The Two Farms: A moving family saga set in a Victorian farming community

by Mary E. Pearce

  ‘Yes, well,’ Riddler said, suddenly growing rather reflective. ‘I suppose it is pretty dull for you, stuck out here, off the beaten track, never meeting anyone much. I reckon you’re doing the right thing, getting out and about a bit, going in to the market every week. You meet a good many people there. All sorts of people. Friendly, too.’

  Kirren, knowing her father so well, saw the track his thoughts were taking.

  ‘You mean I might find a husband there?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got to look somewhere, haven’t you?’ Riddler said, cheerfully.

  Chapter Five

  In the autumn of 1855, under persuasion from John Sutton, Warren Oakley at last retired and Jim took over his duties as bailiff. The old man was given a pension and allowed to stay in the bailiffs house ‘until such time,’ Sutton said, ‘as Jim should think of marrying and want to live in it himself.’

  Jim now earned eighteen shillings a week which, for a young man of twenty-one, was riches indeed.

  ‘You are well worth it,’ Sutton said. ‘I believe in paying good money to good men.’

  Jim was certainly conscientious. Nothing escaped his watchful eye. And in spite of his extreme youth the men on the farm respected him, knowing that whatever job they were doing, he could do it as well as they. But he rarely took his coat off now; it was not expected of him; for the post of bailiff, on a farm such as Peele, carried with it a certain importance; even a certain amount of prestige. He wore a good suit of Cotswold tweed and rode a smart dapple grey horse. He was not expected to sweat now but to organize the work of the farm and see that it was carried out. He took pleasure and pride in his position and he was always acutely aware that, for a boy of such poor beginnings, he had really done very well for himself.

  There was plenty of variety in his work and in winter, when there were guests in the house, most of whom came for the shooting, it was his job to make sure that the party got a good day’s sport. These guests were all farmers from neighbouring counties; many of them were landowners; and among them were some of the foremost agriculturists of the day, whom John Sutton had got to know through the farming clubs. One of these was Sir Frederick Alton whose estate in Berkshire was said to be the most progressive in England. He was a friendly, affable man who got on well with everyone, whether high or low.

  ‘Remarkable young chap, your bailiff,’ he said to Philip Sutton one day. ‘Not much he doesn’t know about farming, even the latest developments. But he seems pretty well-informed all round and even quoted the Georgics to me this morning. How is it that a farm bailiff is so well-spoken and so well-read?’

  ‘That is my father’s doing,’ Philip said. ‘Jim Lundy was a foundling, left in one of our barns years ago, and my father took him into the house. He and I were brought up together, and my father paid for him to be educated by the local parson, along with me.’

  ‘Yes, I see. That explains a good deal. He’s certainly an intelligent young man. I quite thought he must be one of your own family.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. Indeed not. No relation whatsoever.’

  ‘I thought of inviting him down to Langley, perhaps next year, when you come yourself. But then I had second thoughts and wondered if he could be spared from the farm?’

  ‘To be honest, sir, I don’t think he can. We do rather rely on him to keep things running smoothly here.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sir Frederick said. ‘Just as well I asked you first.’

  Those of the Peele visitors who came every year were disgusted to see Godsakes growing more and more run-down, and becoming a terrible eyesore on the other side of the valley.

  ‘There ought to be a law to stop men from occupying good land and letting it go to ruin like that.’

  ‘Just what I feel myself,’ Sutton said. ‘But I don’t think he’ll last much longer now, for he owes money all over the place, and no one will give him credit any more. In fact, when you look across at that place, it’s a wonder how he survives at all.’

  ‘Then you think your patience will soon be rewarded?’

  ‘I hope so, indeed,’ Sutton said, with a smile. ‘God knows I’ve waited long enough.’

  Sometimes the Suttons, father and son, went on return visits to these friends, hunting with famous packs, and shooting over great estates of three thousand acres or more. At other times Philip went alone and often in the summer and autumn, when the agricultural shows were held, he had so many invitations that he would be absent for months at a time. John Sutton was not best pleased at this and once he took Philip to task about it.

  ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun, my boy, but I think it’s time you settled down and found yourself a wife,’ he said. ‘This house has been without a mistress for more years than I care to remember and it’s time you did something about it instead of gadding about all over the country, here, there, and everywhere.’

  ‘You seem to forget,’ Philip said, ‘that there are three pretty girls at Langley.’

  ‘Ah,’ Sutton said, much mollified. ‘So that’s how the wind blows, is it, eh? And which of the trio do you favour or is it too soon to ask?’

  ‘The youngest, Caroline,’ Philip said, ‘and when I go on my next visit there, I intend to propose to her.’

  ‘Splendid! Splendid!’ Sutton said. ‘I couldn’t have chosen better myself!’

  This conversation took place early in 1858: a year that promised well, Sutton thought; a year that should see Godsakes Farm come into his possession at last; and if before the end of it, Philip should bring home a wife, well, he would ask for nothing more.

  ‘I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’ll be fifty-six in a month or so. And I’d like to see you produce an heir in time for me to get to know him.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Philip said.

  It was in the spring of that same year that Jim met and fell in love with Jane Reynolds. Her father, who owned a glass manufactory in Birmingham, had recently rented Hide House Farm, near Abbot’s Lyall, and John Sutton, as a good neighbour should, had soon called there, taking Jim with him.

  Alec Reynolds had rented Hide House so that he and his wife and daughter should have all the benefits of living in the country; and the farm, of about a hundred acres, was to be his hobby. He confessed he knew nothing of farming as yet and Sutton immediately suggested that Jim should help and advise him.

  ‘Jim will soon tell you what to do to get the best out of your land. You can’t do better than listen to him.’

  ‘That’s uncommonly good of you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sutton said.

  And that was how Jim, in the month of April, came to spend so much of his time at Hide House Farm and in doing so met Jane Reynolds. He was now twenty-four; Jane was eighteen; and all through the spring and early summer their friendship grew and blossomed, with Jane’s easy-going parents looking on indulgently, and, so it seemed, with approval.

  ‘Jim is such a nice young man and just the friend Jane needs, coming to a new district like this, where we hardly know anyone,’ Mrs Reynolds said to John Sutton. And Alec Reynolds, on learning something of Jim’s background, said to his wife: ‘Well, the boy is not exactly a catch, having no family of his own, but he’s certainly made the best of himself, with Sutton’s help, and I daresay if he were to marry, Sutton would probably do something for him.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. We can’t expect too much, of course, because Sutton’s got a son of his own ‒’

  ‘Oh, quite,’ Mrs Reynolds said, ‘though for all we see of that young man, he might as well not exist.’

  ‘‒ but he obviously thinks a lot of Jim and I’d say he intends to do well by him.’ After further thought Reynolds said: ‘There’s no doubt about Jim’s feelings for Jane but what about Jane herself? Is she in love with him? What do you think?’

  ‘Like you, my dear, I’m not quite sure, and I’ve thought it wiser not to pry. But Jane is such a sensible girl that whoever her choice may be in the end I�
�m quite sure it will be for the best.’

  John Sutton also watched with interest the progress of Jim’s courtship and, on the whole, approved of Jane.

  ‘Prettiest thing I’ve seen for many a long day,’ he said. ‘Intelligent, too. But will she make a good wife for a working man like yourself?’

  This was a difficult question for Jim to answer. Being in love with Jane he naturally assumed that she would make him a perfect wife, but he was only a working man and Jane was accustomed to a style of living he could not afford. Still, he had plans and certain ambitions and was by nature an optimist. He had a fair sum of money saved and he had his flock of Cotswold ewes. He earned eighteen shillings a week and there was a good, decent house which, since Oakley had gone to live in the village, was Jim’s for the asking, rent free, whenever he chose to claim it. He also had his health and his strength and a good deal of drive and energy, and if Jane was willing to trust herself to him he knew he could do great things for her. But he was reluctant to talk of this to John Sutton until matters had been settled with Jane.

  ‘I haven’t actually asked her yet whether she will marry me. We’ve been pretty busy with haymaking, here and at Hide House, and lately I’ve only seen her for a short while at a time. But the work will be easing off soon and I hope I’ll be able to talk to her then.’

