you like to view the property?’ He spoke with calm professionalism, which disguised a rising swell of grim satisfaction. Here was an opportunity indeed. He had two days ago declined an approach from Mrs Williams for the said property and this fact had since weighed heavily on his mind. Not because of any sense of unfairness on his part, not remotely: Mrs Williams had forever forfeited her right to fair play at his hands. But it ran counter to all his bailiff’s instincts to keep a houseempty when it could be filled, and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that Mrs Williams might take her application to the earl, with whom she was on distressingly friendly terms. Absalom had imagined a hideous scenario in which he must attempt to defend his position to Lord Netherwood while Mrs Williams looked on, triumphant. He had given her the power to humiliate him when he offered – and she rejected – his suit: he had feared, when he lied and told her Ravenscliffe was taken, that he had made himself vulnerable again. Now, however, it seemed she was to be denied the pleasure of belittling him professionally as well as personally. A lease could be arranged with this impressive gentleman, Mrs Williams would be thwarted and Absalom’s integrity could not be called into question.
‘Actually, I don’t think so. I’ve seen all I need to and I’m happy to proceed,’ said the man now. ‘I can make a down payment on the rent immediately, if you wish, and supply references as to my character and liquidity.’
‘Well, payment in hand would be desirable but as to references, no, no, I think that won’t be necessary,’ said Absalom, barely able to credit his good fortune and anxious to hasten the completion of this timely transaction. ‘How long do you wish the tenancy to run?’
‘Shall we say twelve months, renewable, from the end of September?’
‘Twelve months. Renewable.’ The bailiff opened a drawer and withdrew a pristine new tenancy agreement on which he wrote, in his impeccable hand, Ravenscliffe, Netherwood Common and alongside it the date. He signed it – Absalom Blandford, Bailiff, Netherwood Estate – then slid it across the desk and offered his tight, unsettling little smile which the stranger returned, but warmly.
‘You’d like my signature?’ he said.
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Just above my own.’
The man signed. Silas Whittam, he wrote. Then he smiled again.
‘What a very great pleasure it has been, Mr Blandford.’
‘Indeed Mr, er’ – he looked at the signature – ‘Whittam.’
‘Does this conclude the paperwork?’
Absalom nodded. ‘Indeed,’ he said again. He was still a little stunned at this fortuitous turn of events.
‘In that case,’ said Silas, ‘here’s a down payment against the rent.’ He produced a soft calfskin wallet and slid a slim fold of banknotes across the desk towards the bailiff. ‘Perhaps I might have a key, in return? I’d like to have a look inside; acquaint myself properly with the property.’
‘Certainly,’ said Absalom. He stood, and from a wall-mounted wooden box he took four keys. ‘Front and back doors, two sets,’ he said. ‘Always wise to have a spare.’
‘Thank you,’ said Silas. ‘I shall inspect it directly. Just as soon as you’ve had it cleaned, that is.’ He laughed lightly, and Absalom, appalled, attempted to do the same. How to say, without giving offence, that it was customary for incoming tenants to clean their own property?
‘Ah, well, now let’s see,’ he said.
Silas looked at him enquiringly and said: ‘Shall we say by the end of the week?’
The bailiff, helpless, caved in. ‘End of the week. Absolutely. Even if I have to do it myself,’ he said, in a rare attempt at humour.
Silas acknowledged the jest with a generous laugh, bid the bailiff farewell and beat a retreat. He crossed the courtyard
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