Pleasures with Rough Strife (3 page)

It wasn’t hard to find the tree that had so nearly claimed young Costessey’s life. It stood in state in a little clearing, as if all the other trees were too awed by its majesty to approach. More than one branch, however, was broken, and the snow about its trunk was begrimed and trampled by the boots of Costessey’s saviors.

The clump of mistletoe still hung mockingly out of reach. Philip had a sudden vicious urge to have it cut down and burned. To think that young Costessey might have died for this. And damn it, what had he been thinking of in any case, to attempt such a feat in the pitch black and freezing weather to boot? Even had he not fallen, he could have caught a chill. And Lord knew, it was easy enough for such things to become serious before one knew it. Philip hugged himself. Robert’s mother had been right; Philip should have taken more care of him.

But he hadn’t known, damn it. Neither of them had. They’d thought that with armistice reached, the worst was over.

Feeling the cold seep through to his very bones, Philip turned and trudged back towards the house.

*  *  *

 “
Who’s
Robert?” Danny asked as Mrs. Standish plumped his pillows, having brought him some broth. He had a strong suspicion she’d taken a shine to him despite herself. After all, there were plenty of maids who could have brought him his supper.

“Who’s been talking about Robert?” she asked sharply.

Good. He’d guessed right. “Mr. Luccombe mentioned him.”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “That was Mr. Luccombe’s friend from Oxford.” She paused and put her hands upon her ample hips, fixing him with a searching look. “I’m surprised he said anything to you about his friend.”

There was a strange emphasis on the word
friend
that set Danny’s mind to racing. “Has Mr. Luccombe got any friends that come to stay now?” Danny asked innocently.

“And what business would that be of yours, Daniel Costessey?”

Danny flashed her a winning smile. Leastways, it always worked wonders on Mrs. Cobb at the bakers when money was tight and they needed some credit. “He seems lonely, that’s all.”

Mrs. Standish gave Danny a long, hard look that took in every detail of his bare, bandaged chest and his two-day stubble. “Not so lonely as he wouldn’t be
very particular
in what company he keeps, young Daniel Costessey, and I’ll thank you to keep that in mind.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Mrs. Standish,” Danny told her, sinking back into the pillows with a grin.

*  *  *

Philip
went to see Danny again after dinner. It had been a lonely business, as ever, dining alone at a table large enough to seat twelve with ease, and he’d felt the need for some company afterwards. Odd, how he had managed perfectly well for several years without a companion but now seemed to crave society of an evening.

Costessey looked pleased to see him, which was gratifying, although Philip reminded himself that the man would most likely have been equally pleased with the company of the boot boy or the scullery maid. Still, he found himself answering Costessey’s broad smile with a hesitant one of his own.

“How are you getting on with the books?” Philip asked, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh, they’re grand, sir. You’re right about
Christmas Carol
, it’s a far cry from
Hard Times
. I’ve had to lay them down for a bit, though. My head was starting to ache.”

Philip leaned forward, concerned. Without stopping to think what he was doing he laid a hand on Costessey’s forehead. It felt mercifully cool, and Philip breathed a little more easily. Suddenly he recollected himself and snatched his hand away, walking briskly to the window to examine the darkness beyond. “You don’t appear feverish, but if you wish I could fetch Mrs. Standish.”

“No, sir, there’s no call to bother Mrs. S. I’m just not used to spending so long looking at books is all. It’ll pass.”

“Oh, of course,” Philip said vaguely. Most likely Costessey didn’t have a lot of leisure in his day for reading, in the ordinary course of events. It seemed odd, somehow. All Philip
had
was leisure.

“But won’t you sit down, sir? Can’t offer you a chair, seeing as there are none, but there’s room and to spare on the bed.”

Philip turned and hesitated. Would it be proper? He felt his face grow hot. He was being an idiot. Obviously there was nothing untoward in his simply perching upon the edge of another man’s bed—and him an invalid to boot. A normal man, such as Costessey himself, would think nothing of it. Hoping his manner did not betray his absurd agitation, Philip sat down gingerly.

He cast about for something to say. “So, ah, mistletoe. Why on earth did you take such a risk? Were you hoping to sell it?” Lord, that was an idiotic thing to say. Remind Costessey that he was at the mercy of the man whose grounds he’d come to plunder. Not that Philip gave a fig for that, of course, but Costessey wasn’t to know that.

