Julia and the Master of Morancourt

by Janet Aylmer

  “I have often thought,” Julia observed,” that inheritance depends so very much on chance, and so very little on merit.” Then noting his expression and suddenly remembering Jack Douglas, she added with some embarrassment, “I had in mind the heirs to great families who take it for granted that they should inherit whether they are suitable or not.”

  “And not either of the sons of a self-made businessman, Miss Maitland?”

  Had she not seen the humour in his face, she might have taken him more seriously.

  “I am sure that merit can be earned, Mr. Hatton. Do you have some plans for that, now that I can tell that you are becoming so very grand?” Julia could see her aunt watching them from her chaise longue as they entered the room, wondering perhaps what was the source of the amusement that they were sharing.

  “Aunt Lucy, would you like to play a game of cards with us? You are going to get very bored just sitting there without some occupation from time to time.”

  This suggestion commended itself to her aunt and, by various means, the two young people entertained Aunt Lucy for the rest of the day until it was time to go to bed.

  On the following morning, Mr. Hatton made some suggestions after breakfast as to how he and Julia could occupy their time during the next few days.

  “Mrs. Harrison, I have various ideas as to what we could do. My godmother established a small school some years ago near the village church, and I’m sure that the teacher would welcome a visit from both of us there. Then I would like to take the opportunity to drive Miss Maitland in my curricle around the grounds and, if you will permit, to give her the opportunity to take the reins.”

  He looked at Julia and, encouraged by her smile, continued.

  “If the weather becomes better, we could walk up the hill that you can see out of the window to the crest, where there is a view of the sea. At some point, I need to have a discussion with my factor, Mr. Whitaker, about the management of the farm; I believe that Miss Maitland has some knowledge of the methods being used at Holkham in Norfolk, which may be of interest to him. And my last idea is that there are a few shops in Beaminster, or perhaps Bridport, that Miss Maitland might like to see and, if you have any personal needs, she could make some purchases for you.”

  Aunt Lucy said, “That sounds a very entertaining programme, my dear Julia. I am only sorry that I cannot join you, but I have no intention of confining you to the house just because of my stupid accident.”

  So thus it was that Julia found herself in the company of Mr. Hatton without any interruption for the next few days.

  Seven

  “If you are willing, Miss Maitland, I suggest that we go this morning to the village school that I mentioned to you. My godmother appointed Mrs. Whitaker, the wife of the factor whom she hired to run the farm, to be the teacher.”

  “I should be delighted,” said Julia, and she went to get her pelisse and gloves, as the weather was still rather grey.

  Mr. Hatton handed Julia up into the curricle, and then went around to the other side to take his place beside her.

  Before they started off, Julia said, “This curricle looks to be in very good condition, Mr. Hatton.”

  He looked at her without expression, then took the reins for the two horses in his hands before he said, “It has been my only purchase so far since I inherited the estate. My father acquired a curricle for my mother when he bought Norton Place, and she taught me to drive it. You may know that not everyone approves of ladies having to handle two horses in a light carriage, as they think it might be too dangerous, but my father did not agree with that view.”

  “So you purchased a curricle as soon as you knew that Morancourt was to be yours?”

  He turned his head and looked at her directly for a moment before saying, “No, Miss Maitland, I purchased the curricle from a coach builder in Bath once I knew that you would be coming to Morancourt. It was here waiting for me when I returned from the city last week.”

  He hesitated, and then continued, “I wanted to be able to take you out and, if you had not been taught to drive a curricle, hoped that I might be allowed to show you, if you wished that.”

  For a few moments, Julia found it very difficult to think of a reply to this.

  Finally, trying to speak lightly, she said, “That is one of the nicest surprises that anybody could give me. My father did once let me take the reins of a curricle owned by a friend, but only for a few minutes, and for a very short distance. We do not have one ourselves at Banford Hall.”

  “Then my purchase is already worthwhile. Shall we start now?”

  And he called to the footman to take his place on the footplate at the rear of the curricle.

  Then Mr. Hatton tightened his grip on the reins and they set off along the drive away from the house. The village was about a mile further along the lane down a narrow valley, and Julia admired the way in which he controlled the horses around the sharp bends and down the slope into the village. Once or twice, he glanced at her, perhaps concerned that he might be driving too fast, but Julia found the journey exhilarating and was sorry when they reached the school gate and she had to get out.

  The building was a low thatched structure situated next to the church. It had the appearance of a barn, but with a good number of mullioned windows looking out over the street. They walked up the path to the old timber door and, after Mr. Hatton knocked, he gestured her to go first and Julia entered, to find herself in a simple space with a row of desks at one end and the teacher’s table in the centre.

  Mrs. Whitaker was sitting at the table, but immediately rose and curtsied to Mr. Hatton. She was a youngish woman, neatly dressed in a blue-grey cotton gown covered by an apron. The children sat wide-eyed in front of her at their desks, looking at the new arrivals. They were between about five and ten years of age, some rather raggedly attired, the boys each with a kerchief knotted around their necks, and the girls wearing aprons.

