by Jayne Davis
Will felt his face reddening; he should have known. “I do beg your pardon, sir.”
Nancarrow laughed again. “No matter. To speak plain, my lord, I’m pleased you take enough interest to see me. Since your esteemed mother died, my recommendations for improvements have invariably been ignored. I am hoping that will change—you have some good land here, and it could be more productive. It just about supports itself, but some investment should recoup the cost within a few years.”
“I intend to do what I can, yes,” Will said, warming to the man. He was certainly different from the steward at Marstone Park. “Tell me about the farms, if you please.” He unrolled his map, weighing the corners down with books. On his drive with Connie, he’d been more interested in her reactions than in the state of the fields they’d driven past.
“I made some notes, my lord.” Nancarrow put a folded sheaf of papers on the desk. “Best you go to see for yourself, but I can quickly run through things.”
“Please do.”
“Home Farm.” Nancarrow pointed. “That’s Abel Stevens. Doing a good job, but the barns…”
That was almost on the way to the cliff tops; he could walk over there later.
“…Dennison, at Quarry Farm. Poor soil, but he does his…”
Visiting the farms would keep him busy for a few days.
“…definitely visit Knap Hill Farm. Mrs Goodman makes splendid squab pies.” Nancarrow patted his ample stomach. “Don’t drink more than a small glass of her cider, though, or they’ll be carrying you home.”
Will laughed. He liked this man, and his comments sounded sensible and to the point. He paid close attention as the steward discussed the other tenants, and at the end of the meeting Will had a detailed set of his own notes.
Sorting out the estate would take some time, and money. He wasn’t sure how far his quarterly allowance would stretch, so he’d have to prioritise Nancarrow’s recommendations. First, he’d talk to all the farmers himself, then compare what they said with Nancarrow’s conclusions and the account books. After that he would need to work out what funds he had, what income to expect, and how best to allocate it all. It should, eventually, provide a comfortable income.
He rubbed a hand through his hair. A long process, and too much of it involving poring over ledgers. He sighed and started to sort his notes into better order.
“Ate a small breakfast,” Mrs Curnow replied, when Connie asked her how Mrs Strickland was faring.
“Let me know how she’s getting on, please,” Connie said. “You’re more likely to get a true report from her than I am.”
“I will, my lady.”
Connie spent the rest of her morning with duster and beeswax polish in hand, helping Sukey and the other maids to clean her new small parlour while Barton took the carpet outside to beat it. Then she had Barton and Warren move in the writing desk and another table from one of the bedrooms. It would be a lovely little room to sit in for sewing, looking out over the lawns.
She sent the two maids off to the kitchen for a drink, and to ask Mrs Curnow to provide refreshments in the parlour. Will joined her there shortly afterwards.
“I’ve seen Nancarrow,” he began, helping himself to a slice of pigeon pie. “I need to visit the various farms to check his recommendations. It seems there is much to be done. Repairs to buildings, some land to be drained…”
Connie watched his face as he talked. He seemed to be reciting the improvements from memory, with more enthusiasm than she expected for such a list of mundane tasks.
Finally he broke off, looking embarrassed. “My apologies for boring you with the details.”
“I wasn’t bored.” She was pleased he’d shared the information with her. “Are you to visit them today?”
“I was intending to start, yes. Would you care to come with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Will took the chaise, with Connie beside him and Archer on the seat at the back. He was going to need Archer as an ally, so he’d need to learn his way around the area.
They went to Home Farm first. As they approached, Will took in the barn roof patched up with tarpaulin and rope, which contrasted with the spick and span farmhouse, its step and front path swept and the windows clean. Mrs Stevens answered his knock, and he introduced himself.
“Stevens is in the end fields, my lord,” she said, folding her arms. “He’s not like to be back until evening. About our barn at last, is it? If you be wanting to fix a time, I’ll tell him you want to see him.”
“Thank you, Mrs Stevens.” He’d planned on going to Exeter again the following day. “The day after tomorrow, if that is convenient?” Will gave her his most charming smile, to no avail; Mrs Stevens gave him a curt nod, then looked beyond him to where Connie still sat in the chaise.
“Is that Lady Wingrave, my lord? I heard there was a new mistress at the big house.”
Connie must have heard, or seen the woman’s look, for she jumped down and joined Will.
“You have a lovely neat farm, Mrs Stevens,” she said, her gaze moving from the windows to the step. “I hope it’s not been too difficult these past few years, without a proper steward?”
Mrs Stevens’ face softened a little. “We gets by, my lady.”
“Lord Wingrave is keen to make the estates prosper,” Connie went on. “But I can see you are busy—perhaps I could accompany Lord Wingrave when he comes again? Mr Stevens can tell Lord Wingrave what needs doing on the land, and you can show me any problems with the house.”
“That’ll be fine, my lady.” Mrs Stevens made a passable attempt at a curtsey.
Will nodded at her, and held his arm out for Connie. He didn’t speak until the chaise was bowling down the road, well out of earshot of the farmhouse.
