Chapter Text
~*~
Skalitzshire ~ April 10th, 1812
*+~
…It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However times have changed, Henry. And although the noble modest families with unmarried young daughters are tempted to lay claim to these young gentlemen and regard them as their future property, this honour in question was also bestowed upon their sons years ago…
~*+
Henry snorted, shook his head as he read that particular paragraph once again, and lowered the quill in his hand on the piece of paper.
*+~
My dear Katherine,
Hippocrates would have been flattered by the way you turn persuasion into eloquent words. But you need to forgive me for scolding you for your blunt attempt. To think I’d give up my post in the regiment and instead find myself a young man whose charm and wealth even you couldn’t resist, a temptation from which you, of all people, keep claiming you have been cured long ago.
Should I feel flattered by your suggestion? On top of that, I would probably have to live with the wrath of my father and half the nobility for the rest of my life and all that for a pragmatic arrangement – which I detest – simply to get rid of financial worries. But I take your attempts as a hidden message that you worry about me.
Rest assured that for the time being, my regiment will remain stationed near Uchester until autumn.. Meanwhile I’m afraid you'll have to put up with me being on leave in Skalitzshire more often than you’d like.
Although I never thought I’d admit it now, I do prefer being amongst my fellow comrades serving my country, where life, whilst busy, is structured. One no longer has time to dwell on other matters. And you’ve always criticised me for that, haven’t you?
My dearest Katherine, I wish you every pleasure on your journey and for my sake at least try to marvel at the lush spring landscape, mountains and lakes of the Troskent region, not at its abundance of foolish men.
I look forward to seeing you in Talmburgh Hall in a few weeks’ time. I will accompany Tess for the ball. There, we can finally put the world to rights again; you can tell me off for dancing with both ladies and gentlemen, leaving even less room for the wallflowers to be seen.
Try not to provoke your uncle too much. The poor man can’t help being blessed with such a sharp-witted niece.
Your dearest friend,
Henry
~*+
Gently, he placed the quill back on the desk, covered the inkwell and sealed the letter. Through the leaded casement windows before him streamed a pale pink light tinged with blue, not yet brightened into the lush colours of the day. The light bathed the room in pastel shades and, beyond the shimmering glass, it spread over greens coated in early morning mist. The calm promised to turn into a gorgeous spring’s day.
– I could ride to Sasau and be back before lunch.
The chair scraped as he hurried into his bedroom, a moment later, he was back in the small drawing room, wearing his boots, dark blue woollen coat and the top hat tugged under his arm. While leaving, he slipped the same letter into his inner coat pocket, his thoughts still lingering on Katherine’s words.
His quick, long strides were filled with energy as he walked down the corridor. They faltered at the door of his father’s study; out of habit first, but then his conscience was flushed with all the estate matters he had pushed to the back of his mind–and that small lingering guilt wrapped around the decision he had made for his career a year ago. The lingering tension between him and Sir Radzig had been nagging on his nerves like a stone stuck in his boot sole ever since. For a moment he froze there, unable to deflect the old argument they’d had almost a year ago.
“Don’t give me that altruistic nonsense, Henry. It’s not about earning money for the family– it’s about proving yourself and your bloody honour, lad!”
“If that’s also the case, Father? I know enough about the estates to realise that we’ll need money for years to come. For Tess’ dowry or our financial security, for Mother’s health. A career in the infantry...”
“Infantry?!” His father had gasped for air, speechless for a second. “Son, are you tired of living?” and then he had dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I won’t sell any land to buy my only son a place as cannon fodder against Napoleon.”
“You won't need to. I’ve saved up, and uncle Martin’s giving me the rest for the lieutenant patent.”
There was a furious glint in his father’s eyes as he stormed towards him and then reached for the door leaf.
He flinched. Somewhere in the house, a door had been slammed, either that or the memory of that exact cruel sound had shaken him.
Again the very same door stood tall before him, unimpressed, a proud piece of timber that for decades had separated the innermost part of the room from the rest of the house. The grain rubbed faintly against his skin, its landscape appeared uniform to the untrained eye. Ash.
His heart was still pounding as he retrieved his knuckles from the surface and turned to continue his way.
