Nine Steps to Sara (6 page)

“
Sir
Stephen decided to make his home in
France
as I understand it.  I can’t imagine why,” she sniffed in disapproval.  “I only saw the man a few times in his adult life after he came into his inheritance.  He never took a shine to this place the way we’d hoped,” she sighed heavily.  “The estate was allowed to fall into a dreadful state
,
as you can see
,
without a proper staff to care for it.”

“But why?  Wasn’t he made of money?” Joanie asked.  “It seems like he could have ponied up a little bit of cash to keep the place afloat.” 

“Indeed,” Mrs. Poole nodded, “but it’s not for us to question our betters, dear,” she chided gently
,
and Sara grabbed hold of Joanie’s arm, giving it a squeeze before the fiery redhead gave the older woman an earful on who she thought was her better. 

“Are these all family portraits?” Sara changed the subject, turning their attention to a wall of oil paintings in heavy gilt frames covering an entire wall of the library. 

“That’s right, dating back to
Sir
Archibald Darling who built the house in
seventeen eighty-seven
.  Here you see Lady Margaret, whom I think you’ll agree you bear a striking resemblance to.”

Sara tipped her head back to get a look at the painting, but besides dark hair and blue eyes, she didn’t think she looked all that much like her ancestor. 

“Oh yeah, I definitely see it around the mouth,” Joanie nodded, stepping back to get a better look. 

“I don’t see it.”

“I’m not saying you could play identical cousins in a wacky sitcom, but you definitely look related,” Joanie shrugged. 

“Is the last Lord Darling up here too?” Sara wondered aloud.

“Yes, he’s here,” Mrs. Poole directed them to a portrait of a severe looking man in his early thirties, most of his hair already gone.  He reminded Sara of a hawk or some other bird of prey in the way his eyes were so tightly focused, like he wouldn’t let anything slip by him. 

“Yeah, that guy definitely looks like a douche,” Joanie murmured beside her.

Sara spent a few minutes studying the pictures before she realized Jack wasn’t with
them
.  Whirling around, she breathed a sigh of relief at finding him curled up in an overstuffed chair, an open book propped on his lap.  “Jack’s a big reader, so please let me know if any of these books are off limits and I’ll make sure he understands.”

“Some of the books aren’t in very good condition, but the rare volumes are under glass in the study.  It does me good to see a lad with a book on his knee instead of those infernal noise contraptions,” Mrs. Poole chuckled and Sara suddenly remembered she had a question. 

“Is there any internet connection at all?  Even dial up?”

“No, we haven’t been set up for it, but I could arrange for an installation if you like, my Lady.  Am I to assume you wish to install a television as well?”

“You assume correctly,” Sara nodded.  “At least three or four, I’ll have to take a look at the rest of the space.  After I meet with the whatshisname lawyer guy, I’ll make up a list of some of the things we’ll be needing.  Do you have some time to meet with me later this afternoon?”

“Of course, my Lady, as you wish.  I’ve taken the liberty of advertising for a proper cook as well.  Would Thursday morning be a suitable time for you to conduct interviews, or would you like me to handle the hiring?”

“Oh… I’m sure whoever you pick will be fine.  Plus I can always pitch in if needed, I know how to make all of Jack’s favorites,” Sara smiled, though she knew that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear from the expression on the old woman’s face.  She was saved from having to find something more suitable to say by the appearance of Thomas at the door.

“Mr. Lowesley to see you, my Lady.  I put him in the study, I hope that will suit.”

“Thanks, Thomas.  Yes, that’ll be fine… if you can remind me which way the study is again?” Sara gave him a sheepish grin. 

* * *

It was strange to preside over the immense wooden desk in the study.  Sara felt like she should be on the opposite side of it, meeting with the lawyer, but he’d already taken a seat in one of the high backed chairs, leather attaché case perched on his knees.  “Sorry to keep you waiting, I was taking a tour of the mansion.  Did Thomas ask if you wanted something to drink or anything?” she asked, remembering her manners. 

“Not at all, my Lady, my needs have been well seen to.  I’m Mr. Lowesley, your solicitor,” he offered a hand, hurrying to his feet.  He exuded an air of conservative success in a striped, three-piece suit and very shiny black shoes.

“I’m Sara Bailey, nice to meet you,” she took his hand with a warm smile.  “Please have a seat.”

“That would be Sara Darling,” he corrected as he retook his seat
,
only after she sat behind the desk. 

“Well, I haven’t been for years, but I was thinking about taking my maiden name back again now that I’m divorced.”  It sounded lighter to her, less weighted down by baggage.

“That’s fortunate, because one of the stipulations of your taking charge of the estate is for you and your son to take the family name.  I’ve taken the liberty of having the documents drawn up for you.”  With a click, he opened his case and handed over a sheaf of papers, flagged in the appropriate areas for her signature
on
the change of name for the both of them.

“Oh…” Sara accepted the papers, a little taken aback by the stipulation.  Still, it was something she’d been thinking about doing anyway, she just wished she’d had a chance to talk to Jack about it first. 
When Peter found out about it, he was going to flip his lid…
  “Okay then, one down, how many to go?” she asked, as she slid the signed documents back across the desk. 

