There had been no trace of his father’s booking at the Red Lion – only one from a member of the nobility. Recalling the Rushmore groom’s dog-like demeanour, he wondered if the request had come from Lord Cardington; and had he, in thwarting Wigmore’s determination to obey his master, made his journey unnecessarily complicated. He would have to write to Aunt Jane, expressing his thanks for the servant’s efforts.
For the rest of the time, Joshua divided his thoughts between listening to the conversations going on around him, and worrying about making his money last. So far, he had managed to strike a balance between being too open-handed and miserly with his tips to people who gave good service, but he must be careful until he reached Holkham. Once there, he hoped that Mr Coke would act as his banker and cash any drafts on his father’s bank.
By the time the coach reached Kings Lynn, he felt so weary, he would happily have slept in a barn, but when the coach stopped outside the largest hotel, he learned to his delight a room had been booked for the young man travelling to Holkham Hall, and that a coach would collect him the following day.
For the first time in almost a week, Joshua enjoyed the luxury of dining at an individual table, and sleeping in superior accommodation, undisturbed by any of the irritations encountered along the way.
CHAPTER 28
Refreshed by his night’s sleep, Joshua savoured his breakfast and set off to walk the half mile to the sea front. It was exhilarating, feeling the sea breezes blow away the tedium of travelling. The near-cloudless sky, reflected in a palette of aquamarine, triggered memories of other seascapes, but they were long gone, and there was no time for regrets. Today, everything began again.
The harbour was a hive of activity, with all kinds of boats at anchor – fishing, sailing and whaling – and many strange smells he could not identify. If only there was more time to explore, but he had to return to the hotel before the transport from Holkham arrived. He made it, with half an hour to spare.
The driver of the gig was a young man of about his age, with tawny hair and a shy smile. Joshua took to him on sight.
“Good morning, Mr Norbery,” the groom said respectfully, “Ben Waters at your service. I’ve come to take you to Holkham Hall.”
The formality made him laugh. “I prefer to be called Joshua.”
With the introductions over, and his baggage stowed, the gig set off through the town traffic at a dawdling pace, but when they reached the coast road, Ben spoke again.
“Sorry to be slow, Joshua; I’m not used to driving in so much traffic where I come from, but it will be all right now we are out of the town.”
As the pace quickened, the two young men exchanged information about their origins. Joshua told the groom about his home in Shropshire, and Ben admitted he had never been out of Norfolk.
“I was born on the Holkham estate, and have always worked there, like the rest of my family. I would not want to work for anyone but Mr Coke. Have you heard about the wonderful things he’s done for farming?”
“That is what I am here to learn about,” Joshua said.
“You couldn’t learn from a better man,” Ben told him. “Mind you, Mr Blakeney the land agent is the one who implements Mr Coke’s ideas.”
“What is he like?”
“A bit strict, but he’s all right. He came down from Scotland a good many years ago, and stayed here after he married my mother’s sister. I expect you will meet him tomorrow morning.”
The areas of flat land and scrub vegetation along the coast road made Joshua nostalgic for the lush green Shropshire hill country where he lived, and the neat dwellings of brick and flint looked quaintly different to the limestone cottages near Linmore.
After a few miles, the groom halted the vehicle beside a water trough next to an inn. “I usually stop here to water the horses, and get a drink for myself. I hope it’s all right with you?”
They were both ready to stretch their legs, and sit outside the inn with a tankard of ale to wash down a crust of bread and cheese. Joshua leaned back on the wooden bench and took a deep breath.
“I can almost smell the sea. Where is it?”
Ben laughed, and pointed to the far side of the inn.
“The salt marshes are out there beyond the stone wall. Go and have a look if you want to, but the tide will be out for a while yet.”
The sight that met Joshua’s gaze was vastly different to his recollections from his Mediterranean travels. Beyond the sea defences there was a coarse meadow, which gradually merged into an expanse of tufted greens and browns until he could see a line of sand in the distance.
“Where’s the water gone?”
“I told you, the tide is out, but by the time we get to Holkham, it will be back almost up to the level of the dunes.”
Ben hesitated before resuming the journey. “There’s something I’d better tell you, Joshua, just so you don’t ask. Mr Coke’s wife passed away a year this summer. Lovely lady she was.” He turned aside as his voice muffled. Then he sniffed and blew his nose. “Right, we’d better be on our way.”
The afternoon shadows were lengthening by the time the gig turned up the long drive to Holkham Hall. Joshua could not remember where the spare landscape had changed, but everywhere he looked now, he saw a proliferation of trees.
Ahead of them, a herd of deer raced away across the rolling acres of landscaped parkland, and gradually, around a bend in the drive a Palladian mansion came into view. The ochre-coloured edifice glowed in the sunlight. Spartan in its simplicity, it was magnificent.
Seeing it, Joshua felt a wave of nostalgia for the time he spent in Italy with Charlie…and Lady Rosie. The one friendship was in the past, and only time would tell if the second survived, and deepened into anything stronger.
Rather than brooding, he recalled the story that Ben Waters told him, about how the first Earl of Leicester built Holkham Hall, to house the vast collection of art treasures and statues acquired during his extended Grand Tour of Italy.
