An Unwilling Conquest Part 14

"It means, Blount, that I will make a list of all the improvements that will need to be done to turn this inn into one rivalling the Barbican Arms, at least in profit. There's no reason it shouldn't. Improvements such as a thorough whitewas.h.i.+ng inside and out, all the timber polished, present bedding discarded and fresh bought, all furniture polished and crockery replaced. And the kitchen needs a range." Lucinda paused to meet Blount's eye.

"Ultimately, you will employ a good cook and serve wholesome meals continuously in the tap, which will be refurbished accordingly. I've noticed that there are few places at which travellers staying in this town can obtain a superior repast. By providing the best fare, the Green Goose will attract custom away from the coaching houses which, because of their preoccupation with coaching, supply only mediocre food."

She paused but Blount only blinked at her.

"I take it you are interested in keeping your position here?"

"Oh--yes, ma'am. Definitely! But ... where's the blunt coming from for all that?"

"Why, from the profits, Blount." Lucinda eyed him straitly.

"The profits before your wages are deducted and before the return paid to the company. The company considers such matters as an investment in the inn's future; if you're wise, you'll consider my suggestions in light of an investment in your future."

Blount met her gaze; slowly he nodded.

"Yes, ma'am." "Good!" Lucinda rose.

"I will make a copy of the improvements I'll be suggesting to the company and have my groom drop it by tomorrow." She glanced at Blount as he struggled to his feet; his expression suggested he was still reeling.

"Mr Mabberly will look in on you in a month's time, to review your progress.

And now, if there's not bAng else, I will bid you good day, Blount."

"Yes, ma'am." Blount hurried to open the door. "Thank you, ma'am." He was clearly sincere.

Lucinda regally nodded and sailed from the room. Reluctantly impressed, Harry followed close behind.

Still inwardly amazed, he waited until they were back on the pavement, she gliding along with her nose in the air as if she had not just taken on Goliath and won, before catching her hand, neatly trapping it on his sleeve.

Her fingers fluttered, then stilled. She cast him a quick glance, then studiously looked ahead. Her groom followed two paces behind, her ledgers clutched in his alias.

The young traveller who had been slouching in the tap slipped out of the inn door in their wake.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe," Harry began in what he hoped was an even tone.

"I do hope you're going to satisfy my curiosity as to why a gently reared female, however well-equipped for the task, goes about interrogating her company's employees?" Unabashed, Lucinda met his. gaze; aggravation showed clearly in the green.

"Because there is no one else."

Harry held her gaze. His lips thinned.

"I find that hard to believe.

What about this Mr Mabberly--your agent?

Why can he not take on the challenge of such as Blount? "

Lucinda's lips quirked.

"You must admit he was a definite challenge."

She slanted a deliberately provocative glance his way.

"I feel quite chuffed." Harry snorted.

"As you well know, you performed a minor miracle. That man will now work himself to the bone--which will be a distinct improvement in itself.

But that," he continued, his tone hardening, 'is not the point."

"But it is, you see." Lucinda wondered why she was allowing him to put in his oar. Perhaps because it had been a long time since anyone had tried?

"Mr Anthony Mabberly is all of twenty-three. He's an excellent man with the accounts and is scrupulously honest and fair--a far cry from Scrugthorpe."

"Ah, yes. The undesirable Scrugthorpe." Harry cast her a quick glance.

"Why was, he so undesirable?"

"Fraud. He was appointed by my husband just before his death--on one of his bad days, I'm afraid. After Charles's death, I by chance learned that the books as they were being presented to me did not reflect the actual figures generated by the inns."

"What happened to Scrugthorpe?"

"I dismissed him, of course."

Harry noted the righteous satisfaction that underlaid her tone.

Clearly, Lucinda Babbacombe had not approved of Mr Scrugthorpe.

"So until recently the agent took responsiblity for negotiating with your tenants?"

Lucinda lifted a haughty brow.

"Until I reorganised the company's procedures. Mr Mabberly would not know where to start with such as-Blount--he's of a somewhat timid disposition.

And I consider it appropriate that both Heather and myself are familiar with the inns that form our legacy."

"Laudable though such sentiments might be, Mrs Babbacombe, I do hope--' Harry broke off as she stopped and looked consideringly across the street. " What is it? "

"Hmm?" Absent-mindedly, Lucinda glanced up. "Oh--I was just wondering if there was time left to do the Barbican Arms today." She glanced back at the busy inn across the street.

"But it looks rather crowded.

Perhaps tomorrow morning would be better? " Harry stared at her, an unwelcome suspicion slowly crystallising in his brain.

"Very much better," he aver red "But tell me, Mrs Babbacombe--how many inns do you and your stepdaughter own?"

She looked up at him, an unlikely innocence in her powder-blue eyes.

"Fifty-four," she replied. Then added, as if in afterthought,

"Up and down the country." Harry closed his eyes and struggled to suppress a groan. Then, without another word, with no more than a single speaking glance, he escorted her into the yard of the Barbican Arms and, with heartfelt relief, handed her up to Em's gig and watched her drive away.

"So she's staying in Newmarket?"