‘Luke,’ he called. ‘Give us a hand, would you?’ Annabel felt a little thrill as she heard Theo address the man by his Christian name and not by his surname as was the custom of the Lyndon family. Perhaps the boy was already beginning to make his own decisions, even though at the moment it was in small, but to Annabel significant, matters.
Luke hurried forward and lifted the trunks easily. Then he turned towards Annabel. ‘’Tis good to see you, m’lady. Are you keeping well?’
‘I am, Luke, thank you. And how is everyone at Fairfield Hall?’
‘All fine, m’lady, thank you. The old lady is rather frail now, though,’ he added with a smile. ‘Either me or Thomas take her to the garden when the weather’s warm enough. She still manages to walk most times.’
Goodbyes were said again and soon the two carriages were bowling down the driveway and travelling for some distance in the same direction.
‘Why did Luke call you “m’lady”, Mother?’ Charlie asked.
‘Because I suppose, in his eyes, I am still Lady Fairfield.’
‘And are you really?’
‘Legally, probably, yes, but at home I don’t choose to use the title.’
Charlie and Bertie glanced at each other, silently asking the same question. Shall we tell her what happened? Charlie gave a little nod and together they recounted the confrontation between Theo and his mother.
‘Oh dear,’ Annabel said worriedly, when they had finished their tale, ‘I do hope Theo won’t be in dreadful trouble when he gets home.’
Sixty
Dorothea would never forget what had happened. It still rankled and made her nag James all the more to move things forward.
‘It’s time you took legal advice, James. I don’t know why you’re procrastinating. Annabel left you. You have every right to divorce her for desertion. And you should take steps to disinherit her bastard son.’ James flinched, but Dorothea was not done yet. ‘Can’t you take it to the courts or even to the House of Lords? There must be some way to stop someone from inheriting a peerage to which they have no right.’
James was torn. His longstanding affair with Lady Cynthia had withered and died. They remained friends, but hardly ever saw each other. Now, there was nothing in his life except the Army. He still could not summon up enough interest in the estate to take an active part and as long as Jim Chadwick ran things satisfactorily and the estate was prospering – which he did and it was – James saw no reason to give up the life he loved. But to his surprise, he missed Annabel. Even after all this time, he almost expected her to be there waiting for him when he came home on leave and, despite the relatively short time they’d spent together, he realized that she had wound herself into his heart. He regretted his hasty decision in driving her out and he lamented the fact that he probably had a son and legitimate heir to his title and lands whom he’d refused to recognize. He was sorry that he’d allowed his sister to feed his jealousy with her tales. She had dominated him all his life – indeed, she had dominated both the brothers in their childhood even though she’d been two years younger than Albert. James sighed whenever he thought about it. It was such a pity Dorothea had not been born the eldest boy.
‘I’ll make some enquiries,’ was all James would promise his sister and Dorothea clicked her tongue in exasperation. It was the only answer she ever got from him. Surely, after over ten years of separation something could be done? But the truth was, though Dorothea would not and could not face it, James didn’t want to divorce Annabel.
‘If you don’t do something, James, that boy will fight for his inheritance when he comes of age. His mother will see to that.’
James raised his eyebrows. ‘His inheritance, you say?’
‘You know what I mean,’ she snapped, though she vowed to choose her words more carefully.
James refused to say more. Instead, he turned away, went to sit with his mother for an hour or so, had a brief chat with his nephew when he arrived home from school that afternoon, and then left to return to camp without another word to his sister.
Dorothea decided not to refer to the argument with her son and she greeted him as usual with the words, ‘You have a long holiday before you. Don’t let Christmas get in the way of your duty. Make sure you use the time wisely. Chadwick will take you around the estate and make sure he shows you the accounts.’
Theo smiled inwardly, happy to agree to his mother’s demands. He regarded himself as custodian of the estate until such time as his cousin could take up his rightful place. It saddened Theo that Bertie, who Theo believed to be the rightful heir, could have no claim on it whatsoever. But there was something he could do for Bertie and he planned to start his campaign the very next day.
