Three Heroes by Jo Beverley Page B

so she looked out of the window at the green, watching people cross, sometimes stop to chat. This had the feel of a good place.
    She heard laughter, and returned to the door of the parlor to look out. Van stood in the middle of a group of men of all ages and types, a few maidservants hovering as well. It was clear they all were delighted to see him home again, and were at ease with him. He looked more relaxed than ever.
    And younger. Much younger.
    He was home.
    She'd done her job.
    All that remained now was to set him free.
    After the meal they hired the inn's gig and drove to Steynings Park. Though she was sure he could manage a gig, he insisted that she drive.
    The neglect soon became obvious. The road worsened, the hedges were untrimmed, the ditches at the sides of the road appeared clogged. All the kinds of things that didn't get done without someone in charge.
    "Have you not been here at all?" she asked.
    "Once. There was nothing I could do."
    She could have pursued that, but let it go.
    When they came to the walls of the estate it was as well the iron gates stood open because the gatekeeper's cottage was deserted. From a slight sag, she suspected the gates couldn't be moved without a mighty struggle.
    "That isn't a recent problem," he said as if she'd remarked on it.
    "My father felt it was unseemly to have closed gates, as if the local people weren't welcome."
    "I like that."
    "He was a very likable man. Very generous and trusting." And thus used by Maurice. Thank heavens Van didn't hold that against her.
    Weeds tufted the long drive, evidence not just of neglect but that little traffic had passed this way. The drive took them straight up to the square house with the two curving Palladian wings on either side.
    The windows were dirty, and a sad air of neglect hung over the place, but there was no sign of serious decay. He directed her down the side of the house to a separate stableyard at the back. A middle-aged man came out lethargically to take the horse.
    Van greeted the man as Lumley, but there seemed little fondness there. Probably the few staff remaining in the house were short on wages and tired of neglect.
    Van assisted her down. "Let's do the guided tour, but even at its best, Steynings wasn't a jewel. I suppose some architects must be better than others." As they toured the house, she saw what he meant. In places the proportions were not quite right, and some doors were inconveniently placed. All the same, it was a pleasant home, and ghosts of happier times lingered in pictures on the walls and arrangements of cloth-shrouded furniture.
    She looked at one excellent portrait of his Dutch ancestor. "You never thought of selling this?"
    "All or nothing."
    Victory or death, even in financial matters. Infuriating in one way, but she couldn't help admiring it.
    They ended up in a small drawing room, where the cloths had been removed and tea set out. She sat to pour. "I don't see that much needs to be done here other than cleaning.” He roamed the room restlessly. "There's some leakage from the roof. Brickwork needing pointing. Possibly dry rot in one section of the basement. Not obvious things, but if neglected the place will crumble about somebody's ears one day.” She passed him a cup. "The nine thousand will cover it?”]]>
    "Oh yes. And the servants etcetera."
    It seemed invasive to quiz him on his affairs, but he needed to focus on them. "And the estate? Is it profitable?"
    A look suggested that he thought it was invasive, too, but he answered. "Slightly. Times are hard now the war's over, but we'll make do once some money's been plowed in.
    Drainage, fencing, marling. All the things tenants put off. I should have been here helping, shouldn't I? I should have sold the damn pictures and plowed in the money.” She sipped, deliberately calm. "Why didn't you?” She thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, "Now, I'm not sure.” He looked around the room as if it represented the whole house. "I