“Where indeed, my dear?”
She winced inwardly as she realised what she had said, as she heard the heaviness of his voice – she had to grow up! She was not a fashionable little girl fluttering round the salons of Mayfair, should not behave as heedlessly as that breed did. No gain to an apology for her tactlessness – that could only emphasise her words.
“I need a letter sent to my son, Mr Joseph, Wilkins, to reach him at the earliest possible moment.”
Wilkins was now wholly bald, a wizened little gnome, still in full possession of his faculties, master of his stableyard and all of its occupants, human and equine.
“Archibald, will be best, my lord, the brightest of the lads, he won’t get lost so far from home, though I don’t know sometimes whether he ain’t too clever for ‘is own good... still, ‘e can do this job well enough! It will cost, my lord – the better part of thirty pound, I reckons, riding the turnpikes flat out and changing the nag every hour – and ‘e’ll be knackered at the end of it. Stopping no more than twice for a bite to eat, ‘e’ll need that, and ‘e can be there in fifteen or sixteen hours, so long as it ain’t raining up north. This time tomorrow at latest even if it’s pissing down, beg pardon, ma’am!”
“Get him ready, Wilkins. The letter will be written within the half hour.”
“If Joseph leaves at first light on Thursday morning, Papa, he should be here on Friday evening, using four horses and paying for frequent changes.”
“Tell him to make all haste but not to ride – he is not strong enough in the saddle, could not keep up with Archibald and might kill himself trying.”
“Should I tell him why he is to come, Papa?”
“The most urgent of family business will do. Archibald can be relied upon to make him drop everything and run.”
Joseph appeared mid-way through Friday afternoon, handing over gold half-guineas to the post-boys, evidence of the haste he had demanded, and evidently received. His manner as he greeted his family made it clear that he had obeyed the summons to his very best, but that it was at the expense of time he had wished, needed, to spend elsewhere. He was inclined to be surly.
“Joseph, you have made good time, my son. Thank you! The reason is not a good one, I am afraid, my son. Take a seat. Tea, coffee, Madeira?”
Joseph took tea, beginning to realise that there was a calamity – that this was not some conference about a sudden business opportunity.
“What is it, sir?”
“Your mother, Joseph, she has been taken by a very rapid cancer, one which has progressed further and faster than could have reasonably been expected, hence the suddenness of the summons to you. She is dying, my son, has days, at most, left, possibly only hours before she loses consciousness. She is in her chamber and is awake and fully alert at the moment. Take a few minutes to compose yourself and then go up to her, if you please.”
Joseph choked over his tea, turned away for a few seconds before squaring his shoulders and telling himself that he had decided to be a man, he must now behave as a man should. He trotted upstairs, managed to smile as he greeted his mother, sat on her day-bed, fully dressed, apparently composed.
“Joseph, you are here a few hours before I had expected. You are looking well, my son – and you need not try to return the compliment! Your father has told you?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Good! It helps him, I believe, to actually say the words. To admit it to himself is to make the event a little easier to bear, though perhaps ‘easy’ is not the term I should have used. I shall pass on very soon now, before the weekend is over. Do what you can for your grandparents – I have asked them to come today as well. Tell me of your business ventures, my son, and of Miss Mary Star, have you visited with the Stars lately?”
“Virtually every weekend, mother – I was very pleased to know that Charlotte was to wed Matthew! Mary was made happy, too! Will Robert be returning early from France, do you think?”
“No – better that he should know nothing, that I should be buried before he comes back. Better not so much for him as for his wife – she will be finding her way to establishing a relationship with him, difficult enough without him grieving his mother. She must have her first few weeks, at least.”
They talked an hour before she grew visibly weaker and Joseph left her to nap for a while, sending the final message to the rectory at her command.
Reverend Harker came the instant he was called upon, had been waiting since the beginning of the week when the first warning had reached him and all other business had been suspended. He was not looking forward to performing this duty, not that he ever found more than the satisfaction of easing a mortal soul’s passing, listening to worries and secrets and trying to lessen their burden. So many of his flock went towards the grave in terror of the punishment for the sins they had hidden – and too often as he listened to their self-exculpatory ramblings he felt that their fears were only too well-founded, they deserved the fate that surely was almost upon them. In the case of Lady Verity he was quite sure he would not have to listen to apologies and excuses, was far more likely to receive a set of orders to pass on to the Lord to ensure that all went well on her entry to the Pearly Gates, that St Peter was well-washed and correctly dressed for the occasion and the archangels properly arrayed in attendance – she had her standards, after all!
He discovered that in fact she had very little for him, had demanded his presence solely because the villagers would consider it appropriate and one should never unnecessarily offend the sensibilities of the lesser folk. She did instruct him to offer such comfort as he could to her mother, she would be very hard-hit, she feared.
“I shall do so, of course, my lady, and will try to convince Lord Andrews that he should not resent the Lord’s command that you come early to him – so many widowed husbands especially fail to understand God’s purpose.”
She could not recommend that course to him, did not consider it at all wise. Her husband’s faith, though no doubt sincere, was not particularly deep and the task of convincing him that all was for the best might be beyond the reverend’s powers. Better far to leave him in the good hands of his children and of Lord Star, a friend such as few ever had.