As always, pleasant steam rose from one of the many copper cooking pots; there was a comforting warmth, the sweet smell of deep brown crust and caramelised sugar in the air and, from somewhere in one of the pantries, he could hear a soft murmur and bustle.
His gaze was drawn to the large, heavy table in the middle of the room. On it lay the temptation to his growling stomach. A freshly baked cake - crumble, coated apples, cinnamon. The scent was heavenly, soft and irresistibly soothing. His steps took him straight to one of the buffet cupboards; he took a plate, found a knife with a hurried glance, and set it to destroy the masterpiece of pastry art.
"Master Henry!”
-Bloody hell!
“Betty!” he turned around to find their housekeeper already standing up to him, hands on hips and an overly protective knitted brow directed at him. How she managed to sneak up on him with all those keys attached to her belt would always remain a mystery to him.
He knew how to let his best smile work its magic.“You know that I, a poor soldier condemned to a diet of hardtack and dried meat, cannot resist our cooks' culinary skills, even if I tried...”
But Ms Betty Parker knew him since, well… she was just as much a part of the interior as the large stone fireplace in the dining room, which his grandfather had built.
And even though it took a long time for it to give off heat, once it was alight, it provided warmth for the whole house.
Expectantly, Betty stretched out her hands and raised her brows. “I’d believe that, if I didn’t know that officers are spoiled more than is good for them!”
Defeated, he handed the knife over and set the plate to the side and took an apple from one of the nearest baskets instead. It was juicy and appallingly tart. Uhf-, definitely a variety that was used for baking.
“Are you heading out this early?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
Nodding, he took a glance around. “I’m going to ride to Sasau, post some letters, and meet with a couple of merchants.” The door to the backyard stood open. If he hadn’t known his dog, he wouldn’t have noticed the figure crouching just behind the door, cautiously poking its nose into the inside.
He whistled and a second later that sweet little animal jogged into the kitchen. “Come here, boy!”
“Mr. Henry…” her voice changed to a warm tone. “You should always ask Jannek to post them for you, it's not proper to...”
“Don't you worry, Ms Parker. As Mother always says: A young man shouldn't idle but put his energy to a task,” he dismissed her concerns.
Betty nodded "... I figure you will be back for lunch, sir?” She turned away, facing the hearth. One of the lids bounced up and down as the contents bubbled away.
“Tea at the latest. Wouldn’t miss out on that cake.” The dog was delighted when it was handed the half eaten apple. Mutt smacked his lips and bit heartily into it, splitting it in two; in the process, a generous slimy portion spilled out onto the terracotta tiles.
“Then I’ll wish for a safe journey, Master Henry.” Betty regarded him with a rare smile that faded once she spotted the mess on the floor. “Dear God, take this calf of a mongrel with you and as far away from the kitchen as possible!"
“Aye, Aye, General!” Stifling a giggle he put his hat on and tapped the brim in greeting on his way out, Mutt on his heels.
“Oh, shush, out with you, too!”
~*~
Heavy hoofbeats echoed across the fresh green pastures sprinkled with the early blossoms of dandelion. Henry's thoughts had long since ceased to wander but had given in to simple reality, while his mare’s gentle movements carried him up the hill. With a snort she answered to his directions and came to a halt at the top. The damp shirt underneath all those layers of clothing stuck to his chest as it lifted and let the fresh spring air deeper into his lungs. Likewise, sweat had made Pebbles’ coat shimmer like river stones blinking through the waves of a mountain stream. A smile spread into his cheeks. Tess had been wise to name her after that image.
Panting and glad for the break, Mutt followed them and sat next to a boulder stone. Henry’s gaze, however, remained fixed on the landscape in front. Forests, meadows were stretching across gently undulating ridges, trees like worn out brooms bearing fresh greenery. Like tiny drops of morning dew layered in contrast to the crisp blue sky broken by heavy clouds. A hamlet next to a copse, which eventually murmured along the main road, guided his focus further.
