Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2)

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Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2) Page 11

by Andrew Wareham


  “There is work in the north and land in the Americas, if they will only go there. Pass the word again, Quillerson, that I will pay the fare from Bristol for any man who wishes to take his family across the ocean, and put money to live on in his pocket. For any single man who wants to take his chance at sea, I will put him on the coach to Portsmouth. If they won’t go, then then tell them upon their own heads be it, for I shall not give a penny more than the barest Poor Law – the choice is theirs. In fact, of course, they cannot be allowed to starve or freeze in hard winter, but they may believe me this year. How long to find tenants for Hammet’s land?”

  “Four hundred acres of beef, six hundreds of wheat – smaller than the other five and will require less in the way of savings from the incoming tenant. Jeremy Ferns in Finedon rents the glebe from Parson Nobbs and keeps cattle there and owns twenty acres of his own on the road down to Wellingborough and wants to grow bigger. He is a youngish man, a little older than me, and would make a good job of a new farm. Married, of course, with three boys. For the arable, no name comes immediately to mind but an advertisement in the paper would bring a hundred letters within a week and we could select a man to be in place before ploughing. If we keep Hammet’s yard and barns for the arable, building another barn and a couple of labourer’s cottages as well for ploughman and general hand, then we will need to pay for farm tracks to the road and the new yard, another house, one cottage, a barn and a couple of sheds; besides that, there will be new fences and hedges, perhaps a couple of ditches as well. Marchant will want another cart track, I expect.”

  Tom was a little dismayed as the list of new expenditure grew. He began to see how Rockingham had been led into insolvency, one logical step after another.

  “I shall see Marchant today, Sir Thomas, unless you wish to speak to him yourself?”

  “No, you are the bailiff, you should give him the good news as well as the bad.”

  “If I do, sir, he may think that I have persuaded you to change your mind, to adopt a compromise – and might well conclude that his best course for the future will be to set us against each other.”

  “Easily dealt with, Quillerson – we meet every morning and I will tell you of any conversation I have had with Marchant in the previous day and you do the same; any crafty little ploy he has devised will soon come to light then!”

  “It remains only to discuss the best site for the new farmyard then, Sir Thomas, which we should do at the location, I think, sir. Shall I call for our horses, sir?”

  It soon became clear to them that the beef farm would have to consist of two separate blocks of higher ground, part on land which had been Marchant’s, the rest on the slopes of Hammet’s acres. It was a minor nuisance, but no more than that – very few farms, Quillerson assured Tom, consisted of single compact blocks – only in the case of new enclosures could that ever be arranged, and then not always.

  “Ferns will want to take a hay cut each year and will not object to a field of turnips as well for fodder, so having some of the arable will be no problem to him. He saw me a few days ago to enquire whether it might be possible for him to rent some of Hammet’s land so I am within reason sure he will take the tenancy, especially with a new farmhouse – he lives in a very nasty shack at the moment. Farmyard here, sir, north of the smallholdings and on the track leading down to Hammet’s. A well should be practical, there should be water running towards the stream at a decent depth; siting the privy at least fifty yards clear and downhill of the well, of course – otherwise they will be dead of the spotted fever within a twelvemonth, nothing like a privy next to the well for killing off the family, sir!”

  Quillerson laughed heartily, entertained by such foolishness. Tom, not yet as robust in his attitudes as the true countryman, smiled politely and turned back to the Hall, leaving Quillerson to carry their proposals to Marchant.

  Courtesy, Verity insisted, demanded that bride visits be made to those families that had paid their respects to Tom – they would be formal morning visits, meant for the introduction of the new wife to her husband’s locality, they must take place even when strictly speaking unnecessary, Verity being better known than Tom in her own home area. The carriage had been called, the horses readied and he had barely sufficient time to scramble into formal country dress – frockcoat and pantaloons – that Brown had laid out for him; the valet glanced, just visibly, at the clock on the mantelshelf, forbore to shake his head, and hustled his master downstairs to be waiting in the hallway a bare ten seconds before Verity stepped gracefully and composedly down from her chamber.