“Thank you,” he said. “You turned her up sweet very nicely.”
She chuckled. “There are ways of making it clear the state of their barn isn’t your fault without actually saying so. That, and the promise to get it mended, should do the trick with Mr Stevens, if he’s anything like his wife.”
“Do you mind having to come back again?”
She turned to face him. “No, not at all. No more than you will mind talking to Stevens.”
That was a fair point. They would make a good team, he hoped.
“Do you think it might be better to send a message to the other farms?” she asked, her tone diffident. “Then they can think about what they want to say before you get there. Some of them might not find it easy to talk to you instead of Mr Nancarrow.”
“Good idea. I don’t think Mrs Stevens would be shy about it, though.”
She chuckled. “No, not from what I saw.”
He wondered if she was laughing at him, a little. If she was, he didn’t mind. He pulled the chaise to a halt.
“If we are not to visit other farms now, would you care for a walk instead? We could go to Lion Rocks, and come back through the woods above Ashmouth. It would be about three miles.”
“Yes, please. It would be good to get some exercise.”
“It’s not too far for you?”
“No. I was used to walking a lot at home. I mean, at Nether Minster.”
Will sent Archer back with the chaise and offered Connie his arm. They walked across the fields together, then along the familiar path up to the rocks, until they were on the cliff top with the sound of the waves below them.
“I’ll bring the bird book with me next time,” Connie said, seating herself on the grass at the top of the cliff.
He wished he’d brought it this time, as he failed to identify most of the birds she spotted. She’d keep him on his toes with her thirst for knowledge; he found himself looking forward to the challenge. “You can often see seals from here,” he said, in an attempt to distract her from his ignorance. “Dolphins and porpoises, too, sometimes.”
“Really?” Connie’s eyes sparkled as she smiled, then she turned seawards to scan the water below. While she watched, he examined the view from the
perspective of a smuggler.
Did they use the spot for a lookout? It was possible—there was a clear view along the coast to the east, but the sea beyond the mouth of the River Ash was hidden, and a lookout would have to walk a mile or so before being able to signal down to the village.
He wanted to find the path he’d failed to follow last night, so when Connie finally gave up hoping for seals, he led the way along the cliff top. As they neared Ashmouth, a worn track in the scrubby grass appeared, eventually turning into a stony path zig zagging down the final steep hillside.
Will paused at the top. “I don’t want to go right down to the village. I think I remember a path back to Ashton Tracey from half way down, but if I’m wrong we’ll have to climb back up here again.”
“That’s all right.” Connie moved slowly on the steep path, bunching her skirts and peering down as she placed her feet.
Nice ankles, slim.
About half-way down, a small level area near a bend in the path afforded a clear view into the cove and a little way up the road. This was the place he’d remembered, about fifty feet above the sand, with the path home branching off a few yards further down.
A fishing boat was hoisting its sails in the bay below. They watched until it cleared the far headland, then Will led the way back, Connie keeping up with him easily on the flatter terrain. He made a note of where the path emerged from the woods so he could find it in the dark tonight.
Connie headed straight for the library when they got back, taking the bird book away to her parlour and leaving Will to his ledgers. He’d have to steal the book back if he was to keep up with her.
Sukey made a quicker and tidier job of Connie’s hair this time, and then stood back to consider her work.
“I hope that’s all right. Are you wanting that gown, my lady?”
Sukey pointed at the yellow gown draped across the bed. Connie had laid it there to help her decide how to rework it.
“No. That was my mother’s, I’m going to alter it to fit me.”
“It’s beautiful material, my lady.” Sukey stroked one hand down the skirts. “Ma would like to…” She bit her lip and looked away.
“Do you think your mother would like a gown like that?” Connie asked, wondering why Sukey hadn’t said that she would like such a garment.
“No, my lady. Well, she would, but I was meaning Ma used to do sewing before… She’d have liked to work with something like that.” Sukey gave the brocade one last stroke. “Is there anything else, my lady?”
“No, thank you.”
She would ask Will if she could take on someone to help with the sewing.
“I discussed household expenses with Nancarrow today, as well as the farms,” Will said, passing her a dish of vegetables.
Connie looked up sharply, then let out a breath. This was not her father, who only mentioned expenses to complain.
“Overall, there is sufficient money to take on more staff,” Will continued.
“Oh, good.” That meant she needed to make some decisions. “More gardeners, I think, if Yatton is to grow enough for our use.”
“And indoor staff? Mrs Strickland would know.” He paused. “How is she, by the way?”
“Still in need of rest. I think her ankle is broken, so it will be some time before she’s about again.” She smiled. “I’m hoping she takes a long convalescence.”
“Ha, yes. Can you manage without her? This house must be larger than you’re used to.”
“It’s not so different.” People had the same mixture of faults and strengths no matter the size of house they worked in. “I’ll ask her about staff.” She could always check with Mrs Curnow and Warren if the housekeeper wasn’t well enough—or wasn’t sufficiently helpful. Mrs Trasker could be taken on, too, but Connie knew she would have to take all their needs into account. Getting the kitchen garden ready for autumn planting was more important than her gowns.