And there it lay. Skalitzshire village. Rows of trees and avenues that jutted out of that familiar image like black, rotten poles off a lake filled with ash. He blinked once- new colours had mixed into that scene, bright creme tones of fresh timber and the earthy, rosy textures of bricks and clay tiles protecting the new houses against the elements and demonic sparks.
But there was still that gloomy veil covering his home in grey, as if there was a fifth season that seemed to freeze nature in time.
Too many village buildings, as well as farms, barns, and the sawmill, had been engulfed by the ravenous flames on one wicked October night in 1810. This included the granary and the entire timber stock they had felled that year.
Hours of horror, days spent in despair, and far too many church services and funerals he had attended since. A terribly devastating loss.
The months following the fire had been more than sobering. The exhaustion from that time still lingered like a strained muscle for which there was no sling. People had needed shelter, something to eat, comfort for their losses. Never in his life had he been so acutely aware of his own shortcomings. And even if he and his father had been able to scrape together enough money, decisions on how and what to spend it on would have been difficult either way. But compromises had to be made and, as the year drew to a close, it had become clear that the results of these did not live up to his or anyone else's expectations.
He had always considered himself and his family to be generous. He had grown up seeing how people in the area sought his parents advice and saw his father often rule on matters of right and wrong. He had seen how his father treated his tenants with dignity and spent hours poring over maps of their estates with them to make decisions about the livestock, the afforestation and felling that would affect the following generation and the one after that. And he had seen how his cultivated mother, a bourgeois woman as a daughter of an apothecary, had never considered it beneath her to greet the residents and engage them in conversation – still aware of her own roots.
Were it not for those dark blue eyes that had etched themselves into his memory and saw him for what he was: not the knight’s son, a member of the Kobyla family, the future landlord and another patron of the region, a protector – instead, she had ceased to see any of that.
In Sasau he had met Bianca again, the innkeeper’s daughter, who had moved there with her family before Christmas last year. After the fire, they had looked for a new home – or rather, had been forced to look for one and a new source of income likewise. For a long time they had surely hoped that he and his father, as their landlords, would be able to afford to rebuild the Skalitzshire inn, but the disaster had destroyed too much.
The inn had always been the heart of the village; refuge for stranded merchants and travellers but more so a sign of rest right next to the market, like the evergreen wreath hung up on the front door. It had been an old, crooked building, which despite its small interior had been home to wonderful gatherings, harvest celebrations, and merry winter evenings spent with good company and even better ale. A pity they might not be able to raise the money to rebuild it until next year – if at all.
His heart still remembered the day of Bianca's departure. Back then, she had looked right through him. That look had been so unbearable that he’d been tempted not to watch her at all as she joined the procession with the rest of her family; sitting down on the edge of a horse-drawn cart filled with frighteningly little belongings and swinging her legs, head bowed. At the front was her father; the coachman’s seat beside him had been painfully empty.
Her brother had enlisted after the fire, to serve in the war, and her mother had been another victim to the flames.
It was almost too much to bear – the thought of having to watch them drive off, unable to prevent it. And so he had done the only thing he could with a heart hammering against his ribs and a stuttering breath: he had pushed past a tenant and sat down beside her father and driven the carriage all the way to Sasau.
–Over a year has passed since.
They had been lovers almost five years ago. Gentle and sweet, overwhelmingly in love in the way you could only be when you were seventeen and thought life consisted solely of the tingling sensation the other person stirred within you.
By the time his mother had warned him not to engage with her, this naivety had been far from fading;it had instead grown into something urgent. But Bianca was a simple lower-class woman and he was a young gentleman, a member of the gentry.
“Don’t give her false hopes, Henry…”
Bianca had known the truth. In fact, he had openly declared that he would not be able to marry her despite his feelings; surprisingly, that hadn’t stopped her from sneaking away to meet him. When his mother finally had a premonition and sent him off to school in Prague again, it had already happened.
How foolish and thoughtless they had been, and how little his honour as a gentleman had ultimately mattered to him the moment she had drawn him to her heated body.
Indeed they were lucky that all those wonderful summer nights had passed without consequences and that her father had remained in the dark.
A bark made Henry turn around in a start. Mutt had picked up the scent of game. He smiled as his faithful friend stood there as stiff as a board, his left paw raised.
