When she nodded, he felt that conflicting emotion: anticipation and apprehension.

  * * *

  The road through to the village was unchanged, save for additional ruts and puddles. Dolph saw shutters hanging loose and broken fences. Several chickens walked on the road and a cow stood close to the verge, its hip bones protruding.

  ‘You must think I’m like the landlords in your father’s parish,’ he said, seeing the landscape as it must seem to Abby.

  ‘The Ashleighs? I don’t know yet.’

  ‘You don’t know? Their estate was worse?’ he asked.

  ‘No, better, but the question is will you make things right?’

  ‘I will,’ he said.

  ‘Then you are not like the Ashleighs,’ she said in her blunt way, as though stating a truth or certainty.

  They continued to walk. He glanced at her calm, composed features. There was a steadying, intelligent strength about her and an allure which seemed all the greater because it was obscured, seemingly hidden under the sensible and circumspect.

  ‘I have heard that turnips can help restore a field,’ she said.

  He laughed, the image a of lithe goddess overshadowed by a root vegetable.

  ‘Turnips amuse you?’

  ‘Only when combined with Aphrodite.’

  She frowned. ‘I like Greek mythology as much as anyone, but given the current situation, it is best to concentrate on the estate.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘As soon as the estate manager returns, I will find out more.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘I hired him. Or approved his appointment,’ he said.

  Truthfully, he’d met Trent once, in London, following his mother’s death. The previous estate manager had retired and Dolph’s man of business had found Trent. Dolph scarcely remembered the appointment. He had a blurred recollection of a slim, middle-aged gentleman, well dressed but with sufficient blandness to fit in to almost any environment.

  ‘I found that after Father’s death, there were big holes in my memory. I would do things, you know, normal things like arranging flowers or packing, and yet I couldn’t properly remember. I felt frozen.’

  ‘Numb,’ Dolph said. ‘That’s how I felt. How I have been feeling. Particularly after Mother’s death—it was so unexpected.’

  Like death had neglected to issue an appropriate warning.

  ‘Sometimes I felt like I was someone else,’ she said. ‘Or had two selves, a before and an after.

  ‘I remembered making arrangements, going through the process, talking to the vicar. But I felt like an actor. No more real than a London stage play. ‘

  ‘Ignatius helped me.’

  He laughed. ‘Just when a conversation is getting serious you do have a way of adding levity. What did Ignatius do exactly?’

  ‘Gave me purpose. Maybe the estate could do that for you?’

  So what would you suggest?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Yes, you said you were always telling the Ashleighs how to make things better. What you would say to me, as a landlord?

  She looked at him, full lips slightly pursed, brows raised in question, as though trying to determine if he was serious in his request.

  ‘My guess is that Mr Trent is embezzling funds or managing the estate extremely poorly. This means that there is no investment being made in seed or materials. Therefore, you need to look through the finances. As you noted, the animals are malnourished so food is a priority. The boys also looked quite thin, so I would question whether some of the tenants are also struggling to feed their families. Doubtless someone in the village will know who is in need. Does the estate have its own livestock?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  ‘Get dairy cows and chickens. Then you can ensure that the village children always have sufficient milk and eggs. Make certain that seeds are purchased for the upcoming season. Also there are several fields which appear to be lying fallow but, as mentioned, they might well support turnips.’

  Her words sparked his own ideas and he felt a surprising rush of excitement. ‘I will close the London house for now. The servants can come down here. I have already ordered boots and shoes. They can bring some down and also provide additional support. Of course, they are not used to the country but could help to hand out food or repair fences.’

  ‘While I am here, I am happy to help.’

  ‘Mrs Harrington will not want you to miss any instruction from my great-aunt.’

  ‘She is coming?’

  ‘Yes, I got a letter. Apparently she is alive and eager to help. She stays with relatives, rotating through the year, and is quite happy to add me to the list.’

  ‘You realize that you may become a permanent part of the rotation.’

