Brothers at Arms

by Brothers at Arms (epub)

  “It is limestone, sir,” said Joshua, knowing there were quarries in the ridge across the one side of the valley, full of fossils.

  The agent nodded. “That sounds about right, so you would need to deal with the soil in a different way to the light, sandy ground we have on the east coast. If there is a limestone escarpment, the chances are the soil in the valley is red clay, washed down from the higher land. Clay is a heavy soil, which holds the water and needs careful drainage, which means digging ditches and keeping them clear to avoid waterlogged fields or flooding the roads.”

  It started to make sense. Joshua had thought of this only in the context of Holkham, but if the type of soil was different, so too were the additives needed to make it fertile. Presumably, that was the reason the agent asked about the land at Linmore. Then he realised Mr Blakeney was still speaking.

  “Can you stay behind after the meeting, Mr Norbery? There is a matter I need to discuss with you.”

  Within minutes, the agent dismissed the other students, giving them two hours’ free time, and kept Joshua talking.

  “I hope you realise the significance of my question about the soil.”

  Joshua nodded. “The acidity levels would be different at home, as would the types of fertilizer used.”

  The agent nodded.

  “I drew your attention to the subject, because I am going to set you the task of planning your training programme for the next six months, based on the headings we used for the first. I want you to find out the practices used on your estate in Shropshire, then analyse what is good and what changes will be required when you return home. You will never be in a better position. If you bring your thoughts to me, we will formulate a plan to set before your father.”

  Joshua’s mind was teeming with ideas.

  “One more question. How many fertilizers can you name?”

  Wondering if it was a trick question, Joshua said, “Marl, clay, manure… and… bonemeal, sir.”

  “Yes,” said the agent. “I don’t think you have encountered much bonemeal yet. There is a processing plant near here, so when we need another cartload, I will send you with the driver.”

  Joshua did not know what amused the agent. He was not a man to joke, but his mouth certainly twitched when he said that.

  The next morning at seven o’clock, he returned to Mr Blakeney’s office, armed with his diary and pencils sharpened.

  “We’ll begin with estate management. I want you to remember that Mr Coke started his restoration programme a quarter of a century ago, and it will probably take you as long. It is a costly process, and he didn’t do it all at once – nor will you.”

  Joshua looked at the framed list of rules behind the desk. The agent caught his glance and responded.

  “Yes,” he said. “Time is a valuable commodity, Mr Norbery. It would be well to remember that in the years to come. Now, I will give you some basic advice about managing your buildings.

  Joshua wrote in his diary. It makes sense to maintain and improve the fabric of existing buildings. Replace only those too dilapidated for repair. That applies equally to tiled or thatched roofs. Clear the rot from the woodwork. Do not let a lack of mortar weaken the walls, and ensure drainage channels of stone floors are clear.

  If he could manage that, it would leave time to make other changes.

  After the agent’s questions in the office, Joshua started to look critically at farming practices on the Home Farm at Linmore. He did not pretend to be an expert, but the more he learned, the clearer it was that agriculture in Shropshire was decades behind Norfolk.

  He wrote to Francis Weyborne, enlisting his support. Three weeks later, he received enthusiastic answers, which told him the trainee bailiff was prepared to work with him. That was the first hurdle overcome.

  Joshua knew he must introduce change slowly, gain support and not allow doubters to deter him. The land at Holkham was in good heart, and he was determined to make Linmore its equal on a smaller scale.

  Once he formulated his plan, his enthusiasm took over. Who would have thought such a mundane subject could be so fascinating? Certainly not he, but it was. If he thought the agent’s schedule was strict, his motivation drove it harder. Unbeknown to his fellow students, he had another agenda, the details of which only Mr Blakeney was privy to know and give his permission.

  His first task on discovering the winter ploughing was in progress was to watch the ploughmen go about their work. Clad in his wide-brimmed hat, smock and heavy boots, there was little to differentiate him from the labourers when he sat down to share their work break, supping a mug of cider and chewing a crust of bread spread with beef dripping. He did this for several days and came back well satisfied with what he learned.