Early the following morning, he saddled the horse he used whenever he was home from school and rode down the long drive after breakfast and took the road leading to Blackbird Farm.
‘Good morning, Mr Chadwick,’ he greeted the farmer as he stepped into the byre where Jim and his farm workers were busy with the morning milking.
Jim, his forehead against the flank of a cow, twisted round to look at him. ‘ ’Morning, Master Theodore. What brings you here?’ Jim stood up and carefully moved the full bucket of milk away from the cow’s restless feet. As he saw the boy more clearly, he said, ‘My, you’ve grown.’
‘I was wondering if I might have a word with you, Mr Chadwick, but I don’t want to interrupt your work.’ Theo glanced longingly around the byre breathing in the smells and sounds of the milking shed.
‘We’re almost done. The lads can finish off. Would you like some breakfast?’
Whilst he’d already had his at home, the ride had made him hungry again and Theo said, ‘That’d be very kind of you.’
‘Come along then, Master Theodore, no doubt the wife can find enough for an extra mouth.’ Briefly – as he often did – Jim remembered the time when they couldn’t even feed themselves let alone an unexpected guest. He thought of Annabel almost every day and thanked the Good Lord for her timely arrival in their midst. Where would they all have been by now, he wondered, without her?
‘Please, won’t you just call me “Theo”?’
Jim paused a moment before saying, ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘I do, especially,’ he grinned, ‘as I have a favour to ask.’
Jim chuckled as he opened the back door of the farmhouse and ushered Theo inside, calling, ‘Mary, another one for breakfast.’
Mary Chadwick’s eyes widened when she saw who their visitor was, but she made no fuss and merely placed more sausages and bacon into the frying pan, cut more bread and broke two eggs into a basin to cook last of all.
‘Sit down, Master Theodore,’ she said. ‘You’re very welcome.’
‘Theo. Please call me “Theo”.’
‘Theo,’ Jim began, ‘has a favour to ask us. Go on, lad.’
‘I was wondering if you could find work somewhere on the estate for Bertie Banks during the school holidays. And – and I’d like to help out too. I don’t need to be paid,’ he added swiftly, ‘though I think perhaps Bertie might be glad of the money.’
Jim scratched his head. ‘I don’t see why not, Master – I mean, Theo. We can always use an extra pair of hands on the estate, especially on Home Farm.’ The older man stared at the young boy wondering how much he knew – or understood – about the family feuding.
Theo returned his gaze steadily as he said quietly, ‘I don’t want to be treated any differently to any of your workers, Mr Chadwick, and certainly not as the future lord and master because – by rights – I shouldn’t be.’
Mary almost dropped the plate of food as she placed it in front of him. She turned wide eyes to her husband for his guidance. Jim sat down at the table and picked up his own knife and fork as his two workers came in the back door, removing their boots before they padded to the table in just their thick socks.
Theo ate hungrily. ‘This is wonderful, Mrs Chadwick. Mrs Parrish is a great cook but she never
makes a breakfast quite like this. I love the fried bread.’
‘So, Theo,’ Jim said as he stood up when they had all finished eating and drinking a strong cup of tea, ‘I’ll take you around the other farms and see what’s what.’
‘Could we pick up Bertie from the village?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Jim said. It seemed to be one of his favourite sayings.
Theo began work the following day on Home Farm and Bertie was welcomed by Dan Broughton and his family.
‘William’ll show you around and tell you what he wants you to do. There’s not a lot of work this time of year, but if you take to it, there’ll be plenty in the Easter and summer holidays,’ Dan said. ‘And we’ll be very glad of your help at harvest time.’
Throughout the Christmas holidays the two cousins worked on the estate whilst, unbeknown to them – though they might have guessed, if they’d thought about it – Charlie, too, was helping out on his grandfather’s farm. He worked with the will, though perhaps not quite the physical strength, of a much older boy. And so the three cousins immersed themselves in the country way of life and grew to love it.
The following summer, Bertie begged his mother to allow him to leave school. ‘I’ve already stayed on a lot longer than most village boys.’
