by Ann Cliff
The lawyer rustled his papers. ‘There is one proviso, Mr Guy, which I am pleased to say your late father added to his will for your protection.’ He rustled again, adjusting his spectacles. ‘Ah, here it is. How old are you? Barely twenty? ’ He nodded. ‘Well, until you come of age, Mr Guy, that is, you attain to twenty-one years of age, the Lady Agnes is in sole charge of the estate.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Guy was livid. ‘A whole year to wait before I can lay my hands on the money?’
His mother sighed in relief. ‘One day, I hope you will thank your father for his foresight,’ she said quietly.
‘Right. Now I know that everyone is against me … I know where I stand. I will make things as difficult as possible for you all, for the next year.’ Guy stood over the solicitor. ‘You will have to give me an allowance and pay all the debts, since you’ve been in charge of the money for some reason. I don’t care how you do it.’
‘Sit down, Guy.’ Lady Agnes was angry now. ‘Mr Richards has looked after our finances in England because it was impossible for us to do so from India. While I am in charge he will continue to do so.’
‘Thank you, Lady Agnes.’ Richards put the papers in his briefcase and mopped his brow. ‘I will do my best.’
‘For now, I suggest you speak to Mr Garnett, our estate manager about the procedure for selling Elm Tree farm. And will you please tell Mr Garnett that I hope he and his family will remain in our service.’ His mother looked at Guy.
‘Get rid of them!’ Guy growled. ‘Parasites!’
Lady Agnes stood up and walked to the door. ‘We are in a difficult situation and as you can see, Mr Guy is not himself. I hope you will come back in a few weeks to report on progress, Mr Richards, and that by then Guy has seen the wisdom of this course. Perhaps, Guy … you would like to consider joining the regiment after all, to see something of the world before you come of age?’
It was a forlorn hope. ‘Like hell I will!’ Guy flung out of the room.
Mr Richards walked across the yard to the so-called farm office, which was small and full of tools. At a battered desk, Kit Garnett was deep in columns of figures. He stood up when he saw the lawyer and passed a hand over his eyes.
‘Good day, Mr Richards. I’m doing my best to sort out the accounts and give you a final report on the farm and the estate. I suppose you know we’ve been dismissed?’
‘I did hear so, but I bring you better news. May I sit down?”
Kit cleared a saddle from the only other chair and then sat down at his desk.
‘It’s a bad job, you know. The Major was just getting to know the farms again … what is your news, then?’
‘Lady Agnes is in charge until Mr Guy turns twenty-one. He is not impressed.’
Kit whistled. ‘So she wants us to stay?’
‘She does indeed, she specifically asked me to tell you so. Of course, Mr Guy is bound to cause difficulties, but legally he can’t do anything.’ He sighed. ‘I just hope the young man does not run up any more debts.’
‘Can’t you restrain him at all, Mr Richards?’
‘I don’t think anyone can … I was astonished this afternoon to meet such a – a headstrong youth. At first I thought he was grieving, but he’s not, Mr Garnett, he’s just for himself. Nothing else.’
‘We have noticed,’ Kit said grimly.
‘By the way, Her Ladyship referred to you as the Estate Manager,’ Richards continued, giving the title capital letters. ‘I shall speak to her about a rise in salary for you. She wants you to negotiate the sale of land and that is estate management.’
‘A year isn’t very long in estate management,’ Kit said thoughtfully.
FIFTEEN
‘I’ve plenty of orders for Christmas geese,’ the butcher told Kit one December market day in Masham. ‘Geese from Firby Hall are favourites, think on. I can do with forty or more.’
‘Well, we can’t manage that many,’ Kit said. ‘Her Ladyship wants to keep some for breeding this time. We’ll maybe have more next year, that is, if we don’t get flooded after all.’
‘Wouldn’t fancy your chance of keeping your head above water – ha, ha!’ The butcher looked over a pen of fat pigs. ‘Thank goodness we’re safe in Masham. They’d never dare to make a dam here on the Ure and if they did, the town’s above the river valley.’
‘Don’t be too sure,’ Kit said darkly. ‘Leeds doesn’t care what happens in the country.’