During the thirty years it took to complete, the earl and his only son died, so his widow, the Dowager Countess, completed the project. The title lapsed when the earl’s nephew inherited the estate, and when he died, his son, the present owner, carried on the work.
That evening, Joshua dined with Mr Robertson, the steward, and learned that Mr Coke was in London, attending his political duties. They talked of many things, but he was so tired, he could not remember a single topic.
He rose early, feeling refreshed, and took a walk along the side of the lake. On his way back, he lost his way and arrived late for breakfast, a matter highlighted when the steward outlined the strict protocol of the house, and informed him of the meeting arranged with the agent, Mr Blakeney, at ten o’clock.
Joshua approached the meeting with trepidation. By his late arrival at breakfast, he had already broken the rules pertaining to timekeeping, and hoped to avoid any further lapses.
When he entered the agent’s office, a dark-haired man of medium height and spare frame rose from behind the oak desk to meet him.
“Good morning, Mr Norbery,” James Blakeney said, his soft burr emphasising the sounds. “I trust you slept well.”
Joshua grinned. “Yes, thank you, sir. I went for a walk in the park and lost track of time. I’m afraid I was a bit late for breakfast.”
“So I heard,” the voice cut in dryly. “There is one thing to remember whilst you are at Holkham. An estate does not run itself, and there are certain rules, which have to be complied with.”
A sweep of his hand indicated a large framed inscription on the wall behind his desk, which bore the inscription “The House Rules”, in copperplate writing.
“Learn them well, Mr Norbery, and you will not go far wrong.”
There was no time for Joshua to give them more than a cursory glance before the agent moved on to other things.
“This morning, I would like to outline your training schedule for the next year. It may sound complicated at first, but when you unde
rstand the routine it is quite straightforward.”
“Yes, sir,” said Joshua, hoping he was right.
“Sit down, and I’ll explain,” the agent said, indicating a wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk. Then he pointed to a board on the adjacent wall, covered by charts. “It’s easier to show you than fill your head with a lot of words you will forget as soon as you leave the office.”
Joshua nodded and waited for the first instruction.
“In brief, I divide each half-year into four sections of six weeks, representing estate management, crop rotation, animal husbandry and forestry, the latter including woodland management and game-keeping. You will undertake the first rotation to learn the basics, and the second to consolidate what you have learned. Is that clear?”
“Um… yes, I think so, sir.” In truth, he was confused. The agent’s enthusiasm for the subject made him feel as if he were back in the classroom. Joshua doubted if anyone would flog him if he failed to learn, but he knew his father expected results.
“If there is time at the end, you will have the opportunity to spend a week or two on one of the best farms on the estate. Egmere, which is tenanted by Mr Danby, is a fine example of what can be achieved with good management.”
After a further hour of talking, Mr Blakeney removed his spectacles and placed them in a case on the desk. “That’s enough paperwork for now,” he said. “After luncheon, I’ll show you some of the estate.”
At the mention of food, Joshua’s early breakfast seemed a long way away, and he felt quite light-headed. He was in need of a break, for his mind was reeling with the enormity of what he had undertaken.
He waited whilst the agent locked the estate office door, and followed him across a courtyard to the servants’ entrance to the Hall. Once indoors, they made their way to a room adjoining the servants’ hall, where a table set with four placements of cutlery awaited them.
The agent took his place at the head of the table, and waved Joshua to the chair on his right-hand side.
“I take my meals here during the daytime,” he said, “and it is where you will dine with the other students. On the occasions when you work different hours you need to speak with the kitchen staff and they will provide for your needs.”
The tantalising aroma of meat roasting in the kitchen caught Joshua’s attention. His mouth watered in anticipation of the treat, but when he sat down to eat, he found the luncheon consisted of a cold collation of generously sliced ham from the bone, a platter of fresh bread, creamy butter, cheese and pickles, with a tankard of ale. It was plain food, but it was welcome and remarkably satisfying.
The agent waited until they cleared their plates before speaking again.
“There are a couple of points I intended to mention. Your daily hours of work are from seven o’clock in the morning, until six at night, and on Saturday morning, you finish at midday. The rest of the day is your own, as is Sunday. You will, of course, attend matins, and afterwards, Mrs Blakeney is most insistent you join us with your colleagues for luncheon.”
Joshua noted the details and said, “Thank you, sir.”
“The second matter is with regard to your personal finances. Your father has provided Mr Coke with money drafts to be cashed in your favour. Mr Robertson, the steward, deals with that, and his usual arrangement is to issue sufficient funds for a calendar month. In the unlikely event you outrun the constable; you may apply to me for an advance on the next month’s monies. I will then put your case to him.”
That was a relief. Joshua had wondered how he would replenish his depleted supply of funds. The agent then cleared his throat.
“I trust I do not have to warn you about fraternising with any females on the estate, or in the locality, Mr Norbery.”
“Absolutely not, sir,” Joshua was vehement in his denials. The encounter with Sophie Cobarne ensured that.
“Good,” said the agent. “Mr Coke will be glad to hear of your assurance.”
