by Ann Cliff
‘Good day, Rachel, where’s your father? We want to talk to him about Guy Potts.’ Tom looked serious.
‘I’ll fetch him, just wait here,’ Rachel said, trying to edge them away from the dairy, but it was too late.
‘What about Mr Potts? I think you need to speak to me, not to Garnett.’ Lady Agnes came out into the yard and looked down her long nose at the young farmers, who were not tenants of the Potts and therefore not known to her. ‘I am his mother,’ she announced.
The brothers looked confused for a moment, but then Alfred spoke. ‘Well, m’lady, we didn’t know you were there. We don’t want to cause trouble, we were just going to ask Kit Garnett …’
‘For his advice,’ finished Tom. ‘It’s a matter of brass, we wouldn’t want to trouble you with it.’
‘I insist you tell me immediately, if it has to do with my son.’
Alfred took a deep breath and his broad, outdoor face went red. ‘Well, ma’am, your son sold us a gun apiece. Both same, single-barrelled shotguns they were, as he said belonged to him. He wanted some cash, so we paid him five pounds each. That’s a lot of brass for small farmers. But then we heard Kit Garnett was looking for two guns, same description, gone missing – he’d spent time looking for them in Bluebell Wood. I thought I should tell him what we bought.’
‘So we handed them back, and Mr Garnett took ’em, see,’ Tom added. ‘And we really need to get our money back, but we can’t get it.’
‘There has obviously been a misunderstanding,’ Lady Agnes said loftily. At that moment Guy Potts slouched into the yard in riding clothes, whip in hand. He started when he saw the Dale brothers.
‘What are you doing here? You are trespassing.’ He looked at his mother. ‘Have they been pestering you?’
‘Do you owe these men money?’ Lady Agnes glared at her son.
‘Of course not. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now excuse me, Mama, I must go, I have an appointment in Masham.’ He strode towards the stables, but as he passed the men, Guy brought down the whip on Alfred’s shoulders. ‘Be off with you, before I call the constable!’
Alfred put up his fists and turned to go after Guy, but his brother restrained him. ‘Nay, lad, you’ll only get us into bother,’ he said calmly. ‘Lady Agnes will want to see fair play, she’ll get brass for us, now she’s heard about it.’ He looked hopefully towards the lady.
‘You expect me to believe you, when my son knows nothing of what you say?’ Her Ladyship spoke coldly.
Alfred rubbed his shoulders. ‘Surely you can see what sort of a man he is? He’s dangerous.’
There was a clatter as Guy rode furiously out of the yard; Donald the groom had obviously got the horse ready for him. The Dales’ horses moved restlessly and the brothers turned to go. Lady Agnes swept away without a word, to Rachel’s relief. Would she ever face the truth about her son?
The Hall Shorthorn cows were eating hay just over the fence and the Dales crossed the yard to look at them.
‘Kit’s got a good eye for a beast,’ Tom said generously. He looked at Rachel. ‘What will you folks do when they build the dam? There’s not so many places for a family like yours.’
Rachel shook her head.
‘Did you see that piece in the Herald about our meeting?’ Alfred asked. ‘It were right good.’
‘Aye,’ said his brother. ‘That might ginger things up a bit!’
Rachel promised to speak to her father about the guns and went back to her cream. It was good to think that perhaps her reports in the Herald might ‘ginger things up’ after all.
Lady Agnes was annoyed by the Dale brothers and their lack of respect for their betters, but a cold doubt began to creep in as she went back to the Hall. Guy had behaved badly, taking his whip to that man. What if he had sold the guns? Perhaps he needed some discipline, she thought.
‘Charles, I think you should try to have some influence with Guy,’ she told the Major, who was reading the account of the Firby meeting in the newspaper. ‘We have spent very little time with him, after all. Do you realize we have been in India for most of Guy’s life? I feel that he may be a little too – headstrong. He was rude to me the other day and today, he took his whip to a young farmer. I saw it.’
