Casting an eye down at her black gown, which she was so heartily tired of seeing, she saw the justice of his words. “It seems a high price to pay, only to have a guardian for Bobbie.”
“She is my niece, my only niece. There is no way I would prefer to spend the money.”
“It still seems a great deal of money.”
“If it makes you feel better, Sir Harold and myself share the cost. We were both happy to have the matter settled so quickly and so felicitously. The court costs to acquire guardianship of her would have been great, to say nothing of the inconvenience and unpleasantness of such a course. Nor is it at all certain we would have won. So, that matter is taken care of. Can you hold house on fifteen hundred a year? I include your own money in the figure.”
“Certainly I can. I must he a wretched manager if I could not. There is a grocery bill I should like to settle at once. How do I arrange to pay the bills?”
“You may turn the matter over to me, or, if you prefer-as I suspect you do-I shall put the income from Bobbie’s trust in your hands for you to draw on from the bank.”
“That would be better.”
With a smile, he handed her a bankbook. “You see, it is not always necessary for me to consult you on matters. I come to realize how you prefer to have things done.”
She took the book and opened it. “Why, Mr. Grayshott hasn’t spent a penny of the income the whole year! The year nearly over too-December. What do you suppose he used for money all the while?”
“I have a sinking sensation we shall discover he has been living on tick. His credit would be good. I shall put a notice in the papers, with your approval.”
“You have my approval,” she said with resignation. “And you needn’t feel it necessary to consult me on every little detail.”
“How shall I know in what areas you consider me competent to exercise my own judgment?” he asked, in a tone which she suspected was not entirely serious.
“I referred only to personal matters. On those I should like to be consulted.”
“Surely the handling of money is a highly personal affair.”
“In this case, it is Roberta’s money, for the most part, that we are discussing.”
“You are now her legal guardian. The finances are entirely in your capable hands. They could not be in better ones, in my opinion, ma’am.”
“Thank you. I do mean to be careful of her monies. And there is something other than money I should like to discuss with you. I would like to be rid of the Bristcombes.”
“So soon?” he asked, startled.
“She is impertinent and slovenly and-and I don’t like her,” she finished, less sure of her ground.
“You are the mistress here. If you wish to be rid of her, then by all means turn her off.”
“What do you think?” she asked, for she could see very plainly that he disliked the suggestion, for some reason.
“I think you judge on very little evidence, Mrs. Grayshott. You have not been here above half a day. She does appear slovenly, and the house, of course, is in wretched shape, but if she is indeed doing the whole herself, it must be taken into consideration. The Bristcombes have been with Andrew for years, stood by him all through his illness. Dismissal seems a poor reward for such faithfulness. As to the impertinence, may I inquire what form it took?”
“She called me ‘miss,’ for one thing.”
“A slip of the tongue, I should think. I have had the impression over the past few days that you dislike my calling you Mrs. Grayshott. Is it not so?”
Again she flinched at the name. “I do dislike it, but it is my name now, and I must get used to it.”
“It is inevitable you will be addressed so by outsiders, but within the family, I think we might spare you, as you dislike it. I notice the others have circumvented the use of it. Jane calls you by your given name, and Bobbie will certainly call you Mama ere long.”
“She already does!” she interjected happily.
“I am so glad! I have seen with pleasure her growing admiration for you, and knew it must come to ‘Mama’ within the week. ‘Mama’ will hardly do for myself, however. Can we not hit on something less galling than Mrs. Grayshott?”
“It will not do to call me Miss Sommers,” she pointed out, with a rising curiosity as to what he had in mind. She had a strange notion he meant to call her “Delsie,” and would not have objected to being asked to address him as “Max” either.
“No, that was not the alternative I had in mind. Shall we make do with the catch-all word cousin? I call many of my connections who are not actually cousins by the term.”
“I have no objection,” she allowed, feeling unaccountably let down. To have thought a week ago deVigne would be calling her “cousin” would have been incredible.
“While we are about renaming ourselves, do you think you might dispense with the ‘milord’? My name is Maxwell. The family call me Max, or just deVigne, without the ‘Lord.’ ”
She nodded, and decided on the spot that as he had not called her Delsie, he would remain deVigne till hell froze over.
“Another item settled, cousin, to our mutual satisfaction, or almost. Shall we drink to it? In this house above all others, I shouldn’t think there would be any scarcity of wine.”
She found a decanter on the sideboard in the dining room and brought it and two glasses into the study. DeVigne’s eyes grew at the size of the shot she poured out, but he said only, “Thank you,” and took a careful sip, while Delsie took a longer one and promptly fell into a spasm of coughing.
“What is it?” she gasped, when she recovered her speech.
“It is brandy, and very fine stuff too. French. Smuggled, of course. Trust Andrew. It is to be sipped, by the way, not tossed off like lemonade. If I may make a suggestion.”
She glared at this repetitious poking fun of her desire to have things in her own hands. She set the brandy aside. “We were speaking of firing Mrs. Bristcombe,” she said in a businesslike way. “You think I ought to wait and see if she improves?”
“I would do so. It sets people’s backs up needlessly to fire servants. We are desirous just now of not drawing any unfavorable attention to ourselves. It is up to you, however.”
She regretted very much her lack of experience in such matters. The woman seemed impossible to her, but perhaps all servants were bothersome. The gentry did seem to be forever complaining of their servants. “I’ll wait a little,” she decided, “but I suspect that as well as being slovenly and impertinent, she is also dishonest. How many sheets did your sister have when she married?”
He looked astonished at the question, and shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t say. Perhaps two-three dozen. May I know why you ask?”
“There was exactly one pair in the linen cupboard, and where did they go? That is what I should like to know!” she said, nodding her head.
“It is close to a decade since Louise married. They are worn out, I suppose.”
“She has only been dead three years. Two or three dozen sheets do not wear out so quickly. They have been stolen. And not more than a pair of clean towels. She must have had two or three dozen of them as well, and from the looks of the people in this house, I cannot believe that towels were worn to patches, whatever about sheets.”
“You take your hoarding of Bobbie’s monies and chattels very seriously, cousin. Replace what you need, and keep count of them. You’ll soon learn if you are being bilked. Have you run into any other problems, besides vanishing linen and housekeepers who call you ‘miss’?”
“Only the pixies, but I suppose you know about them.”
“No, I don’t. Do tell me, what have the pixies been up to? Stealing the preserve jars?”
“No, they have been frightening Bobbie. Did Mr. Grayshott roam about the grounds drunk at night?”