Joshua wondered how much the agent knew of his reasons for coming to Holkham. He was here to work.
They walked to the agent’s gig, parked outside the estate office, and set off at a steady pace down the front drive with the Hall on their left, and the lake opposite. Joshua had seen this view on his early morning walk, but it was unfamiliar then.
As they passed a right-hand fork in the road, Mr Blakeney pointed to a building beyond the lake. “You will need a horse to ride, so we will come upon the stable block another way.”
He drove on, indicating a single-storey, thatched building on a grassy slope. “The ice-house is apparently the only remaining part of the original landscape at Holkham.”
One glance and a nod was enough for Joshua. He could not speak. The memory of another such cold place haunted him. Luckily, the agent drove the gig up the slope to the obelisk. From there, they looked back down the drive at Holkham’s finest view of the Hall.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, and the perfect setting for the simplistic lines of a Palladio design. Again the sight brought back memories of similar structures in Italy, and was one view Joshua vowed to look at many times.
“If you look to the right, the next time you come up the slope,” said the agent, indicating the direction with a sweep of his hand, “there is a temple in the trees. It was one of the first structures built, along with the obelisk.”
They moved on at a brisk pace over the rise and down the slope, before turning off the main drive along a track towards a large building, built in the same local ochre brick as the Hall. The agent stopped the gig in front of the big wooden doors and stepped down. Joshua followed.
“This is the Great Barn,” he said, “one of the improvements Mr Coke made when he inherited the estate. It is where we hold the Holkham sheep-shearings, but I will tell you more on the subject later. I want you to meet two young men who began their studies last autumn.”
It was a brief meeting, but sufficient for Joshua, standing a head and shoulders taller, to note that the two lads were of a similar age to him. Jack Syderstone was of medium height, dark haired and taciturn, with a weathered complexion; whereas Harry Bircham was shorter and more outgoing, with sandy hair and fair skin, which caught the sun.
The agent was anxious to be on the move, and in minutes the gig re-joined the main drive and passed through the arched structure at the south lodge. From there, they travelled along a country road towards the farmhouse where the agent lived, before returning along the estate road past the walled garden to the stable block.
Once there, they descended from the gig to meet the head groom who promised to find Joshua a suitable horse for the following morning. With the matter arranged, he expected Mr Blakeney to climb back into the gig. Instead, he followed as the agent entered the stable block through a side door, and ascended a staircase to the upper floor. “This is where you will sleep and live,” he said.
The door at the end of the corridor opened into a communal sitting room with a wooden table and three chairs. There were three bedroom doors beyond, and a fourth revealed shared washing facilities. To Joshua’s unpractised eye, his allocated room seemed to be of monastic proportions – neat and tidy, with basic contents, sufficient for his needs.
It contained a narrow bed, on which a feather pillow in striped ticking reposed on top of a pile of clean linen, awaiting the making of the bed. To the one side, there was a candlestick on a small table; a screened hanging rail for coats in an alcove, with ample shelving for clothes, and storage underneath for boots. Seeing his travelling trunks beside the bed, he guessed the groom must have placed them there, and made a note to thank the man.
“Come, Mr Norbery, we have more work to do.” The agent walked down the stairs, leaving Joshua to follow. It was only four o’clock. He might be tired but the working day was not finished.
By the time Joshua had shared the students’ evening meal, and walked back with them from the Hall to the stable block, he knew that Harry lived on an estate near Bedford, and Jack was the s
on of a Staffordshire tenant farmer.
Anticipating a task he had never attempted before, he entered his room and found to his surprise and relief that some kind soul had made his bed – no doubt at Mr Blakeney’s behest. Similarly, his coats hung on the rail, with piles of shirts, neck cloths, and underwear on shelves, and his polished boots beneath.
He recalled the House Rules as his head touched the pillow, and determined to write them down at the earliest opportunity. He was still thinking about it a week later when he joined the two other students to dine with Mr Coke.
Although Joshua had not mentioned his father’s political connection with their host, it was apparent from the warm welcome he received from Mr Coke that they were acquainted. It seemed the gentleman knew a great deal about him – far more than he had imagined.
Mr Coke was a tall man, of equal height to Joshua, and quietly spoken, but his presence filled the room. He was the father of three daughters, and Elizabeth, the youngest, at six years old, was his favourite. His eldest daughter, a widow, spent much of her time at Holkham, acting hostess for her father, since her mother’s death the previous year.
For such a grand house the food was plainly cooked, but well presented. A succulent joint of beef sirloin, tender squabs roasted on the spit, with half a dozen root vegetable side dishes, followed by a large fruit tart, an assortment of cream jellies, and a selection of local cheeses.
The talk during dinner was of a general nature, but when the meal was complete, the ladies left the room. The servants placed decanters of port and brandy on the table, but to Joshua’s surprise, they added three tankards and a jug of ale, and withdrew. He waited to see what the other lads did, and then filled his tankard with the local brew. For students, this was clearly the thing to do.
While the agent and steward sipped their port, Mr Coke took the opportunity to talk to his students. When the other lads nodded agreement, Joshua sensed it was for his benefit. They had obviously heard it before.
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