“Eh up lass! You do look gradely!” said Mr Blenkinsop “From what Mr Larkins tells me you’ve turned farmer, lass! Aye, singing your praises he has, sithee!”
Prudence blushed.
“Oh I but had a little idea to help with this cold that Cousin George and Gervase were able to refine upon; and doubtless Mr Larkin too has made clever improvements,” she said.
“But, Miss Blenkinsop, without the initial idea – simple and obvious when pointed out but not to those of us hidebound by the ways we are used to – we should not have been able to implement any refinements,” said William Larkins, “and Mr Knightley is a great man to see at once how to make the most of the crop by saving the Donwell strawberries which are famed far and wide. They go into Kingston and Brentford; we even send strawberries to Strawberry Hill” and he gave a shy smile, this being as close as he tended to come to venturing a sally.
“Oh that I like!” said Prudence laughing. “You are a wit, Mr Larkins; we ought to have a crier crying the srawberries – oh…
Of our strawberries eat your fill
We even send them to Strawberry Hill”
“Eh lass, that’s not a bad rhyme,” said Mr Blenkinsop “What d’ye think, Mr Larkins?”
“I think that your daughter is a very clever young lady and a fine match for his Lordship, who besides Mr Knightley is the finest man who ever stepped,” said William Larkins. Gervase had spent several convivial hours inspecting the flocks and asking sensible questions since there were differences between the breed that was run here in Surrey and those he kept in Lincolnshire. The sheep he ran, Lincolns, were large creatures, hornless and with a thick long coat with a high lustre to the wool. The sheep in Surrey were short staple, also hornless, with a dark face; though the wool was very fine and soft, and according to the estate histories had been bred with Spanish merino sheep to improve the stock and the fineness of the wool. Gervase had commented that from what little he knew of weaving – which he admitted was not a lot – the combination of the wool from HIS sheep spun as a warp, combined with a weft spun from Donwell’s sheep should make a very fine and soft wool indeed and suggested to William Larkins that if Mr Blenkinsop would give his opinion there might be the
possibility of some very exciting accommodations to be made for the enrichment of all parties.
William Larkins was delighted to find a noble lord not above considering the practicalities of life.
Mr Blenkinsop was duly introduced to Mr Woodhouse.
“Eh, my brother Henry; it’s reet gradely to meet you at long last!” he said, wringing Mr Woodhouse’s hand “My daughter writes to me that you suffer reet indifferent health and have been badly wi’ t’dowly old mist and fog, ee and I be right sorry t’hear that!”
“Prudence is a sweet girl and very kind to an old man,” sighed Mr Woodhouse hoping he had translated the greeting correctly, “and it’s a sad day to see so lively and fine a girl waste herself on matrimony! Though Alverston seems a fine man indeed; but what’s that to the purpose? Women should not tie themselves to any man!”
“Eh, Henry lad, there’d be no future generations then, think on!” said Mr Blenkinsop. Prudence had warned him by letter of her Uncle Henry’s valetudinarian habits and strange ideas; and Mr Blenkinsop had decided that the best measure was to meet such sad pronouncements with unquenchable good cheer and a comment that neither directly contradicted nor agreed with such.
It might be said that Mr Woodhouse found Mr Blenkinsop a trifle too hearty for his liking, though appreciating that the man loved his daughter and would be losing her. He said so.
“Poor, er, Ephraim, that you will lose an only daughter; I have lost my Isabella though my dear Emma is with me still.”
Ephraim Blenkinsop reflected wryly that had Pru not warned him of the way this mardy old gaga spoke, he would have assumed that his niece Isabella was dead and Emma scarcely fit enough to crawl out of bed; instead of the one being a young matron with five hopeful children and the other a young married woman who was in the family way and by all accounts thriving.
“Eh lad, tha’lt not tell me that I be losing a bairn when happen I be gaining a son; aye and a canny one too, sithee; knows his wool does Gervase Alver of Alverston, and no fool about steam power either. T’lad is ready to go into business with me too, and expand t’portion that will be Pru’s. It’s reet relieved I am that she’s someone t’care for her when I turn up my toes, aye and to have childer no doubt to pass t’mill on to.”