  Linmore was constantly in Joshua’s mind. He knew fallow fields were a waste of land, but Francis hinted that his father, Jim Weyborne, was a believer in the old ways. He expected some opposition, but was prepared to justify his plan to increase the ploughing capacity by introducing teams of heavy horses, which could deal with almost twice as many acres in a day than oxen.

  Deep down, Joshua knew that any changes he made would inevitably bring a degree of disruption. To labourers used to sowing seeds by hand, a seed drill might be revolutionary, but at a stroke, it would ensure a uniform depth and increase yield. It was essential to grow more root crops for winter fodder to improve the animal feeding regime, and produce better quality manure for the land the following year.

  Joshua imagined his interest in the land passed unnoticed, but the subject arose when Mr Coke attended the December meeting in the agent’s office.

  Everyone was sitting around the desk. The landowner and his agent sat one side, with Joshua and the two other students opposite. They discussed many things and it was obvious Mr Coke’s presence had a profound effect.

  Michael was in his element, ready to volunteer opinions without letting James speak for himself. Joshua said little. He sat back and listened, with half an ear on the conversation. Then Mr Coke spoke.

  “I hear you have been doing some ploughing, Joshua?”

  There was a muffled snort of derision in the background from Michael.

  “Yes, sir.” Joshua could not deny the fact, but wondered where the news originated. As far as he was aware, only the ploughmen witnessed his efforts.

  “What did you hope to learn?” said Mr Coke.

  It was evident from the noise of scraping chair legs, and scuffing boots on the floor, that he had embarrassed his fellow students. They literally squirmed in their seats. Never mind. Maybe they would learn something.

  “I spent hours watching the ploughmen set out work in the field, and plough a straight furrow. I wanted to do the same. They made it look easy, but it takes a lot of practice to manage a team of horses as well.”

  He received a nod of agreement from the agent, but it was Mr Coke who said, “That’s true, but when you followed the plough, you gained a better understanding of the work involved, and how much land could be covered in a day. Moreover, you earned the respect of the ploughman. Old Tom told me of your determination to succeed, and he’s not easily impressed.”

  To hear Mr Coke say that made everything worthwhile.

  CHAPTER 37

  Christmas at Holkham was the first for many years that Joshua would spend without Charlie for company. Linmore had never been a very social place, due to his mother’s various maladies; but his father and Aunt Jane always ensured there were opportunities for the younger family members to socialize with neighbours. Now he was away from it all.

  Three days before Christmas, he waved farewell to Michael Gransden going home to Kings Lynn, and James Inglethorpe to Bury St Edmunds.

  Joshua told himself he did not care for grand social events, or wearing fancy clothes. All he needed was a decent meal to set him up for the season.

  Mr Blakeney had other ideas. In the two days leading up to Christmas, Joshua experienced the bounty of the landlord, when he joined the agent on a tour of the
estate to dispense presents of well-hung game with flagons of cider and ale to the workers’ families.

  At midnight on Christmas Eve, the sound of carol singing rang out from the church on the hill overlooking Holkham Park. A chill wind blew outside, but not a seat in the building remained empty.

  Mr Coke and his daughters sat in the front pew by the pulpit, and the Holkham workers, from the highest to the lowest person on the estate, filled every other pew. The agent, his wife and children; ploughmen with their families, gardeners, foresters, stable lads, shepherds, cowmen, laundry workers, servants from the Hall and Joshua Norbery from Linmore.

  It was the first time he felt he truly belonged, and in that joyful moment of singing Christmas Carols, he felt close to Linmore.

  Of course, his mother would not go to church, but Aunt Jane would sit in the front pew beside his father, sing the same tunes and make responses to the prayers. It was as if he was there with them.

  Christmas Day dawned, bright and crisp underfoot. Joshua exchanged his brown working coat for bottle green superfine and spent the time with the agent making merry with his relations, many of whom he knew from working on the estate. It was a jolly family occasion unlike any he had experienced before.

