Irrespective of the reason for the visits, Harry always took the lead.
“This is our new friend, Mr Norbery,” he said, settling a serving wench onto his knee. “You must be sure to look after him when we leave.”
“Where does he come from?” the girl asked, as if Joshua was not there.
“Shropshire, near the Welsh Border,” Harry said.
She frowned, and then came up with a suggestion. “Is it near Norwich?”
That was obviously the limit of her geographical knowledge.
“No, my pretty wench,” Harry said with a laugh, and pointed to a spot on the edge of the wooden table. “We are here, in the east of England, and Shropshire is two hundred miles away in the west of the country.”
“Ooh,” she said, her eyes widening. “You’re quite a foreigner then.”
Yes, he supposed to her, he was.
“You’re not leaving us yet, though,” she said, turning back to Harry.
“Not until after the sheep-shearings in July.”
“Oh, I know when they are,” she said. “All our rooms are booked for the week, and everyone around that has beds to spare.”
After three weeks, Joshua had met more barmaids than in as many years at Linmore; some were pretty and slender, while others looked as if they would make a comfortable armful. Harry loved them all, Jack laughed and joked, and Joshua nodded acknowledgement, knowing that he had plenty of time to get to know them.
Some people and places were more memorable than others. One inn stood out in Joshua’s mind; a strange little place, hidden away down a country lane off the beaten track. Its ivy-clad walls and weathered thatch of Norfolk reeds blended so well into the surrounding woodland, one could be forgiven for passing by without seeing it. And yet when they arrived, an ostler appeared and took their horses to the stables at the back of the building. Almost as if they were expected.
“Do you know something, Josh?” said Harry, giving an elaborate shiver as they entered the low-roofed building. “I have a feeling that this place is haunted.”
“If you’re trying to scare me into paying for the first round, you won’t succeed,” said Joshua, concentrating on avoiding low oak beams for the second time that evening. “I bought one at the last place.”
“He said the same thing to me, when we first came here,” said Jack.
They all laughed at the notion, but when Joshua thought about it, he couldn’t deny that the building had a strange presence. Not that it seemed to bother a couple of farm labourers that had stopped for a tankard of cider on their way home from work.
Their welcome was predictably good, and within minutes Harry disappeared outside with one of the serving-girls. A few minutes later Jack strolled over to chat with the barmaid, leaving Joshua to drink his tankard of ale.
When it was almost finished, he sat back on the wooden settle with his long legs stretched out before him, feeling the warmth of the blazing logs on the hearth. He laughed to himself, thinking of Mr Blakeney’s dictates about fraternising with local women, and realised that hidden away as they were, it didn’t matter for no one would know what they did or with whom.
At half past nine, he contemplated ordering another pint before the others returned. Deciding to wait he closed his eyes and let the cares of the day slide away. Almost immediately, he felt a heightened sense of being watched, and became aware of a swish of skirts and a soft tread crossing the bare floorboards that stopped before his table.
“Good evening, sir,” said a delicious voice that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, “what kind of entertainment can I offer you?”
With a voice like that she could offer whatever she liked and he’d accept it.
Joshua opened his eyes and met the appraising gaze of a woman, slightly older than the girls who attracted the other lads, with tawny tresses tumbling around her shoulders. Before he could respond, she said, “I’d say that you look in need of cheering up, sir; maybe I can help you relax.”
Aware that he was gawking, Joshua took a long drink to moisten his suddenly parched throat, and almost choked as she placed her hands on the table and leaned closer to give him a better view of her generous breasts nestling between the creamy flounces of her bodice. She was temptation incarnate, and for a moment she reminded him of the goddess in the bagnio. Oh…yes please…
“Look all you like, sir,” she said, running the tip of her tongue around her rosy lips, “but if you buy me a tot of rum you can touch as well.”