  On an evening in late July, therefore, Jim and Jane walked alone together in the hayfields at Peele where the aftermath, now that the hay had been carried, was springing up a bright soft green. Jane had been to Peele many times but never to these outlying fields and Jim pointed out the lonely barn where, thirteen years before, he had been abandoned by his uncle. Jane, who already knew the story, stood staring at the place with intensely blue eyes, her fair brows knitted in a fierce frown.

  ‘That old place, with the fir trees behind? Weren’t you frightened, being there by yourself, a little boy only ten years old, sleeping at night with the rats and the owls?’

  ‘I hated the rats but I liked the owls. They were company in the dark. But yes, I was frightened, all the time. I was frightened of the wind in the trees, and frightened of what would become of me.’

  ‘Your uncle was a wicked man.’

  ‘He did me a very good turn, however, quite without intending to, for I have had a better life in Mr Sutton’s care than I could ever have had otherwise.’

  ‘I know Mr Sutton’s been good to you but he says you have more than repaid him by being such a credit to him and by working so hard for him on the farm.’

  They had been walking side by side, but now Jim stopped and looked at her and she met his gaze without any shyness, accepting, without embarrassment, the love he so plainly felt for her.

  ‘Does it make any difference to you, knowing that I am a foundling?’ he asked.

  ‘Difference? What do you mean?’

  ‘I think you must know, I’m sure you do, that I love you and want to marry you. But ‒’

  ‘Oh, I see, there are buts!’ she said, pretending to be very downcast.

  ‘It’s all a question,’ he said carefully, ‘of whether I am good enough for you.’

  ‘Being a foundling?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Silly,’ she said, in a soft voice, and reached up to kiss him on the mouth.

  His arms went round her, holding her close, and she leant against him with a little sigh, which he felt soft and warm upon his lips. It was the first time they had kissed and Jane’s warm response was such that when, in a while, they drew apart, he had to take a deep breath before he was able to speak again.

  ‘Does that mean you love me?’ he asked.

  ‘I think it must.’

  ‘Enough to say you’ll marry me?’

  ‘Goodness! You are in a hurry!’ she said.

  ‘No, no, I’m not! That is ‒ Oh, damn!’ He paused a moment and began again. ‘There are certain things I must tell you first. What money I earn. What my prospects are.’

  ‘Practical things.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You’re a practical man.’

  ‘I try to be.’

  ‘Well, kiss me again,’ Jane said, ‘and then you can talk about practical things.’

  As they walked together over the fields, he did his best to marshal his thoughts, and to tell her all about himself.

  ‘I’ve got about twelve hundred pounds in the bank and I’ve got a flock of fifty sheep worth, say, another eighty pounds. I earn eighteen shillings a week ‒’

  ‘Eighteen shillings! Is that all?’

  ‘Eighteen shillings is very good. Most bailiffs get fifteen.’

  ‘But the work you do, running the farm! You’re on the go from morning to night.’

  ‘If my wages seem little to you ‒ and I quite see they must ‒ I want you to know that I’ve got plans to rent a bit of land of my own. Nothing much to begin with, of course, but about thirty acres or so, where I can raise a few cattle and sheep and maybe fatten a pig or two.’

  ‘Still doing your job as bailiff here? I can see you will work yourself to death if somebody doesn’t stop you.’

  ‘Oh, I can work a lot harder than that, without it killing me,’ Jim said, amused. ‘I’ll soon show you how hard I can work, if only you will give me the chance, and one day, if all goes well, and I manage to save enough money, I shall take a really good-sized farm and set up in style as a proper farmer, independent and full-time.’

  ‘And how long do you think that will take?’

  ‘Ten years, perhaps. I’m not quite sure.’ He turned his head to look at her. ‘Do you think you could put up with being just a bailiff’s wife for as long as ten years?’ he asked.

  ‘A lot depends,’ Jane said gravely, ‘on what a bailiff’s wife has to do.’

