A Pitiful Remnant by Judith B. Glad Page B

"Flowers make me sneeze,
so I don't care for them in the house," she'd said, when Lisanor
wondered aloud why the small conservatory held half a dozen citrus
trees and little else.
    "At least I can eliminate that expenditure," she muttered,
and made a mental note to have the trees brought inside and the
conservatory left unheated. In the fall she would see about
reactivating it, so they would have fresh vegetables through the
winter. And flowers too, if the Dowager remained at Ackerslea.
    Unable to sit still, determined to stay away from her
husband until bedtime, she went to the library. But as before,
nothing interested her. Most of the titles were in Greek and Latin,
and those that were not leaned heavily toward equine topics. Giving
up, she went to the muniment room and opened the household
ledger. Surely there were other corners she could cut.
    After a while she realized the futility of seeking for ways to
save pence when the hemorrhage was measured in tens and
hundreds and thousands of pounds. For a long time she stared at the
flickering flames, until they died into glowing embers. Setting the fire
screen in place, she blew out the candles lighting the desk and
headed upstairs.
    That night Lisanor pretended to be asleep when her
husband came to bed after his nightly soak. She had skipped dinner,
certain that if they met across a table they would resume their
disagreement. Besides, she wanted time to consider how she could
convince him that keeping so many horses, especially the stallions,
was out of the question while they were working to recoup his
father's losses. No, not losses. Extravagances. Foolish, improvident
extravagances. Irresponsible, short-sighted, reckless expenditures
for vastly overpriced furnishings and ornamentation in a country
estate where no houseparties, no dinner parties, no balls had been
held for more than five years.
    His "Good night, my dear" was little more than a whisper in
the darkened room.
    Her throat tightened, but she did not reply.
    * * * *
    Clarence woke when his wife slipped from the bed. He
wanted to call her back, to apologize for his show of temper the day
before, yet he was reluctant to do so until he knew exactly what he
would be apologizing for. Sober reflection had brought the
realization that there was much he didn't know about his
inheritance. Had she deliberately concealed facts from him?
    Or was she protecting him, while he convalesced? Difficult
as he found that to believe, he admitted that he must consider it as a
possibility. The sound of the opening door opening startled him.
    "Mornin', sor."
    "Ah... I am glad to see you, Nettles. I want to go to the stables
before breakfast."
    "But your soak--"
    "Can wait. I need some answers before I see her ladyship
this morning." He tossed the nightshirt to the foot of the bed. "Do you
know where she is?"
    "I saw her headin' for the muniment room. She...uh...didn't
look too happy."
    "Excellent. Not that she is unhappy, but that she is occupied.
I'll want both canes," he said as Nettles assisted him into his
breeches.
    "Are ye sure...?"
    "That I can walk to the stables? No, but there is only one way
to find out. Never mind the cravat. A kerchief will do. And my
brogues. Yes, yes, the woolen hose too." He contained his impatience
with difficulty. When he finally had both canes in his hand, he took a
cautious step. Yes, I can do this. "Charge."
    Nettles muttered something.
    Clarence thought it best not to ask him to repeat it.
    Once he got Clarence to the front door, Nettles put his foot
down. "I'll fetch the dog cart. Mebbe you can walk to the stables and
mebbe not, but I'll not have all my hard work go for naught because
your pride made you try. You wait here."
    Clarence obeyed, wondering who was the master and who
the employee.
    Entering the shadowy cavern brought back memories, not
particularly pleasant ones. Unable to share his father's interest in
hunting and frankly bored with the intricacies of hunter bloodlines,
he had rarely