Eden recognized none of these people and was greatly relieved. No reason to fear that they remembered her elopement with her mysterious cousin. Papa had tried to confine the gossip; any vague tattle that might have followed her to London had died out once she was respectably married to Spencer Winstowe. Whether it was still alive in the dale remained to be seen.
She glanced doubtfully at Nancy. The girl was shaking in her shoes. Eden had dismissed her own expensive and experienced Abigail, hoping that she’d find a suitable girl at Hartsmere. She smiled, but Nancy would not meet her eyes.
“Pray go upstairs, Aunt,” Eden said. “I shall follow directly.”
Claudia hesitated and followed Hester up the stairs.
Armstrong bounded up behind, juggling a pair of the lighter trunks. The two outdoor servants had gone to help the coachman unharness the horses. The driver’s duty was done, and now he could leave Hartsmere in search of more lucrative employment.
“Mrs. Byrne,” Eden said. “You said that there are few of you here now. Are there other servants within besides the cook?”
“Not many, my lady. It’s been hard to keep good servants, or pay them. Besides Mrs. Beaton, we’ve the one man in the stables, Dalziel, and three others who see to what needs doing outside—Grubb, Hindle, and Starkie. For other needs, we hire by the day. No visitors here.”
Eden could well believe it. There was hardly a dale in Westmorland more isolated.
“And where is Mr. Brown?”
“He took very ill just a few days ago and went to stay with his sister in Penrith. We’ve no steward at the moment. But now that your ladyship is here…” She let the statement drift off into a question.
“I could not help but notice the state of the farms and villages as we entered the dale,” Eden said. “Are matters truly as unfortunate as they appear?
The Irishwoman’s face showed an instant of surprise. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I didn’t expect you to be so… so…”
“Frank? I shall be quite honest with you, Mrs. Byrne. I did not wish to come here, but circumstances required it. I seek your help in making improvements for the benefit of us all. May I trust you?”
“Aye, my lady,” she said slowly. “That you may.” Her eyes took on a real measure of warmth. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“I fear there is a great deal amiss at Hartsmere.”
Mrs. Byrne sighed. “We’ve had much misfortune, my lady. The people of the dale would have it—” She broke off with a frown. “But you’ve journeyed so far, and need your rest.”
“Pray continue, Mrs. Byrne. What do they say in the dale?”
“That it’s cursed. That long ago the masters of this land struck a bargain with one of the Fair Folk—the Sidhe, as we call them in Ireland—to grant the dale good fortune. They were golden times, with neither want nor sorrow. But somehow the bargain was broken, and the Sidhe lord withdrew his favor. That was near five years ago, they say.”
Five years. How was it that Eden had never heard a breath of such tales until today, aside from Aunt Claudia’s ghost stories? She had been more than six months in the dale that last time, not including the isolation of her confinement. Had she been deaf as well as blind?
Would she have been prepared if she had known?
“Who broke the bargain, Mrs. Byrne?” she asked.
The housekeeper dropped her gaze. ” ‘Tis only a tale, my lady.”
A tale with the ring of an impossible truth. A curse had indeed come upon this dale, brought by the very family who should have protected and preserved the land and its people.
“Do they say it was my father?” she demanded.
“Aye, my lady.”
Eden let her breath escape in a rush. “And what do they say of me?”
The older woman met her gaze. “It will keep. Take some rest, Lady Eden. We’ll talk again.”
Eden agreed, but only because she had a task of her own to carry out. The housekeeper was admirably cautious but clearly knowledgeable for all her brief tenure at Hartsmere. Eden had won a true ally with a few direct words and a willingness to trust.