Joshua hastened to oblige, but as he fumbled in his pocket for a coin, she stroked his cheek with a touch, soft as gossamer, which took his breath away. Then she laughed, low and sultry, and he was bewitched. Her eyes held him in thrall, her lips tempted him, and time ceased to have any meaning. And then from somewhere in the distance, he heard a voice calling his name… Joshua…
Go away, don’t disturb me. He wanted to stay with her, but the voice was insistent. Joshua looked at her with a profound sense of regret. “I must go…”
“Maybe you’ll come again,” she said. “Be sure to ask for Polly. I’m always here.”
He nodded, but wasn’t sure when that would be. When he looked again, she had glided away without speaking to anyone else. In fact, nobody seemed to notice her.
“Come on, Josh, it’s time to go,” Harry called impatiently from the doorway.
Joshua drained the tankard and made his way to the bar. “Goodnight,” he said to the landlady. “Tell Polly that I’ll see her the next time I come.”
“Polly…?” the woman said in surprise. “Oh, you mean Sarah, the dark-haired girl who was talking with your friend?”
“No, I mean Polly, a tall girl with reddish hair. She came over to talk with me at the table in the corner by the fire.” He pointed to the far side of the inglenook.
“Are you certain?” she said, a worried look creasing her homely features.
“Yes,” he said, annoyed at the doubt. “She asked me to buy her a tot of rum.”
“Joseph,” the woman called to her spouse, “this gentleman says he’s seen Polly.”
The landlord came forward, nodding dismissal to his wife; then he said in a lowered tone. “You couldn’t have done, sir. Polly was our daughter, and she was drowned in the sea five years ago.”
“But I did see her,” Joshua protested, “as plainly as I see you or your wife. She asked me to buy her a drink.”
“No, sir,” the landlord’s tone was firm. “With respect, I think that you must have been dreaming. This local brew is strong and it has that effect on some people.”
Joshua didn’t believe that he had been asleep, for he could still feel the tingle in his skin from when the woman stroked his cheek. You can touch if you buy me a drink.
He cursed his stupidity for not availing himself when he had the chance, then he would have known for sure.
Ask for Polly, I’ll always be here… But she wasn’t here now and apparently hadn’t been for years. Joshua walked outside to the stables where the other lads awaited him, not knowing whether to mention what he had seen.
“What kept you, Josh?” said Harry. “Have you been talking with the local ghost? The ostler reckons that the wench ran away with the smugglers, and that’s why they say she drowned – but she might have come home – just to see you.”
“I think you could be right,” he said with a rueful smile. He didn’t know if Polly was real, but she had stirred him like no other woman and left him hungry for more.
After that, they changed their evening routine. The first time that they rode down to the seashore, Joshua gazed in wonder at the wide expanse of Holkham beach, which ran along the coast as far as the eye could see, with a line of sheltering dunes of the finest sand imaginable. The other lads rode steadily on, and Joshua had to chase after to catch them, but as he drew closer, they spurred their horses on. Two could ride together; three made it a race, and with no winning post, they galloped on for the sheer exhilarating fun of doing it.
It was a close run thing, but Harry won by a nose.
“It was easy for you,” said Joshua, gasping against the onshore wind. “I started from way back there.” He pointed to the row of pine trees in the far distance that served as a windbreak.
“All right then, we’ll race you back,” said Harry. “The last one to reach the Ostrich at the bottom of the drive pays for the first round.”
Joshua’s horse lagged behind when he stopped to pick up his hat that had blown away, so he paid the forfeit. After the other lads had each paid for a tankard of ale, he found they were better acquainted with the various stages of inebriation in which he was a novice. Maybe it was tiredness from the unaccustomed work routine, or his obsession with trying to remember everything the agent told him, but whatever it was, after a couple of tankards of ale he could hardly keep his eyes open, or sit straight in the saddle riding back to the stables. They brought him back, in need of help from the grooms to drag him upstairs to his room. He felt ashamed when they let him know the next morning.