  They spent their half an hour with Major Hunt and his wife, discussed the weather, the war and ‘poor Hammet’, the local man causing the greatest interest.

  “Is he hopeless, Sir Thomas, or will he return to his house?”

  “Doctor Porter has him locked away safely, Major Hunt, expects him never to be released from his confinement, is amazed that he had never yet turned to violence, thinks it probable that it is only the fact that the local folk knew of his foibles and took pains never to anger him that prevented bloodshed. Quillerson tells me that Hammet believes there to be a conspiracy between the fairies and the Papists to bring England down – hence, in part, the present war; before he saw the light young Quillerson was the only local Romanist and he took some care never to upset Hammet on those occasions when he had to visit him. Doctor Porter would seem to believe that he is a lucky young man. The estate will cover the costs of Hammet’s treatment, but I very much doubt that we shall ever see him again.”

  “I met the man but once, Sir Thomas. I was hacking across the old Common, near that big clump of blackthorns on what is now Barney’s land, when I saw a man with a fowling piece slipping from bush to bush, stalking towards me. I reined in and asked what he was about – for I believe I know all who have shooting rights locally – and he tipped his hat, very courteously, named himself and explained that he was on the track of half a dozen of vermin and hoped to ‘settle for them’ on this occasion. I left and he went on his way, but I heard no shots. I enquired of my lord’s gamekeeper afterwards if he knew anything of the affair and he very happily told me all and suggested the best course was to steer well clear of Hammet if I should see him again. I rather think that that may be what we all did, sir, possibly unwisely!”

  From Hunt they visited Mr Parker whose estate comprised some five hundred acres from the recent Thingdon enclosure and an old, amorphous manorial holding, shared with the Marquis, of lands along the valley all of the way to Thrapston. It was probable that when enclosure came – an event he anxiously awaited - he would be at least as large as the Thingdon estate, and considerably richer than was currently the case. His house was small, little more than a large yeoman’s farmhouse of half a dozen bedrooms, but the stables behind it were vast and included a pair of kennels for the packs. Parker met them, congratulated them, thanked Tom for his instant reinstatement of the Hall’s subscription and sat them in the disorderly front room that served as a salon; the absence of a mistress for the house was very obvious from the riding crops, hats, gloves, a reel under repair and a collection of fresh-tied trout flies on the table. A manservant brought wines and a plate of macaroons, slightly damp and tired-looking, a day old at least; Tom took Madeira, Verity ratafia as was appropriate for a young woman in the hours of daylight, both announced themselves to have been filled with sweetstuffs at the Major’s.

  Conversation was easily maintained – Mr Parker wanted to know about Hammet, their very own local loony. His father had regaled him with tales of his visit in his youth to Bedlam where the keepers would, for a shilling, stir their charges into action for the better entertainment of the spectators. He rather regretted that those good old days were gone, though he supposed that they were hardly suitable for the modern, enlightened age, still…

  “Not to worry, Sir Thomas! Were you aware, by the way, that Thingdon has certain riparian rights on the River Nene in this manor? Smythe was wholly uninterested, would not be
stir himself to look for the documents which probably exist in your offices; he doubted that they would translate into as much as two hundred acres at an enclosure and he must have been aware that Rockingham was in deep enough water already, if you will pardon the pun, sir!”

  Tom, who had not noticed any witticism, smiled deprecatingly, murmured his appreciation and promised to have his man fish out whatever documents he could find; he accepted Parker’s applause in turn, still unaware. Verity, silent in her chair, tried to keep a straight face.

  “Thomas, if we have rights in the valley then we could become involved in an enclosure, could we not?”

  “We could, my love, to an extent we would be forced to.”

  “Mr Parker would be very pleased to enclose and I know that my father wishes to, eventually. It would be greatly to his advantage, would it not?”