Major Potts yawned. ‘Boys will be boys. He doesn’t have any occupation, that’s his trouble. Guy should be in the army, the sooner the better and whether he likes it or not. I have an idea he’s drinking too much.’ He waved his hand at the Herald. ‘Have you seen this column about the new dam? The peasants are hoping I will vote against it. They seem to think it can be stopped.’
‘And will you? Charles, I would much rather stay here than see our home taken for a reservoir.’ Lady Agnes picked up the paper.
‘Of course we have to sell, Agnes, I thought you realized that,’ the Major barked impatiently. ‘What with our shares and Guy’s debts there’s no choice. This project is providential, gets us out of trouble. Guy owes a lot of money, and I’m not sure we know the whole story.’
‘Yes,’ said Guy’s mother quietly. ‘He is a liability. Can I not persuade you to keep the estate, Charles? Sell the London house and send Guy into the army.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘All the time we lived in India, you talked about coming back to Firby, holding pheasant shoots, planting trees … you were going to make it the best estate in Yorkshire. Charles, you would not be happy without your land.’
Lady Agnes was still brooding about the sale of the estate the next day, when her cousin Sybil paid a visit. Of course Firby Hall was shabby compared with the Waltons’ gracious abode, but it had one advantage: its great age and long history. To show these off, it was necessary to take visitors up to the Long Gallery and impress them with portraits and panelling.
Fortunately when Sybil arrived it was raining, so a stroll in the grounds was not possible. Sybil was wearing a walking skirt that cleared the ground, of a practical dark green, flaring from a tiny waist. Her smart hat was topped with a bow and beside her, Agnes felt rather dowdy in her grey afternoon dress. The Long Gallery might compensate for her lack of fashion.
Sybil’s reaction soothed Agnes’ spirits. ‘It’s years since I saw this room, isn’t it divine? We have nothing like this at the Grange… .’ She studied the portraits for a while and then said, ‘I have a particular reason for this visit, Agnes. What do you think of the reservoir project?’ She looked up at the taller woman earnestly. ‘Do you want to lose this lovely old house and all the estate? I thought when you came back from India this time, you might settle down – if the Major agreed. We talked about breeding Dexter cattle, did we not?’
Agnes thought for a moment; she must watch her words. ‘I would love to stay here and I have several plans for the farm. But I fear that the reservoir is a fait accompli, my dear. It is bound to happen. Charles is … resigned to selling the property.’
They sat in one of the deep window seats and Sybil arranged her skirt carefully around her. ‘Well, Rupert and I were at the village meeting, you know. It does seem that if the landowners, that is to say Rupert, Charles and Granville Sutton, were to oppose the scheme, then the Leeds Corporation might look elsewhere.’ She laughed. ‘And I rather think it is up to us, weak women though we are, to help them to change their minds.’
‘What does Rupert think? Surely, he would be devastated to lose Willow Grange, especially after all your improvements.’ Agnes felt a spark of interest; it could be a good fight.
‘Oh, Rupert stood up and spoke of progress, trying to put a good face on things. He didn’t want to be seen to be coerced into selling. Since then he seems to have realized just what it would mean to lose the land. And where would we go? He is so proud of our landscaping and improvements, but all that work would be lost … Leeds Corporation are not going to pay any more for landscaped grounds or well-kept farms.’
‘What about Granville Sutton? We haven’t seen him since we came home.’
‘At the meeting,
Sutton said he was undecided … if Rupert does agree to oppose it, I will ask him to speak to Sutton.’
‘A special Act of Parliament would be needed, I believe,’ said Agnes thoughtfully. ‘My brother Peregrine sits in the Lords, of course … and he loves a good fight. He’s well known for it.’
‘Do you think Lord Danby would use his influence?’ Sybil asked eagerly.
‘I will write to him. Meanwhile, you and I should talk to our husbands, I think. Let’s go down to the drawing room and drink tea.’ Agnes led the way to the stairs.
While Agnes was entertaining her visitor, the Major was giving some thought to organizing a pheasant shoot. With no gamekeeper on the estate, the number of pheasants was small, but it would be a pleasant day out with the neighbours.
Instead of riding round the estate, he decided to walk. It would give him a better idea of where to place the guns; it was years since he’d walked these fields and copses.
