An Uncertain Peace (The Making of a Man Series, Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  “I am sure you are right, Sir Richard, but if the family is to become prominent in local affairs then you must accept the burden of leadership.”

  “Which means what, in simple English, Briggs?”

  “Buy the land, sir, and make it profitable.”

  Dick had no wish to become an agriculturalist; he spoke to his agent, Parkinson, enquiring on the progress of the park as a lead into the whole topic.

  “The labourers have moved into their cottages, Sir Richard, and are very pleased to have done so and to discover that they are rent-free. They are the envy of the whole locality, sir! I have surveyed the land and have pegged out the course that the new stream is to take and have identified the probable extent of the pond that will be formed. Digging has commenced, and we have set out a nursery for the trees we shall plant. Willow and ash predominantly, sir, but a few of oaks and elms as well and, if you will bear with my fancy, a number of rowan trees, the mountain ash, sir, for being so handsome!”

  “The park is to be ornamental, Mr Parkinson, so that is sufficiently logical, I believe. Will you also plant some fruit trees among them, sir, cherries particularly for being so fine in spring?”

  “Mixed, rather than an orchard as such? One could certainly do so, Sir Richard, and their blossom would show out across the sides of the valley. A noble concept, sir!”

  Dick found the young man’s Romanticism a trifle tedious, but he recognised the potential value of his enthusiasm; the gentleman was engaged in a labour of love as much as in commercial employment. It would be as well to keep him in the job, ideally for life.

  “A point that occurs to me, Mr Parkinson, is that I do not know where you actually live.”

  “I rent a cottage in the village, Sir Richard. Not very large, perhaps, but quite sufficient for a single man.”

  That was ideal, Dick thought, it gave him the opening he required.

  “You are to say, in fact, that I permit you to live worse than the labourers you employ? That is hardly the way to go about things, sir! I am sadly at fault to expose you in such a way!”

  Parkinson was not aware that he had been exposed at all; he checked the flap of his breeches just in case he had mistaken Dick’s meaning.

  “Who built the cottages for the labourers, Mr Parkinson?”

  “Horncastle, sir, the local builders.”

  “Speak to them today, if you will, and commission the construction of a proper house in a couple of acres, well separate from the labourers, with, say, six bedrooms and appropriate facilities – to include water closets and a cesspool, of course. Ensure there are quarters for cook and maids, for you will no doubt wish to marry one day. To be rent free for your employment with Burkes, of course, and to retire into eventually.”

  “But, Sir Richard, you will hardly need my services when the park is once established.”

  “That raises another question, Mr Parkinson. Would you be willing, sir, to expand your duties? At an appropriate salary, of course. It seems that I may find it incumbent upon me to assist a neighbour by making a purchase of more of his acres – Mr Meridew, as you will gather – and I rather suspect these lands to be in poor condition. Before you make your answer, sir, be aware that I wish these lands to be brought into profit, and I know that will mean to move out of wheat. Into what, will be the question.”

  Parkinson had no immediate answer – farmers grew wheat and barley and turnips, and planted sweet grasses on the pastures if they had a herd of cattle as well. That was the way of agricultural life and one could hardly expect wantonly to change it.

  He began to explain his argument before realising that he very much wanted his employment to continue, especially on the new terms.

  “Well, yes, Sir Richard, it seems that change must come. The railways make it possible, of course, to send fresh foodstuffs into the towns… Even, I would imagine, into London… though that would involve the use of wholesalers and such and might cost more than it gained. To Poole and to Southampton and Portsmouth would be quite easy to arrange, one must think… What do people in town want, I wonder?”

  “Potatoes and cabbages, beans and peas spring to mind, Mr Parkinson. Possibly salad foods as well.”

  “In effect, sir, market gardening on an enlarged scale. Or perhaps simply to purchase from many smaller places and send the foodstuffs by the ton on the railways… I believe I may see a way forward, Sir Richard. Would it be possible to take a few days to get my thoughts together, sir?”

  It would, and Dick was pleased that he wished to do so, and thus to shoulder the whole of the burden that Meridew’s land promised to become.

  “Louise, is it your intention to visit your parents today?”

  “Tomorrow, Sir Richard, if that fits your convenience. I had thought to rest from travelling today, and to confer with the Housekeeper and with Briggs, as they say is necessary after my absence.”

  “Very good, my dear. I would wish to accompany you tomorrow as I must speak with your father on local matters. I need his advice, I believe. The matter of Mr Meridew.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “He has fallen into debt again. I rescued him last year with the purchase of the lands that will be our park. I paid a long price for the acres, intentionally, because he was in need of cash. He had thought to rein in his foolish son, but it would seem that his lady did not permit him to do so and the young man has brought him to the verge of insolvency. Now, he must sell some, even all of his farms simply to pay off the young man’s pressing debts.”

  “But, Sir Richard! If he does so then he will have no income next year. What will he do then?”

  “He will be forced to sell his house and take a small place in a town - Dorchester or Blandford or Poole. It is probably the case that his wife has an income secured to herself – normally very small, a hundred or so – and they will be forced to live on that.”

  “How?”

