The kitchen would be spotless—more spotless—and there wouldn’t be a weed within ten yards of the spice garden.
“I’ll miss his voice. I love Gabriel’s voice. I love the way he cleans his plate at every single meal. I’ll miss the way he talks to Hildegard as if she really were some society dowager. I’ll miss the way he and Heifer commiserate without a word.”
Polly turned her face away, as if the darkness beyond the window held some consolation.
“When Beckman goes,” Sara said, “I’ll miss his scent.”
Polly glanced at her. “Bergamot and some other notes. It’s… soothing.”
“I’ll miss the way he puts his hands on me, like I’m precious but not fragile—even if he’s walking with me in the garden, he handles me confidently. I adore that.”
Polly’s lips quirked up in a sad smile, and both sisters spoke in unison.
“Men.”
Monday arrived, bright, mild, and more May than April, much to Beck’s relief. He’d marched North to the springs the previous day, and the soak had done them both good, but North was still in no shape to man a team of draft horses.
A half-dozen men showed up from Sutcliffe Manor, five of them in a farm wagon and one driving a dray, a willowy blonde on the bench beside him.
“Mrs. Grantham.” Beck assisted her to the ground. “I’m pleased you could call. The Hunt womenfolk are much in need of company. I’ll show you to the house while North gets the men sorted out.”
Beck had escorted his guest to the front door, an entrance he hadn’t used since arriving at Three Springs weeks ago. The front approach, he realized, was neglected. Weeds cropped up through the crushed shells in the driveway, bushes sprouted willy-nilly much in need of pruning, and flower boxes sported nothing so much as robust… weeds.
When he introduced Mrs. Grantham to Sara and Polly, it took about two minutes to realize he was de trop. The ladies launched into an intense discussion of the best layout for a spice garden, so he returned to the barnyard. North had a harrow hitched up behind one of the Sutcliffe teams and the second team standing in the traces waiting for its harrow to be secured.
Beck sidled up to North. “It’s killing you, isn’t it? To send others out to do the heavy work?”
“Not killing me, exactly. I’m just used to doing it, is all.”
“Mrs. Grantham says you were born to give the orders, not take them.” Beck patted the leader of the second team.
“Susan Grantham is one to talk. This team is ready to go.”
Beck stepped back, and the second harrow scraped and dragged its way out of the yard. The next task was loading some barley and spring-wheat seed into bushel baskets, so it could be sown broadcast in portions of the field not congenial to the seed drill Beck had borrowed from Sutcliffe.
The third and final harrow, owned by Three Springs, was hitched up behind a team Beck had brought down from Belle Maison, and one of the rangy, muscular Sutcliffe plowmen took up the reins.
“Mind the ladies bring us some nuncheon,” the fellow cautioned. He signaled the horses to move out, and soon another piece of heavy equipment was bumping and dragging its way toward the field.
Only to come to an abrupt halt before even gaining the farm lane.
“What’s amiss?” Beck hustled over amid the plowman’s cursing; North followed more slowly.
The plowman hopped around, shaking one heavily booted foot. “The bedamned, blighted harrow is come undone.” He wrapped the reins, fanned himself with his battered hat, and pointed at the harrow. “If we’d been in the field, this would have taken m’foot clean off.”
“The bolts are loose,” North growled, squatting carefully beside the heavy iron frame. “Those two sheared just now, and the rest are likely to at the next bump or rock. God above, I should have checked this over. I should have seen this.”
“Good thing yon beasts is well trained,” the plowman said. “If they weren’t so quick to mind, they would have pulled me along, regardless.”
Beck knelt to examine the problem. “Can it be repaired?”
“It will be a damned pain in the ass.” North rose stiffly. “We’ll have to get the parts in to the blacksmith and hope he has the means to weld and bolt on hand, then get the whole business back here somehow.”
“It can wait,” Beck said. “We’ve two in the field, which is twice what we had on hand, and Sutcliffe can spare the help.”
North gave a terse nod but gestured with his chin to indicate they needed some privacy.
“Is your foot all right?” Beck asked the plowman.
“Right enough. It got a good stubbing, but no real harm, thank the good Lord.”
“Unhitch the team, and you can assist with the seeding,” Beck said. “We’ll switch teams at midday to rest the horses.”
“Right, guv.” The man moved to the horse’s bridles, pitching his voice to the horses as he did. Beck accompanied North to the side of the barn and waited, because clearly, North had something to say.
“I did check that equipment,” North began in a low, angry rumble. “I work largely alone here, and I don’t relish the thought of bleeding to death trapped beneath a faulty piece of equipment. I checked that thing over before I put it up last spring, and I checked every piece of equipment on the property as part of the winter inventory. I checked it again when we finished plowing.”
“What are you saying, North?”
“Somebody broke our damned harrow. It’s the only one on the property still functional, and the repair will take at least two weeks. Even if you went to Portsmouth for a replacement, by the time you got one here, you would have lost several weeks of spring growing.”
“I believe you, North, but who would have had access to the harrow?”
“Any damned body in the neighborhood. The hinges on the sheds and barns are so rusty a determined old woman could get into any building on the premises.”
“Or she could just peel off the rotten shingles and drop down from the leaky roof. Who would be motivated to do such a thing?”
“Anybody who wants to buy the place,” North said. “Anybody with a grudge against me, Lady Warne, or the Hunts.”
Beck eyed the steward thoughtfully, because this was the first time he’d seen Gabriel North truly upset. “Are those lists long?”
North glared back at him. “How the hell should I know? I have no enemies here that I know of, but perhaps you have an enemy. Three Springs has been rotting on the vine for years, but malicious mischief passed us by until you showed up.”
“True enough.”
“Hell and the devil, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, it’s just… who would think it amusing to take off a man’s foot?”
“I don’t know. We’re going to have to have a frank talk with the women, and with Allie in particular, North. If there are vandals on the property, that child cannot be scampering around unsupervised.”
“Holy Infant Jesus.” North closed his eyes and marshaled his temper with visible effort. “Polly and Sara don’t need this, but it makes the prospect of hiring help more urgent.”
“I thought we’d start with your friend Lolly. Maudie is a maid of all work, but there’s enough for her to do just in the scullery. Three Springs could use another maid, and those boys of hers could be put to use all over the property.”
“They eat a lot,” North said. “Polly will like that.”
“We need some men, though, and good labor is in short supply.”
“Will Sutcliffe let you keep some of his for a time?”
“I suppose. We have walls to mend, roofs to repair, hay to take off soon, more sheep to shear and dip, and God knows what else.”