by Sandra Heath
He looked at her in surprise. “I suppose you could say that we are very good friends. Why?”
“Then he must have told you about the financial plight he is in.”
“I know that he was left considerable debts—mortgages, loans from Coutts—”
“Considerable would not seem to be the correct word under the circumstances. Mountainous is more apt. He feels that in order to deal with them he must make swingeing changes here at King’s Cliff.”
“Swingeing? Surely not—”
“The hounds are to go, and any land which cannot be made profitable. He is also going to have King’s Cliff Moor drained and made into farming land.”
A silver platter crashed to the floor as the startled butler fumbled. He was obviously shocked by what he had heard, although he tried to retrieve his composure.
Daniel, too, was shocked. A low whistle escaped his lips. “The devil he is—”
“He told me in Venice, and he meant every word.”
“Such changes will cause a storm of protest. I cannot think of one neighbor who will not throw up his hands in horrified condemnation. And I’ll warrant that Miss Townsend will not receive such tidings at all well. I had no idea things were as bad as that here. Oh, I knew that old Jasper was living beyond his means, but even so I had little notion of the true extent of his debts.”
“I do not know the exact sums involved, Doctor. I only know what Nicholas told me. I saw an account book he had with him, and there were an uncomfortably high number of entries in red ink.”
“Such worries will not speed his recovery,” said Daniel slowly, “and I fear that they are worries which will weigh him down for some time yet as he is in no condition to attend to them.”
“The situation is pressing, Dr. Tregarron.”
“It will have to wait, Lady Grenville. He is by no means over all the hurdles yet.”
“I believe it to be urgent.”
He studied her face for a moment. “In that case all I can suggest to you is that you see his land agent, Mr. Charles Dodswell. He was Sir Jasper’s agent too, but do not let that deter you, for he did all he could to dissuade Nicholas’s father from his extravagances. He also tried, unsuccessfully, to interest him in the new high farming methods which are so much spoken of these days, but Sir Jasper would have none of it. I know that Nicholas listened a great deal, however.” Daniel smiled. “As a boy he spent a lot of time with the agent at Home Farm, and indeed I suppose it could be said that Mr. Dodswell was more a father to him than Sir Jasper ever was. There is a lot of warmth and understanding between Nicholas and Charles Dodswell, and he was quite devastated by the news of Nicholas’s apparent death abroad. He came to the house late last night, the moment he heard what had happened, but Nicholas knew nothing of it.”
“Did Mr. Dodswell mention anything to you about Nicholas’s problems?”
“No. But he was most insistent that the moment Nicholas was able to see him, he be sent for without delay.”
Laura thought for a moment. “I think that you are right, Dr. Tregarron, I must indeed go to see Mr. Dodswell.”
He nodded. “Would you like me to accompany you, Lady Grenville?”
“I would like that very much.”
Chapter 16
A short while later, Daniel and Laura emerged from the house. Her parasol frills fluttered as the breeze caught them, and the ribbons of her bonnet streamed behind her as she walked. She wore her sprigged muslin gown and a tight green spencer with a fashionable ruff, and she looked as fresh and beautiful as the spring day. There was a smile on her lips, but inside she felt only anxiety and unhappiness; the anxiety was on many scores, but the unhappiness came solely from her unrequited love for Nicholas Grenville. It was Augustine he wanted, and if was Augustine who even now kept a vigil at his bedside.
They walked past the front facade of the house. The grounds were truly magnificent, and looked particularly fine on this warm spring day. The lawns, tended by an industrious line of gardeners, stretched smoothly away to the woods on one side and to the Taunton to Langford road on the other. Some more men were digging over a gravel path, while others pulled a heavy roller to flatten the new surface. Laura wondered idly if one of them was Frank Roberts, Kitty’s father. There were flowers everywhere, a blaze of color that dazed the eye with its glory. Red deer browsed by the woods and a skylark tumbled in the blue sky, its trilling song rippling over the countryside in a clear portent of summer. Someone was playing Mozart at the piano in the music room and they caught a glimpse of Mrs. Townsend through the opened windows. She played skillfully, and there was not a note out of place….