He didn’t seem particularly abashed, though. “No, that was to be for my mam. She’s always loved having a bit of mistletoe in the house come Christmas. Says it reminds her of how she met my Da.”

“Oh? That was at Christmas? At a dance, I suppose?”

“There, sir, you’d be supposing wrong. See, she was the second chambermaid here, back when old Mr. Luccombe was alive, God rest him. Maybe you’d remember her? Right pretty she was, by all accounts.”

Philip shook his head absently. He’d never really paid much attention to the chambermaids.

“Any road, she’d been sent to ask the men to cut some mistletoe for the hall, here. And it happened it was my Da sent to get it for her. Now, Da being Da, he tells her she’s to come with him to get it. So he takes her out into the woodland, out to that very oak tree I came a cropper on. Course, I reckon it’s grown a bit since then,” he added, grinning.

It seemed to be infectious. “So I suppose he shinned up the tree and fetched the mistletoe, whereupon she was duly impressed and agreed to let him court her?”

Costessey’s grin had turned wicked. “Well, she never did go into detail, mind. But they were wed the following Easter, and I was born in time for harvest that year.”

Philip was arrested by an image of what had probably occurred beneath that oak tree, eighteen—no, nineteen—years ago. Lord, hadn’t it been a bit, well, cold? He looked at the young man lying on the bed and was struck anew by how like his father he was. But softer, somehow. Kinder.

And now, looking at Philip with an odd expression on his face. Philip cleared his throat and hastened to change the subject. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how do you trap rabbits?” Costessey gave him a sidelong look, and Philip smiled apologetically. “Say, for instance, you were out and about upon the common, and you happened to fancy catching a rabbit.”

Costessey grinned. “I’d have poor pickings on the common, sir.”

“Oh! You needn’t call me ‘sir’ all the time. Luccombe will do. Or,” here Philip felt a thrill of… something, “you could call me Philip. After all, it’s just the two of us here.”

“Much obliged to you, sir, but I’m thinking Mrs. Standish would box my ears if she happened to hear me calling you by your Christian name. And my mam would have my hide and all.”

“But really, there’s no need to be quite so formal,” Philip protested.

“Well then, how about I call you Mr. Luccombe, and you can call me Danny, if you’ve a mind to?” There was a teasing light in those black eyes of his.

Philip smiled. “Well, then, Danny, will you tell me how you’d go about catching rabbits? In, er, some hypothetical place that was well-stocked with the creatures? I mean,” he added hastily, not wishing to appear totally ignorant of country practice, “I’ve seen the men at it, of course, with nets and dogs. But that’s always struck me as rather a noisy business, and besides, you don’t have a dog, do you?”

“No, I’ve no dog, nor did my Da.” Danny hesitated a moment. “Would you have known my Da, Mr. Luccombe?”

Philip felt a little hot. “I remember him, of course, working on the estate. I don’t suppose we ever spoke, more than to wish each other good day.” Should he offer Danny his condolences? The man was three years dead, after all, and Philip had no wish to dampen the rather pleasant mood between them.

“Well, when my Da was alive, he’d use a net, as you’ve seen, and instead of a dog, I’d be the beater for him.”

“Oh! Like shooting grouse, you mean?”

“Aye, but Da never owned a gun. Never needed one. No, he’d lay out his long net, and I’d drive the rabbits to it for him to kill. But since I’ve been on my own, I set snares. It’s slower work, mind, but quieter. And I can do it alone. Toby’s getting big enough to help, but mam won’t let him come, no matter how much he mithers her.”

Philip nodded. “Given what happened to you, I can understand her fears for his safety.”

Danny gave a short, bitter laugh. “Wouldn’t be trees she’s afraid of.”

“No?”

“No, it’d be that, begging your pardon, sir. Not my place.”

Philip stared, confused, and then it came to him. “Drayton? But the worst he’d do would be to call the constable, surely?”

Danny gave him a long, hard look and then seemed to come to some decision. “Well, now, sir, would there be anything else you’d want to know about poaching? For if not, I reckon I’d best be trying to sleep, now.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry; I hadn’t realized how late it had become. I’ll let you rest. Ah, good night, Danny.”

