“Stephen is upstairs in the nursery. Go on up,” she smiled at Lucy.
Lucy stepped daintily up the front steps, dressed in pink cotton shorts and a white top with a picture of a black pony on it, her fair hair in a neat plait at the back of her head. She pretended, as she always did on arriving at the Hall, that she was a princess entering a big palace to see the prince. She waved to Delia at the top and disappeared from view.
“I’m just off to see Louis,” said Ruth, turning to Delia with a frown on her face. “I need to talk to him about the cost of repairs to the cottages in Wheat Lane. It seems to have cost an exorbitant amount of money … far more than I had anticipated and I can’t understand why.”
“Have you checked with the contractors who carried out the work,” queried Delia. “Have you seen the actual invoices?”
“No … that’s why I’m going down to the estate office now but,” she grimaced, “I can’t stand that woman Louis has employed. She’s never very helpful when I want to know anything.”
“Yes. I know what you mean. I popped in once, just to say hello. She was quite rude actually. Obviously didn’t want me there.”
“Yes. I always feel decidedly uncomfortable when I have to pay the office a visit. It was much nicer when Cheryl was there. She was so friendly and welcoming. Always made me a cup of tea.”
“She taught me to type, you know,” mused Delia. “Why did she leave? She so loved her job and I thought she was here for life, a permanent fixture.”
“Unfortunately, she couldn’t get on with Louis. He spoke French to her for most of the time and she couldn’t understand him. It was a real clash of personalities. Such a shame. Then he took on Mrs. Murgatroyd. She guards him and the office with ferocious loyalty. I sometimes wonder if there is something between them,” she smiled ruefully.
Delia laughed. “God. What a horrendous couple they would make. Can you imagine ….”
Despite herself, Ruth started to laugh too and her feelings towards Delia thawed again.
“I am so stupid,” Ruth admitted. “I am the Duchess and when all is said and done, they are employees. I should march down there and find out exactly what is going on.”
Delia nodded, leaning on the Ferrari and twirling her sunglasses in her hand. “Yes, you should. That man … perhaps he and the Murgatroyd woman are even in cahoots, could be fiddling you left, right and centre … but,” she prompted, “if you would like me to intervene, I am more than happy to do so … don’t forget I studied estate management and have qualifications to prove it. I could go down there … with your permission … and sort out the pair of them … it would be my pleasure and I’m sure you must have other things you would much prefer to be doing. I can report back to you afterwards.”
Ruth was in a dilemma. She badly wanted someone to tackle Louis and his dreadfully intimidating secretary and Delia did have the knowledge and the confidence to do it but would it give her too much licence in the future? So far, Ruth hadn’t had cause to regret giving the tenancy of the Dower House to Delia but matters could always change. However, Delia was offering her a way out of having to tackle the problem herself. Louis had been given too much free rein since Charles had died and she couldn’t bury her head in the sand any longer. He had to be dealt with … and if Delia was happy to do the initial investigation, so be it.
“Thank you, Delia,” Ruth sighed; feeling a great weight was being lifted off her shoulders. “I would be most grateful.”
Delia didn’t waste any time. Being given carte blanche to get stuck into estate affairs was a gift from heaven she hadn’t expected. Saying goodbye to Ruth and with a determined smile on her face, she drove straight down to the office, strode smartly into the office and looked Mrs. Murgatroyd in the eye.
“I want to see the accounts for the last two years … and the latest invoices for the repairs to the cottages in Wheat Lane. The Duchess has given her permission,” she added at the look of disapproval on the older woman’s face.
Delia sat down at Louis’ desk, remembering how it had been in Dick Joyce’s time. He had loved his pipe and the sweet smell of Old Holborn tobacco had pervaded the office. His desk had always been clear and tidy, thanks to his attention to detail and Cheryl’s hard work and there had been pictures of the estate and its staff decorating the walls. Now it smelt of lavender perfume emanating from the crusty old secretary, the desk was a mass of paper with no sign of any real order, and there were pictures of a French chateau and views of Paris adorning the walls. In Delia’s opinion the sooner the man was dismissed the better and she was determined to find a reason for Ruth to do it … and that would give her a chance to step in. Would Ruth play ball? Would she allow Delia to run the estate? Her excitement grew and she concentrated hard on the paperwork in front of her, ignoring the sniffs of disdain from the secretary typing as if her life depended on it.
Until Charles’s death and for a while after, Louis seemed to have done admirably well. The books were in apple pie order but