  The concept of living on a hundred was alien to her; she could not imagine how it was to be achieved.

  “Not very easily, my dear. They would have to spend less than the allowance which I make you for your personal needs, your pin money.”

  That seemed quite impossible to her; she was not extravagant, she believed, but she must expect to spend more than one hundred on her own clothing in the year. A thought occurred to her.

  “An income secured to Mrs Meridew, sir. Is there such a thing secured to me?”

  “On my death, yes. You will find yourself very comfortably circumstanced as a widow. I agreed with your father that a sum should be paid into a fund every year to add to your eventual income. For the while, you have one hundred pounds a quarter which will be placed in your hands in cash while we are resident here. I shall be visiting the bank today, I would add, and the monies that have accrued while we have been overseas will be yours by this evening. I had believed that your father had informed you of the financial arrangements we had made for you. I am sorry not to have made sure that you knew.”

  “One hundred pounds a quarter, Sir Richard. That is more than I had realised… and simply to be spent as I wish, on clothes or whatever I desire. That smacks of profligacy, Sir Richard!”

  “You may give it away if you prefer. I have no doubt there are charities will be very glad of the money.”

  “It does not smack that hard, sir!”

  “I hoped it might not, my dear.”

  She began to laugh, presumably at herself.

  “We shall pay a morning call upon your esteemed parents tomorrow, my dear. Will you wear your necklace, or is that for evenings only?”

  “One may occasionally stretch a point, Sir Richard. I am sure my mama will be delighted to see it – she will be so pleased that I have another piece of jewellery that betters anything she possesses.”

  “Another piece?”

  “My emerald, Sir Richard! It far outstrips the little diamond that had long been her pride and joy!”

  “I did not realise. I fear I may have been the cause of ill-f
eeling between you.”

  “Oh no, sir, nothing more than the ordinary jealousy of a lady subsiding into her middle years for her blooming young daughter.”

  This was deep water for Dick; he was not at home with emotion and feelings, particularly those of the female. He had a sufficiency of sense not to say that he regretted making her the gifts and turned the conversation back to the Meridews.

  “Do you know anything of the scapegrace son, my dear?”

  “Very little. He would be five years older than me and has hardly been seen in the area since his schooldays. Not that he was schooled, as such. He learned his letters at his mama’s knee and there were tutors thereafter. He went up to Oxford, but was sent down again in his second term. I do not know precisely what the reason was. I suspect he made a fool of himself – that appeared to be one of the few skills he had mastered.”

  Dick grinned, pleased with her malice.

  “Well expressed, my dear! What particularly produced that comment?”

  “He would buy horses that were disposed of for being unmanageable, making a play of bidding for them in the auction ring, so my brothers told me. The impression he wished to give was that of the rare horseman, the true artist, as it were, who would succeed where lesser men had failed, turning bad horses into good.”

  “I presume he was observed to be unsuccessful in his endeavours?”

  “He broke an arm twice for being thrown; he was kicked sufficiently to put him to bed for a week on at least three occasions. He never showed himself riding one of his purchases.”

  “And the young men of the neighbourhood were entertained?”

  “Loudly, sir! One might almost say raucously. It was one of the reasons why he decided to live in Town.”

  “I presume he cut a dash as a young man about Town. I know he has been extremely expensive. What is he to do now, one wonders?”

  She looked suddenly thoughtful, frowning.

  “What can he do, Sir Richard? If there is no money then he cannot continue in his present career, but I cannot imagine that he will be content to return to his home. I would be surprised if he was entirely welcome there, for that matter. He has two younger brothers, you know.”

  “He has impoverished them. I do not know what they will do, my dear.”

  “The Army, perhaps?”

  Dick shook his head.

  “Who is to purchase a commission for them? Or to make them an allowance, for an officer cannot as a rule live on his pay. I believe they must be too old to attend a naval college and take to the sea. They cannot become lieutenants of either sort.”

  “Then, what is there for them, Sir Richard?”

  “I do not know, Louise. They cannot go up to Oxford, for lack of money, so they cannot become clergymen. One must have sat one’s terms at one of the Universities to be ordained. To learn the Law demands that they pay for Articles with an attorney, or, again, have sat their terms to become a barrister. None of the gentleman’s professions are open to them. If their father has friends who will come to his assistance, then he might be able to find them places in India or Africa with one of the great companies and they might become tea-planters or something like. But I am not convinced that Mr Meridew has any friends with influence.”

  “So, you say there is quite literally nothing for them, Sir Richard?”

  “Not that will retain their genteel status, no, ma’am.”

  “What are they to do? In actuality, for they cannot remain at home for the rest of their lives.”

  “Walk down to Poole and seek a place aboard ship; that would be my advice. I do not know if the port still harbours whalers, but there is an occupation if it does. Failing that, a berth as a landsman on a trader going out to the coasts of Africa is possible, I suspect. The Fever Coast kills so many that there are always vacancies for crewmen, or it used to be so ten years ago and probably still will be. If they survive three or four voyages then they will have a hundred or two pounds to their names and might be able to invest in a small business, taking part shares in their own trading ship, perhaps. Twenty years and they might be able to retrieve the family fortunes.”