“You’re working too hard, Josh,” the other lads told him.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I have to do it.”
He would not tell them the reason was to drown out the loneliness he felt. Homesickness for Linmore was one cause; but the driving force was the need to redeem his self-respect after the trouble at home. He had so many secrets.
When Fred Cardington started his education with wines on the journey to Holkham, Joshua realised how little practice he had on the European travels. Strong black coffee and anxiety about Dr Hawley’s illness put paid to that.
Then he recalled that Sergeant Percival ensured that neither he nor Charlie imbibed too much of the strange-tasting brews in Greece. Whilst they drank champagne at various grand social events in Rome, it was the excitement of the moment, not alcohol that went to his head on a visit to the bagnio, and his friendship with Lady Rosie.
After the first attempt at racing, Joshua was prepared for the next; and all the hours he spent galloping across Linmore Park with Charlie Cobarne came into play and he won, time after time. In the end, they laughingly decided he needed a handicap.
“It’s an unfair contest,” protested Harry. “You were obviously born in the saddle, unlike us ordinary mortals.”
His challenge was to join the stable lads, when they raced the horses on the beach, half a dozen at a time. A crowd of locals came to watch, and a tanner apiece went into the betting hat, with the winner taking the prize. Joshua entered into the spirit and hurtled past the winning post ahead of the field.
Whilst it seemed unfair to take their money, a bet was a bet. To refuse would offend and set him apart, so he accepted his prize with good grace, and stood them a round of drinks at the Ostrich – a move that won instant approval.
From the beach, the three lads moved on to a race meeting at Fakenham, five miles across the estate. Although he started well, Joshua’s luck with betting did not hold with other riders in the saddle. By the end of the day, his pockets were to let; an experience he was loath to repeat, for he had squandered the equivalent of his allowance for two months.
It was only early June, with three more weeks before he could anticipate a single shilling more from Mr Blakeney. How would he survive?
Several times, he declined Harry and Jack’s request to join them for a drink, claiming he had letters to write, or his work diary to complete. Pride would not let him plead poverty, however temporary; but they saw through his pretence.
“If you’re short of cash, we can lend you some till next month.”
“No.” Joshua was appalled at the thought. “Thank you, but it’s unnecessary.”
They grinned, and said, “Come anyway, and let us buy you a drink. You can repay us if you like, when you claim an advance from Mr Blakeney. It is all right; we have both done it several times. He might make you wait a day or two, but he doesn’t refuse.”
Relief spread through him like a wave. How silly to have forgotten the agent’s words on his arrival. Deciding that a guinea or two would make a huge difference, he made his application to the agent.
The weather was balmy the next Saturday afternoon, so they rode to the beach, tied up the horses and walked down to the sand dunes.
“What kind of boat is that?” Joshua asked, pointing out to sea.
Harry turned to survey the horizon.
“It’s probably the revenue cutter from Yarmouth,” he said. “A few miles down the coast from Cromer.”
Joshua looked blank and shook his head.
“Oh, I forgot, you’re new to the area,” Harry said with a laugh, and proceeded to draw the shape of Norfolk in the sand.
“Look,” he said, marking a straight line to illustrate the direction, followed by a curve, than jabbed the sand with his riding crop. “We’re here on the north coast; whilst Cromer, Yarmouth and Lowestoft are around the corner. Suffolk is the next county to the south and Lincolnshire, up the coast, beyond the Wash.”
Joshua recalled studying the area on the map at home.
“What are they doing here?” he asked, reverting to his original topic.
“Patrolling, I suppose. Looking for smugglers; but don’t ask anyone else about them. Nobody talks about such things around here.”
“Why?” It did not make sense.
“It’s safer that way…”
“But this beach is on Holkham land. Surely, nobody would be as stupid as that… would they?”
Harry shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“It’s as good a place as any other part of the coast. Admittedly, it doesn’t have the waterways of the Broads to take the contraband inland, but once beyond the salt marshes, it would quickly disappear. After all, none of the locals would admit to seeing or hearing anything on a dark night.”