  “It would, but it would be very costly. Nothing can be done without the lead coming from the Marquis, for he must be Lord of the Manor, and that title has a meaning when it comes to enclosure. I believe, but I do not know for sure, never having travelled the land, that the valley is quite open and very boggy. Drainage would be expensive and necessary – it might well be wise to cut a new course for the river, a canal in effect, to assist in the control of the waters and still leave them open for boat traffic. I could not commit myself to that outlay this year or next, my love – I would have to sell either Roberts or the mines to do it immediately, and that does not make sense to me as prices are still low. If the depression in trade ends this year, as seems probable, and if the war continues for another two to keep the demand for coals high, then I will be able to sell two or three of the pits most distant from Roberts and lay my hands upon twenty thousands, which will be ample for the purpose.”

  She nodded – there was a limit to Thomas’ willingness to dip into his purse; she was glad to know that, for it meant that she could ask him for anything in the certainty that he might refuse if it made sense to do so – she would not be able in ignorance to embarrass him financially.

  “We must go to Burton tomorrow, Thomas, and then we may rest content that we have done our duty. Being part-way to Kettering we could go into the town from there, thus visiting the silversmith, as again, we really should.”

  “Yes, of course, Verry. While I think of it, what was the ‘pun’ that Parker made so much of?”

  She explained; then she went into greater detail until he finally grasped the wit behind it.

  “Ah! You know, my dear, I always believed I had a sense of humour. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  She reassured him, explaining that although puns might sometimes be funny, they had very little to do with humour.

  “Something of a strange household, Parker’s, I felt, Verry.”

  “Very sporting.”

  “And no other interest in his life, neither female nor male. He will not marry, of that I am quite sure – do we know of his heir?”

  “His father had two brothers, I know – it seems likely that they will have produced sons who would inherit if there is an entail – but I do not know if that is the case, it is rare for unenclosed lands to be entailed, I believe, I do not even know if it is legally possible. If the estate is left by Will, then I assume his sister will be beneficiary – he dines with the Hunts at least weekly, they are close.”

  On Parker’s death Hunt would become a great man of the area it seemed; it was even more necessary to keep on terms with him.

  The Latimers were effusive in their congratulations to Verity on her marriage, never once admiring her cleverness in making such a catch - and her on her last legs, almost on the shelf – but leaving the words unsaid, clearly hanging in the air. They presumed that the Marquis would be enclosing now, it was long overdue, though such an expensive business! No doubt the furnaces around Finedon would expand, an increase in the iron trade there would benefit the prosperity of all, did she not agree?

  She smiled and nodded to all they said, turning her head so that they could catch the glitter of the diamonds in her ears and get a better view of the necklace which she had chosen to wear in the daytime.

  “Sir Thomas will be very active in the area, I believe, Mrs Latimer, though I do not know of any plans he has to involve himself in iron locally. You have a quarry on your lands, do you not? Perhaps Sir Thomas could advise you on the more effective administration of your commercial ventures – it is not a field in which I have any experience, of course.”

  It was very refreshing, honing her wit on the malice of the long-disliked, condescending, self-important, under-educated County grandees; she had taken pains to instruct Thomas to address Latimer as ‘Squire’ at least once in their half-hour.

  “It must have been a pleasure, Lady Verity, to know that your husband was not to be a plain ‘mister’.”

  “Oh, my dear ma’am! These political titles, you know – the country is becoming full of them, Baron This and Viscount That, ‘Services to the Crown’, when we all know that they are the merest nothing – a few thousands in the government’s hands and a word in the right people’s ears in the Season. Was it not for the sake of the children one would refuse such a title, but, if I should be so fortunate as to be blessed with a son, then it would be a pleasure to see him become Lord Andrews.”

