A Matter of Choice

Chapter Thirteen

Sir Edward sliced his poached partridge, and looked up at his nephew. "So how did your tour go today, lad? I fear you found the estate in poor repair."

"I did, Uncle. The tithe cottages are all badly in want of thatching, and the tenant farmers for the most part appeared suspicious and indifferent. The fields of barley are thick with thistle, and wild convolvulus and bindweed are choking all your wheat."

"And where is that steward of mine? I had ordered him to hire labourers to top the thistle heads."

"The thistle seeds were flying upon the breeze. I saw no labourers in the fields, save the shepherd with the flock. Your steward is nowhere about. I knocked on his door, and a slatternly maid said she supposed he was gone about his business," said James.

"I am of the opinion that he has fled," said Felicity Warrington. "When Edward told him you were coming he appeared very uncomfortable."

"He has cheated me, I can see that," sighed Sir Edward. "In the spring he promised the weeds would be cleared. He needed quite a sum for the labour -- you remember Felicity. I told him to be sure to have the copses cleared and the meadowland too, you know how weeds spread so, and he assured me that it all had been done. And the hedgerows thinned and trimmed. How many hedgers did he tell me he had out, Felicity?"

"I recall it was a father with his three grown sons, and their wives to pick rocks in the fields before the planting," said Felicity, at the same time offering James some more potatoes.

"The hedgerows have not been trimmed in years," said James as he served himself. "And the mounds are dug up by fox and badger."

"Take out the hounds, it will give them some sport," said Sir Edward, shaking his head again. "You must think me a sorry fool allowing myself to be taken in by that scoundrel! I suspected I was being cheated, but I was told by the land agent that Pooley had been steward here for years and was only hampered in his task before by a clutch-fisted master. He gave me to believe that he would have the estate up and running in no time if I was willing to make the repairs. But I could not trust him. Did I not say so, Felicity?"

"Yes you did, my dear. And to tell the truth, James, all the cottages and outbuildings that were within our view were repaired, and the gardens and conservatory were put into order."

"You are correct, ma'am. Everything close by is well maintained, but when you go farther afield all is left to wrack and ruin. It is a wonder the tenants did not approach you about this."

"That fellow has used them ill for years, do doubt. They have been under his rule for so long, they expected no better from me than from the last owner," sighed Sir Edward. "I am glad you've come, my boy. You will soon have everything put to rights. You have a good head on your shoulders, and a good heart too. But it will be a big job, will it not?"

"I am up to it, uncle," said James with a confident smile. "Tomorrow I will try and discover what came of that Pooley fellow, and I will meet with your tenants and let them know that there will be a great change around here. But Uncle, I must tell you, that for all its disrepair, Wortham is a fair prospect. The natural beauty of the hills, the lay of the land, and the home woods are unrivalled. You will have a lovely place here when we have it all squared away."

"Ah yes, the Malvern hills. I have a view of them from the drawing room. It is such a blessing," said Sir Edward. "Being tied close to home is frustrating, but the view of those hills brings me great delight."

"Bye the bye, uncle, I met one of your neighbours when I was out today. Over by the hedgerows that run along the lane bordering the south hayfields. A young lady, the daughter of a gentleman farmer perhaps," said James, casually spearing a slice of roast beef.

"What was her name? Our property runs up against the Farquar estate at some point to the south. There is a daughter, I believe."

"Oh, I do not think it could have been Miss Sophie Farquar, Edward," said Felicity. "She is such a fine young lady; she could hardly be mistaken for the daughter of a gentleman farmer."

"It was quite an accidental meeting," said James hastily, "I did not discover her name nor where she was from. She ran off very quickly."

"If she did not have blonde hair and was not dressed in the height of fashion, it was not Miss Sophie," said Felicity. "The Turnbulls have two daughters, but neither of them would be wandering about alone that far from home. What did she look like?"

"She was wearing a simple dress, rather out-dated, and she had very dark hair and grey eyes."

"Grey eyes is it?" asked Sir Edward with a wink. "You notice details, I see! And has she charmed you completely?"

