Oh, yes, he was in Hensworth. And he was at an inn. Or what passed as an inn. The place was more a boarding house than an establishment meant to offer travelers a place to rest their weary bones. Worn furniture, dusty shelves, and several cobwebs in the far corner of the room confirmed the landlady’s excuse that she had not had a proper guest in years.
The village of Hensworth had proven to be far smaller than Aaron had expected. But just because a village was small did not mean a wealthy man did not live there. Every place had a history of ebbing and waning in population, and from what he had learned since his arrival the day before, the closing of the mines had sent the families scurrying in search of work.
Unfortunate, that. All parents, especially those willing to put in hard work, deserved to raise a family without fear of losing their only source of income. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to relocate. After all, that was what he had done by moving to Chatsworth. He now had to meet new people, establish new relationships, and accustom himself to the various shopkeepers. At least he had been blessed with a congenial disposition. It would have been much more difficult if his temperament were less pleasant.
After dressing, Aaron went down for breakfast and was met with a plate of undercooked eggs and wrinkled fruit.
“I’m sorry we don’t have more, sir,” Mrs. Jensen said, wringing her hands. “I don’t cook much these days, and when I do, it’s only porridge. But I couldn’t offer you just that now, could I?” Given that the woman had maybe one tooth in her entire head, it was no wonder her diet was limited to soft foods. Her graying braid wrapped around her head reminded him of wool with its tiny hairs sticking out in every direction.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Jensen,” Aaron said as he pushed away the plate. “I’m not all that hungry. But I do appreciate going to such efforts to make my stay here pleasant.”
Mrs. Jensen beamed at the kind words. One catches more flies with honey than vinegar, or so went the saying, and Aaron had proven that point time and again. That he was being deceptive did not even enter his mind. Even false courtesy was far better than none.
He stood on the front step to survey the street that ran in front of him, then frowned. It had a proper High Street with lines of buildings, but few offered any goods or services. Most had boarded-up windows and broken or missing signage. What had once been a flourishing village was now nothing more than a shell of itself.
Aaron had gone into the one remaining shop when he arrived the day before, and within it was a hodgepodge of other shops. In the back was a butcher’s counter. Shelves along the walls of either side offered anything from buttons to bags of flour. And all at exorbitant prices. But if one had a need, what other options did he have?
“Where is that blasted Claremont?” Aaron murmured. He had instructed the driver to be in front of the inn by nine, but he was nowhere to be seen.
An older man in stained trousers and a ragged shirt came stumbling toward him. The last thing Aaron needed was to be seen speaking to a pauper. What would Lord Artemus think of him then? Yet as he scanned the area, he realized he had no reason to worry. No one else was about.
“We don’t get many visitors here,” the old man said, his voice sounding as if he were traveling in a carriage over a road covered with boulders. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat and looked Aaron up and down. “Got any coin?”
For a moment, Aaron considered sending the man away. But seeing the deep lines on his worn face and the slope of his back, he could not. What sort of life had this man lived? A very hard one by the looks of it.
Reaching into his pocket, Aaron took out a single coin and placed it into the grimy hand of the old man without looking at it.
His eyes went wide, and he gave Aaron a toothless grin. “Thank you, sir!”
“I’m looking for a castle,” he said. “One belonging to Lord Artemus.”
The old man chortled. “Is that what they call it these days? A castle?”
Aaron stared at the man. Surely, those of the lower class were educated enough to know what a castle was? “Do you know the place?”
“I do,” the old man said, nodding. “You go down the road there till you come to a big birch tree. It was planted by my grandfather over a hundred years ago.” He beamed at this, and Aaron tried to school his impatience. “From there, take a right. Artemus’s place is not half a mile farther.”
Thanking the man, Aaron let out a sigh of relief at his approaching carriage.
“Sorry, sir,” Claremont said as he leapt from his perch. “Afraid the wheel wasn’t feelin’ right, so I wanted to be sure it was safe.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Aaron relayed the directions to the driver and stepped into the vehicle. Settling onto the bench, he could not wait to return to the comforts of Hearsely Estate.
Today if all went well, Aaron would have a prominent member of society as an investor. Once Lord Artemus agreed, others would follow, he was sure of it. Sometimes seeking investors was like opening a dam. Once the first, well-placed stone was removed, the water flowed through freely.
The carriage came to a stop, and Aaron adjusted his cravat and smoothed his coat. He had to look presentable if he was to approach a man as noteworthy as Lord Artemus. Not that he knew anything about the gentleman, of course, but if he was willing to meet with Aaron, he had to be wealthy, indeed.
He went to exit the vehicle and stopped midstep to stare not at a castle but rather at a small cottage. The roof was covered with a conglomeration of boards and thatch. Moss and lichen allowed only spots of gray stone to peek through. Bubbled glass filled the frames of two tiny windows that had once been painted red.
In front stood a man so ancient that he might have been a passenger on Noah’s ark. He was hunched and leaned heavily on a walking stick. Aaron wondered at the wisdom of keeping on a groundskeeper of such an advanced age. Lord Artemus should have offered the man retirement long ago.
But what was it to Aaron? Perhaps the lord pitied the dotard. Aaron certainly did.
“What do you want?” the old man snapped in that clipped way many elderly people spoke. He squinted. “I’m not selling my home no matter how much you offer. You got that?”
“I’m here to speak to Lord Artemus,” Aaron said, peering past the cottage. “I was told his castle was nearby, though I don’t seem to see it. Is it beyond those trees?”
The old man guffawed. “Castle? There hasn’t been a castle here in two hundred years. Uprising and all that. Poorly built and crumbled like everything else around here.” The man sighed. “Even the old manor house burnt to the ground years ago. There’s nothing more left of the estate than a pile of rubble now. And this cottage.”