  Mr. Hatton introduced Julia to Mrs. Whitaker, and the teacher gave up her seat to her and invited several of the children to come and sit around them.

  “Would it be helpful,” said Julia, “if I told them a short story?”

  “Please do, Miss Maitland,” said Mrs. Whitaker, and she stood with Mr. Hatton by her side whilst Julia explained the tale of Little Red Riding Hood. The children were particularly delighted at the animal noises that Julia made at appropriate points in the story, and she could see Mr. Hatton’s considerable amusement at this.

  “Now, Mr. Hatton,” said Julia, “it’s your turn.” And he did not need much persuading to tell the children the fable of Cinderella.

  After this, some of the girls showed Julia their efforts at needlework, and the boys some models that they had been making. After a few more words with Mrs. Whitaker, the visitors left.

  “Did you notice something, Mr. Hatton?” she said as he handed her back into the curricle.

  “What was that?” he said, surprised at her tone of voice.

  “The boys’ kerchiefs, some of them were made of silk. I would not have expected that in a country area, and when their other clothes were mostly very worn and old.”

  “Are you quite sure, Miss Maitland?”

  “Yes, quite sure,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “Mrs. Whitaker had cut up some old material for them?”

  “Perhaps, but the patterns were not all the same, and the silk material looked new to me.”

  Mr. Hatton looked thoughtful as they drove back along the country lane to Morancourt, where they found Aunt Lucy quite content, doing some needlework and with her injured ankle resting on the chaise longue.

  “Ah, there you are, Julia,” said her aunt. “A letter came for me whilst you were out. It is from your mother.”

  “Oh—is there any news of Papa?”

  “Not very much new. He is still resting a good part of the day and, you will be pleased to hear, reading some of the books that you chose for him before you left home.”

  “D
oes Mama say anything about my travelling with you to Morancourt?”

  “Well, yes, she does. She just suggests that you would have had better opportunities to meet more young people in Bath.”

  Julia made a face, turning her head away as she did so, hoping that Mr. Hatton had not heard or could see her expression. That was a typical comment by her mother, when she was so enjoying herself away from the frivolities and often artificial atmosphere in Bath.

  After luncheon, they left Aunt Lucy lying on the chaise longue, collected their outdoor wear, and went out onto the front forecourt of the house.

  “I suggest, Miss Maitland, that you take a short turn in the curricle with me now, and try taking the reins. When you are learning, it is always best that the horses are not too fresh. They should be quite calm after our outing this morning to the village school.”

  She readily agreed, but was surprised that they did not immediately set off.

  “There is one thing that you must always remember about a curricle, Miss Maitland. They may be fast-moving, but they are inherently unstable. So there must always be a servant—a footman or someone else—on the footplate at the back to balance the vehicle. Because of the rush of the wind, he cannot hear our conversation. But without him, we would be at risk of overturning, however carefully we drive.”

  And Mr. Hatton waited whilst the footman took his place before they started off. Then followed one of the most enjoyable hours of Julia’s life to date.

  Mr. Hatton showed her how to take the reins in her hands and to apply pressure gently to guide the horses first one way and then another, then to bring them smoothly to a halt when she wanted to. To begin with, Julia found this quite difficult, but with practice she found that the horses began to follow her will, and the direction and speed that she wanted.

  They took a circuit of the drive from the house past the stables to the gatehouse, and then back to the manor, and then repeated that several times. Finally, Mr. Hatton took the reins again himself and steered the curricle back towards the house. Julia was profuse in her thanks, and was about to get down from the carriage when he asked her to wait for a moment.

  After he had dismissed the footman, he said, “Could I ask you, Miss Maitland, whether your mother is much like her sister, your aunt Mrs. Harrison?”

  She looked at him for a few moments. “No, not very much. Of course, it is much easier to be good-humoured and generous with your time when you have plenty of money and no children to worry about, as is the case with my aunt. She is older than my mother, and they are two very different people. I am told that I am much more like my father than Mama. Harriet, my youngest sister, is good fun, and you might find her the most like my aunt of the three of us. It is Sophie, my middle sister, who is more like my mother.”

  He looked at her without replying for some moments, so she added, “Why do you ask?”

  “Only that I have noticed that you seemed more at ease in Bath, and happily here also, than you did in Derbyshire.”

  “There are many reasons for that, sir,” she said. “It has been so much easier to relax here in the West Country, whereas there have been so many more pressures on me lately back at home.”

  He nodded, then helped her down from the curricle, and they entered the house.

  Later that evening, Julia helped her aunt to compose a reply to Mama’s letter, which said enough, but not too much, about what they might be currently doing. By mutual consent, her aunt did not mention the accident to her ankle—only that Julia was enjoying meeting all kinds of people in the locality. This might, she thought, be some exaggeration, but it should divert Mama from any ideas of calling her back home when she would much rather stay where she was.

  “You once mentioned Holkham in Norfolk, Mr. Coke’s house and estate,” said Mr. Hatton the following morning. “Have you been there yourself, Miss Maitland?”