The sound of the nearby hounds in their impressive kennels made Laura halt. Daniel smiled. “Would you like to see them?”
“Yes, I believe I would as I have heard so much about them.”
The cluster of low buildings that comprised the kennels was built around a house which, Daniel told her, was occupied by the chief huntsman. The kennels were fairly new and had obviously been built at no small cost, for there seemed not a single convenience lacking. There was no sign of the hounds, for they were shut away in three lodges at the rear of cobbled yards. A number of men and boys went about their business, cleaning the kennels and preparing the feed, but the moment Laura and Daniel entered she became aware of a change in the atmosphere. News of what she had said at the breakfast table had obviously already reached the kennels, and it was not liked, both for the destruction of the hunt and for the uncertainty that now hung over the future livelihoods of those employed to look after the hounds.
She knew all this as she stood by the fence that screened one of the yards listening to the hounds in the lodges, their paws scratching and pattering on the floor. The sound left her cold. She felt no sense of excitement at hearing these famous creatures and the thought of hunting did not arouse her in the slightest.
Daniel noted her unenthusiastic expression. “Am I to presume that the new mistress of King’s Cliff is left unmoved?”
“Completely.”
“For shame,” he teased. “This is probably the finest pack of hounds in the realm and yet you, Lady Grenville, are on the verge of a yawn.”
She smiled. “Have you ridden to them, Dr. Tregarron?”
“It has been my privilege.”
She looked at him. “Do you approve of Nicholas’s plan to sell them?”
“If his financial predicament is as you say, then he has no choice. They are a very expensive plaything, very expensive indeed. As you can see, Sir Jasper spared no expense on the building of these kennels, only the finest materials were used, but the real cost comes from the social side of hunting. The lavish house parties held at King’s Cliff are a byword with the beau monde, and half the aristocracy of England has at one time lodged here, enjoying the breakfast meets where barons of beef were as numerous as days in the week and venison pies were of a legendary succulence. When the gentlemen hunted, their ladies remained behind, and so entertainment had to be provided for them. The cost of King’s Cliff hospitality must have been as astounding over the years, and there was not a penny of subscription to meet the bills. The estate shouldered the entire burden and from what you tell me, it was bowing beneath the weight. Yes, Lady Grenville, I approve of what Nicolas wishes to do and can well understand his fervent desire to be rid of the encumbrance.”
Laura gazed at the lodges, built so excellently, emulating the style of the big house…. Whether it was by accident or design, she did not know, but at that moment the lodges were opened and the blue-mottled hounds bounded out, yelping and snapping excitedly as they rushed to the fence. Standing on their hind legs, their forepaws on the wood, they set up a howl for their daily feed. Startled, and not a little frightened, Laura Stepped hastily back from them.
Daniel took her arm swiftly. “Don’t be afraid, they cannot come out.”
“I know. It’s just…. Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced across at a group of unsmiling men.
“Come; eno
ugh of mere canines. We have Mr. Charles Dodswell to beard in his den.”
“Yes.”
They left the kennels and walked on, taking the gravel path which led beside the lodges toward a high box hedge that screened what lay beyond. Daniel pushed open a wicket gate where the purple spikes of lilac swayed in the breeze and the heady perfume of wallflowers filled the air. The wicket gate led to a path flanked by more high hedges, and Laura looked back at the house before proceeding. She could see the window of Nicholas’s room.
Her eyes downcast then, she accompanied Daniel along the path. Thoughts of Augustine, sitting so adoringly at Nicholas’s side, filled her head. Laura had remained in the room for only a little while, for she had been unable to endure watching Augustine’s masterly performance as she wilted just a little as she leaned over him, weeping bravely if he happened to awake, and whispering her undying love….
“I trust the hounds have not upset you, Lady Grenville,” said Daniel, seeing her withdrawn face.
“No.”
“Then perhaps I have said something….”
She smiled at him. “No, Dr. Tregarron, it isn’t anything you have said, I was merely thinking of Nicholas and Miss Townsend.”
“It is within your power to order her from his room.”