“He will be here for the funeral, of course, Reverend – I have sent a letter. A pity that the weather is becoming warmer – one would not wish to delay interment too long in these circumstances. It would be easier for both if they had a day or two together before the unhappy event.”
Harker agreed, blenching at the degree of practicality involved.
“What of you, Reverend? You do not intend to take a wife, it would seem? Are you happy in your ministry here?”
“I am very content, my lady, would wish to spend my life here – I shall not, for example, seek preferment in the Church. As for marriage – it is not for me, ma’am!” He looked her in the eye, continued evenly. “I have no affection for the female sex, ma’am, and therefore will be, not content but in duty bound, wholly a bachelor, entirely and always alone in my life and in my bed. It is my burden and I shall bear it, ma’am! I have never spoken of this before, but in your particular circumstances, my lady, I feel that I should explain myself.”
“I had wondered, I will admit, sir – and I am very pleased to hear of your resolve and have nothing but respect for you – the cloth makes its demands. I do not believe that one can be a clergyman in part of one’s life, it is, as you might say, all or nothing. It is perhaps presumptuous of me to say this to you, but you will be rewarded in Heaven, sir, of that I have no doubt!”
“Thank you, ma’am – you bring me comfort – an unexpected reversal! Do you wish to pray with me, ma’am? I feel that we both might wish to give our thanks.”
The pain grew a little worse next day and Verity acknowledged that she might soon be unable to continue the fight – she might actually cry out, make an admission of agony. The lassitude became greater as well, she had to force herself out of bed and into a dressing-gown, could not
make the effort to clothe herself. She called for a cup of hot water that evening, sat quietly talking with Tom until she grew too weary, then took her two hundred drops of laudanum and quickly mixed the contents of the packets of herbs in her cup, drank it down in a single gulp.
“Just a tonic that will help me rest, Thomas. Forgive me, Thomas! I am so sorry to leave you on your own – it is unfair of me. Goodbye, my love!”
She nestled down in her pillows, smiled tiredly and bade him to blow out the candles, leave just her nightlight.
He paced downstairs, called to Morton to attend them in the withdrawing room where he joined the Grafhams, Charlotte and Joseph.
“She is sleeping now. I doubt she will wake.”
It transpired that she had made her farewells to them all over the afternoon.
“Morton, will you ask Matcham to look in on her ladyship every hour or two.”
“She will do so, my lord, she also is much attached to her ladyship, and to the whole family. She was very pleased to be asked to become maid to Miss Robinson on her ladyship’s passing, I would add, my lord.”
Tom had not heard of this, put it down to Verity’s desire to ensure that her own abigail should not be put out into the street on her death; it was reasonable enough, he supposed, and the cost would be trifling.
Miss Robinson brought the expected news soon after midnight.
Book Four: A Poor Man
at the Gate Series
Chapter Three
Tom woke to the knowledge that he was alone. It was over.
As he stirred he started to wonder what was it was that was over. Married life, with all of the emotional and physical comfort that it had offered, that was obviously gone, what else?
Perhaps it would be easier to catalogue what was left.
Very little.
The children, none of them were really old enough, mature enough, to be left entirely on their own if it could be avoided. They would need him for a while, benefit from him for somewhat longer, not financially, but emotionally – he could be a comfort, a rock for them to lean on while they needed one, Joseph especially so.
The business? It had been a means to an end, a way of maintaining the life he had enjoyed so much and which was now gone. He had money enough to live on and to run the estate, more than enough, in fact, did he need the firms he had created?
Probably not, but he employed about five thousand men and women in his foundries and pits and mills and shipyard, and that meant five times as many, at least, of children and dependent old folk. He could not just dump them on the waste heap of his own despair, sacrificing them like some old barbarian chieftain going down to Hell surrounded by his retainers – that was not acceptable, would not be forgiven.
“By whom”, he wondered, “what source of forgiveness existed?”
Unanswerable.
Verity, as so often, had been right – he had to keep going, could not simply wrap himself up in his own misery – he was no altruist but he could not be entirely selfish either, that was not part of him, would not become part.
What was the time?
He pulled back a curtain, glanced at the dawn light, seven o’clock or so.
Brown entered the room in response to his movement.
“Good morning, my lord. Hot water is to hand, my lord.”
Brown laid out a full suit of blacks, only the shirt white.
“I did not know I possessed black neckcloths, Brown.”
“I purchased in London, my lord, when the need became apparent.”
There was little conversation at the breakfast table.
Morton caught Tom’s eye when the meal was over, informed him that a coffin had already been ordered that morning, assured him that he could make all of the necessary arrangements with the assistance of Mr Quillerson, he need not concern himself.
The Stars arrived that afternoon, Verity having instructed them to do so, suggesting that it would be a ‘sensible’ date and they could be excused Sabbath-breaking for this once.