  She smiled sweetly, knowing full well that the Latimers would never bring any of their daughters out in the Season, lacking the entrée, and sure that they neither had access to any right person’s ear nor a few thousands to fling away on politicians’ little pleasures.

  “I do believe Mr Latimer has been very active in the public affairs of the County in recent years, Mrs Latimer – I shall certainly remind Sir Thomas of the fact when next he has converse with the Lord Lieutenant.”

  They took their leave, the courteous smiles never once slipping, turned the coachman towards the Kettering road.

  “Oh, I enjoyed that, Thomas!”

  “You did, my love? I had not thought them to have anything in common with you – Latimer knows nothing of the war, of public affairs, of the Irish Question or of the banks. He was very willing to discuss the number of idle beggars infesting the highways and recommend flogging them, and he was very much in favour of hanging any poachers one might come across. Other than that he had no opinions or knowledge of his own on any topic at all!”

  “They have for years seen themselves as gracious in their tolerance and recognition of the decayed, once-great local aristocrats, the shabby-genteel Grafhams – they offered once to put me up on one of their hunters if I should wish to go out with Mr Parker’s pack! I have repaid at least five years of sneers and condescension in one half of an hour’s visit! Mrs Latimer came very close to a conniption fit for having to politely agree with me and maintain the proprieties – she will be exploding at this moment, I doubt not! I told her, by the way, that you would take her husband up with the Lord Lieutenant, might well, I implied, be able to land the knighthood he has been angling for these last five years – she almost choked on it!”

  Tom had no comment to make – it all seemed very unimportant to him, but he had more sense than say so; he contented himself with possessing Verity’s hand as they sat privately in the carriage, out of sight of passers-by and, more importantly, the coachman, Wilkins’ second groom.

  “This road is bad, one of the worst I have known for the link between two large towns such as Bedford and Kettering. Has a turnpike been mooted, do you know, Verry?”

  She did not.

  “I have heard that a pike costs as much as seven hundred pounds a mile on average – less on the dry, more on clays – so I have no great ambition to fund one myself, my dear, but in winter I suspect that we shall not be driving into Kettering.”

  “Or anywhere else, Thomas. From November to March, if you wish to travel then you take horse to Bedford or Huntingdon or Northampton, a chaise from any of those points north or south.”

  “In time, then, a Turnpike Trust could be formed, all local gentlemen invited to sub
scribe against a share in the income from the road, though I doubt there would be sufficient traffic to provide a respectable return. Government would pay some part of the cost if they could be persuaded it was a military road, necessary for the movement of troops – but I do not see how that could be argued, not in Northamptonshire. A pity your father is associated with the Navy Board rather than the army. Perhaps Mr Walker may be induced to display an interest in matters military – one’s own politico has to be of some use, after all.”

  The silversmith was all Verity had promised – a provincial gentleman catering to local tastes and needs. There was a tea-service on proud display: pot, sugar bowl, milk and cream jugs, tongs, hot-water jug, all distinguished more by mass of bullion than by any artistic elegance, classically decorated with allusion to Greek myth totally lost on Tom. It met his needs amply. Verity suppressed a shudder and directed the merchant to box the set carefully and address it to Mr Quillerson at the Home Farm, Thingdon Estate, compliments and best wishes of Sir Thomas and Lady Verity Andrews. His own man would take it that day he promised.

  “Sir Thomas, John Denham wishes to speak with you, if it is convenient this morning, he is waiting outside, as I ventured to say that you would be prepared to listen to him. I can send him away if you wish, sir.”

  Tom shook his head, he had to back Quillerson in this, would see the man immediately.

  “And Mrs Quillerson, sir, sends her best thanks for the wedding gift that came yesterday – though it has left her in a sad quandary for where best to put it, she having just arranged her rooms to her satisfaction and now everything to be shifted to set the tea-service in pride of place. My thanks as well, Sir Thomas, it is truly magnificent and will impress all of the tenants when they come to take tea with us, as they all must every month or two in courtesy bound.”

 

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