People were beginning to realize that it would be Firby for the flood water, after all. The Major’s death had changed everything and his son was known as a city man who hated the estate.
Rachel plucked the Christmas geese in the big stone barn, watching out all the time for Guy. The barn couldn’t be locked, but she had the dog Ben beside her, which should keep Guy away. She was on edge all the time and so was Ben, peering into corners and pouncing on mice.
At last all the geese were ready to go to Masham; she had managed the job without attracting attention from Guy. It felt strange to think of Christmas without Jim, but she would get used to it. No doubt Roger would go to his sister’s house in York … she tried not to think about Roger.
Alex Finlay had asked for a Christmas recipe and Rachel decided on Yule bread, a rich, spicy fruit bread that was only made at Christmas. This year, she and Ruth made the bread together and Rachel made a note of each step. She wanted to add her own comments to the recipe.
Writing was enjoyable and it was good to earn a little money, but it was more than that. This was the first time that Rachel had undertaken anything on her own. She’d worked as a part of the Garnett team since she was small. If she’d married Jim, the rest of her life would have been dictated by him and his family. By accident, she had come across something else that she could do.
‘Well, this year’s Yule bread is champion, best we’ve ever made,’ was Ruth’s verdict. ‘You’d better take a loaf to Grandfather, we haven’t seen him for a while.’
The December days were short, so Rachel set out as soon as the Yule bread was cool, promising to be back for the evening milking.
Nathan Brown was not about the yard or buildings. Rachel knocked on the door and instead of coming to greet her, Nathan called out, ‘Come in.’ He was sitting by a low fire with a blanket round his shoulders.
‘What’s wrong, Grandfather?’ This was so unlike him that Rachel was alarmed.
Moving stiffly, Nathan stood up. ‘Nothing much, lass,’ he said. ‘I fell off old Brownie the other day. That horse should know better than to start when a pheasant gets up, but he threw me off and I fell onto a big stone. Ribs cracked, but there’s nothing you can do about that. Just don’t make me laugh, that’s all.’
‘That’s nothing to laugh about. Shall we go for the doctor?’ Rachel tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. ‘Is there anything we can do?’ She looked round and saw something to do immediately; the fire needed more wood.
‘Nay, I’ve cracked a rib before and I know there’s nowt but time will heal it. Doctors can’t help. Don’t worry, I’ll be there for Christmas dinner!’
‘Of course you will, Father will fetch you in the trap.’ Rachel made him sit down again and found some wood for the fire. ‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’
‘You’ll have to get back for milking, Rachel. Don’t worry about tea, I can do that. But I wonder if you’ve time to feed the ewes? The old girls are due to lamb early and I’m giving them a bit extra, a bite of hay and a few oats … but they haven’t had any for a few days. I can’t carry the fodder, you see.’
‘Of course I can. I just yoke up the trap and take the feed from the barn?’ Rachel had often helped Nathan with his work and she knew just what to do.
‘Aye. Ewes are handy enough, I brought them down from top pasture. That’s what I was doing when this happened.’ He smiled, but it was a tired smile. ‘You’re a grand lass, young Rachel. You’ll make a farmer!’
On her way out to the yard, Rachel noted the signs; dishes unwashed in the sink and
dirt on the floor, most unusual in Nathan’s house. Grandfather was finding it hard to keep going and they would have to do something to help him.
‘It’s hard to be getting old,’ Nathan said as she left. ‘You don’t heal up as fast, that’s for sure and a fall hits you harder.’
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, Grandfather,’ Rachel assured him. ‘Keep warm and don’t try to lift anything.’
Lady Agnes was quieter than the Garnetts had ever seen her. Dressed in stark black, she spent her days in the library, going through papers. Rachel felt that she genuinely mourned her husband, but what would she do about Guy?
The lady told Kit that everything on the Firby Hall Estate was to continue exactly as it was. No changes were to be made, in spite of the fact that the heir was swaggering about and dismissing staff regularly. Kit advised the servants not to confront him, but to carry on with their work as usual. Guy wasn’t likely to know what their duties were and he certainly wasn’t up early in the morning, the busiest time of day in the farmyard.