“Tom, I am so sorry! Thomas and Elizabeth and Matthew are with us; Jenny is in no case to travel, expecting her fourth any day – she will rival her mother, I suspect! I thought Mary to be too young to be exposed to this just yet, Tom, and my Elizabeth is staying with Jenny for the while and the rest of the boys have work they must do – in any case, I thought you would not need a house full at this time. Thomas’ Elizabeth particularly wanted to show her respects – she feels that she owes much to Lady Verity for picking her out for Thomas.”
“I think it was Lady Jersey as much as any, Joe, but Thomas is a lucky man, I believe. He certainly seems to be happy in her company.”
“He is, Tom. He is starting to busy himself locally, making himself known in public life. He wants me to take my seat more frequently in the Lords, Tom, so that he can sit on the benches there and observe proceedings and be seen to be interested. He tells me that a place on one of the Boards would soon be offered in such case and he might eventually join a government, when he has inherited. He has ambitions, it would seem, for his children, he assures me – they have some hopes in that direction already I gather.”
Tom tried his best to be interested – he was, he knew, quite pleased for the young man, but he could feel nothing despite his liking for the pair – there was nothing left for the while. He wondered whether the well of emotion would fill again. Perhaps it had drained for ever.
Visits of condolence were made and a few letters of sympathy from the locality arrived, though most, in the nature of things, would not be penned until the announcements in the national press had been read. Miss Robinson quietly informed Tom that she would write the replies, he would need only to put his signature to the sheets, being sure to use the same pen and ink, of course.
The funeral was held on a wet morning, rain turning the paths to mud, drenching the men stood around the grave, shivering while trying to stand still in respect. Raindrops mingled with the tears on Tom’s face, indistinguishable, though he was wholly unconcerned – he had no need to hide his grief. Despite the weather there was a great tail of local men and women at the rear, the church full as the villagers and estate workers and tenants showed their respect and sympathy.
Tom knew that almost none had turned out for Major Hunt a few years previously and that the display was genuine, not enforced for fear of the landlord’s displeasure. He made an effort to catch the eye of as many as he could, to nod his thanks, to exchange a few words with the chief of the local worthies – his tenants, the doctor, the quarry-master and the foremen from the iron works – they deserved acknowledgement and he must not neglect his duty.
Quillerson stayed at his shoulder all morning, murmuring the names in case he forgot, pointing out those he had missed and who should receive his attention.
“The emigrants have all gone to Bristol, my lord, the wagons left yesterday. White asked me to convey his respects, my lord, speaking for them all. They had wished to delay their departure, but it was not practical, as he hoped you would realise.”
“A good man, Quillerson, a pity in many ways that he has left – he could have done much here. However, his strength will undoubtedly be valuable in his new community.”
The Latimers had all attended, as was only right. Quillerson, observing dispassionately, thought that their main aim was to bring all of their unwed daughters to the funeral feast that followed in order to display them to the rich widower. His lip curled.
“The almshouses, my lord, were a prime concern of Lady Verity’s and I have arranged that each of the five will receive a very substantial meal from the Hall today, a portion of the baked meats in effect.”
“Thank you, Quillerson, I should have thought of that myself. That also answers a problem that had been concerning me, that of a fitting memorial for her ladyship. Build another row of five opposite them, if you would, and ask the Reverend to arrange for their occupancy, the estate to pension them, of course. Instruct the Reverend to confer with all of the cha
pels and ensure that the beneficiaries are selected from each equally – we can, perhaps, force them to talk amicably with each other on this one occasion.”
“’Lady Verity’s Bequest’, my lord – it will be well received in the village, they all know that she took a personal interest in the almshouses and would have wished something like this to be done. As for the vicar conferring with the chapels, my lord, I think it might be better were he to talk to them individually rather than try to bring them together in the same room – the chance of bloodshed would be less!”
The Stars stayed for a fortnight, forcing Tom to act the part of the host, ensuring that he could not isolate himself in his grief, could not let himself decline into slovenliness. He had to dress for dinner, he was obliged to entertain his guests, and in the nature of things was therefore available during the working day for Quillerson, who went to great lengths to find decisions for him to make.
They rode south across the River Nene one morning to inspect Robert’s new estate, found it to be run-down, neglected for years by a sporting owner whose sole use for the land had been flapper shooting and fishing and who quite possibly had lacked the funds to do more with it. Of the thousand acres less than two hundred were down to the plough and barely half as much again was water-meadows sustaining a beef herd of fewer than thirty beasts; the rest was marsh and slough, reeds and bulrushes, geese and ducks and dabchicks. The house had been untenanted for a generation, rising damp meeting falling, mould and mildew and outright rot the order of every room.
“What is best to be done, Quillerson?”
“Demolish the house, my lord – it cannot be saved. Call on a good architect to build another, choosing, perhaps, a more salubrious site further up the rise, away from the water’s edge. For the land – a cut to provide a drain first, then banks and ditches throughout and we should be able to recover the better part of another five hundred good acres within three or four years. A plantation of willow would make sense as well – good firing for the house within a few years and dries out the soil as well as pushing back the reeds. First thing of all will be to join every stagnant pool to the river to bring a flow of water through them – they will breed mosquitoes by the million in summer and autumn, my lord, and that means marsh ague for sure!”
The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4) Page 7