  Mrs Blakeney organised a veritable feast. There was poultry and game, a haunch of venison, as well as fish, fresh from the sea, with a multitude of vegetable side dishes, followed by a selection of tasty puddings, sweet desserts and ices. The servants brought in tankards of ale and cider for the menfolk, and glasses of homemade wine and lemonade for the women.

  The Blakeney family laughed, talked and sang songs. Someone played the fiddle while others danced. Then they handed out the presents. Joshua received a new work diary from the agent. He wished he had a gift to give in return, but none was expected.

  When supper was over, Joshua said his thanks and donned his greatcoat in preparation to ride his horse back across the park to the stables. Ben Waters, the groom, joined him by the back door, similarly muffled against the weather.

  “Come on, Joshua,” he said. “You had better come with me in the gig. The horse might find his way, but you wouldn’t make it on your own.”

  Joshua laughed, thinking the groom referred to the ale they had consumed earlier in the day, but realised his mistake when he looked outside.

  He could see the path leading to the stable yard, but the drive and familiar landmarks beyond the gateposts had disappeared under a blanket of snow. There was no alternative but to accept the offer, which he did gratefully.

  Joshua shivered, wrapped his woollen scarf around his neck, pulled up the collar of his greatcoat around his ears, and huddled down into the capes around his shoulders. With any luck, the mulled wine he drank before leaving the agent’s house would keep the worst of the chill at bay, but he would be glad to be between the sheets tonight.

  The night air was cold after the glowing warmth of the house, and the hazy light of the rising moon bathed the park in an eerie whiteness. It was so bright in the open, but a multitude of shadows lurked amongst the trees.

  All was quiet, apart from the muffled hoof beats and turning of wheels. Lanterns hung on either side of the gig, flickered behind glass cases, attempting to light the way. The screech of an owl broke the silence, and Joshua saw a ghostly shape winging its way across the parkland. The sound came as a relief to break the monotony.

  A coppice ahead indicated the direction they should take, but when clouds obscured the moon, the groom struggled to keep the gig on the road. Joshua knew if he had been holding the reins, the snow would have erased his sense of direction. Of one thing he was certain: rising moon or not, there would be no poachers abroad on a night like this.

  Another block of trees on either side of the road formed a windbreak, and then they were in the open, feeling the force of the keen wind blowing across the park. By the look of the sky, it would snow again before morning.

  Their pace seemed interminably slow. A mile and a half felt like three, and the quarter of an hour it normally took to cover the distance stretched to four times the amount.

  “Not long now,” Ben said. “We’ll soon be there.”

  The groom had said the words three times already, yet minutes later, Joshua saw the stable block appear behind the next group of oak trees, and beyond the lake, the familiar outline of Holkham Hall. It was good to be home.

  On Boxing Day, he swapped his green coat for one in burgundy as he joined the servants’ hall celebrations. Mr Coke carved the roast goose, Mr Blakeney a sirloin of beef, and Joshua placed flagons of ale and cider on the tables. Then he sat down and ate his fill. When the dining was finished, the servants cleared the room and the country dancing began. He could not have enjoyed himself more, had he been a guest of the king.

  The only problem he encountered was the mistletoe bunches hanging in every doorway, which attracted maidservants like wasps to a jam pot. Whichever way he turned, there was one waiting, and so he passed it off in grand style, bowing low and kissing their hands as he would a lady. It was a source of great amusement for the menfolk and kept the women at arm’s length. Even the housekeeper could not resist the temptation to walk by at an opportune moment, and went away smiling.

  Snowflakes were falling again when he trudged back to the stables in the company of the grooms. It was too cold to waste time, but the camaraderie kept him warm, and stopped him feeling sad. The weather continued thus until the year’s end. Apart from a few lights in the windows, Holkham Hall seemed to be gently sleeping under a blanket of snow.