  They were now close to the old Peele farmhouse, looking down on it from above, for it lay in a slight declivity and Jim had approached it in such a way as to give Jane the best possible view. The old stone-built house, with its casement windows, its porch overgrown with rambler roses, its walled garden and pear-hung espaliers, looked directly towards the west and now, at nine o’clock in the evening, reflected a pink sunset glow.

  ‘That is the house,’ Jim said, ‘where the bailiff’s wife, if she be what she ought, will spend her time looking after the bailiff.’

  ‘Can we go inside?’

  ‘Well, yes, we could, but I think perhaps it’s wiser not. For one thing it needs a good cleaning out. For another, it’s getting rather late, and if anyone saw us going in ‒’

  ‘You mean my good name would be gone forever?’ Jane said with a merry laugh. ‘But yes, you’re right, it is rather late, and it’s high time I was getting home.’

  Hand in hand, they walked on together, down the gently sloping fields.

  ‘If I’m to do things properly, I ought to see your father soon and ask his permission to marry you.’

  ‘I know what he’ll say. He’ll say I’m too young.’

  ‘But at least he might let us get engaged.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not so sure. But I think if I spoke to him myself, I might to able to pave the way. Or I might speak to mother first … It’s all a question of choosing the time.’ Jane gave a little sigh. ‘You know what parents are,’ she said. ‘Oh, dear! No, of course you don’t, for you never had any, did you, poor boy?’

  ‘What do you think your father will say? I’m afraid he’ll think I’m not good enough for you. My prospects, such as they are ‒’

  ‘Hush!’ Jane said, and came to a stop, placing one finger over his lips. ‘Hush! Be quiet! I’ve had enough!’

  She leant against him, her face upturned, and he bent to kiss her on the lips. After a while she drew away.

  ‘I really must be getting home. Will you come with me all the way? Yes, very well, but promise me this. No more talk about practical things. I’m more in the mood to be silly and gay.’

  At the end of July Philip came home, lured by a letter from his father, mentioning
‘interesting developments at Godsakes, concerning our friend Riddler’. And over supper that evening, with Jim also present, Sutton gave Philip the full details.

  ‘Riddler’s really done-for this time. He owes money everywhere and at least two of his creditors are threatening him with the County Court. Now, since I wrote to you, he’s been served with a distraint for tithes. The collector’s men were there yesterday, intending to seize Riddler’s cows, ‒ he’s only got two left ‒ but he met them at the gate with a loaded shotgun. I daresay he would have used it, too, if the men had not withdrawn. He’s mad enough for anything. Anyway, that’s how it is. But what is more important to us is that he’s fallen behind with his mortgage dues, which should have been paid last April, and the bank has given him notice that unless the arrears are paid off by the end of next month they will be obliged to take the necessary steps. I talked to Forrester at the bank and he assured me that under no circumstances would Riddler be granted any further extension.’

  ‘So the end is in sight, then?’ Philip said.

  ‘Yes, my boy, the end is in sight,’ Sutton said, with immense satisfaction. ‘It’s only a matter of weeks now before Godsakes is ours at last.’

  Jim, of course, already knew all this, but one detail was new to him and he strongly disapproved of it.

  ‘Surely Forrester speaking to you like that was a breach of professional confidence?’

  ‘He and I are old frinds,’ Sutton said, ‘and he knows that I have a special interest in this matter.’

  ‘I think it was wrong, even so,’ Jim said. ‘I’m very glad I don’t bank with him.’

  Philip, lighting a cigar, was amused.

  ‘Jim is such a moral man. At least where other people’s affairs are concerned. And of course he’s always been inclined to feel sorry for Morris Riddler, though I can’t think why.’

  ‘I could feel sorry for him myself if he weren’t such a pigheaded fool,’ Sutton said. ‘But he’s only hung on over there to spite me and when I think what he’s done to that farm in the course of the last sixteen years ‒’ Sutton broke off, looking at Jim. ‘Surely you must feel pleased at the prospect of putting the place to rights? We’ll be farming more than five hundred acres once we’ve taken Godsakes in. Surely that’s something to be proud of, eh, being bailiff of such a farm?’