James blushed slightly. "Not at all. I was merely wondering about her. She was picking brambles, so I thought she must have come from close by."

"We do not yet know all of our neighbours. She may have come from a tenant farm on the Farquar estate. What do you think, Felicity? There may be some young ladies in the families on that estate."

"Yes Edward dear, but I do not think James would have described them as daughters of a gentleman farmer," admonished his wife.

James turned the subject, and the rest of the evening was spent discussing crop rotation, haymaking, and the differences in agriculture between the west of England and the wilds of Cumbria. His aunt Felicity smiled indulgently as Sir Edward rambled on about his beloved Colhaven. At 9:00 she gently reminded her husband that it was time to retire, and they wished James a fond goodnight.

James stayed on in the drawing room gazing into the fire, planning his course of action for the following day, but his mind kept returning to the wide startled eyes that had held his for so long earlier in the day. He sighed and got up to take a walk in the cool of the evening. The sky had turned to a deep darkening blue, and the first stars were out. A white owl passed from the gable of the stables to alight in a big elm. He walked out past the conservatories and orchards, and stared out at the stillness of the evening fields, listening to the wild hum of crickets in the hedgerows. As he stood and contemplated the scene, the stars thickened. He looked up and saw the constellations set out, not much altered from what he was used to in Huntsfield.

James was not the only person staring up at the stars that evening. Emily excused herself from the drawing room shortly after nine. She had thought it best to mention her encounter of the afternoon to her family, but play it down as much as possible. The way Sophie had been going on about it, it would be sure to become general knowledge. Her father had warned her about being wary of strangers, and had said she had acted correctly by running off. Her mother chastised her for the foolishness of leaving Sophie and running about on her own. Nobody had the least idea who the young gentleman might be and dismissed him summarily. Her Aunt Letty entertained her with a tale of a bramble picking experience of her own, and evolved it into a discussion of jams and jellies and their constitutional benefits.

Once in her room, Emily tried to read but found it difficult to concentrate. Anne Elliot was about to go on a very long walk with Henrietta and Louisa, and Mary insisted on coming, though she was not at all fond of walking. She ought to have been interested, especially when the gentlemen joined the walk, but Emily kept recalling her earlier encounter. She could not remember anything of the young man regarding his appearance, save that it was ordinary, but she remembered his kindness, and the feeling of comfort that had come over her in his presence until she had recalled the impropriety of her behaviour, and run off.

Emily put down her book with a sigh and snuffed her candles. She went over to the casement, and threw the window open. The night was calm and fresh. She heard an owl hoot in the distance and saw a rabbit, silvered by the moon, scurry across the lawn. She looked up at the sky, well darkened now and thick with stars. Were there others outside now, gazing at the stars as she was, or were they all in their parlours, drinking their wine and gossiping about their neighbours?

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, after James had breakfasted, he went straight to the steward's house to see if he could discover Pooley's whereabouts. The place had a stark, deserted look about it, with the blinds shut and not even a trickle of smoke rising from the chimneys. James hammered at the door and waited. After a few minutes it was hesitantly opened, and the same untidy maid stood silently looking at him.

"Is Mr. Pooley in today?" he asked with a pleasant smile that set the girl a little more at her ease.

"He be away, yer honour," she said in a quiet voice.

"Has he been at home the last few days?" asked James.

"I've seen nowt of him this week, yer lordship."

"Did he tell you when he planned to return?"

"He told me nuffin, yer honour."

"Please, may I come in?" asked James.

The girl stood aside to let him pass and then lead him down the dim hall to a parlour. It was furnished sparsely, but had evidently had more furniture in it until quite recently. What furniture was left was reasonably good, and James could only surmise that the missing furniture had been even better.

"Has he been moving house, then?" he asked, looking about the room.

"There were a carter come by to fetch things Friday," she said reluctantly.

"Do you expect him back for the remainder?"

"I can't say, yer honour."

James sat down and regarded the girl. "Is there any other servant here?"

"'Tis only me. Old Bob went with the master, yer honour."