‘I’ll have to talk to Lady Annabel,’ Nancy said worriedly. ‘She’s paid your school fees all these years. I don’t want to offend her.’
So towards the end of the summer holidays of 1908, Nancy and Bertie climbed into the village’s communal pony and trap and drove out of Fairfield, through the town and beyond it to Meadow View Farm.
When she saw them, Annabel flung her arms wide and embraced them both. ‘Come in, come in. How lovely to see you.’
When they were seated in Martha’s kitchen, Nancy said hesitantly, ‘M’lady, we can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for us and Bertie would never have had such a good education if you hadn’t sent him to that school, but – but—’
‘I want to leave, Aunt Annabel. Mr Broughton says I can go and work on his farm full time. He’s got bad rheumatism now and though he still does what he can, William can’t cope on his own.’
‘And is that what you want to do with your life, Bertie? Be a farmer?’ Annabel asked quietly.
The boy’s eyes shone. ‘Oh yes, Aunt. I never want to do anything else and I never want to leave Fairfield.’
Annabel felt a lump in her throat. How unfair life was. Bertie would have been the perfect future earl and master of the estate and yet he never could be. She raised her eyes to meet Nancy’s anxious gaze. ‘What do you feel about this, Nancy?’
‘He – he’s done his best – he’s worked hard – at school, m’lady, but he finds book learning hard. He’s struggled to keep up with the other boys this last year.’
‘I’d hoped Bertie might want to stay on longer – perhaps go to college or university.’
‘He’d not be happy,’ Nancy said softly.
‘Then – if you’re sure – I will write to Mr Roper and tell him you won’t be returning in September.’
‘Oh thank you, Aunt Annabel,’ Bertie cried and without a trace of embarrassment he flung his arms around her.
So, Bertie’s future was settled, but Theo’s was far from certain. He had no choice but to remain at school as his mother demanded. ‘You’re clever enough to go to university,’ Dorothea declared. ‘You could go to Oxford or Cambridge. It would be such a good grounding for a future earl. You must stay on an extra year and try.’
Theo said nothing. Dutifully, he returned to school and suffered another two years. The work was easy enough for the bright, intelligent boy, but he longed to be back home working alongside Bertie on the estate and for the first time in his life, he envied another. Charlie had no choice but to continue his education and he knew his mother would like him to go on to some form of further education. ‘I’m not as clever as Theo,’ he confided seriously. ‘Wouldn’t I be better working here on the farm? Gramps says that one day it will come to me.’
‘Of course it will, my darling, but a good education is never wasted. At least, stay on until you are eighteen and then you can decide.’
But to the eleven-year-old boy, the grand old age of eighteen seemed a lifetime away.
Late in 1909, to please his mother, Theo sat the entrance examination to Oxford and was accepted at the prestigious university. He began a four-year course in the autumn of 1910 and graduated in the summer of 1914.
On 28 June, the same day that Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and his wife, Sophie, were shot dead in Sarajevo, Theo came home to Fairfield Hall.
Sixty-One
‘You know there’s going to be a war, don’t you?’ Theo said to Bertie when they met in The Lyndon Arms after a long day in the fields. It was August Bank Holiday, but farm work on the estate had not stopped; cows still needed to be milked and livestock fed.
Bertie looked at him wide-eyed. ‘I knew there was trouble on the continent – Mr Broughton was talking about it, but why should it involve us?’
‘It’s all very complicated,’ Theo murmured.
‘And you think I wouldn’t understand it.’
‘No, no, old chap, I wouldn’t think that at all. Truth is’ – he laughed drolly – ‘I don’t really understand it myself properly. It’s all come about because of the archduke and his wife getting shot.’
‘Ah,’ Bertie said, hoping he sounded knowledgeable, but the truth was he had little interest in politics and even less in world affairs, which he didn’t think affected him. But now, it seemed that the assassination of someone he’d not heard of before the man got himself shot might have a huge effect on all the young men of Bertie’s country.