“No!” he called out to him. — It’s still the closed season. “Come here!”
Mutt winced once and came back running, brushing his head against his knees in an appeal to be set loose on his prey. “It won’t be long now, boy.”
But then he thought better of it. He couldn't afford taking part in large hunting parties like he always wanted, and they certainly wouldn’t be in a position to organise one themselves; unfortunate, as the Skalitzshire hunt through their wide woods and plains had been the biggest in the area, famous for impressive red deer.
He could still feel the warmth of his mother's hand on his forearm. "Well, that’s no reason to get upset. Not when we’re all sitting here together at the table in one piece."
His mother's words made him sigh and helped release that frustration into the cold wind. She was right, as always.
~*~
Henry had just turned onto the main road leading up to Skalitzshire House when he heard someone calling after him. “Mr Kobyla!” A woman’s voice.
He turned in the saddle and saw the village vicar’s wife already stumbling up the path. Pebbles twitched her ears. “Mrs Davies,” he replied and brought the mare around.
“Good day Sir! Forgive me to disturb you, Sir, but you’ll certainly want to see this, –” She planted her hands on her hips and puffed. She had been running for quite a distance, the heat had crept into her cheeks despite the fresh spring air. “The new millwheel is about to be hoisted onto the axle!”
For weeks, the village carpenters had been working to rebuild the sawmill’s wheel. Some parts of the mill were able to be reused, since it had been built partly of stone. So now, finally, the last piece of the puzzle was about to fall into place. A relief set into his bones.
The older woman clicked her tongue, paused with a heavy meaning and spoke. "Sir, someone should oversee it. The lads have been on it for hours." Her gaze wandered up the hill toward the estate. She had obviously intended to inform his father.
He thought of Fritz and Matthew, the sons of the two carpenters. As children, they had often explored the area together. And whenever Fritz had called him a conceited, wimpy snob, he’d shown him just how much strength lay in his fists. In the end, the three of them had usually ended up licking their wounds in the grass behind the church, covered in dirt, laughing together about their adventures and planned pranks.
Although they'd once been lazy and simple-minded, the fire had changed them too – or rather, a sense of responsibility had nested in their bones, a sacred miracle by itself. The whole village now needed their skills, and they were no longer standing in their fathers’ shadows, either, since every craftsman was needed desperately and no one could be discerning.
And so, after months, even that same old grumpy speech of the master woodcutter Kunesh; “...that we are dependent on those good-for-nothings; may the Lord have mercy on us!” – had fallen silent. Nevertheless, some people were still cautious.
“Alright. I'll ride ahead.” He sighed inwardly. At least Mrs. Davies had brought it up with him but he was sure she would walk along to fetch his father anyway.
He spurred Pebbles on and a few minutes later he could already see a small group of people gathered near the hamlet, even before he could make out the sawmill down the hillside.
A quarrelsome chatter could be heard, cutting through the murmur of the spectators. Good heavens, nearly half the village had gathered. He was all the more surprised to see Tess standing a little apart on the grassy hill. Well, at least one person had the mind not to be in the way, fishing for new gossip.
The wind had tangled itself in her chestnut-brown hair, which wasn’t fully protected even by her white wide-brimmed hat. Her grey-blue skirt fluttered in the breeze. But before he could ask if she was cold, she looked up at him. “Brother!” Her cheeks glowed with vivacity, and so did her green eyes. “Where have you been all day?”
He had no intention of answering; Tess already knew everything– he could see it in the sharp gleam in her eyes, which often reminded him of their father’s gaze.
But before he could ask what was going on, he heard Matthew ranting again. “That bloody thing’s gone south. I shouldn’t have listened to the old badger and swapped the cross-connection.”
Fritz, on the other hand, picked up the biggest carpenter’s hammer and nodded. “Well then, we’ll show your old man and get it done anyway.”
He would have laughed if it hadn’t been so rude. Fritz still resorted to brute force in many situations. But despite everything, he sometimes simply had a real gut feeling about his craft and material. “You’ll strike from up there!”