“Possibly, but I do not think that will help—it certainly will not help him to recover, for I know that it is her he wishes to see, not me.”
“If you believe that, why do you remain here?”
“Because I am his wife and I love him. Until I hear from his own lips that he does not want me here, I will stay and I will do all I can to aid and uphold him. Can you understand that, Doctor?”
“I understand that you are a very remarkable woman, as well as a very beautiful one, and that if Nicholas is fool enough to prefer Augustine Townsend, then the bullet which grazed his head must have affected his intelligence!”
“You are very kind to me, Dr. Tregarron.”
He glanced at her but said nothing more. They walked on in silence toward a thick copse of trees that darkened the path ahead. The hedges ended abruptly and they were in a small wood where bluebells were in bloom and the wild flowers nodded their delicate heads as the gentle breeze whispered over them. Suddenly they were in the sunshine again, standing on the edge of the escarpment on which King’s Cliff stood, and Laura halted in surprise on seeing Sedgemoor itself for the first time.
Three hundred feet below, at the foot of the escarpment, the marsh’s silent acres led away to an indistinct haze by a line of hills that struck out from the west. Enclosed by hills on two sides, the triangle of the moor owned by King’s Cliff was smooth and green, broken here and there by trees and by the flash of sunlight on water. The tall marsh grass undulated in long, rhythmic waves, as if the sea itself had gradually turned from water into this lush vegetation, which harbored waterfowl and provided some of the finest shooting in the land. The comparison with the sea was accentuated by a small hill that rose like an island in the distance. She could make out a line of cows on the hill and a man driving them slowly toward a small farm by some elm trees.
Pollarded willows were the only trees of note on the marsh itself, growing by the sometimes seen, sometimes unseen water which was almost everywhere beneath the screen of grass. She stared, spellbound. It was a landscape to bewitch the beholder, for after the rolling hills, it was so completely, so hauntingly different. And yet if Nicholas went ahead with his plans, it would all be changed….
Daniel pointed away to the north. “The marsh is said to shelter the spirits of the dead from the battle of Sedgemoor in 1685. The Duke of Monmouth’s army met its end not far from here.”
She followed the line of his finger, and her gaze fell on a stark monument built on a spur of escarpment that struck out like a headland over the sea. “Does that commemorate the battle?”
“No, that is the Townsend memorial. It was erected by Nicholas’s great-grandfather, Sir Henry, the first Grenville to own King’s Cliff, in honor of his predecessor, James Townsend.”
“Oh.”
“It is a very handsome edifice, is it not?”
“It is. It is also a constant reminder of their grievances to the present members of the Townsend family,” she said tartly.
“I suppose it is.”
“How very foolish of Sir Henry,” she remarked, her parasol twirling as she followed the path down the hillside toward the marsh far below. She could see ahead the roofs and barns of the Home Farm, dwelling of Mr. Charles Dodswell. The farm looked out over the marsh, and the garden of the farmhouse stretched up the escarpment behind.
They were shown into the agent’s office, where they were greeted by a thin, stooping man who was, she guessed, somewhere in his fifties. His gray wig was askew, as she was to learn it usually was, and he had pushed an ink-stained quill behind his ear as if their arrival had interrupted his work. He hastened to remove a pile of seal-hung documents from a chair, dusting the seat with his spotted kerchief so that she could sit down.
The room lay at the back of the house and was consequently away from the sunlight. It smelled damp and there was a slight chill in the air. A map of King’s Cliff hung on the wall above the small fireplace and the window overlooked the garden, although the escarpment rose so sharply that very little but grass could be seen. The room was as dusty as the agent himself and was littered with ledgers and legal documents, for like many land agents, Mr. Dodswell was a lawyer too.
Now he positioned himself behind the untidy desk, which was the room’s principal item of furniture, and waited, “How may I be of service to you, Lady Grenville?” he asked at last.
She could tell that he did not quite know what to make of her. Being as close to Nicholas as he was, her arrival on the scene and the circumstances under which it had occurred must obviously be somewhat bewildering. Did he, as would others, believe she had married Nicholas simply to enrich herself?
“Mr. Dodswell, I wish to acquaint myself with the financial affairs of the estate.”
