‘You look quite the proper lady,’ she says, nodding in a pleased way. Then she hurries off with her basket.
Mrs Tomkinson returns, as promised, with a thick wool cloak and clogs.
And once I am covered over for the journey, she allows Edward to lead me outside, to see a much larger carriage than the one we used previously.
‘Should we need such a big vehicle?’ I ask, rather overawed by the scale of it. ‘There are only two of us.’
‘The roads are very uneven,’ he explains. ‘The larger wheels will be more comfortable. You shall see.’
‘This sounds like a fine journey to take a lady,’ I tease.
‘Mrs Tomkinson has already remonstrated with me,’ Edward says, with an indulgent smile. ‘I told her your kind heart would not see me travel alone.’
He hands me into the luxurious interior and steps up after. Inside are three baskets, which he opens to reveal a neatly packed picnic. There are loaves of fresh bread and dishes of butter, marmalade and jam.
‘More breakfast?’
‘I thought travel might make you hungry. And I like to see you eat.’
‘Surely you are tired of watching women eat,’ I laugh, ‘with all your fine dinners?’
‘Society ladies do not take pleasure in eating, like you do.’
I glance at him to see if there is mockery there. But his face is sincere.
Edward lifts out two covered china serving dishes and removes the lids.
‘Veal pies, salmon and beef with horseradish,’ he explains, showing me the contents. ‘There is oatmeal with sweet cream,’ he adds, ‘and I have a bottle of fresh cider. Or French brandy to warm us.’
‘We shall not be able to walk, once we have arrived,’ I laugh, staring at all the food.
‘I am determined to feed you up.’ He picks up a plate and serves me a slice of bread, spreading it generously with jam. ‘We shall have you chubby by the time you leave me,’ he promises.
‘You are accomplishing the work prodigiously,’ I assure him, thinking that my stays already feel fuller at the front.
Edward knocks on the ceiling of the carriage and it lurches into motion.
‘You were right,’ I concede as the wheels roll beneath us. ‘It is a very smooth journey. You might hardly know we are in a carriage.’
‘Wait until we are out of the city, on the rutted tracks,’ says Edward. ‘You shall know then.’
‘Then I had best eat quickly.’
Once we have eaten breakfast, we settle into the swaying motion of the carriage and fall into easy conversation.
Edward explains the sights of London as we leave the city and I talk about my farming upbringing as we start on the muddy country road.
‘It broke my father’s heart to give up the farm,’ I explain. ‘But the lord who owned the estate was greedy. We should have starved to make his rent.’
‘That is how fools manage their estates,’ says Edward. ‘They squeeze from the peasants to offset their own laziness.’
The carriage rolls on a little further.
‘Did you like farm life?’ he asks.
I consider this. ‘At times it was a hard life,’ I say, ‘but I liked it.’
I think back, struggling for memories. ‘I spent much time with my grandmother. She was bred on a farm and she taught me all the ways. How to take honey, and use herbs and poultices and such. Those ways will be lost to our family now,’ I add.
We are both silent, thinking of this, as the green English countryside rolls by outside.
‘You did not think to stay in Bristol and marry some country boy?’ asks Edward. His tone is casual, but I sense something behind it.
‘I was not so popular with country boys,’ I admit.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ he says, gazing into my face.
‘Farmer husbands look for simple brides. I was too clever for my own good.’
We are silent again in the trundling carriage.
‘Shall we play at cards?’ I suggest, remembering he has brought a pack.
‘What should you like to play?’ he asks, removing a deck from the basket.
‘Twenty-one?’ I learned this game at Mrs Wilkes and I was good enough to beat everyone I played.
‘Very well.’ He shuffles the pack expertly.
‘You shuffle well for a man who does not gamble,’ I observe.
‘One does not need to gamble to play.’
‘So we shall play for no bets?’
‘That sounds fair,’ he says. ‘I am not fool enough to bet one of Mrs Wilkes’s girls at cards.’
