She gestured at her journals. “Pretty much the same way you handle the crops and rents. I know how much it costs to run the household. We have servants sufficient to maintain ten bedchambers. We do not entertain often, so our expenses are steady. Most of the food is grown here, but wax for candles and the like are added to the figures. Although now that Nan is here, we can make our own wax. If we have ten residents, we divide the household costs by ten and consider it rent.” She shrugged. “I keep track of our income. Anything we earn over the rent amount is ours.”
None of which went to the enormous expense of repairing roofs, plumbing, and rats in the attic, among the other bills accumulating on his desk. But if he closed the castle, where would his relations go? And then there was the enormous Malcolm library. . .
“I trust you pay yourself a sum for bookkeeping duties?” Since attaining his majority, Gerard had left the household books in Winifred’s competent hands. If his father had approved of her methods, he’d seen no reason to change them.
She looked at him blankly. “Well, no. We all have our little tasks. Grace provides blankets and weaves shawls for us. Simone makes scented candles to keep the air pleasant and advises us on the resident spirits and what they’re telling us. Nan said she would teach the kitchen how to make honeyed candies, and her flower borders keep us in bouquets. We’re mostly healthy, so my healing responsibilities are limited. I do the books, for my share.”
The bees buzzing lazily in the roses outside the window reminded him of his duty to this estate and the people inhabiting it. Gerard felt as if he were cutting his own throat, but the beekeeper had opened his eyes, and he couldn’t go back. “Then essentially, Wystan owes all of you for the cost of your labors. In agricultural terms, you’re paying rent from the sale of your crops, but you’re also providing essential services above and beyond the income you’re recording, right?”
“I’m not sure candies and candles are essential,” she said, but it was obvious she was running numbers through her head, trying to puzzle it out.
Unwilling to reveal Iona’s secret, he continued the use of the name she’d adopted. “Before Nan arrived, did you buy candies? And if you use her wax, doesn’t that save coins? Before you arrived, did we pay a bookkeeper? How would you light and scent the rooms without candles? Would you hire someone to talk to spirits if Simone were not here?” He couldn’t believe he was asking these questions, but he never underestimated his family. “How long does it take Grace to make a blanket?”
These women worked all the time. And what did he do? Examine books once a year and make decisions about crops. For that, he earned more than all these women put together. He winced. Cutting his allowance was not why he’d come here.
“To be fair, Grace doesn’t have to contribute often. It’s not as if her blankets ever wear out. But over the years. . .” Winifred drifted off into a daze—a rarity for her.
“Exactly. Over the years, the estate has benefited even more than I thought from your presence. I assumed everyone paid their own way, but I had not realized you were contributing beyond that. Can you conjure some numbers and let me know what Wystan might owe? I can’t say we have the funds, but I’ll take a look while I’m here.” He lifted his shoulder from the door and trailed off before his aunt emerged from her shock.
Damn and double damn. He’d have to start practicing law just to keep himself in clothes at this rate. An earl practicing law! Society would shake.
He sat down with Avery that afternoon over the estate books. “There hasn’t been a raise in tenant rates in years,” Gerard pointed out, hoping to bring in more income to cover maintenance, at least. “Most of them have been with us long enough to have improved their plots, and the cost of improvements to the cottages are going up. Isn’t it time?”
Avery grimaced. “Their families are growing. We’ll lose our best tenants if we ask them to pay more. I wanted to suggest. . .”
He went off into an old argument of removing the orchard and adding sheep that would put Wystan even deeper into a hole before it could pull out. A bee landed on the desk. Avery started to swat it but Gerard waved it away. His medallion grumbled. Restless, he studied the open window. Roses grew outside it as well. He couldn’t remember roses there in prior years.
Finally, Gerard couldn’t take looking at books any more. He stood up. “I want to have a look at the orchards, visit a few tenants. We’ll not survive long if we’re spending more than we’re earning.”
“We’re breaking even, my lord,” Avery protested. “You’ve seen the books yourself. There’s no need to trouble yourself—”
Buzzing bees and grumbling medallions said there was a need to get out of his head and into the real world. This morning’s experience with Winifred gnawed at him. He wouldn’t find profits looking at books. He wouldn’t find treasure—or danger—sitting on his rump.
He hated the idea of razing the orchards, but if it had to be done. . .
“The beekeeper’s honey is already putting the household books in the black,” Gerard informed his steward, with only a slight exaggeration.
“Not if you count the cost of new hives and fences and slowing down the apple harvest with those ridiculous borders.” Avery stomped out after him. “Mark my word, my lord, those hives will be more trouble than they’re worth. They should be removed with the orchard.”
“Why do the