"What is your name, Miss?"

"Sarah-Jane, yer lordship."

"Right then, Sarah-Jane. First there is no need to ‘your honour' me. I am not a peer. I am Sir Edward's nephew, and the new steward. You may call me Mr. Warrington, or sir, but not Sir Warrington, your lordship, or your honour. Next, I do not think that Mr. Pooley will return. You can't stay here. You should go home to your family."

"I can't go home. Me pa won't have me on account of . . ." She trailed off; tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. "And I need a job, yer . . . sir."

James looked at her, discomfited by her tears and perplexed as to why she could not go home, until the truth dawned on him. She was a young girl, no older than his sister, and the realisation of the situation she had been in made him burn with anger toward the runaway steward. It appeared Pooley took advantage of everyone he came across. He thought quickly and then said with resolution:

"Go to the kitchen of the great house. Tell the cook that I sent you and you need employment, and a roof over your head. Dry up your tears now, please do."

"Thank ye Mr. Warrington, sir, ye don't know how much . . ." she pulled her apron up to dry her eyes and hid her face in it. James stood there for a minute, and then quietly left the room. A quick search of the house proved that all Pooley's personal effects were missing. When James returned downstairs, the girl stood ready to leave with a pitiful bundle by her side.

"Here be the key, master," she said stretching out her hand to him. "Thank ye agin fer givin' me a chance." She heaved her bundle on her shoulder and started down the track to the great house.

James locked up the house, pondering what should be done about it. There was no sense for it to stand vacant, but he had no use for it himself. He would have to find a tenant. He mounted Sophocles and made his rounds of all the tenant farmers. They were a taciturn lot who eyed him suspiciously. He made no headway at all with them, though he spoke of repairs and improvements. Finally he came to Dalebrook Farm, which was run by Mr. Turnbull. The farmhouse was large and well cared for, with lawns laid out and shrubberies. The barns and outbuildings were all very trim, and what he could see of the fields was well tended.

James went up to the house and introduced himself to Mrs. Turnbull, a comfortable looking matron. She affably told him that he could find her husband and a number of her sons out in the hay fields, and directed him there. In the background he noticed her daughters. They were both agreeable looking girls, but neither was the girl he had bumped into the day before. James took his leave and rode out to where they were making hay. He was increasingly impressed by the appearance of the farm.

There was a crew of about 40 reapers, mowing the wheat with their scythes. The air was filled with the swish of the blade, the ring of the whetstone, and the song of the labourers as they worked. Mr. Turnbull, who was overseeing the harvest from his horse, rode over to meet James. In sharp contrast to the other tenant farmers he was open and accommodating, and spoke like an educated man. He invited James to dine with them that evening when the work was done, and James readily accepted.

The supper was fine, solid country fare. There were a joint of mutton, a gammon of bacon, green peas, wholemeal bread, apple pie, custards, and great chunks of homemade cheese. It was a convivial family group at the dinner table, Mr. Turnbull and his wife, five of their six sons, their two daughters, old Mr. Turnbull, and a cousin who was helping with the haymaking. Talk ranged from the weather to the harvest, Mr. Pooley's iniquities, and James' plans for the estate. It turned out that the oldest Turnbull son, William, was away studying agriculture.

"He has a good way to go, but his intent is to earn a Royal Agricultural Society first class certificate," said his father proudly.

"You will not countenance all he has to learn," added one of the brothers. "Chemistry, botany, mechanics, geology, anatomy and I disremember what else!"

"Book keeping," said another brother, "and land surveying too. Though what use he'll put to all this nonsense I've no idea. I can farm already with no more than reading and writing and my arithmetics."

"And you are not very good at those!" laughed the first brother.

For that he received a friendly shove, and a look of disapprobation from his mother, which was directed at both young men.

"When I was a lad I went out on the farm with my dad and learned from doing, just the same as you two lads. That's all I needed to know to be a farmer. But William wants more than that. He has hopes to buy back the farm and become a gentleman farmer, and it's book-learning that's needed for that," said Mr. Turnbull.

