The de Wolfe of Wharf Street Read online

  She looked up at him only to find him looking down at her with equal intensity. She found herself beginning to blush. What would happen if he decided to kiss her?

  The sharp snap of the door being unlocked broke the spell. Gabriel blinked, as though he was coming back to himself. Cassie started, and her heart was still pounding when the servant opened the door.

  “Could you please tell Reverend Makepeace that his cousin has arrived?” asked Gabriel.

  The girl invited them to wait in the hall. Cassie stepped in and gravitated toward the burning coals in the grate. She warmed hands chilled from their walk, then looked behind her. Gabriel remained just inside the front door, her bag at his feet.

  “Fare thee well, Mistress Perspicacity. You’re delivered safe,” he said, doffing his hat and offering a bow.

  “Wait! Won’t you linger? Warm yourself before venturing back into the cold?”

  Gabriel shook his head and a half-grimace crossed his face.

  “It’s late, and I wouldn’t be welcome.”

  He opened the door only a few inches to prevent the cold air rushing in. Cassie hurried forward and touched his arm before he could completely disappear into the blackness. “If you won’t stay now, then please do call.” She rushed out her words, fearing Gabriel would disappear before she finished speaking. “Save my family here, I know no one in the town but you.”

  Gabriel let out a little laugh. “That wouldn’t be wise, Mistress. I’m not the type of man a respectable young woman wishes to call upon her.”

  In what little she could see of his face in the dimly hit hall, Gabriel’s expression was adamant. Then he raised his chin to draw her attention to the sound of footfalls coming up the hall. “I’m sure your cousin would agree.”

  She turned to see a man striding down the hall.

  Although Uriah Makepeace was her father’s cousin, the reverend was closer to her in age than her father and she and Uriah were childhood friends.

  “Cassie! What a surprise for us all!” he greeted her with genuine affection. “We didn’t expect you until tomorrow at the earliest. Where is your baggage?”

  “At the Wharf Street Tavern. I was kindly escorted here by…” She was interrupted by and accepted her cousin’s hands in hers, then accepted his kiss on the cheek before turning back to the door, about to be locked by the housemaid. “By Master Gabriel Hardacre, he…”

  But her escort was gone.

  “I’ll send someone down to fetch your things,” Uriah assured her. “Here, let me take your coat. You must come through into the parlor and warm yourself up properly.”

  Cassie was swept along by her cousin’s enthusiasm and found herself welcomed into the small parlor. From what she could see, the rectory was cozy, reasonably large, but not ostentatiously so.

  When she entered the room, well-lit by lamps and a merry little fire, Uriah’s wife, Mathilda, abandoned her knitting and rushed to Cassie with the same enthusiasm as had her husband.

  Cassie accepted the familial embrace with equal enthusiasm. Uriah and Mathilda were a couple well-matched in temperament, if not height. Uriah was a half-head taller than Cassie herself. Mathilda, by contrast, was a full head shorter.

  Although it had been five years since Cassie had seen them last, they still appeared to be a couple very much in love – as much as the day they married eight years ago. Oh, how much had changed for her over those years.

  “Cousin! Welcome,” Mathilda said warmly, giving Cassie a kiss on each cheek. “Do sit down by the fire. Have you supped? I can have the housekeeper prepare something.”

  “No, thank you. I ate at the tavern and was quite prepared to make my bed there for the night if not for the kind attention of a gentleman who offered to escort me directly here. You might know him… a Master Gabriel Hardacre?”

  Mathilda’s brows puckered a moment.

  “I’m not sure that I do, but he may not regularly attend our services. Uriah? Is the Hardacre name familiar to you?”

  “You must have seen him, Cousin,” Cassie added. “He was in the hall when you came out.”

  “Indeed, I did see him, and his name I do recognize, but not well enough to say. However, Edgar Williams, the curate, he knows just about every soul in the parish. I shall ask him in the morning.”