  ‘It is entirely possible.’ He smiled.

  He looked around, towards the small church at the crest of the hill, the fields and cottages.

  ‘I am going to make this better. After Barnaby died we all stayed in London. My father was ill. My mother was heartbroken. Thank you for your ideas.’

  ‘I always have ideas,’ she said.

  He smiled and felt a pulse of something pushing away the ennui and the numbness.

  He felt hope.

  * * *

  Abby watched his face. He seemed different from the world-weary aristocrat in London. He seemed less remote, less likely to hide behind the brittle joke or glib words. They walked with surprising compatibility, up the slight incline towards the church.

  ‘St David’s on the Lake,’ he said.

  It was a simple structure, with a single spire, nestled under a large tree. Its branches were still bare but touched with green and the inherent promise of new growth. A graveyard was visible to the left, a patchwork of moss-covered graves. The church itself had a somewhat dilapidated appearance. Slates had fallen from the roof and the northern walls shone green with moss but it was not dissimilar to her father’s church and brought with it comfort.

  ‘Are your parents buried there?’ she asked as they approached the structure.

  He shook his head. ‘No, in the mausoleum on the estate. But their names and Barnaby’s are engraved on the family pew.’

  The side door opened and the vicar came out. She watched him approach, the familiar black cassock flapping in the wind.

  ‘Greetings, Lord Lansdowne, I had heard you were here.’ His voice had the slight huskiness of the elderly.

  The dark cloth rustled with his movement and, as he approached, she saw that he had a stooped figure as though old and shrunken with the years.

  ‘Mr Walther, let me introduce Miss Abigail Carstens. Her father was a vicar.’

  ‘A great pleasure to meet you, my dear,’ he said, something in his tone making the platitude seem genuine. His face was like a net of wrinkles fanning out from blue eyes, still bright despite his years.

  ‘You as well,’ she said.

  ‘Now, Lord Lansdowne, I take it this is not a social call. How can I help you?’

  Dolph smiled. ‘You never did mince words.’

  ‘At my age, I find it best not to waste time,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know what is happening here? Why is the village so derelict?’

  ‘You are also direct. More direct than I recall.’

  ‘I have learned the skill from an expert,’ Dolph said, glancing at Abby.

  ‘Poor harvests, weather, competition from other estates, mismanagement by Mr Trent,’ the vicar said succinctly. ‘I did write to you.’

  ‘I—My man of business must have thought it a personal letter. Apologies—I have got behind in my correspondence,’ Dolph said.

  Abby noted his discomfort. He shifted uneasily but what struck her more was that he had allowed it to show, instead of hiding it under humour.

  ‘Lord Lansdowne has many plans for the estate now,’ she said, almost as though wanting to defend him.

  ‘Indeed, I am glad to hear it.’

  ‘I will also help financially to set the tenants back on their feet. Do you know if there are any tenants really struggling’

  ‘Mrs Kent. You might recall her—she manages the flowers and really everything else. She will have a list in her mind. But I’d say the Tatlocks are my primary concern. The father died of pneumonia, leaving Mrs Tatlock and her three children, Albert, Eloise and—’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘I cannot recall the little girl’s name. What is my memory coming to?’

  Abby remembered the bright boy with the freckles. ‘We met an Albert this morning. He had sandy hair, a little messy, and freckles.’

  ‘Sounds like one and the same.’

  Dolph nodded. ‘He was with two other boys. I am getting them shoes and clothes.’

  ‘That would be Harry and Thomas. Where you see one, you will see the others,’ Mr Walther said with fondness.

  ‘Do they have sufficient food?’ Abby asked.

  ‘Mrs Kent and I do our best to make sure their bellies are not too hungry and their pride is not too hurt.’

  ‘I can help. I mean while I’m here. I used to help in my father’s parish,’ Abby said.

  ‘I am certain that would be appreciated though you’ll have to mind how you go.’