Mr Woodhouse murmured all that was proper about what a fine man Alverston was, and not too high in the instep to pass the time of day even with those engaged in trade.
“What Cousin Gervase dislikes is hypocrites,” said Emma, “for he is as ready to be civil to a labourer as a duchess so long as there is no falseness and pushing ways. That is why he so dislikes the Eltons; for Mrs Elton, though at pains to tell all how much she hates pretension might make a cat laugh for claiming gentility for her brother-in-law for having been a land owner for quite eleven years not two like the neighbours of his she disapproves of. Cousin Gervase says it is the manner in which one behaves that may or may not stink of shop; for the Coles, whom I was foolish enough to despise, have learned to behave with gentility by watching rather than by thrusting themselves forward. And I have learned to appreciate that; having someone of so much more socially advanced estate than we as Alverston in our midst has been educating from the way that he treats others. He has described you as a fine man Uncle Ephraim; and he is both sufficiently well connected and, too, wealthy enough that he may marry as he chooses without having to care for the censure of others. I do not, however, believe that he typifies those who are of high society.”
“I should say he is a reet unusual man, aye, and long-thinking, and there’s precious few that are of any degree of birth,” said Mr Blenkinsop. “Them gormless lumps who
do nothing but dance and gamble, if you ask me there’s nowt in their heads but throwster’s waste; more brass than brains, and so I warned my Pru. Indeed, I was hopeful, Henry, that she’d marry a man of your own estate; and I confess that Alverston threw me all into a flummox; but he’s gradely, nowt better.”
George rescued Mr Woodhouse from the hearty Mr Blenkinsop and engaged him in a conversation he wanted to have in any case concerning wool and weaving, and Gervase’s ideas about combining the two different wools.
“The difficulty there, George lad, will be in t’ carrying of yon wool,” said Mr Blenkinsop. “Less difficulty for Alverston; eh, but without seeing your sheep, lad, I can’t make a reasoned comment. Art busy right now?”
“Let’s walk over to Donwell,” said George readily, “and Cousin Gervase will doubtless feed us too; we’ll be out for dinner, papa and maybe late back.”
“Oh George!” said Mr Woodhouse “You must not risk yourself in the cold of the night!”
“I shall put on my brogues to protect my feet, for Cousin Gervase will doubtless forgive me; though I might well take pumps in my pocket, and then dry my brogues while we eat,” said George, “and I will wear a muffler; I expect that Uncle Ephraim has a muffler too and will take all due care.”
“Ee lad, will he want me t’change ma shoes?” Mr Blenkinsop was startled.
“It would be well, if we are to sit down to eat with him,” said George.
Mr Blenkinsop considered; then nodded and went meekly to find his baggage. If his daughter was to marry into Quality he would do well not to let them look down on him by ways he thought a trifle finicking.
They had much to discuss over the sheep and later with Gervase; and Mr Blenkinsop was introduced to Arthur – whom he declared he felt he knew from Prudence’s letters
– and Georgiana and her Roger. Roger endeared himself to Mr Blenkinsop by declaring that he knew nothing of mills or milling and did not want to any more than he would wager that Mr Blenkinsop cared greatly about dairy cattle or cabbages. Mr Blenkinsop laughed and said to each their own. Georgiana admitted that her interest
also extended only as far as quality of cloth and how well it draped; and when later she and her spouse discussed Prudence’s father, decided that though his manner was a little rough and definitely of the mill, his instincts of courtesy and good humour without brazen vulgarity must make him quite acceptable as a relative.
“And you must forbid Diana to speak in his awful accent just to irritate,” said the Earl, “because the dratted girl is bound to try to do so else.”
Georgiana had to admit that this was a perfectly fair assessment of her firstborn.
And Georgiana spoke severely to Diana and told her that if she wished to join the company for dinner she might listen to the tones of Yorkshire providing nothing of it ever crossed her lips.