I smile and Edward deals. And for all his humility, he goes on to play an expert hand. I stare at his winning cards. It is the first time I have been beaten at this game.
‘You are good,’ I observe, taking back the cards and shuffling them.
‘Beginner’s luck,’ he replies. ‘Another round?’
I nod. ‘I have to win back some of my dignity,’ I say. ‘None at Mrs Wilkes’s ever bested me at this game.’
I deal and this time around I vow to pay closer attention.
Picking up my cards, I examine them carefully. They are a good start.
‘Why have you not yet married?’ I ask, feeling suddenly able to pose the question that has been nagging at me for days. Edward is old to be a bachelor and seems in no rush to solidify his informal betrothal. ‘Surely society finds it strange?’ I add.
‘I was married,’ he says, looking at his cards. ‘My wife is dead.’
‘I am sorry.’ This changes my idea of him. Somehow I cannot imagine Edward as a tragic widower.
‘There is no need to be,’ he says easily, taking a card. ‘She was sixty when we wed. It was an arranged marriage. I only met her once.’
My eyes widen.
‘But you were … There was no expectation that you should bed your wife?’
He shakes his head.
‘The marriage was made when I was fourteen. The bride was a dowager with a large fortune. My father hoped to pay off his debts by selling his son.’
I take up a card in silent amazement. Surely even among aristocrats this is cold?
‘Were you angry at your father?’ I ask, counting my new hand.
He nods. ‘Oh yes. Not only for the marriage. For his mismanagement of the family fortune. He nearly ruined us.’
Edward raises his eyes to mine.
‘My father was famous for his gambling,’ he says. ‘And in London, you must imagine that made him a very bad gambler indeed.’
‘I imagine it would,’ I murmur.
Edward nods and then places his hand.
‘Twenty-one.’ He smiles.
I realise he has hustled me. He is a much better player than he acted.
‘You did not tell me true!’ I accuse. ‘That is no beginner’s luck. You play exceptionally.’
Edward smiles mischievously.
‘It is how I used to win my passage and lodging,’ he admits. ‘When I went on my wild travels in Europe.’
‘You must have played very well indeed. To fund your travel.’
‘Certainly there are many in France and Italy who swore never to play me again,’ he says. ‘But I am sure there are many better card players than I.’
‘You are too modest. Why do you not gamble now?’ I ask, baffled. ‘You are so good. You could win a fortune in the London clubs.’
‘I do not like the London clubs.’ Edward turns to stare out of the window.
In the silence that follows, I sense the talk of gambling and his father has woken some unhappy memory.
‘Where is your father now?’ I ask gently.
‘He died a few years ago,’ says Edward. ‘I gave him an allowance. And he lived out his days with a mistress. My father was … not a kind man,’ he concludes. ‘I did not see him in the years up to his death.’
I take Edward’s hand and he glances at me gratefully. Then his gaze is back at the window.
Chapter 25
I expect
ed Edward’s estate to be large. But I am not prepared for how very large it is. It takes us half an hour to travel from the beginning of the grounds to the enormous country hall. And according to Edward, the land rolls on for many miles further in every direction.
‘There we have a crop where there was nothing,’ he says proudly, as we pass a field of waving wheat. ‘And up ahead, I shall show you the new plough pattern that gives the farmers double yield.’
When he talks of his estate management there is a new energy to him that is infectious.
‘I have never met a man with such a passion for farming,’ I say, as he describes his plans to rotate crops to gain more nourishment from the earth.
‘I find it a miracle,’ he says. ‘To see the new things grow from nothing but dirt. I never tire of it.’
The carriage pulls to a halt and Edward looks out.
‘The ground is too rutted here to continue,’ he says. ‘We must go by foot. Do you mind?’
‘You forget I am not a lady,’ I grin at him, tugging off my shoes. ‘I was raised barefoot with sheep and cows.’
‘You will not wear the clogs Mrs Tomkinson gave you?’
‘I should rather not, unless you mind very much.’