He dismounted from Pebbles, let the mare graze, and took in the scene. The enormous second mill wheel had been dismantled into five individual parts and transported to the mill. There, the axle leading into the interior had been pulled into an idler position so that the repairs could be done, with more space between the wheel and the narrow channel. Only one last massive arch was missing, before the new blades could be attached.
A deep, gruff voice bellowed across the mill yard below, where the new blades of fresh cream coloured larch were loaded off a cart. “You know, son, I'm standing right here!”
The whole square burst out laughing.
Matthew’s father’s retort went unanswered; instead, the two of them did as they had agreed and carried on striking the timber target– each hit bellowed through the valley. And sure enough, with a squeak, it slid more and more between its counter parts and into the iron brackets.
Suddenly, a jolt shot through the wheel; the latch that had kept the whole monstrosity in place came loose, and everything slid back down into the channel.
Just in the nick of time, Matthew managed to grab hold of the scaffolding before he fell; the wheel began to turn. Fritz, however, jumped into the ankle-deep water and tried to stop it from turning any further. “uhh…Bloody!...”
Before he even realised what he was doing, Henry had thrown his top hat and coat into Tess’ arms and leapt to his aid. Hands found the curved and heavy oak beam and gripped it, whilst his boots sought a foothold in the waterlogged stream.
Together, they braced themselves against the wheel, which had gained momentum from the jolt alone. He didn’t understand much, but enough to realise that it had to be stopped before everything was fixed.
Somewhere between squinting and groaning, he saw the two old carpenters and some of the other men running towards them as well. A couple of additional strong hands held on to the cross connection. Finally, they managed it and brought the wheel back to its original position.
As they shook hands, wet but smiling, having taken off his soaked gloves, he saw a look of appreciation on the men’s faces, and joy to boot on everyone else's. Even more so in his old friends' eyes. Finally the wheel arch had been repaired and they would be able to process their own logs to timber again in a couple of days.
As he climbed out of the channel, his tall riding boots were so full of water that every step made a squelching sound. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off the wheel, which Matthew and Fritz were now securing with further fastenings, together with the elder craftsmen. When it came to fetching the shovels, he naturally lent a hand, too. He was already soaked and sweaty, and nothing felt more wholesome than being part of the action.
The moment the watergate was pulled and the water came rushing down, hitting the shovels, a small creak echoed through the mechanics before the wheel started turning and the cheers that erupted overshadowed the fresh splashing noise of the mill.
The vicar’s blessing trailed off as he caught sight of a silhouette of a horseman behind the slope. The rim of a beige top hat catching the warm light, dark green tailcoat the fresh spring breeze. Just as Henry turned to nod to his father, he pulled the horse around without regarding him a second glance.
The anticipation of apple crumble cake and warm fermented tea with cream got lost the same way.
The big smile on Tess' face grew wider as he emerged up the hill with a restless heartbeat. She had indeed put his blue tailcoat over her shoulders by now and was about to hand it over before he waved her off. “Don't you dare…”
She rolled her eyes. “Your breeches are soaked… one family member bound to bed rest is more than enough.”
“I’ve been toughened up by Colonel Zizka’s training exercises, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Her smile faded in the same breath. She regarded him with a look that couldn't hide her concern but also a gloomy expression he couldn't quite place. With a sigh she looked at the scenery in front.
He shouldn't have brought it up so directly; even though he’d only meant to make a joke, the good mood was dimmed. She and Mother hadn't been exactly supportive of his choice of career either but had respected his wish in the end.
He sought a change of topic and tried a teasing tone. “I talked with the tailor today in Sasau; your debut dress will be ready in a couple of days.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “God preserve, what would I have done, if not.”
“Unimaginable – I know you’d have bribed him if there’d been any chance of not having to attend the ball.”
She clicked her tongue while thinking of a right reply. “At least you will be there. I wouldn't know what to do without you.”
“Enjoying yourself and the new acquaintances, putting all the dance lessons to use, making men turn their heads?”
“It sounds so easy.” But she gripped for his hand regardless before he could object. Her skin was pleasantly warm. “Again, thank you Henry; you shouldn't have persisted on the dress.”