  ‘I will ensure that Mrs Kent feels that she is doing me a great favour.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’ The vicar smiled, his blue eyes almost disappearing within the pouches of his wrinkled cheeks.

  ‘Is there a school?’

  The vicar shook his head. ‘Not for a few years now.’

  Dolph glanced at her, a smile flitting across his face. ‘I will make that a priority, I promise.’

  ‘You are keen on education, Miss?’ the vicar asked.

  ‘Yes, it provides opportunity. A poor boy with education might access the halls of power,’ she said.

  ‘You have progressive ideas?’

  ‘I believe that there will always be inequity but that education is likely the best, the only way, to help lessen it.

  ‘My tutor used to say things like that,’ Dolph said, surprising himself.

  ‘I recall Mr Jennings,’ the vicar said. ‘Your father fired him, I recall.’

  ‘Yes, after I’d made my creation—you know, the wood on two cart wheels.’

  ‘I recall your brother had an accident with it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dolph said.

  ‘And you never saw him again?’ Abby asked.

  Dolph laughed. ‘Oh, no, nothing so dramatic. He gained employment at a boys’ school. I met him for a drink when I went to Cambridge.’

  ‘Oh, that is a relief.’

  Except oddly it wasn’t. ‘We had nothing to discuss. I think the stodginess of the porridge served at his school was the highlight of the conversation.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  It was, although he did not know why. Mr Jennings had been hale and hearty. Robust even. Why did it seem sadder than if he had been some frail poet, starving as he clung to his ideals?

  The vicar brought him back to the present. ‘So, Your Lordship, will you be staying here for a while then?’

  ‘Long enough to make certain things have improved.’

  ‘I am glad,’ Mr Walther said. ‘If I might add, my lord, that you do belong here, you know.’

  Dolph stiffened. ‘I am aware of my title and responsibilities.’

  For a moment, the vicar said nothing, pressing his gnarled fingers together and studying Dolph’s face as though his expression might provide a clue or information.

  ‘Do you mind if I speak freely, my lord?’

  ‘You have seemed able to do so thus far,’ Dolph said.

  ‘I can let you talk,’ Abby said, feeling perhaps her presence was intrusive.

  ‘Good heavens, we have already established that I need to pull up my socks as landlord. I don’t think I have any other dark secrets.’

  ‘Loss and grief do odd things to a body,’ the vicar said.

  ‘Also not a revelation. Nor will I use it anymore as an excuse. I am the landlord and I will ensure that the tenants are not hungry or barefoot or uneducated.’

  ‘Indeed, but I was not referring to your grief, although I believe it to be very real. I saw your parents bury three children.’

  ‘My brothers.’

  ‘When you were born, you were a such a small, tiny mite of a thing. Would never believe that to look at you now.’

  ‘An infant’s size does tend to change in thirty years.’

  ‘They didn’t expect you’d survive. I remember I was called in right quick for the baptism,’ he said.

  ‘I do like to surpass expectations.’

  ‘It made them frightened to love you properly, I think. Or take their eyes off Barnaby. At least during those early years.’

  ‘Is that why Mother did not visit frequently and Father stayed away?’

  ‘A part of the reason, I would guess. Strange how fear can make you love one son all the more and yet the anticipation of an infant’s death can prevent one from properly loving that child. That is why I wanted to say. You do belong.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dolph said.

  Chapter Ten

  The next few days were oddly pleasant. Mrs Kent had provided a list individuals that were lacking in basic needs. The staff from London arrived with provisions. Martin located animal feed and had bought, pigs, cows and several hens. The latter purchase was not entirely successful as the hens refused to lay and Mrs Fred felt that Martin had been bamboozled.

  To be fair, Martin had grown up in London and was likely not fully proficient in hens or their laying habits.