“A couple more maids would be useful.” She wouldn’t need to consult Mrs Strickland about that. “We would need more kitchen staff as well if you are thinking of entertaining.”
“Not at present. I’m about to send a letter to my friend, Harry Tregarth, saying he can visit whenever he pleases, but he will not need any special treatment.” Will paused, raising one brow. “Unless you wish to entertain. We should have some contact with nearby families.”
“I would rather settle in properly first.” The prospect of entertaining other people of rank worried her more than managing servants.
“So would I.” He smiled. “Once I’m more familiar with the area, I might be able to manage polite conversation with the local gentry. I need to go to Exeter tomorrow,” he added. “Do you wish to accompany me?”
She would love to, but she also wanted to start remaking that gown. “Thank you, but no. I should keep an eye on Mrs Strickland, and think about new staff. But would you buy some other things?” She’d already been given permission to take on new servants, but this would be for the household as well. “The stillroom needs restocking.”
“Of course. List anything you need—if there is too much for the chaise, I’m sure I can get a carrier to deliver the rest.”
He was not her father.
“Why is that amusing?” Will was looking enquiringly at her.
She must have smiled at her thought. “It is so refreshing to be able to buy things without having to use endless persuasion.”
He smiled. “We should not be extravagant, Connie, but there is no need for penny pinching.”
Perhaps, when she knew how much she needed to spend on wages for the new staff, she might ask if she could buy some new gowns.
Will glanced at her plate. “If you have finished, shall we retire to the library?”
Connie tried to keep her eyes on her book, even remembering to turn a page now and then to make it appear she was reading. Will had not opened the volume he had chosen; when she glanced his way, his gaze was fixed on her. There was something in his eyes that made her feel uneasy. No, not uneasy, exactly: a slight breathlessness, and a strange feeling in her stomach that wasn’t fear.
After turning a few more pages, with her eyes running across the words but her mind not absorbing them, she finally gave up. She closed the book and rose to her feet.
“If you will excuse me, I need to make a list for tomorrow.”
There was no reason he should object, but she was relieved to see him smile as he spoke. “Do rejoin me later, if you wish.”
“I… perhaps.” She left Tristram Shandy on the table, taking with her instead the book of household receipts that Martha had loaned. She should get Will to buy a copy of the book for her to keep.
In the kitchen, Mrs Curnow gave her paper and a pencil. As she drew up her list of essentials, the task gradually removed that odd feeling. Some remedies she could make herself, given time and the cooperation of the gardener, but for now it was best to buy salves and tinctures, and enough dried herbs to make poultices and tisanes.
In the stillroom, Connie could tick off only a few of the items on her list. She made a fresh copy of the things to be bought and, as an afterthought, added the details of the household receipts book and the thread and pins she would need for altering her mother’s dresses.
Tired, but not sleepy, she sat by an open window in her chemise, enjoying the cool air on her body and emptying her mind of the events of the day as birdsong quietened with the fading light.
Sounds from the connecting door told her that Will was in his room. That look earlier—did he want to join her tonight? She couldn’t tell from the sounds where he was in the room, whether he was standing by the door, his hand hovering over the handle. Would he be wearing only a nightshirt? The thought made her feel slightly breathless, that strange feeling again.
Would she mind if he came in? He would be kind to her, she knew that now.
Did she want him to? That was a better question.
Chapter 24
Tuesday 1st July
; “Lady Wingrave asked me to give you this, my lord.”
Will took the list of things she wanted him to buy and placed it with the letter ready to be posted to Tregarth. Why hadn’t Connie come down to give it to him herself? Perhaps he should have told her he was going to make an early start. Why did he mind? He was only going to Exeter, but he didn’t like the idea that she might be avoiding him. She hadn’t rejoined him last night.
You’ve only been married a week, you idiot. Give her time.
He poured another cup of coffee. Last night’s excursion, with Archer this time, had been as futile as the first. There had been nothing to see in Ashmouth, and all he’d done was lose more sleep. He’d give some thought to sending Archer on his own some nights.
Once they were on their way, Will asked Archer if anyone had seen him return from their nocturnal excursion.
“Yes, my lord. I didn’t try to sneak out—told them I was seeing a girl in the top village. My old man always used to say better get your lie in first, not have to make it up when you’re found out.”
“Your old man?”
“He’s dead now, my lord. Was a successful thief in London, before my mum married him and sorted him out.”
“Good grief. Did you feel any desire to… er… follow in his footsteps?”
“Wasn’t worth the risk of getting my neck stretched, my lord. Or being sent to the Americas.”
Time for a change of subject.
“Have you managed to hear anything interesting in the village?”
“Dunno how much is of use, my lord. Went down the hill last night for a few pints. Not a one mentioned Mrs Strickland to me, but they knew I was the one what found her.”
“Hmm. That might not mean anything. Someone else from Ashton Tracey could have told them how she is getting on.”