Guy had sulked for days after the solicitor’s visit, riding moodily round the estate as though he was trying to work out how much it was worth. All the Garnetts stayed out of his way as much as they could. On Kit’s orders, agreed by Lady Agnes, the gun room and the wine cellar were kept permanently locked and only Kit knew where the keys were hidden.
The day after Rachel visited Nathan, her mother decided to drive over in the trap to see him in the afternoon. ‘I can bring his washing home, and take him a dinner,’ she said.
Rachel went to the kitchen garden for vegetables for their evening meal. At this time of year, John the gardener grew Brussels sprouts and hard winter cabbages. There were bags of potatoes and turnips stored in a dry shed.
Ben was not allowed in the gardens, since he was likely to water any plant that took his fancy. He was excellent with sheep, but with gardens he resisted training; it made no sense to him.
John was nowhere to be seen, but sometimes on a cold day he found work in the glasshouses, so Rachel went into the steamy jungle of exotic plants to look for him.
It was pleasant to wander through the heated houses, warm and fragrant with the scent of growing things. Here there were flowers for the house, a succession of blooms all the year round. Palms and twisting vines cast a green shade; it was peaceful and Rachel began to relax. It would be pleasant to work in gardens, she thought. Although very few women were professional gardeners, there were some who were brave enough – or maybe privileged enough – to go against convention. Someone like Lady Agnes could take an interest in gardens and she would have labourers to do the hard work.
Rachel had read in a magazine at the Hall about a woman called Gertrude Jekyll who designed landscapes for large houses. That would be a wonderful thing to do, using your imagination to work with nature. Miss Jekyll’s gardens were quite famous; the magazine had listed several mansions where her gardens could be seen, including Newby Hall near Ripon.
Seeing a figure in the distance, she called out to him.
‘John! I’ve been looking for you …’
The man came closer and she realized her mistake. Rachel had been daydreaming about gardens and had forgotten to watch out for the serpent that lurked in this one. Guy was coming towards her.
‘Young Garnett! I followed you here. Come down here for a bit of fun with the gardener, have you? You can play with me instead. I’ve been looking for you for days.’ He backed her up against a bench.
This youth’s mind seemed to run on one thing.
‘Mr Guy, please leave me alone. The gardener is here … John!’ Her voice was deadened by the foliage.
Guy laughed; he must know where John was. ‘Now, I’m not going to fight you today. Just have a little chat, to get you to see sense.’ Fumes of alcohol surrounded him, in spite of the locked cellar door.
‘I don’t want to chat with you. Let me go.’ Rachel looked round desperately. ‘Where are you, John? John!’ There was no answer from among the greenery.
Suddenly she felt pity for this miserable human being. ‘Guy, what’s wrong with you? You’re a lost soul. Can’t you feel some sympathy with other people? Have you no friends?’
Guy lurched a little, but for a moment he looked stricken. ‘I am a lost soul … but nobody cares about me, do you see? If only … no, it’s too late. I take what I want.’ The expression in his eyes hardened again. ‘You can make life easier for yourself, you know. And for your family. Just be a good girl and give me what I want.’ Guy licked his lips. ‘Now, I have a plan. There’s a cottage over at the far side of the estate, an old codger called Daniel has had it rent free for too long. He does no work, he’s no use to the estate. I’m going to tip him out and you and I can meet there. Have a little love nest at the other side of the wood. You’ll enjoy it and nobody else need know, and I might turn human again.’
‘You can’t! You can’t turn Daniel Wood out of his home, he’d have to go to the workhouse. And I’m not going to meet you anywhere. I can’t think of anything worse!’
Guy looked at her and she saw the coldness in his eyes.
‘Still wearing your knickers, Rachel? I warned you not to. You don’t realize the situation. I am the owner here now, I make the decisions and I have decided to take you as often as I can, with or without your underwear. Once you get used to the idea, you’ll like it.’
‘No! John, are you there?’ Rachel struggled, but his grip tightened. Guy was a powerful man.