"Aye," said the old man, "Not that ye didn't get learnin' from the parson yerself, son. I saw to that." He turned to James and continued on reminiscently. "Mr. Warrington, my father before me was a yeoman farmer, but what with enclosure, and a few harsh years, came a time we could no more than rub tuppence together. We lost our land and turned to tenancy but always with the mind to come about and buy it back. ‘Tis a hard workin' family, this, an' our William is going to do us all proud, and young Robbie too."

The one of the grown brothers who had not yet spoken looked rather conscious.

"That is so," said his father. "Robbie here is like William and takes to learning like a duck to water. And Lucy and Lilly are being brought up just like gentle folk; they read and write, and play piano like any young society lady."

The two girls blushed rosily and looked down at their plates.

There was a lull in the conversation at this point, and then Mr. Turnbull addressed James again.

"You were saying that you get no co-operation from the other farmers on the estate. I'll tell you why. They have no trust for the gentry or that scoundrel Pooley who's had them under his thumb for years. To them you are a foreigner and gentry, and they want no part of you."

"I was beginning to think the same. What I need is a local man who they will listen to."

"Take young Robbie here," said Mr. Turnbull. "He would jump at the chance to work for you, so long as he can keep up his studies."

James turned to look at the young man. He appeared to be about nineteen, and there was an eager expression upon his face.

"He has no mind to working in the fields," continued his father. "His head is full of bigger things. He wants to put his studies to use in stewardship one day. That Pooley was an inspiration to him, wasn't he lad?"

"Don't give Mr. Warrington the wrong impression," said Robbie with a grin. "The only way old Pooley inspired me was to make me want there to be good, fair dealing stewards. Then I realised that if I wanted the job done right, I had to do it myself!"

"Would you be interested in assisting me?" asked James on impulse.

Robbie's eyes shone. "That I would!"

"I'll go and talk to Mr. Chesterton about it and arrange a time for your studies that will suit us all. I have been wanting to make his acquaintance anyway."

"The parson be a right good man," said old Mr. Turnbull reverently.

When the meal ended and James took his leave, plans were in place for Robbie to join him in the morning. They were to go into Great Malvern together to hire transient labourers for the harvest.

"Ye'll need some young lads first to pull the weeds afore scythin' that barley," said the old man. "An' here's hopin' they don't trample the lot fer ye."

"Tom and Dick could be sent to start for you," said Mr. Turnbull, indicating his two youngest, sturdy lads of ten and twelve. "And they could round up some young lads from the other farms."

James thanked them and left with a feeling of accomplishment; tomorrow his real work was to begin. He knew it was late to start the harvest and he hoped that labourers could still be found.

When he returned home, he went straight to the kitchen to speak with the cook about Sarah-Jane.

"I don't think the wee thing had eaten a proper meal in days," said Mrs. Willins, wiping her hands on her apron. "I fed her a bite and put her to work in the laundry. In a house this size we can always use another pair of hands."

"I'm so glad," said James. "She appeared to be all alone in the world with nowhere to go."

"Well, she's in good hands now. I put a cot in Martha's room, up in the attics; she'll be right snug in there. Still there be one thing that worries me."

"What is that?" asked James in concern.

"Well, young master," the kindly cook looked a trifle abashed, "She will only be able to work a few months more. She is with child."

James was shocked into silence for a few moments, and then answered slowly, "Will that be a problem for you? Can she not stay here with the child and return to work when she is able?"

"You are a kind lad, master James," said Mrs. Willins warmly. "Many a master would send her to the street. How will Sir Edward respond?"

"I will talk with my uncle, but I assure you I do not believe he would let her go. She is not at fault here and requires our compassion and assistance," replied James adamantly.

"Bless you sir."

The next two days James was at work from dawn to dusk, organising the labour crews and overseeing the harvest. He found Robbie to be a great boon, enthusiastic and industrious, with a confident and amiable manner in dealing with people. On Saturday morning he set out across the fields to make the acquaintance of the parson, Mr. Chesterton, and discuss, among other things, the course of education for this enterprising young man.