‘I do not mind in the least,’ he says, opening the door and helping me down. He smiles at my bare feet and I pick up my skirts, taking in the wide expanse of fields before us.
‘We are trying this field out for cattle,’ explains Edward, pointing to the mire of hoof-prints that have churned up the track. ‘Though we have not had much success thus far,’ he admits.
He takes my hand and leads me onto the grassier part of the field. I gaze at the cows in the distance.
‘Is that where your cattle shelter?’ I ask, pointing to an old hay barn.
Edward nods.
‘Then that is why your livestock does not fare so well,’ I say.
He looks at me with interest.
‘A barn like that is too damp for cows,’ I explain. ‘You should have a three-sided shelter, to let the air in.’
I glance at the lush ground beneath us. ‘Your pasture is good,’ I observe. ‘Fix the barn and your herd should do very well.’
Edward is looking at me strangely.
‘What?’ I am suddenly self-conscious.
‘It does not signify,’ he says, with an enigmatic smile. ‘Only, you are the most interesting girl I have had on my land.’
‘I should prefer to be the most beautiful,’ I say. ‘But I suppose interesting will have to do.’
Edward closes my hand in his and walks me towards the barn. ‘I have arranged to sign the papers here,’ he explains. ‘Vanderbilt found some arcane law forcing me to sign in situ.’ He sounds admiring, rather than bitter.
We approach the barn and I instantly recognise the sound of a cow in labour.
‘You are about to add another to your herd,’ I say, pleased. I always liked the arrival of a calf.
Edward nods and frowns. Because another noise echoes forth. As though the animal were in distress.
We walk in silence to the large wooden barn. I can smell the fresh hay, as we step into the interior.
A hayloft is on one side and beneath it lies a brown cow, her eyes wide, her belly large. By her side kneels a farmer, in a white cotton shirt and simple woollen hose with gaiters to stop rats running up his legs. He has the thick muscles of a hard worker and brown hair bleached partly blond by the sun.
To the other side of the barn stands an incongruously fine table. I guess it must have been carried laboriously from the main house for the purpose of today’s business.
By the table stands another man who is almost as unlike the farmer as it is possible to be. I take him to be a lawyer, or scribe, or some other employee of Edward’s business arrangements. For he is old and wears the style of provincial dress favoured by formal clerks and lawyers, which I had forgotten existed outside London.
A dun-coloured waistcoat is stretched over his pronounced belly and matching breeches clad his skinny legs, with silver-buckled shoes on his feet. Atop his florid face, he wears a dusty wig that is starting to unroll on one side.
This man makes us a low bow as we enter. The farmer, occupied with his labouring cow, does not even notice we have arrived.
‘My Lord,’ says the lawyer-man, in the sober voice of one used to delivering bad news. ‘Your Ladyship.’
Edward smiles politely, but does not correct him. ‘Elizabeth,’ he says, ‘this is my lawyer, Mr Beckwith.’
The lawyer straightens from his bow to me and frowns.
‘Your Lordship, I had asked for the animal to be removed,’ he says, shaking his head in annoyance. ‘But your farmer is stubborn on the point.’ He frowns. ‘Had I known there would be a lady present, I would have been more forceful.’
Mr Beckwith turns to include the farmer in this criticism, but the man has eyes only for his cow.
I turn to Edward, unsure how he will react to this. He is looking to the farmer, who has just noticed us and is now making to stand.
‘Please, Robert,’ says Edward, motioning he should stay down, ‘there is no need. The cow needs you more than we do.’
Robert gives a relieved nod. ‘I am sorry, Your Lordship,’ he says. ‘This one is having a difficult labour and we could not get her out in the field.’
He looks apologetically at the bewigged man, who is eyeing the scenario with obvious distaste.
‘I petitioned in strong terms for the animal to be driven out,’ Beckwith repeats to Edward in a low voice. ‘But your farmer was afraid the calf would be lost.’
Edward waves his hand to signify this is not a concern and Robert returns his attention to the cow.
‘Shall we see to the papers, Mr Beckwith?’ says Edward. ‘We may have this document signed and I can be back in London.’