“But, I don’t understand—”
“I know that all is not well, sir, and I know that you wish to see my husband as soon as he is able. Therefore I wish to learn as much as possible myself in order that I may see if there is anything I can do while my husband remains so ill.”
The agent looked ill at ease, glancing at Daniel and then back at her. “Forgive me, Lady Grenville, but I gave my word to Sir Nicholas before he departed for Venice that I would say absolutely nothing to anyone until he returned and had decided what exactly to do.”
“Charles,” reproved Daniel, “it is Nicholas’s wife to whom you speak.”
“I am well aware of that, Daniel Tregarron, but a man’s word is his bond.”
Laura glanced sharply at him. “And a man’s wife is his right hand, sir.”
“I did not mean to suggest….” the agent began hastily.
“My first responsibility and duty is to my husband and therefore to this estate too. He saw fit to confide in me, telling me of the troubles besetting him and what he wished to do about putting things right. Maybe he did not expect to survive and maybe there was no thought in his head that his marriage to me would last beyond one night, but the fact is that it has. I am his wife and I am proud to be so, and I have nursed him and brought him home to the house he loves so much. You surely do not imagine that I think my duty is done now and that I will sit back and twiddle my thumbs? That is not how I am made, Mr. Dodswell, and I think that you should realize that.”
A ghost of a smile touched the agent’s thin lips. “I begin to, my lady.”
“Do you still feel bound by your word?”
“How can I, when you obviously know a great deal already, and you know it from Sir Nicholas’s lips? I will tell you all you wish to know, but I do not think there is anything anyone can do about it until Sir Nicholas is well again.”
“Maybe not, but I still wish to be au fait with everything.”
“Sir Jasper, as you
know, left mountainous debts, some of which Sir Nicholas has been able to meet.”
“How?”
“By selling items of value from the house. There is one particularly alarming debt still outstanding, however, and that is to a certain moneylender in London whose reputation is not at all savory.”
“How large is the debt?”
“Twenty thousand guineas.”
She stared at him. “So much?”
“Sir Jasper had been living well beyond his means for some time. At first he resorted to the usual practice of falsifying his returns to the Treasury, raising mortgages here and there—and finally everywhere—and so on, but gradually he came to need more and more to sustain the white elephant which was King’s Cliff and to sustain his own wildly impractical way of life. He went frequently to London with the Earl of Langford, simply to visit the gaming hells, where he proceeded to lose vast sums night after night. The estate could only support this for a short while, for it is not productive enough to maintain such extravagance. In the end Sir Jasper was foolish enough to fall into the clutches of a moneylender.”
The agent sighed. “And all the time something could have been done to make King’s Cliff more profitable, but the land is turned almost entirely to the needs and pleasures of fox hunting. The farms are let to tenants who are, like Sir Jasper, enthusiastic about hunting, and vast stretches of good land are simply left—or cleared to provide long rides. There is no sign of the new methods of high farming here, Lady Grenville, no sign at all. Even King’s Cliff Moor, which could be so fertile, is left undrained. Most of Sedgemoor has been drained, but not here. The medieval drainage system, built by monks back in the mists of time, has been allowed to fall into disrepair, with the result that here you will find the finest shooting in the county. Waterfowl and fish abound, and it is quite the thing to come down to King’s Cliff for a stay. The only persons to benefit financially have been the considerable horde of poachers who inhabit the town of Langford. King’s Cliff eels and birds find their way to tables where they have no right to be found. And all I can do is stand by and watch it all happen, because until now the master of the house has seen fit to allow it all. Sir Jasper was blind to everything but the glorification of both himself and King’s Cliff, and he was encouraged in every way by the Earl of Langford and, I am sorry to say, by Miss Townsend and her mother. They wallowed in that reflected glory, and could not see it for what it truly was—the ruining of a fine and ancient estate. The heedless extravagance went on and on, and neither my voice nor that of Sir Nicholas was listened to. Being land agent to a man like Sir Jasper Grenville was a bitter, frustrating, and unrewarding experience, my lady, but how much worse must it have been for his son?
