“Donal, will you hold Copper while I go with your mother?” he asked.
“Copper says that the snow is going to melt soon,” Donal said gravely. “He can smell it.”
“He’s right.” Hartley smiled and handed Donal the ribbons. “If he should like to wander to that patch of dry grass there, let him. He won’t go far.”
“I know.” Donal carefully adjusted the ribbons. “I can manage him.”
In the boy’s voice was all the pride of responsibility. He had not inherited it from the Eden that Hartley had known.
Leaving horse and boy together, Hartley strode to the cottage. The door closed behind the women just as he approached. It was no obstacle to him, for any Fane could eavesdrop on mortal conversation without fear of being seen. He cloaked himself in a glamor of invisibility and eased the door open.
The interior of the cottage was dark, dank, and smoke-filled. Portions of the floor were covered with stone, but others were bare earth. Dirty water dripped from the dilapidated thatch roof, and a rickety ladder led to a loft where the ends of two simple beds could be seen. A few oft-repaired pieces of furniture clung to the sides of the crooked walls.
It was evident that the woman had made efforts to keep the place clean, but she had no hope of success under conditions such as these.
Hartley’s stomach knotted in mingled loathing and pity. Far better the sky and the grass and the clean, cool breeze than this horror. Near the small fire, heating a pot of thin gruel, huddled two ragged children and an older girl. Their faces were smudged with soot, and their bodies were as thin as their mother’s.
He had often been disgusted with mortal squalor, but not until now had he any reason to feel sympathy. This poor cottager desperately needed all the help Eden could give.
Eden’s face was ghostly with dismay. “Mrs. Singleton,” she said, clearing her throat. “I—”
“Please sit down, your ladyship,” the woman said. She indicated a three legged stool near the fire. Eden almost refused, but at the last she sat, stiff and uneasy in her privilege.
“Forgive my poor hospitality,” Mrs. Singleton said, resting her hand at the small of her back. “We have a little tea, if you wish—”
“No, thank you.” Eden swallowed. “Mrs. Singleton, I only just arrived two days ago from London. I will be living at Hartsmere, and I intend to do whatever I can to—” She glanced around the room, at a loss for words.
Mrs. Singleton dropped her head so that her hair swung over her face. “I’d heard the house was to be lived in again,” she said quietly. “I hope—” She, too, hesitated. “I thank your ladyship for your care.”
“Please do not thank me until I have done something to earn it.” As soon as she had spoken the words, Eden clamped her lips shut. “What became of your husband?”
“He’s gone.” Mrs. Singleton gathered her children and gazed at the smoke-stained wall. “He was a bailiff at Hartsmere until a year ago, my lady. But when they discharged him, he couldn’t find work—”
Eden sprang to her feet. “Discharged?”
“Aye.” Mrs. Singleton did not look surprised at Eden’s ignorance. Her eyes were very old and very wise, mirroring a thousand days of pain. “Mr. Brown said there was no reason to keep him on when so many tenants had left, that he’d collect all the rents himself.”
Eden sat down again, looking ill. Hartley almost rushed to her side, but she recovered and folded her hands in her lap.
“I regret what happened, Mrs. Singleton,” she said. “Mr. Brown has also left my employ, so…” She took a deep breath. “I require a bailiff. Do you know where your husband went?”
The daleswoman shook her head. “Once he sent a little money, but—” She hugged her children closer.
“We shall locate your husband, Mrs. Singleton, I promise you. Upon his return, his job will be waiting for him. In the meantime…” She smiled at the children as though her heart would break. “There are several unoccupied cottages on the grounds at Hartsmere. I invite you to live there until Mr. Singleton rejoins you.”