  “No, I have read about it, but it was my father’s factor who went there, at my brother David’s suggestion. He came back with so many ideas for improvements to my family’s property. As it turned out, with the failure of the bank in Derby, the opportunity to make quite simple changes to the way our land is being used has meant that the income is already increasing from my father’s estate. That has been most useful at a time when the money coming from other sources has been reduced.” Then she saw his expression. “You are surprised that I know about such things?”

  “No—only that any young lady should be interested,” he said, rather shamefaced. “I cannot imagine that my mother would have been the same.”

  “Was she a practical person, Mr. Hatton?”

  “In housekeeping, and in house decoration, yes, but she did not have a great curiosity about money or anything new. Rather like Jack—I am sure that you have not forgotten that from your visit to Norton Place!”

  “Would I have liked her?”

  He thought for a few moments. “In some ways, yes—she loved books, but she was also rather reclusive and shy. That led some people to say that she had a cold manner. Everyone was very surprised, I’ve been told, when she decided that she wanted to marry my father, for she had far grander suitors. But she recognised in my father a kindness and a generosity of manner lacking in most of the others.”

  “I liked your father very much,” said Julia, “but he said very little to me about your mother, although of course he does not know me very well.”

  “He was absolutely devastated when she died,” said Mr. Hatton. “As you know, I came back from Spain after she passed away, and I have never seen him so distraught. He really did not know what to do with himself. To be fair to Jack, my brother, he had done his best to console him, and it was a comfort to both of them when I returned home.”

  “Did your father have any problems persuading your mother’s relations to allow her to marry him?”

  “Her family was not keen on the idea at all. The match did not meet their expectations for the daughter of a baronet, but my father’s wealth, and her total determination, finally wore them down. You would approve of that, I would guess?”

  Julia gave a wide smile. “But of course, Mr. Hatton!”

  She wondered why he paused before replying, but that smile always distracted him, and made his heart skip a beat.

  “I hope that you will be impressed,” he said, “if I tell you that I have written to Mr. Coke in Norfolk to ask if I may attend the next sheep-shearing and the annual gathering at Holkham, and I plan to take Mr. Whitaker with me. But that will not be for a few months. So will you come with me now to meet him, and explain a little of what he might learn there?”

  She readily agreed, and they walked together down the drive and then along a side turning towards the group of farm buildings. There, inside the cattle shed, they found the factor busy with two farmhands to help him, forking over the hay and penning the animals at one end of the shed whilst they did so.

  After the introductions, Mr. Hatton said to Mr. Whitaker, “Miss Maitland has some knowledge of the practices used by Mr. Coke at Holkham Hall, John. They are already being employed on her father’s land at Banford Hall in Derbyshire.”

  Julia then explained how her father had changed the type of cattle that he kept on the estate, and that he used oil cake and roots to feed them.

  “He has also introduced wheat as a crop where the land is suitable, drilling the ground rather than scattering the seed by hand. That seems to give a much higher yield than the rye grown previously, and he makes much greater use of manure and bones as fertilisers. I have been told that these methods of managing the estate have greatly increased the yields.”

  “Rather a lot to remember, John,” said Mr. Hatton, “but I am told that seeing the practices in action in Norfolk is the best way of understanding it all.”

  Mr. Whitaker looked very interested, and told Julia that he would be glad to learn more. He then showed her around the farm buildings and explained the areas where repairs and improvements were being considered.

  “Where do you
and your family live, Mr. Whitaker? We met your wife at the school yesterday, teaching the children,” said Julia.

  “Our house is further south from here, Miss Maitland, closer to the village and not far from the road towards the sea.”

  “How old is it, Mr. Whitaker? Is it the same age as Morancourt?”

  Mr. Hatton suddenly looked apologetic. “Mr. Whitaker, I should have asked you before whether your house needs any attention?”

  “It’s an old place, sir. We like it as it is,” he replied.

  I wonder if his wife agrees that the house does not need attention, thought Julia. If Morancourt needs renovating, surely the servants’ homes do as well?

  “Would you object,” said Julia, “if we call in to see your wife one day?”

  “No, of course not, Miss Maitland, if you would like to do that. The school is open only in the mornings, so that the children can help their parents on the land in the later part of the day. So my wife gets home at about one o’clock.”

  On the way back, Julia asked her host about his opinion of Mr. Whitaker.

  “I am not sure. It may be difficult for him to have someone taking a more active interest at such short notice.”

  “You have told me before that some people don’t like change. Perhaps his attitude will improve?”

  “Don’t mistake me—he is not being rude or surly in his manner. There is just something that I cannot put my finger on for the moment.”

  Julia considered this. “I would like to go with you and visit their house soon, if you agree?”

  He indicated his assent to this idea, and they walked back to the house to find how Aunt Lucy was progressing. Much to their amusement, they found that Mrs. Jones had brought her recipe book from the kitchen and was writing down several ideas suggested by Aunt Lucy for the menus later that week.

  “Now, Mrs. Jones, have you a recipe for syllabub? My cook in Bath has the most excellent means of making that.”

  Mrs. Jones looked suitably impressed, and sent Martha to find more pages to insert in her book to write on.