The day was mild, with the nostalgic smells of autumn rising from the damp woods. Carrying a shotgun in case of rabbits, the Major walked the once familiar paths. For days he had been trying to put the loss of the estate to the back of his mind, but now it came back with great force. He did not want to lose his home. Damn that boy and his gambling! Without Guy’s debts, he would have put up a fight to keep the land.
Major Potts had realized with some surprise that he was calmer, better in health and temper, since coming home to Firby. The last few months in Madras had been hectic and he had no wish to go back to the regiment, especially in the heat of southern India. When the estate was sold, he supposed they could live in London.
Pheasants rose with a whirr of wings at his approach. The Major opened a gate into the wood and noted that the fence was repaired and the gate swung easily. Garnett was a good foreman, no doubt, a useful man to carry out improvements. But it was too late now to make plans for the farm’s future.
He walked through the trees and came to a cottage at the far side, where a retired farm worker lived, Daniel Wood. As the Major approached, Daniel looked over his garden fence.
‘Good day, Major! We’ve not seen you for many a year. Will ye step in for a cup of tea?’
‘Why not?’ The gun was unloaded and the Major went into the cottage, where Daniel had lived alone since his wife died.
It was surprising how pleasant it was to sit by a cottage fire, to drink black tea and talk about the old days with one of the peasants.
‘There’s not so many take up farming, these days. There’s cottages empty in the village. The young ones, they don’t want to stay here, they’re off to the town,’ Daniel said wistfully when asked about his children. ‘I expect your young gentleman will be the same?’
‘Just the same,’ the Major said grimly.
Daniel had plenty of time to think, he told the Major, and he thought that breeding pheasants would be a good idea. ‘If you was to hire a keeper, now, sir, his wages could be paid if you let out the shooting,’ he suggested. ‘Folks pay good money these days for a shoot and think on, Firby Hall’s big enough for a fair-sized syndicate. You could turn a profit.’
The Major laughed. ‘I suppose you have the keeper’s job in mind for yourself?’
‘Nay, I’m ower old for chasing poachers, it’s a young man’s job, Major. Up half the night in the season, watching for villains. And then if you shoot a few foxes, the hunt’s on to you, but you got to control foxes. I could rear a few pheasants round here for ye though, if I had a bit of grain.’ Daniel scratched his head. ‘Give me summat to do, like.’
‘There’s not much point,’ his landlord said shortly. ‘The estate will go when the reservoir is built.’
‘Nay, it’s not all ower yet.’ Daniel’s eyes were bright as he looked across the hearth at his visitor. ‘Excuse my plain speaking, Major, but I’ve known you since you were a lad. Now, if you read yon Herald newspaper, it says that you can fight those Leeds folks. You and the old Judge and Mr Sutton.’
‘You think I should?’
‘Aye, that I do,’ said the old man earnestly. ‘How could you ever find as good a place as this to spend your days, Major? You couldn’t and that’s a fact.’ He paused and in the silence, a robin piped outside the window, a reminder of the coming winter. ‘I’ll say no more, but we all depend on you to save Firby Hall.’
In a thoughtful mood, the Major walked back to the Hall by a different route. Old Daniel had made him wonder whether even at this late hour, it could be possible to save the estate. Why should Guy be allowed to wreck the lives of so many people, because of his debts? ‘How could you ever find a place as good as this to spend your days…’ Daniel was right.
Looking across the farm land, crops and pasture, the Major remembered the plans he’d made in India. It would have been good to try some of the new scientific farming methods and the improved breeds of cattle and sheep. He was surprised to see a figure stumbling towards him as he got closer to home.
Guy was walking badly and clearly annoyed. ‘Where’ve you been? Ma sent me to look for you, she thought you must have fallen over or something,’ he said crossly. ‘I hate walking through wet grass.’
‘You should do more walking, you’re out of condition.’ The Major avoided looking at the youth. Nobody should speak like that to a parent. The coming generation had no manners at all.
‘Lord, Pa, I’m not a horse!’