Diana agreed readily!
She did however ask Mr Blenkinsop for translations of such words as ‘gradely’ in a way that would have shocked Miss Henderson to have her charge speak without being spoken to. Mr Blenkinsop however asked a slightly scandalised Georgiana to excuse the lass when Georgie would have censured her daughter; and patiently explained.
Aunt Mouser fortunately took to Mr Blenkinsop after she had given him a set-down over a minor solecism and he said
“Ee ma’am, happen in thy youth all the young lads ran half flaysome – scared you’d say – and half ready to throw their caps over t’windmill for a fine fettlesome lass as you must have been.”
It pleased Aunt Mouser to take the compliment in good part and in the spirit in which it was intended. She had, after all, learned much about the nature of Mr Blenkinsop by speaking with his daughter.
Georgiana, Roger, Diana, Lady Katherine and Arthur withdrew after dinner to permit more discussion about sheep, Diana hustled away before she might protest. Since the conversation was becoming technical with questions about the weight of shear from a hogget of each type as compared to a dinmont of each there was nothing that any of those not interested in sheep might add to the conversation in any case as the enthusiasts might as well, said Roger cheerfully, have been speaking Greek.
Mr Blenkinsop was enthusiastic about the blend of wools – he knew the fleece of the Lincoln sheep intimately enough to know its properties – and the matter of transport was considered. George said that he must investigate the canals; but as he believed, if he might have fleeces carted to Guildford they might travel by river to join the Grand Union Canal and thence go north all the way, with only one short length of narrow canal to traverse and the rest wide all the way to York. As Mr Blenkinsop’s mill was located in a small settlement called Whingate between York and Harrogate this would suit very well. They sat and talked until late until George, overcome by a fit of sudden conscience, noticed the time. He and Mr Blenkinsop walked back in companionable silence and let themselves in by the back door that had been left unbarred for them; and George saw Mr Blenkinsop to his room.
Emma was awake, reading desultorily in bed by candlelight.
“I have read further into this novel than you thought I would,” she said, “for I was bored waiting for you.”
“I am sorry, Emma,” said George, “but this might mean a very great deal to Donwell and therefore to Hartfield too.”
“Oh! You mistake me; there was no reproach in my comment,” said Emma, “for I was extremely eager that you should discuss this matter while you and Alverston and Uncle Ephraim – what a name, though not, I agree with Kitty as bad as Meleager – what was I saying? Oh yes, while the three of you may actually have the chance to speak together. I merely mentioned that I was bored and so got further into it than has been entirely comfortable; it is Leonora by Maria Edgeworth and I fear I too nearly resemble the irritating Olivia with her excess of sensibility and my jealousy for Jane Fairfax enhanced by the prudent good sense of the eponymous Leonora.”
“My very dear Emma, for all the faults in your younger self of being a trifle spoiled nobody could ever accuse you of being a narcissist like Olivia,” said George. “Lay the wretched book aside and let me in; my feet are cold.”
“I thought they would very likely be so walking in the damp after dark; there is a hot brick well wrapped in a blanket to put your feet upon,” said Emma, blowing out her candle.
“Ah, I should say that you were thoughtful, Mrs Knightley, save that I suspect it was merely to stop me placing my cold feet upon you!”
“Oh Mr Knightley I confess that thought was in my mind! However, so long as your HANDS are not cold I do not mind……”
Chapter 41
A number of other house guests arrived at Donwell on the morning of the Ball; notably a number of one-time members of the Rifle Brigade who had been friends and colleagues of Gervase. Some of them brought wives and some did not but all were ready to tease their one time colleague that he was at last to fall into the parson’s mousetrap after having avoided all the lures thrown out by fond mamas convinced he was an eligible parti for their daughter any time the last ten years.
“And there was I thinking you were too top-lofty to marry at all,” declared Captain the Honourable Fabian Devereaux.