Chapter Fifteen

"Emily, you have so many new and lovely gowns," cried her mama when Emily came down to breakfast, "why do you continue to wear such old and faded ones? I want you to change at once!"

Emily looked down at her dress. It had been one of her very favourites and had been worn often. It was a mellow, moss green with simple lines and little ornamentation. "Mama, I am going with Ruth Chesterton to visit the needy of the parish. This gown is most suitable."

"You are going out in public dressed in that old thing? I think not."

"Mother, it would not do to wear a fine new gown. I am visiting the poor and ailing, it is better that I dress thus."

"Why does Miss Ruth drag you out on such excursions? It is well and good for her, a parson's daughter, to be taken up with charitable works, but you have no need to," said Maude Sidford crossly. "You may catch some dread disease! It is not the place for someone of your refinement. You should be practising the instrument, or painting, or visiting with Miss Sophie or Lord Ralph."

"I will practise upon my return home mama. I have never yet gone about with Ruth on her parish duties, and I should like to," said Emily looking at her mother imploringly.

"I can't see why. It shall be very dreary."

Letty had kept silent through this exchange, but now thought it might not be out of place to give her opinion. "Maude, I think it would be good for the girl. As Lady Prescott, such considerations will be expected of her from time to time. We would not want it to be supposed that she does not know how to perform her duties."

"What you say makes sense, sister," said Maude, always ready to promote anything that would make her daughter look the part of Lady of the Manor. "But should she not dress better?"

"I think her choice of dress shows good sense," said Letty with a little smile.

"Thank you, Auntie," said Emily softly.

"Well, I suppose if you are to go, you must inform the stables to make the carriage ready," said Maude Sidford dismissively, no longer interested in the subject.

"I was thinking to take the gig out," said Emily.

"The gig? My daughter driving through the village, sitting beside a groom? Wherever do you get these ideas?" said Maude Sidford, aghast.

"I was planning to drive myself, and take Alice with me," said Emily. "Shadow is such a docile old mare; she will give me no trouble."

"Taking your maid would be most acceptable," said Letty quickly, before Maude could make any demur. "It is the utmost of propriety for a lady to drive out with her maid."

"I suppose so," said Maude reluctantly. "But I do hope you do not make a habit of this type of outing."

After breakfast, Emily went to the kitchen to collect the basket of jellies cook had prepared for her.

"The pork jelly be the best for buildin' up the constitution," she said as she bustled about the kitchen, "but the wee ones should be glad o' yer bramble jelly. And ye had better take a bunch o' these herbs for making teas."

Emily thanked her and, taking the basket, went off in search of Mrs. Rollins, the housekeeper. Ruth had told her that besides restorative jellies, old clothing and bedding would be greatly appreciated. Mrs. Rollins helped her fit as much as she could into the basket, and then she left it in the hall and went up to her room to find Alice. As she walked in the door, she noticed the girl surreptitiously put a book down.

"Pardon me, Miss Emily," said Alice nervously.

"Oh, do you read, Alice?" asked Emily.

"I know my letters, but I can only make out a few words. I would dearly like to," she replied wistfully.

"There are books in the nursery still that I could lend to you, if you would like to try to learn," offered Emily.

"Thank you, Miss. That is kind, though I don't know when I would find the time."

Emily pondered this as they went downstairs together. The gig was ready and she got in as the groom held Shadow's traces. Alice passed up the basket and then jumped in herself. Shadow was a steady, obedient horse and took them slowly through the lanes with little effort on Emily's part at all.

Emily had never really considered Alice's life before. The girl had been waiting on her for three years now, tidying her room, preparing her clothes, and dressing her hair. She was always there when she needed something, quietly going about her tasks, but Emily had never really talked to her about anything other than her own needs. She had never thought about what Alice might do with her free time, or even how much free time she had. How is it that I have known this girl for three years, and I do not know her at all? I know she is a servant but -- Emily suddenly had a very subversive thought -- she is a person too. Of course Alice was of a lower class, and not someone suited for friendship, but to know so little of her did not somehow seem right either. Emily wondered at herself. Lately she had been getting quite unorthodox ideas. She did not know what her mother would think, or Lady Prescott and Lord Ralph for that matter, if she should ever voice them.
Emily turned to Alice and asked, "Do you not have much time for yourself?"