  Later that night, as Cassie drew the bed curtains closed, she found herself thinking of Gabriel Hardacre’s words.

  I’m not the type of man a respectable young woman wishes to call upon her.

  He seemed respectable enough to act like a gentleman around her, so who was he exactly?

  Gabriel slipped through the warehouse side door and pulled it closed behind him, the cold biting at his fingers through grey woolen gloves that had seen better days. The heat from the stove on the opposite wall drew him in although the room seemed only a little above freezing.

  He looked across the table and benches. The sack with the ill-gotten gains was no longer there. Gabriel hoped it was a sign his brothers had thought better of their venture into criminal activities.

  He suppressed a yawn and climbed the ladder to the loft over the kitchen which served as their bedchamber. It was large enough for three of them to sleep in their own beds and yet small enough to keep warm during the winter. He pushed aside a blanket that served as a curtain.

  A single candle burned low, placed on a stool in expectation of his return.

  His bed was the closest to the ladder, furthest from the stove pipe that rose up from the kitchen which gave them heat.

  Michael had suffered mightily with a lung complaint earlier this winter, so Gabriel and Raphael agreed that he should be one closest to the warmth.

  Gabriel sank to his bed and unbuckled his soft black leather boots, the finest, most supple things he owned, and pulled them off one by one, before starting on his hose.

  Despite his efforts to work quietly, on the next bed over Gabriel heard Raphael turn over.

  “Well,” his brother whispered. “Are we wanted men?”

  Gabriel shook his head and got to his feet again to strip off his shirt and remove his breeches. He reached for the night shirt that one of his brothers had lain over the back of a chair near the stovepipe to warm – a small act of unvoiced contrition they knew would be noticed but not commented upon.

  “No. We got away with it tonight,” Gabriel answered.

  The linen caressed his back, warm and comforting, adding weight to his exhaustion. His eyes were closed before his head even hit the pillow.

  “We returned the goods,” said Michael. “We left them by the kitchen entrance. No one saw us.”

  “Good.” Gabriel turned to face Raphael. “How’s your jaw?”

  Raphael offered a chuckle in reply. “About as sore as your hand, I’ll warrant.”

  Gabriel squeezed the right hand and it ached. No doubt bruised. He’d take a better look at it, and Raphael’s face, in the morning.

  “That Reverend Williams came to call while you were out,” Michael added. “He’s offered the three of us work. Good work for the next four months.”

  Gabriel was nearly asleep and couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard Michael or whether he had dreamed it.

  “Laboring work, but indoors,” added Raphael. His voice was closer and so pulled Gabriel from his sleep.

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Working on the final wing of the new almshouse on Litchdon Street, making furniture for the souls who’ll live there.”

  For the first time all day, Gabriel smiled.

  Chapter Four

  The day dawned cloudy but clearing. The rising sun turned the sky to the east a soft yellow, but the clouds themselves were underlit with gold. They seemed to chase away the smaller, darker clouds leaden with rain to reveal the blue sky above.

  At Cassie’s urging, Uriah and Mathilda took the long way to the almshouse. Wrapped against the chill, they walked along the path alongside the River Taw, giving her a view of the remarkable Long Bridge with the benefit of daylight.r />
  She could see the draw of the wide expanse of water which the early morning had turned to silver. The water eddied around each dark grey stone pier, heading westward toward the sea ten miles away.

  The three turned up Litchdon Street.

  “Here it is,” said Uriah with pride. “The Penrose Almshouses.”

  Despite the name, it was a single building, square in shape. It would accommodate impoverished men and women, two-by-two, according to sex. Uriah spoke enthusiastically as they entered it.

  “There is so much good we can do here, and not just for those who will reside within these walls. I’m so glad you’ve come to aid us, Cassie. The school will be a boon to those who cannot afford private tutelage.”

  He explained that the almshouses were named for John Penrose, a successful merchant and mayor of Barnstaple who had died young three years ago. Penrose’s father-in-law, Richard Beaple, was one of the executors of his will and was charged with fulfilling the bequest.

