The Devil's Mistress David Barclay (books to read this summer .TXT) 📖

had never been so sure of anything in her life. “Speaking of my father, I shall be returning to tell him what I witnessed today. When the magistrate arrives from the north, rest assured he shall hear of it, too.”

“What ever will you tell him? That Thomas was harsh with his property? Oh my, you do have a lot to learn, don’t you?” Marianne laughed, but this time, there was a hint of falsehood in it. It gave Isabella courage.

She removed her engagement ring and set it on the ash wood desk. The sound it made was thunderous.

There was a knock on the door, and suddenly Frederick stepped into the room, his expression showing he had heard little of what transpired, or at the very least, had learned to pretend he had not. “Dinner is served in the dining hall.”

When he left, Isabella followed him out.

Chapter 10

She was greeted by the clatter of hammers and saws at the Ashford gate. Three of her father’s men were on the east roof, repairing the damage done in the storm. Jacob was on his hands and knees in the center, ripping at a patch of rotten tiles with an iron bar. His breath misted in the cold.

When Isabella was certain he saw her, she waved. He stared a moment, then picked up the nearest hammer and redoubled his efforts at the rotten tile.

“That no good…foolish…mumblecrust,” she muttered.

“Lady Ashford, back so soon?”

Isabella turned to find Sebastian Sands eyeing her suspiciously from the side of the house. She composed herself. “Where is my father?”

“In the study, my lady.”

“Then I must see him at once. Excuse me, Mister Sands.”

Isabella went inside, not pausing to greet the other members of the house on the way through. She opened the study door and found John Ashford in his usual chair, hunched over the table with a dozen documents scattered about him. He was bent over a piece of parchment writing furiously with a quill pen, looking busier than he had in weeks.

“What is it?” he said without looking up.

“Father.”

He put the quill down and looked up. “Elly? What are you doing here?”

She ran to him, throwing her arms about his waist and squeezing with all the strength she could muster.

“What is all this? Tell me, Elly.”

Isabella launched into the tale of the afternoon’s misadventure, beginning with the butler’s silent greeting, and ending with the chat in Madam Huxley’s study. Left out, perhaps wisely, was her strange encounter with the Indian in the makeshift gaol.

When it was over, her father withdrew. He went to his desk, took out his favorite pipe, and lit a plug of tobacco. For a time, he did nothing but puff clouds of thick, stinky smoke into the air and look pensively across the room.

Once he had smoked a fair plug, he said, “When Brendon and I first began, we had but ten men in our employ. Most of them had never held a saw before. They were the leavings from the larger cities, men who needed work and would take most any sort of contract, even one from two scoundrels young enough to be their sons. Some were quite sufficient, but there was this one old loiter-sack who kept cutting the wood unevenly. It was some trouble to determine who it was, as any pit saw requires two men. We had the men switch partners, and the guilt of the one in question became clear. Brendon told the fellow he had one more chance to do the job proper or suffer the consequences. Of course the man failed. We dismissed him on the spot, but when he insulted my dear partner for the offense, Brendon took a split hammer and beat the poor chap half to death.” His eyes glistened with the memory.

“My partner was a smart man, but he was never a nice man,” he continued. “There were times when he was quite rough. Usually with those he considered his lessers. I suppose his son has inherited a measure of the same.”

“Father, he is not some spoiled rake who brawls at The Fisherman’s Fancy. He is…a beast of a man! He was going to kill that girl and her baby.”

He tapped his pipe into a nearby bowl. “I want you to listen to me. You are to go back this afternoon and repair the damage you have wrought. Tell Madam Huxley you have made a mistake.”

Isabella looked at her father with disbelief. “I will do no such thing.”

“You must marry Thomas.” He took her about the shoulders. His glare was a fearsome thing to behold. “I said it before. You do not understand the law, Elly! You are not permitted to hold property. No woman is under the current doctrine.”

“Madam Huxley—”

“It is in her son’s name. Do you not understand? I am survived by no one of this family, save you. When I am gone, this place and everything in it will be auctioned as the council sees fit. If you were in good standing, perhaps they would allow you to stay here until you were to find a husband, but to anger the Huxleys… Do you not see the consequence? Without me, they control this town.”

“You would have me marry one such as him?” Isabella said hotly.

He took one of her hands in his own. “My dearest love. I would have you protect yourself. I would have you protect all those in our house. It may be hard to imagine, but by Thomas’s side, you may yet steer him to a righteous course.”

“A man such as he cannot be control—”

“You will control him, Elly. You will do what is best for you, and what is best for our house.”

Isabella stepped away, seeing the hurt in her father’s eyes and feeling no obligation to sooth it. “I am not at all certain those two things are the same.”

She turned and left the room, marching straight through the hall and down the steps. He called after, but she would not