  “Or, more likely, they will be dead of the fevers.”

  “Very probably, my dear. To be a younger son is not easy, I fear, unless one’s father is able to provide a beginning in life. I do not intend to lose my money, I assure you, and much desire that we may do a better job of raising our eldest. It is my hope that we may have several children, my dear, my very earnest hope, I would add. A musician in the family would be something great; but not perhaps a clergyman – that might be something of a disappointment!”

  “I would like a soldier son, to serve the Queen, Sir Richard, and perhaps one to become a rancher in America.”

  “And a daughter or two, to wed into the best families!”

  “With the heir and a musician, and perhaps a lawyer as well, then we seem to be well on the way to a round dozen, Sir Richard! That smacks of enthusiasm, sir!”

  “It does indeed, my dear. Let us be content to take the matter one at a time!”

  “I believe that is the normal way of doing things, from all that Merrett has told me!”

  Dick reflected later that his second marriage was far more successful than his first; he began to believe that he was very lucky in his choice of a wife.

  “So, Mr Sudbury, what am I to do? Mr Meridew, poor little chap, has let it be known that he would be most obliged was I to come to his rescue. Should I, must I, do so?”

  Sudbury assumed his most pompous air, the lawyer resurfacing.

  “Must? No, Sir Richard, you are under no legal or moral obligation to the poor gentleman. In terms of ‘should’, however, then we are into an entirely different kettle of fish! You are in many ways a leading figure of local society. You are wealthy – and that is not unimportant – and are a titled person as well, and that, may I say, is very important. You have military rank, in two armies, no less! You have attracted no little attention for wearing a mark of martial distinction. You are known to have acquaintances, I will not say friends, in high places in both London and Washington. Such being the case, Sir Richard, you have some responsibilities to the lesser mortals among us; Mr Meridew is one such.”

  “I am to buy him out, you would suggest, sir. Will that not risk creating a degree of bad feeling in the County, a suspicion that I have profited from his misfortunes?”

  “Not when the word is whispered that you paid a very long price, Sir Richard, sufficient to relieve him of his embarrassments. It will be possible for that information to be spread, in absolute confidence, among the ladies, who will of course tell all of their acquaintance in great detail.”

  Dick smiled at the exercise in cynical wit; it was very much a lawyer’s joke.

  “What of his sons, Mr Sudbury? There will be very little future for them.”

  “I do not know, Sir Richard. They are not to be your responsibility, that I am certain of, but what they are to do is beyond me. I have difficulty enough in trying to ascertain a future for my own youngest boy, Louise’s brother Jonathan, and I can find a little of cash to establish him. What Meridew will do, I just do not know. Nor, I suspect, does he.”

  “One could perhaps put them aboard a ship to the States or Australia, with fifty pounds in their pocket.”

  “The youngest of Meridew’s boys is a weedy and not overly bright youth. He would be quite unable to stand on his own feet in the rough and tumble world of a colony. The second is possibly capable. The eldest is of no use, as they say in Dorset, to man or beast. He would throw his fifty pounds away in the first week and starve in the second.”

  Dick gave up – they were not his problem.

  “Should I call upon Meridew, or will it be better that he should come to me, sir?”

  “With your permission, Sir Richard, I shall speak to him first. I will tell him that I have persuaded you to come to his rescue but that you are doing so as a favour to me. Only the fact that I am your father by marriag
e has brought you to accede to my request, and indeed there is no obligation upon you to do so, as he must admit. Such being the case, he is to be moderation itself in his demands, and he must not expect anything for his sons. To be open with you, Sir Richard, I have no wish to see you spending money on Meridew that could be better used for your own family! I am delighted that Louise is to present you with a first child, and much hope that it may be a son, of course. She is only a skinny little girl and I had feared that she might be long in performing her duty and I glad that I am wrong.”

  Dick was inclined to be irritated at this casual dismissal of Louise as a possibly deficient brood-mare. He discovered that he had an affection for her that made him wish to protest that she was far more than that.

  “My wife made herself a considerable name in Washington for her playing, sir, and did me a deal of good in process. I was able to meet a number of people I might not otherwise have come across. I am, it goes without saying, pleased indeed that she is to produce our first-born, I will be so proud of a child in her image, but I value her for far more than that simple function.”

  Mr Sudbury was amazed – he had not considered that there might be a place for affection in the marriage. He could not be entirely displeased, he supposed, but a marriage contract was of too much importance to allow for the vagaries of romance as well.

  “Well, Sir Richard, as Louise’s father I must be very glad to hear you say so. To come back to Meridew, I understand that his lady wife is possessed by inheritance of a small property in Ireland, a few miles outside of Belfast, and I believe he will be forced to retire to it. She has an income besides of some two hundred a year by dowry and that will be the whole of the family’s wealth. It could be far worse. I shall endeavour to discover the extent of his obligations; I know his holdings, of course. He has four separate small farms, a total of nine hundred acres and I know they have been much neglected. The price will need to be sufficient to meet his creditors’ demands, but will come in at less than twenty thousands, that I am sure of. I do not know whether you can raise the wind to that tune, Sir Richard. Will you need to seek a banking accommodation?”