His gaze was full of affection as he looked at his little sister, finally about to enter society. Even still, she was already carrying more of a burden than she ought to have been for her age. “On the contrary. You deserve to feel most important for at least one day, don't you think?”
Tess had put a lot of things on hold over the last two years; the family had been too busy with the reconstruction to spoil her as she deserved. Her debut had been postponed, trips to Kuttenburgh and Prague had been cancelled altogether, and when their mother fell ill, she had made it her mission to look after her while he was in the garrison. She had turned 19 a month ago and thanks to his persuasion she had eventually ordered a new dress in the latest fashion for her big day – at his own expense, of course.
She blushed, gripping his forearm tighter with her other hand. “Thank you, Hal.” Then, she huffed. “Nevertheless, a new hunting rifle would have been more practical.”
Henry laughed wholeheartedly. “Why, so you get to beat me at shooting again?”
They had always engaged in shooting competitions before the fire. However, since he joined the regiment last year, he had been practicing almost every day and was now one of the best of the officers.
She giggled. “As if I need a new rifle to prove my skill.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s exactly the same with the new dress. You don’t need it to shine, but it can be enjoyable to show it off.”
“Since when have you become so wise?” She gave him a nudge with her hip, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Don’t say you’ve started reading Katherine’s book recommendations?”
– Of course she’d guess that.
There was a murmur as people were approaching.
He turned around to face the crowd that was slowly making its way up the hill.
Matthew was coming forth still panting. “Henry, would you care…” but as soon as he recognised Tess he stumbled over his own boots. “Forgive me, Miss Kobyla, I…,” he paused as Tess nodded openly, then tried again, eyes embarrassingly focused on his own rough hands. But instead of addressing his sister, Matthew looked up to him again. “Mr. Henry, would you care to accompany us to the pub in Roton and celebrate with us?”
Fritz behind him stifled a giggle but nodded. “Some of the others are joining in too.”
There was a cautious glance coming from Mathias, a son of one of his father's tenants that still managed to stir up his heart rate before he tore his eyes away. Fritz and Matthew’s fathers, the miller, some of the woodcutters, the roofer, the blacksmith and even the vicar were joining the group. “Small victories must be celebrated, sir,” the clerk pointed out. The beaming faces in front of him were still marked by the hardship of the last year, the memory of them gathered around the cemetery still too fresh to not understand the meaning of a day like this.
Before he could think otherwise he mirrored their expressions. “I believe so, too!”
~*~
Loud chatter filled the square in expectation of good ale.
The old pub in Roton was actually quite a respectable inn, built of dark red bricks held together by tradition and meagre vines; It served as a stagecoach station between Sasau, Skalitzshire and Talmburgh; fairly too big for a village consisting of three farmsteads. Nevertheless, it offered both hearty meals and fine drinks for commoners and travelling gentlemen alike.
Equipped with simple but joyful humour and good spirits, the men climbed down from the cart while he dismounted from Pebbles; the horses were taken in by a stable boy and just as Henry was about to walk inside he noticed out of the corner of his eye a fine carriage that had been parked in the shade behind the forecourt. He didn’t recognise it; the knightly coat of arms engraved in its front – an unusual sight – reminded him of one he’d seen in the Kuttenberg area before; it didn’t belong to a local he knew, but it was a rich noble’s property for sure.
As he followed the men and stepped into the tiled entrance, hats off already, Mr Carter the innkeeper immediately emerged from behind the bar. “Mr Henry,” he greeted him warmly, wiped his hand on his apron and gave a slight bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure today?”
He nodded. “The mill’s back up and running. The men have earned a drink. I’m happy to cover for a round.”
The already lively atmosphere grew even more cheerful within seconds until their deep laughter filled the establishment.
A shiver ran down his spine that made him turn around to face the doorway to the more elegant coffee room. Was it his imagination or had someone been watching him?
Of course, Henry had no idea that the other gentlemen, enjoying a late cup of tea and biscuits behind that archway until just a moment ago, had been calling the tranquillity of the secluded inn their own.
He was about to turn to Mr Carter again to satisfy his curiosity about them, when he was already drawn right into the thick of things. Matthew deliberately handed him a glass of wine and waved him closer, eager to press information out of him regarding the time at the regiment and his wellbeing before he eventually gathered enough courage to ask about Tess.