Joshua laughed, thinking Harry was teasing him, but later, he wondered. Parts of the beach were so isolated, anything could happen. He shivered at the thought, unsure why he felt this way. When he looked again towards the horizon, the boat had gone, and so had his companions. Without saying a word of their intentions, Jack and Harry had left their clothes in the dunes and dashed down to the waters edge.
After a quick look around, he followed the other lads through the rolling breakers and plunged headlong into the deeper water. He surfaced with a shiver, shook his head and laughed. Bathing in the sea was infinitely preferable to using a tin tub in the servants’ washrooms at the Hall.
Refreshed by his dip, he left the others to wallow and dashed up the beach to retrieve his breeches, before throwing himself face down in the sand, and letting the gentle breeze waft over his back. Once there, he could relax, safe in the knowledge the sandy dunes shielded him from view.
That was the best kind of privacy.
On their regular evening dips in the sea, Joshua quickly shed many inhibitions he’d brought to Norfolk. It was not as if any women might see them. In fact, apart from the time when the grooms exercised the horses, he had not seen a soul near the pine trees that formed a windbreak.
Work inevitably intervened, but as Joshua grew to know the other lads better, he became the recipient of confidences from one or the other. Harry, in Jack’s absence, told of his family background, and the reason he was at Holkham.
“I expect your family were born to the position,” said Harry. “Until two years ago, my father was an army major; a younger son with no expectation of inheriting a country estate. When his godfather died without heirs, he resigned his commission to become the squire, and the family have had to learn to move in different circles. We’re lucky in having Woburn so close to home. The Duke is a friend of Mr Coke, and he suggested Holkham to my father, as a way for me to learn about estate management. You and I will have the full responsibility one day, but it’s different for Jack, because his father is only a tenant farmer.”
Joshua nodded, whilst thinking of what Jack had told him one night in a tavern when they were sitting waiting for Harry to return from his tryst with
a serving wench, his tankard of ale abandoned on the table before them.
“Is he always like this?” Joshua had said.
“Chasing wenches, you mean? Yes, most of the time,” said Jack. “From what he said at the outset, his father told him to conduct himself like a gentleman.”
“I’d say that he’s doing exactly that,” said Joshua, with a dry laugh.
“Yes, but you know how they behave, don’t you?” said Jack, “Whereas, I’m only a tenant farmer’s son. More of a non-commissioned officer compared to the likes of Major Bircham.”
“Did Harry say that?” said Joshua appalled at the suggestion.
“Not in so many words,” said Jack, before changing the subject. “He said that he’d be flogged if his parents’ heard of his behaviour, but the closer we get to leaving Holkham, the worse he is, and I’m no better. I don’t know your reasons, but I was sent here because I was becoming too friendly with the parson’s daughter.”
Joshua nodded his understanding, but was saved the need for further confidences when Jack added, “I’m glad it gave me the chance to come to Holkham. My father may not own the farm, but the need for sound management is just the same – more so, when the landlord is Mr Coke’s son-in-law.”
CHAPTER 32
After the visit to Fakenham, Joshua needed something else to occupy his time, so he wrote a letter to Aunt Jane, telling her things he felt would be of interest; he wrote another to Francis Weyborne, with extra details about his work, which he planned to send to Linmore when he could afford the postage.
I wish you could see the Holkham estate. It is hard to imagine the sheer size of thirty thousand acres, of which the park accounts for three thousand. Compared to Linmore, the land in Norfolk is flat, and they use a system of crop rotation, which replaces the need to leave one field fallow in four years.
First, they plant a grain crop, such as wheat, corn or barley, then one of the root crops, swedes, turnips or mangelworzels, followed by either grasses or clover on the remaining two fields. I will tell you more when I understand the process.
Brothers at Arms Page 35