“Good night, Mr. Luccombe.”

Banished from Danny’s society, Philip felt curiously bereft. He wandered irresolutely to the drawing room, but the whisky decanter seemed to have lost its luster. Philip hadn’t realized until now just how tired he felt. But of course, that would be due to the afternoon’s exercise, he recollected. Perhaps he should make that a regular activity? He really thought he might be able to sleep, tonight, without the help of alcohol.

It was a curiously uplifting thought, and Philip retired to his room with an unwonted smile upon his lips.

*  *  *

Christmas Day
dawned bright and clear. Frost had painted merry patterns on the windows in honor of the season, and Danny was sure the aches in his chest and leg had lessened. He had a warm bed, the prospect of good food and pleasant company later, and he knew his mam and the kids were provided for. Danny couldn’t remember a Christmas these past few years when he’d awakened so content. Even the grief that thought brought with it didn’t chase away his good humor. He fair beamed at Mrs. Standish as she brought him his porridge.

“Well! And you’re in fine fettle this morning for an invalid, Daniel Costessey!” she exclaimed with a pleased expression.

“It’s seeing you, Mrs. S. Does my heart good to have a good-looking woman bring me food in the morning,” he teased.

“Get away with you! We’ll have no more of that nonsense or Mr. Standish will have your hide, that you can be sure!”

Danny grinned as she bustled out in mock outrage. Sure enough, she was humming a merry carol as she went back to her more usual duties.

*  *  *

Settling
back to read some more about Marley’s ghost, Danny was surprised to look up and find Standish hovering at his elbow. “Bloody hell! Begging your pardon, Mr. Standish, but you might want to warn a man you’re here.”

Standish gave him a long, considering look. “I’m just on my way to bring Mr. Luccombe his morning tea, and I thought it would be a good time to have a friendly word with you, Costessey.”

Danny grinned. “And here was me thinking you couldn’t wait to wish me a Merry Christmas! Well, come on then, out with it, though I’m blowed if I know what I can have done to upset you, laid up in here like this.”

Standish’s lips tightened. “It’s Mr. Luccombe. He appears to have taken quite a liking to you, Costessey, and, to speak plainly, I would not wish to see his trust abused. You may not be aware of this, but we at the house are quite… protective of the master.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Oh, aye? Well, I don’t reckon he’s done so well, moldering away in this bloody tomb with you being all
protective
. Seems to me he could do with a mite less
protection
and a mite more… life,” Danny finished awkwardly. He’d been as near as damn it to saying “love,” but he could hardly come out with that in front of Standish.

“I believe I have made my position clear,” Standish said stiffly. “Now, I must not keep Mr. Luccombe waiting. Good day, Costessey.”

*  *  *

 “
Good
morning, Sir. And Merry Christmas.”

Philip blinked up at the dark figure of Standish placing his morning tea upon the bedside cabinet.

“Thank you, Standish. And to you, too, of course.” Philip was a little surprised to find that he did actually feel something of the joys of the season. It wasn’t as if the hole Robert had left in his heart had healed over, precisely, but there was no denying it didn’t ache nearly as acutely as it had used to. “Time, the great physician,” Philip murmured to himself as he set about the business of shaving and dressing.

Once ready for the day, he gave himself a searching look in the glass. Too pale still, perhaps, but he thought he looked a little less haggard than he had done of late. Feeling strangely buoyed by this observation, he set off down the hall to wish the compliments of the season to his guest.

Costessey was looking unusually solemn as Philip walked in, but he soon broke into a smile. “Merry Christmas, sir,” he said cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Philip smiled. “And to you, too, of course. Oh, you’re eating breakfast?”

“Just finished, sir.” Danny moved to place his dish upon the bedside cabinet, and Philip hastened to take it from him.

“Don’t want you upsetting those ribs,” he said by way of explanation of his actions, and also to cover his confusion at the tingle he’d felt as their fingers had brushed. Or had he just imagined it? Yes, that must be it.

Danny was looking at him expectantly, and Philip realized he’d been silent too long. “I, ah, I wondered if you’d like me to read to you? So you don’t get any more of those headaches?”