‘Come on, Garnett, face the facts. Treat me right and you and the family are safe. But if you won’t play, young woman, I’ll turn you off without a character reference and make sure that you never work again. All of you will be homeless.’ He gave her a shake.
The man was deluded. Guy did not have such power over them; the Garnetts could leave at any time and take a farm on Mr Sutton’s estate.
‘Who’s going to take a scrap of notice of what you say, Guy? A character reference from you would be worse than useless!’ Anger replaced fear as Rachel stared him down. She was not going to lie to him, to save herself. Somebody had to stand up to this bully. ‘You have no feelings at all, have you? You’re a monster.’
The man looked murderous. The red furious look came into Guy’s face and as he moved in closer, Rachel remembered something she’d been told long ago. Nice girls carried a hat pin for protection against men like this, but if you had no hat pin, you used your knee. And this time, she was in the right position. He was pressing against her.
Rachel brought her knee up sharply and Guy let out a howl of pain. His hold on her slackened and she stamped on his foot with her heel, then managed to wriggle free. She picked up her skirt and ran like the wind down the length of the greenhouse. At the far end she collided with John the gardener, who was coming through the door.
‘Rachel, lass, what’s wrong?’ John looked down the row of plants. ‘I see … well, you’d best be off as fast as you can. I’ll bring vegetables over later.’
A sensible middle-aged man, John thought quickly. He managed to slow Guy down by overturning a barrow to block the greenhouse doorway. It earned him a cursing and a threat of dismissal, but it gave Rachel enough time to get out of the garden. All the staff knew by now how dangerous Guy could be.
When milking was over, Ruth returned and the family assembled for supper. The soothing routine of milking the cows had calmed Rachel’s jangled nerves. They talked about Nathan’s accident.
‘Father’s not managing,’ was Ruth’s verdict. ‘If you agree, Kit, I think maybe Rachel should stay with him for a few days. She could help him with the stock and make him some proper meals. What do you say, Rachel?’
Grandfather’s farm would be a refuge, a place where Guy could never find her.
‘I would love to … he needs help and I would really like to get away for a while. When I went for the vegetables today, Guy was in the gardens and came after me again.’ She choked with emotion, but not for herself. ‘He – he’s threatening to
throw Daniel Wood out of his cottage, Father. Can he really do it?’
‘I’d better warn Lady Agnes. The Major would have been horrified, he did try to look after his people,’ Kit said quietly. ‘Yes, go to Nathan’s, lass, it will be good for both of you.’ He grinned. ‘But don’t forget to write your piece for the Herald!’
Ruth had a piece of good news. ‘Lady Agnes said that she and Guy would go to London soon and stay for Christmas with her brother. With a bit of luck, Guy might not come back. He seems to hate the country. But his mother will be back, she wants to see us make more cheese.’
‘That’s good, you’ll have less work in the house while they’re away, Mother.’
Rachel spent her first few days at Nathan’s putting the house and yard to rights. She did some washing and baked scones and cakes. Nathan seemed much more cheerful, more like his old, serene self, once order had been restored.
Several neighbours called in to see him. His absence from church on Sunday had been noticed as soon as the relief organist began to play the first hymn.
‘Get yourself back to church as soon as you can, lad,’ one farmer told him. ‘That there organ sounds like a cat being tortured when Phoebe Watson plays!’
‘Poor Phoebe never gets much practice,’ Nathan reminded him. ‘Since she retired from teaching, she doesn’t play music right often. This is a good chance for her.’
One bright morning as Rachel was shaking the mats in the yard, she heard the clopping of hooves; they had another visitor. A trap rolled up to the door, driven by a woman in a warm cloak and with a scarf round her head.
‘You must be Rachel?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘I haven’t seen you since you were a bairn. Good day, lass, I’ve come to see your grandpa.’
Rachel offered to help her to unyoke the pony and stable it, but she said she would not stay long. She drove a sturdy Dales pony, shaggy in its black winter coat but in very good condition.
‘I’m Alice Bolton,’ the woman said. ‘From Woodley Crags, I’m off down to Pateley for supplies. My daughter and the family’s coming to stay for Christmas, weather permitting of course.’