  They went through to the open center courtyard where the building was further adorned by a tiled colonnade. Behind the almshouses through a stone archway was a large plot for growing vegetables.

  Cassie was shown the newly built chapel in the southwest corner with an impressively large single arched window. Here, almshouses occupants were charged with the sacred duty of praying daily for the soul of their late patron. On the northwest corner was another room, a place indoors where residents could gather if it was inclement outside. This was where the school would be held.

  Waiting for them was the curate, Edgar Williams. He was older than Uriah by only a couple of years, but his greying hair made him appear even more aged. He greeted them and was introduced to Cassie. He offered her an especially warm smile.

  “I should like to call on you all later in the week for a social visit,” he said. “But today, I need a word with Uriah before we meet with the board of the almshouses.”

  “Then you should both go,” said Mathilda. “I will show Perspicacity about the grounds.”

  Cassie walked arm-in-arm with Mathilda and inspected the good-sized room at the end of one of the wings. It was empty, the walls still of unfinished lath and plaster. Their footsteps raised echoes as well as dust.

  “This would make an excellent school room for you to teach the younger children three days a week,” said Mathilda. “Uriah can take the older boys for their lessons three days a week and you and I will alternate duties for the Sunday School. What do you think?”

  “It is rather bare still, but I see opportunity aplenty,” said Cassie, “There is so much we still need before we can begin. Desks and benches, bookshelves, slates for the students to practice their letters, a large blackboard, oh and there are the books—”

  Mathilda let out a merry laugh.

  “Write your order down, my dear! Master Beaple is not an unreasonable man, but he will want a full accounting of the coin you wish to spend.”

  Cassie hid a grin, acknowledging her own enthusiasm.

  Here, she would simply be the school mistress, not the poor creature abandoned by the man who, it would seem, had never had any intention of returning to marry her.

  “The furniture should be an easier problem to solve,” said Mathilda, patting her on the arm to draw her attention back to their conversation.

  “Reverend Williams has used his pastoral remit to hire some local men to finish building beds for the new residents. I’m sure it would be no trouble to ask them to construct what you need. Shall we go across to the workshop and see what might be had?”

  Cassie and Mathilda made their way across the courtyard and through to the rear gardens where a stone outbuilding was located. A lazy drift of smoke rose from the small chimney from the fireplace within, no doubt adding a modicum of warmth for the workers inside.

  As they drew near, however, she saw the workhouse doors wide open. Inside were three young men, undressed to their shirtsleeves. At this moment, they were not hard at work. Instead they were using short lengths of wood as juggling clubs, and seemed quite talented at it, too.

  One of them, the youngest, judging by his fresh-faced appearance, noticed them first.

  “Hoy!” he called. One by one, the blocks were deftly caught by the other two and placed on the work bench.

  All three men turned to face them and, as though they were performers on stage, bowed in practiced unison.

  Any residual dismay she or Mathilda might have had at the trio neglecting their labors vanished with the flourish. Indeed, Mathilda gave them a round of applause.

  One of the men stepped forward. Cassie let out a small gasp, then noticed the man’s confident expression falter a moment as he recognized her.

  Gabriel Hardacre.

  In daylight, he was even more handsome than she remembered. His long blond hair was partly hidden under a dark-colored rag tied about his head that gave him a rather piratical look.

  He bowed once more. “Mistress Makepeace and Mistress Glenwood.”

  Cassie knew her cheeks blushed, so she ignored the sidelong glance Mathilda cast in her direction. The fact that Gabriel knew her name already had perhaps not gone unnoticed.

  “You will, of course, be wanting an accounting of our progress for the Reverends Williams and Makepeace,” said Gabriel with brisk composure. “We have finished cutting the timber for eight beds, and we expect to have a further dozen of them completed by sundown tomorrow. To complete the task, we will need more beeswax and rope for stringing the beds.”