  When he listened to the church bells ringing in the New Year, Joshua wondered what the year would hold. Eight months had passed since his arrival, which meant he would be going home a few weeks after Easter.

  Michael and James returned before Twelfth Night, suitably refreshed by their family celebrations, and work began all over again.

  Soon afterwards, the family at the Hall set out for London. Parliament was in session, and they would see little of Mr Coke for several months. Joshua expected his father was similarly in transit from Linmore, and within another month, the London social season would begin.

  The thought triggered a memory of when he was in Rome, and of Lady Kenchester’s ideas about him and Lady Rosie. Much had happened since then, and he wondered if she still remembered him.

  The lambing snows came before the first covering melted. The shepherds were out in the days and the darkest of nights, gathering up the lambs, saving them from the cold and wet, and the ever-present danger of foxes and carrion.

  Immersed in the second placement of stockbreeding, Joshua had no time to feel lonely. Perversely, while his fellow students slept, he was out by the Great Barn with the shepherds, keeping the promise he made to go back, even if only for one night.

  In truth, it was for several nights and the reality was different to how he imagined. The hours were long and eerily quiet, apart from the occasional hoot of an owl, or call of a dog fox to its vixen.

  He followed the shepherds around the fields, holding a lantern while they carried the newborn lambs to shelter. When they gave him one to carry back to the barn, he slipped it inside his coat to keep it warm.

  Bittersweet memories caught him unawares. Thoughts of happier times flooded back as he remembered a night at Linmore when he, Charlie and Sophie sat in the stables, waiting for a foal to be born.

  Together they shared the sense of awe at the birth, the wonder as the wobbly little creature struggled to stand and the tears of relief when it did. The part that touched him most was the maternal tenderness.

  Charlie and Sophie had short but happy memories of their mother, which Joshua lacked. Thank goodness, Aunt Jane was there to cuddle him. Without her, he would have had no one.

  He was thankful none of the shepherds made fun of him when he washed his smeary face in a handful of snow. The icy chill on his skin shocked him into wakefulness, and he cast aside his maudlin feelings of self-pity.

  Back in the shepherds’ hut, he sh
ared a bite to eat and a drink around the log stove, but could not stay awake any longer. By the time he awoke several hours later, he was alone and the stove was burning low.

  Outside, birds were singing, and the snow-covered landscape looked different with a chilly sun rising over the sea. The sound of a newborn lamb crying for its mother made him think of Tess, and he wondered who would support her when she delivered her baby.

  Knowing he did not have the right to interfere, Joshua saddled his horse in the barn and took his leave of the shepherds.

  “Will we see you tonight?” someone asked.

  “You will,” he said, fully intending to be there.

  It was time to ride back for breakfast at the Hall, and he was there with his shepherd’s hat in hand before the other students left their beds. The servants in the breakfast room smiled, but no one made fun of his eccentricity. Afterwards, he stumbled back to the stables and fell into bed for a dreamless sleep. It seemed only minutes later he heard the door of his room open.

  “Come on, Norbery, you’ll miss breakfast.” Michael Gransden’s voice came through the mists of sleep.

  “I’ve had mine,” Joshua mumbled and buried his head under the pillow.

  “Please yourself, but don’t forget the agent’s meeting is at eleven o’clock.” Michael’s voice receded down the stairs.

  “Come on, James. Some of us have to show the agent we are ready to do some work. I do not know what’s happened to Joshua these last few days; dashed if I ever saw such a lazy fellow for sticking to his bed.”

  A few minutes later, Kegworth looked in to close the door, which Michael had left open. “It’s all right, Mr Norbery,” he said. “My young master doesn’t know the world goes on while he sleeps. I heard you come in at about half past five. What time do you want me to give you a call?”

  Joshua opened one bleary eye and yawned. “What time is it now?”

  “Five minutes after seven o’clock. How would it be if I brew up some tea, and bring some hot water for washing and shaving at about nine?”

  “Mmm…”