  Meanwhile Abby, Lucy, Mrs Fred and Mrs Kent organized a method for distributing these goods and Dolph kept himself busy making arrangements for his aged relatives travel, organizing work parties and going through the ledger. He found that the financial information was scant but sufficient to prove that the estate had been poorly managed, even if there was insufficient evidence for criminal changes.

  Therefore, the moment Trent returned, Dolph had asked that he be brought immediately to the study.

  ‘Mr Trent, my lord,’ Benton intoned from the study door.

  One could always tell Benton’s opinion of a visitor by the tone of his voice. It would appear that Mr Trent had not impressed him.

  ‘Thank you,’ Dolph said pleasantly. ‘Do come in.’

  Mr Trent entered. He still appeared somewhat bland. His face was pale, except for his nose, which was red and laced with a pattern of tiny veins. His eyes were a very light blue but also bloodshot, and his hands looked white and doughy as though unused to physical labour.

  He crossed the floor, seating himself in the chair opposite. His clothes, while of decent quality, were dirty and Dolph could detect the smell of whiskey, mixed with sweat.

  ‘I will have to release you from my employ, Mr Trent,’ Dolph said without preamble.

  The man started, either not anticipating these words, or at least not stated so bluntly. His mouth opened slightly and he licked his lips as if they were suddenly dry.

  ‘I—we have had a run of bad luck, my lord. Poor weather, poor harvest, sickness among the animals. Indeed, I have done my utmost,’ he said

  ‘No doubt,’ Dolph said. ‘However, your utmost appears to have involved rather a lot of alcohol.’

  ‘I have a few drinks while getting supplies for the tenants, seeds and the like. I mean, that is the way of the world. Likely got them a better price, you know, by being sociable,’ he said, adding to these words by tapping his nose with his forefinger.

  ‘I look forward to seeing the seeds. However, I doubt you got a better price by purchasing drink for the farmer. It is more likely you got a worse price because your faculties were impaired.’

  ‘My faculties? My faculties are not impaired.’

  ‘I am glad of that. However, I intend to be more involved in the estate now, so your services are not required.’

  ‘Involved, Your Lordship? I am not wanting to be rude but I question how much you would be knowing about running an estate.’

  ‘Likely not as much as I should. However, I know sufficient not to drink the profits and that the seed you brought is less than needed and of poor quality.’

  Trent stood, now embracing moral outrage. ‘Your Lordship, I have never been so insulted. If you are accusing me of a crime, do so now so that I can answer the charge within a court of law.’

  ‘That seems unnecessarily melodramatic. I had decided not to involve the law. However, if you insist, I suppose I could pursue a legal route.’

  Mr Trent gaped, looking somewhat like a fish out of water, gulping in an attempt to breathe.

  ‘I mean, I quite understand that, being a man of honour, you feel the need to answer in a court of law. I have taken a cursory look through these.’ Dolph tapped the ledger with a forefinger. ‘However, I am certain that my man of business will be able to make a more complete accounting and that the results should be sufficient to support a case against you, if you would like.’

  Mr Trent closed his mouth, pursing his lips. ‘Your Lordship has obviously made up your mind. I will not stay where I am unwelcome and where my abilities are so unappreciated.’

  ‘Indeed, so shall we agree that you are dismissed without reference? And if you could remove yourself from the manager’s cottage by tomorrow that would be most welcome.’

  ‘I certainly will not remain anywhere I am not wanted.’

  ‘Good to hear.’ Dolph rang the bell. ‘Benton will see you out.’

  Mr Trent left. Dolph heard his voice complaining to Benton as they crossed the hall.

  He got up. Truthfully, the interview with Trent had left him restless. How could he have even hired the man? Or had he not cared?

  It was a pleasant day for early spring. He walked up towards the small knoll which overlooked the estate. He’d gone there often with Barnaby as a child. They’d climb the huge oak tree at its summit. He remembered once trying to make a swing by tying the hemp rope about the bough. Then, clinging like a monkey, he had swung on it, until the branch had snapped, spilling him onto the ground.

 

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