  He then moved to another stack of shorter planks and rubbed his hand down the face of one of them. “The tables for each room will be finished by the end of the week, Mistress.

  Cassie could now see that what had appeared mere lengths of wood propped up against one wall were, in actuality, a number of unassembled beds.

  Against another wall, freshly split slabs of timber were marked up with chalk diagrams.

  “I’m sure both the reverends will be pleased with the progress,” said Mathilda with a smile that softened her seemingly stern words. “But we have come to further add to your labors.”

  She turned to Cassie. “Let me introduce you to Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael Hardacre,” she said, nodding at each man. In return, each man gave a quick bow. “Reverend Williams tells me they are travelers who have been wintering in Barnstaple before they move on. In the meantime, they’ve been so good as to assist us here.”

  Cassie nodded at each brother in turn but, in the end, her eyes returned to Gabriel’s.

  Mathilda continued the introduction, addressing the brothers. “This is the Reverend Uriah’s cousin, Perspicacity—” Cassie heard a snigger from the youngest-looking of the three men. It was swiftly silenced with a punch to the arm from the dark-haired man closest to him. “—who will be helping my husband run the almshouses school. She has some particular requirements for the schoolroom.”

  Of all the three, Gabriel seemed to be the most self-possessed, Cassie observed.

  “It would be my pleasure to serve the lady in whatever way she needs, Mistress,” he said.

  Shivers traveled along Cassie’s limbs. If noticed, she could blame the cold, but it wouldn’t be the truth. She took a deep breath to recover her wits.

  “I need writing desks and benches for forty students,” she said, perhaps a little more forcefully than required. “I shall need a teacher’s desk, a blackboard, slates with timber frames, and bookshelves. They do not need to be fancy, just sturdy.”

  The dark-haired man in the middle rocked back on his heels at the list. Gabriel did not.

  “I know I ask a lot,” Cassie added half-apologetically when she saw that none of them noted down the list. “Shall I write down the particulars?”

  “No!”

  The vehemence of Gabriel’s answer surprised her. He seemed to recognize it, too, and his voice carried a note of apology. “I mean no, thank you, Mistress.”

  Gabriel turned to his brothers. “There’s no need to go to all that bother. W
e’ll remember, won’t we?”

  Raphael and Michael Hardacre nodded in silent agreement.

  “Perhaps you’d like to use this slab of timber here and draw us what you had in mind,” he said.

  Cassie frowned. She thought she had made her requirements perfectly clear. She glanced to Mathilda whose expression gave nothing away, so she stepped forward and accepted a wedge of chalk from Raphael’s hand.

  “Well, as I said, nothing too elaborate…” Cassie drew a rectangle with four shelves in it, and then a bench which was little more than a pew, but without the back rest. The desks were writing slopes on legs. For her desk, she envisaged being on a riser similar to a pulpit, so she could see to the back of the classroom.

  Gabriel stepped closer to examine the drawings.

  “The teacher’s desk must have shelves beneath to stow away things you might need,” he said. “We could add two there easily.”

  Cassie stepped back from her illustrations and looked at the brothers. The tension that had suddenly appeared in the workshop when she first offered to write out her requirements had evaporated. All three men looked relaxed again.

  Raphael in particular took a step back and considered the scope of the work.

  “We have some leftover timber we can use as frames and beading for the writing slates. Some of the offcuts from the tables may be wide enough to make the shelves for your bookcase, Mistress.”

  Gabriel nodded. “I noticed a goodly number of spare roof slates in one of the other outbuildings.”

  “That’s very good of you,” announced Mathilda. “Let me know what further timber you will need.”

  “Thank you,” Cassie added.

  “We should return to the vicarage,” Mathilda told her. “We may be expected to attend the meeting of the board this afternoon and Master Beaple is most interested in the plans you have for the school.”

  Cassie hesitated. Gabriel had not acknowledged their previous acquaintance, so should she? She decided not.