Fortunately he didn't need to answer since the whole table mocked the young carpenter for his romantic attraction way past his stand immediately. And Matthew's father sent waves of apologies in Henry’s direction and a wish up to heaven that Mr Kobyla himself would not find out of his son's attitude. Gladly, Fritz saved his friend and entertained the whole party with stories of their latest jobs next.
Once again, roars of laughter filled the hall.
Henry was about to get up in need of the men's room when suddenly a sharp echo of expensive boots met the floorboards. Energetic footsteps drew ominously closer.
The new presence that filled the tab room promised nothing but unpleasant tension before he’d had the time to turn around.
The second he stood, a tall gentleman had approached: neatly combed dark blond hair above a slender face, home to eyes of a pale, almost icy blue.
The carefree chatter died down abruptly.
Incidentally, he would have noticed how eagerly the innkeeper was rushing over to introduce them to one another, as was proper, but…
"Good men,” For a second the man had considered him, before looking right past addressing the eldest among the group. “... is it too much to ask that, if not your station, then at least your behaviour might be in keeping with the dignity of this establishment?" A voice as sharp as the gentleman’s step before.
Henry swallowed and deliberately ignored the condescending choice of words. He was good at overlooking rudeness and asking himself what story and burdens the person he was talking to might be carrying. Katherine had always praised him for it, and it would be the same this time too.
So instead he studied the stranger. He stood before them with a stern expression, dressed in garments made from the finest fabrics and latest fashion in Prague, colours of tailcoat, waistcoat and pantaloons reminiscent of an Italian painting without equal. His surprise grew even more, to find that the man was the same height as him and, in all likelihood, the same age, too.
– A peacock from Prague, huh?
Clearing his voice he sought eye contact with the stranger. Unfortunately, Henry realised that, for the second time that day, his smile had had no effect on his counterpart. The blond gentleman’s irritation as he looked away was therefore transferred to him.
“I beg your pardon, Sir, for the somewhat boisterous atmosphere and volume, but what these men have achieved today is truly remarkable and worthy of celebration after times of...” –
“And who are you to make that judgement?” the gentleman blurted out.
The room fell gravely silent.
Even Mr Carter, the third generation of his family to run the establishment in which they stood, suddenly ran into a bench on his way and nearly bumped into another gentleman who had just entered the tab-room and looked as distraught as he felt.
Henry blinked, swallowed, and tried to make sense of this disrespectful interruption. He felt his heart suddenly leap right up into his throat, whilst his childhood friends’ and tenants’ eyes counted the buttons on his waistcoat.
–Enough is enough, he thought. If this man wanted to keep his bad mood, so be it. But he wouldn't let anyone dim theirs.
No, this gentleman, however rich, noble or distinguished he might have been, did not deserve to be introduced to him. And certainly not by him personally.
Henry exhaled in short, a heavy breath to calm down his temper and adopted a sombre and grounded tone. “If you will, a gentleman who values the hard work of decent people more than others who are lacking the honour of my company.”
That seemed to give the stranger pause for thought for the first time. His pale blue eyes now remained fixed on him, literally searching for clues, as if he were trying to find his good manners among Henry’s clothes. Eventually, he merely wrinkled the tip of his pointed nose ever so slightly.
“Please, sirs, might I perhaps suggest....” The innkeeper seemed to have found his voice again, but he had already made up his mind.
“Thank you Mr. Carter, I think we’d prefer to move to the private dining area upstairs." He cast an urging glance in the direction of the group, and after a brief moment’s hesitation, everyone sprang to their feet, chairs creaking. Once again, he looked at the friendly old innkeeper, who seemed pleased with the solution. "If you'd be so kind.”
Mr. Cater merely nodded, but stopped in his tracks when the blond gentleman shifted his stance to stop him. Henry didn’t understand what he was saying. Perhaps he simply couldn’t bear to listen to him any longer, so he turned on his heel, took his top hat from the hook, brushed through the long curls falling into his brow and headed for the stairs.