“I am only top lofty to those who bore me,” said Gervase, “which as my betrothed began our acquaintance by ringing a peal over me for driving dangerously and accused me of being a dandy was the last emotion in my thoughts. Besides she’s a handsome woman and her eyes spark green fire when she is angered.”
“Jupiter! A dandy? I’d have said anyone who called you a dandy and accused you of bad driving must be dicked in the nob – no offence meant,” said the Honourable Fabian.
“Oh technically the Corinthian movement comes under the understanding most have of dandyism,” said Gervase, who never took offence from this old school friend, “and I was driving recklessly if not dangerously; and my nephew had tipped her into a ditch; but I pray you do not mention it to him, Aesop old fellow, because all is forgiven and it is not to be mentioned again.”
“Oh quite so – not a word,” said the Honourable Fabian. “Damnably provincial here, isn’t it?”
“Most of my guests are provincials and you will be polite to them unless they are rude first,” said Gervase, “my bride springs from provincial gentry and they have perforce to accept those we are not used to including in society for the sake of having some sort of society; and
frankly, bar a couple of exceptions, they are pleasanter and more natural people than many I am used to associating with; and far from trying to pick an acquaintance with me they either want to stare as though I were some menagerie animal or treat me with straightforward civility such as they would show any of their neighbours whilst trying to hide that my title awes them a little. I do believe I have enjoyed myself here so far, more than I do in a comparable length of time at the season where the main enjoyment is finding cynical and ironic comments to make to irritate as many people as possible. Apart from one couple I have not, I assure you, wanted to irritate anybody here at all!”
“Doing it too brown!” Mr Devereaux protested.
“No old man; perfectly true!” said Gervase.
“Uncle Gervase, why do you call him Aesop?” demanded Diana who had been – predictably – eavesdropping, having been curled up behind a sofa with a book.
“Because his name is Fabian; when we were at Eton, that became Fables, and Fables became Aesop,” said Gervase, “it made a lot of sense when we were your age.”
“Oh I see; thank you!” said Diana skipping off across the fields to impart this information to Prudence and to collect Henry, if she might extract him, to see if they might not catch a mouse or two to put in the room of the military wife who had made disparaging remarks in Diana’s hearing about whichever provincial poor Lord Alverston had been entrapped by. Diana was certain that the mice would be able to escape so foolish a woman quite easily and would not be harmed.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord,” said William Larkins, “but this hem rain has wrought havoc; part of the ha-ha wall has subsided and slumped down into the ha-ha; and the sheep are in it.”
Gervase groaned.
“What do we do, Mr Larkins? It’s not a problem I’ve ever come across.”
“Well My Lord, I was hoping I might borrow some of your military friends to shoo the wretched beasts round to where they got in, where the shepherds will help me get them out; and then I’ll see to having a few hurdles put up to stop them getting back down again until I can get the labourers to dig and shore it up again.”
“Very good, Mr Larkins; you are the expert after all. I expect my guests will consider it a lark.”
“Yes My Lord; I confess I was relying on that, My Lord,” said William Larkins dryly. Gervase laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Some of us do manage to grow up you know,” he said; and went in search of an enthusiastic party of young riflemen to herd sheep with the unaccustomed – to the sheep – cries of ‘Tally ho!’
Fortunately the sheep were soon rounded up since, as the Honourable Fabian put it, it would otherwise be cutting it fine to dress for the ball as a minimum of four hours were required to dress.
“Bartholomew Baby,” said Gervase affectionately.
“Here I say, Alverston, if you’re telling me you take less to dress, and end up looking so elegant I shall call it a bouncer!” said the Honourable Fabian.
“Sorry Aesop; I just happen to possess natural elegance,” said Gervase. “I have better things to do with my life than spend it in front of the looking glass; and I should have thought you ought to be able to manage a bit better than that having had to get ready for parade in no time flat in our greens.”
“That was in the army,” said his friend “Don’t tell me you can scramble into your rigs in half an hour flat!”
“Not quite,” said Gervase, “though I have done so at a pinch… I reckon forty minutes. But then, old man, I DO have more facility tying a neck tie than you; nothing bores
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