‘It’s all to do with complicated alliances,’ Theo went on. ‘The chaps at Oxford were full of it before we came down. Kaiser Bill wants his army to match those of France and Russia and he’s jealous of Britain’s navy. He’s ambitious but we can’t let him get too big for his boots. He’s been building up his navy and that’s a worry for us. He’s only just a few miles across the sea. So, for the last few years we’ve been building more battleships too. He’s upset France and Russia by strengthening his army, so we’re thrown into bed with them. That’s the military side of it, but then, there are the alliances.’
Bertie frowned in puzzlement.
‘Germany’s pally with Austria and Italy. That means that Britain, France and Russia have almost been forced into an alliance together. That’s how I see it anyway.’ Theo took a sip of his beer. ‘And then, of course, there’s the size of their empires that’s a thorn in old Bill’s side. Britain’s covers about a quarter of the world, you know.’
Bertie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’
‘And we’re all competing for slices of Africa, grabbing land and wealth by building railroads and plantations. And then, of course,’ he went on, ‘there’s national pride. You’ve got your larger nations that rule smaller ones and those under someone’s thumb – like a lot of the Serbs are under Austria – want their freedom.’
Bertie shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s only natural. But how’s it come to war?’
‘I think – and, understand, it’s only my opinion – that it’s been brewing for years. It just needed a spark to light the conflagration.’
‘And that was the shooting of the Austrian archduke, was it?’
Theo nodded. ‘It seems like it. He was killed by a Serb and so a few days ago, Austria declared war on Serbia. Now, because of Germany’s alliance with Austria, Serbia looked to Russia for help.’
‘So that brings France in too, does it?’
Theo nodded. ‘Germany declared war on Russia and then on France.’
‘And you reckon that’ll involve us too?’
Theo nodded soberly before emptying his glass and signalling for a refill. ‘I’ve no doubt about it.’
‘So – what should we do?’
‘There’s a recruiting rally in town on Friday. I was t
hinking of going. I want to listen to what they have to say.’
‘They’re a bit quick off the mark, aren’t they?’
Theo shrugged. ‘A pal of mine from Oxford wrote to say there have been posters up in London since July. He’s thinking of enlisting.’
‘Then I’ll come with you to the rally,’ Bertie said. ‘But first, it’s my round.’
Ben Jackson had not ventured into Thorpe St Michael very often during the years since his enforced departure from Fairfield, but on the morning he heard that a recruiting rally was to be held in the town, his curiosity and some vague ridiculous notion that he might be swept along on the tide of patriotic fervour and volunteer his services, lured him into accompanying Joe Moffatt to market.
The market that day, however, drew little interest and cattle stood miserably in the pens unsold, their owners even more unhappy. The focus of everyone’s attention was on the war and the young men – and not so young men – marching off to fight.
‘I hope you won’t be volunteering, Ben. I can’t do without my right-hand man.’
Ben pulled a face. ‘I doubt they’d take an old man of forty-eight, do you?’
Joe flicked the reins and the horse moved forward. ‘Might have to if it gets serious – and I reckon it will – but you’re right, it’ll be all the youngsters who’ll go.’
Ben did not reply. He was thinking about Annabel – as he still did every day of his life – trying to work out exactly how old her son would be now. Sixteen, he decided after some mental arithmetic, and he gave an inward sigh of relief. Charlie would be far too young to be accepted into the army. But what about the other two boys, Theo and Bertie? Theo, no doubt, would be kept at home by his mother – somehow she would engineer it – but Bertie might go. Bertie Banks might have to go eventually, even if he didn’t volunteer now.
The town was busier than usual and an excitable crowd had gathered in front of the town hall where the recruiting rally was to take place. Every time a man in uniform appeared, they cheered enthusiastically. Joe and Ben stood to one side, but near enough to hear the speeches and see what was happening. Three officers stood on a hastily erected platform and when the first one stood up to speak, Ben drew in a sharp breath as he recognized him: James Lyndon, Earl of Fairfield. He ought to leave now, Ben thought, but he didn’t want to be thought a coward by sneaking away before the call to arms had even begun. So he stayed where he was, but tried to keep out of sight from the dais.
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