He was all the more relieved when he reached the upper floor, took his seat at the table, listening to the last arriving men dispelling the tension with a joke on their lips. His heart, on the other hand, took a long time before it stopped racing.
~*~
An hour later, he took Pebbles' reins in hand and stepped further into the forecourt of the inn. He glanced at his watch hanging by the belt – good heavens, the glass was smudged. It must have caught a few splashes of water at the mill; He looked down at himself. Dark grey stains had dried on his cream-coloured breeches as well.
The wind had picked up, and the spring sun had sunk low behind the cloud cover. He shrugged his cold shoulders, missing the warmth of a coat and swung himself onto Pebbles’s back regardless. All he wanted was to return home and sink into his armchair by the big fireplace.
To make matters worse, two gentlemen stepped out of the inn right after. The blond, arrogant gentleman led the way. Behind him, however, walked a shorter man, dressed in what were undoubtedly fine clothes, yet with a surprisingly more understated choice of colour and style.
He was just about to spur the mare on to make way for the carriage, the stable boy and another servant were preparing, when the other man shot forward. “Sir!” A short look down from under the brim of his hat was enough to notice the young, friendly, smile was directed at him.
He tapped the brim in return and nodded.
“Forgive me for seizing the opportunity, I’d like to introduce myself.” A hat was raised, “Christopher Oderin of Raborsch, I’m on my way to Sasau upon Sasau to move into my newly leased summer residence, Sasau Hall.”
A number of thoughts rushed through his mind; the name Oderin sounded strangely familiar to him. The owner of Sasau Hall had been looking for a leaseholder for a long time. The fact that it had now been let again was good news for the area.
Henry managed a smile and raised his hat likewise. “Henry Kobyla of Skalitzshire. You have chosen a fine residence.”
The younger gentleman’s smile gained confidence. “Please, I have reason to believe our fathers are acquainted.”
He nodded once more without realising it; he could have sworn he’d heard that name somewhere else entirely. “I believe so, too.”
The gentleman cast an uncertain glance to the side. His companion had remained standing a little way off. “And I hope that we could leave that misunderstanding which led to my friend, Lord Hans Capon of Pirkstone’s misjudgment earlier…”
His friend? – Good God, have mercy. – And yet he was glad that he had not been introduced directly. The Lord’s rank would have immediately compelled him to offer courtesies which he surely would have come to regret.
Christopher did not seem able to conceal his nervousness and added, “I’m looking forward to good neighbourly relations – ” He cast a cautious glance back at Mr Capon and seemed unable to resist rolling his eyes.
–Hopefully, he and Henry probably thought in unison.
Henry took a deep breath and eventually decided that Mr. Oderin wasn't to blame for his friend's behaviour nor for Mr. Capon’s inability to express any kind of apology. He fought the urge to look down at his dirty and incomplete attire. No one was to blame for his lack in appearance but himself. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to apologise to both gentlemen.
"I don’t think there’s anything standing in the way of that," he stated in the end.
Christopher’s timid smile broke into a relieved broad grin. “I’m glad.”
But Mr. Hans Capon huffed before tapping his hat and entered the carriage unwilling to hear the small joke Henry made to explain his appearance nor the last bits of their conversation.
As Christopher climbed into the carriage, he was beaming from ear to ear, glad to have smoothed things over. “Can you imagine, Capon, that he jumped into a canal to stop a millwheel and to prevent an accident? That’s what I call courage – or rather, compassion for his people...”
But Hans Capon shrugged it off, gripping the handle of his cane tighter. “Reckless and improper, celebrating with them so covered in dirt that nobody can tell him apart."
The loyal friend nodded in response and ran his finger over the stubble on his upper lip.
*+~
Beyond the carriage window Pebbles swished her tail in protest as Henry steered her out of the yard, applying his spurs a little too hastily to reach a canter. While Hans Capon tried a little too hard not to look after the obscenely dressed and annoyingly handsome gentleman who had preferred the company of mere farmers over his own – never had that happened to him.
Both offended gentlemen would have denied that their thoughts still revolved around the other far longer than they wished. Overly irritated by the other’s behaviour their hearts raced, firmly believing they had done nothing wrong. –
~+*