They walked in silence for a while and then Guy said, ‘How long before you sell up, Pa? I desperately need to get my hands on some money – but if I can say when the debts will be paid—’
Resisting the urge to shout, the Major felt his face go red. ‘What would you say if I told you we will not sell the estate?’ He spoke to annoy his son, but the words held some comfort. What if…?
Guy looked ready to explode. ‘You can’t say that! I need the money and in any case, I don’t want to inherit this hole, I’m going to live in London!’ He glared at his father. ‘Your life’s nearly over, it doesn’t matter to you if the place is sold. It’s selfish to hang on to your money when I need it. Don’t you understand I need the money now?’
It was like the calm before going into action. Major Potts felt that he could at last see clearly what needed to be done. Guy had pushed him too far.
It was up to his parents to save this young man from himself, to preserve the way of life they had and to keep the valley safe for the so-called peasants. For the first time, he wondered fleetingly what the Garnett family would do if the estate were to be sold. He had taken them for granted, but they were all good servants.
‘I have made up my mind,’ he said quietly. ‘You will go into the army and if necessary, I will sell off one of the farms to buy you a commission. But not to pay debts. We will not sell the estate in my lifetime!’
Guy flounced away cursing, and the Major was left to reflect that he would need to convince his fellow landowners of the need to save the valley. But the decision gave him profound relief. Agnes, bless her, had suggested they sell the London house and she also had plans to make the farm pay. With army methods of organization, he was sure he would succeed.
NINE
Kit Garnett was given precise instructions about the forth-coming pheasant shoot. The Major was brisk, but in a good humour as he talked to his surrogate gamekeeper. Kit wondered privately what had happened to make the Major less irritable.
‘I hope you can find a few pheasants, Garnett. My father’s keeper used to sprinkle oats on the edge of Bluebell Wood to encourage them … in the good old days. I suppose there will be beaters available? I think we will need beaters.’ He sighed. ‘It won’t be anything like a tiger shoot. A tiger shoot is most exciting, I can tell you. We hunt from elephants.’
Thank goodness our only problem is pheasants, Kit said to himself. ‘Life in Firby must be very different after living in India, Major. Yes, sir, I can find beaters… .’
Young farm workers were often pleased to earn a shilling or two and have a change of scene, if they coul
d get away from their work for a few hours to drive the pheasants nearer to the guns.
In the farmhouse kitchen, there was a family conference as Ruth made her plans for the lunch. Lady Agnes had decided the menu: leek soup, roast venison and apple pie. The six or eight guests were to take lunch in the main hall of the old manor house; there would be more if they brought their wives. The beaters would be given their meal separately, in a small room off the hall, where they could enjoy themselves without the constraint of being with their superiors.
Knocking, Jim Angram came into the kitchen that morning. ‘I’ve come to ask a favour, Mr Garnett,’ he said. ‘On Saturday, Mr Jackson wants us to knock down that old tree at the school, but as you know the big saw needs two men. My father’s hurt his back, so I wondered if you’d help me. It shouldn’t take long.’
Kit agreed, because as he said later, he thought the job needed a man with experience. Jim was very steady for a young lad, but he was only twenty-three.
‘There’s a shoot here this Saturday, but I can help you the week after,’ he promised. ‘Would you like to come as a beater on the shoot, Jim?’
‘Aye, Mr Garnett, I’d like that.’ Rachel handed Jim a cup of tea. ‘Have you seen the Herald this week? It makes you think, you know.’ Jim sat at the table and took a scone. ‘All about moving folks out of Firby, knocking down the houses and school and that … is it worth felling the tree, or doing owt else, if all’s to be flooded?’ He paused for a bite. ‘But all the same, the chap who wrote it says that there’s a slight chance they could build it up on the moors, the dam I mean. He must know summat. Beckwith says that our farm won’t be flooded, we’re higher up than you are here.’
Rachel turned away to hide her confusion. Perhaps she should have told Jim that she was the ‘correspondent’, but it seemed so unusual for a farm lass. She loved writing for the Herald, posting off her story every week and it was good to be paid for the work. But if folks knew about it, they might think she was getting above herself. Firby folk didn’t like that.