"I get half days every Saturday, Miss Emily."

"Is that all?"

"I get two days every year to visit my family, but I spend most of that time helping me mother with the little ones."

"What will you do while I am out with Ruth Chesterton?"

"Will I not accompany you?" asked Alice in surprise.

"There is only room for two in the gig."

"Then should I walk back to Barstow Hall?" asked Alice, her confusion showing plainly on her face.

"Of course not. I should not expect you to walk all that way. Besides you will need to accompany me on my return trip."

"I should ha' brought some mending to do in the back room of the parsonage," said Alice regretfully.

"I have a better idea," said Emily, smiling.

"What is that, Miss?"

"You shall see,' said Emily as she turned the gig up the parsonage drive.

As James walked across the open meadow, he took out Mary's latest letter and re-read it. His sister wrote a with a bright style that brought everything of home to life for him:

I finally returned Louisa Farnham's visit. I was so afraid to go lest I should see some of my old courtiers there! As luck would have it she was alone and my relief was immense. She is a nice girl. I think that is the perfect word to describe her. She is just interesting enough to avoid being insipid, but not enough to be interesting! She talked on about all her beaux with much relish so you can rest assured that what Mr. Hastings and I accomplished was of service to her as well as myself!

Mary put down her pen and contemplated what she had just written. It was more or less the truth, save one thing. There was something that bothered Mary, though why it should, she had no idea. Of all the gentlemen, it appeared that Louisa liked Mr. Hastings the best. She certainly made mention of him more than any other fellow. Because Mary could not reconcile herself to this feeling, she made no mention of her suspicions, to either her brother or Mr. Hastings. She just watched him very closely whenever Miss Farnham was mentioned. So far she could detect nothing in his demeanour to indicate interest one way or the other. She liked to believe that he had more taste than to fall for someone of so little substance. She picked up her pen and resumed writing.

But I have much more interesting news to impart than that! I have made the acquaintance of Mr. Hastings' cousin, Viola Broome. She is an exceptional lady! I am certain that we shall become fast friends. She has a very lively personality, and takes an eager interest in many things. She is passionate about gardening, and long walks. I fear I shall become disgustingly healthy if I spend too much time with her! She also reads the same novels as I do, so we had much to discuss! Mr. Hastings asked very kindly after you. I have been invited to call on them next week, and when I do we shall tour his estate, so I shall finally have my tour after all, and meet his mother! You no longer need fear that I will be lonely without you here, though I do miss you.

Have you heard the latest news from Anne? She tells me she has a Lord paying her court! She appears to be quite delighted with him, mostly because he is a Lord. He does not sound at all handsome, and he is fearfully old. Thirty! Can you credit it! Twelve years her senior. He is already a widower, and has a young daughter. Anne says thank goodness it is not a son, so her own child can be the heir, if she decides to marry him. He has to ask her first! I hardly think she can be in love with him, do you?

I was pleased to hear that you had a good trip! I would like to meet Uncle Edward and Aunt Felicity. They sound to be very agreeable. I'm sure you shall settle well there. It sounds you have a deal to accomplish on the estate. Take care, don't work too hard, and don't forget your favourite sister!

James smiled and folded up the letter. He kept a steady pace through the meadow as his eye wandered to the fields beyond. The barley was yellowed now, with just a faint tinge of green left, and here and there dashes of rusty orange. Full time to harvest the fields, he thought. He passed over a stile and found himself at the paling of the park that surrounded the parsonage. The rich green grass and deep shade from the trees and shrubs enticed him. He decided to make his way to the parsonage through the park, and entered by way of a gate. Birds sang high in the trees, and he felt a fullness of spirit as he made his way along the path that he hoped would lead him to the parson's abode.

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