“Quite a few more, I’m afraid,” he smiled, carefully filing it away and reaching for the next.  “This contract stipulates that you must make the house your
primary
residence, with provisions of course for vacations and the like.”

Sara frowned over that one, skimming over the language that read like Greek.  “How come the last guy didn’t have to do that?”  He’d been living in
France
and nobody’d batted an eye.

“It’s precisely because of
Sir Stephen’s
negligence that this codicil was added by the executor.  I hope you can appreciate the need for a strong hand at the helm here,
Darling
Park
can’t be allowed to languish in such a
condition
; it devalues the estate.”

It seemed like that would be for the owner to decide.  “Who’s the executor?
”

“That would be me,” Lowesley drew himself up importantly, as if he expected her to challenge that authority.  “I can show you the authorization if you like.”

“No, it’s fine.”  At least for the moment.  If the time came that she wanted to move on, then she could deal with fighting it, and she assumed that Jack could come to his own decision about it when he was older.  Sara signed the papers and handed them over, ready for the next revelation. 

“Very good,” he offered the next document.  “You must administer, or elect a representative to administer the Darlington Preservation Council.  No personal effort is required if you prefer to have our office see to it, but this stipulates that you will agree to a series of sponsored events to help stimulate the local economy which relies a great deal on seasonal tourism.”

“Oh, I think that’s a great idea!  I’d love to get involved in the
community
and get to know everyone,” Sara didn’t hesitate at that one, signing it right away.  She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be responsible for ‘stimulating an economy’ all on her own, but with such a large estate, she could hardly begrudge the
village
a little help.  “Wasn’t that the way it was done in the olden days?  The big house would put on local fairs and stuff, right?  That sounds like a lot of fun!” 

“Indeed, I’m very glad to hear you’re keen on the idea of resurrecting those traditions,” Lowesley’s manner eased a little, some of the starch going out of his spine. 

  “Maybe we can even start some new ones,” Sara smiled back, already envisioning herself as a pillar of the community. 
She’d probably have to buy a hat…

“Ah yes, perhaps,” he cleared his throat.  “Now then, your eldest son will come into his inheritance when he is twenty-five years of age.  Until then, you hold sole control over the entire estate. 

“My eldest son; you mean Jack, right?”

“The contract is deliberately non-specific in that, my Lady, on the chance something should happen to your son,” he coughed uncomfortably. 

“
H
e’s my only son, so…”

“You’re still young,” Lowesley observed, “I hardly think you
need
call yourself an old maid as of yet, if you’ll forgive me.”

“I guess that’s true.”  Not that she was in that headspace at all; Sara couldn’t imagine starting another family after her marital disaster.

“Who knows, you may find your Prince Charming yet,” he chuckled and Sara decided to change the subject. 

“How did you find me?”

“Beg pardon, my Lady?”

“How did you figure out I was the heir to the Darling Estate anyway?  Darling isn’t that rare of a name and I had no idea I had any family in
England
at all.”

“It took us some time to track you down,” he admitted.  “We’ve been without an heir for nearly a year since
Sir Stephen’s
unfortunate demise.”

“So it wasn’t a well known fact that the family tree branched out to the States?”

“No, I’m afraid it wasn’t.  There was very little in the way of public record with the war on, but as near as we can tell, in 191
8
your great grandfather went to live in
America
as a child.
”
 

Sara had seen pictures of the man, but never met him; he’d died before she was born.  “Who would the title go to if you hadn’t found us?”

“That would take us on another exhaustive search, my Lady.  Let’s be glad we did find you and
Sir
Jack when we did,” his eyes glistened with something Sara couldn’t be sure of.  “Now then, we come to the heart of the matter.  I have here the final documents for you to sign and then we shall discuss the financial particulars.”

Glad there were no more stipulations, Sara briefly glanced over the last papers before signing and dating them.  “I guess that makes this place ours,” she sighed happily, on pins and needles to hear the actual value of the estate. 

Lowesley wrote a figure on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk.  “This is the value of your current account.”

“Is that dollars?” Sara stared at the slip of paper, agog at all the zeros. 

“That would be pounds,” he
leaned
back with a grin.

“Wow,” Sara’s finger traced over the number.  “That’s a lot of money.”  More than she’d been expecting, no matter what fantasies she’d shared with Joanie.  “Ah, I wonder if I could ask your advice.  How much do you think it would cost to have this place brought back to its former glory?  I’m willing to do some of the work myself.  I know this is a lot of money, but I don’t want to blow all of Jack’s inheritance on restoration.  Am I kidding myself or could it be done for a portion of that?”

Lowesley’s smile was contrite.  “You misunderstand me.  The value of the estate is considerably higher.  That amount represents your current account… you might call it a personal checking account, to be used for everyday transactions.  This amount will be deposited into your account on a yearly basis for your own personal living expenses.  There is also an account for which to draw salaries for the staff and general upkeep of
Darling
Park
which
I
review
,
as executor
,
on an annual basis, and I think you’ll find it more than generous to hire a suitable staff.  Any major renovations that would benefit the innate value of the estate could be drawn from the main account directly.”  He slid over another piece of paper.  “This is the value of the estate in its entirety.”