“My ebony cane, Watkins,” he said. “We did bring the ebony, I suppose?”
“We did, m’lord.” Watkins produced it.
“And my jeweled quizzing glass.”
“The jeweled one, m’lord?”
Percy fixed him with a look, and the jeweled glass was produced without further comment.
“And a lace-edged handkerchief,” Percy said. “And my ruby snuff box, I believe. Yes, the ruby snuffbox.”
Watkins was too well bred to comment on these ostentatious additions to a morning outfit, but the wooden expression with which he always demonstrated disapproval became almost fossilized.
“Be so good as to look through the window to see if my traveling carriage is at the door,” Percy instructed him.
It was. And a grandiose piece of workmanship it was too. He had inherited it from his father and seldom used it. He had brought it here only because Watkins would have been stoically disappointed if he had been forced to travel in a lesser specimen of coach.
Percy had ascertained upon his return to the house that Lady Barclay had taken the gig into Porthdare, as she had said at breakfast she intended to do. There was apparently an elderly lady with a sore hip who needed visiting. Women really could be angels on occasion, though it took a stretch of the imagination to consider his third cousin-in-law once removed and angels in the same thought.
Sometime later, having discovered the name and place of business of the roofer from his butler, Percy stepped unhurriedly down from his carriage outside the man’s shop, which was situated in Meirion, a village six miles up the river valley. He looked languidly about him, ignoring the smattering of gawkers who had stopped to watch the show—or, that is, him.
He nodded to his coachman, who had been surprised earlier by the instruction to wear his livery.
“His lordship, the Earl of Hardford,” the coachman now announced with clear enjoyment after flinging open the door of the shop.
His lordship stepped inside, shook out his handkerchief, flicked open the lid of his snuffbox with the edge of one thumb, paused, changed his mind—he did not enjoy taking snuff anyway—and snapped it shut again, put it away, and raised his quizzing glass to his eye.
“It has occurred to me to wonder why it is,” he said with a sigh as he regarded three saucer-eyed men through his glass, “that the dower house at Hardford Hall lost its roof in December and is still without a roof in February. I have wondered too why there are occasionally two men to be seen on the rafters, one hammering nails while the other watches. And yet, no sign of progress. It has been brought to my attention that it is altogether possible I may discover the answers here. Indeed, I must insist upon doing so.”
Less than fifteen minutes later his carriage was moving back along the village street, watched by far more than a smattering of spectators lined up on either side as though he were a parade. All the roofer’s workers had apparently been indisposed or busy with other jobs, but all had miraculously recovered their health or completed those jobs that very morning and had been about to proceed to the dower house at Hardford Hall when his lordship arrived and delayed them. The sly suggestion, though, that the presence of all those workers on one job would raise the price of the repairs had met with his lordship’s quizzing glass again, sparkling with blinding splendor in a shaft of light from the doorway, and the price had been instantly lowered below the original quote to an amount Percy guessed was only slightly inflated.
The Earl of Hardford had signaled his coachman, who had opened a fat leather purse and paid the roofer half the amount in advance. The other half would be paid upon the satisfactory completion of the job by Lady Barclay, his lordship’s cousin—there was no point in confusing the issue by talking about thirds and removes and in-laws. Her ladyship was to be informed that the price had been dropped in compensation for the unconscionable delay.
Sometimes, Percy reflected during the seemingly interminable journey home, being a titled aristocrat could be a distinct advantage to a man. Not that he would have been incapable of making mincemeat out of that particular tradesman even as plain Percival Hayes.
6
Imogen was feeling almost cheerful as they sat down to an early dinner later that same day. They were to attend a musical evening at the Kramers’ house afterward, and it was a welcome prospect, since she was still unable to spend the evening alone in her own home with a book, something she was longing to do again. The anticipation of an evening spent with neighbors was not what had lifted her spirits, however.
“A very welcome sight awaited me when I walked over to the dower house this afternoon, expecting it to be deserted as usual,” she told the other three gathered about the table. “Mr. Tidmouth, the roofer, was there in person, supervising the work of no fewer than six workers, who were all busy up on the rafters.”
“Six?” Aunt Lavinia said, her soup spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. “They should be finished in no time at all, then.”
“If they come again tomorrow,” Cousin Adelaide added.
“Oh, but I believe they will,” Imogen assured her. “Mr. Tidmouth was most apologetic for all the delays. He told me that he has been unwell since Christmas and that his second-in-command has been sending out the men to other, less important jobs without his knowledge. He will see to it personally that every one of his men comes to Hardford every day until the work is finished. He even assured me that having now seen the house for himself, he realizes that he overestimated the cost of the repairs and will lower the new, reduced estimate even further as an apology for the long delay.”