Mr Beckwith makes another low bow and produces a large swathe of rolled paper.
‘If I may, My Lord,’ he says, ‘I must draw your attention to these clauses.’
For a moment, I think Edward might change his mind. That he may have decided against Vanderbilt’s ship as a bad business and will tell his lawyer he will not sign.
Then the two men begin talking in the language of property exchange. I turn my gaze to the cow.
I have not been on a farm in ten years. But I recognise the signs. From the position of the cow and her low noises, the calf has likely not turned.
Seeing Edward and the lawyer pay no attention to me, I step so I might examine the situation more closely.
The farmer is squatting at her side, apparently at a loss as to what to do next. The cow bellows suddenly, her nostrils flaring.
I drop down, so as to be on my haunches, level with the farmer. My feet settle easily into the soft earth of the barn floor.
‘How long since she began?’ I ask.
The farmer looks at me, his face sweating. For an instant, I think my fine appearance might decide him against answering. Then he seems to decide I am safe.
‘She has laboured all night already,’ he says, ‘and I fear to lose them both.’
Checking that Edward and his lawyer are engrossed with papers, I slide my hand gently over the cow’s belly.
‘I think the calf has not turned,’ I explain, keeping my voice down.
The farmer looks uncertain. ‘This is the first year we have tried cattle,’ he says.
I pause, to be sure I have things right. It has been a long time since I was on a farm. But the lessons do not leave you, when you are bred to it.
‘I will show you,’ I say, reaching under the cow’s belly. ‘See here?’ I ask, gesturing he should put his hand in the same place.
‘The hard part is the head,’ I explain. ‘The legs will be here.’
He nods apprehensively.
‘You must reach inside and grasp higher up,’ I add.
The cow makes another loud bellow, kicking her legs.
‘I will hold her,’ I say, recognising the need for fa
st action. ‘You reach inside. Upwards, as I said.’
Quickly, I step around to the front of cow and lean on her shoulder, keeping her steady. I am greatly pleased that Mrs Tomkinson insisted I wear a thick wool cloak over my fine dress.
Robert reaches a burly forearm into the other end.
‘I think I have it,’ he gasps, after a moment.
‘You feel the hard hooves? You are sure?’
He nods, grunting from the effort.
‘Then pull,’ I urge, using all my strength to keep the cow from rolling.
For a time I think nothing will come. Then there’s a slopping kind of sound and I see a bloody calf hanging in Robert’s grip.
The cow twists under me and I step up to allow her some room.
Robert places the calf on the straw, where it lies limp.
He looks at me and shakes his head sadly. The little body is blue and motionless.
‘Rub the flank,’ I say, moving quickly to show him. ‘Here. Like this.’
I rub the calf vigorously, head to tail and back again. And after a moment, its little hooved feet kick. I feel a long-forgotten pulse of delight. There is a simple joy in farming that I always loved.
‘There.’ I pick up the calf proudly and place it by the mother’s head. She begins licking it enthusiastically. The little creature makes a whinnying kind of sound.
Robert and I grin at each other, bonded by the shared moment.
Still smiling, I turn to see if Edward is finishing his papers.
Instead, I find he is staring at me in disbelief. The lawyer by his side is literally open-mouthed.
I look between them both, wondering how to explain myself. My cloak is streaked with birthing gore and my hands are covered in blood from the calf. Even I know that ladies do not help birth cattle. It is Robert who finally breaks the silence.
‘Reckon that’s a fine match for you, My Lord,’ he says, nodding towards me. ‘The husband does the fields and the wife does the livestock.’ He gives me a broad wink of appreciation.
Edward eyes my bloodied hands.
‘Another hidden talent?’ he asks mildly.
I am caught between pride and embarrassment.
‘It is something that comes natural, when you are brought up to it,’ I say, wiping my hands on the cloak. I move to a water trough in the corner of the barn and begin rinsing away the blood with enthusiastic strokes.
Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady? Page 12